Slayers, Vampires, and Genetically Engineered Oh My!

Disclaimer: Joss Whedon owns Buffy and all characters pertaining and created therein; Cameron, Eglee, and the Fox guys Dark Angel and all characters and associations.

Chapter 8

Previously:

"Mom and Hank found me after I'd made my way to San Francisco, then the Pulse hit, and it was easy to just attach myself to them, to become Buffy Summers. They took me back to their home in Los Angeles, and things were rough, but we were a family, and we made it through the nasty. I'd get the occasional shake, but they had stopped around the time I became the Slayer, so today was the first time in a long time that I had these, and I've never had them so violent before. It's a good thing I had some Tryptophan left over, otherwise."

Buffy shrugged again. What else could she say?

Okay, so she didn't come out and tell them, hey, I'm a genetically engineered super soldier taught to and have killed since I was a baby, I'm not even a hundred percent human and probably became a Slayer by fluke, who knows what else is thrown in my messed up genetic cocktail. That would come later. Right now, they all seemed to be having enough trouble with the idea she was adopted. It was only merciful she didn't unload it all on them at once.

Really.

Giles called Joyce Summers despite Buffy's protests she was recovering, but the Watcher was firm and had his way this time. He had also insisted on patrolling for her that night, and truth be told, Buffy was relieved, for she still felt like crap and she wanted to avoid answering any more personal questions. Willow and Xander couldn't get over the shock that Buffy was adopted.

"But you look so much alike," Xander had protested with a vigorously nodding Willow at his side.

"Isn't hair coloring technology so wonderful?" was Buffy's sarcastic rejoinder, one eyebrow quirked upwards in time with her lips. But she was actually serious.

The trio was sitting on Giles' cot as they waited for Joyce to come pick her up. The school nurse had already been called in, declared Buffy unfit for school after dubiously eyeing her as she made up some story about feeling suddenly faint toward the end of one of her classes, and agreed to let Buffy stay where she was at until her mother checked her out.

Her comment about the hair coloring set off a whole new can of worms, one in which she was more prepared for than questions about the mysterious facility she ran away from.

"I kinda figured you dyed your hair, but I wasn't sure I was right," Xander commented, tilting his head so he could better examine the top of Buffy's head.

"Yep, you were. For once Xander you were right," Buffy just rolled her eyes along with Willow.

"Hey," Xander grinned; pleased his friend was joking back with him. At least, he was pretty sure she was joking back with him. Wasn't she?

"So, if you're hair isn't really blonde, which we've established, what color is it naturally?"

Willow's question gave Buffy pause, and Xander was miraculously silent as she contemplated the question.

"You know, Willow, it's been so long since I had it au natural that I don't know for certain. I'd been about nine or ten when I became a blond. But I'd been a dark brunette with some purple-reddish highlights. Think…Sarah Michelle Gellar in Cruel Intentions."

"Oh," the two best friends chorused.

"That was a good movie," Xander grinned.

"You just liked it because Sarah Michelle Gellar's character was a slut in revealing outfits and slightly porno," Willow wrinkled her nose at him. Giles' head snapped up and his eyes widened at the turn the conversation had suddenly taken and Buffy wanted to laugh but her headache kept her in check.

"I resemble that comment," Xander grumbled out over Giles' shocked babbling, smiling. "You liked it because Ryan Philippe showed his naked butt!"

"I did not!" Willow spluttered with righteous indignation, even as her face flushed a color similar to her hair. Buffy chuckled even as Giles looked about to faint and Jenny wanted to laugh.

"I didn't like it," she spoke up, halting the two's bickering.

"Huh?"

"His butt. Ryan Philippe's butt. It was kind of…bubbly," Buffy echoed Willow's previous gesture and wrinkled her nose in disgust.

"Bubbly? That was pure male perfection right in front of you! Bubbly!" Willow exclaimed, shaking her head.

"I have to agree with Buffy on this one," Ms. Calendar interjected, laughing outright at her boyfriend's open fish mouthed expression. "It was bubbly."

"Exactly. I like a guy with a butt, but that was too much," Buffy chuckled, and then winced.

Damn those last two vampires to the seventh level of Dante's Hell and back! They must have broken or at least bruised three or four ribs pretty good last night. The stupid seizures hadn't helped any.

