He sat alone in his office. Trying not to think, not to feel anything.
Trying to turn off his heart as he knew he should have done when he walked in
those doors two and a half years ago. It didn't work, nothing worked. He
was in love with her, hopelessly in love with her, as all of her friends were
in love with her. But he was more than her friend. He was her Watcher.
He was her father.
At least, Giles had liked to think of himself as such. Until tonight. How
could a father not protect his daughter? How could he have let this happen
to her?
Giles looked around the room slowly. His gaze wandered to the chair Angel
had been sitting in before he left, and then to his desk, which was covered
in his precious papers. Standing up, he walked with measured steps over to
his desk. Placing his palms flat on the surface, he calmly looked down at
the papers and ancient texts that laid there.
Then he exploded.
His arms skimmed the top, throwing books and sheets of paper onto the ground.
His glass trinkets shattered on the floor with the impact as they were
thrown off, embedding themselves in his slacks and cutting into his legs.
Turning to his shelves, he did the same, yelling in anger, flinging objects
into the walls.
Spent, he sat back down and looked around in something like satisfaction. He
deserved no better than her, no more. Truth be told, he deserved less. He
thought of the men who had done this to Buffy.
"Fucking bastards," he growled.
A voice spoke up from the doorway, a little cautiously. "I second that."
Giles looked up to see Xander standing there, his lips tense and white.
Xander looked back at him and let the fury glimmer behind his eyes before he
sat down on the couch slowly.
And then another voice came into the room. "Anyone mind if I third it?"
Xander and Giles looked at Oz, who had his fists clenched in anger as he
stood in front of the door. He walked briskly over to the couch and sat down
next to Xander, sliding his eyes from the Watcher to his girlfriend's best
friend.
Giles cleared his throat, leveled his mind as to not erupt again. "Oz," he
said evenly, "I hope this doesn't offend you, but you of all people seem to
have the least attachment to Buffy. I understand that this is hard for..."
"It does offend me," Oz interrupted quietly. "She's my friend too. I may
not have known her for as long as any of you, but she's saved Willow's life
on many occasions, and that's not the sort of thing you forget. I don't have
a lot of friends. She's one of them. One of the best." He pinned Xander
and Giles with his gaze, daring them to refute what he said.
Giles shook his head. "All right."
Xander licked his lips slowly, nodding. "Which begs the question: What can
we do about this?" Giles lifted his head, a thought occurring to him, and
then leaned over to the phone. He picked up the receiver and then hurriedly
began to dial. "Uh, Giles? What are you doing?" Xander asked after a moment.
Giles looked at him. "Finding out what we can do about this."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
She was sleeping, restlessly tossing under her sheets. Joyce watched her,
sitting in the chair across from the bed, her brow knitted worriedly. Buffy
called out something in her sleep and Joyce let the tears slip out from
underneath her eyelids, wishing that she knew of some way to comfort her
daughter.
A strained voice broke into her thoughts. "Is she okay?"
Joyce turned, startled, and then relaxed when she saw Angel standing in the
doorway. "No," she sighed, "She's not. How did you--"
"I was outside, walking by, and I heard her say something," Angel explained
quietly.
"From outside?"
"Vampire," he reminded her. He looked out of the window, cringing. "Sun up
is very soon. I should go."
Joyce rose from her chair. "The shade draws. You could stay. I'm going to
go downstairs and fix her something to eat for when she wakes up." She
started to leave the room, but stopped halfway to the hall, and turned back.
"Watch over her."
"With all I have," he agreed softly. Joyce nodded and left.
Angel drew the shade down, and closed the curtains. Looking at Buffy for a
moment, his eyes dark and tormented more than they had ever been, he took his
place beside her. Stretching out on the bed, above the covers, he wrapped
his arms around her and let her settle her face against his chest. She
tensed as his hands tentatively touched her hair, and then eased herself
against him when he began whispering.
"It's going to be okay, Buffy," he said, hushed. "It'll be okay if I have to
die making it that way for you. I promise, my love. I promise."
Angel felt his eyes get moist, and he determined silently that it was one
promise he would never break.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
They tore at her clothes, they made her bleed. Inside and out. Inside and
out, she was bleeding. She shook underneath them, their faces burned inside
her memory. Forever and ever. Always...
Buffy watched the papers flutter to the ground, the papers of her book, the
book Angel gave her. She cried out helplessly, reaching for them, but her
arm was blocked and pinned by someone who hated her and wanted to hurt her.
Why couldn't she hurt them back? Why did they hate her so much? She would
have died for them.
She was dirty and torn when they left her. Her soul was dirty and torn,
irreparable. Ashamed, ashamed. "No!" she screamed. "NO!!"
Buffy woke up, startled and still screaming, clutching at Angel's shirt.
