Sleep often eluded Rupert Giles, especially since that fateful day when his only child was called as a Slayer. Tonight, however, was different. Tonight Rupert Giles slept like a baby….that is, until his blissful slumber was interrupted with ear splitting screams and something that sounded like his house was being torn apart. Bolting from his bed, he fumbled on the bedside table for his glasses before darting from the bedroom into the hallway only to find it pitched in darkness and filled with silence.
Light poured from beneath his son’s closed bedroom door, so Rupert knew that Spike had at least made it home that evening. He was reluctant to intrude on Spike, worried that maybe the disturbance had been his imagination, or even more possible, that his son had company and what he heard going on wasn’t exactly going on has he’d imagined. If there was one thing Rupert had learned during his son’s courtship of Buffy Summers, was that the walls in the house were entirely too thin.
Rupert stood in the dark hallway and had just about decided that the sounds he’d heard had been part of a dream that he couldn’t recall….but then he heard the crying. Deciding that it was best to check in and make sure everything was in fact alright, Rupert inched towards the closed door and knocked lightly. There was a brief moment of silence, then the crying started again; a sob so heart wrenching that Rupert didn’t bother to knock again before entering.
Nothing could have prepared him for the sight that he encountered. Sheet rock hung in tatters and clumped on the floor from a massive hole in the wall, dust particles from the destruction floated in the air, an overturned lamp sent a beam of light at an awkward angle across the room, random items that were once perched on his son’s desk were scattered across the floor by a desk chair knocked over and leaning against the bed. Slack jawed, Rupert stood silent in the midst of the chaos before the sobs penetrated his consciousness again and he finally noticed the small form huddled in the corner of the room.
Rupert started to go towards her when another form caught his attention from the corner of his eye. Turning ever so slightly, he gasped in fright when his mind finally registered what his eyes were seeing. Lying in the floor near the head of the bed was his son. Ghostly white, even more so than usual, Spike was prone on his back and covered in a horrendous amount of blood. Darting across the room, all thoughts of the other person in the room flew out of his mind now that he was fully focused on his son.
“Spike!” Rupert shouted as he tried to roust his fallen son. His hands shook horribly as he tried to locate a pulse and were beyond happy when he found one, even one as faint thumping he located beneath the sticky wave of blood covering Spike’s neck. “Hold on, son, just hold on.”
Thankful that the bedside table was still in its normal upright state, Rupert grabbed the telephone and quickly dialed the emergency number. Within a matter of seconds he relayed to the operator what the problem was and had help on the way. Once the call was made, Rupert grabbed a discarded shirt sticking out from beneath the bed and pressed it to the wound in attempt to staunch the blood flow.
Once he had done everything he could do at the moment, Rupert turned his attention back to the crying girl in the corner of the room. He was not at all surprised to find that the mystery guest was none other than Joan, or rather, Buffy as Rupert had no doubts that the person responsible for his son’s injuries was the same person who’d put him in the hospital twice before.
Rupert was torn between murderous rage and repulsion when their eyes connected.
Tears shimmered in her eyes and streaked down her cheeks, melding with the crimson stain of Spike’s blood that covered her mouth and spilled onto her chest. Trembling, her body shook as she tried to stop crying and speak, she whispered, “What’s wrong with me?”
At a loss for words, Rupert couldn’t answer. Horrified, his mind tried to process what was going on. How could this have happened? The hospital had performed numerous tests on Buffy and they had all come back showing that she was nothing more than a perfectly healthy human being, other than having a serious case of retrograde amnesia. He’d assumed those findings were accurate since they were performed by medical experts.
His silence both frightened her and infuriated her. Joan swiped at her face, smearing the gruesome mixture of blood and tears across her cheeks and stood up. Angry and scared, her body shook from the force of the emotions coursing through her body. “What’s wrong with me?” She repeated her voice barely a whisper. “What am I?”
Without giving Rupert a chance to answer, she darted out the window clad in only her jeans and bra. Clamoring down the side of the house, Joan flew across the lawn and into the street. Eyes wide with panic, she stood in the middle of the roadway for a brief second unsure of what to do or where to go. After a brief moment, Joan headed north at an alarming high rate of speed for your standard human being who happened to also be barefoot.
Back inside the Giles residence, a worrisome father impatiently waited for help to arrive. While the time seemed to creep by it was only a matter of minutes before the tale tell wail of emergency crews neared his house. Running down the stairs, Rupert had the front door open before the ambulance pulled into the driveway. He ushered the medic crew inside to where Spike laid, still unconscious, and watched helplessly as they loaded his son onto a stretcher and into the ambulance. He managed to grab his overcoat by the front door to put over his pajamas before climbing in with them and heading to the hospital, lights and sirens blaring the entire way.
