Author's Note: As promised, here is chapter two. I rather like this chapter. It came out pretty fast. Especially for me. Unfortunately, chapter three isn't cooperating as much. Sadness… Oh well. I'm working on it, but I don't have a clue when it'll be out. I hope you enjoy this chapter. Go read.
Oh! Allen Pitt had a couple very good questions and comments. I don't really address them in this chapter. I had most of it written already, anyway, and I have a pretty good idea of exactly where I'm going with this. But I'm pretty sure I will eventually address them, so don't despair.
Let the Tortured Body Cease
Chapter Two: The Beast That Dwells Within Me
When all my mutinous body rose
To range itself against my foes,
And, like a greyhound in the slips,
The Beast that dwells within me roared,
Lunging and straining at his cord…
For all the blusterings of Hell,
It was not then I slipped and fell
-- From The Breaking Point, Stephen Vincent Benet
She lunged forward. Giles was not entirely certain what her intent was. Slap him. Punch him. Strangle him. He could not be sure, but he knew it would be unpleasant. Thankfully, he didn't have to find out, for Xander quickly caught her by the shoulders and held her. "Bastard!" she screamed.
Reacting to the shouting, two nurses came in, and looked at the scene before them. "Ma'am, this is a hospital!" said one nurse, shocked and incensed.
"Good!" Joyce shouted, "he's gonna need another surgeon when I'm done with him!" She strained against Xander's hold while Giles simply watched her, not looking shocked, afraid, or even defiant. Simply resigned.
"Ma'am!" the second nurse called out firmly, "I'm going to have to ask you to leave."
Ignoring the nurses, Joyce continued to fight against Xander's grip on her shoulders and hissed, her voice seething with malevolence: "I ought to kill you, you son of a bitch."
"Ma'am!" the first nurse exclaimed. "Mr. Giles just got out of major surgery about five hours ago! He needs rest. How dare you come in here and threaten him. Please leave!"
"No!"
Finally, the first nurse came forward to help Xander hold her, and the two of them together managed to pull her toward the door. All the while, she was pulling against them and screeching at Giles. "You took her away from me! You stole her! You destroyed her! I'll never forgive you!" With that, the door closed behind her, Xander, and the nurse. Giles listened to her screams disappear as the two dragged her away.
The second nurse stayed behind to see to Giles. She came beside his bed and bade him gently to lie back down. Sighing sadly and wincing, Giles did as he was told. The nurse pulled the glasses from his face and set them down on the side table, then she checked his heart rate and blood pressure.
"What was all that about exactly?" the nursed asked gently, concerned.
"Original Sin…" Giles whispered in response, shocked by his own revelation.
"What?"
"I'm the serpent…"
"Um… Okay?"
Giles shook his head at her confused expression and told her: "never mind. It's nothing. Don't worry about it." But in his mind, he felt the epiphany strengthen and take hold of him.
He was the snake who bade Eve eat from the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil.
Unbidden, the memory of Buffy's first day at Sunnydale High School came to his mind. The thunderous pounding when he slammed that book on the counter top. Vampyr. Buffy: small, pretty, defensive. The fear in her eyes. And he realized with grief and utter self-contempt that he was far worse than the devil of the Book of Genesis. He did not simply tell her to eat the fruit. He grappled with her and shoved it down her throat.
Buffy's eyes shot open and found themselves staring up into a blank white ceiling, painted in stretched out rectangles of bright late morning sunlight and criss-crossed with the thin dark shadows of bars. She could tell, simply because she was the Slayer, that it was around eleven o'clock in the morning. It had been a little before four in the morning when those two men had appeared to take her away. She'd been asleep for about seven hours.
It was a long time to be out of contact with the world when you had no idea what the hell was going to happen next. It scared her. Were Xander and Oz alright after that fight? Did Willow try any dangerous magic in her fragile condition? And what about Giles? Had his surgery gone alright? Was he awake? Was he okay? Was he going to come save her?
She took a deep breath and slowly sat up, looking around. The room was small, white, sterile. There was the bed she lay on, shoved into the corner, with a small side table beside it. Across from the bed was a dresser, pushed against the other wall. There was a small chair pushed into the opposite corner. The wall behind her head had one window, from which the sunlight poured in, and the large metal door was set in the opposite wall. "Real homey…" she muttered. Glancing down at her feet, she saw that she was still dressed in the overalls and tennis shoes she'd worn when she'd planned to run away. That thought seemed so long ago. But now, it was beginning to sound like it might have been the better choice.
Suddenly, there was a quiet knock on the metal door, then the sounds of a lock clicking open. A man in a blue shirt and tie, with a white coat draped over his thin shoulders, walked into the little room, followed by two large orderlies. "Ah. Good." The tall, thin man said. "You're awake." He slid the chair closer to her bed and sat down. The two orderlies stood near the door with their arms crossed and watched.
"I'm Doctor Robert Matheson," the man said. Buffy looked at him blandly and did not speak. "Did you sleep well?" he asked.
