Damn, she hated hospitals. Nothing good ever came from them.
She tucked her knees to her chest, wrapping her arms securely around her calves and rested her forehead on her jean-clad knees. Why had he done this? Was it because Xander had called her a name? Or was it really for the insults that Xander had hurled at Angel over the last year? Maybe it was for something else? She didn’t have any insight as to how this new and unimproved Angel’s mind worked. He was so moody - not that he hadn’t been moody before, but now, his mood swings were accompanied with bodies and blood.
The young Slayer shook herself. It didn’t matter why Angel had done it. What was important was that he had. What was important was that Xander was in his room, swathed in bandages to cover his cuts and lacerations; he was immobilized by casts, on his right wrist and right ankle; and by the tape that was wound around his chest to help his broken ribs heal. What was important was that he was here, heavily sedated so he wouldn’t feel the pain of his injuries. It didn’t matter why Angel had decided to stick her friend in the hospital; it only mattered that he had.
So now she sat outside Xander’s hospital room, watching his door when only three nights ago he had done the same for her. He hadn’t done it very well, but he had done the same for her. She was grimly amused by the thought that she might even be sitting in the same seat that he had sat in during his ineffectual guard duty.
The silence in the hallways and the dim lighting attested to the fact that it was somewhere around 4:15 in the morning, deep in the graveyard shift.
Her mother, who had a short time ago begun to fall victim to her lack of sleep had gone in search of the cafeteria and barring that, then a coffee machine.
Buffy waited, her senses extended for super-natural danger as she watched Xander’s door.
“I would have been safer in the Master’s Lair.”
The young Slayer turned at the sound of her Watcher’s sarcastic comment and saw Giles, Willow and Cordelia walking down the hall toward her.
Giles and Willow looked as though they’d dressed in a hurry, but Queen C was dressed as fashionably as always, never sparing appearance for time.
“Well then,” Cordelia retorted to the scolding British man, “then next time you can’t get that clunker you call a car going, don’t call me.”
Giles stared down his aquiline nose at the haughty cheerleader. “It is not a clunker,” he enunciated carefully. “It is a classic machine.”
Cordelia snorted, tossing her hair over her shoulder. “It’s a clunker.”
Willow walked a little faster and Buffy rose to greet them, leaving her denim jacket in her seat.
“How’s Xander,” the redheaded hacker asked anxiously.
“Resting,” Buffy replied. “The doctors say it looks worse than it is. He’s got a few broken bones and a lot of bruising and a few lacerations. He’ll be sore and laid up for a few days, but he’ll be okay.”
Willow and Cordelia breathed identical sighs of relief.
Giles rubbed his forehead wearily and looked at his young charge. “What happened?”
The blond girl pursed her lips and held up her ex-lover’s note in a trembling hand for Giles to read. “Angel.”
Cordelia planted her fists on her hips. “Angel did this? This is so all your fault. If you hadn’t gotten all groiny with him, we wouldn’t be in this mess and Xander wouldn’t be laid up in the hospital.”
Buffy flinched, hunching her shoulders guiltily. She knew it was her fault. She knew she’d hurt Xander and killed Theresa, Miss Calender and most importantly, she killed the man she loved with her selfish demands. She didn’t need the queen bitch of Sunnydale telling her it was her fault when she knew it was her fault.
“Xander tenders his sincerest apologies,” Giles read. “Apologies for what?”
“Oh!” Willow blurted, turning her blue gaze to her friend. “Is this because Xander called you a demon’s whore?”
“He did what?” Giles demanded incredulously. “When?”
“Last night,” Buffy informed him. “In my room.”
“Angel must have been lurking,” the red-haired hacker concluded wisely. “Probably wanted to see how you liked the flowers.”
“What?” Cordelia exclaimed. “You’re taking flowers from him?!”
“Oh, and the necklace,” Willow added.
“Presents too!”
Buffy scowled at her best friend. “Willow, you’re not helping me here.”
“Sorry.”
Giles sighed as he sternly faced his Slayer. “Buffy, I think you need to tell me what’s going on.”
“I’m trying to,” she reassured him. “But everybody keeps interrupting.”
“So explain.”
Buffy absently played with one of the rings on her fingers. “”Last night, Angel sent me flowers. And a necklace – an ankh.”
“The symbol of everlasting life,” Willow interjected helpfully.
Giles cast the young hacker an annoyed glance. “Yes, I know what it means. The question is why has Angel stepped up his courting. I thought after – after Valentines his passions – his intensity toward you had cooled.”
“What’d you do?” Cordelia sneered. “Get all pelvic and relight his fire?”
Memories of her skin sliding against his, of his lips brushing over hers and his hard flesh pressing between her thighs flashed through her mind. Buffy blushed.
“You did didn’t you?” Cordelia hissed. “You really are a demon’s whore.”
