CHAPTER TWO: TABLA RASA
She watched the door open and wished she hadn't screamed.
Or, if she absolutely had to, she should have made it a respectable scream and not the embarrassingly high-pitched shriek that was still echoing in her ears.
Hers and everyone else's for at least a mile. Including those of whoever was walking through the door right now.
The clock left her hand before she realized she'd thrown it.
It was a pretty walnut and brass clock that was barely fit in her hand and was every bit as heavy as it looked. She'd grabbed it off the nightstand because that was the closest thing to a weapon in the room that she could actually reach. She would've preferred the even more impressive brass lamp that had been sitting next to the clock, but it was just out of reach.
A lot of things were just out of reach since her right leg was in a cast and her right arm was pinned to her stomach by some kind of fabric sling thingee.
Everything froze as she watched the clock float through the air, racing the door that was opening just as slowly. It was halfway through the flight when she realized she didn't know who was on the other side of the door and felt her stomach tighten with guilt.
She'd never meant to actually throw the clock. It had seemed like a good idea to have something throwable when she woke up in a room she'd never been in before and in her condition - which was what had forced that awful shriek out of her - but she'd never meant to actually use it.
Which she believed right up to the moment the door opened.
The she was glad she did.
Because the door opened just enough for her to see the man on the other side and fear washed away all guilt. He had a week's worth of greasy stubble on his chin and looked like he hadn't changed or seen the inside of a shower in at least as long. He was a thug of a man.
A thug.
Her stomach dropped to her knees. She'd been kidnapped. He'd come and taken her from her home and.
Her eyes darted down to her arm and leg and back up to his as she tried to wrap her mind around what he must've done to her but couldn't.
He looked right at her and she realized how little the extra large t-shirt she was wearing actually covered, but before she could make a desperate grab for the blankets his gaze scurried up and finally spotted the clock that was flying at his face.
His eyes widened enough for her to see how bloodshot they were as he slammed the door shut again just as the timepiece crashed into it. She heard the glass face shatter, but otherwise the clock stayed in one piece as it dropped to the floor.
She felt almost giddy as she watched it fall and wished he'd been two seconds slower so she could have seen if he would've come out so well.
Then the door started to open again.
Any thought of covering herself vanished as she tried to push herself away from him, but she was already pressed against the headboard. That was when she remembered the lamp, which had seemed so far away before. Now, though.
She leaned over and stretched her arm out. Her fingertips brushed against the cool metal base of the lamp, but she couldn't get a grip. She dragged herself over a few inches, the plaster an anchor against the smooth sheets, and tried again. She felt her finger catch and tried to yank it back, but her grip slipped again.
She wanted to scream, to curse, but she couldn't get her voice to work. Instead she felt tears start running down her cheeks as her breath came in little gasps. She knew she could've reached it with her right arm. All she had to do was roll over some and.
The man shoved the door open again and she saw him rush across the room from out of the corner of her eye.
She yanked herself over another couple inches and threw her arm out. If the sudden move hurt her other arm or leg, she never noticed. Everything she had was focused on the lamp.
Her fingers caught the base again and she knew she had it.
And then the man's hand wrapped around her forearm. He pulled her hand away from the lamp and her arm down to the mattress. "Bloody hell!" He shouted into her face, gagging her with the stale Scotch on his breath. "What's the matter with you, you stupid."
A knee to the stomach cut off whatever his last word was going to be. And that was something she actually felt bad about.
She'd been aiming lower.
She yanked her arm back in a desperate attempt to pull her hand free, but his grip was too strong. If anything, it tightened as a fiery anger appeared in his eyes.
That was when she finally panicked. She was vaguely aware that she was probably hurting herself more than him, he was too close for another good kneeing, but it didn't matter. She just had to get away before.
His free hand closed around her right shoulder and she let out a gasp that was more alarmed than pained and he froze, his eyes wide and face went beyond pale, almost as if he hadn't seen the sling before now.
"Stop it! You're going to hurt her!"
She jumped a little as the - thankfully - female voice ended the stalemate. The man yanked his hand away from her shoulder and had the grace to look sorry that he'd hurt her.
Which was a little late in her opinion. Maybe if he'd stopped short of actually breaking her leg his being sorry might have meant something, but now.
At least she wasn't alone with him. It was a relief that lasted right up until she saw the woman who'd stopped him. She was a girl, really. A scrawny girl with long brown hair that barely looked fifteen and appeared far too terrified to be of any real help.
She glared at the man and felt the sudden need to hit him with something heavy.
"Her!" The man snapped without turning back. "I'm the one who almost got my skull smashed in!" He focused on her again. "Now. What's you're problem?"
"I've been kidnapped for starters," she said, her voice calm even as her heart pounded its way into her throat, "and given very little to wear by a man who smells like the innards of a winery and is leading around a scared but still pretty girl who is far too young for whatever sick games you have in mind."
The girl looked confused by that, and so did the man. At least at first...
Then he glanced down and seemed to suddenly realize just how little she was wearing. He immediately let go and backed away to the foot of the bed as his face went a shade of red that was all the more impressive considering how pale he'd been a moment before. "I. I would never."
Considering what he'd no doubt been planning to do, she was surprised that seeing her underwear would upset him so much. Unless. She let out a relieved sigh. "Oh, good. You're gay. If I'd realized that sooner." Still, to be on the safe side, she yanked the hem of her t-shirt - which had bunched up around her waist in the brief fight - back down around her thighs and pulled the nearest blanket up to cover her legs.
"I am not!" The man shouted, and then looked a little confused. "At least, I don't believe so."
"Really?" She couldn't hide the surprise in her voice. "That's interesting. Maybe you should've figured that bit out before you started kidnapping people."
"I didn't."
She hmphed in disbelief at that. "The girl appears to be the type your kind likes - all she needs is a cheerleader's outfit - and I'm sure I'm extremely attractive. Or, at least I would be without all this ridiculous medical equipment."
"There's absolutely no way out of this for me, is there?" The man asked, more than a little disturbed.
Good.
And then the girl jumped in. "He didn't kidnap me. There wasn't anything keeping me here."
That statement may have earned the girl a gratified smile from the man, but it was the exact last thing she wanted to hear. "You mean you're in on this together?" She asked as she glanced back at the lamp.
"No!" The girl shouted, her hands held up in front of her as she took a half step back. She looked like she wanted to bolt out of the room altogether, but she didn't. "I just don't think he kidnapped us."
She had to admit that he didn't take advantage when he could have, and he seemed a little too squeamish to be a vicious kidnapper. "Then how did we get here?"
"That," the man said with a relieved sigh, "is a very good question. We can't remember."
"Right. You just happen to show up at the door of my room and have no idea how you got there."
"On a chair in the library, actually. That's where I woke up."
"Floor of the library," the girl said and added, "and not like that," in a rush. "I was on the other side of the room."
She stared at the two of them and had to admit that they seemed likely they were telling the truth. If they weren't, they could probably come up with better lies. "All right. So you two have amnesia."
"Three, I believe," the man interrupted. "From what you've said, you don't seem to remember how you got here either. What do you remember?"
"I remember lots of things."
"Indeed? Do you know where you were yesterday? Or the day before? Or even your own bloody name?"
She thought back and sighed, depressed that her first memory seemed to be that hideously high-pitched shriek. "No."
The man smirked, basking in his victory.
Which was annoying to no end. She pushed herself up on the bed and glared back at him. Not for any special reason, but just so he'd know he hadn't won yet.
