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buffyfic-digest       Wednesday, August 12 1998       Volume 02 : Number 296



In this issue:

       BUFFYFIC: "Faith" -- "Part One: If Not For Misery" (1a/9)
       BUFFYFIC: "Faith" -- "Part One: If Not For Misery" (1b/9)

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Date: Wed, 12 Aug 1998 02:13:03 EDT
From: <[e-mail]>
Subject: BUFFYFIC: "Faith" -- "Part One: If Not For Misery" (1a/9)

Feedback: YES! I've spent two months on this story, and I'd really, really
like to know what people think of it.
Vampyric Lore Disclaimers: "Wyrm" and "Garou" are both terms from the White
Wolf Roleplaying universe. The rest of the Buff-stuff belongs to the Great God
Joss, and anything that you don't recognize outside of that is mine.
Lyric Disclaimers: "If Not For Misery" is copyright The Rembrandts, off their
first CD. "Happy New Year" is copyright Semisonic, off "Feeling Strangely
Fine". "The Path Of Thorns", "Elsewhere", "Fear", and "Circles" are copyright
Sarah McLachlan. "The Dreaming Tree" is Dave Matthew's Band's. "Firecracker"
and "How" belong to
Lisa Loeb. And finally, "Ode To Family" belongs to the Cranberries. Even
though they'll likely never see this story, I'd like to thank each of these
artists for their amazing, inspiring songs.
Thank Yous: To Sarah and Nastassia, for beta-reading. Also, to Jen for beta-
reading and for crying at this one. And to Alex, for the title.
Distribution: Not without my permission, please.
Timeline: Begins a few days before New Year's Eve, 1998 -- the fall after the
events of "Becoming, II"

~

                              "Faith"

                  "Part One: If Not For Misery"
                         By Rachel Brody

             //So hard we try to make it like before
         Beyond these walls there must be something more
        Where love won't die, it's time to say good-bye.
     We need to let it go, it's not the love we used to know
                    Oh listen, can't you see?
       If not for misery, we'd have nothing left at all.//
              -The Rembrandts, "If Not For Misery"