Buffy glared at the snobbish brunette and briefly wondered why she had ever bothered to save her life all those times. She could’ve left her for the invisible girl, she could’ve let Daryl and Eric cut off her head and then stopped the zombie Frankenstein team, she could even have let the giant reptile thingy under that frat house eat her before she stopped the demon, nobody could’ve blamed her, she’d been chained up. But no, she had to save Cordelia, queen bitch of Sunnydale High every time. Perhaps that was overachieving…
“Uh, Cordelia,” Willow cleared her throat anxiously. “The last person who said that to her wound up in the hospital.”
Buffy uncomfortably glanced away from their accusing stares then turned back to meet Giles’ hazel gaze. “Maybe I could talk to you alone.”
“We’re your friends,” Willow murmured with a wounded expression. “You can trust us.”
The Slayer met the hard topaz stare of the May-queen and set her chin determinedly. “I felt safer in the Master’s Lair,” she commented.
Cordelia’s lip pulled back into a sneer. “That’s right. Xander’s in the hospital, but you make it about you.”
“Well who else would it be about, Cordelia?” Buffy drawled insultingly. “You, you, you?”
Giles caught hold of Buffy’s elbow and gently escorted her away from the other two girls, stopping when they were standing next to Xander’s room door.
The blond-haired Watcher pulled his glasses from the bridge of his nose and polished the lenses absently, and then placed them back on to peer seriously at his young charge. “Just how often are you hearing those…’groiny’ remarks?”
She looked away, shrugging one shoulder sullenly. “Just about every time Angel’s brought up in conversation. Maybe every other day.”
Giles sighed, knowing that he had no power over the other children to force them to stop this cruel form of taunting. “I see. And Cordelia’s…accusation, does it bear weight?”
“Sort of,” Buffy confessed in a soft tone.
“Buffy,” Giles scolded in a firm tone. “You cannot be ambiguous in your treatment of Angel. He strikes without warning, provocation or purpose – “
“Actually he doesn’t,” Buffy interrupted. “He probably killed Miss Calender because he found out she was from the gypsy tribe that cursed him in the first place. He probably thought she could curse him with a soul again. And Xander, well two hundred years ago, wasn’t this type of display in the ballpark of defending his girlfriend’s honor – and I can’t believe I’m defending him. I’m going to shut up now.”
Giles took a deep bracing breath. “And you two? He’s a very experienced man Buffy. Realistically speaking it wouldn’t be that surprising – “
“It was the night I was here, Giles,” she whispered in embarrassment. “You know how feverish I was that night. I – I thought it was a dream.”
Giles frowned disbelievingly. “Xander was watching your door. He said that Angel left.”
Buffy looked at him in disgust. “Giles, we both know that doors aren’t the only way into rooms.”
“I…see,” the Watcher sighed sadly. It was the only time that Buffy had been dependant upon them to save her and they had failed. It was painfully apparent that she still lived because the demon had chosen to allow her to do so.
Buffy swallowed, her cheeks flaming with embarrassment and shame. “I don’t…remember everything clearly. Just…flashes…feelings. I thought it was just a dream until last night.”
“The flowers?” Giles asked softly.
“And something else. I put all the – achiness as part of the flu but – “
“But?”
She sighed and admitted in pained humiliation, “He drank from me.”
Giles hazel gaze shot to her unblemished neck. “Your throat – “
“There’s a bite on my shoulder. How much is that going to change his strength Giles? Slayer blood is like spinach to Popeye to vampires. According to the Watcher’s Journals it turned Spike into a Master Vampire about fifty years before he was mature enough to actually possess the power. And Angel, we sparred together, fought together. He knows my moves. Is it a permanent increase in strength or temporary? Cause the last few fights we had – except during my fever – I haven’t been holding back. We’re evenly matched.”
Giles stared blankly ahead, horrified by her confession. “Slayers grow stronger as they age,” he commented faintly.
Buffy glared at him. “That doesn’t help me now. The strength increase, permanent or temporary?”
“It depends on how much he drank. Do you…know?”
Buffy crossed her arms over her chest and leaned against the wall. “It’s fuzzy. It couldn’t have been very much. I was fine the next morning.”
Giles removed his glasses and polished the clean lenses again. “…Buffy, if this hadn’t come up, if Angel hadn’t attacked Xander, would you ever have told me that he’d raped you?”
She shrunk into herself. “No.”
He grasped her shoulders and shook her gently. “Buffy, why not? I’m your Watcher. I’m here for you.”
Tentatively she turned her face up so she could meet his gaze. “Because,” she whispered, almost too softly for him to hear, “It wasn’t rape.”
“Mr. Giles.”
Buffy and Giles jumped and turned to face Joyce Summers and she walked up to join them.
“Did you come down here to check on Xander?” the Slayer’s mother asked.
“Umm, yes. Yes I did.”
Joyce smiled. “That is such an amazing school. Everyone there is so concerned about the students…well, except for that nasty little principal. He seems to be eaten up by bitterness. He’s in the wrong line of work.”
Giles smiled reflexively. “Yes. I think I suggested that to him myself, once.”
Seeing that the private discussion had been broken up, Cordelia and Willow walked over to join them.
“So,” Joyce glanced from her daughter to the pale-haired librarian. “What were you two discussing?"
