Again, thank you so much for reviews and feedback. I've tried to get this part out as soon as possible. Hope you'll enjoy!

Love's Gift - Part 9

By Jill

Giles looked up from the book he'd been reading for the last two hours, a

disturbing writing about gypsy-courses and gypsy-magic, when the library doors

swung open. Usually he wouldn't have cared. Pupils and teachers happened to come

into the library, and they usually announced when they needed his help. But

because it wasn't even seven o'clock in the morning, it was somewhat surprising

to hear the door open.

"I should have forced you to leave last night."

Miss Calender was standing before him, her expression disapproving, her hands firmly planted at her hips, she was dressed in a yellow blouse and a beige mini-skirt, both hugging her slim figure perfectly.

Giles had to swallow before his upbringing kicked in and he remembered his

manners. "Jenny," he stood, swallowed again.

"Good morning, Rupert." Her gaze swept over his dishevelled hair, his rumpled

clothes, his red-rimmed eyes, "You look terrible."

He grimaced, self-consciously running a hand trough his hair, making it stand up even more, "I ... uh ... didn't expect you."

Jenny sighed, "Yes, I can see that." She reached for the book lying open on the

table, "The secrets of the gypsies?", and looked at him quizzically, "I thought

we came to the conclusion that the original curse had nothing to do with Angel's

soul this time?"

He stared at her for a moment as if he hadn't heard a word she'd been saying,

then suddenly pulled off his glasses, agitatedly rubbing them with the hem of his shirt. "Yes, yes, I know. It's just that ...," he paused, put his glasses back on, "I can see what this is doing to Buffy. I never thought ...," he trailed off, picked up the book, turned towards the stacks.

Miss Calender looked at the tense set of his shoulders, the stiff way he was

moving, "You're tired, Rupert. You shouldn't do this. You're not eighteen

anymore. Your body needs sleep."

"Oh thank you so much," came his sarcastic reply from behind the shelves, "I

always dreamt about beautiful women telling me I was old."

It was only a casual remark, but her heart suddenly beat furiously in her chest,

and her voice hitched when she asked, "You think I'm beautiful?"

He returned from the stacks, walked into his office, a puzzled expression in his

eyes, "Of course, that was never a question." Again, running a hand through his

hair, Giles glanced at the clock, "Talking about sleepless nights. What are you

doing here so early?"

She had to clear her throat, finding it difficult to get her mind back on track,

"Uhm ... I thought I'd hit the internet for a while. Computers usually work

better in the morning. Not as much traffic, you know."

"Oh," he nodded, returning from his office "well, I don't want to keep you. We

need all information we can get. I will try to find something in here," he held

up the watcher's diary he'd been looking for. "That's the watcher who was in

charge of the Slayer the year Angel's soul was returned for the first time. I

cannot believe I missed this." He shook his head, angry at his own lapse.

Jenny tried not to be hurt by his obvious dismissal, but she couldn't help but

feel a painful twist in her gut. He was sitting again, his head buried into the

journal, he seemed to have already forgotten about her. And although she knew

that he was merely concerned about Buffy, a girl he was responsible for, his Slayer, her heart was heavy when she turned and left the library.

*****

Buffy leaned against the side of the shower, warm water running over her bare

skin, her head pounding as if she was nursing a class A hangover. Not that she

really knew a hangover. She had never had one, but feeling as if someone was

hammering inside her head, this had to be was what a hangover felt like.

It was all Angel's fault of course.

Her hands clenched into fists, while she shut her eyes, tried to pretend the last night never happened. But unfortunately she couldn't. The night had happened. She had slapped him, had said all those hurtful words about being able to live without him.

She almost laughed out loud, and without warning tears welled up in her eyes, mingling with the water as soon as they escaped from her lids.

Damn the man. How could he even think about leaving Sunnydale? Leaving her? Was

he too blind to see that they were meant to be together? She wanted to hit him

all over again, instantly hating herself for the thought.

