Twist of Fate: Chapter 11
by Lisette

Legalese: See Chapter 1 for disclaimers and ratings.

As the early morning sun dried the evening dew, its bright rays were lost amongst the thick acrid cloud of smoke that still poured from the smoldering ruins of a single house on Revello Drive. Numb, Giles stood on the sidewalk before the house, adrift from the many other spectators that lined the quiet residential street - a haggard man whose dull gray eyes looked upon the scene with wearied despair. Unblinking, he watched as the men and women in bright yellow gear worked through the house, hoses still pouring gallon after gallon upon the blackened mar as others picked through the mess with glinting metal axes. Others, this time dressed in the blue of the city's finest, drew a bright yellow tape along the perimeter, keeping the mobs of people at bay while the camera flashes clicked and snapped, recording the scene in its every horrid detail.

With a muted roar, the single ambulance that had arrived at the scene slowly came to life, people clearing in waves before it as it began down the street, its sirens silent and lights dark - testament to the fact that they had all been too late to save anyone that day. Far too late.

"Buffy! Buffy!"

Torn from his thoughts, Giles watched as Oz and Willow came tearing up the walk, people parting and getting jostled to the side as the willowy redhead raced forward, eyes wide and terrified. "Buffy!" she screamed again, her voice breaking as Oz finally caught her arm, swinging her around and pulling her against his chest, holding her tight as Willow's panicked eyes surveyed the scene.

Sensing the unwanted attention that they were drawing, Oz scanned the crowds and locked on Giles' hunched form and quickly drew Willow away, pulling her towards the aging watcher. "Giles," he murmured, undisguised relief coloring his voice as the man finally pulled his eyes away from the ruins, turning towards the two teens.

"Giles, what happened?" Willow murmured as she huddled closer to Oz, her eyes continually turning to look back at the house. "Where's Buffy?" she demanded, her voice catching, afraid of the answer that she would be given.

"I... I don't know," Giles admitted, his voice hitching as he wearily ran a hand through his graying hair. "I.. I heard about the fire on the morning news," he continued, his eyes becoming lost as he absently pinched the bridge of his nose, obviously struggling against some unknown emotion that threatened his steeled resolve.

"But where's Buffy?" Willow demanded, her voice becoming shrill, oblivious to the looks that they were drawing - some curious while others sympathetic. "We saw an ambulance, but there were no lights!" she cried, her thin form beginning to shake in Oz's embrace. "Giles, where's Buffy?"

"I... I'm.. I'm not sure," Giles stuttered, his hand beginning to tremble as he took it away from his brow, his eyes returning once more to the smoking wreck. "They found a body... I.. I think it was Joyce."

As his words sunk in, Willow's shaking intensified, her head whipping back and forth in denial. Pulling away from Oz, Willow swiveled on her heel, her wide eyes returning to the house. "No," she whispered, her voice begging for him to be wrong.

"They're... they're still searching for Buffy," Giles finished, his words soft as his eyes finally locked on Willow's. For some reason, it hadn't been real until he said those words. Until he spoke those words aloud it hadn't been real. It couldn't have been real. Not Buffy. Not his Slayer. At that moment, it was as though the invisible strings that had been holding him aloft all this time were cut as he fell to his knees, his eyes becoming lost as Oz hurried to his side.

Alone, Willow felt her hands fly to her mouth as tears burned her eyes. Shaking her head, she could only look at Giles before she, too, fell to the wet ground. Soon, a high-pitched keening sound echoed from her throat as she wrapped upon herself, rocking back and forth as the tears poured down her cheeks. Joyce was dead... but not Buffy. Anything but Buffy. "Buffy!" she screamed, her face turned towards the deceptively bright, blue sky, her hands clawing at the ground. "Buffy!"

The small room was unearthly silent, dark and bare save for a single bulb that was affixed to the ceiling, sending down a bright cone of light on the steel table and its sole occupant.

"When will she awaken?" Lyle asked from the other side of the mirror that lined the girl's prison. He had been standing in silence, admiring her slim form, clothed in loose, pale blue hospital scrubs and a matching tank - Centre issued. She looked as though she were dead, her tanned skin pale in the cold light and pulled taut where the thick straps held her firmly to its surface.

"Soon," Mr. Raines wheezed, his posture bent as he leaned heavily on his ever-present tank of life-sustaining air - the only thing that kept him on his feet. "The drug dosage was high, but her system seems to be working through it quickly."

