CHAPTER ONE
"Hello, ugly. Looks like you've stumbled into my part of town."
Buffy stood in the dark alleyway clad in a leather trench coat - a stake in her right hand. She smirked at the vampire standing across from her. She had him cornered against a dumpster, his hands up in faux-surrender. Suddenly, he lunged at her.
Here we go. Time to party.
Buffy threw a left hook, knocking the vamp back several steps. He sneered, running towards her for another attempt. He threw a punch; she ducked. Buffy spun around and delivered a powerful kick to the side of his head, knocking him to the ground. She knelt down to straddle him, positioning the stake over his heart.
"Come on, that was too easy."
"Burn, Slayer."
Buffy laughed. She raised the stake above her head, ready to drive it through him. All of a sudden, the alleyway began to spin around her. She dropped the stake, placing a hand on the ground to steady herself. She groaned, dizzy and disoriented.
"... the hell?"
The vampire shoved his hands against Buffy's shoulders, pushing her off of him with ease. She keeled over, her face against the hard concrete. She could hear the vamp's retreating footsteps growing more and more distant. Slowly, she pulled herself up into a sitting position. Grabbing the stake, she stood and dusted herself off.
"Crap."
"Did you eat a bad burrito?"
"Maybe you're just sleep deprived."
"It's a curse. Some demon is feeding on your life force."
The gang sat around the table at The Magic Box, half a dozen books open between them. Buffy sat at the far end, still woozy from her failed slaying attempt.
"I don't know, you guys. It came out of nowhere. One minute I was fine, and then... World's worst teacup ride."
Willow closed a large leather-bound book, frowning.
"There's no reason this has to be supernatural. You might just be coming down with the flu."
"Not the Buffster!" Xander interjected. "I refuse to believe every-day influenza is tough enough to bring the Slayer down."
Buffy smiled. She may have felt lousy, but the gang always made it better. She glanced over at the sales counter where Giles was leaning – his face was blank.
"Giles? You haven't said much. Is it terminal?"
Giles gazed absently forward, not seeming to hear. Xander piped up.
"Earth to Giles? You in there, spaceman?"
The gang turned to stare at the older man, who still seemed utterly unaware of the attention. Buffy rose to her feet, starting towards him. Suddenly, Giles shook his head, his eyes refocussing.
"Hmm? Sorry."
"You okay?" Buffy spoke so that only he could hear her.
"Uh, fine. Fine." Giles' face betrayed nothing.
"God, is this thing contagious? Maybe Giles caught it. Keep away from me," Anya took a step away from the table, her hands up.
"No no, I'm alright," Giles raised his voice so that the room could hear. He looked at Buffy - a small, forced smile at the corners of his mouth. "But I think you should go home and get some rest. I'll be over tomorrow to check in on you."
Buffy gave a smile in response.
"Okay. See you then."
Buffy had awoken feeling ten times worse. Her head was pounding, her vision doubled. Her morning trip to the bathroom resulted in no less than five breaks to stop and lean against a wall.
She resigned herself to a day in bed, waiting for her visit from Giles. Drifting in and out of sleep, her dreams were strange and vivid. She would wake in a pool of her own sweat, sometimes accompanied by a wave of nausea.
Ugh. I hope Giles brings soup.
Dawn checked in on her throughout the day, but Buffy couldn't bring herself to do more than groan and grunt in response to her questions.
"Don't worry Buffy, I'll call Giles."
"Mmm."
At some point, Buffy had ended up on the sofa. She couldn't remember walking downstairs. She couldn't remember much of anything at all. There was a loud knocking at the door – it bounced and echoed around her aching brain.
"Mmm. Coming," she mumbled.
Dawn rushed downstairs.
"I'll get it! Don't move, Buffy."
"Mm." She placed a cushion over her face to block out the light. It was stinging her eyes.
"Dear lord. Buffy, how are you feeling?"
A new voice greeted her. It was familiar. She should know it, if she could only remember...
"Buffy? Giles is here. He said he was coming, remember?" Dawn put a hand on Buffy's shoulder and shook her lightly.
"That's alright, Dawn. Why don't you go upstairs?"
"She's not dying, is she?"
"She'll be quite alright. Now, please."
Buffy thought she could hear footsteps growing quieter. Her head felt so heavy. How long had she been like this? She could feel the sofa dip underneath someone's weight. Another hand was placed on her shoulder – this hand was different to the first. Bigger. Warmer.
"Buffy."
"Mmm."
"Buffy, I need you to sit up for me."