Buffy arched an eyebrow at him. She'd been drugged. Had she had any choice than to sleep deeply?
He nodded. "Alright. Redundant question. Would you mind if I ask you a few questions this morning? And then I'll get you something to eat."
"Ask away. Doesn't guarantee I'll answer," Buffy replied, voice dry with sarcasm.
"Fair enough. Do you know why you're here?"
Bitterly, Buffy replied: "my mother suddenly decided to turn into a bitch." She knew that wasn't a fair statement, but at the moment, she was too pissed to care.
"Your mother loves you, and she's worried about you," the doctor said gently. "She wants you to get help. Do you know why she would think you need help?"
Buffy glared at him and didn't dignify that with a response.
"Your mother gave me a rough idea of what's been going on in your life, but she seemed to have quite a few holes. She was very sad that she didn't know you as well as she'd like. But she says you've become delusional." He waited, as if expecting a violent reaction, but Buffy just looked at him. She thought it might be a combination of things – exhaustions, shock, fear, anger, grief – but she felt numb, unable and unwilling to even attempt a response.
"Would you like to tell me your side of the story?" Dr. Matheson asked, trying to prompt her. "Maybe we could clear some things up."
She stared at him.
"Miss Summers. I think it would help a lot if you could tell me what you told your mother. Maybe elaborate… explain it to me so I can understand."
She looked at him coolly and said, "no."
"Look, Buffy… May I call you Buffy?"
"No."
"Uh, alright… Miss Summers, then. Things will be much easier later on if you cooperate now." Buffy shrugged. "So, why don't you tell me… Are you a vampire slayer? Yes or no."
"No, I'm the tooth fairy," Buffy said acerbically. "Can't you see the wings?" The doctor smiled slightly, and she noted with some amusement, that at the very least, he found her funny. She grinned at him and she could tell he was surprised by that. "Sorry to disappoint you, Doctor. But I'm not insane, and I don't plan on saying something that will make you think I am. Now. I think I'm done answering your questions."
Dr. Matheson sighed and stood up. "Alright. We'll stop for now," he said. "Get some rest. I'll have one of the orderlies bring you something for breakfast. Or lunch, rather, I suppose."
The two orderlies that had watched the conversation with guarded expressions, opened the large metal door again and moved out into the hallway. They were followed quickly by Dr. Matheson, who nodded to Buffy congenially. "I have to lock the door, is the institution's policy," he told her. "I just wanted to tell you so you don't take it personally." Buffy smirked at him. "Well, I will talk to you later." With that, the door was slammed shut and she listened to the lock click into place. And she was alone again.
With a sigh, Buffy decided to take the doctor's advice to rest, though not for any reasons he would approve of. She'd try to sleep off that drug they'd given her. She'd eat whatever food they brought her. And then, tonight, when she could be reasonably sure that things were quiet and deserted, she'd make her escape. Once the drug was completely out of her system, she imagined she'd probably be strong enough to either kick down that metal door, or pull the metal screen out of the window frame.
By the end of the day, Giles had grown painfully disgusted with the hospital and its staff. The nurses, though they were compassionate and concerned, were so saccharin sweet and over-solicitous as to completely irritate him. The doctors were all pompous assholes who probably couldn't have given him straight answers had their lived depended upon it. And the food was horrible. Having concluded that enough was most definitely enough, Giles signed himself out against medical advice and had Oz drive him home at around seven o'clock that night.
Oz and Xander helped him into his apartment. "Come on, G-Man," Xander said encouragingly as Giles stumbled along, wincing and cursing under his breath.
He glared at Xander, whose arms were practically the only things holding him up, and said, "Don't call me that," but his voice lacked its usual force, and Xander didn't even have the heart to smile. Between the two of them, Xander and Oz managed to get Giles up the stairs to his bedroom, took off his shoes, and slid him into bed.
"Would you like something to eat?" Xander asked.
Giles paused, considering, and then nodded. "Just something simple, please, Xander. I think there's some cans of soup in my pantry."
"Alrighty, G-Man. I'll be back in a minute." And Xander rushed out of the room.
When Xander had disappeared down the stairs, Giles looked at Oz, his face solemn. "Oz," he said softly, and the boy heard something in his tone make him give Giles his full attention. "There's a bottle of brandy in a cabinet in living room. Would you bring that and a glass, please? Without letting Xander see you?"
Oz gave him a mildly confused look.
Giles looked down at his hands. "Xander's parents… He has enough exposure to alcohol. I'd rather he didn't see me drinking too."
Oz nodded sagely and said: "Alright." Then he raced down the stairs and back up within thirty seconds. "He thinks I was grabbing a book for you…" Oz said. He handed Giles a book with a small smile. Then he placed the rather large decanter half full of brandy and a glass on the bedside table.
"Thank you, Oz," Giles said quietly.
Just then, Giles heard Xander climbing the stairs, the clinking of dishes and silverware preceding him up the steps. Quickly, Giles leaned over, slid the bottle and the glass into a cabinet at the bottom of his side table, and sat back up.
