Author's note: Thanks to Pestilential Goddess for being so kind to
volunteer as a beta :-)
SILENT HELL
by Bimo
The splinters had been removed two days ago, but nevertheless, Giles'
fingers still felt oddly stiff, weaker than usual. Stretching them up and
down carefully, he was half-terrified and half-amazed by the incredible ease
with which Angelus had broken them. Just like dry branches in autumn.
He swallowed, tried to re-concentrate on the copy of an ancient Egyptian
spell in lying front of him on the table. It was a humble attempt to do at
least something for Buffy. She was out there all on her own. Without her
Watcher to guide her and her friends to support her, the slayer would need
all the assistance and protection she could get. Even if it only consisted
in the conjuring of blessing spirits to guard her path wherever she went.
Giles sucked the dry library air into his lungs, inhaled the unique smell of
old paper and leather. Familiar, real, soothing. Exhausted, he continued to
read until his vision blurred and words and lines in front of his eyes
melted into a viscous, unintelligible mush of black spots and dancing
letters. Finally he stopped, took his glasses off and started to polish them
with a handkerchief from his pocket. He had never realized how often he
actually did that, till Buffy had once pointed it out to him.
Still the elegant metal frame of the new glasses felt a bit unfamiliar,
since it was much lighter than the old one. Well, it also had been twice as
expensive. An unnecessary luxury as Xander had found his old ones lying on
the floor of Angelus' mansion. Just slightly damaged, but otherwise
completely intact, almost a small miracle.
According to the optician it would have been easy to fix them, such a small
job that he didn't even want Giles to pay for the repair. The poor man
probably still wondered, why, out of a sudden urge, Giles had so vehemently
insisted on buying a new pair. One that had absolutely nothing in common
with his old.
How could he have possibly explained the reasons? The fact that he couldn't
even look into a mirror wearing these dammed glasses on his nose, without
also seeing Angelus. Angelus who beaten them right out of his face and given
them back to him. Just as he pleased. Knowing that in the twilight of the
room Giles would be practically blind without them, unable to recognize any
more than just a few vague shadows. A small but effective trick to intensify
his fear and helplessness.
Some of Angelus' blows had been so hard that Giles believed they had smashed
his eardrum. Of course they hadn't. Buffy's faithful watcher was too
precious a toy to be destroyed that fast. Angelus knew it. Giles knew it.
And this was exactly where the true insidiousness of these actions lay.
His hands still trembled when he remembered those hours, bound to a chair,
the fibers of his body numb and aching until Angelus had found a new way to
make them explode in a concert of glowing pain. The vampire had told him the
truth when he had said he knew how break people. That it was something,
which had be done with care. Slowly, step for step. First the body, then the
mind.
Even now, weeks after the actual events, Giles was still fighting the
after-effects. Anxiety, spontaneous attacks of panic, nightmares, insomnia.
Almost the whole range of the classical symptoms he once had learned, since
basic psychological knowledge had been part of his Watcher training. It just
felt so utterly strange to diagnose them on himself and not on a newly
called Slayer after the killing of her first vampire or on the poor, abused
victim of some obscure demonic cult. Watchers were not allowed to possess
any weaknesses, were supposed to lead the Slayer from a safe distance. And
what had he done? Letting himself get captured and tortured. Had given away
the Acathla's secret for an insane delusion, one single moment with his
beloved Jenny. *Drusilla*
His lips curled in a faint smile, bitter and cold as the cup of untouched
tea, standing in front of him on his desk. How ironic, that the crucial idea
had, of all people, come from Spike. Spike, the great, inscrutable mystery
of this night's events. At the end he had been in the room for most of the
time, cynically commenting on Angelus' actions, watching over him.
Intervening whenever he had come to close to inflicting any kind of
permanent damage like the chainsaw, or the moments when Angelus had mused
about not only crushing the bones of Giles' fingers but also those of his
spine.