The staring contest went on for quite a while, before the girl broke in. "Shouldn't we be doing something? You know, about us not knowing anything."
The man's face twisted and he finally looked away. "Right. I already checked, but I don't have a wallet on me. Do you." A snort stopped him in mid-question. "Right. What about you?" He asked and looked over his shoulder.
The girl patted the pockets of her jeans and shook her head. "No."
"Blast," the man muttered as he turned back. "Perhaps." he began, only to have the sentence die off as he stared at her.
Or, more accurately, down at her chest.
"What's this?" He asked as his hand darted out and grabbed at something.
She froze for a half second, thinking that everything that had happened had been some kind of bizarre game when she felt something tug at the back of her neck. She looked down and was surprised to see a thin gold strand of a necklace between his fingers. She hadn't even realized she'd been wearing one. Which was odd, considering the hard lump of metal she could feel dragging up against the skin between her breasts as he pulled whatever was on the end of the strand out from under her shirt.
And when the engagement ring slipped free she zoomed right passed surprise to open mouth-stunned silence.
A silence that the girl broke. "You two must be engaged!" The girl squealed happily as she rushed up for a closer look. Then her eyes lit up. "And we're sisters! This is you're house and you two invited me to live with you to help with the wedding. And. the rest." She glanced at the cast and the sling.
She met the man's eyes and stared into them. She waited for a spark. Instead she got the giggles.
Giggles that died a horrible death when the man snorted and muttered, "I bloody well doubt it."
She tried to cross her arm across her chest. "That seems uncalled for. You're no spring chicken, you know. I could do much better."
"And I couldn't? You must be one of the most infuriating women."
"Me? You're the one bursting into stranger's bedrooms!"
"I heard a shriek!"
"I could have been shrieking about any number of things! Some of which I wouldn't want an audience for! Probably."
"No wonder I lost my memory! I no doubt had to repress whatever time I've spent with you!"
"Stop it!" The girl shouted. "God, act your ages. And don't yell at my sister."
The man reached up and pinched the bridge of his nose. After he calmed a bit he pressed on. "Besides which, if we were engaged why would you be wearing the ring on a chain around your neck?"
"I. I don't know. Why would I be?"
"It's generally not considered a good sign."
She didn't have an answer for that, but wasn't surprised when she heard the girl snap her fingers.
"Maybe whoever you were engaged to left you, dumped you at the altar." The girl pointed at the man, "He's our father and we brought you here because you were so depressed you wandered out into a street and." She stopped, crossed her arms and scowled as she finally noticed the awed and more than a little scared stares that were aimed at her. "Or maybe bunnies came in and hopped really hard on our heads. At least I'm trying."
She shuddered at the thought of those rodents bouncing anywhere near her head. "I don't think he's our father. He has an accent. We don't."
"I would've put that the other way around."
"Fine, uncle then. This isn't as easy as it looks, you know," the girl grumbled.
She looked back at the man again, and this time neither flinched away.
"All right. We're family until something says we're not." He waited for her to disagree, and looked more than a little surprised when she didn't.
She was more than a little surprised she didn't, too, but she had to admit that it was possible. Still, he didn't have to look SO shocked.
"Now, all we have to do is find something with our names on it." He looked over the room before getting up and going over to the dresser that was to the right of the door. "Do you mind?"
"Not as long as you put everything back."
The man stopped, his hand frozen on the handle of the to drawer, and then turned to the girl. "Maybe you should."
"Good idea," the girl agreed. She dug through the drawers one by one, blushing only a little at the underwear drawer, before she found something useful.
A passport.
The girl rushed over and all but shoved it into her hands. The blue plastic cover was surprisingly cool in her hands as she opened it. The picture on the inside front cover was definitely her and appeared to be recent, unless she injured her arm often.
Her eyes went to her face and were glad that she'd been right. She was very good looking. At least she would be, except for the puffy bags under her bloodshot eyes and dull, lifeless hair. She somehow doubted that that was what pictures were supposed to look like.
She finally tore her eyes off her depressing photograph and started reading the information printed below it out loud. "It says my name is Anya Jenkins, I live in some place called Sunnydale, California in the United States of America, and I was born on the Fourth of July," she scowled. "I must've been mocked mercilessly for that as a child."
"Jenkins," the girl repeated the name with a small smile. "I wonder what my first name is? I hope it's not something stupid."
"Considering you're from California, heaven only knows. Though I doubt I would've let my brother or sister name you anything too atrocious," the man tried to assure her as he glanced at the door. "We might as well find out."
"Yeah," the girl said and took an excited step to the door before forcing herself to stop and look back. "Do you want.?"
"I'm curious, too," she. Anya. What an odd sounding name, said as she pulled herself to the edge of the bed, where a wheelchair sat waiting. She'd noticed it before, but was a little too scared out of her mind to pay much attention to it.
"What about?" The girl asked and gestured at her.
Anya glared at the man who might or might not be her uncle for a long moment before she shrugged and pushed off the covers. "You've both probably seen this much anyway, since I doubt I can dress myself right now. Now, help me into the wheelchair."
"I'll do it," the man offered, but he didn't move until she nodded her approval. Not that she was all that thrilled at having him touch her yet, but she doubted that the girl - that her sister could pick her up. He stuck an arm under her knees and wrapped another one around her good shoulder and carefully carried her over to the wheelchair.
"Now can we go?" The girl asked, all but dancing from foot to foot in her hurry.
The man sighed and nodded. "Yes."
With that the girl let out a little yip and was gone.
"She's dangerously caffinated," Anya said.
The man chuckled as he started pushing her to the door. "Indeed."
"Wait!" Anya said as she reached up, pulled off the necklace and tossed it into the small trashcan by the door all in one smooth notion. At first she'd been a little worried she'd have to somehow unclasp the necklace, but the chain was long enough to slip over her head. "Okay, let's go."
She could almost feel the scowl on the man behind her, but he didn't say a word as he started pushing again.
Thank God.
Her sister was probably right. He, whoever he was, had taken off. Left her. The her in the picture in the passport was hardly the image of sunshine and puppies. Maybe she was better off not knowing.
"There's one good thing about having a hyper-active teenager in the house," the man observed, no doubt to get her mind off of whatever she was thinking, "we don't have to waste those precious seconds it takes to open a door."
She glanced up, only to have the glance turn into a leer as she actually saw the house they were in for the first time. Her room had been.. Well, empty for the most part, but out here.
The house itself was a work of art, with lightly stained oak walls and massive windows every dozen feet. And then there was the actual artwork. Vases, tapestries, and paintings were everywhere.
"It's like a museum," she said in an awed whisper.
"Mausoleum's more like it," the man said with a snort. "And owned by a pratt, no doubt, who has his nose buried so far up someone else's arse that he can't see the end of it anymore."
The girl rolled her eyes. "There are worse places to wake up in."
"I suppose," he said, begrudging the end of the argument. He walked in a sullen silence as they entered the living room. "Bloody hell," he muttered when he saw the massive painting of a cliff that took up most of one wall. "Pr."
Fortunately the girl came running back before the argument could restart. Unfortunately she had what looked like a donut in her hand. "I found the kitchen," she said and gestured down the other hallway with the half-eaten desert, "but I didn't see any more bedrooms."
"They're probably on the second floor," the man said, "or the third." He paused. "Pratts."
"Stairs?" Anya asked and glanced down at her leg and then at the staircase.