"Here ya go, Giles," Xander said cheerfully. He carried a tray into the room with a bowl of steaming soup, a little plate of crackers, and a cup of steaming tea on it. Carefully, he placed the tray on Giles' lap.
"Thank you very much, Xander," Giles said. "You didn't need to go to so much trouble, but it was very thoughtful, and I appreciate it."
Xander looked down at his feet, embarrassed, and shrugged. "I didn't do anything. I just put a can of soup on the stove for a couple minutes. Nothing to it."
"Well, I appreciate it anyway," Giles said.
Xander shrugged again.
Giles paused, that said, "Xander, I have a question I'm hoping you'll be able to answer."
"What?" he asked.
"This morning… Joyce said something about Buffy wandering around with Spike. Do you have any idea what she meant? Do you know what Buffy might have been doing with Spike?"
Xander's eyes widened. "I don't know, but Buffy mentioned something about Spike too. When she came running into the hospital to find out how you were, she was muttering something about Spike swearing to do something. And that if you died, she'd destroy him. I don't really understand what she meant."
"I wish I knew what Buffy did. And what Spike had to do with it…" he sighed, worried. "But I supposed I'll have to go without knowing until I can ask her myself."
Xander and Oz nodded and Giles took a sip of his hot tea.
"Well," Oz said finally, "I suppose we should go and let you get some rest…"
"Um… yeah… I guess we should…" Xander stuttered but Giles could tell that Xander really didn't want to.
"You don't have to leave just yet, if you'd like to stay," Giles offered, though he'd have to admit that he'd prefer to pour himself a brandy and go to sleep.
"Uh…" Xander paused. "No. No, that's alright. You need your rest. We'll go."
Oz gave Giles a significant look, asked him if he'd be alright, and when Giles nodded and thanked him, he walked downstairs. But Xander hovered by the bed and fidgeted, and looked uncertain.
"I'm quite alright, you know, Xander," Giles said gently, smiling.
"I know… I'm just…"
"Worried?"
Xander sighed. "Yeah. I'm worried about you. I'm worried about Willow. And I'm really worried about Buffy…"
Giles nodded. "So am I, Xander, so am I. But I promise you, I won't let her mother keep her in that place. I'll get her out. I promise you."
Xander grinned. "I know you won't, Giles. We've never doubted that. We all know you'll protect Buffy."
Giles smiled back and nodded again. "Just so. No go ahead and get some rest yourself. And if you stop by the hospital to see Willow, give her my best, alright?"
"Will do. Get some rest, G-Man. See ya."
And, feeling a little better, Xander followed Oz down the stairs and out the front door. Finally alone, Giles reached down the side table for his brandy and his glass. Leaning back against his pillows, he poured a large brandy and drank it slowly. He let out a deep breath and tried not to think. Too much had happened. Too much had gone wrong. He couldn't quite get his head around it all. And above it all, Buffy was stuck in some god-awful mental asylum… He was not going to let that stand.
By his third glass of brandy, Giles was passed drowsy. His eyes were heavy and his throat was dry. He just wanted to go to sleep and not think about anything. But a part of him was afraid to close his eyes. A part of him kept thinking he had to stay awake to wait for Buffy's check-in call after patrol. He had to keep reminding himself that she wasn't on patrol, and she wasn't going to be calling him. With a sigh, he took one last large gulp of his drink, set the glass down, and closed his eyes. Within minutes, he was fast asleep.
When it was a little past midnight, Buffy climbed out of the small white bed and stretched her sore muscles. She had no clock, but she knew what time it was anyway – a benefit of being the Slayer, she supposed. Everything was completely still and silent. First, she slid her shoes off to further remove any noise when she walked. Then she walked to the window and looked out. She was on the third floor of the building, and even she could not jump that far and not hurt herself – possibly even kill herself. So she turned and padded softly to the door.
For a moment she simply considered the door. She glanced at the hinges and the handle. She tapped it once softly. Then she took a deep breath, grasped the handle roughly, and twisted hard. Just as she had hoped, she heard the lock snap, and the door popped open. She waited a few seconds before she opened the door, pausing to see if anyone was going to react to the soft popping noise of the broken lock. When no one came running, she pulled the door open and slid out, closing the door behind her. Like a shadow in the darkness, she slid along the hallway, looking for stairwell.
At the far end of the corridor, she found one. Silently, she made her way down to the first level of the building. And she honestly thought she was going to escape without a hitch until she actually reached the first level and found herself face to face with two very large orderlies and a security officer. "Crap!" she hissed.
"Break out!" the first orderly yelled. He was tall and bulky and his nametag read: Mitch. He tried to coral Buffy back toward the stairs and said in what she supposed he thought was a soothing tone, "Now, now… Why don't we get you back into bed where you belong."
Buffy smirked at him. "I don't think so." She launched herself backwards into the stair well and onto the fourth step up. From there she leapt into a flip over the Mitch's head. The second orderly, a shorter, fat man whose nametag labeled him: Frank, tried to grab her by the shoulders as she landed. But she quickly jabbed him in his paunchy stomach and pushed away with her feet. The security guard, in the mean time, was calling for back up.