But maybe Spike was just the more profound sadist. The one who had
instinctively understood how to make use of Drusilla's supernatural powers,
since the true cruelty of what Drusilla had done to him did not reveal in
daylight. Only at night, when in the daze between awareness and dream there
wasn't any room left for rational thought.
The hours between midnight and half past four in the morning were the time
of the subconscious The time when he was the one who should have guessed
Angelus' plans right from the start. When he was merely a selfish idiot, who
had been fooled by Drusilla's deceit, not because he did not have any other
choice but because he had *wanted* it.
How terribly easy it had been to succumb to her whisper, to see not her, but
Jenny. Alive, mysterious and vibrating with radiant beauty. His saving
angel. She had bent down to him, smiled at him. Promised that everything
would be fine. That they would finally be together and would share all the
things they never got to have. How often he had longed to be with her, just
for one more time, to feel her closeness, the soft, warm touch of her skin.
By god, how he had wanted to believe in that illusion. For a few precious
moments there had been no pain, no fear, just the two of them. His shock as
the veil of magic lifted had been all the more devastating. He, the
experienced Watcher, had willingly given away the key to the world's
destruction and only the unbelievable courage of a bunch of kids had saved
it. Giles did not even dare to imagine what would have happened without
them.
Once he gave in to the black whirlpool of "what ifs" and "could have beens",
his path would lead straight into the rubber room. He knew that because he
already had come to close to this point during all the countless nights when
he had been lying on his couch, rocking back and forth. His mind spinning
around Angelus and Drusilla. Frantic and desperate like a hamster in a
running wheel.
It was not until recently that these acute attacks of panic had finally
begun to cease. Three of four times he had even managed to sleep though.
Maybe just a couple of nights and he would be able to muster enough courage
to sleep in his bed, even though the bedroom was still filled with the
stirred up memories of Jenny. Sometimes, when he went up the stairs too
unprepared, he could see her corpse, carefully displayed between the pillows
like a precious gift. An image that would possibly keep haunting him
forever. But he would have to learn to live with it. For Buffy, for the
children. Somehow.
volunteer as a beta :-)
SILENT HELL
by Bimo
The splinters had been removed two days ago, but nevertheless, Giles'
fingers still felt oddly stiff, weaker than usual. Stretching them up and
down carefully, he was half-terrified and half-amazed by the incredible ease
with which Angelus had broken them. Just like dry branches in autumn.
He swallowed, tried to re-concentrate on the copy of an ancient Egyptian
spell in lying front of him on the table. It was a humble attempt to do at
least something for Buffy. She was out there all on her own. Without her
Watcher to guide her and her friends to support her, the slayer would need
all the assistance and protection she could get. Even if it only consisted
in the conjuring of blessing spirits to guard her path wherever she went.
Giles sucked the dry library air into his lungs, inhaled the unique smell of
old paper and leather. Familiar, real, soothing. Exhausted, he continued to
read until his vision blurred and words and lines in front of his eyes
melted into a viscous, unintelligible mush of black spots and dancing
letters. Finally he stopped, took his glasses off and started to polish them
with a handkerchief from his pocket. He had never realized how often he
actually did that, till Buffy had once pointed it out to him.
Still the elegant metal frame of the new glasses felt a bit unfamiliar,
since it was much lighter than the old one. Well, it also had been twice as
expensive. An unnecessary luxury as Xander had found his old ones lying on
the floor of Angelus' mansion. Just slightly damaged, but otherwise
completely intact, almost a small miracle.
According to the optician it would have been easy to fix them, such a small
job that he didn't even want Giles to pay for the repair. The poor man
probably still wondered, why, out of a sudden urge, Giles had so vehemently
insisted on buying a new pair. One that had absolutely nothing in common
with his old.
How could he have possibly explained the reasons? The fact that he couldn't
even look into a mirror wearing these dammed glasses on his nose, without
also seeing Angelus. Angelus who beaten them right out of his face and given
them back to him. Just as he pleased. Knowing that in the twilight of the
room Giles would be practically blind without them, unable to recognize any
more than just a few vague shadows. A small but effective trick to intensify
his fear and helplessness.