     "Will?"
     Willow glanced up from her desk, toward the window-- and saw
Angel there. She offered a weak smile. "Hey," she said quietly.
     The smile Angel returned was even weaker, and Willow felt her
heart sink. "Didn't go too well, did it," she said. It wasn't a
question.
     Nonetheless, Angel shook his head. "Not...no." He swallowed.
     Standing, Willow moved to the window, her steps soft on the
carpet. She sat on the bed, looking toward the vampire, wondering
at all that had passed since last spring. After Whistler had gotten
Angel out of Hell, the vampire had brought Buffy home, and they had
all assumed everything would be as it had been. Before.
     They'd been wrong.
     Scared and scarred, Buffy had refused every attempt any of
them had made at contact. Angel had gone to her, tonight, at
Willow's urging...Willow had hoped he would have been able to talk
sense into Buffy before she and Giles left Sunnydale to pursue what
Buffy called "a more traditional Slayer lifestyle, you know?"
     From the red stains that laced Angel's cheeks, starting at his
eyes and running over his pale skin in a downward direction, Willow
could see things hadn't gone as she had hoped at all.
     "What happened?" she asked, though she wasn't entirely sure
she even wanted to know.
     Angel shook his head, and when he spoke, his voice shook. "I
hurt her too badly," he said quietly.
     "Oh, no," Willow told him quickly, shaking her head and
reaching out for his hand. "Angel, you didn't, I mean, we all knew
it, it wasn't you, because you'd never hurt her--"
     "Willow," Angel stammered, turning his mournful gaze upon her
once more. "Stop. Please."
     She fell silent, then sighed as her gaze moved to the floor.
     "It was my fault. All of it," Angel said. "From the moment I
asked Darla to show me her world...all of it's been my fault."
     Willow swallowed, then looked at him and shook her head. "It's
not," she said quietly. When it looked as though he might interrupt
her, Willow pressed on. "Angel, you were one of her closest
friends, she can't just push you _away_ like that, you know. She
cares about you too much."
     "She _doesn't_!" Angel burst out, his voice coming sudden and
almost harshly. Willow pulled away, and her quick motion caught his
attention. He sighed. "Sorry," he said. "But Willow..." He shook
his head. "You shouldn't have brought me back," he said.
     Confused, Willow shook her head. "But Whistler's the one--"
     "Before that," he interrupted. "You should have let her kill
me." He sighed, looking at his hands, then running one nervously
through his hair. "She would have killed me and it all woulda been
okay, then."
     Willow bit her lip, watching him. Wondering. She'd been so
hopeful, at first, that everything would be okay between Angel and
Buffy, because she had tried so _hard_ to help them be together,
because they were so _perfect_ with one another...she could
remember all the nights she and Buffy had stayed up on the phone,
back before Angel and Buffy had gotten together, when Buffy would
just go on and on for hours on end, talking about him. And of
course, every time Willow stopped to say that maybe Buffy liked
him, the Slayer would deny it with a giggling sort of vehemence
that put them both into stitches. Later, Willow had stood by and
been there while Buffy told her all about the relationship, all
about what was going on. Buffy had done the same for Willow when Oz
came around. Even though by that point, the she was being forced to
deal with the sudden death of her own relationship.
     Now...Willow had thought that by bringing Angel back, she
would be able to make Buffy happy. She'd seen her friend dying,
being killed by inches, and thought that if she could restore Angel
it might make some sort of difference.
     It had, just not the sort she had wanted it to make.
     She sighed, and looked at Angel, her voice suddenly far more
quiet than it had been before. "I'm sorry," she said. "I just
thought it would help."
     Angel looked up at her, confusion on his face for a few
seconds before he shook his head. "No!" he said. "Willow, I didn't
mean I'm blaming you or anything. Don't think that, okay?" And the
feelings behind the words were genuine.
     Taking them at face value, Willow nodded. "'Kay," she said. A
few seconds later, she sighed. "But...you couldn't talk her into
