Disclaimer: same as all the rest. Not mine.
Chapter 17
All the research was giving Buffy a headache. They’d been at it for over four hours now and it was way beyond boring. Willow actually likes this? The girl had practically cheered when Giles had announced a research party.
It was times like this when Buffy hated having a Watcher. Even Merrick never made her do this stuff. He always had everything worked out and ready for her. Maybe because he was so old, he like, knew everything. That line of reasoning didn’t really work though. Giles was old and he didn’t have the answers. Neither did Wesley.
Angel and the Angel’s team were leaving later on in the night. It was late afternoon Sunday and Buffy longingly thought of the sunshine pouring down outside. We could have had a picnic, she thought sullenly. Only Willow noticed the pout on the blonde Slayers face which annoyed Buffy. Why didn’t people pay attention to her?
She rolled her eyes. My God. I sound like a child, even in my own head. Giles put down a book while reaching for another one. The party was so not jamming’. She could think of a hundred thing more fun than this. Hitting my head with a hammer for one…
There was still no sign of Xander after the fight the night before. He hadn’t called Willow or answered any of her calls. Buffy hadn’t even tried to contact him. She knew he’d still be too upset to talk to her so why try? She still couldn’t understand why he went off the way he did. It completely baffled her. Was Willow right when she said it was because Xander has a crush on me?
Angel shifted into a more comfortable position, breaking into Buffy thoughts and she covertly watched him. After their talk last night, about Spike and Slayerfest, they’d decided to let Spike make the first move as they knew he would. That way, there was a better chance of, well, survival. Attacking first would only piss him off more and even though that was Buffy’s preferable option, she took Angel’s advice since he knew the bleached blonde better.
Tonight’s patrol would be done alone, Angel would already be on his way home, and she knew Spike would make some sort of forward movement or grand unveiling of his plan. As long as it didn’t result in any deaths, she couldn’t have cared less. Spike was so over as a threat. The Slayer was more worried about the other teams after her head. Who were they and how dangerous were they?
She began fidgeting as she thought. Her leg shook as she bounced it up and down and her nails tapped on the arm of the small sofa she was sitting on. Not even pretending to read, her gaze prowled the room, taking in everything and everyone. She needed something to do.
Giles sat in a no doubt old and antique armchair with one of the ugliest designs Buffy had ever seen. The pale green background and the small, bright blue flowers were an eyesore and didn’t fit with the rest of the room. Considering the mansion was furnished by Angel, she sort of knew his tastes and she’d bet anything that that armchair was Giles’. A family heirloom or something.
Gunn and Cordy were sitting with their backs against the fire, a fact that had surprised Buffy earlier. Gun wasn’t exactly with the Cordy fan club. If he’d been in Sunnydale High with Wills and Xand, he most likely would have been a part of the We Hate Cordelia club. Willow had told her all about it when she‘d first come to Sunnydale. Xander was the treasurer. And founder. The two looked pretty cosy, giving Buffy the impression that maybe the spoilt brunette had changed.
Wesley sat next to Fred in the second sofa, reading rapidly. Buffy could see both pairs of eyes trained of the books, flying back and forth. She wondered how they managed to take anything in. I wonder if they ever accidentally skip a line.
Angel and herself sat on the other sofa. Angel also had a large book open in his lap and was doggedly reading the contents. He had been on the same book for the last two hours. Although he wasn’t reading at the same pace as Wes and Fred, he seemed to be absorbing the words better. Buffy had no doubt in her mind that the vampire would be able to quote the book to her later.
Willow sat on the floor, legs crossed and a book was open on the floor in front of her. She was the one that fascinated the blonde Slayer the most. Why was someone so young, throwing her chance at life away to turn into a mini Giles? The horror, the horror! The melodrama was more like it.
Someone cleared their throat and Buffy glanced curiously up to see Giles glaring at her politely. She stared dumbly at him for a moment before she got it. Her hand movement stilled as did the leg bouncing and she instead attempted to concentrate on the book in front of her.
It was a pretty bad idea, she realised as the words flew around the page. Gotta have concentration. Something she was sorely lacking. I don’t research, a voice in her head whined. I kill things. I’m action-girl not sit-still-and-read-girl.
