Part 28: Crawling Through the Wreckage
#
Giles stormed past the door of the small office building, barely pausing long enough in order not to get shot by the rather antsy SDO agents who were keeping a close watch. Burke had called Giles only a few minutes ago, giving him the barest summary of what had gone down at the warehouse, asking him to come quickly.
He had said there was something wrong with Buffy.
Giles barely noticed the rifles pointed his way, too preoccupied with his own racing thoughts. Buffy had told him about the nightmare she had had a few days ago. The one that showed her fighting in a large battle and encountering Jackson King, the Huntsman. Now that nightmare seemed to have come to pass and Giles was deathly afraid.
Shortly before he had had a discussion with Doyle, Angel's half-demon friend. Ever since Angel had returned to Sunnydale more or less full-time Doyle had stayed here as well. It was his mission to guide Angel, he said, a mission he had not been released from after Angel's becoming human again. Angel had told both Doyle and Giles about the Oracles' words, how he would have another chance to help the Slayer.
Doyle was wondering whether that chance would still come to pass, seeing Angel's current state. His main worry, though, was a vision he had had just about half an hour before Burke's call. The vision had shown him Buffy, the girl immersed in darkness and stalked by some kind of predator. It was extremely vague, but he was convinced that Buffy needed all the help she could get now. Doyle would have come along if there had been any way to explain his presence to Burke. If nothing else, he said, it was what Angel would have wanted him to do.
As it was the half-demon was waiting outside in the car.
"Where is she?" Giles yelled upon seeing Burke. The senior agent of SDO looked like he had been through a war. He seemed to have managed a chance of clothes, but not taken the time for a shower. His skin was darkened by ash and sooth, his jaw swollen from a blow he must have received. His left arm was in a sling and he was leaning heavily against a table, a tired look on his face.
"Mr. Giles, thank you for coming."
"Where is Buffy?"
The senior agent seemed to fold in upon himself, shuddering with exhaustion.
"We were attacked. The details are not that important but, during the battle, Jackson King turned up. He was out of control, attacking and killing people on both sides."
Giles nodded. He had been afraid that something like that would happen. Buffy had foreseen it.
"King killed two of my agents," Burke said bitterly, "and was about to add Riley to the list as well. That was when Ms. Summers ... stopped him."
There was a look of shock on Giles' face before the older man regained his composure.
"She killed him?" he asked, sounding remarkably calm.
"She did what was necessary," Burke replied. "Saved quite a few lives that way. But I'm afraid that she is not handling it well." He paused for a moment. "She has never killed before, has she?"
"Not a human, no." Giles could not help thinking of Faith, whose accidental killing of a human being had driven her over the edge. "More than that, though, I fear what this might be doing to her in light of her bond to the Huntsman."
Burke just nodded, having been told the gist of the Slayer-Huntsman lore by Giles and Riley. He did not believe most of it, not really, but he had seen some of the effects King's presence had had on Buffy.
"She is in the back room," Burke told Giles. "We think she is in something of a shock right now. Her injuries have already healed, but ..."
Giles was past him before he could finish, concern all over his face. For all intents and purposes Buffy was his daughter and he needed to be with her now, needed to do whatever he could to help her work through this. Doyle's vision had only added to that resolve.
The back room of the small office building had been turned into an impromptu field hospital, several beds with wounded men and women lining the walls. Giles had no more than a passing glance to spare for any of them, his eyes immediately drawn to the far end of the room.
Buffy was sitting on one of the field beds, her back against the wall, her knees drawn up to her chest. Someone had draped a blanket around her. Her green eyes were just staring off into space.
Giles slowly sat down on the bed beside her, watching her for any kind of reaction to his presence. There was none, she just kept on staring. He put one of his hands on her shoulder, squeezing gently.
"Buffy, can you hear me?"
Slowly, extremely slowly, Buffy seemed to come out of her absent state to look at him. Her eyes seemed to have trouble focusing on him, as if they were too busy seeing memories over and over again. He felt her tremble where his hand rested on her skin.
"Giles?" she asked softly, barely audible.
"I'm here, Buffy. I know what happened."
There was no trace of accusation in his voice, only warmth and understanding. The Council drilled Slayers and Watchers alike to see the world in black and white. Humans are good, demons are evil. The Slayer must kill all demons, but never harm a human. Even before meeting coming to Sunnydale, though, Giles had known that it was not always that easy. There were demons like Angel, or ex-demons now, and there were humans like the late Mayor Richard Wilkins.