She would never forget the empty, desperate look in his eyes while he'd tried to

explain his feelings. His dreams. His fears. And instead of taking him in her

arms, she'd freaked. Ran away like a stupid little girl. No wonder he was

thinking about leaving her. Why would he want to stay with her? She was behaving like a brat.

The pounding in her head intensified, and, keeping all movement to a minimum, so

her head wouldn't explode, she turned off the faucet and wiped the water from her face. She felt like hell, and she'd made a mess of her relationship with Angel last night. Maybe she should just die on the spot and get over with it.

With an inward sigh she managed to drag the towel off the Plexiglas door and made a weak attempt to dry herself, but an acute case of motion sickness had her sitting down on the closed toilet. School was looking less tempting by the minute.

"Buffy, are you still in there? It's getting late."

Her mom. "I know, I'm coming," she replied, standing up again. The mirror above

the sink was fogged with steam, and Buffy made a swipe to remove it. She wasn't a pretty sight. Her eyes were red-rimmed, puffy from crying the whole night. She

had dark smudges underneath, and her wet hair was flattened against her head.

Groaning she leaned her forehead against the mirror. Well, makeup would do the

trick, and gritting her teeth, she vowed she'd make it through the day. She

wouldn't burden her friends with her problems. They were doing enough already.

There was no way she'd drag them into the mess that was her love-life.

She closed her eyes, and when she opened them again, the blues was gone and replaced by determination. She was the Slayer after all. She would live through this.

Even if it killed her.

*****

"So what does it say?" Xander stared expectantly at the computer screen where

Willow was busy scrolling down the pages of the site she'd just found on the net.

Not taking her eyes from the text, she raised a brow, "Maybe if you hadn't

flunked French you'd know."

He rolled his eyes, "Yeah, yeah, maybe. But I think it's not the time to discuss

my efforts at school."

"Efforts?"

"Alright," he crossed his arms, "What's this? I thought we were trying to find a

way to help Buffy and Angel, and all of a sudden this is about me?"

She grinned, "I really like the sudden change in your attitude towards Buffy and Angel. Given time you and he might be bestest buds."

He straightened, "WHOA! Slow down, will you. I never said something about being his bud. I still hate the guy. He's a pain in the but. This is about the Buffster."

"Sure." Willow stifled a laugh the last possible moment. Xander was so predictable. It was cute.

"I'm not gonna change my attitude. It's just …," he trailed off, sunk back in his chair.

Willow shook her head and sighed. Xander would always be Xander. She didn't love

him less because of it, maybe it was part of the reason she'd always liked him so much, had once even believed herself in love with him. She shook her head again. Those thoughts wouldn't lead anywhere. "It says something about gypsy magic. About hidden meanings, unexpected outcome."

"Bingo!," Xander shouted, almost falling off his chair.

"Don't get your hopes too high. Just because I found a new site doesn't mean

...," she trailed off, a frown appearing on her forehead. "Hey ... this is

interesting."

"What?," he asked excitedly, "What?"

"It says that in the middle ages the gypsies used spells to determine the sex of

their children."

"Well, isn't that a cozy picture? Xander and Willow all on their twosome."

Xander's head snapped around at the sound of the voice, and his eyes fell on

Cordelia who was leaning at the door. "Cordy."

The brunette raised a brow, "Secret meetings in the computer room, tsk, tsk,

tsk." She sighed mockingly, "Willow, Willow."

Her boyfriend shook his head in irritation, then dismissing her remark, he turned his concentration back at the redhead, her last words just now sinking in. "Wait a moment. Did you just say what I think you said?"

"Wha- what?," the young witch stammered, her face beet-red, her eyes nervously

flickering from Cordelia to Xander and back.

"That they could determine the sex of the children?"

"Uh ...," Willow managed to shake off her embarrassment, "Yes. Why?"

"Because that's way creepy," Cordelia replied in Xander's place. "I wonder if

there's something those weirdos can't do."

"Like, say, building something into a curse nobody else can find?," Willow

thought aloud, all business again.

"Nobody can find what?," came another voice from the doorway.

The redhead peered around Xander's shoulder and her face lit up, "Hey, Buffy."

