Epilogue - Twilight
"I think something's wrong with him -"
The voice was distant and barely discernable, though he thought it was feminine.
"- don't know if he's breathing -"
He felt a cold hand on his forehead, and reached up with an arm which seemed to weight a thousand pounds to brush it away.
"No wonder," a male voice, this time, sounding faintly amused. "Looks like he polished off most of a bottle in about four hours. It's a wonder he's not dead."
Giles didn't want to wake up. Not that he could remember anything with as much alcohol in his system as he had, but he sensed...something was wrong. Something...very... bad had happened, something very unpleasant awaited him when he returned to the land of the sober. But the buzz was wearing off. He had to get to the booze -
He opened his eyes to find Willow looking down at him, concern etched into her pale features.
"Thank goodness," she said, relieved. "Didn't think you were going to come back to us for a minute there."
Xander stood over her shoulder, looking down at them both, whiskey bottle in hand. Giles reached for it drunkenly, but Xander pulled it away, out of reach.
"Ah, not so fast, G-man," he said. "Smart guy like you oughta know when enough's enough. Oh, and I'll need your keys, too. Friends don't let friends... etc., etc."
Willow reached up to stroke his face tenderly. "Don't worry, Giles, Willow'l take good care of you."
"You're...wrong," he slurred, trying in vain to push her away. "You...you both, you're not..."
"Not what, book man? Not the same as we used to be?" Xander replied, walking slowly into the small kitchen. "We're not the ones pickled stiff, riding the couch like somebody died. We're out there, man, livin' the life, seein' the sights, paintin' the town a bright, shiny red."
Giles heard him rummaging around in the fridge. "Jeez, G, don't you have anything besides milk and old takeout?"
Giles felt sick, but for some reason answered anyway. "Fruit juice...lower left shelf."
Xander stuck his face back around through the doorway. His eyes were yellow, his forehead ridged - his smile held the promise of pain and a slow, seeping death. "Actually I was thinking more along the lines of O- positive. Hey, that's your type, isn't it?"
Xander sauntered back into the living room, and took a swig of the whiskey, swallowing it with a grimace. "Christ, where'd you get this damn stuff? Tastes like 80-proof dog piss."
"How d-did you get in here?"
"Easy enough," Willow replied innocently, still casually stroking his hair, as if she was petting the family dog. "Once you invite somebody in to your house, the invitation stands until the person's dead. Really dead. Oh, and you left the front door wide open."
Giles reached shakily into the coat of his vest to bring out the small cross he kept constantly within reach, and shoved it into Willow's face. She hissed furiously, batted the cross away, and picked him up bodily by the neck. He choked, grabbed desperately at her hand, but it was like just so much unfeeling marble -
"Easy, Will," Xander said calmly from behind her. "Sire said hands off the librarian. For now."
Willow's face slid back to the mask of normalcy, and she set the librarian back down carefully on the couch. "Doesn't mean we can't have a little fun, right?"
"Fish of the large variety to fry, Will," Xander replied. He moved to put his arm protectively around her small waist. "Just came to lay down a friendly warning, book man. Master gave you his word he wouldn't touch you or yours as long as you stay off our turf. But you come after us again, and you'll feel pain like you can't imagine."
"What about Angel?" Giles coughed, rubbing his bruised throat.
Willow giggled, and nuzzled into Xander's chin. "Really not your concern," Xander answered cryptically.
"Get out of my house," Giles said weakly.
Xander shook his head, chuckled, but turned with Willow to leave.
"Keep the door open, G-man," the vampire said derisively. "We'll be around."
They melted into the darkness, and Giles was alone again.
Finito
"I think something's wrong with him -"
The voice was distant and barely discernable, though he thought it was feminine.
"- don't know if he's breathing -"
He felt a cold hand on his forehead, and reached up with an arm which seemed to weight a thousand pounds to brush it away.
"No wonder," a male voice, this time, sounding faintly amused. "Looks like he polished off most of a bottle in about four hours. It's a wonder he's not dead."
Giles didn't want to wake up. Not that he could remember anything with as much alcohol in his system as he had, but he sensed...something was wrong. Something...very... bad had happened, something very unpleasant awaited him when he returned to the land of the sober. But the buzz was wearing off. He had to get to the booze -
He opened his eyes to find Willow looking down at him, concern etched into her pale features.
"Thank goodness," she said, relieved. "Didn't think you were going to come back to us for a minute there."
Xander stood over her shoulder, looking down at them both, whiskey bottle in hand. Giles reached for it drunkenly, but Xander pulled it away, out of reach.
"Ah, not so fast, G-man," he said. "Smart guy like you oughta know when enough's enough. Oh, and I'll need your keys, too. Friends don't let friends... etc., etc."
Willow reached up to stroke his face tenderly. "Don't worry, Giles, Willow'l take good care of you."
"You're...wrong," he slurred, trying in vain to push her away. "You...you both, you're not..."
"Not what, book man? Not the same as we used to be?" Xander replied, walking slowly into the small kitchen. "We're not the ones pickled stiff, riding the couch like somebody died. We're out there, man, livin' the life, seein' the sights, paintin' the town a bright, shiny red."
Giles heard him rummaging around in the fridge. "Jeez, G, don't you have anything besides milk and old takeout?"
Giles felt sick, but for some reason answered anyway. "Fruit juice...lower left shelf."
Xander stuck his face back around through the doorway. His eyes were yellow, his forehead ridged - his smile held the promise of pain and a slow, seeping death. "Actually I was thinking more along the lines of O- positive. Hey, that's your type, isn't it?"
Xander sauntered back into the living room, and took a swig of the whiskey, swallowing it with a grimace. "Christ, where'd you get this damn stuff? Tastes like 80-proof dog piss."
"How d-did you get in here?"
"Easy enough," Willow replied innocently, still casually stroking his hair, as if she was petting the family dog. "Once you invite somebody in to your house, the invitation stands until the person's dead. Really dead. Oh, and you left the front door wide open."
Giles reached shakily into the coat of his vest to bring out the small cross he kept constantly within reach, and shoved it into Willow's face. She hissed furiously, batted the cross away, and picked him up bodily by the neck. He choked, grabbed desperately at her hand, but it was like just so much unfeeling marble -
"Easy, Will," Xander said calmly from behind her. "Sire said hands off the librarian. For now."
Willow's face slid back to the mask of normalcy, and she set the librarian back down carefully on the couch. "Doesn't mean we can't have a little fun, right?"
"Fish of the large variety to fry, Will," Xander replied. He moved to put his arm protectively around her small waist. "Just came to lay down a friendly warning, book man. Master gave you his word he wouldn't touch you or yours as long as you stay off our turf. But you come after us again, and you'll feel pain like you can't imagine."
"What about Angel?" Giles coughed, rubbing his bruised throat.
Willow giggled, and nuzzled into Xander's chin. "Really not your concern," Xander answered cryptically.
"Get out of my house," Giles said weakly.
Xander shook his head, chuckled, but turned with Willow to leave.
"Keep the door open, G-man," the vampire said derisively. "We'll be around."
They melted into the darkness, and Giles was alone again.
Finito