Buffy has fought for the side of the not so righteous for nearly five years. Although she has recently been given hints, she is no closer to knowing her future; what choices she has or what fate has in store for her. A new compulsion to hunt has brought back the old fear of a limited future. Only her Watcher can help; can provide the comfort she needs to face the long dark tunnel. A bond recently reaffirmed, but which has never truly been broken. In a life that has a limited future, "now" has an urgency to it.

Prologue

The vampire ran. It ran as fast as its legs would allow. Buffy gave chase: her pursuit relentless, her disgust at her quarry's cowardice fighting for dominion over the joy of the hunt – its adrenaline pumping nectar to her muscles.

She long-jumped over a headstone, beating all comers to win gold by leaping on the back of her prey. It tried to shake her off. The Slayer braced an arm round the vampire's throat and yanked its head back. The miserable demon instinctively arched its back to prevent its neck from snapping and fell backwards to the ground. Buffy leapt off him in time to avoid being laid out flat with the devil on top of her.

She stood over her prize: her legs forming a bridge over the vampire's torso. She grinned; a cruel gesture that showed no mercy, and locked her eyes on his. She drank in the fear she read from the watery pits that looked back at her.

The vampire grunted as Buffy sat down on its stomach, expelling non-existent air from its lungs. Still the Slayer smiled. It saw her breath pump out of her mouth into the cold night; a fine smoke-like cloud escaping rhythmically to the beat of her heart that his acute senses picked up.

"That was fun," Buffy said between breaths.

She rested the point of her stake over the demon's heart.

"Wait," it said quickly, as though it had something to offer her.

"Why?" The Slayer responded at the same time she drove home her weapon with the flat palm of her other hand.

Her mind came alive instantly; a clearer lucidity than she had possessed seconds before. Buffy leapt up, fear evident in her wide-open eyes. She backed up to a shoulder high tombstone and allowed herself to slide down to a seated position.

"Giles, please help me," she whispered into the night.

Chapter one

The following night found Buffy standing in the warehouse district. She stood in one of its canyon-like alleyways; high warehouses on either side blending into the grey sky far above. She had chased, or hunted a demon this far, but it had eluded her in the exaggerated darkness of the buildings. In truth it had surprised her; when stationary it stood six foot tall and hideous. It had a bone structure built to intimidate its enemies, like a preying mantis. When she was getting the upper hand, it fled, but on all fours which gave it an advantage over Buffy's short stature.

She knew it had to be here somewhere. Adrenaline pumped through her body, and she looked left and right repeatedly, a mad-like frenzy to her movements. Her prey eventually dropped from above and landed behind her. Five years of fighting had honed the slayer's senses and Buffy spun round with a kick ready to impact the demon when she faced it. The demon lashed out with both of its arms, huge four-fingered claws raked thin air as Buffy arched her body as though she were edging round a chair. She then swung her right arm in a wide arc and gashed the stomach of her nemesis with the axe she had brought with her that night.

The demon screamed in pain. A clear runny liquid erupted from the wound and Buffy was momentarily blinded. In its final life-seconds the demon lashed out with one of its claws. Buffy heard the sound of air rushing and was able to step back precious inches to lessen the impact, but not avoid it. She staggered back; one arm clutched to her stomach the other raised to violently wipe her face and eyes. Gradually her sight returned. She saw her victim lying on its back. A large pool of water-like liquid pooled round it, and the creature itself had the appearance of a deflated beach toy, as though the liquid had been air released.

The adrenaline was gone. The urge to hunt and kill was gone. All that was left standing, it seemed, was a petite blonde girl lost: dwarfed by the buildings that surrounded her.

Chapter two

"You just had a bad night, that's all," Giles attempted a second time to calm the girl facing him in his living room.

"No, it's more than that. The hunt is tiring me, Giles. Tonight's demon nearly opened me up. As it is, I've got wicked claw marks that…."