"Good. I want her moved to the room before she awakens and the testing to begin as soon as she's coherent," Lyle snapped, his tone brooking no room for argument. Not that he thought he'd receive any. Not from Raines. If anything, the older man should be kissing his feet right now. Bringing the girl before him was probably one of the best gifts that the old man had received in a long while; he had a new specimen to play with. "I want to know everything: how strong she really is, how fast, what her reflexes are like, her healing capabilities, and of course-"

"Her pain threshold," Raines wheezed, knowing instinctively how the man's mind worked. Smiling thinly, he slowly nodded his head as he studied the girl's unconscious form. "And the modifications?" he asked, his finger twitching idly against his hand, ticking against the tank beside him.

"After," Lyle murmured, his eyes locked on the girl in the other room. "I first want to see how good she really is."

"I just can't believe Joyce is gone.. she's really gone," Willow murmured, her red-rimmed eyes wide as she finally tore her gaze away from her pale hands, turning from Giles to Oz. They had waited on the sidewalk before the ruinous house for hours, hoping and praying for some word. Any word. But the one that had finally come was one that was filled with both hope and fear, for the firefighters had found nothing else. No more bodies and no Buffy. In the hours since, the small trio had relocated to the wooden table in Giles' apartment, a bleak silence stretching over the room that was broken only by Giles' hushed conversation with the hospital morgue.

"I don't understand how she can really be gone," Willow murmured again, her hands beginning to shake as she quickly wrapped her slim arms around her small frame. "What could have happened?" she murmured, her bleary eyes locking on Giles' tired features.

"Demon?" Oz murmured timidly, his hands splayed before him on the scarred wood.

"I've never known a demon to burn down a house after shooting their victim," Giles returned, paling as Willow blanched at his blunt description. Sighing, he offered the girl an apologetic nod as Oz hurried to squeeze her hand. He wasn't handling this well, of that he was certain. But this went beyond anything the Watcher's Council had ever trained him for. Went way beyond anything he could have possibly ever expected. Joyce wasn't only Buffy's mother, but his friend. They had shared things in the past that he hadn't shared with a great many others, including the fierce and protective love that Joyce held for her daughter... for his Slayer. Sighing, Giles quickly lifted a hand to weakly massage his aching head.

"What can we do?" Oz asked, once more trying to bring focus to the group as Giles drew his hand away.

"I'm not sure yet," he replied, his voice more of a tired sigh than anything. "Xander?" he questioned, turning towards the redhead opposite of him.

"I haven't been able to reach him yet," Willow murmured, shaking her head quickly as she bit her lip to the point where she tasted blood. "He.. he should be calling to check in soon."

"Any of the others?"

"I tried calling Cordelia's house, but her parents won't say where she's gone," Willow continued, a frown pulling at her lips. And Angel..."

"Yes," Giles conceded, his own brow wrinkling in a small frown, "simply gone." Sighing once again, Giles tried to force his mind into a plan. Into something that would help - something that would find his Slayer. To determine what had happened last night that had changed all of their lives forever.

"What about..." Willow began, a small look of hope flickering across her face. "What about Wesley?"

"Back in England, I'd imagine. The Council called him back after graduation."

"So I guess were it then," Willow murmured, her eyes begging Oz and Giles to disagree. Sure, they had faced demon after demon and apocalypse after apocalypse together but never alone. Never without Buffy. And in this case, the problem was Buffy. They needed to find her. To find out what happened to make sure that she was even still alive.

"So why not the Council?" Oz broke in, his voice low and steady as he watched Giles shift under his gaze, the older man looking at anything but Ozs questioning eyes.

Seeing this, Willow slowly turned the idea over in her mind. The Council was old, stuffy, and Buffy had made it quite clear months ago that she wanted nothing to do with them ever again. Not after what they had tried to do to her. She was no longer the Councils Slayer in Buffys eyes. Then again, perhaps this would fall under the category of extenuating circumstances. "Oz is right," she murmured, nodding her head slowly as she turned to Giles, her eyes pleading with him to understand. "Giles, we have nothing. Nothing. And Buffy is their Slayer, whether Buffy likes that or not. They have to help."

"We" Oz added, faltering as he obviously debated on whether or not to continue. "We dont even know if another Slayer has been called," he finally said, squeezing Willows hand as the girl began to tremble once again at his bleak words.

"I dont believe that another one will be called. Not unless Faith" Giles murmured, his voice trailing off as stood awkwardly from the table, the grating of his chair against the floor a harsh sound in the bleak silence of the room. Turning, he shuffled to the counter that divided his living room from the kitchen, desperately trying to hide the waves of despair that choked him in thick waves. All talk of the Council only served to remind him of his betrayal to Buffy to the girl, that if he was really honest with himself, had stopped being his Slayer long ago, and was replaced with an image of someone far more dear to his heart. "I I suppose that we do not have a choice," he finally murmured, turning once more to take in the two teens. "I just pray that theyre willing to help."