"No," the man said, clearly knowing what was coming and trying to hold it off. Not that it worked. Anya turned as much as she could and joined the girl in giving him puppy dog eyes. He held out for a whole five seconds before he gave in. "Fine. If you'll get the wheelchair."
With that he moved around and picked Anya up again while the girl finished the donut and rushed over to fold up the wheelchair and follow them up the stairs.
"You're in very good shape for a man who is as old as you are," Anya observed.
"Be sure to tell the paramedics that," the man said, huffing just a little bit.
She did her best to ignore that, just like she did the happy sound he made when he all but dropped her back into the wheelchair again. "Second floor. Bed, bath and back braces."
Stupid cast.
Stupider man.
"This might take awhile," the girl said, breaking Anya's line of thought.
The floor was one long hallway with what looked like a couple dozen doors, all closed.
All but one, three rooms down, and that was the one they went to first. Not that it looked like much when they went inside. The room was clean, so clean that at first they didn't think anyone lived in it. Anya almost suggested trying one of the other doors when the girl found clothes in the dressers. After that it was a matter of digging.
"Rupert Giles?" The man said. His face twisted with distaste as he looked at the passport, which had a red cover for some odd reason. "What kind of name is Rupert?"
"Maybe you're parents didn't like you," Anya offered. It was the most reasonable explanation.
"Hated is more like it," he shook his head and dropped the passport on the dresser top, "Rupert."
"California doesn't look so bad now, does it?" the girl asked.
Rupert snorted. "I wouldn't say that. Not yet."
"At least you know you're name," the girl said, her face dark.
Rupert opened his mouth, no doubt to complain some more, but caught himself in time. He waved to the door. "One of the other rooms has to be yours."
"There's always Rupes. Or Rupey," Anya said as the girl who may or may not be her sister ran from the room again.
"Rupert will suffice."
"Or Rup. Though that does sound a lot like rump. I know, Rumpy Rupey. You do have a nice rump."
He started to look, caught himself, and scowled at her. "Do shut up."
"Or."
"Now I know we're family," he said from seemingly out of nowhere as he dropped his passport on the bed, "who else would stand for this?"
"I was going to suggest Uncle Rupert," Anya said with an annoyed humph.
"Really?" He smiled, which made him look much less threatening. "It does have a ring."
"I thought so." There was a sudden high-pitched scream ahead of them as the girl ducked into a room. "I assume embarrassingly high pitched screaming is a family trait?"
"Not on my side, I assure you," Rupert said as he retook his spot behind the wheelchair. "My scream is far more manly."
"Well, I would hope so."
"Shall we see what she's found?" Rupert asked, trying to sound nonchalant.
"Might as well," Anya answered, sounding every bit as bored even as the corners of her mouth curled up. She hoped that their little theory was right. Hyperness aside, she did like the girl.
Almost as much as she liked the idea of having a sister.
It took them a few moments to find the right room, half of the doors were tossed open now, but only one had a light on. Anya was leaning forward in her chair as Rupert pushed her in, but - despite the fact that the girl had a now familiar passport packet in her hand - she was distracted by a small cat that jumped in her lap and started rubbing against her sling.
She came this close to fore she petted the demanding creature behind the ears. "We have an animal?"
"Pet, I believe they're called," Rupert said and pointed to the elaborate plastic enclosure on a nightstand, "and more than one."
"I wonder what their names are?" Rupert cleared his throat to remind her of why they were there. "Or yours? Did you find it yet?"
"It's Dawn," the girl said. Her eyes were on the passport, but she didn't seem to actually be reading anything on it. Anya was just about to ask what was wrong when Dawn closed the passport with a snap. "Dawn Jenkins."
"So you were right," Anya said, feeling very pleased for some reason.
"Looks like," Dawn said and grinned. "So, cookie for me."
"Ooo, cookies and milk. There are worst first memories," Anya said.
"Yes," Rupert said. "But after that I want to find out what happened to us."
"How? Check all the doors and windows for bunny prints?" Dawn asked.
"I'm a hare's breath away from that," Rupert admitted and paused. If he was waiting for a laugh, he would have to wait a very long time. To his credit, he picked up on that fact and continued, "but I believe visiting a hospital would be more fruitful."
"Then a sugar rush is definitely in order," Dawn said.
"Indeed."
"And a shower?" Anya said.
"Maybe even a shave," Dawn added.
"Of cou." Rupert snapped his mouth shut and glared at the two of them.
A glare neither noticed, they were laughing far too hard to pay any attention.
- - -
"This isn't going well."
"No."
"How much more blood do you think he wants?"
"A vampire like him? Who knows?"
Dawn reached over and picked up the queen and slid the piece over a half- dozen squares. "We should move her here."
"Yes, if we want her to be decapitated," Anya said and gestured with her chocolate ice crème filled spoon at the waiting black knight before she stuck the spoon in her mouth.
"We have to do something," Dawn said, but she put the piece back anyway, "we're running out of people."
Which was true. At the moment there were a depressing number of white pieces in the box on the other side of the board. "Well, what about the bishop?"
"What about the bishop?"
"Well, he can't do anything," Anya stated, "so it wouldn't be any loss."
"If you hadn't thrown away our knight."
"He did take down the black queen so I wouldn't." Anya paused to glared over at Rupert, who sitting across the board from them in rather comfortable looking chair and watching the large television on the other side of the room. "You aren't listening, are you?"
"I wouldn't dream of it," Rupert assured them.
"Good," Anya said. She glanced down to see if there was any more ice crème left, but wasn't all that disappointed when she saw there wasn't. She dropped the spoon in the now empty carton that was resting between her and Dawn and reached over to grab a pawn.
"I don't see much need." He glanced over and there was just enough of a twinkle in his eyes to stop her from tossing pieces at him.
"Bad," Dawn said and shook her head at Anya's move as she absently reached up and scratched at the three band-aids that lined her upper arm.
Anya watched and fought down a whimper because her arm started itching too in the exact same spot. The band-aids and the needle pricks they covered were the only thing they got for the eight hours they wasted at the hospital. She would've thought that one would have been enough, but apparently doctors couldn't control themselves when it came to taking blood. Sure, they SAID that they were going run tests, but she just knew that all they wanted was an excuse to use someone as a pincushion.
Maybe the itching would stop if she gnawed her arm off.
She felt fingers scratching at the band aids though her blouse and let out a little sigh of relief.
"You looked like you needed that," Dawn said. "Better?"
Anya could only nod. Now, if they could do something about that spot behind her right knee.
"When's this Blake fellow going to show up?" Giles snapped loud enough to make the two girls jump in their chairs. "It's supposed to be his bloody show!"
"Don't yell at the television," Dawn said with a shake of her finger.
"Why not? Useless contraption," Giles asked as he switched the television off, put down the remote, and turned back to the game. "Now, where were we?"
"In the middle of losing," Dawn said darkly.
"Nonsense," Rupert said with a patient smile. "You're both doing much better."
Anya shook her head in frustration. "At least someone thinks so."
Giles raised an eyebrow. "Considering our first few matches." He let the sentence end there, leaving the words 'bloody massacre' unsaid. "And the fact that you're still learning the rules."
"Rules that you know," Dawn said, sounding more annoyed than frustrated. She frowned and stared out Rupert. "Know how, by the way?'
"I - I'm not sure," Rupert admitted. "The same way I remembered how to drive I car, I suppose."
"But you drove on the wrong SIDE," Dawn said. Anya shuddered at the memory of honking horns and screeching brakes. Dawn pressed on, "so we should be winning right now."