“Xan – “
“Probably how Buffy’s psycho ex-honey beat the crap out of my boyfriend,” Cordelia snapped, talking over Buffy.
Joyce stiffened. “Buffy, is this true?”
Buffy gave her mother a haunted look then glared at the smugly triumphant cheerleader.
Willow and Giles exchanged a nervous look.
Joyce sighed. “I had hoped – I knew that he wasn’t taking the breakup well, but I never dreamed he’d escalate to this. Well,” she sighed again. “There’s no hope for it. We’ll have to get a restraining order.”
“A restraining order?” Buffy repeated in shock. What good was that?
“Yes,” her mother confirmed. “A restraining order. And we’ll need to talk to the police when they arrive to investigate Xander’s assault.”
Buffy flinched and glared at Cordelia. “You want me to file a report against Angel?”
“I realize you still love him honey,” Joyce said in a compassionate tone, “but he’s sick and has to be taken care of before he does more harm.”
“I – “ the young Slayer froze has her senses jangled into overdrive, warning her of nearby danger. She opened Xander’s door, checking to make sure that he was still alone in the room and that her demonic boyfriend hadn’t decided to finish the job.
Xander lay in his bed, pale, thickly swathed in bandages and sedated.
Buffy closed the door, her nerves jumping, signaling of nearby danger. She glanced at the others, aware that all eyes were on her. “I have to go to the bathroom,” she blurted, and pushing past her mother and Giles, rushed quickly down the hallway toward the staircase.
Willow moved to follow her but hesitated when Buffy’s mother spoke again.
“No, Willow. Let her go. It’s ugly and it’s painful, but she needs to face the facts. I love my baby, I really do, but she can’t stay in her rose-colored glass fantasy anymore. Bad things happen, sometimes for no reason and she needs to grow up and realize that happily-ever-after isn’t real life. She’ll cry it out, and when the police get here, for once she can deal with reality with responsibility and maturity.”
Maturity. Happily-ever-after isn’t real life. Giles stared incredulously at the oblivious woman. Never in his months of knowing the young Slayer had he ever been more aware of just how isolated she must be from her parent for her mother to think that her child was incapable of dealing with reality. Sadly, he wondered whether that distance between mother and daughter had existed before Buffy had been Chosen.
>>>
A restraining order. Jesus, a restraining order! That sounded about as effective as “ignore him and he’ll go away.” Worse. It was going to be like waving a red flag under a bull’s nose; it was going to piss him off.
Buffy forced her mind away from her personal problems and concentrated on the tingling of her Slayer senses.
She didn’t have time to think about her psycho boyfriend now – ex-boyfriend…whatever the hell he was these days. She didn’t have time. She had a job to do.
The young blond rushed down the stairs and paused near the emergency room, her eyes tracking the various people waiting for medical attention. Satisfied that no danger lurked there, she hurried down the next flight of stairs, going down toward the morgue and the garage.
She found them.
If her keen Slayer sensory perception hadn’t led her to them, she was certain that her keen sense of smell would have, because the smell they gave off was absolutely rank.
Buffy leaned against the wall across from the staircase and cautiously peered around the corner at her chosen prey.
The unsuspecting demon stood watch outside the hospital morgue, periodically glancing down the hallway for intruders, but for the most part, it was content to look through the door windows at whatever was going on within.
The Slayer took in the details of its appearance, noting the leathery ash-gray skin, the sharp talons that tipped both fingers and toes, and the lean muscular body, bare of anything so humane as clothing.
She wrinkled her nose in revulsion: Kada’ere, or cadaver demons as she liked to call them.
While she’d lived in L.A., she’d had a few run-ins with the carrion-eaters after her first Watcher Merrick had died. Nothing like a girl looking up big, nasty demons in big musty books – that were not in English - all by herself, to make a girl remember its actual name rather than throwing a couple of similar sounding syllables together.
The Kada’ere were carrion-eaters. Their dietary preference for rotting meat was hindered by embalming, a modern practice that made many of the bodies they dug up unsuitable. In L.A. an ambitious group of Kada’ere had begun to stage raids on the local mortuaries, hoping to acquire the bodies before they were prepared for burial. She had put that group down. She supposed that the hospital morgue was the next logical step. She would have to put this group down before they decided that the only way to guaranty a supply of decomposed flesh was to kill and store it themselves.
Buffy scanned the hallway for a weapon, smiling slightly when her gaze alighted on the fire extinguisher bracketed to the wall. This was probably not quite the emergency the fire marshal had in mind, but it would simply have to do.
The blond Slayer lifted the red canister and tugged it firmly from its cradle. She hefted the weight experimentally, and then glanced around the corner again, to make sure that the demon hadn’t heard her.
Judging by the fact that it didn’t look her way but continued to peer eagerly through the door windows, the Slayer was certain that it hadn’t.
Buffy took a deep bracing breath and then whipped around the corner. She strode down the hallway, closing in on her prey quickly. Hard and fast, she told herself grimly. Don’t give them a chance to sink their bacterial-infested teeth in. With Angelus about, being moody, romantic and brutal, the last thing she needed was to descend back into the poisoned delirium that had once gotten her committed. Hard, fast, killing blows.