"Hey," the Slayer said, summoning a fake smile of her own. "What's up? Watcha

doing here?"

"I think we just found something," Willow announced excitedly, "This," she

pointed at the screen, "is about curses and stuff. And it might be exactly what

we've been looking for."

Buffy looked at her for a moment, then shrugged, already turning back to the

door, "Curses, huh? Well, do what you want. I have to find Giles. I suppose

there's real work for me somewhere, not just weird magic, nobody's really

interested in."

The three remaining friends gazed at the now empty doorway, the spot where Buffy'd disappeared a moment ago, and while Willow and Xander exchanged a meaningful glance, a frown appeared on Cordelia's forehead. "What's her deal? I thought she'd jump like crazy, and now she's not even interested? Can I say 'huh'?"

Xander looked at the screen, then at the redhead, "Maybe you should print that

out, so Giles can look at it. And Miss Calender." He stood, walked over to his

girlfriend, who still wore an expression as if a ghost had just walked past her,

and draped an arm around her shoulder, "And now, if you're really nice," he

grinned when her frown turned into a glare, "But even if you're not, I'm going to explain you what's going on."

*****

Angel groaned, his head feeling like lead on top of his body, his lids so heavy

he had problems to lift them at all. The last time he'd felt like this, he'd been heavily drunk the night before. But he knew for sure, he hadn't touched alcohol last night, although he'd felt severely tempted, and as vampires didn't catch colds as a rule, it had to be something entirely different.

"Wakey, wakey."

The sound of the well known voice and the fact that he couldn't move either his

arms or legs left only one possibility.

"I can't believe the bloke's been asleep all the time. How much the hell did you

give him?"

"Enough to keep him out for a while." Another voice intruded Angel's fuzzy mind.

"We didn't care for him waking up while we carried him over here. He's strong."

"Strong, my ass. He's just another vampire," Spike shouted, the anger clearly

audible in his voice.

"Well, you've got him now, boss," the other voice hissed.

"Yeah," Spike sighed, "I've got him now."

"Spike," Angel said wearily, blinking against the artificial light shining

directly into his eyes. "I should have known."

"Why? Because you're so bloody stupid you never saw that blow coming?," he asked, grinning. "Let me give you an advice, mate. Never let your love-life interfere with business."

The other vampire closed his eyes for a moment, then, opening them again, he

chuckled slightly, "Spike, maybe you need an advice." He let his eyes trail down

the blonde's sitting form, "Because as I see it, your love-life is still

non-existent."

"You-," Spike started to hiss, but when a feminine hand settled on his shoulder,

he calmed instantly.

"Don't let him make you mad, Spike," Drusilla smiled, the insanity momentarily

vanished from her eyes. "He likes to play." She walked over to the bound vampire, her long, red fingernails trailing over his cheeks, "He always liked to play. Didn't you, Daddy?"

"Don't call me that, Dru. I'm not your daddy. Your father's dead."

"That's because you killed him," she replied, lowering to her voice to a

conspiratorial whisper, "You killed them all. Because," she turned her head,

looked at Spike, "he wanted me just for himself. Just for himself. But then the

bad gypsies came and took him away. And now the little girl did the same."

She let go of Angel, who gazed at her through narrowed eyes, "What are you

talking about?," he demanded.

"Shhhh," she put a finger on her mouth, giggled like a schoolgirl, her eyes

glazing over, "We cannot tell. That's a secret."

"Dru." The dark-haired vampire frowned at her. What on earth was she talking

about? Maybe she knew things he didn't. Couldn't. She was psychic after all.

She giggled again, started to sing, and knowing she wouldn't be any help now, he

turned his head at Spike, "What the hell is going on?," he demanded.

The blond vampire grinned, "As Dru said before. We're not going to tell. It's

going to be a surprise. Just for you."

"A surprise?" Now why was he so certain he wouldn't like it, Angel thought

sarcastically.

"Yeah, a surprise." Spike chuckled, "You'll see. As soon as our special guest

arrives, you'll see." He whirled his wheelchair away, his laughter sounding through the whole factory.

... to be continued

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