"I don't believe it works that way," Giles said.
Anya scowled. "The doctor should have known. We should find a competent one next time."
"That's not exactly fair, Anya," Giles said. "He did the best he could considering their resources. We're just going to have to wait for the neurologist they recommended to have an opening."
"Speaking of openings," Dawn said and reached over for the queen and used it to take one of the black rooks.
Rupert nodded. "Very good." He moved his bishop, and Anya promptly took it with the bishop she'd been mocking before.
"Check," Dawn and Anya said together, both with wide grins. It was their first check since they'd started playing six games ago.
"Indeed," Rupert said with another nod. He moved his other rook forward and took the bishop. "Checkmate."
They studied the board for a moment before Dawn turned and gave Anya a soft smack on the arm. Anya turned and nailed her with a glare, but that was as far as the fight had gotten when Rupert cleared his throat.
"None of that," Rupert said as he reached over and started gathering his pieces. "As I said, you two have gotten much better. Shall we play again?"
Anya yawned in reply, a yawn Dawn soon mirrored. It wasn't that she didn't want to play again, but it'd been late when they'd gotten home and was even later now. "Tomorrow?"
Giles glanced at the clock and his eyes widened a bit in shock when he saw the time. "Of course. Do you need any.?" His voice died out as he waved in Anya's direction.
"I just need to brush my teeth and get changed," Anya said, more than a little wary. He did seem to be a nice enough man, but still.
She glanced at Dawn, who'd helped her get dressed for the trip to the hospital and that was what made her nod. "But I suppose I could use some help, if you wouldn't mind?"
If he noticed how overly cheerful she sounded at the end, he gave no sign. Instead Rupert smiled and stood. "Of course. Dawn, could you clean up?" He asked and gestured to the floor around them. Besides the ice creme carton there was the mess from their dinner: paper bags, hamburger and fries containers and small plastic ketchup packets that were scatted everywhere, all covered with golden M's.
Anya rubbed her stomach as she realized that the carton of ice creme she'd split with Dawn might have been a bit much after a double cheeseburger and fries. But it wasn't her fault that she couldn't seem to get full, not matter how much she'd eaten. Her only comfort was that Giles and Dawn proved to be every bit the pig she was.
She'd almost think they hadn't eaten in a month.
Dawn sighed as she bent down and started picking everything up. "Sure, sure. Leave me the dirty work."
"'Onward Christian Soldier,'" Rupert sang. He caught the wadded up and greasy paper bag that Dawn threw at his head and tossed it right back. Dawn let out an outraged squeal as the bag bounced off the top of her head, but before she could retaliate he grabbed the handles of Anya's wheelchair and all but ran out of the room to Anya's bedroom and attached bath.
Which was when Anya's stomach tightened.
She watched him the whole time and waited for him to do something - a touch, a leer, but he never did. Not that she wanted him to, but she had to know if he could be trusted around her sister.
But he never did a thing. Not when he put toothpaste on her toothbrush and soaped up a washcloth for her face. Not even when he was helping her change for bed. Instead he yammered on the whole time and kept his eyes on hers as he took off her skirt and blouse and helped her pull on another of the huge t-shirts.
It was all very confusing.
"Is there anything else?" Rupert asked after he finished arranging the pile of pillows for her to lie on.
"No."
"Then good night, Anya." With that he turned to the door.
"Good night, Uncle Rupert," Anya called after him. She could have left it there, but she heard an annoying something in the back of her head that made her say, "I'm sorry I threw a clock at you."
"No need," Rupert said with a chuckle, "in your place I would've done the same."
Anya watched him close the door and wiggled into the pillows that were piled up under her back. She'd wondered why she'd been sleeping on so many when she woke up that morning and found out when she lied down before.
The ache in her shoulder was more annoying than painful, but still.
She pulled up the thick covers and let the sleepy warmth that came from a full stomach was over her. "A much better night than morning," she finally decided as she closed her eyes.
Then she heard a soft knock on the door. For a moment she thought about ignoring it, or letting out a low curse, but she was in too good a mood for either. "Come in."
"I didn't wake you up, did I?" Dawn asked as she walked in. She'd finally changed out of the jeans and t-shirt she'd worn all day, into a pair of powder blue pajamas.
"If you'd waited another few minutes." Anya said. She shrugged off the annoyance and pushed herself back up. "No. What did you want?"
Dawn fidgeted for a moment before she rushed over and shoved a picture in Anya's hands as she explained in a rush, "I found something. Somethings, actually. They were hidden under the covers of my bed."
Anya stared at the photograph. It looked like it'd been taken in a shop of some kind. Some cheap tourist trap, judging by the strange things she saw on the shelves in the background. There were six people around the table, but only two she recognized. Uncle Rupert and herself. And she looked much more pleasing in this picture than in the one in her passport.
Not that she did more than glance at herself.
"At least he was good looking," Dawn offered as they both stared at the man whose lap Anya was sitting in.
"Yes," Anya said as her eyes traced the young man's face. He was handsome, in a goofy kind of way. And he didn't have the appearance of someone who'd hurt his wife, or fiancée. Not that looks meant anything, but she didn't look the least bit afraid of him in the picture.
Or broken, like the photograph in her passport.
They both looked happy. She ran her fingers over the glass that covered his face, hoping for a flash of memory, a bit of his voice, but nothing came.
Her eyes darted to the wastebasket, all she had of him...
No. "He still left," she whispered.
"I just thought you'd like to see his face," Dawn said, her voice flat. As if she couldn't decide whether or not she should say she was sorry.
Anya wrapped her arm around Dawn and hugged her sister close. "Thank you."
Dawn grinned and rested her head on Anya's shoulder. "So who do you think the blond girl is?"
Anya looked down. The blond girl wasn't sitting on Rupert's lap, but they were much too close together to just be reading a book together. "Uncle Rupert's midlife crisis, no doubt."
"I don't know. There was another picture with this one of her and an older lady. Maybe she's a cousin?"
Anya sighed. "That's much less interesting." She pointed at the red head and blond girl on the other end of the picture. "Do you think they're family, too?"
"If they are, I hope they call soon."
"Yes." Anya yawned and watched as Dawn followed suit a moment later. "Is there anything else?"
"No."
"Good," Anya said and handed the picture back after one last long look at the man. Then she shifted away from Dawn, laid back on her pillows, and closed her eyes. "Goodnight."
"Goodnight," Dawn said as she put the photograph down on the nightstand, but besides that she didn't move.
Anya waited until it became clear that her sister wasn't going anywhere and opened her eyes. "What?"
Dawn hugged her legs to her chest and rested her chin on her knees as she looked around the dark room. "I don't like this house."
Anya grinned a little. "I do. It has character."
"It has a lot of expensive junk."
"Yes," Anya almost purred at that.
"Is there going to be a drool issue?"
"It seems likely."
Dawn smiled a little before her eyes started going around the room again. "Everything smells like old people upstairs, not to mention the creepy as hell factor andcanIstayinherewithyou?" The last was said in a breathless blur of words and accompanied by the biggest set of puppy dog eyes that Dawn could muster.
She could see why Rupert caved so often when Dawn used those eyes on him, but she wasn't about to give in.
And that was the moment Dawn started pouting.
"You don't play fair at all," Anya muttered as she moved over as far as she could on the bed and lifted the blankets in invitation. "All right. But if you hog the covers."
"Thank you," Dawn said as she slipped under the covers and snuggled in next to Anya.