staying?"
     Angel shook his head. "She told me she didn't want to see me.
Ever again."
     Willow swallowed. That _was_ worse than she had expected.
"What about Giles?" she asked.
     "His first responsibility is to her welfare," Angel sighed.
"And even if he wants her to stay here, at this point in time he's
probably right...getting away from me is best for her."
     "Her mom?"
     Angel gave her an almost rueful look. "She hasn't talked to
her mom since she got back," he reminded her.
     Willow nodded, she knew that. It was just that she had
thought, maybe something might have changed since the last time she
had seen the Slayer. Maybe Buffy's mom would be willing to have a
mind that was a little more open, maybe the Slayer herself would be
willing to give Mrs. Summers a little more time to assimilate what
was going on. But they both had blind expectations of each other,
ones that far outstretched what either was capable of in the
immediate future. Which left Buffy staying at Giles' apartment
while he quit his job as Sunnydale High's librarian to stay there
and train her.
     Realizing that the silence in the room was growing more and
more prominent as the seconds passed, Willow glanced up from the
floor and looked back to Angel.
     Or at least, where he had been sitting. Like he had done so
many times before, the vampire had simply vanished into the
darkness outside.
     Willow sighed, glancing back toward her desk. She couldn't go
out this late at night, her mother would kill her. She had tried
sneaking out last night and gotten caught. If Giles and Buffy were
packing, they wouldn't answer the phone. But...she needed to talk
to them.
     Standing, Willow crossed the room to her telephone, then she
lifted the receiver off the hook and dialed the first number she
had ever memorized after her own. The phone rang four times, and
then he picked up.
     "Hello?"
     "Xander?" Willow said, her voice shaking a little, "we need to
talk."
     "Sure, Will, shoot."
     "Angel was just here."
     There was momentary silence on the other end, no doubt Xander
was trying to keep himself from saying anything more until he knew
exact circumstances.
     Willow pressed on. "He says Buffy and Giles are leaving."
     Another silence, but this one broke far faster than the last.
"How's he know?"
     "He went to try and patch things up," Willow replied.
     On the other end of the line, Xander sounded uneasy. "You want
to go check things out?" he asked.
     Willow nodded, though she knew he couldn't see the gesture.
"Yeah," she said. "If you can."
     "Sure. Cordie's here. She can give us a lift."
     Willow nodded, and they quickly exchanged good-byes before she
hung up and moved to tell her parents she had forgotten, but Xander
had wanted her to come over and tutor him for tomorrow's exam
in...her thoughts raced as she tried to come up with a good
class...the pre-calc exam. She sighed. Like her parents would
accept that Xander, having fulfilled the math requirements he
needed for a diploma, would subject himself to pre-calculus.
     Maybe, she thought to herself, they would just accept it this
time. She hoped.
                                *
     "Buffy," Giles sighed, watching as his charge piled jeans and
t-shirts into a suitcase, "don't you think this course of action
may be a bit rash?"
     The Slayer shook her head, pushing the top of the suitcase
down and effortlessly pulling the zipper so it closed. "No," she
said. "I've been here three months. What better place to start a
new year than _somewhere else_?"
     Giles sighed again and moved to assist her with the suitcases,
only to have her lift them effortlessly in a gesture that clearly
told him just how obsolete his chivalry was when he was dealing
with a child of the 90s. "Perhaps," he acquiesced, "and yet Angel
did seem quite sincere, and I know--"
     "Don't say that," Buffy said sharply, coming back up the
stairs and moving back into the room he had given her when she had
realized she wasn't going to be able to fit back into the mold her
mother had created for her daughter's return.
     Giles' brow knit in confusion. "What?" he asked.
     "His name," Buffy replied. "Don't say it."
     Giles sighed, nodded. "Very well," he said. "But you realize
that you're simply running away again."