"No," she whispered raggedly. "Not to me, not again. Make it stop, Angel.
Please... please..."
Angel stared in horror as she fell into sobs again, and he tried to soothe
her, but she refused comfort. "Buffy!" he finally cried out when she didn't
calm.
Her tremors eased and she looked up at him tearfully. "It hurts when I walk,
Angel," she mumbled with a dry mouth. "...Bath. I want to take a bath, want
to get clean. Please."
Angel slowly nodded and stood, lifting her in his arms and cradling her as
though she was a child. Carrying her into the bathroom, he sat her down on
the toilet and began running the water. As it heated and the bath slowly
filled, he kneeled at her feet and looked at her eyes. Haunted eyes, once so
clear and happy and blue, now filled with something worse than death, worse
than a thousand nightly terrors.
He turned off the water and stood to leave, but Buffy tugged on his arm
weakly. "Stay with me?" she asked in a small voice.
Not able to deny her, he nodded and kneeled again, slowly drawing her night
shirt off over her shoulders and head. Her hair tumbled back down as the
shirt came off, and Angel sucked in some useless breath as he took in the
state of her body. Scrapes all along her arms and chest and shoulders and
back, a bite mark on the curve of her left breast. Angel's fingers wandered
over the injuries and Buffy trembled as he touched them, wanting to heal her.
He slowly peeled away her panties and she stood to step out of them,
steadying herself by holding onto his shoulder. Angel's eyes welled as he
noticed the black bruise on the inside of her thigh, where fingers had
pinched her. He touched it lightly and felt her wince with pain, but she
allowed his silent inspection. His hand drifted along the line of her body
gently, touching her but with not enough pressure to hurt her wounds. His
fingers found the bruises and abrasions on her breasts and he placed his
hands over them softly as he wept. Buffy stepped closer to him, naked and
trusting, and let him fold her in his arms, let him kiss the top of her hair.
At length, she pulled away and looked at the steaming water. Her eyes were
bright with repressed crying and she motioned to the tub. Angel nodded and
lifted her slight form easily, lowering her slowly into the hot water. She
sank into it and rested her head against the back, looking at him.
He swallowed thickly as he saw some of the dried blood from one of her
injuries float through the water and dissipate. "Do you want me to stay?"
She nodded, her eyes fixed on him, and stretched out her hand. He took it
and settled himself on the floor beside the bathtub. "Yes," she said softly,
loving him for not hating her, "Stay always."
Trying to turn off his heart as he knew he should have done when he walked in
those doors two and a half years ago. It didn't work, nothing worked. He
was in love with her, hopelessly in love with her, as all of her friends were
in love with her. But he was more than her friend. He was her Watcher.
He was her father.
At least, Giles had liked to think of himself as such. Until tonight. How
could a father not protect his daughter? How could he have let this happen
to her?
Giles looked around the room slowly. His gaze wandered to the chair Angel
had been sitting in before he left, and then to his desk, which was covered
in his precious papers. Standing up, he walked with measured steps over to
his desk. Placing his palms flat on the surface, he calmly looked down at
the papers and ancient texts that laid there.
Then he exploded.
His arms skimmed the top, throwing books and sheets of paper onto the ground.
His glass trinkets shattered on the floor with the impact as they were
thrown off, embedding themselves in his slacks and cutting into his legs.
Turning to his shelves, he did the same, yelling in anger, flinging objects
into the walls.
Spent, he sat back down and looked around in something like satisfaction. He
deserved no better than her, no more. Truth be told, he deserved less. He
thought of the men who had done this to Buffy.
"Fucking bastards," he growled.
A voice spoke up from the doorway, a little cautiously. "I second that."
Giles looked up to see Xander standing there, his lips tense and white.
Xander looked back at him and let the fury glimmer behind his eyes before he
sat down on the couch slowly.
And then another voice came into the room. "Anyone mind if I third it?"
Xander and Giles looked at Oz, who had his fists clenched in anger as he
stood in front of the door. He walked briskly over to the couch and sat down
next to Xander, sliding his eyes from the Watcher to his girlfriend's best
friend.
Giles cleared his throat, leveled his mind as to not erupt again. "Oz," he
said evenly, "I hope this doesn't offend you, but you of all people seem to
have the least attachment to Buffy. I understand that this is hard for..."
"It does offend me," Oz interrupted quietly. "She's my friend too. I may
not have known her for as long as any of you, but she's saved Willow's life
on many occasions, and that's not the sort of thing you forget. I don't have
a lot of friends. She's one of them. One of the best." He pinned Xander
and Giles with his gaze, daring them to refute what he said.
Giles shook his head. "All right."
Xander licked his lips slowly, nodding. "Which begs the question: What can
we do about this?" Giles lifted his head, a thought occurring to him, and
then leaned over to the phone. He picked up the receiver and then hurriedly
began to dial. "Uh, Giles? What are you doing?" Xander asked after a moment.