"You're welcome. Now, go to sleep."
She watched the door open and wished she hadn't screamed.
Or, if she absolutely had to, she should have made it a respectable scream and not the embarrassingly high-pitched shriek that was still echoing in her ears.
Hers and everyone else's for at least a mile. Including those of whoever was walking through the door right now.
The clock left her hand before she realized she'd thrown it.
It was a pretty walnut and brass clock that was barely fit in her hand and was every bit as heavy as it looked. She'd grabbed it off the nightstand because that was the closest thing to a weapon in the room that she could actually reach. She would've preferred the even more impressive brass lamp that had been sitting next to the clock, but it was just out of reach.
A lot of things were just out of reach since her right leg was in a cast and her right arm was pinned to her stomach by some kind of fabric sling thingee.
Everything froze as she watched the clock float through the air, racing the door that was opening just as slowly. It was halfway through the flight when she realized she didn't know who was on the other side of the door and felt her stomach tighten with guilt.
She'd never meant to actually throw the clock. It had seemed like a good idea to have something throwable when she woke up in a room she'd never been in before and in her condition - which was what had forced that awful shriek out of her - but she'd never meant to actually use it.
Which she believed right up to the moment the door opened.
The she was glad she did.
Because the door opened just enough for her to see the man on the other side and fear washed away all guilt. He had a week's worth of greasy stubble on his chin and looked like he hadn't changed or seen the inside of a shower in at least as long. He was a thug of a man.
A thug.
Her stomach dropped to her knees. She'd been kidnapped. He'd come and taken her from her home and.
Her eyes darted down to her arm and leg and back up to his as she tried to wrap her mind around what he must've done to her but couldn't.
He looked right at her and she realized how little the extra large t-shirt she was wearing actually covered, but before she could make a desperate grab for the blankets his gaze scurried up and finally spotted the clock that was flying at his face.
His eyes widened enough for her to see how bloodshot they were as he slammed the door shut again just as the timepiece crashed into it. She heard the glass face shatter, but otherwise the clock stayed in one piece as it dropped to the floor.
She felt almost giddy as she watched it fall and wished he'd been two seconds slower so she could have seen if he would've come out so well.
Then the door started to open again.
Any thought of covering herself vanished as she tried to push herself away from him, but she was already pressed against the headboard. That was when she remembered the lamp, which had seemed so far away before. Now, though.
She leaned over and stretched her arm out. Her fingertips brushed against the cool metal base of the lamp, but she couldn't get a grip. She dragged herself over a few inches, the plaster an anchor against the smooth sheets, and tried again. She felt her finger catch and tried to yank it back, but her grip slipped again.
She wanted to scream, to curse, but she couldn't get her voice to work. Instead she felt tears start running down her cheeks as her breath came in little gasps. She knew she could've reached it with her right arm. All she had to do was roll over some and.
The man shoved the door open again and she saw him rush across the room from out of the corner of her eye.
She yanked herself over another couple inches and threw her arm out. If the sudden move hurt her other arm or leg, she never noticed. Everything she had was focused on the lamp.
Her fingers caught the base again and she knew she had it.
And then the man's hand wrapped around her forearm. He pulled her hand away from the lamp and her arm down to the mattress. "Bloody hell!" He shouted into her face, gagging her with the stale Scotch on his breath. "What's the matter with you, you stupid."
A knee to the stomach cut off whatever his last word was going to be. And that was something she actually felt bad about.
She'd been aiming lower.
She yanked her arm back in a desperate attempt to pull her hand free, but his grip was too strong. If anything, it tightened as a fiery anger appeared in his eyes.
That was when she finally panicked. She was vaguely aware that she was probably hurting herself more than him, he was too close for another good kneeing, but it didn't matter. She just had to get away before.
His free hand closed around her right shoulder and she let out a gasp that was more alarmed than pained and he froze, his eyes wide and face went beyond pale, almost as if he hadn't seen the sling before now.
"Stop it! You're going to hurt her!"
She jumped a little as the - thankfully - female voice ended the stalemate. The man yanked his hand away from her shoulder and had the grace to look sorry that he'd hurt her.
Which was a little late in her opinion. Maybe if he'd stopped short of actually breaking her leg his being sorry might have meant something, but now.
At least she wasn't alone with him. It was a relief that lasted right up until she saw the woman who'd stopped him. She was a girl, really. A scrawny girl with long brown hair that barely looked fifteen and appeared far too terrified to be of any real help.
She glared at the man and felt the sudden need to hit him with something heavy.
"Her!" The man snapped without turning back. "I'm the one who almost got my skull smashed in!" He focused on her again. "Now. What's you're problem?"
"I've been kidnapped for starters," she said, her voice calm even as her heart pounded its way into her throat, "and given very little to wear by a man who smells like the innards of a winery and is leading around a scared but still pretty girl who is far too young for whatever sick games you have in mind."
The girl looked confused by that, and so did the man. At least at first...
Then he glanced down and seemed to suddenly realize just how little she was wearing. He immediately let go and backed away to the foot of the bed as his face went a shade of red that was all the more impressive considering how pale he'd been a moment before. "I. I would never."
Considering what he'd no doubt been planning to do, she was surprised that seeing her underwear would upset him so much. Unless. She let out a relieved sigh. "Oh, good. You're gay. If I'd realized that sooner." Still, to be on the safe side, she yanked the hem of her t-shirt - which had bunched up around her waist in the brief fight - back down around her thighs and pulled the nearest blanket up to cover her legs.
"I am not!" The man shouted, and then looked a little confused. "At least, I don't believe so."
"Really?" She couldn't hide the surprise in her voice. "That's interesting. Maybe you should've figured that bit out before you started kidnapping people."
"I didn't."
She hmphed in disbelief at that. "The girl appears to be the type your kind likes - all she needs is a cheerleader's outfit - and I'm sure I'm extremely attractive. Or, at least I would be without all this ridiculous medical equipment."
"There's absolutely no way out of this for me, is there?" The man asked, more than a little disturbed.
Good.
And then the girl jumped in. "He didn't kidnap me. There wasn't anything keeping me here."
That statement may have earned the girl a gratified smile from the man, but it was the exact last thing she wanted to hear. "You mean you're in on this together?" She asked as she glanced back at the lamp.
"No!" The girl shouted, her hands held up in front of her as she took a half step back. She looked like she wanted to bolt out of the room altogether, but she didn't. "I just don't think he kidnapped us."
She had to admit that he didn't take advantage when he could have, and he seemed a little too squeamish to be a vicious kidnapper. "Then how did we get here?"
"That," the man said with a relieved sigh, "is a very good question. We can't remember."
"Right. You just happen to show up at the door of my room and have no idea how you got there."
"On a chair in the library, actually. That's where I woke up."
"Floor of the library," the girl said and added, "and not like that," in a rush. "I was on the other side of the room."
She stared at the two of them and had to admit that they seemed likely they were telling the truth. If they weren't, they could probably come up with better lies. "All right. So you two have amnesia."
"Three, I believe," the man interrupted. "From what you've said, you don't seem to remember how you got here either. What do you remember?"
"I remember lots of things."
"Indeed? Do you know where you were yesterday? Or the day before? Or even your own bloody name?"
She thought back and sighed, depressed that her first memory seemed to be that hideously high-pitched shriek. "No."
The man smirked, basking in his victory.
Which was annoying to no end. She pushed herself up on the bed and glared back at him. Not for any special reason, but just so he'd know he hadn't won yet.
