Powerhunger--rewrite: Chapter Three
by slayerfest
She heard the strangest noise. It was a fluttering of some kind; as though tin foil was being shaken but not quite as loud. She decided that either a large bird was fluttering above her head, or today’s paper was being examined thoroughly by the wind.

Suddenly, it hit her that she was no longer face down in the mud. She was face-up, in fact, and lying on something comfortable. She felt a strange tugging at her neck and lifted a hand to it. Or, tried. Her hand stayed by her side.

Buffy tried to open her eyes, but found it incredibly difficult. At last, she managed to lift her eyelids a fraction of an inch. More black greeted her, however. After a moment, she realized that this black had a fabric-like pattern to it. She tried to lift her head to get a better look.

Sharp pain shot through her neck and wavered through the rest of her body. She inhaled sharply and decided that maybe lying still would be the best course of action.

***

Angel turned his head so rapidly that Xander wasn’t able to catch the majority of the motion. The vampire frowned at his lover and got up slowly. “Buffy?” he asked under his breath. Angel carefully took Buffy’s hand and began to whisper to her.

Xander frowned and leaned toward Willow. “What do you suppose Undeaddy Freddy’s doing?” he muttered so Angel couldn’t hear. “I doubt she’s going to be much help to us right now, what with her being unconscious and all.”

“She stirred,” Angel said annoyedly, turning to Xander. “And don’t call me that.”

Xander frowned at himself, annoyed that he forgot that vampires could hear extra-special well. Giles and Willow both resisted smiles at Xander’s slight mortification and instead settled for hopefulness as they joined Angel at Buffy’s side. Giles crouched by Buffy’s neck and inspected the wound. “Hm,” he commented.

“‘Hm’?” asked Xander, joining the others. “What’s ‘hm’ mean?”

“It means that she’s not healing as well as she should be. Under the circumstances, she is doing remarkably well, but she must have enough blood if her pulse is that strong. This gauze should hardly have anything on it, but it’s almost bled through. It seems to be slowing now, however.” The Watcher frowned. “Buffy? Are you awake? Can you hear me?” he asked delicately. After receiving no response after a few seconds, he pursed his lips worriedly and stood, returning to the table. He noticed that Oz hadn’t moved; he was just sitting, staring at a fixed area on the carpet, apparently completely engrossed in his own thoughts and paying no attention to what was happening in the room. Xander glanced at Angel, annoyed for getting everyone’s hopes up, and went back to his books. Willow gave Angel a small smile and likewise returned to the study station.

But Angel remained where he was, determined he’d heard something from the Slayer. There was something different about the way she just… was, too. Like a shift in demeanor. He watched her for another few seconds before giving her hand a soft squeeze and getting up.

She squeezed back. It was slight, but it was there.

He sat back down and inched as close as he dared. He brought her hand to his lips and began speaking to her as quietly as possible.

Xander glanced back over and noticed Angel’s lips moving without making a sound. He sighed in exasperation. “Look, Angel. I get that you’re worried about Buffy. We all are. But we’ll all feel better once we figure out what did this to her so we can help her get better. So if you could, you know, help us out here, we’d really appreciate it.” He smiled sarcastically at the vampire and returned to his book.

Angel glared at the teenager and bit back the retort that immediately came to mind. He said a few more words to Buffy, kissed her forehead, and returned to the table unwillingly. This time he, too, noticed that Oz was doing a great amount of nothing but staring. After thinking about it for a moment, he realized that Oz had just been staring at that same area of carpet since they’d arrived. He frowned. “Willow,” he said softly. She looked up from her book and noticed Angel glancing pointedly at Oz. She got the hint and looked over at him, finally noticing the blank expression on his face.

She covered his hand with hers. “You okay in there?” Willow asked quietly.

Oz blinked hard and looked at Willow as though dazed. Then he smiled and took her hand, squeezing it lightly. “Yeah. Heavy thoughts.”

“What about?” she asked, concerned.

Oz opened his mouth to explain, frowned, and shook his head. Then after a moment he tried again. “It’s just… I smelled something on the walk over. I don’t know what it was, but I’m certain I don’t like it.” He shook his head once, rubbed his eyes with his free hand and added without conviction, “but I’m sure it’s nothing.”

Giles had been listening to Oz intently. “Can you describe the smell?” he asked cautiously. His brain was already in the process of making some obscure connection.

Oz shook his head lightly. “I’m not sure I can. That’s why it’s bothering me so much. I’ve never smelled anything like that before. It was… rank, but sort of background noise. Like you wouldn’t notice it unless you were looking for it.”

Xander looked up from his book. “But you weren’t looking for it. Or you were, and there’s just something you’re not telling us.”

“Werewolf ability,” Oz provided lightly. Xander was again annoyed with himself at the lack of memory that his friends (or, in Angel’s case, co-workers) had these abilities that he didn’t.

“You’re sure there’s nothing else you can provide to us?” Giles asked slowly.

Oz shrugged. “It was sort of metallic, I guess. Like what you’d taste if your tongue had been stuck to a rail for three hours. Other than that, I can’t really… what?”

A faraway look presented itself in Giles’ eyes. Oz recognized that look as one of dim recognition. Giles was now completely certain he’d read this somewhere extremely recently, but the piles were wearing down; only one book remained unconquered. Nowhere in any of the books was there so much as a mention of a demon with blurred or melted features. Nothing matched that description.

But it seemed so familiar.

Giles glanced over at Buffy and was suddenly hit with the realization that it had been nearly six hours and she was still unconscious. Even attributing the blood loss to the situation, there was no reason for which she shouldn’t have woken up by now, especially with the strong pulse she had.

The Watcher rubbed his eyes. None of this made any sense. But my, did he ever wish it would.


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