Not hearing her soft-footed approach, the demon on guard duty turned to glance down the hallway. It had a brief glimpse of the Slayer’s set expression before she rammed the bottom of the extinguisher into its face hard enough to cave in the entire front half of the skull.
It slammed back against the wall, then slowly slid down to the floor, yellowish goo oozing from its crushed cranium.
One down, she thought grimly.
She pushed through the swinging doors and into the morgue. Her green gaze flicked over her surroundings, swiftly taking in the office furniture on the wall to her right, including a wooden coat rack, then noting the steel table bolted to the floor in the center of the room, the refrigerated drawers on the wall adjacent to her left and the back, and the demons presently raiding those drawers.
Five more to go.
Startled by the disruption, the Kada’ere halted and peered over the body-piled gurneys at her, then at each other.
Two of the five were pulling bodies from the left wall drawers and had already draped three limp bodies over a hospital gurney they had stolen for the purpose. The other three were loading their gurney from the far wall drawers; the steel table in the center of the room and the two gurneys was between her and them.
Buffy smiled in a feral bearing of teeth. “I’ve had a really bad night. So I’ll tell you what, you guys make nice and put the bodies back and I won’t kill you today. So what do you say? Easy way, or hard way?”
The two closest demons rushed towards her.
“Right,” the Slayer sighed irritably. “Hard way.”
Experienced from her previous bouts of fire, Buffy deftly twisted the hose mechanism and sprayed the chilled mixture of white foam at her attackers; she aimed at their faces, blinding them. Both of the cadaver demons halted their approach, scrabbling at their eyes as the roared in pain.
Taking advantage of the situation, Buffy kicked the closest Kada’ere in the belly.
The demon grunted and crouched over to protect its stomach.
The Slayer swung the canister over the back of its head, crunching the dome of the skull with a moist thunk.
The other demon managed to scoop the chilled foam out of its face and glared at her with red-rimmed yellow eyes.
Buffy grinned and spinning, to give the impact more power, she threw the fire extinguisher into the demon’s chest; the carrion-eater flew back at the impact, knocking the gurney and its morbid booty to the floor. It landed in the corner and slumped to the ground, the bone of its collar misshapen beneath its skin.
She cocked her head, momentarily admiring her handiwork, then turned and looked at the other three demons. “Next.”
The three Kada'ere glanced at each other, their fallen fellows and then at the bodies they had been stealing. Two went around the obstacles of steel table and occupied gurney, the middle one went over it. They all rushed eagerly at the diminutive blond.
Buffy back-flipped away from the onrushing demons and stopped by the door, where she helped herself to the wooden coat rack she had noted earlier. She grasped the polished wood securely, levering it like a spear and then thrust the four-pronged clothing antler completely through the torso of the on-coming middle demon.
“Not quite a stake,” she observed as she studied the demon’s impaled torso, “but in a pinch, I think it works just fine.” She twisted the rack ripping up whatever internal organs she might have missed. “Just to be sure,” she whispered.
The two remaining Kada’ere leapt at the human girl who had single-handedly destroyed their raiding party.
The flurry of blows exchanged between the three antagonists was dizzying as the young Slayers dodged slashing talons, struck at vulnerable areas and prevented the two demons from landing any really damaging blows.
The blow that finally managed to land on her nose was shocking, knocking her off her feet and on to her back. Her eyes watered as she blew through the blood that trickled over her lips. The pain faded quickly and she flipped back to her feet, and clenched her small hands back into fists as she circled with the two demons.
One of the Kada’ere lunged forward and Buffy spun to meet it as its partner suddenly grabbed her from behind. It wrapped its arms securely around her torso, pinning her arms, and lifted her off the ground.
Buffy struggled with the demon.
The second Kada’ere approached, and judging by its widening jaws, it looked like it wanted to bite her.
The young Slayer stopped struggling and lifted up her legs, closing her feet on either side of her enemy’s head; she twisted sharply, snapping its neck before either demon could shift to break her hold.
The approaching Kada’ere dropped to the floor, its head lying at an odd angle.
The demon froze hesitantly, shocked that even while restrained she’d managed to kill its brethren.
Buffy kicked it hard in the knee with the heel of her shoe.
The beast roared in rage and pain and flung the young blond several feet and into the steel table.
The young Slayer landed on the edge of the table, the impact driving the breath from her body and immediately bruising her stomach. She wheezed momentarily, trying to catch her breath, but the demon gave her no time.
It grasped her by the hair, pulled her head back and slammed her face into the cold metal of the table.
Dizzied by the impact, Buffy staggered weakly as the tall demon grabbed her brutally by the arms, sinking its fingers and talons so deep into her skin she could almost feel them leaving imprints on her bones beneath skin, tendon and muscle.
The beast shook her furiously as it roared down into her face, blasting her with its fetid breath. Then it threw her back against the refrigerator drawers.
She hit the freezer drawers with a solid thumping sound and dropped to the ground. Pain spread like wildfire across the muscles of her back. Buffy glared at the demon through the bedraggled lock of her hair.