"You ain't getting away that easy!" Frank shouted. "Get back here!" He lunged for her, and though she easily sidestepped him, she'd forgotten about Mitch. The taller orderly managed to twist her arms behind her back and pin her against a wall.
"Got you," Mitch taunted.
"You are so going to regret this!" Buffy hissed at the man. Pushing against the orderly, she managed to make enough space between her body and the wall to wedge her legs between them and shove. With tremendous force to shoved Mitch backward and flipped up and over him. When she landed behind him, she punched him hard in the kidney, and then kicked him in the neck. The tall man collapsed and Buffy stood over him, one hand on her hip, and the expression on her face more than a little smug.
"Now… how precisely do you have me?" she asked. "You gonna bite my feet off at my ankles?"
Then, she no longer had time to taunt the fallen orderly, for Frank had barreled into her. She tumbled forward and rolled back onto her feet. Crouching on the balls of her feet, with the fingertips of one hand braced on the floor, she looked up at the short, wide man. The orderly looked back at her and took a step forward.
"Give this up, Girlie," Frank said. "You aren't getting out of here. Period. Soon, back up is gonna get here. Now, why don't you come along quietly back to your room. Before I have to hurt you."
Buffy took that at her permission to attack, and launched herself forward from the balls of her feet. Her fist collided with a satisfying crack into Frank's nose and the large man fell backwards and rolled a little like a ball. Smirking, Buffy stepped forward and placed her feet on the man's fat neck.
"How was that again? You are going to hurt me? I don't think so." She pushed down with her foot just little, not caring that it was perhaps a little vicious, and stepped back. "Oh," she added blithely. "And don't call me Girlie."
The security guard stepped forward then, shaking visibly, but raising his gun defiantly. "Stop right there," he said, his voice wavering and filled with fear. Buffy looked at him blandly and stepped toward him. He was guarding the only exit, as far as she could tell. "Don't take another step!" he shouted. She ignored him and stepped up to him, until she was only three feet away. "Stop!" he screamed, waving his gun at her.
She glanced down at the pistol then back up to his face. "You gonna shoot me?" she inquired blandly. She didn't feel the slightest bit of fear in the face of that gun. She wasn't afraid. She wasn't even nervous. All she was, was really really pissed off. Growling, she lifted her leg into a long, sweeping, arc of a kick, and knocked the gun out of the guard's hand. It went flying off into the shadows and she watched it land before she turned back to the man. The security guard looked at her with abject fear in his eyes, and she paused only a millisecond before she grabbed a fistful of his shirt and lifted the taller man off the ground by a couple inches.
"I ask again," she growled. "You gonna shoot me?" He shook his head. And she tossed him away. "I didn't think so," she said dismissively, visibly disgusted with the man.
Her path now clear, she took two steps toward the door, and suddenly felt a sharp pain in the back of her neck. "Shit…" she muttered as she whipped a hand back and yanked a tranquilizer dart out of her skin. She stared at it with contempt and kept walking forward. Behind her, she could hear more men running to catch her. Dr. Matheson telling them that the tranquilizer should come into affect any moment. A couple nurses trying to wake up the orderlies. Then, just as she reached the door and grasped the handle, her legs stopped working.
"No…" she whispered as she fell to her knees. "No," again, as she felt herself fall backward onto her back, her legs bent awkwardly beneath her, and her eyes slide closed.
Footsteps came up to her, and she heard Dr. Matheson say: "don't worry. She won't be a danger anymore. That tranq's strong enough to knock out a lion. Take her back to her room and strap her to the bed. We cannot allow her to escape again."
Buffy felt several hands shift her body and pick her up before she fell unconscious.
Buffy awoke with a muffled sob, sweating and struggling against the leather straps she suddenly found were binding her to the bed. For a long, stretched out moment she could not even register that there were leather straps actually tying her down. All she could feel was pain and terror. Pounding, screaming pain. Her foggy brain screeching furiously at its mistreatment. Whatever that tranquilizer had been, it had really done a number on her system. Blood pounded in her ears. Her drug-induced nightmares were still fresh and raw in her memory… but she didn't want to think about that. That way led to the terror, which was worse than the pain.
She imagined this was what a hangover probably felt like. And if that was true, she wondered how Giles could ever drink. Ever.
Trying desperately not to think about her dreams, she decided to get out of the straps. For a moment, she simply stared at the offending articles. Then she sighed, shook her head, and yanked against the straps. She was the Slayer, for Chrissakes. She yanked handles off doors; she'd been known to break metal cuffs on occasion; leathers straps weren't going to cause her too much trouble.
Unfortunately, she had to revise this statement when she found she could not even stretch the straps to any degree. The silly little straps should have snapped against her force, but there they were, not even stretched out of shape, and here she was with sore muscles. "What the hell," she muttered. Annoyed and offended by the things, she growled low in her throat, gritted her teeth, gathered all her strength, and pulled at the straps with all her might. Nothing happened.