He never doubted for a second that Buffy would never have killed King if she had seen any other alternative. It would not keep her from tearing herself apart with guilt, though. He knew her well enough to know that.
"He was killing people," Buffy whispered, her eyes brimming with tears. "I ... I wanted him to stop, but at the same time ... he came to my aid when I got hurt and he was ... he was tearing that wolf woman apart and I wanted him to do it. I wanted to see her bleed and ..."
"It was the bond, Buffy," he tried to soothe her. "That was not you."
"How can you be so sure?" she asked him, a desperate look on her face. "It wasn't the bond that made me ... made me ..."
"No, Buffy. That was you trying to save lives. Jackson King was not a demon, that is true. He was a young man overwhelmed by a power he could not control and that made him a tremendous danger to everyone he came into contact with. Including you, Buffy."
"I killed him, Giles," she whispered, tears now flowing freely down her cheeks. "I just took his head in my hands and ..."
He gathered her into his arms and Buffy collapsed against his chest, her tiny form rocking with sobs. God, how he wished he could have spared her this. If only he had been there, maybe he could have done it for her. Despite everything Buffy had gone through these last few years she was still barely more than a child, a child that had been forced to grow up much too fast. Above everything else she should not have to deal with the guilt that came with killing a fellow human being, no matter how necessary it might have been. If only he could have spared her this.
If only. For Rupert Giles the English language held no sadder words.
#
Willow and Tara walked into the lobby of the Sunnydale General and the redhead felt more hopeful than she had in a long, long time. Yes, things were grim. Angel was hovering between life and death, Buffy had to deal with both Jackson King and those demonized super-soldiers, and they were probably overdue for the next apocalypse. Still, she felt better than she had in a long time.
Part of it was probably the girl by her side, she realized. Meeting Tara was one of the best things that had ever happened to her. Yes, Willow was not as isolated and friendless as she had once been when Xander, Jesse, and her had been Sunnydale's resident loser squad, but still ... this was different. It was like ... like a reversal of roles. She still considered Buffy her best friend in the whole world, but somehow in that relationship Buffy had always come first. She was the Slayer, the chosen one, and Willow was the sidekick. Willow did not resent that, certainly not, but it was nice to experience a different kind of friendship once in a while.
She was not quite sure where her friendship with Tara was going. She only knew that, with Tara, she did not feel like the sidekick. She felt like an equal, like she finally had someone who could understand all she was, all she wanted, and did not have the fate of the world to think of first. Maybe that was the reason she had yet to introduce Tara to the other Scoobies, she mused. Maybe she just wanted someone that was ... hers.
"There is n-no guarantee it w-will w-work, Willow," Tara said, seeing the smile on her face.
"I know, but ... but we have to believe it will, won't we? I mean if we don't believe it will work than it certainly won't and then there is really no point in attempting it in the first place, is there?"
Tara smiled. Willow was just so adorable when she started babbling.
The two witches had been looking for some kind of magical remedy to Angel's situation. Willow knew how his hovering between life and death was tearing Buffy to pieces. She also knew that, even if he were to make a recovery, he would probably be crippled for life. Medicine had done all it could for him, maybe now there was some way for magic to pick up the slack.
Healing was not really something magic was good at, Willow knew, but there were some exceptions to the rule. The spell they had finally discovered was not so much a healing spell as a transferal of energies. It would channel power from the Earth into Angel's form, hopefully strengthening his body's own recuperative powers to the point where they could deal with the damage done to him.
Like Tara had said, there was no guarantee that it would work. It might do no more than help him hold on a little longer than he otherwise would. On the other hand, though, it might just be enough to heal him. Willow knew that she would never forgive herself if she did not at least try.
"We w-will give our b-best," Tara assured Willow, taking her hand. She often did that, Willow realized, and it felt ... strange. In a good way.
They approached the front desk and Willow smiled at the nurse sitting there.
"Hi, we would like to visit Angel O'Connor."
The nurse turned to look at her with a rather shocked expression on her face.
"He ... I'm sorry he is ..."
Willow paled, stumbling back. No, it could not be possible. Angel could not be ... could he? Oh God, how was she going to tell this to Buffy? There was just no way she could ...
"He is gone," the nurse said.