The staring contest went on for quite a while, before the girl broke in. "Shouldn't we be doing something? You know, about us not knowing anything."
The man's face twisted and he finally looked away. "Right. I already checked, but I don't have a wallet on me. Do you." A snort stopped him in mid-question. "Right. What about you?" He asked and looked over his shoulder.
The girl patted the pockets of her jeans and shook her head. "No."
"Blast," the man muttered as he turned back. "Perhaps." he began, only to have the sentence die off as he stared at her.
Or, more accurately, down at her chest.
"What's this?" He asked as his hand darted out and grabbed at something.
She froze for a half second, thinking that everything that had happened had been some kind of bizarre game when she felt something tug at the back of her neck. She looked down and was surprised to see a thin gold strand of a necklace between his fingers. She hadn't even realized she'd been wearing one. Which was odd, considering the hard lump of metal she could feel dragging up against the skin between her breasts as he pulled whatever was on the end of the strand out from under her shirt.
And when the engagement ring slipped free she zoomed right passed surprise to open mouth-stunned silence.
A silence that the girl broke. "You two must be engaged!" The girl squealed happily as she rushed up for a closer look. Then her eyes lit up. "And we're sisters! This is you're house and you two invited me to live with you to help with the wedding. And. the rest." She glanced at the cast and the sling.
She met the man's eyes and stared into them. She waited for a spark. Instead she got the giggles.
Giggles that died a horrible death when the man snorted and muttered, "I bloody well doubt it."
She tried to cross her arm across her chest. "That seems uncalled for. You're no spring chicken, you know. I could do much better."
"And I couldn't? You must be one of the most infuriating women."
"Me? You're the one bursting into stranger's bedrooms!"
"I heard a shriek!"
"I could have been shrieking about any number of things! Some of which I wouldn't want an audience for! Probably."
"No wonder I lost my memory! I no doubt had to repress whatever time I've spent with you!"
"Stop it!" The girl shouted. "God, act your ages. And don't yell at my sister."
The man reached up and pinched the bridge of his nose. After he calmed a bit he pressed on. "Besides which, if we were engaged why would you be wearing the ring on a chain around your neck?"
"I. I don't know. Why would I be?"
"It's generally not considered a good sign."
She didn't have an answer for that, but wasn't surprised when she heard the girl snap her fingers.
"Maybe whoever you were engaged to left you, dumped you at the altar." The girl pointed at the man, "He's our father and we brought you here because you were so depressed you wandered out into a street and." She stopped, crossed her arms and scowled as she finally noticed the awed and more than a little scared stares that were aimed at her. "Or maybe bunnies came in and hopped really hard on our heads. At least I'm trying."
She shuddered at the thought of those rodents bouncing anywhere near her head. "I don't think he's our father. He has an accent. We don't."
"I would've put that the other way around."
"Fine, uncle then. This isn't as easy as it looks, you know," the girl grumbled.
She looked back at the man again, and this time neither flinched away.
"All right. We're family until something says we're not." He waited for her to disagree, and looked more than a little surprised when she didn't.
She was more than a little surprised she didn't, too, but she had to admit that it was possible. Still, he didn't have to look SO shocked.
"Now, all we have to do is find something with our names on it." He looked over the room before getting up and going over to the dresser that was to the right of the door. "Do you mind?"
"Not as long as you put everything back."
The man stopped, his hand frozen on the handle of the to drawer, and then turned to the girl. "Maybe you should."
"Good idea," the girl agreed. She dug through the drawers one by one, blushing only a little at the underwear drawer, before she found something useful.
A passport.
The girl rushed over and all but shoved it into her hands. The blue plastic cover was surprisingly cool in her hands as she opened it. The picture on the inside front cover was definitely her and appeared to be recent, unless she injured her arm often.
Her eyes went to her face and were glad that she'd been right. She was very good looking. At least she would be, except for the puffy bags under her bloodshot eyes and dull, lifeless hair. She somehow doubted that that was what pictures were supposed to look like.
She finally tore her eyes off her depressing photograph and started reading the information printed below it out loud. "It says my name is Anya Jenkins, I live in some place called Sunnydale, California in the United States of America, and I was born on the Fourth of July," she scowled. "I must've been mocked mercilessly for that as a child."
"Jenkins," the girl repeated the name with a small smile. "I wonder what my first name is? I hope it's not something stupid."
"Considering you're from California, heaven only knows. Though I doubt I would've let my brother or sister name you anything too atrocious," the man tried to assure her as he glanced at the door. "We might as well find out."
"Yeah," the girl said and took an excited step to the door before forcing herself to stop and look back. "Do you want.?"
"I'm curious, too," she. Anya. What an odd sounding name, said as she pulled herself to the edge of the bed, where a wheelchair sat waiting. She'd noticed it before, but was a little too scared out of her mind to pay much attention to it.
"What about?" The girl asked and gestured at her.
Anya glared at the man who might or might not be her uncle for a long moment before she shrugged and pushed off the covers. "You've both probably seen this much anyway, since I doubt I can dress myself right now. Now, help me into the wheelchair."
"I'll do it," the man offered, but he didn't move until she nodded her approval. Not that she was all that thrilled at having him touch her yet, but she doubted that the girl - that her sister could pick her up. He stuck an arm under her knees and wrapped another one around her good shoulder and carefully carried her over to the wheelchair.
"Now can we go?" The girl asked, all but dancing from foot to foot in her hurry.
The man sighed and nodded. "Yes."
With that the girl let out a little yip and was gone.
"She's dangerously caffinated," Anya said.
The man chuckled as he started pushing her to the door. "Indeed."
"Wait!" Anya said as she reached up, pulled off the necklace and tossed it into the small trashcan by the door all in one smooth notion. At first she'd been a little worried she'd have to somehow unclasp the necklace, but the chain was long enough to slip over her head. "Okay, let's go."
She could almost feel the scowl on the man behind her, but he didn't say a word as he started pushing again.
Thank God.
Her sister was probably right. He, whoever he was, had taken off. Left her. The her in the picture in the passport was hardly the image of sunshine and puppies. Maybe she was better off not knowing.
"There's one good thing about having a hyper-active teenager in the house," the man observed, no doubt to get her mind off of whatever she was thinking, "we don't have to waste those precious seconds it takes to open a door."
She glanced up, only to have the glance turn into a leer as she actually saw the house they were in for the first time. Her room had been.. Well, empty for the most part, but out here.
The house itself was a work of art, with lightly stained oak walls and massive windows every dozen feet. And then there was the actual artwork. Vases, tapestries, and paintings were everywhere.
"It's like a museum," she said in an awed whisper.
"Mausoleum's more like it," the man said with a snort. "And owned by a pratt, no doubt, who has his nose buried so far up someone else's arse that he can't see the end of it anymore."
The girl rolled her eyes. "There are worse places to wake up in."
"I suppose," he said, begrudging the end of the argument. He walked in a sullen silence as they entered the living room. "Bloody hell," he muttered when he saw the massive painting of a cliff that took up most of one wall. "Pr."
Fortunately the girl came running back before the argument could restart. Unfortunately she had what looked like a donut in her hand. "I found the kitchen," she said and gestured down the other hallway with the half-eaten desert, "but I didn't see any more bedrooms."
"They're probably on the second floor," the man said, "or the third." He paused. "Pratts."
"Stairs?" Anya asked and glanced down at her leg and then at the staircase.