"This is not good…" she breathed, beginning to feel a touch of panic. She yanked and strained and fought with the leather, and no matter what she did, she could not make them stretch or tear. Nothing she did mattered at all, and by the time she had given up struggling, she was panting and sweating with exhaustion.
Lying there with her ragged breath pressing against her ribs and the back of her throat, with nothing to do except think, her nightmares came back to her. And this time she had no physical struggle to help her hide from them. They haunted her. Angelus' demonic face staring down at her with a mimicry of love in his eyes. Smiling at her, a toothy malicious grin. Kissing her with a passion that was more violence and hate than tenderness and love. That same grinning face standing over a body. Giles. Bleeding. Broken. Dead.
Buffy shook her head, trying to banish the thoughts from her brain. So close. She had come so close to losing him. Her teacher. Her protector. Her best friend. Even knowing it had not been Angel, but Angelus, who had tortured her Watcher, still she could never forgive him.
Spurred by the thought of Giles, she struggled furiously against the leather straps again. But it only lasted a few minutes before she was forced to give up again. But she had to get out of here. She had to make sure Giles was alright. She had no idea if he'd even survived his surgery. And even if he was alive, he might be in pain. And what if he blamed her? What if he thought she should have gotten him out sooner? She had to see him. She had to see Giles. And, suddenly furious beyond measure with the offensive binds, almost her entire body rose off the bed, straining against the straps, as she roared like a beast at the top of her lungs.
Within seconds an orderly and Dr. Matheson had come running in, to find Buffy thrashing on her bed and screaming like a wild animal. "Let me go!" she bellowed. "Right now!"
"Miss Summers…" Matheson said cajolingly.
"Untie me now!" she ordered. "Or I swear to God, I'll get out myself and when I do I'll snap your head off your neck like a toothpick and kick it across town!"
"Now, Miss Summers… no reason to become abusive or violent. You can hardly blame for putting you in restraints when you put two of the orderlies in the hospital and scared the wits out of one of my security guards."
"Oh, that's nothing to what I'm going to do to you if you don't let me out of here," Buffy growled threateningly.
"And that's supposed to inspire me to let you go?" he inquired incredulously.
"I don't give a damn what inspires you to do it! Just do it!" she shouted furiously, and once again yanked ferociously against her bonds. For a few silent seconds he watched her struggle. Then, exhausted, sweating, and gasping again, she stopped struggling and laid on her bad, energy spent.
Seemingly convinced that she had either calmed down or exhausted herself sufficiently, Matheson came forward and untied her wrists. Immediately, she shot up and untied her ankles herself, while the large orderly at the door watched her warily.
"What the hell did you do to me?" she asked weakly.
"I gave you a sedative that should have kept you asleep for a day, not just ten hours. It seems, however, that with that and a combination of muscle relaxants, that I can retard your rather extraordinary strength."
"What!" she hissed, shocked and disbelieving.
"Yes. And if you persist in this struggling too long, you will only succeed in injuring yourself," Matheson said.
"Go to hell," Buffy rasped, her throat raw from her screeching.
"Ah, I mustn't do that. Then who would be able to help you destroy these delusions?"
"I am not delusional," Buffy snapped.
"So, then you are truly this vampire slayer you told your mother about?" he asked. She glared at him and did not answer. She was not stupid enough to dig her own grave. That much she knew for certain.
"Why do you want out of here?" the doctor asked suddenly. "Don't you want help?"
"I don't need help. I need to see Giles." She winced. Why had she said that out loud.
"Giles? Mr. Giles? Your school librarian?" Matheson asked. "Ah, yes. Your mother told me you were friends. Isn't it a little unusual for a 17 year old girl to be friends with a single, middle-aged man?"
"No," she said petulantly, irrationally annoyed by his reference to Giles' age, and painfully reminded that he was only single because her lover had killed his.
"Why do you need to see Mr. Giles? Does he know about your delusions?"
"I'm not delusional," she said reflexively. "And Giles is hurt."
"Yes, I know he was," Matheson said ominously. And something in the way he said it triggered near-panic in Buffy.
"Was? What do you mean 'was'?" she questioned, her voice cracking slightly.
Matheson shook his head. "Did I say 'was'? I meant is."
"No. No. You said 'was.' What did you mean by that? What have you heard about Giles?"
Again Matheson shook his head. "I didn't mean anything by it. I haven't heard a thing about him. I am much too busy here to worry about high school librarians that get beat up by hoodlums."
"He didn't get beat up by hoodlums," Buffy whispered, mostly to herself.
"No? Then what? Was he attacked by vampires, Miss Summers? Why don't you tell me about it, hmmm….?" Again she simply glared at him and refused to answer him. "Why don't you answer me, Miss Summers? Are you a vampire slayer? Yes or no. Answer me."
"If I say yes, you'll say I'm delusional. If I say no, you'll say I'm lying to hide my delusions. It's a catch-22. So I think I'll just keep my mouth shut, thank you."