Willow clamped her hand over her mouth to stifle the sob she felt building deep within her. Angel could not gone! He was supposed to be here forever. Well, not forever as in eternal life anymore, but he and Buffy should have been forever. That was how it was supposed to happen. He could not simply be gone. Not now, not when they had just found a way to help him.
"He ... he died?" Tara asked the nurse, seeing the sorry state Willow was in.
"No," the nurse replied, still looking shocked. Willow immediately latched onto that one word, new hope shining in her eyes.
"He isn't? He isn't dead? But you just said ... oh my God, he isn't dead! I was thinking ... never mind what I was thinking. Is he okay? What did you mean by 'gone' if not ..."
It took Tara some time to calm Willow down enough for the nurse to tell them exactly what had happened with Angel.
#
He was running. That was the only thing he was consciously aware of at the moment. He needed to run. There was no clear idea where to run to, but he knew exactly what he was running from.
Pain. More pain than he had ever experienced in his long life. Even Hell had not been like this. A vampire did feel pain, yes, but it was always one step removed, less real. A dead body felt only one sensation with true, life-like intensity and that was the tasting of blood. Everything else was more distant. Dulled.
When the Mhora's blood had brought him back to life it had been painful, but only for a heartbeat. Every cell in his body had screamed upon rejuvenation, a painful ecstasy of renewed life. After that it had been mostly the little pains he needed to learn to deal with. Paper cuts, banged knees, bruises, stubbed toes.
Now, though, the pain was all-encompassing. There were some distant memories of floating, seeing his own body as if from a distance. White light had been everywhere and he thought he could hear a voice, telling him about a chance. Something that he had to do now or never.
Then there was fire and agony. Something had been there, something so bright and searing that it had almost blinded him, yet he had reached for it. Some part of him had known that, unless he did so, it would be over. So he had put his hands into this living flame and it burned. God, it burned!
He had felt his broken bones knitting back together, had felt his damaged spine mending in a heartbeat. The fire had swept right through him and forcibly removed everything that would hinder its possession of this body. It wanted a perfect vessel, someone who was able to move and run and fight. Not a cripple in a hospital bed somewhere. So it healed him and did not give a damn about how painful it was.
Angel screamed as he ran through the night and even then he knew there was no escaping. The source of the pain was now entrenched deep inside of him and would not let go until the day he died.
TO BE CONTINUED
#
Giles stormed past the door of the small office building, barely pausing long enough in order not to get shot by the rather antsy SDO agents who were keeping a close watch. Burke had called Giles only a few minutes ago, giving him the barest summary of what had gone down at the warehouse, asking him to come quickly.
He had said there was something wrong with Buffy.
Giles barely noticed the rifles pointed his way, too preoccupied with his own racing thoughts. Buffy had told him about the nightmare she had had a few days ago. The one that showed her fighting in a large battle and encountering Jackson King, the Huntsman. Now that nightmare seemed to have come to pass and Giles was deathly afraid.
Shortly before he had had a discussion with Doyle, Angel's half-demon friend. Ever since Angel had returned to Sunnydale more or less full-time Doyle had stayed here as well. It was his mission to guide Angel, he said, a mission he had not been released from after Angel's becoming human again. Angel had told both Doyle and Giles about the Oracles' words, how he would have another chance to help the Slayer.
Doyle was wondering whether that chance would still come to pass, seeing Angel's current state. His main worry, though, was a vision he had had just about half an hour before Burke's call. The vision had shown him Buffy, the girl immersed in darkness and stalked by some kind of predator. It was extremely vague, but he was convinced that Buffy needed all the help she could get now. Doyle would have come along if there had been any way to explain his presence to Burke. If nothing else, he said, it was what Angel would have wanted him to do.
As it was the half-demon was waiting outside in the car.
"Where is she?" Giles yelled upon seeing Burke. The senior agent of SDO looked like he had been through a war. He seemed to have managed a chance of clothes, but not taken the time for a shower. His skin was darkened by ash and sooth, his jaw swollen from a blow he must have received. His left arm was in a sling and he was leaning heavily against a table, a tired look on his face.
"Mr. Giles, thank you for coming."
"Where is Buffy?"
The senior agent seemed to fold in upon himself, shuddering with exhaustion.
"We were attacked. The details are not that important but, during the battle, Jackson King turned up. He was out of control, attacking and killing people on both sides."
Giles nodded. He had been afraid that something like that would happen. Buffy had foreseen it.
"King killed two of my agents," Burke said bitterly, "and was about to add Riley to the list as well. That was when Ms. Summers ... stopped him."