A few more minutes ticked by and Buffy couldn’t stand it anymore. The sun would be down in an hour. She’d just go out now and wait.
Everyone but Angel jumped as she suddenly came to her feet. He’d obviously been expecting her to break because he just grinned at her. Giles removed his glasses and sighed. Buffy assumed he was going to give some sort of lecture so she hightailed it out of there. ‘Going on patrol, bye,’ she called as she ran out the door.
She heard Giles’ muttered ‘Teenagers’ and Willow’s answering ‘Hey!’ before she escaped the building and emerged in the failing light. Freedom.
**************************
Sunnydale Rest Home. Land of the dead. Literally. It was the funeral parlour of Sunnydale. It got a lot of business.
Buffy almost always made a quick sweep before she went to the graveyards. If evil didn’t start there, it ended there. As she walked she found herself passing The Bronze. Since it was still early, she decided to go in and get a cup of coffee. Sunrise wasn’t for another half hour now so she had plenty of time.
The place was already packed- Post Fumigation Party, the banner read- and she had to struggle to get to the bar. After placing her order- mocha, extra foam- she turned and surveyed the room.
People were everywhere. It was hard to move, hard to think and hard to talk. Many of the patrons were college students. Some were carrying satchel’s filled to the brim with books, others wore glasses and carried a cup of coffee in their hands. A few had laptops computers open and were typing methodically. Homework at the bronze, Buffy thought with a disappointed sigh. Now, I’ve seen everything.
‘Bad day?’ a voice at her side asked and she turned to see the most stunning pair of green eyes.
‘It just got better,’ she answered with a smile before she remembered she had a boyfriend. Well, sort of. Angel still wasn’t classified as a boyfriend. She really wanted to call him that though.
‘Well, let’s see if we can’t make it even better,’ the guy grinned. Buffy felt herself responding even though her mind was screaming, Angel! He seemed to look right through her. Clichéd, I know. He lifted his glass of what looked like scotch and sipped it before resting it back on the bar. Buffy suddenly felt very thirsty.
She unconsciously sat at one of the barstools. Her eyes held the strangers and she felt she was drowning. She’d only met him a minute ago, the rational voice in her mind screamed. The other voice, the other much louder voice screamed in protest; a minute’s all it takes when it comes to love.
Again Angel’s image surfaced in her mind but this time it was almost immediately replaced by green eyes. She felt like she was falling and fast. Movement off to her side made her tear her gaze from the handsome stranger. The barman wanted her drink order. Didn’t she already order? It was hard to remember. The barman put a glass down and again she had to think hard to remember whether she ordered or not. Not, she knew this time. Someone must have ordered for her.
The drink looked pretty good and she was sure it would taste good too. Her mother’s voice echoed in her mind, warning her not to drink, warning her of drugs and alcohol but once again it was overshadowed. This time by the strangers voice.
Yet another protest came unbidden from her mind, reminding her about patrol but she brushed it away herself this time, feeling bolder as she stared into those amazing green eyes. How often did she get to have fun? How often did she get to relax, be a normal teenager? Never, her mind answered. Drink.
She reached for the glass and took a sip. It was strong. Much stronger than she ever would have had it. Yes, but it’s still very good. She knew she shouldn’t be drinking it. She was only nineteen but she couldn’t seem to stop. Her cousin, Justin, always told her to follow the little voices in her head. He said they were the voice of reason. She shrugged and downed the rest of the glass.
Her mind immediately felt fuzzy. She shook it, trying to clear it but her head began hurt instead. Maybe it was the stress she’d been under lately. It couldn’t have been the drink. She’d only had one. Then why, her confused mind tried to reason with her, is there so many empty glasses in front of you? Buffy squinted at the bar and saw that her mind was right. There were at least four glasses sitting there, all empty and she had a half full one cradled in her hand.