Soon after that, Dr. Matheson gave up his attempted conversation and left. And that's when Buffy learned what the routines of asylums were like. All the patients, or inmates, as Buffy preferred to call them, were taken to a large recreation room on the first floor, where they could read, draw, write, play board games, or watch tv. Certain patients were alternately taken away and then brought back, presumably for one-on-one sessions with Dr. Matheson or one of the other psychiatrists – of which there were four as far as Buffy could tell.
At twelve-thirty exactly, all the inmates were led to a cafeteria to eat lunch. They all sat at long tables with benches like those used in some schools, and ate what was given to them. Some complained about the taste or the lack of variety, but they all ate. A number of them were also given medication at this time, in the form of pills handed to them in little paper cups. The nurses and orderlies stood and watched as each patient swallowed their pulls and checked both cup and mouth to make sure they had done so.
Buffy sat at a table surrounded by bonafide mental cases and ate her thin beef stew and bland mash potatoes without comment. She said little beyond the polite minimum of 'hi,' 'no,' and 'yes' to any attempts the others made at conversation, and silently thanked the Powers That Be that no one tried to hand her a little cup of pills.
After lunch, most of the patients dispersed into their individual categories for group sessions. But, they there were several delusional patients, there was no official group for delusions like there were for suicide attempts and eating disorders. After all, how do you talk someone out of being delusional with group therapy? So, instead, they placed her in with a group of patients with "borderline personality disorder" and "anger management issues." As she sat in her little chair in the little circle, being watched by the group mediator and listening to various patients rant about various things, she began to grin. You want to talk about anger management, she thought derisively, I killed my ex-lover. Her grin widened as she imagined actually saying that.
When the discussion circle came around to her, the mediator looked at her with a pen hanging from his lip and said in a patronizing tone: "You've been smiling for awhile now, Buffy. Why don't you tell us what you're thinking about?" Buffy, startled from her thoughts, looked at him with wide eyes. Then she shrugged and her grin returned. She was stuck in here for the moment anyway, they already thought she was insane. Might as well go all out…
"Oh, I'm just listening to all this piddly shit you guys have been talking about, and it's all extremely amusing. You," she said, waving her hand at a teenage boy near her, "demolished your father's car and beat up a bully in your school. And you…" she added, gesturing to a thirty-something-year-old man across the circle, "abuse your wife and burned down your house…" She looked at them and they bristled at the dismissive tone of her voice. "Oh, don't get me wrong, these are all horrible things, and you probably deserve to be here. But if you really want to talk about anger management issues…"
"Yes?" the mediator prompted when she paused.
"Oh, well… I impaled my ex-lover through the chest with a two thousand year old sword." Her tone was nonchalant and the entire room stared at her in shocked silence. The mediator's mouth hung open and the pen fell onto his lap. Okay, so that wasn't nearly the whole story, Buffy thought, but man, those reactions were so worth it. And she grinned again.
"And… uh… um…" the mediator stuttered. "Do you… uh… Do you regret it? Don't you wish you'd learned to control your temper?"
Deep, deep in her soul, Buffy began to sob with the pain of her grief and regret. But outwardly, she managed to look up at the mediator with unwavering eyes and say: "no, not really." And she thanked the Powers That Be for her skill and practice in lying, because judging from dead fish look the mediator gave her, he had obviously believed every word she said. Hiding her screaming heart from prying eyes, she smiled again, and though the smile did admittedly fall flat of an actual grin, still it seemed to unsettle everyone in the room. And she took an almost sadistic pleasure in that fact.
Early in the evening, as the sun dipped in the sky and darkness descended, visitors came to see their disturbed family and friends. The visits took place in the recreation room, and Buffy was not surprised to see her mother there. Depressed, maybe. Pissed off, maybe. But definitely not surprised. It had been Buffy's first full day in a mental institution, and of course, her mother would come to see how well she had adjusted.
"Hi, Honey," Joyce said softly. She was obviously nervous about her daughter's possible reactions. And rightly so. Buffy was not a happy person. She sat down in the chair opposite her mother when the nurse beside her indicated that she should. Just like a good little crazy person. Buffy gave her mother a cool, even, look and did not speak.
"Um… how're you settling in?" Joyce inquired. "Alright?" Buffy simply looked at her blandly. Joyce swallowed hard against the lump in her throat.
"So… uh… the doctor… Dr. Matheson... that is… he says you won't talk to him. You can, you know. He's not here to judge you or condemn you. He's here to help… you… to…" Joyce stumbled and faded into silence under Buffy's implacable gaze. Inwardly, Buffy smiled slightly. She was getting good at this silent treatment business.
"Buffy? Would you please talk to me? I understand why you're made, but this is for your own good. And someday you will come to realize that."
Buffy fought the urge to laugh at the inadequacy of the word 'mad.' Understatement much, she thought derisively. But she didn't say anything. She kept her face neutral.