There was a look of shock on Giles' face before the older man regained his composure.
"She killed him?" he asked, sounding remarkably calm.
"She did what was necessary," Burke replied. "Saved quite a few lives that way. But I'm afraid that she is not handling it well." He paused for a moment. "She has never killed before, has she?"
"Not a human, no." Giles could not help thinking of Faith, whose accidental killing of a human being had driven her over the edge. "More than that, though, I fear what this might be doing to her in light of her bond to the Huntsman."
Burke just nodded, having been told the gist of the Slayer-Huntsman lore by Giles and Riley. He did not believe most of it, not really, but he had seen some of the effects King's presence had had on Buffy.
"She is in the back room," Burke told Giles. "We think she is in something of a shock right now. Her injuries have already healed, but ..."
Giles was past him before he could finish, concern all over his face. For all intents and purposes Buffy was his daughter and he needed to be with her now, needed to do whatever he could to help her work through this. Doyle's vision had only added to that resolve.
The back room of the small office building had been turned into an impromptu field hospital, several beds with wounded men and women lining the walls. Giles had no more than a passing glance to spare for any of them, his eyes immediately drawn to the far end of the room.
Buffy was sitting on one of the field beds, her back against the wall, her knees drawn up to her chest. Someone had draped a blanket around her. Her green eyes were just staring off into space.
Giles slowly sat down on the bed beside her, watching her for any kind of reaction to his presence. There was none, she just kept on staring. He put one of his hands on her shoulder, squeezing gently.
"Buffy, can you hear me?"
Slowly, extremely slowly, Buffy seemed to come out of her absent state to look at him. Her eyes seemed to have trouble focusing on him, as if they were too busy seeing memories over and over again. He felt her tremble where his hand rested on her skin.
"Giles?" she asked softly, barely audible.
"I'm here, Buffy. I know what happened."
There was no trace of accusation in his voice, only warmth and understanding. The Council drilled Slayers and Watchers alike to see the world in black and white. Humans are good, demons are evil. The Slayer must kill all demons, but never harm a human. Even before meeting coming to Sunnydale, though, Giles had known that it was not always that easy. There were demons like Angel, or ex-demons now, and there were humans like the late Mayor Richard Wilkins.
He never doubted for a second that Buffy would never have killed King if she had seen any other alternative. It would not keep her from tearing herself apart with guilt, though. He knew her well enough to know that.
"He was killing people," Buffy whispered, her eyes brimming with tears. "I ... I wanted him to stop, but at the same time ... he came to my aid when I got hurt and he was ... he was tearing that wolf woman apart and I wanted him to do it. I wanted to see her bleed and ..."
"It was the bond, Buffy," he tried to soothe her. "That was not you."
"How can you be so sure?" she asked him, a desperate look on her face. "It wasn't the bond that made me ... made me ..."
"No, Buffy. That was you trying to save lives. Jackson King was not a demon, that is true. He was a young man overwhelmed by a power he could not control and that made him a tremendous danger to everyone he came into contact with. Including you, Buffy."
"I killed him, Giles," she whispered, tears now flowing freely down her cheeks. "I just took his head in my hands and ..."
He gathered her into his arms and Buffy collapsed against his chest, her tiny form rocking with sobs. God, how he wished he could have spared her this. If only he had been there, maybe he could have done it for her. Despite everything Buffy had gone through these last few years she was still barely more than a child, a child that had been forced to grow up much too fast. Above everything else she should not have to deal with the guilt that came with killing a fellow human being, no matter how necessary it might have been. If only he could have spared her this.
If only. For Rupert Giles the English language held no sadder words.
#
Willow and Tara walked into the lobby of the Sunnydale General and the redhead felt more hopeful than she had in a long, long time. Yes, things were grim. Angel was hovering between life and death, Buffy had to deal with both Jackson King and those demonized super-soldiers, and they were probably overdue for the next apocalypse. Still, she felt better than she had in a long time.
Part of it was probably the girl by her side, she realized. Meeting Tara was one of the best things that had ever happened to her. Yes, Willow was not as isolated and friendless as she had once been when Xander, Jesse, and her had been Sunnydale's resident loser squad, but still ... this was different. It was like ... like a reversal of roles. She still considered Buffy her best friend in the whole world, but somehow in that relationship Buffy had always come first. She was the Slayer, the chosen one, and Willow was the sidekick. Willow did not resent that, certainly not, but it was nice to experience a different kind of friendship once in a while.