The Kada’ere strode forward to slash at her with its talons; the diminutive blond blocked its blows.
She backhanded it and then spun into a roundhouse kick, landing a solid blow across its jaw.
The Kada’ere staggered back.
The Slayer moved forward, continuing to land hard blows and forcing the creature back further.
Behind her, unnoticed by either the blond Slayer or the Kada’ere, the demon that had been knocked into the corner earlier slowly opened its yellow eyes. Its vision narrowed to the slender blond who was presently raining blows on its fellow, forcing it further and further back.
Shaking with pain, the fallen demon reached for the nearby red canister that the blond girl had flung at it.
The fighting Kada’ere and Slayer fought near the fallen demon that she had impaled with the coat rack.
Buffy kicked out, striking the demon hard in one knee joint and then the next, shattering both joints.
The Kada’ere fell to the floor with a wordless bellow of pain.
The Slayer slammed her foot down on the shaft of the rack, cracking the furniture into two pieces; swiftly, she grabbed up the makeshift spear and slammed the sharp broken end into her opponent’s chest.
The Kada’ere’s bellow’s gurgled to silence and it collapsed to the floor, twitching slightly as it died.
Panting slightly, Buffy reached up to feel her tender nose; painful, she concluded after a moment, but not broken.
A slight sound of movement alerted her to the fact that the danger was not quite over. She turned in time to see one of her previously fallen opponents standing weakly at her back and bringing the fire extinguisher she had used to fell him down toward her. She dodged to the side.
The fire extinguisher flew from the weak demon’s hands and into the refrigerator drawers; it bounced off the steel wall with a loud clang and ricocheted back into the Slayer’s right knee.
Pain exploded along her nerves and Buffy cried out as her leg gave out beneath her. Gasping in shocked agony, she tried to force herself back to her feet, but her injured joint could not sustain her weight and she went down again.
The weakened demon walked over to the fallen heroine and drew back its foot to kick her until she moved no more.
Buffy rolled to her back and glared determinedly up at her leathery opponent. As it kicked, she caught the taloned foot securely in her hands and brought her good leg up in a sweeping kick that brought the demon sprawling to the ground beside her. She twisted sharply to her knees over the beast, whimpering slightly as she tried to put no weight on her damaged leg.
The Kada’ere wiggled beneath her.
The Slayer grasped its head and whipped her hands, snapping its spine in a motion so fast her hands were a blue to her own vision.
The demon died.
Buffy allowed herself to collapse next to the dead demon. She stared at the ceiling, panting as she tried to absorb the pain that throbbed in her leg.
“Just ride it out,” she whispered softly. “I’ll heal enough in a few minutes that it won’t hurt so badly. Just breathe and ride it out.”
She breathed slowly, waiting for the pain to subside to a more endurable level. Long minutes ticked by, but the searing agony did not abate.
“Fine,” she muttered. “Just suck it up. Walk it out.”
The injured girl braced herself against the wall of refrigerated drawers and forced herself to her feet – or at least she tried to. The wrenching pain in her knee knocked her back to the ground harder than any blow she’d ever taken.
Buffy grit her teeth, holding back a soft moan. Sweat prickled on her brow and between her shoulder blades. She didn’t have time for this. Somebody could walk in at any moment and she had to take care of all these bodies; she needed to get the humans back in the drawers and she needed to get the demons outside – maybe into a dumpster.
She tried again, using the wall to lever herself up. She balanced on her left leg and then tentatively stood on her right. A sharp cry escaped her before she could stop it and she sank back to the ground.
What to do? What to do?
“Don’t panic,” she whispered, arching her fingers into claws as she bit back another moan of pain. “One thing at a time. Get the body out of the hall.”
Gritting her teeth in determination, Buffy slowly and painfully crawled toward the swinging doors. Every inch of distance was agony and she sobbed softly with each movement. Sweat dribbled down into her eyes and she blinked it away.
In a journey of pain she didn’t think she’d ever be able to forget, the Slayer managed to get the doors open and slowly, pain-stakingly, pulled the body of the first demon she’d killed into the relative privacy of the morgue.
The doors swished shut as the demon’s feet finally cleared the entrance, signaling that for at least a moment, she could rest.
Buffy curled herself around her crippled leg. She knew it must be bad. Slayer’s had a higher tolerance of pain than most. It wasn’t that they didn’t feel pain, just that their physiology made it possible to ignore it longer than most humans were able to. Now, the pain filled her until she’d thought she’d burst, until at last, unable to hold it all in anymore, she wept softly.
>>>
Joyce, Giles and Willow waited outside of Xander’s room while Cordelia sat with the boy inside.
“Any word on when he’ll wake up?” Willow asked plaintively.
“He’s been given morphine for the paint,” Giles informed her. “He’ll be very sleepy but they’ll probably wake him periodically because of the concussion.”
Joyce glanced at her watch. “I wonder where Xander’s parents are.”
“Oh,” Willow looked up, happy to help with something, even if it was only information. “They’re alc – well, they’re usually pretty out of it by 11pm. To hear Xander describe it, a cannon could go off right next to them and they’d never hear it.”
