Buffy opened her eyes. She blinked sleepily, hazily staring up at the unfamiliar ceiling. Confused she tried to rise, and her vision immediately blurred as pain tore through her body to come to rest mostly in her head. She slumped back weakly and waited for the throbbing agony to recede to the point she could again attempt coherent thought.
Cautiously, the effort still sending warning stabs through her skull, Buffy turned her head, trying to discover where she was. She was in a bed, that much was clear. The room was dimly lit and it was hard to make out details, but somehow it was vaguely familiar.
Finally, her pain addled mind alighted on the terrible truth.
She was in Giles' room. She was in Giles' bed!
Heedless of the pain, she tried to free herself from the blankets that held her down as firmly as chains normally would. Alarmed more by her weakness than by the pain, she struggled further. Involuntarily, the let out a cry of agony and frustration. The effort of pulling the covers back almost drove her back to unconsciousness. Finally however, she looked down at her battered body.
Bandages covered most of her stomach and chest, and her forearms. Dark red stains were spreading in spots where her efforts had reopened her injuries.
The door opened, and for a moment Buffy was blinded, able only to see a stocky figure silhouetted against the doorway.
She shied away involuntarily, but a moment later the figure was across the room and knelt down clasping her hand in his own.
“Try to calm down. You'll hurt yourself.” the gentle familiar voice eased her panic enough that she allowed herself to lay back.
“Xander?” she whispered falteringly.
His eyes widened with surprise and relief. “Hey Buf.” he smiled, “Nice to have you back.”
She swallowed, trying to hold back the nausea and pain that still assailed her. “What - ”
“You were attacked.” Xander answered the unspoken question. “We don't know what by yet, but the gang are working on it.”
She rifled vaguely through her memories, and found not so much a gap as a chasm. “When?” she managed.
“Eight days ago.” Xander qualified, “You've been unconsciousness ever since.” he spoke calmly, but his eyes betrayed his emotion and relief.
“Eight days?” the idea seemed unfathomable, and her mind quickly rejected it. “Why - ”
Again Xander responded almost before the question had began to form. “You were banged up pretty bad, Buf.” she focused on his face, and could see the pain and weariness there,” But you're awake now, you'll be up and slaying with the best of them in no time.” his voice has bright, even jovial, and he smiled as he met her gaze. But to Buffy, Xanders face was an open book – possibly a book with big letters and bright pictures. He was holding something back, and was still very much afraid.
Buffys mind spun with the effort of clear thought in her still exhausted state.
Eight days?
Always before her accelerated healing had taken care of most injuries virtually overnight, and even the most severe wound should be well on the way to healing after such an extended period. Then her thoughts scattered instantaneously as something else occurred to her.
“Xander, where's Riley?” she asked urgently.
She could see Xander pause uncertainly, although he must have known she would ask that question. Eventually, he replied. “I'm sorry Buffy. We haven't heard from him since before you were injured. Maybe he's just laying low. Maybe...”
He didn't think the sentence, but unbidden his words were finished in her own mind. Maybe the initiative have him. Maybe he's dead.
The last time she had seen him had been just after Maggie Walsh had tried to have her killed. He'd seemed... different. He told her he had witnessed what happened, but he'd been adamant - desperate to find some other explanation. As if those events could possibly be open to interpretation. She'd seen the wild look in his eyes, the look that said that the world had turned upside down without him and he didn't know where he was anymore.
She'd tried to help him. Tried to tell him that wherever he ended up, she'd be right there beside him. She wasn't sure he heard a word. He'd flinched away from her, he'd tried to hide it but she could see the accusation in his eyes. This is your fault, he seemed to say.
He'd left her, gone back to the initiative. To find answers, he'd said. She'd made him promise. To be careful. To not trust them, they were not who he thought any more. He'd nodded and agreed, and looked as if he'd be more likely to believe her if she'd told him a pink elephant was crawling out of his nose.
They'd kissed and embraced after a fashion, then he'd said goodbye – and all she could think was how lost and broken he looked.
“Buffy,” Xanders voice broke through and dissipated her memories. “You need to rest.”
“No, I have to find him.” Buffy said as forcefully as she could manage. She tried again to raise and felt the raw agony spark back to life from the throbbing embers. Xander pushed her back gently as easily as he would have restrained a child.
“You need to rest.”
Buffy fell back frustrated, helpless tears filling her eyes.
“Its ok Buffy. You're going to be ok.” Xander murmured assurances, his voice betraying him, filled with helpless worry.
Suddenly, she felt exhausted, and involuntarily her eyes fell shut heavily. She could feel Xanders gaze on her for a long moment, then he turned and walked quietly from the room.
“Xander?” her sleep slurred voice stopped him, but he didn't turn.
“Yes?” he said consciously keeping his voice even.
Buffy whispered in a voice trembling with scarcely controlled uncertainty and pain, “What's wrong with me?”
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