The cushion on Buffy's face suddenly disappeared. The light seared her eyes.
"Ah!"
"Shh, shh. I'll turn the light off."
The room went dark – the pain receded slightly. Buffy blinked hard, she was slowly able to make out shapes. A large figure sat across from her on the sofa. She supposed that must be Giles.
"I've got something for you. It's a draught that Willow brewed. It's only temporary, but should work long enough for us to have a conversation without you being in too much discomfort."
"Oh. Thanks." It hurt to talk.
A small glass vial was placed in her hand, warm fingers curling around hers. They were comforting.
"There you are. Drink up, please."
Buffy maneuvered the stopper out of the vial; her hands shook as she did so. She moved it towards her mouth, almost dropping it. The warm fingers returned – they clasped her hand and tilted the vial into her mouth. It tasted foul, like ginger and milk and garlic that had all been left out in the sun.
"Ugh."
"I know. But it should help."
She swallowed, aggravating the ache in her throat. Giles' hand stayed wrapped around hers for a moment, before disappearing.
"I've brought some books with me. Let me go fetch them."
The sofa sprung back to its usual shape. More footsteps. Buffy concentrated on her breathing, trying to keep it deep and even. After a few moments, the fog in her brain began to dissipate. Her eyes adjusted to the low light, the burning in her throat now dulled. She let out a long, relieved sigh. She felt a little bit more like a person.
She glanced over at the front door; it swung open and Giles reappeared with an armful of large books. He placed them gently down by the sofa and returned to sit next to her. Now that she could see, she realized how tired he looked. His eyes were bloodshot, and she thought he might be wearing the same clothes as yesterday.
"Giles, you look..."
"Don't worry about me. Are you feeling better?"
"Yes."
"Good. It won't last long, unfortunately."
Buffy frowned. She wasn't looking forward to having her symptoms come rushing back.
"Did you figure out what's wrong with me?"
Giles reached up to adjust his glasses. He looked uncomfortable.
"It was a long night, but I think perhaps I have a prevailing theory," he spoke strangely quietly.
"Great. What kind of demon cold have I caught?"
She was making jokes again. That must be a good sign. Giles, however, did not smile. Instead, he reached down for the book on the top of his pile and placed it beside him on the sofa. He then stood up and dragged the coffee table over to them. He placed the book on top of it with a thud.
Buffy squinted down at it.
"The Slayer Encyclopaedia. Wow. Didn't know there was one of those."
"It's my go-to reference for times like these. It's... A little old-fashioned, but very useful."
Giles' mouth had pressed into a thin line. He was frowning, staring down at the book. Buffy felt a sudden wave of apprehension.
"Why do I feel like this is not good news?"
Giles didn't look at her. Instead, he opened the book to a page he had bookmarked. Buffy sat, waiting for him to explain it to her, like he always did.
Several moments passed. He said nothing.
"Well?"
"Buffy, I-"
"Just tell me, Giles."
"I can't. I can't say it. Just- will you read it?"
Buffy sighed. Her head still wasn't screwed on straight – but Giles didn't look like he was going to change his mind. She leaned over and scanned the page.
SLAYER SICKNESS AT THE TWENTY-FIRST YEAR
If a Slayer reaches her twenty-first year without incident, she may begin to suffer from the Slayer Sickness. This involves a rapid degeneration in strength, coordination and general health. The sickness is as a result of the stresses of prolonged exposure to Slayer Power on the human body. A Slayer generally lives no more than eighteen or twenty years – and begins to quickly physically deteriorate after this period. This is to ensure a healthy succession of Slayers that will fight in their physical prime. The prognosis for Slayer Sickness is anywhere from one to three weeks*.
*If a Watcher deems their Slayer fit to continue her duties despite her advancing age, they may engage in the Coupling Ritual to sanctify the Watcher/Slayer bond and rejuvenate the Slayer's abilities.
Buffy continued to stare at the page, though by now it had become an indecipherable mess. She could feel her head begin to pound.
"I'm not..."
"Buffy, I'm so sorry."
"I'm not supposed to live this long. I have a built-in kill switch to stop me getting all old and grey."
Giles took off his glasses and began to clean them.
"It's cruel. Buffy, it's not right and I sorely wish this wasn't the way of things."
"I guess I should be used to this kind of thing by now. Being expendable."
Giles paused, placing his glasses on the table. He put a hand on Buffy's knee.
"You're not expendable. Not to the people who love you. Not to me."