“Poor boy.”
The three of them sat together awkwardly.
Giles glanced at his own watch, wondering where his Slayer had gone in such a hurry? Had she truly withdrawn to the bathroom to cry?
>>>
Get up baby.
She felt gentle fingers sift soothingly through her tangled hair.
Come on baby. Get up. Buffy tried to focus beyond the mind-numbing pain. Was Angel really here or was she hallucinating?
C’mon Buffy. You’ve got work to do. Get Giles to help.
Hallucinating she decided blurrily. Her evil creature-of-the-night stalker would never tell her to call Giles for help.
She opened her eyes to the morgue filled with – ironically enough – dead bodies, except for her. She looked around and on the desk that had been miraculously untouched during the battle, she saw the item that was going to pull her but out of the fire.
The young Slayer took a deep breath and then steadily, determinedly crawled to the phone.
>>>
Giles glanced again at his watch. Forty-five minutes. Surely that was too long. “Paging Mr. Slade Watcher to the morgue, Mr. Slade Watcher to the morgue please.”
The Watcher stiffened and stood up abruptly, horribly certain that he suddenly knew exactly where his Slayer was. “If you’ll excuse me, I think I could do with a cup of tea – or coffee. I’ll be back soon.”
Joyce watched him walk down the hallway.
Willow shot to her feet, putting Giles’ departure and the previous page together. “I’m gonna go to the bathroom.”
Joyce shook her head disapprovingly. “Don’t be evasive Willow. You’re going to go check on Buffy. Remind her that the police are going to be here soon and like it or not, she’s going to do what has to be done.”
“Umm, yeah,” Willow agreed, and then hurried down the hallway herself.
>>>
Giles rushed down the stairwell toward the garage level, where the morgue was. He paused at the echoing patter of sneakered feet and glanced back at Willow hurrying to join him.
“Something must be terribly wrong for her to page us like that,” the red-haired computer geek commented nervously.
The bespectacled Watcher nodded.
They strode quickly down the hallway. Giles halted in front of the morgue doors, staring at the yellow ooze that stained the wall and was puddle on the floor. The puddle itself was smeared towards the doors, indicating that something had been dragged.
He pushed open the swinging doors of the morgue and stared at the chaos within.
Two gurneys were turned over at the back of the room and the floor around the gurneys was littered with naked human bodies. Amidst the surreal quality of that vision were the six gray-skinned demons alternately crushed, impaled and broken.
His Slayer sat in a rolling office chair, the only survivor of what had obviously been a gladiatorial event. A fine sheet of sweat covered her brow and she trembled slightly. “Guys,” she greeted in a strained tone. “They say that real friends help you move dead bodies. Help.”
Giles and Willow stepped fully into the room, allowing the doors to shut behind them.
“What happened?” he asked his shaking charge.
“Cadaver demons,” the she piped. “Sorry, Kada’ere.”
Giles’ brows shot up in bemusement. “And just what would you know of Kada’ere?”
“What are Kada’ere?” Willow asked. The tiny blond rolled her eyes. “Come on Giles. I was a Slayer for like a whole eight months before I got to Sunnydale. Seven of those months, my Watcher was dead and I had to look up stuff myself.”
“Kada’ere?” Willow repeated plaintively.
“Carrion eaters,” Giles explained succinctly.
“W – What are they doing here?” the young hacker asked.
Buffy wrinkled her nose. “Filling up their grocery carts.”
“Oh. Eww.”
Giles glanced around at the wreckage. “Well, let’s get this over with before somebody finds this mess. Humans to lockers, demons on gurneys.”
Willow and Giles stepped toward the mess, ready to begin the grisly task.
Buffy grimaced. “Well, that’s sorta the problem. I…can’t. I can’t stand. I’ve hurt my knee.”
The Watcher frowned and went to kneel in front of his young charge. He glanced at her for permission then ran his hands knowledgably over the joint. She whimpered very softly, clutching the arms of the chair. Giles sighed. “It’s dislocated.”
Willow stared at Buffy’s knee in horrified fascination. Buffy never got hurt; she was the Slayer. Sure she got sick, but she never got hurt.
Buffy swallowed. “Well, just pop it back in and we can get to work.”
The older man sat back on his heels and pinched the bridge of his nose thoughtfully. “It either needs to go back on its own when the swelling goes down or it could require surgery. It may in fact be an injury that would normally require surgery and your metabolism will need extra time to heal it.
“So, what do I do?”
“Stay off of it. We’ll ice it and hopefully your metabolism should at least let you walk before the end of the day. We’ll find you a wheelchair as soon as we,” he paused, examining Willow’s nauseous expression. “Willow why don’t you go find an unoccupied wheelchair while I take care of things in here. Some ice packs too, if you please.”
She nodded jerkily. “Right. That…that’ll fix you right up.”
Buffy and Giles watched the flustered redhead leave.
“Will it?” Buffy asked softly.
“Will it what?” Giles answered absently as he went to start returning the bodies back to the refrigerated drawers.