"You're letting this bother you too much, Buffy. In the light of day….."

"Don't!" The pupil loudly cut off her Watcher. As she said it she balled one fist as though to bring it down on his shoulder in emphasis of her point. She caught herself, horrified at the last millisecond. "Please don't," she said quietly. "Don't brush off my concerns as though they're teenage ramblings. I nearly died tonight. This is the second close call in a week. I know it's no big deal for you; after all, if I don't return one night, another fitter school-girl will come along in a few weeks, but, Giles, I'm all I've got."

The Watcher remained silent.

"Say something! Comfort me!" Buffy railed at the elder. "I'm opening my heart to you when I could be out there lying on the ground with my heart open. Don't you feel anything?" She added unkindly.

"How do you think I feel?" Giles rallied. "I'm a middle-aged man who sends a girl out every night to fight things I can't even defeat in my nightmares. I dread you not coming through that door one night…like every other slayer before you, I know it'll happen one day."

"Poor you, but hey, it's me who wont be coming through." Giles turned away. There was silence for several long moments. "I didn't know you thought about it," Buffy said eventually, her voice low. "Mind you, I'm glad you never opened up to me about it earlier; it's sort of a depressing thought, you know, glass half empty," she smiled weakly when Giles turned to face her.

He reached out a hand and pushed back a wayward lock of her hair. She closed her eyes and tilted her head at his touch. "I used to think I wouldn't see out my teens," Buffy revealed. "I raised the anti to 25, but lately I've doubted my coming of age." She edged closer to Giles and allowed him to put his arms around her. She returned the gesture. "I'm scared, Giles."

He didn't say anything: afraid to risk sounding trite. Instead, he allowed his charge to cling tightly to him. She pulled away slowly, as though judging her ability to stand without crutches.

"I'm sorry I blew up like that. I'm a bit tense and hurting." She looked at her palms. "And apparently bloody as well." Giles noticed the stain that had spread from strand to strand on Buffy's cotton blouse.

"Can I sit down?" She asked meekly.

"Of course, and that wound should be cleaned, otherwise it'll get infected. I fetch a flannel and hot water."

Buffy smiled her gratitude and sank into his sofa. She rested her head back and allowed her mind to drift; not allowing any one thought to take hold for more than a few seconds. Minutes passed in this state of bliss. So lost in her reverie was she, that Giles was kneeling facing her before she even noticed him. He had a steaming basin of water and small face towel.

"Let's see to that nasty scratch."

Buffy felt like making a comment that it was more than a scratch, but felt it wise not to. She slouched down in the chair and lifted her blouse slightly to reveal four violent red lines etched across her stomach. "I feel like I've had a run in with Freddie Krueger. You don't think they'll scar, do you? I don't fancy having to design an elaborate tattoo to incorporate them…OUCH!" She exclaimed at Giles' first dab of the wet towel to the wound. He dabbed again. "Err, excuse me. I said Ouch."

"Don't be such a baby," he teased.

"Oh, OK. But as long as we can swap places half way," she countered good-humouredly before wincing again.

Giles' touch became more tender. "It's a serious wound, Buffy," he said as though noticing it for the first time. "I'm sorry I didn't respond to it earlier." He looked up at Buffy when she didn't respond, and found her looking at him. He suddenly felt uncomfortable; fearing what he sensed he saw written in her eyes, and nervous of the duplication his own were revealing. He rocked back on his feet: widening the gap between the young woman sitting in front of him. She looked a conflicting mix of innocence and world weariness as she looked up at him. "I….I better let you finish…..," he stammered and stood up. "If it's…..If it's any consolation, the wound missed your chest by several inches, so there was no danger of your heart being…..Anyway, I'll put the kettle on."

"Giles," Buffy said as he reached the doorway to the kitchen. He turned round hesitantly. "Nothing," she responded eventually to his questioning look. "I'd love a cup of tea, thank you."

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