They held each other's gaze for a moment. Giles' eyes had a strange intensity. Buffy smiled, and they softened.
"So, what's the ritual? Willow puts a couple of rocks in a circle and we chant some Latin?"
Giles was silent.
"Giles?"
He was no longer looking at her. He seemed to be somewhere else entirely.
"Unless... Unless you don't think I'm fit to... What was it? 'Continue my duties despite my advancing age?'"
"No, of course. No, that's not it."
"So what, Giles? We've done plenty of these things before."
"Not like this."
"I... Oh. Do we-? I mean, is there some kind of sacrifice involved?"
"I suppose that's one way of looking at it," Giles replied darkly.
"Giles. You're scaring me. Just say it."
He sighed - a long, defeated sound. He licked a finger and flipped quickly through the pages of the tome. After a moment, he stopped. He considered the page for a moment, his face utterly unreadable. He turned the book around to face Buffy.
"Here."
WATCHER/SLAYER COUPLING RITUAL
Due to a Slayer's reduced life-span, this ritual may be done from the time a Slayer reaches the age of sixteen. It is performed to join together the souls of the Watcher and his Slayer – bounding him to her and her to him with powerful ritual magick. It is recommended that this ritual be done either in conjunction with or in lieu of any customary marriage ceremony in place at time of reading. For the full details of the ritual, see The Ishtar Codex.
Buffy mouthed the words silently, her brow furrowed. After a moment, she looked up at Giles. He was still avoiding her eyes.
"I don't understand."
Giles closed his eyes, leaning forward to press the bridge of his nose. He spoke without looking at her.
"In less civilized times, and – honestly, as recently as twenty years ago – Watchers and Slayers would marry. It was seen as the logical thing to do. They were already spiritually linked to one another through the prophecy; he was already sworn to protect her. And, considering Slayers died young... It was a way to ensure progeny."
Buffy stared.
"You're telling me these old men would marry their teenage Slayers?"
"Yes. In fact, it was very much expected. Lucky for us, we live in a slightly more enlightened time."
"So... We're not... We don't have to get married?"
Giles' mouth twisted into a pained smirk.
"No, Buffy. We don't have to get married."
Buffy exhaled, straightening her shoulders.
"Oh. Well, that's okay then. It's the wrong season for it, anyway. I always thought I'd be a Fall bride-"
"Buffy."
Giles eyes shot up to meet hers. They were impenetrably hard. Buffy searched them, trying to figure out why he was being so solemn.
Oh.
Buffy shifted in her seat, feeling a sudden discomfort wholly unrelated to her illness. Giles watched her, apprehensive.
"When it says 'coupling'- It means... Um," Buffy frowned, unable to make herself say the words.
"Physical," Giles' voice was barely louder than a whisper.
They sat in silence for a painfully long moment. Neither one looked at the other. Buffy opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out. Her skin felt hot; though she was sure it wasn't a result of the fever.
After a moment, Giles closed the book with a loud thump. Buffy jumped. Giles rose to his feet and crossed the room.
"It's utterly perverse. These were children. It was coercion, plain and simple. Those poor girls had enough to worry about."
Buffy had a feeling he wasn't speaking to her, but merely thinking aloud. Her own brain had stopped working some time ago. Her eyes were heavy in her head, her throat burned. Sweat was starting to collect in beads across her forehead. She was in no position to wrestle with the information she had just been given.
Giles was still pacing, muttering to himself angrily. Buffy wanted to reach out, to stop him. Tell him it was going to be okay.
"Giles."
He stopped dead, turning to face her. He looked exhausted, the lines in his face more prominent than ever. He stayed standing in the corner of the room as he spoke – as far from her as he could get.
"Buffy, this is... I'm so sorry."
Buffy looked over at her Watcher. He was dressed in his favourite green knit sweater, his eyes downcast. The last time she saw him this distressed, he had injected her with a syringe and taken her powers away. She was so angry then. It was the first and only time Giles had ever betrayed her.
"Is there no other way?" Her voice cracked a little. She hoped he hadn't heard it.
Giles sighed, taking a step closer to her.
"I was up the entire night searching. Every mention of the Slayer Sickness I've found has taken me right back to this bloody ritual. I don't know where else I can look. I've even asked the Watcher's Council."
Buffy scoffed. It hurt her aching throat.
"Where do they stand on all this? They probably want you to just let me die. Maybe they'll get a shiny new Slayer that's easier to manipulate."
Giles shot her a look. She gave a small smile – an apology.