What, she thought sluggishly before her hand slipped off the bar. Her hand landed in her lap but her legs didn’t feel wet. She hazily tried to concentrate on her legs, where the glass should have dropped but it was dry. Her eyes slowly lifted to the bar where the glass was sitting innocently, somehow full again. What the, she peered at the glass dumbly. I don’t remember getting a new one. Or drinking the old one for that matter. Or all the others. Something was terribly wrong but her mind was too far gone to recognise the threat.
The bar seemed to tip sideways and it took Buffy a few seconds to realise it was because she was falling off her chair. She landed on the floor with a loud thump, not feeling the pain that should have shot through her side from the impact. Brown leather shoes- huh, Giles has those shoes- appeared in her vision as she lay on the ground. She felt herself being lifted into the air and heard the heavenly voice of the stranger telling the bartender he’d get her home safely. It didn’t even occur to her to worry. Her eyes closed as her mind surrendered to the inky blackness of unconsciousness.
*********************************************
Angel was worried. He’d gone looking for Buffy as soon as the sun had set, to say goodbye and give her a present but he’d found no sign of her. She seemed to have disappeared. He’d only found faint traces of her at the rest home but that was it.
He passed The Bronze and stopped. He wouldn’t be surprised if she stopped in for a coffee. She’d done it a few times before going on patrol. He headed towards the front door. If she wasn’t in there, she probably wouldn’t be long gone so he’d find her easily.
He knew he was getting in deep with Buffy, too deep but he couldn’t seem to stop. She was like a drug and after one meeting he was an addict. Every meeting, every moment with her, had only made the addiction more intense. He couldn’t live without seeing her, hearing her voice, touching her skin and frankly, he didn’t want to. The withdrawal would be too great.
The Bronze was packed and the vampire had to squeeze his way through the crowd to get to the bar where he thought Buffy would be. When he finally reached the bar he thought he caught sight of blonde hair but when he looked back it was gone. Scanning the bar again, he noticed the clump of glasses sitting on the bar. He shook his head. Sometimes people go overboard. He shouldn’t really talk; backing the old days he was in the stocks daily for public drunkenness.
Something about the glasses called to him as he turned around and he turned back to stare at them oddly. Something about them was calling to him. He pushed his way over to the spot where the glasses sat. Instantly, he was surrounded by Buffy. Her scent clung to this place and it took him only a moment to realise why the vanilla cloud still hung there. She had been there only moment ago.
He’d seen the blonde out of the corner of his eye but he hadn’t believed his sight. He should have known better. He picked up a glass and sniffed it. It rank of alcohol and only the smallest amount of coke. Someone had been trying to get her drunk. They’d probably succeeded.
He dropped the glass, ignoring the crash he left behind him and ran for the exit. People kept getting in his way and eventually he just pushed them, desperate to get out. He emerged from the club and wildly investigated the street but there was no sign of her.
He searched the immediate area looking for any clue that would lead him to Buffy, any sign, anything, but the area was clean. He threw a crate against the wall of the alley in frustration. He should have been quicker. If he had been, Buffy would still be here. He had to find her. Giles, he had to get to Giles. He’d know what to do.
The irony of a two hundred and fifty-four year old vampire asking a fifty year old Watcher for help was not lost on him but he didn’t care. He’d do anything to save Buffy, they all would and he’d kill whoever got in the way.
He sprinted towards the mansion, running faster than he ever had before. Buffy.
*******************************
Buffy shifted and felt a stab of pain cut through her head. She screwed her face up, trying to soothe the ache but it wouldn’t go away, instead it turned into a steady thud. It felt like someone was chipping away at her head with a chisel.
She lifted a hand to her head to push away the stray hair but before she could she met resistance. Wiggling a little, she felt what she was afraid to confirm; her hands were tied behind her back. She opened her eyes to darkness. Not a single beam of light entered the dark space. Her eyes ached even more as they struggled to adjust to the darkness; there was nothing for them to adjust to.
She turned slightly and rested her head against the cold concrete floor. She couldn’t remember anything. Well, no, that wasn’t true. She remembered green eyes and thoughts of betraying Angel. Oh God, I didn’t. Please, tell me I didn’t.
A tear seeped out from the corner of her eye and hit the cold floor as the door creaked open. ‘Slayer,’ a dark shape filled the doorway.
Shit.
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