     "So stop me," she said, her eyes flashing angrily at him.
"Make me stay."
     "Buffy, that's not at all the point--"
     "Then what's the point?" she asked, her voice oddly calm. She
shook her head when Giles didn't answer, and looked around the
room. "This...Sunnydale's a place I don't wanna be right now. Or
ever, if that can be swung. It's nicer out in the woods. And you've
always told me I needed to concentrate more on my duties as a
Slayer, right? So where's your complaint here? I'm gonna work and
I'm gonna be the best. End of problems."
     "It's not quite that simple," Giles said. "You've been
debating this for several weeks now, you know I'll back you
whatever your final decision, and yet--"
     "Pass me that outfit over there, would you?"
     Giles passed the tank top and cutoff jeans before continuing.
"--and yet it's quite clear that the event that cemented this plan
of action, for you, was the fact that An-- that he came to speak
with you tonight."
     Buffy scoffed, turning back to him. "You think he's got that
kind of effect on me anymore?" She shook her head, her voice
falling slightly. "I'm numb to him, Giles. Him and everything he
does." She swallowed, suddenly looking like the same vulnerable,
scared girl-child she had been when Angel had first brought her
back from her five months of self-imposed exile from Sunnydale.
"It's a dam I'm not gonna open up again. Feeling anything. About
him."
     Giles sighed, moving toward her with a sigh, giving her a
slight hug before taking a step back. "Buffy," he said, lifting her
chin slightly so she was meeting his eyes instead of looking at the
floor. "I realize this is painful. But I don't want you to make any
decisions you're going to regret later on."
     She rolled her eyes. "Oh, please," she said. "What is there to
regret? Education? No, since I got expelled. Friends? No, I keep
getting them in trouble. A life? I think we scratched that one off
the boards _way_ back there." She straightened slightly, her
posture improving as her eyes took on an air of defiance. "This is
what's best for me," she said.
     "For now."
     "For now," she agreed.
     "And if, at any point in the future--"
     "--if I get prepared to let things get complicated again,
yeah, we can come back. But I don't think that's gonna happen and
I know it's not that kind of time, now."
     Giles looked at his Slayer, wanting for all the world to say
something that would make her understand that running away was the
furthest from the best thing for her to be doing right now. But he
had tried every strategy he knew of, short of going to Willow and
Xander himself and having them come to say something to her. That
would have been far too much a betrayal of trust, and trust was
something Buffy had a hard time giving these days. He wasn't
willing to risk losing it over something that could easily hurt
more than it would help.
     As Buffy picked up the final suitcase, then left the room,
Giles turned back to look at it. Bare, empty, it reflected nothing
of the personality of the person who had just finished cleaning it
out, which would have made him feel nostalgic if not for the fact
that Buffy had never put up posters or pictures anyway. The room
had been bare since she had moved into it, and in the past three
months she had shown no indication of wanting to change that.
     As he left the room, following her, Giles refused to let
himself notice the lack of decoration about the place. Boxes filled
with his books, his weapons, his furniture, and everything else
that had once made this apartment feel anything close to a home
lined the walls of the front hall, waiting for the movers who would
come and take them the next day.
     Buffy was right, in some ways. Living in the cabin the Network
had secured for them would certainly give her more time to perfect
her methods. It would allow him the luxury of having her attention
twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, and for once he felt no
tredeptation regarding whether or not she would be capable of
putting forth the required concentration for her studies as the
Slayer.
     The problem, Giles thought silently as he pulled the door of
his apartment closed, locked it, and turned to go to the street
where Buffy was already waiting in the car, was that he wasn't sure
if her newfound myopia was a good sign, or quite the opposite.