"They were quite divided. Some of them are old fashioned; they think that you and I should have been wed years ago."
"Grossness," Buffy croaked.
"Indeed. Others believe the ritual is a sacrifice worth undertaking in order to ensure your life. And the rest..."
"Think you should let me die."
"Yes."
"What do you think?"
Giles was silent for a long time. Finally, he crossed the room to sit again across from Buffy. He put his face in his hands, running his fingers through his hair. He reached for his glasses and put them back on his face.
"I told myself a long time ago that I would do anything for you. Kill for you, die for you. Not just because of my duty as your Watcher, but because I care for you more than anything else in this world. But this... This is beyond anything I've ever had to contemplate. You'll die if the ritual isn't performed, so I suppose it's been answered for me. Doesn't mean I'm not bloody furious about it."
The words tumbled out of him rapidly and indelicately. It was rare that Buffy saw her Watcher so barely put-together. She could see he was fighting something within himself, trying hard to stay in control. He glanced up at her again.
"I know this is a silly question, but how do you feel?"
Buffy closed her eyes, smirking humourlessly.
"Besides feeling like I'm going to pass out? I'm okay."
Giles continued to watch her, unconvinced.
"I mean- I'm not okay. I don't think it's quite hit me yet. It's, um. I'm probably going to freak out about it after you're gone."
"I understand completely. We will have to discuss some particulars first, but I'll leave you to rest after that."
"... Particulars?"
Giles gave her an apologetic smile, before reaching down and producing another large book. Across it in embossed golden lettering read THE ISHTAR CODEX. It landed on the table with another unceremonious thud.
Buffy gulped.
"Oh. These are the... Instructions?"
"More or less. Give me a moment."
He flipped through the pages, scanning their contents. After a moment he stopped, seeming to find the right one. He sat in silence, reading. Buffy could not decipher his expression.
"How bad-?"
"Shh."
Buffy was starting to feel uneasy. She hadn't yet stopped to actually consider the specifics of the ritual she was agreeing to. Her stomach was beginning to turn itself over, and she found it suddenly strangely difficult to look at Giles. She heard him put his glasses back on the table.
"Buffy, I'm going to have to ask you some personal questions. Please know that I ask only because they are pertinent to the ritual."
The churning in Buffy's stomach grew stronger. She didn't like this one bit. All manner of possible humiliating questions raced through her mind. What would she be forced to tell him? To tell Giles – the man she thought of as a father figure? Her cheeks grew warm, and she could feel her eyes beginning to sting.
Swallowing hard, she nodded. She still couldn't look at him.
"Thank you. Now... How many days has it been since you last menstruated?"
Buffy grimaced. She wasn't expecting that.
"I- I don't know."
"Think, please. We have to be exact," Giles' voice was low, careful.
She thought. She remembered having to borrow a tampon from Willow after patrolling. That would have been, what? Two weeks ago? No, a little less. She furrowed her brow, counting.
"Ten. Ten days ago."
"You're sure?"
"Yes."
Giles ran a finger down the page, studying it.
"We have four days, then."
"What?"
"The ritual must be performed exactly fourteen days into your cycle. That is when you are at your most fertile."
Buffy's entire body tensed.
"Fertile? You're not going to... I mean-"
"It's alright, Buffy. I'm not going to let- That is, any repercussions will be dealt with. Ishtar is the Goddess of Fertility, and her ritual demands it take place then."
"Oh."
Buffy's head was starting to spin. She had to be fertile for when... When Giles...
Oh, God.
"Giles. I feel nauseous. That potion is wearing off."
Giles stood and moved towards her, placing a hand on her forehead.
"Yes. I think that's quite enough for now. We still have a few days to discuss the specifics. You should rest."
He gathered up the two large books, turning for the door. He stopped, glancing over his shoulder.
"I really am sorry, Buffy. I hope you know I'm- I'm every bit as anxious about this as you are."
Buffy looked up at him. Her vision was blurring – she had trouble making him out from all the way across the room. She tried to give him a reassuring smile, but her mouth wouldn't move the way she wanted it to. She settled for a small nod instead.
"I know. It's okay. Night, Giles."
"Goodnight, Buffy."
The door shut softly behind Giles. All at once, exhaustion hit Buffy like a tonne of bricks. She couldn't stay upright any longer. She groggily forced herself to lie flat on the sofa, thoughts of her Watcher and ancient rituals swimming around her brain.
As soon as her head hit the cushion, Buffy disappeared into a deep, mercifully dreamless sleep.