"Alright," Joyce sighed, as if sensing her thoughts, "so maybe 'mad' isn't a strong enough word. But even if you're livid with me, you could still try talking to me." What Buffy felt was such a jumble of emotions she couldn't even name it. Her mother would never understand that. But most of all, she thought perhaps she was disappointed in her mother and hurt by her utter lack of faith.
"Buffy!" Joyce said sharply, angry, worried, upset. "Please stop with the silent treatment already! Talk to me! I need to understand what happened to you to make you like this!"
Buffy shot out of her seat and stood as straight as she could. Joyce jerked backward reflexively at her sudden movement. Buffy's face was implacable, her spin was rigid, her stance was proud and unforgiving as she gazed down at her mother with silent accusatory eyes. She looked like a marble statue: Nemesis. Righteous Anger. Vengeance. And Joyce looked up at her, suddenly afraid. Deep in her heart, Buffy was just the tiniest bit proud of the fear in her own mother's eyes.
"I'm not lying," Buffy said in a quiet voice, and despite its softness it spoke volumes of anger, grief, reproach, and even a little disgust. "And I'm not crazy. And someday you're going to realize that. The proof is going to smack you in the face… or possibly rip your intestines out," she added with a bitter smirk, and Joyce paled. "And when that happens, if you manage to survive the experience, you will be filled with so much guilt and regret you won't know what to do with yourself…" She paused and a deep sadness filled Buffy's eyes even as her voice turned hard and cold. "And I'm not sure you'll have my forgiveness to help you learn to forgive yourself."
Her small speech done, Buffy spun on her heel and walked away, toward the sofa and the tv. She looked down at an older man sitting nearly catatonic in front of the television, drool sliding down his chin, and her eyes softened. Taking the edge of the bottom hem of her shirt, she wiped the drool away, then sat down beside the man and stared at the screen, Watching the six o'clock news. Joyce stared after her daughter, her expression changing from stunned to grim. Then, with a sad sigh, she stood and walked out of the room.
At six o'clock in the evening, after having spoken to a receptionist at the Sunnydale Mental Institution for half an hour on the phone, Giles stormed into the building. He had asked the receptionist on the phone for the visiting hours and when she asked for his name, he was actually foolish enough to tell her his real name. As soon as the name passed his lips, he knew it was a bad idea. He was right.
The receptionists paused, and he heard her whisper to someone, and then she said in an apologetic tone: "Sir, I'm sorry, but I'm not permitted to give you the visit hours. You have been restricted from seeing Buffy Summers." He spent the next half hours arguing with her. But it had done no good. He had been forbidden contact with Buffy by order of her mother and her doctor, one Robert Matheson.
So, incensed, he was now storming through the front doors and into the lobby. And stormed was definitely the right word. Despite his limp, the bandages around his torso catching on his ribs, the fact that he was pulling stitches, the pain flashing through him… despite all that, he swept into that lobby practically glowing with his fury, his gaze dark and intense, his gait long, strong, and determined.
He walked up to the receptionist's desk and slammed the flat of his large hand against the lacquered wood with a tremendous bang. The receptionist jumped two feet off her chair, staring at him with wide, startled eyes.
"I want to see Dr. Robert Matheson," he said, his voice barely on the edge of civility.
"I'm… uh… afraid Dr. Matheson is occupied at the moment," the receptionist said in a shaking voice.
"I don't care. Call him and tell him to get out here now. Or I start searching every office in the bloody building."
"But…"
"Now!"
Blanching, the woman picked up her phone, pressed a few buttons, waited, then said: "Sir, there's someone here demanding to see you. A Mister…"
"Giles. Rupert Giles," Giles supplied.
"A Mr. Rupert Giles, sir." And then, registering the name in her brain, the receptionist looked up at him and realized who he was and why he was angry. She paled to a shade so white her skin looked almost blue. "Uh… yessir," she whispered into the phone. She hung up.
"He's on his way…" she told Giles. And Giles nodded, barely but momentarily satisfied.
A moment later, he saw Joyce exit a room down the hall and head in his direction, toward the lobby and the front doors. He saw her grim expression and felt certain she had just seen Buffy. Buffy had to be in that room.
Without a second thought, Giles headed down that hallway, not even caring that he would have to face Joyce Summers in order to reach Buffy. "Sir!" the receptionist called behind him, "stop!" Ahead of him, Joyce had seen him and moved to stand directly in his path.
"You can't see her," she told him harshly. "It's your fault she's here. You'll just make it worse."
"Worse! Worse!" Giles exclaimed. "You have her looked up in a bloody asylum! Your own daughter! I can't see as how it could be any worse!"
"It's for her own good," Joyce insisted.
"The hell it is!" He tried to walk around her, but she just sidestepped and moved in his way again.
"I don't care what you think about it. You are not seeing Buffy!" Joyce yelled.
Just then, a man wearing a nice suit with a white lab coat over it, and a nametag that read: Matheson, come toward them. "Mrs. Summers is correct, Mr. Giles," he said. "Seeing you would only make things more difficult for Buffy. You are an integral part of her delusions, and seeing you now would simply reinforce them."