~
(More to come)
~
Comments to [e-mail], please.

------------------------------

Date: Wed, 12 Aug 1998 02:13:13 EDT
From: <[e-mail]>
Subject: BUFFYFIC: "Faith" -- "Part One: If Not For Misery" (1b/9)

See part 1 for disclaimers and notes.

~

     Cordelia's car had barely pulled up in front of Giles'
apartment building when Willow pushed the door open and ran toward
the door. Xander arrived behind her a split second later, and once
she had parked, Cordelia was close behind.
     "Are they in there?" she asked.
     Willow turned back, shook her head. "The lights are out."
     Xander rattled the doorknob. They couldn't be gone, couldn't
be. He and Cordelia could have moved faster, they could have found
some way to get here sooner, and if they had, maybe they'd have
still been here-- and yet, if he let himself think that way, he
would become too weighed down by guilt to function as the situation
required.
     So instead, he fought down the guilt and turned to Willow.
"Did Angel say where they were going?" he asked.
     Willow shook her head. "Some cabin," she replied.
     "Well, what are we, you know, waiting for...right?"
     Xander and Willow turned toward the third, and Xander felt a
flush of pride in Cordelia's suggestion. Damn, but she had come
far. Unfortunately... "We don't know where the cabin is."
     Cordelia's cheeks turned bright red, matching her lipstick.
Which had almost completely worn off. Xander grinned inwardly for
a moment, before shoving his thoughts back into line. He had no
business thinking about _that_ while Buffy and Giles were splitting
town.
     "Angel might know," Willow piped up.
     "Yeah, but what makes you think Dead Boy would help us?"
Xander asked. When Willow gave him a hurt look, he sighed.
     "He might tell me," Willow replied.
     "He might. If you could find him. Which, unless he wants you
to, you won't." Xander felt an inward wince at his tone, but knew
there wasn't a hell of a lot he could do to stop it. He couldn't
help his feelings toward Angel, nor could he help that knowing
Angel might be able to help when he couldn't made him feel...well,
jealous. Slightly.
     "Maybe the Bronze?" Cordelia asked.
     Willow shook her head. "He's been avoiding it," she said. "Too
many memories, he says."
     "And yet he wants to pick things up with Buffy. Not too many
memories there, huh?" Xander swallowed at the look Willow gave him,
one that clearly said if he didn't cut the attitude, she would
cause him bodily harm. "Actually, maybe I'll shut up now."
     Willow looked back at Cordelia. "We could try it anyway," she
said.
     With a nod from Cordie, the three were moving back to the car,
which soon pulled away from the curb once more.
                                *
     Tracking wasn't a skill Angel had practiced in a while. Not as
himself, he thought as a memory of stalking Buffy through someone
else's eyes snapped into his head. He shook the memory away, not
wanting any part of the demon who had caused both him and those
around him so much pain. Luckily, with his extrasensory abilities,
Angel found it was like riding a bike-- he had done it before, and
it was easy enough to pick up again now. And it wasn't as though he
could ever forget Buffy's scent, or the way his intuition had
kicked him in the gut every time he'd ever been near her.
     Tracking someone while riding a motorcycle, now that was new.
The fundamentals were the same, but he had to react so much faster
than he was used to, and being a vampire that meant split second
and then some.
     The two-lane highway Buffy and Giles had used to get out of
town was easy enough to ride along, in a silence that was absolute,
except for the roar of his bike. It was mid-winter, the nights were
long, and he had at least six hours before the sun would come up.
Angel was praying like he hadn't done since he was human that he
would find them before the sun rose, because there was nowhere to
hide out here and he wasn't sure if he'd be able to pick up a day-
old trail even if he did somehow manage to survive the sunlight.
     The biggest problem, Angel soon found, was that the memories
were threatening to wear him down the same way the rest of his life
had been trying to do for over two hundred fifty years. Every
breath he took, something reminded him of Buffy in the worst of
ways. Even the bike. Remembering the first time she'd seen his
Harley, her reaction, the joking tone in which she'd said
motorcycles were a definite turn-on...it had been ages before they
had done anything to pursue the "on", and yet still, remembering
the wicked, playful look in her eyes, Angel couldn't help but
wonder why he had wasted the time in getting to the point of
things.
     But then again, he'd wasted so much time over the span of his
life, he supposed a few months, even a few years or decades,
shouldn't make any sort of difference. But...there _was_ a
difference in Buffy's case. Because she was the Slayer. Forbidden
love was always the most fulfilling, or so Angel had thought. Now
it was more a matter of keeping himself from dwelling on what would
happen when, inevitably, Buffy began to grew old. If she grew old.
Or, more inevitably, when she died.
     He shivered at that thought, the motion jostling the bike a
little. Angel shifted his weight to keep control of it, ignoring
the wind in his face in favor of the thoughts in his mind.
     She would grow old, or die, or both, and sooner or later he
would be without her. He couldn't make her a vampire, she would
never let him. He didn't want her as a vampire, either. He wanted