Some of Angelus' blows had been so hard that Giles believed they had smashed
his eardrum. Of course they hadn't. Buffy's faithful watcher was too
precious a toy to be destroyed that fast. Angelus knew it. Giles knew it.
And this was exactly where the true insidiousness of these actions lay.
His hands still trembled when he remembered those hours, bound to a chair,
the fibers of his body numb and aching until Angelus had found a new way to
make them explode in a concert of glowing pain. The vampire had told him the
truth when he had said he knew how break people. That it was something,
which had be done with care. Slowly, step for step. First the body, then the
mind.
Even now, weeks after the actual events, Giles was still fighting the
after-effects. Anxiety, spontaneous attacks of panic, nightmares, insomnia.
Almost the whole range of the classical symptoms he once had learned, since
basic psychological knowledge had been part of his Watcher training. It just
felt so utterly strange to diagnose them on himself and not on a newly
called Slayer after the killing of her first vampire or on the poor, abused
victim of some obscure demonic cult. Watchers were not allowed to possess
any weaknesses, were supposed to lead the Slayer from a safe distance. And
what had he done? Letting himself get captured and tortured. Had given away
the Acathla's secret for an insane delusion, one single moment with his
beloved Jenny. *Drusilla*
His lips curled in a faint smile, bitter and cold as the cup of untouched
tea, standing in front of him on his desk. How ironic, that the crucial idea
had, of all people, come from Spike. Spike, the great, inscrutable mystery
of this night's events. At the end he had been in the room for most of the
time, cynically commenting on Angelus' actions, watching over him.
Intervening whenever he had come to close to inflicting any kind of
permanent damage like the chainsaw, or the moments when Angelus had mused
about not only crushing the bones of Giles' fingers but also those of his
spine.
But maybe Spike was just the more profound sadist. The one who had
instinctively understood how to make use of Drusilla's supernatural powers,
since the true cruelty of what Drusilla had done to him did not reveal in
daylight. Only at night, when in the daze between awareness and dream there
wasn't any room left for rational thought.
The hours between midnight and half past four in the morning were the time
of the subconscious The time when he was the one who should have guessed
Angelus' plans right from the start. When he was merely a selfish idiot, who
had been fooled by Drusilla's deceit, not because he did not have any other
choice but because he had *wanted* it.
How terribly easy it had been to succumb to her whisper, to see not her, but
Jenny. Alive, mysterious and vibrating with radiant beauty. His saving
angel. She had bent down to him, smiled at him. Promised that everything
would be fine. That they would finally be together and would share all the
things they never got to have. How often he had longed to be with her, just
for one more time, to feel her closeness, the soft, warm touch of her skin.
By god, how he had wanted to believe in that illusion. For a few precious
moments there had been no pain, no fear, just the two of them. His shock as
the veil of magic lifted had been all the more devastating. He, the
experienced Watcher, had willingly given away the key to the world's
destruction and only the unbelievable courage of a bunch of kids had saved
it. Giles did not even dare to imagine what would have happened without
them.
Once he gave in to the black whirlpool of "what ifs" and "could have beens",
his path would lead straight into the rubber room. He knew that because he
already had come to close to this point during all the countless nights when
he had been lying on his couch, rocking back and forth. His mind spinning
around Angelus and Drusilla. Frantic and desperate like a hamster in a
running wheel.
It was not until recently that these acute attacks of panic had finally
begun to cease. Three of four times he had even managed to sleep though.
Maybe just a couple of nights and he would be able to muster enough courage
to sleep in his bed, even though the bedroom was still filled with the
stirred up memories of Jenny. Sometimes, when he went up the stairs too
unprepared, he could see her corpse, carefully displayed between the pillows
like a precious gift. An image that would possibly keep haunting him
forever. But he would have to learn to live with it. For Buffy, for the
children. Somehow.