"No," the man said, clearly knowing what was coming and trying to hold it off. Not that it worked. Anya turned as much as she could and joined the girl in giving him puppy dog eyes. He held out for a whole five seconds before he gave in. "Fine. If you'll get the wheelchair."
With that he moved around and picked Anya up again while the girl finished the donut and rushed over to fold up the wheelchair and follow them up the stairs.
"You're in very good shape for a man who is as old as you are," Anya observed.
"Be sure to tell the paramedics that," the man said, huffing just a little bit.
She did her best to ignore that, just like she did the happy sound he made when he all but dropped her back into the wheelchair again. "Second floor. Bed, bath and back braces."
Stupid cast.
Stupider man.
"This might take awhile," the girl said, breaking Anya's line of thought.
The floor was one long hallway with what looked like a couple dozen doors, all closed.
All but one, three rooms down, and that was the one they went to first. Not that it looked like much when they went inside. The room was clean, so clean that at first they didn't think anyone lived in it. Anya almost suggested trying one of the other doors when the girl found clothes in the dressers. After that it was a matter of digging.
"Rupert Giles?" The man said. His face twisted with distaste as he looked at the passport, which had a red cover for some odd reason. "What kind of name is Rupert?"
"Maybe you're parents didn't like you," Anya offered. It was the most reasonable explanation.
"Hated is more like it," he shook his head and dropped the passport on the dresser top, "Rupert."
"California doesn't look so bad now, does it?" the girl asked.
Rupert snorted. "I wouldn't say that. Not yet."
"At least you know you're name," the girl said, her face dark.
Rupert opened his mouth, no doubt to complain some more, but caught himself in time. He waved to the door. "One of the other rooms has to be yours."
"There's always Rupes. Or Rupey," Anya said as the girl who may or may not be her sister ran from the room again.
"Rupert will suffice."
"Or Rup. Though that does sound a lot like rump. I know, Rumpy Rupey. You do have a nice rump."
He started to look, caught himself, and scowled at her. "Do shut up."
"Or."
"Now I know we're family," he said from seemingly out of nowhere as he dropped his passport on the bed, "who else would stand for this?"
"I was going to suggest Uncle Rupert," Anya said with an annoyed humph.
"Really?" He smiled, which made him look much less threatening. "It does have a ring."
"I thought so." There was a sudden high-pitched scream ahead of them as the girl ducked into a room. "I assume embarrassingly high pitched screaming is a family trait?"
"Not on my side, I assure you," Rupert said as he retook his spot behind the wheelchair. "My scream is far more manly."
"Well, I would hope so."
"Shall we see what she's found?" Rupert asked, trying to sound nonchalant.
"Might as well," Anya answered, sounding every bit as bored even as the corners of her mouth curled up. She hoped that their little theory was right. Hyperness aside, she did like the girl.
Almost as much as she liked the idea of having a sister.
It took them a few moments to find the right room, half of the doors were tossed open now, but only one had a light on. Anya was leaning forward in her chair as Rupert pushed her in, but - despite the fact that the girl had a now familiar passport packet in her hand - she was distracted by a small cat that jumped in her lap and started rubbing against her sling.
She came this close to fore she petted the demanding creature behind the ears. "We have an animal?"
"Pet, I believe they're called," Rupert said and pointed to the elaborate plastic enclosure on a nightstand, "and more than one."
"I wonder what their names are?" Rupert cleared his throat to remind her of why they were there. "Or yours? Did you find it yet?"
"It's Dawn," the girl said. Her eyes were on the passport, but she didn't seem to actually be reading anything on it. Anya was just about to ask what was wrong when Dawn closed the passport with a snap. "Dawn Jenkins."
"So you were right," Anya said, feeling very pleased for some reason.
"Looks like," Dawn said and grinned. "So, cookie for me."
"Ooo, cookies and milk. There are worst first memories," Anya said.
"Yes," Rupert said. "But after that I want to find out what happened to us."
"How? Check all the doors and windows for bunny prints?" Dawn asked.
"I'm a hare's breath away from that," Rupert admitted and paused. If he was waiting for a laugh, he would have to wait a very long time. To his credit, he picked up on that fact and continued, "but I believe visiting a hospital would be more fruitful."
"Then a sugar rush is definitely in order," Dawn said.
"Indeed."
"And a shower?" Anya said.
"Maybe even a shave," Dawn added.
"Of cou." Rupert snapped his mouth shut and glared at the two of them.
A glare neither noticed, they were laughing far too hard to pay any attention.
- - -
"This isn't going well."
"No."
"How much more blood do you think he wants?"
"A vampire like him? Who knows?"
Dawn reached over and picked up the queen and slid the piece over a half- dozen squares. "We should move her here."
"Yes, if we want her to be decapitated," Anya said and gestured with her chocolate ice crème filled spoon at the waiting black knight before she stuck the spoon in her mouth.
"We have to do something," Dawn said, but she put the piece back anyway, "we're running out of people."
Which was true. At the moment there were a depressing number of white pieces in the box on the other side of the board. "Well, what about the bishop?"
"What about the bishop?"
"Well, he can't do anything," Anya stated, "so it wouldn't be any loss."
"If you hadn't thrown away our knight."
"He did take down the black queen so I wouldn't." Anya paused to glared over at Rupert, who sitting across the board from them in rather comfortable looking chair and watching the large television on the other side of the room. "You aren't listening, are you?"
"I wouldn't dream of it," Rupert assured them.
"Good," Anya said. She glanced down to see if there was any more ice crème left, but wasn't all that disappointed when she saw there wasn't. She dropped the spoon in the now empty carton that was resting between her and Dawn and reached over to grab a pawn.
"I don't see much need." He glanced over and there was just enough of a twinkle in his eyes to stop her from tossing pieces at him.
"Bad," Dawn said and shook her head at Anya's move as she absently reached up and scratched at the three band-aids that lined her upper arm.
Anya watched and fought down a whimper because her arm started itching too in the exact same spot. The band-aids and the needle pricks they covered were the only thing they got for the eight hours they wasted at the hospital. She would've thought that one would have been enough, but apparently doctors couldn't control themselves when it came to taking blood. Sure, they SAID that they were going run tests, but she just knew that all they wanted was an excuse to use someone as a pincushion.
Maybe the itching would stop if she gnawed her arm off.
She felt fingers scratching at the band aids though her blouse and let out a little sigh of relief.
"You looked like you needed that," Dawn said. "Better?"
Anya could only nod. Now, if they could do something about that spot behind her right knee.
"When's this Blake fellow going to show up?" Giles snapped loud enough to make the two girls jump in their chairs. "It's supposed to be his bloody show!"
"Don't yell at the television," Dawn said with a shake of her finger.
"Why not? Useless contraption," Giles asked as he switched the television off, put down the remote, and turned back to the game. "Now, where were we?"
"In the middle of losing," Dawn said darkly.
"Nonsense," Rupert said with a patient smile. "You're both doing much better."
Anya shook her head in frustration. "At least someone thinks so."
Giles raised an eyebrow. "Considering our first few matches." He let the sentence end there, leaving the words 'bloody massacre' unsaid. "And the fact that you're still learning the rules."
"Rules that you know," Dawn said, sounding more annoyed than frustrated. She frowned and stared out Rupert. "Know how, by the way?'
"I - I'm not sure," Rupert admitted. "The same way I remembered how to drive I car, I suppose."
"But you drove on the wrong SIDE," Dawn said. Anya shuddered at the memory of honking horns and screeching brakes. Dawn pressed on, "so we should be winning right now."