her. Buffy. As his. Or better, as a part of him.
     Fat chance, he thought ruefully, after everything Angelus had
done to her.
     The road curved, and Angel took it tight, feeling the cycle's
wheels skidding under him, threatening to throw the bike out of
control. He found, oddly enough, that he hardly cared. So what if
he went over the edge of the road, into the woods? Who would be
around to care? Not Buffy, she had made that abundantly clear. He
snorted to himself, disgusted with the way things had turned around
on him. When Whistler had told him he could leave Hell, Angel's
first reaction had been to say he didn't deserve to leave, he
deserved to rot. Whistler, of course, hadn't seen it that way...no,
he had told Angel that there were people back on Earth who needed
him and to get his ass off the lava and back into the real world.
Things had been fine-- at first. Then they had rapidly soured as
everyone involved realized they were trying to hard to make
everything go back to how it had been before.
     Fights. Screaming. Threats. "If you hadn't"'s. "If I had--"'s.
Accusations, skeletons coming out of closets people hadn't even
realized existed. And always, he and Buffy were on different sides.
When Xander accused him of being a soulless, selfish bastard, Buffy
had agreed that _Angelus_ had hurt them all. When Willow had found
out Buffy was trying to leave, Cordelia had been backed up by
Xander when she said maybe Buffy needed a little break-- and then
the three of them and Angel had found themselves trying to pound
that through the head of a Slayer too distraught to listen. None of
them could seem to get through to Giles, these days. Angel
shuddered. Giles, at least, tolerated him. God knew how, because
Angel had probably caused him the most pain of all of them, except
for Buffy herself. But tolerating him, apparently, had nothing
whatsoever to do with listening to his suggestions or letting him
near the Slayer.
     And tonight, Angel knew, he had done it for good. Things were
over, and yet he still couldn't let go. He still needed to know
that, if she wasn't going to let him be near her, she would at
least be safe. He couldn't be sure of that when she was with Giles,
only. And though he was sure he would feel it if anything ever
happened to her, he couldn't make himself believe it enough to let
Buffy off on her own somewhere.
     As the road dodged through and into a small forest, the trees
dense and dark, Angel felt a chill run through his body. Garou
might be out here, and he didn't want anything less than he wanted
to be found, alone and unarmed, having to face a pack of werewolves
on their own turf. Oz was one thing, immature and incapable of
harnassing what he really was. A pack was something entirely
different.
     Thanks to the chill, he nearly discounted the twist in his
stomach. But then it came again, stronger. Buffy. He gunned the
bike's engine, feeling the wind pick up even more as he zig-zagged
through a few more sharp curves.
     Then, up ahead, he could make out light. Flickering and
unsteady, but blazing in the darkness. A knot rose up in his throat
as he saw where the light was coming from.
     "Oh no. No, no..." Angel heard someone saying, in his voice,
as the motorcycle squealed to a stop and he practically jumped off,
running the last twenty meters to the edge of the blaze that
surrounded not only a large, dead tree...but an old, beat up,
outdated clunker of a car, as well.
     He didn't stop until he could almost feel the flames licking
at his flesh, and when it came to that point Angel realized he
could go no further. "Buffy," he whispered, for the car was
unmistakably Giles'. No one else drove a heap of junk like that.
     Yet when he reached the edge of the flames, so that he could
almost feel them licking at his boots, he could go no further. The
fire was too deep to see in further than the end of the car's hood,
the paint blistering and the metal twisted, glass shattered and
melting on the road.
     Angel took another half-step forward, knowing he couldn't just
leave her in there. Even if she was nothing but ash, he had to get
her out. It wasn't until his foot left the ground to take him into
the flames that a hand fell on his shoulder.
     "You'll serve no purpose, going in there, friend."
     Angel jerked around, and felt a violent shudder run through
his body as he faced what he had feared meeting in the forest-- a
Garou, in human form. It was only the eyes that made it clear what
the Garou was-- long, yellow slits instead of normal human irises.
     Angel tossed glances around the edges of the darkness where
the flames from the care ended, but saw no other shadows. He looked
back at the Garou, swallowing, telling himself he could take on
just one of these easily enough. "I've got a friend in there," he
said.
     The Garou looked at him gravely, and shook his head. "No," he
said. "We have her. And the old one."
     Angel raised an eyebrow. "Where?" he asked.
     "With the pack," the Garou replied, cocking his head slightly
and looking at Angel with the same wolfish look that Angel had seen
in all their expressions, every time he had met one. They were
almost as suspicious as vampires, almost as exclusive a club to
join, and far more loyal to one another than anything Angel had
seen in vampire covens. And they hated vampires with a passion. So
it was no wonder a pack had saved the Slayer. But then, why was he
being told she was safe? They had to know who he was, or at least
what he was.