"You know what? Buffy kinda looks like Sarah Michelle Geller. Don't you think?" Willow pointed out.

Buffy tried not to squirm as she was back under the microscope so to say, but thankfully, her mother charged into the room.

"Buffy, are you okay? The nurse called and said that you fell ill. I knew something wasn't right this morning when you only had a couple slices of toast and milk."

Joyce Summers rushed over to her daughter, absently greeting the staff and the other two children, placing a hand on Buffy's forehead.

"Oh, baby, you're warm. Let's get you home and in bed, I'll make you some soup, and heat up some milk, and you can go to bed and get some sleep. You're so pale! Don't worry, I'll take care of you," Joyce soothed, stroking Buffy's face with the backs of her fingers in a light touch that all Mom's seemed to have mastered.

Buffy gave a sigh of relief at feeling her mother's cool hands stroke her face, unconsciously leaning into her touch. It would be so easy to just let go and purr her contentment. As it were, she just had to make do with a contented sigh and pout, giving her mom sad 'puppy dog' eyes.

Straightening up and squaring her shoulders, Joyce finally turned her attention to those surrounding her and her daughter, gave the children a grin, before addressing the adults.

"Mr. Giles, Ms. Calendar, thank you looking after her. Willow, Xander, thanks for being her for her."

Joyce was sincere in her thanks and it showed through despite her concern for Buffy's well being.

"It wasn't anything, really, Mrs. Summers. Buffy is very special and well liked around here. I hate that she's fallen so ill," Giles was able to reassure her with the truth.

Joyce smiled at him, pleased her daughter had made such apparent social headway at school, and turned back to her daughter completely missing the look Jenny sent her way. While Joyce's back was turned Jenny subtlety inched closer to Giles and wasn't happy at the way the other woman had thanked her boyfriend. Her eyes had lingered way too long on Rupert for Jenny's well being.

Willow, Xander, and Buffy had caught it, and swapped amused smirks, even as Giles was as oblivious as ever to the rising estrogen and protective level of his girlfriend.

"C'mon, Elizabeth Anne Summers, we're going home," Joyce ordered and Buffy had to resist the urge to snap salute and crisply reply, 'Yes ma'am!'

"Bye, guys," Buffy waved and then she and her mother were out the door.

The cemetery was dark and misty and noisy. Well, noisy as in the trees swayed in the breeze, the branches and twigs creaking, leaves rattling on the ground with each gust, the sound the wind made as it flowed between the headstones and pillars of the mausoleums.

Giles jumped once again as a set of leaves rattled on the ground as they were blown away by a particularly strong burst of wind. The night was cool and the Watcher shivered as he burrowed further into his overcoat, teeth chattering softly.

Why was he out at the Hellmouth's most active cemetery at such an ungodly time of night? Right, he was doing this for Buffy. Buffy, his strong Slayer, whom had never failed to patrol even if he had to twist her arm to do it, though he suspected she didn't really mind as much as she griped about it.

The Watcher was armed with all sorts of armaments packed in an unzipped canvas bag that were meant to fight the various forces of darkness, everything from common stakes to a broadsword, a hand axe, bottles of holy water, garlic bulbs, holy wafers, a crossbow and bolts, to crosses made out of wood, silver, and one painted onto a very bright mega watt flashlight.

He was ready. Vampires and evildoers beware. Rupert Giles, Watcher to the Slayer Buffy, was on patrol…he was rough, tough, and…

"Giles?"

"Ahh!"

Giles whirled around, crossbow brandished, cross bearing flashlight pointed toward the intruder who held his hands up both to placate and to protect him.

"It's okay. It's me!"

"Angel? Is that you?"

Though still frightened, the Watcher peered through his spectacles at the vampire who still covered himself.

"Yes. Could you turn that off or point it some other way?"

"What? Oh! The flashlight! Of course, how silly me of me. Didn't think it worked but I guess I was proved wrong wasn't I?" Giles mused as he pointed the light away from the cowering vampire.

The tall souled out vampire lowered his arms cautiously once the danger was diverted, slowly relaxing his arms down to his side, warily looking at the device in the Watcher's hand.

"Fancy meeting you here tonight," Giles began when it seemed the vampire was going to do no more than glare at his flashlight.