“Fix me right up? Is this,” she took in a jerky breath, “is this going to cripple me? You and I both know that the world can’t afford a crippled Slayer – especially now.”
Giles slung a blond woman on to a drawer tray. He pushed the tray into the wall and closed the door. Panting softly, he turned to look at his Slayer’s frightened green eyes. “Let’s not borrow trouble just yet. Normally your injuries heal quickly enough for you to keep mobile. That is not the case this time and I believe that that is exasperating your fears. But this is not the first time you’ve been hurt, is it?”
She thought back to previous broken bones, pulled tendons, dislocated fingers, burns, slashes, bruises, bites and lacerations. “No. It’s not the first time I’ve been hurt.”
“Well then. You’ll probably be fine by the end of the day. Let’s not worry about…about ugly contingencies unless we have to. Alright?”
“Okay.”
Satisfied with her answer, Giles turned back to his morbid task. Buffy watched guiltily as her Watcher lugged bodies from the floor, ferrying them to the refrigerated drawers.
Giles studied the bodies of the demons, proudly noting their injuries.
“Sorry I can’t help.”
“Hmm? Don’t worry about it Buffy. All-in-all, I’d say that you did the lion’s share of the work, so I’ll forgive you.” He slung one of the demon bodies onto a gurney he’d righted. He hesitated before picking up the next corpse and looked at the forlorn girl. “As for the rest,” he paused meaningfully, “that’s not really your fault.”
The tiny Slayer watched her Watcher sling another body to the gurney and whispered softly under her breath, “Except for Jenny.”
“Did you say something?” Giles asked as he examined one of the clawed fingers of the Kada’ere.
“No.”
“Buffy, there’s blood on this creature’s claws. Do you have any other injuries? Did you get bit?”
“No. I did not get bit. And as for the rest, it’s nothing that some band-aids can’t take care of. And lots of antiseptic,” she added with a shudder.
“Hmm. Quite. How’s the pain?”
She grimaced. “Terrible. But it’s much better when I don’t move.”
Giles smiled tenderly. “When you get home you should return to bed. You just got over the flu, defeated der Kinderstod, were – Angel – well…and now your knee. Normally that would be a very serious injury.”
“Lucky me, “ she sighed glumly. “I don’t know how I’m going to patrol tonight. I was so stupid. You never throw your weapons unless you can guarantee a killing blow, otherwise your enemies have your weapon.”
The librarian lifted the other gurney back to its wheels and set about loading the last three demon bodies. “Buffy, you are not to patrol tonight. You must stay off of that knee. And in your present condition, you’d be easy prey for any vampire that came across you.”
“I have to be out there,” she protested. “Angel’s more…violent when I’m not.”
Giles halted his grisly task and walked over to kneel in front of her. He caught her chin and forced her to meet his gaze. “Buffy, you don’t need to prove to me that you’re trying. I know you are. And I know precisely how difficult a Master Vampire can be to slay, especially one with whom you once had a personal relationship. The others have only really seen fledglings. They have no concept of just how difficult a Master can be and so they think that Angel should physically be no worse than any other vampire you’ve faced. We both know better. But you won’t completely recover from the flu or from this injury if you don’t take care of yourself. Now, with school, Angel, your other Slayer duties and whatever else Snyder has been tossing at you, just how many hours of sleep are you getting?”
“The later I’m out the safer – “
“How many?” Giles demanded sternly.
“Four hours,” she admitted grudgingly. “Sometimes I catch another in study hall…and sometimes a nap after school.”
The Watcher tenderly brushed his Slayer’s golden hair out of her eyes. “You must give yourself time to heal if you’re going to be a match for him. Especially after he’s…so, tonight, no patrol. I want you to take care of yourself. You are to rest, relax and stay off of that knee. That is an official order.”
She grinned wryly. “Yes, sir.”
“Now, let me finish this. I’m sure there’s a dumpster in the garage where I can unobtrusively dispose of these…things.”
>>>
Joyce yawned as she glanced irritably at her watch. She understood that her daughter was upset, but this was ridiculous. She looked helplessly at the handsome dark-skinned police officer sitting next to her. “I’m terribly sorry, Detective Morris. I’m sure you’re busy. I’ll just go get her.”
The young man smiled. “It’s no problem Mrs. Summers. It’s not easy for anyone to realize or accept that they’re involved in an abusive relationship.”
Joyce stood up and walked down the hallway toward the restrooms. As she neared the elevator, the doors opened, revealing Mr. Giles, Willow and her young daughter, sitting in a wheelchair with ice packed around her right leg and bloodstains on the front of her shirt.
“Buffy?” Joyce gasped. “What happened?”
Giles pushed the wheelchair out of the elevator car and Buffy winced as the wheels rattled over the door lip.
“Did – did Angel do this to you?” Joyce demanded in a strangled croak.
“No,” Buffy answered calmly. “I fell.”
“Oh, Buffy,” Joyce moaned, tears filling her eyes. “”Oh, god. How could he – “
“Mom. I really fell. I tripped going down the stairs. I hurt my knee and gave myself a bloody nose.”