Giles looked at him. "Finding out what we can do about this."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
She was sleeping, restlessly tossing under her sheets. Joyce watched her,
sitting in the chair across from the bed, her brow knitted worriedly. Buffy
called out something in her sleep and Joyce let the tears slip out from
underneath her eyelids, wishing that she knew of some way to comfort her
daughter.
A strained voice broke into her thoughts. "Is she okay?"
Joyce turned, startled, and then relaxed when she saw Angel standing in the
doorway. "No," she sighed, "She's not. How did you--"
"I was outside, walking by, and I heard her say something," Angel explained
quietly.
"From outside?"
"Vampire," he reminded her. He looked out of the window, cringing. "Sun up
is very soon. I should go."
Joyce rose from her chair. "The shade draws. You could stay. I'm going to
go downstairs and fix her something to eat for when she wakes up." She
started to leave the room, but stopped halfway to the hall, and turned back.
"Watch over her."
"With all I have," he agreed softly. Joyce nodded and left.
Angel drew the shade down, and closed the curtains. Looking at Buffy for a
moment, his eyes dark and tormented more than they had ever been, he took his
place beside her. Stretching out on the bed, above the covers, he wrapped
his arms around her and let her settle her face against his chest. She
tensed as his hands tentatively touched her hair, and then eased herself
against him when he began whispering.
"It's going to be okay, Buffy," he said, hushed. "It'll be okay if I have to
die making it that way for you. I promise, my love. I promise."
Angel felt his eyes get moist, and he determined silently that it was one
promise he would never break.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
They tore at her clothes, they made her bleed. Inside and out. Inside and
out, she was bleeding. She shook underneath them, their faces burned inside
her memory. Forever and ever. Always...
Buffy watched the papers flutter to the ground, the papers of her book, the
book Angel gave her. She cried out helplessly, reaching for them, but her
arm was blocked and pinned by someone who hated her and wanted to hurt her.
Why couldn't she hurt them back? Why did they hate her so much? She would
have died for them.
She was dirty and torn when they left her. Her soul was dirty and torn,
irreparable. Ashamed, ashamed. "No!" she screamed. "NO!!"
Buffy woke up, startled and still screaming, clutching at Angel's shirt.
"No," she whispered raggedly. "Not to me, not again. Make it stop, Angel.
Please... please..."
Angel stared in horror as she fell into sobs again, and he tried to soothe
her, but she refused comfort. "Buffy!" he finally cried out when she didn't
calm.
Her tremors eased and she looked up at him tearfully. "It hurts when I walk,
Angel," she mumbled with a dry mouth. "...Bath. I want to take a bath, want
to get clean. Please."
Angel slowly nodded and stood, lifting her in his arms and cradling her as
though she was a child. Carrying her into the bathroom, he sat her down on
the toilet and began running the water. As it heated and the bath slowly
filled, he kneeled at her feet and looked at her eyes. Haunted eyes, once so
clear and happy and blue, now filled with something worse than death, worse
than a thousand nightly terrors.
He turned off the water and stood to leave, but Buffy tugged on his arm
weakly. "Stay with me?" she asked in a small voice.
Not able to deny her, he nodded and kneeled again, slowly drawing her night
shirt off over her shoulders and head. Her hair tumbled back down as the
shirt came off, and Angel sucked in some useless breath as he took in the
state of her body. Scrapes all along her arms and chest and shoulders and
back, a bite mark on the curve of her left breast. Angel's fingers wandered
over the injuries and Buffy trembled as he touched them, wanting to heal her.
He slowly peeled away her panties and she stood to step out of them,
steadying herself by holding onto his shoulder. Angel's eyes welled as he
noticed the black bruise on the inside of her thigh, where fingers had
pinched her. He touched it lightly and felt her wince with pain, but she
allowed his silent inspection. His hand drifted along the line of her body
gently, touching her but with not enough pressure to hurt her wounds. His
fingers found the bruises and abrasions on her breasts and he placed his
hands over them softly as he wept. Buffy stepped closer to him, naked and
trusting, and let him fold her in his arms, let him kiss the top of her hair.
At length, she pulled away and looked at the steaming water. Her eyes were
bright with repressed crying and she motioned to the tub. Angel nodded and
lifted her slight form easily, lowering her slowly into the hot water. She
sank into it and rested her head against the back, looking at him.
He swallowed thickly as he saw some of the dried blood from one of her
injuries float through the water and dissipate. "Do you want me to stay?"
She nodded, her eyes fixed on him, and stretched out her hand. He took it
and settled himself on the floor beside the bathtub. "Yes," she said softly,
loving him for not hating her, "Stay always."