"I don't believe it works that way," Giles said.
Anya scowled. "The doctor should have known. We should find a competent one next time."
"That's not exactly fair, Anya," Giles said. "He did the best he could considering their resources. We're just going to have to wait for the neurologist they recommended to have an opening."
"Speaking of openings," Dawn said and reached over for the queen and used it to take one of the black rooks.
Rupert nodded. "Very good." He moved his bishop, and Anya promptly took it with the bishop she'd been mocking before.
"Check," Dawn and Anya said together, both with wide grins. It was their first check since they'd started playing six games ago.
"Indeed," Rupert said with another nod. He moved his other rook forward and took the bishop. "Checkmate."
They studied the board for a moment before Dawn turned and gave Anya a soft smack on the arm. Anya turned and nailed her with a glare, but that was as far as the fight had gotten when Rupert cleared his throat.
"None of that," Rupert said as he reached over and started gathering his pieces. "As I said, you two have gotten much better. Shall we play again?"
Anya yawned in reply, a yawn Dawn soon mirrored. It wasn't that she didn't want to play again, but it'd been late when they'd gotten home and was even later now. "Tomorrow?"
Giles glanced at the clock and his eyes widened a bit in shock when he saw the time. "Of course. Do you need any.?" His voice died out as he waved in Anya's direction.
"I just need to brush my teeth and get changed," Anya said, more than a little wary. He did seem to be a nice enough man, but still.
She glanced at Dawn, who'd helped her get dressed for the trip to the hospital and that was what made her nod. "But I suppose I could use some help, if you wouldn't mind?"
If he noticed how overly cheerful she sounded at the end, he gave no sign. Instead Rupert smiled and stood. "Of course. Dawn, could you clean up?" He asked and gestured to the floor around them. Besides the ice creme carton there was the mess from their dinner: paper bags, hamburger and fries containers and small plastic ketchup packets that were scatted everywhere, all covered with golden M's.
Anya rubbed her stomach as she realized that the carton of ice creme she'd split with Dawn might have been a bit much after a double cheeseburger and fries. But it wasn't her fault that she couldn't seem to get full, not matter how much she'd eaten. Her only comfort was that Giles and Dawn proved to be every bit the pig she was.
She'd almost think they hadn't eaten in a month.
Dawn sighed as she bent down and started picking everything up. "Sure, sure. Leave me the dirty work."
"'Onward Christian Soldier,'" Rupert sang. He caught the wadded up and greasy paper bag that Dawn threw at his head and tossed it right back. Dawn let out an outraged squeal as the bag bounced off the top of her head, but before she could retaliate he grabbed the handles of Anya's wheelchair and all but ran out of the room to Anya's bedroom and attached bath.
Which was when Anya's stomach tightened.
She watched him the whole time and waited for him to do something - a touch, a leer, but he never did. Not that she wanted him to, but she had to know if he could be trusted around her sister.
But he never did a thing. Not when he put toothpaste on her toothbrush and soaped up a washcloth for her face. Not even when he was helping her change for bed. Instead he yammered on the whole time and kept his eyes on hers as he took off her skirt and blouse and helped her pull on another of the huge t-shirts.
It was all very confusing.
"Is there anything else?" Rupert asked after he finished arranging the pile of pillows for her to lie on.
"No."
"Then good night, Anya." With that he turned to the door.
"Good night, Uncle Rupert," Anya called after him. She could have left it there, but she heard an annoying something in the back of her head that made her say, "I'm sorry I threw a clock at you."
"No need," Rupert said with a chuckle, "in your place I would've done the same."
Anya watched him close the door and wiggled into the pillows that were piled up under her back. She'd wondered why she'd been sleeping on so many when she woke up that morning and found out when she lied down before.
The ache in her shoulder was more annoying than painful, but still.
She pulled up the thick covers and let the sleepy warmth that came from a full stomach was over her. "A much better night than morning," she finally decided as she closed her eyes.
Then she heard a soft knock on the door. For a moment she thought about ignoring it, or letting out a low curse, but she was in too good a mood for either. "Come in."
"I didn't wake you up, did I?" Dawn asked as she walked in. She'd finally changed out of the jeans and t-shirt she'd worn all day, into a pair of powder blue pajamas.
"If you'd waited another few minutes." Anya said. She shrugged off the annoyance and pushed herself back up. "No. What did you want?"
Dawn fidgeted for a moment before she rushed over and shoved a picture in Anya's hands as she explained in a rush, "I found something. Somethings, actually. They were hidden under the covers of my bed."
Anya stared at the photograph. It looked like it'd been taken in a shop of some kind. Some cheap tourist trap, judging by the strange things she saw on the shelves in the background. There were six people around the table, but only two she recognized. Uncle Rupert and herself. And she looked much more pleasing in this picture than in the one in her passport.
Not that she did more than glance at herself.
"At least he was good looking," Dawn offered as they both stared at the man whose lap Anya was sitting in.
"Yes," Anya said as her eyes traced the young man's face. He was handsome, in a goofy kind of way. And he didn't have the appearance of someone who'd hurt his wife, or fiancée. Not that looks meant anything, but she didn't look the least bit afraid of him in the picture.
Or broken, like the photograph in her passport.
They both looked happy. She ran her fingers over the glass that covered his face, hoping for a flash of memory, a bit of his voice, but nothing came.
Her eyes darted to the wastebasket, all she had of him...
No. "He still left," she whispered.
"I just thought you'd like to see his face," Dawn said, her voice flat. As if she couldn't decide whether or not she should say she was sorry.
Anya wrapped her arm around Dawn and hugged her sister close. "Thank you."
Dawn grinned and rested her head on Anya's shoulder. "So who do you think the blond girl is?"
Anya looked down. The blond girl wasn't sitting on Rupert's lap, but they were much too close together to just be reading a book together. "Uncle Rupert's midlife crisis, no doubt."
"I don't know. There was another picture with this one of her and an older lady. Maybe she's a cousin?"
Anya sighed. "That's much less interesting." She pointed at the red head and blond girl on the other end of the picture. "Do you think they're family, too?"
"If they are, I hope they call soon."
"Yes." Anya yawned and watched as Dawn followed suit a moment later. "Is there anything else?"
"No."
"Good," Anya said and handed the picture back after one last long look at the man. Then she shifted away from Dawn, laid back on her pillows, and closed her eyes. "Goodnight."
"Goodnight," Dawn said as she put the photograph down on the nightstand, but besides that she didn't move.
Anya waited until it became clear that her sister wasn't going anywhere and opened her eyes. "What?"
Dawn hugged her legs to her chest and rested her chin on her knees as she looked around the dark room. "I don't like this house."
Anya grinned a little. "I do. It has character."
"It has a lot of expensive junk."
"Yes," Anya almost purred at that.
"Is there going to be a drool issue?"
"It seems likely."
Dawn smiled a little before her eyes started going around the room again. "Everything smells like old people upstairs, not to mention the creepy as hell factor andcanIstayinherewithyou?" The last was said in a breathless blur of words and accompanied by the biggest set of puppy dog eyes that Dawn could muster.
She could see why Rupert caved so often when Dawn used those eyes on him, but she wasn't about to give in.
And that was the moment Dawn started pouting.
"You don't play fair at all," Anya muttered as she moved over as far as she could on the bed and lifted the blankets in invitation. "All right. But if you hog the covers."
"Thank you," Dawn said as she slipped under the covers and snuggled in next to Anya.
"You're welcome. Now, go to sleep."