The older woman sighed in broken relief. “Oh, thank god. I thought Angel had – well, never mind. The police are here. A Detective Morris needs to take your statement about Angel.”
Buffy grit her teeth, knowing that there was no way out of the upcoming hell. “Fine.”
>>>
Morning sunlight filled Xander’s room as Buffy watched over her injured friend. The solitude – other than the unconscious Xander was a blessed relief.
Her mother, after torturing her with an hour and a half interview with the good Detective Morris, had finally succumbed to exhaustion. She had gone home around eight o’clock, promising to return around noon to pick Buffy up.
Cordelia and Willow had departed together. The May queen had decided that she wanted real coffee and a croissant, while Willow had gone home to get her laptop and homework.
Giles, meanwhile, was sleeping the hallway. He didn’t want to leave until he was assured that Buffy had gotten home, especially since it was likely that he would have to help her in and out of the car, so that her mother wouldn’t realize just how bad the untreated injury was.
Buffy grimaced: her leg still hurt like hell. She couldn’t even get any drugs for the pain since if she called attention to herself, the doctors would want to examine her and then during the course of the day, realize just how quickly she healed.
Still, the leg was nothing to the nightmarish fiasco her mother had forced her through. Angel now had an all points bulletin out for him; he was wanted for felony assault and stalking.
The young blond groaned in disgust. An arrest warrant for a vampire. Damn Cordelia and her spiteful big mouth; now there was the possibility that some cop would attempt to make an arrest and Angel would rip out his throat.
“Buff…”
She looked up at Xander’s weak voice and rolled her wheelchair closer to the bed.
Xander frowned, his bruised and swollen face pulling strangely. “What happened to you?”
Buffy smiled. “Did you forget? Hospitals are dangerous places.” Her smile slipped away and she reached tentatively to touch his hand. Not wanting to jar his wrist, she settled for gently hooking her index finger around his. “How are you?”
The brown-eyed boy snorted and then grimaced at the pain that caused. “Not bad for somebody who was run over by an outraged – and did I mention jealous vampire? He’s worried I’m gonna make a play for you.”
The blond Slayer shook her head sadly. “Like that’s going to happen. You’re like my brother.”
Xander’s last lingering fantasies of Buffy ever loving him drifted away at her comment. “…Yeah. So, how come you never told me Dead Boy was jealous?”
“You’ve answered you own question.”
He blinked. “Huh?”
Buffy smiled bitterly, her green eyes sad and shiny with unshed tears. “Dead Boy. I think it came across to him like ‘chink’, ‘wet-back’, or maybe ‘nigger.’” She made a moue of disgust. “He flinched – ever-so-slightly every time you said it. I didn’t want to give you any more ammunition to hurt him.”
Xander scowled. “Well, incase you hadn’t noticed, Dead Boy is no longer batting for the home team. So, what are you going to do about it?”
“What I have to,” she answered simply.
“What’s the matter with you?” he demanded, outraged at her flat, almost impersonal tone.
“What’s the matter with me?” she repeated. “What’s the matter with you? You’re my friend! You’re supposed to be supportive. You’re supposed to be happy I’m happy. Glad I found someone I’m in love with. Supportive and comforting if it falls apart. Why is it the only words out of your mouth ever are ‘he’s evil’, ‘I told you so’, and ‘it’s all your fault.’ I never once said anything snide about Impata. I never said anything about your being with Cordelia either. But every word out of your mouth is hurtful!”
“Hel-lo,” Xander drawled, slurring between his swollen lips. “He’s a soulless demon.”
“He is now. He wasn’t then.”
“He was always a monster, Buff,” Xander snapped callously. “You just didn’t see.”
“No. You’re the one who didn’t see. You don’t get to choose who you fall in love with. That’s just the way it works. I love Angel. He was the kindest, gentlest, most thoughtful man I ever knew. I didn’t choose to love Angel, it just happened and I won’t let you make me ashamed that I did.”
Xander breathed heavily, grimacing at the pain in his chest. Here he was in a hospital bed and she was picking a fight over that monster? “Lose the ‘tude, Buff. He’s just a demon. He’s not worth fighting over.”
“He was. And don’t be so righteous on the monster remarks, Xander. Everybody’s got something ugly lurking in the black spaces in their hearts. Everyone has a beast that they hide from themselves and from others. With vampires, the soul is gone and the beast it loose with no inhibitions. Just because we have souls doesn’t mean that there isn’t a beast inside, Xander. In you. In me. Even in Willow. The potential is there. Even with souls we can be just as monstrous. You could be just as monstrous. Just because it’s hidden doesn’t mean that you don’t have a monster in you too.”
A long awkward silence stretched out between them.
Buffy rolled her wheelchair back toward the door. “Cordelia and Willow will be back later. I’m sorry you were hurt. But this whole situation doesn’t make me forget that you hurt me too. And we’re not okay. Just remember, we’re none of us innocent.”
Xander watched her leave and rolled his eyes. Self-righteous, little martyr. He was the one hurt. And she needed to accept facts regarding her bestial boyfriend.