     "You know what I am, right?" he asked. When the Garou nodded,
Angel took a quick breath. "I don't want an ambush, Garou," he
said, his voice rough.
     "There will be none. I've called you Friend." He said it as
though it should be taken for granted, then offered a hand.
     "On whose authority?" Though he was far from well-versed in
the intricacies of the Garou honor code, Angel knew at least that
as far as calling another-- especially one infected with what they
knew as the Wyrm, and Angel's kind called a demon-- Friend could be
a big deal. And not one that would be honored if done improperly.
     "My own," the Garou said, his voice remaining calm.
     Angel looked at him for a few long seconds, then nodded. It
wasn't as though he had a choice, if Buffy had been taken by the
Garou. As sure as he was that they would take care of one of the
world's most potent weapons against the Wyrm, he couldn't take
something as important as Buffy's safety on faith.
     Not from a Garou, at any rate.
     "Fine," Angel finally acceded. "Let me get my bike." He moved
toward his motorcycle, then stopped as he heard a snarl. He turned
back to the Garou, who was glaring at him. "Come _on_," he sighed.
"It's faster."
     "And it causes harm to Gaia. Leave it here."
     For a moment, Angel considered refusing. He felt the blood in
his veins, which had been reacting to the presence of the Garou
since he had first realized it was here, run a little faster, a
little harder. Then he fought the urge to attack the thing, and
veered away from his bike. "Alright, it stays." The Garou's lips,
which had been curled back in a snarl, relaxed and closed. Angel
nodded toward the woods. "So let's go," he said.
     Without another word, the Garou nodded and moved away into the
darkness.
                                *
     "Take her to a hospital."
     "We can help her here. _They_ can help her more?"
     "More than your-- than this ridiculous nature-healing crap you
idiots are trying to pull!"
     The angry voices, escalating, hurt her mind. The very air
itself hurt her body. Everything else, it seemed, hurt her soul.
     Beside her, someone was talking softly. Further away, she
could feel soft hands rubbing some sort of cream onto her arm. And
someone else was chanting in a voice so low as to be almost
inaudible.
     Giles, where was he? What had happened? She couldn't crack her
eyes open, the flesh hurt so badly, and so she was stuck watching
the movie that kept replaying those last few seconds on the road in
the Imax of her mind.
     Her own voice, shouting as something had rushed across the
road, Giles jerking beside her and the wheel going to one side, her
swearing, the shattering of glass, Giles suddenly unconscious
beside her. Her seatbelt had been stuck. Her legs, trapped in the
mangled mess that had been the dashboard of the car. The nearly-
non-existent crumple zone of the hood smashed up all around the
front hood. A pain in her side, in her stomach. A broken rib,
perhaps. It still ached, but not as badly as the rest of her. She
couldn't remember what had come next, until strong, warm arms had
lifted her from the unconscious stupor that had settled over her
and she murmured his name, knowing it couldn't be him, because she
had sent him away.
     That thought brought out a half-formed sob, which in turn
wracked her body and made her want to scream in pain. The voices
were still speaking.
     "She needs medical care. Like, from somebody with a _degree_."
     "She cannot be moved."
     The first voice was so familiar, laced with pain and caring,
and when Buffy realized who it was that was speaking she wished she
was still stuck in the neverland of semi-consciousness.
     "She _has_ to be!"
     "They would pollute her body the same way they have polluted
the Mother. She must stay here. We will keep her pure."
     There was a pause, and then Angel's voice again. "I don't want
her pure, I want her _alive_, dammit!"
     She moaned softly at the tone of his voice. That frustrated,
caring, and yet not understanding way Angel had shown so
prominently since he had returned from Hell. When he would listen
to her and still not hear what it was she was saying, when she
would have to resort to screaming to make him hear anything at all.
And now he was using it with whoever this other person was.
     "It is light out now, Childe of Cain. Do you wish to take her
back with you and make it no further than the door of the pack's
dwelling? Or would you prefer to wait, give us the hours; we will
keep her safe until then."
     She heard someone make a half-hearted scowling noise, almost
a growl and yet not quite. Then she heard footsteps. Her eyes still
closed, she could tell they were coming toward her.
     A thin hand fell upon her forehead, and she gasped in pain
when the palm touched the cut on her forehead. The touch didn't
lighten as she had hoped it would, rather it stayed firm. She heard
a soft voice, a calm one. "You will live to see sundown, child."
     Fighting the burning pain in her throat, Buffy forced herself
to speak, despite the way everything that was her screamed when she
so much as took a breath. "Giles...okay?"
     There was a soft chuckle above her. "He should awake before
sunset, as well."
     Then, as suddenly as it had come, the hand left her forehead
and she heard the owner of the voice walking away. At the same
time, the chant died, and the hands that had been on her arms left.
Two more sets of footsteps slowly left the room, and Buffy was
alone.

~

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