Across town, Joan navigated her way through the darkened streets of Sunnydale, taking the occasional shortcut through eerily quiet graveyards that normally gave her the creeps. Instinct drove her, told her where to turn and how far to run, finally leading her to the far end of town to what appeared to be an empty house.
The sun was beginning to come up, its golden glow bleeding over the horizon and peeking through the limbs of trees as she tiptoed up the stone walkway. A memory pricked at the edge of her mind, foggy like a picture that was out of focus, as she cautiously peered inside the windows by the front door. The two story house seemed familiar and yet not as she edged along the house looking in windows to see if anyone was home. Satisfied that no one was home, Joan looked around until she located a rock and stealthily broke through a pane of glass on the back door and unlocked it.
Once inside, Joan searched each and every room, going through drawers and closets trying to locate something that would explain why she was there. Other than dusty furniture she found nothing at all, no clothes, mail or personal belongings indicating as to who lived there.
That is, until the very last bedroom.
Joan stumbled across the dark room, guided only by the faint glow from the early morning light followed her in from the open bedroom door, to open the thick drapes that covered the floor to ceiling windows beside the massive four poster bed. As the pale light seeped into the room, she smiled with satisfaction as it led her to what she knew she had come for….a corner filled with boxes and a large trunk. Somehow she knew that they were hers and had been waiting here for her all along.
At the opposite edge of town, a worried watcher and intimate group of friends waited in the appropriately named room near the emergency department of the Sunnydale hospital, a place they all knew too well. Wesley chewed his lip anxiously as he glared at the door again in hopes that Rupert would come out soon and give them an update on Spike. He tried his best not to let his nervousness show, hoping that his semi calm demeanor would keep Fred from freaking out anymore than she already was. A dribbling mess of tears and snot, his dear Fred was desperately clinging to his arm, her head resting on his shoulder. Across the room, Angel was silent as he brooded in his puke green hospital chair and Gunn paced nervously back and forth. Other than the occasional sniffle from Fred or muttered curse from Gunn, Wesley could honestly say this was the quietest he’d ever seen them.
Sunrise had come and gone, bringing with it the hustle and bustle of a shift change when Oz finally showed up. Wesley had called him and left a message on his cell phone when he’d heard from Rupert, but the junior Slayer had been on the edge of town dealing with a couple of nasty demons and obviously didn’t get the message until later. Quiet as usual, the younger Slayer was the complete opposite of Spike in that department; Oz nodded his head and took a seat near the doors. Wesley nodded in return and stated that they hadn’t heard anything yet. The watcher also took notice of his newest Slayer’s dark purple colored hair and momentarily wondered why both of his charges felt the need to color their hair such strange colors. Wesley probably would have pondered over that notion if Rupert hadn’t come into the room, his skin pale and his face covered with grief. For a moment, Wesley feared the worst.
“He’s alive.” Rupert announced first and foremost, his grim expression told them that there was more to worry about. “He lost an extremely large amount of blood, which of course, has stumped the doctor’s because I told them it was a simple dog bite, as usual. Anyway, he’s stable, but still unconscious. They are giving him several units of blood at the moment and have moved him to ICU.”
“He’s strong, Rupert. We’ve been here before and he pulled through.” Wesley stated in attempts to comfort his friend. “What happened? How could he have lost that much blood in such a short amount of time from a standard vampire bite?”
Rupert sighed, took off his glasses and scrubbed a hand over his face. He took a seat before responding. “It wasn’t a vampire attack…or rather; I don’t think it was one. The doctor said the wound appeared as though it was made by a human, a small human, but one nonetheless. The blunt edges of human teeth tore at the skin, instead of plunging in like a vampire’s teeth would. The way it tore at his skin literally ripped his neck open, which is how he bled out so quickly.”
“A human? But, I don’t understand.” Fred piped in, “Who would do such a thing to him, Giles?”
Rupert’s eyes turned cold and hard before he responded, it was a look that chilled the group to the bone. “It was Buffy. “
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Author's Chapter Notes:
I know, I know. It's been ages. Sigh. There's no excuse for my tardiness. I hope the few of you still reading enjoy. :) Story is still technically at the beta's house but I got impatient and posted anyway. Any issues will be corrected when it is returned to me, so please don't judge me too harshly. LoL
Chapter End Notes:
Thanks again!