She was not quite sure where her friendship with Tara was going. She only knew that, with Tara, she did not feel like the sidekick. She felt like an equal, like she finally had someone who could understand all she was, all she wanted, and did not have the fate of the world to think of first. Maybe that was the reason she had yet to introduce Tara to the other Scoobies, she mused. Maybe she just wanted someone that was ... hers.
"There is n-no guarantee it w-will w-work, Willow," Tara said, seeing the smile on her face.
"I know, but ... but we have to believe it will, won't we? I mean if we don't believe it will work than it certainly won't and then there is really no point in attempting it in the first place, is there?"
Tara smiled. Willow was just so adorable when she started babbling.
The two witches had been looking for some kind of magical remedy to Angel's situation. Willow knew how his hovering between life and death was tearing Buffy to pieces. She also knew that, even if he were to make a recovery, he would probably be crippled for life. Medicine had done all it could for him, maybe now there was some way for magic to pick up the slack.
Healing was not really something magic was good at, Willow knew, but there were some exceptions to the rule. The spell they had finally discovered was not so much a healing spell as a transferal of energies. It would channel power from the Earth into Angel's form, hopefully strengthening his body's own recuperative powers to the point where they could deal with the damage done to him.
Like Tara had said, there was no guarantee that it would work. It might do no more than help him hold on a little longer than he otherwise would. On the other hand, though, it might just be enough to heal him. Willow knew that she would never forgive herself if she did not at least try.
"We w-will give our b-best," Tara assured Willow, taking her hand. She often did that, Willow realized, and it felt ... strange. In a good way.
They approached the front desk and Willow smiled at the nurse sitting there.
"Hi, we would like to visit Angel O'Connor."
The nurse turned to look at her with a rather shocked expression on her face.
"He ... I'm sorry he is ..."
Willow paled, stumbling back. No, it could not be possible. Angel could not be ... could he? Oh God, how was she going to tell this to Buffy? There was just no way she could ...
"He is gone," the nurse said.
Willow clamped her hand over her mouth to stifle the sob she felt building deep within her. Angel could not gone! He was supposed to be here forever. Well, not forever as in eternal life anymore, but he and Buffy should have been forever. That was how it was supposed to happen. He could not simply be gone. Not now, not when they had just found a way to help him.
"He ... he died?" Tara asked the nurse, seeing the sorry state Willow was in.
"No," the nurse replied, still looking shocked. Willow immediately latched onto that one word, new hope shining in her eyes.
"He isn't? He isn't dead? But you just said ... oh my God, he isn't dead! I was thinking ... never mind what I was thinking. Is he okay? What did you mean by 'gone' if not ..."
It took Tara some time to calm Willow down enough for the nurse to tell them exactly what had happened with Angel.
#
He was running. That was the only thing he was consciously aware of at the moment. He needed to run. There was no clear idea where to run to, but he knew exactly what he was running from.
Pain. More pain than he had ever experienced in his long life. Even Hell had not been like this. A vampire did feel pain, yes, but it was always one step removed, less real. A dead body felt only one sensation with true, life-like intensity and that was the tasting of blood. Everything else was more distant. Dulled.
When the Mhora's blood had brought him back to life it had been painful, but only for a heartbeat. Every cell in his body had screamed upon rejuvenation, a painful ecstasy of renewed life. After that it had been mostly the little pains he needed to learn to deal with. Paper cuts, banged knees, bruises, stubbed toes.
Now, though, the pain was all-encompassing. There were some distant memories of floating, seeing his own body as if from a distance. White light had been everywhere and he thought he could hear a voice, telling him about a chance. Something that he had to do now or never.
Then there was fire and agony. Something had been there, something so bright and searing that it had almost blinded him, yet he had reached for it. Some part of him had known that, unless he did so, it would be over. So he had put his hands into this living flame and it burned. God, it burned!
He had felt his broken bones knitting back together, had felt his damaged spine mending in a heartbeat. The fire had swept right through him and forcibly removed everything that would hinder its possession of this body. It wanted a perfect vessel, someone who was able to move and run and fight. Not a cripple in a hospital bed somewhere. So it healed him and did not give a damn about how painful it was.
Angel screamed as he ran through the night and even then he knew there was no escaping. The source of the pain was now entrenched deep inside of him and would not let go until the day he died.
TO BE CONTINUED