Those eyes flicked up toward the Watcher and again Giles felt the cold and his fright. Even though he had his soul back after being cursed by Gypsies over ninety years ago, Giles could never forget as the others seemed to that this vampire was at one time Angelus, the vampire with the face of an angel, the scourge of Europe, who terrorized, raped, pillaged, and frightened most of the Old World for centuries. It was Giles' belief that, if he hadn't been cursed, that Angelus would have become just as fearsome and powerful as his grandsire, The Master.

"I was here hoping to talk to Buffy."

"Of course," the Watcher agreed, still feeling the effect those eyes had upon him.

His name at one point had been Liam, and he had been a simple aristocrat in 1770's Ireland, where he was typical of a young man of that day and age looking for something better than what his small little world was offering. Seduced by the golden beauty and whispered promise of adventure and faraway lands, Liam had given up his mortal living, and was turned by the beautiful, vain, and deadly Darla.

Angelus had been a terrible master, and took to his new evil personality with a passion and a gusto almost unmatched by any in history or ever more. He loved to torment and torture people, the innocents especially, as anything that reminded him of humanity was pursued and vanquished with zeal. Only one had truly come close to matching his cruelty, William the Bloody, Angelus' own grand-childe sired by his mad Seer childe Drusilla.

Drusilla was as mad as Angelus and could match him for schemes, but she lacked the sane drive to motivate herself. Her childe William, who chose the moniker Spike after brutally murdering a man by driving a railroad spike through his skull, had observed and learned from Angelus and set out to perform a similar humanity exorcism on himself and his life. Some would say he was a pale imitation, no pun intended, but in truth Spike was just as deadly or perhaps even more so than Angelus.

"Where is Buffy? She's usually here by now, already having patrolled the other cemeteries," the dark haired vamp went on.

That was a new bit of information. She was quick to patrol was she? Unimportant for the moment, as it seemed Angel was waiting for a reply.

"Uh, yes, actually. I'm on patrol for her tonight, she's not feeling well." That's an understatement, Giles.

The vampire stared at him, his high forehead wrinkled as he thought and frowned, thick hair spiked in its usual disarray.

"That's not like her," he spoke almost as if to himself. Those brown orbs flicked upwards again to capture Giles' gaze and he couldn't look away despite himself.

"Slayer healing should have made her immune to things like this."

"Actually, that's not entirely accurate. A Slayer's healing ability aids in rapid wound and bone damage makes them harder to kill, increases speed, stamina, and skill, but it does not in any way make them completely immune to disease. Just…more difficult to catch."

"I see."

The men fell silent for one of those awkward, male pauses where neither man knew how to continue or inquire about the other.

"So what does she have? I mean we're talking cold, flu, allergies…"

"Seizures."

"Seizures?" Angel's dark russet colored eyes darkened to almost black in his concern.

"Yes, Grand mal seizures to be more precise. It seems that Buffy has had them before as a child growing up, although sporadically, and all but almost ceased to exist once she was Chosen. However, they do seem to have returned within the last twenty-four hours with a vengeance. Her mother came and took her out of school hours earlier than she could have stayed, and made her rest. She should be at home asleep."

"I'll take over the patrol for tonight. You seem a little…cold, Giles."

"You would? Why would you do that? I assure it isn't necessary, and I told Buffy that I…"

Angel cut him off with a wave of his hand and a shrug of his large, broad shoulders that were covered with his usual trench coat, blazer, and t-shirt combination. Giles noted that he hadn't worn a leather jacket since giving Buffy his own, the same leather jacket she often wore during patrol or training session, he thought irritably.

"Don't worry. I've patrolled often enough with Buffy I know the routine. Besides, it's so cold out I don't think much of anything, if anything, will be out tonight, and we can't have both the Slayer and her Watcher out of commission now can we?"

Giles couldn't argue with this logic even had he wanted to. He knew he shouldn't disappoint Buffy, but he also knew that she wouldn't want him to patrol if it meant that he would get sick. Reluctantly, he found himself agreeing.

"I have everything under control," was the vampire's parting words of assurance. Despite himself, Giles found he desperately wanted to believe that, even as he made his chilled way to his car.

A/n: So…what do you think? Jareth says review and he'll consider releasing the next chapter! You don't want to irritate a wingless dragon, do you?