Giles glared at him and hissed trough clenched teeth: "Buffy is not delusional."
Dr. Matheson's eyebrows flew up into his hairline in an expression of utter surprise. "How can you say that?" he asked, incredulous. "Don't you know her at all?"
"I know her better than any other human being on this planet," he said, his teeth still clenched, and he felt himself fighting a reckless fury rising up within him.
"Then how can you say that? Perhaps you do not realize what she claims to be… Because I cannot comprehend how you could say that someone who claims to be a vampire slayer is not delusional."
"I don't care what you do or do not comprehend," Giles growled dangerously. "Let me see her now."
"No," Joyce said vehemently.
"I'm afraid I can't do that," Matheson said. "Even if I thought it'd be alright, which I don't, I must respect Mrs. Summers wishes concerning her daughter, and she most obviously does not want Buffy to have contact with you."
And that triggered the release of something he could barely control. Reckless, blind rage flashed through his veins, and he felt a frighteningly familiar presence make itself known in his mind. Ripper. "I don't give a damn what that bitch wants, you bloody pillock!" he bellowed. Then he turned toward the end of the hallway and shouted: "BUFFY!"
Meanwhile, just a few yards down the hall, in the recreation room watching the six o'clock news, Buffy heard the commotion outside and tuned in her Slayer hearing.
"You are not seeing Buffy!" she heard her mother shout. Knitting her eyebrows in confusion, she stood up and headed for the door. But several nurses and orderlies had obviously surmised what was going on and blocked her from opening the door. She heard a tight, angry voice say something she could not quite catch, though the voice sounded familiar. Then she heard Dr. Matheson and her mother again.
"I don't give a damn what that bitch wants, you bloody pillock!" Recognition ran through her like a flashfire and her heart rate sped up as she struggled to get past the orderlies. "BUFFY!" she heard Giles roar.
"Giles!" she answered back as she fought against the orderlies. Even without her strength, desperation fueled her and allowed her to fight her way past the orderlies.
Giles' head shot up upon hearing her voice, his eyes scanning the hallway for the source. "Buffy!" he called out again, urgently, pushing past Joyce, "where are you?"
A second later, a door was flung open and Buffy exploded from a large room just ahead of him, dragging several orderlies behind her as they clung to her arms. "Giles!" she shouted again.
Giles tried to run toward her, only to find Joyce and Matheson had grabbed hold of his arms. "Stay away from her, you bastard!" Joyce screamed.
"Buffy!"
"Giles! God! I was afraid you were dead!" Buffy called out, struggling against three large orderlies. Giles wondered why she couldn't throw them off. They were just men, and she was naturally so much stronger. But he didn't have time to ponder it. "Giles! Are you alright? Please tell me you're alright!" she demanded earnestly as the man started dragging her off in the opposite direction.
"I'm fine, Buffy!" he answered. But he was immediately proven a liar when what he supposed was a security guard wrapped his arms around Giles' stomach and pulled backward hard. Giles fell to his knees with a pain-filled gasp.
"Giles!" Buffy screeched.
For a moment, Giles could not answer, as he gritted his teeth against the pain and fought hard not to faint. Then he looked up to see Buffy being drug into a stairwell at the end of the hallway. "I'll get you out, Buffy!" he screamed at her. "I swear!" And just as her head disappeared around the corner of the stairwell, he saw her nod silently, eyes filled with fear and trust in him.
The security guard was still holding him down, pressing against his back as he knelt on the floor. Joyce and Matheson watched the scene, silent and grim. Spurred by his rage, Giles lurched to his feet, flinging the guard off his back. Then he spun around on the balls of his feet and proceeded to send the guard to the floor on his back with a well-placed uppercut. The guard tried to stand, but Giles kicked him viciously in the ribs and he fell again.
"Stay down," Giles told him in a hard voice, his eyes flashing. The guard gasped and winced at the pain spreading through him and, for the moment at least, did as he was told.
Giles turned to Matheson and loomed over him menacingly. Grabbing the doctor by the collar of his nice suit, he hauled the man forward and off the floor. Leaning forward so his nose nearly touched Matheson's, Giles growled: "mark my words. I will get her out of here. No matter what. And if anything happens to her in the meantime, anything at all, I will peel your skin off one agonizing inch at a time and wear it as a coat! Got it!"
Matheson nodded frantically as fear spread across his shocked face. When Giles set him on his feet again, he scrambled away quickly until he hit the wall behind him. The final thing Giles did round on Joyce. He fixed her with a stare that struck her like lightning and froze her to the spot. And his voice was low and terrifying in its tightly controlled power when he next spoke.
"You had better pray to every god you can think of that she eventually forgives you for this. Because. I. Never. Will." That said, he walked down the hall and out the front door, his pace and posture decisive, strong, and proud despite the immense pain. He was not going to let this stand.
Author's Note: Loved it? Hated it? Please let me know. If you don't tell what's wrong I'll never learn anything and I'll never stop sucking at this writing thing. So please, review!