Willow fluttered open her eyes and stretched her achy muscles as she slowly awoke late on Sunday morning. In the fuzzy state of early wakening, the teen frowned. She noticed how gritty her body felt and that she was dressed in her fuzzy green sweater, skirt and tights from the previous day. In fact, it was the same outfit from Friday night. It wasn't until the red head pushed off her blanket that she remembered why she was still dressed in a two day old outfit. Her breath caught and fresh tears threatened to fall as she remembered just why she was not all fresh and comfortable in her pajamas.
Sitting up, Willow pulled her pillow against her chest and allowed the sobs freedom. She cried until her head ached and hiccups disrupted her breathing. An aching lethargy finally settled across her body and she forced herself to set aside her squished and tear-soaked pillow in order to seek a shower. Once clean and dressed, Willow found herself tidying her room on autopilot. She made the bed and organized her books on the desk. Briefly, she considered opening one of the textbooks and immersing herself in preparation for finals but the normally overly conscientious academic felt no drive to review information that she already knew. Instead of studying, the red head glanced one more time around her room as she considered going to visit Xander. She figured that she might as well spend time with someone else who would understand her grief.
Bending to dig her shoes from under her bed, Willow noticed the discarded newspaper that her mother abandoned in her room last evening. She retrieved it and glanced at the stories on the folded page as she stood with her white sneakers in her other hand. Willow ignored the mostly fluff piece on the Spring Fling dance held at the Bronze on Friday night. Instead, she noticed a rather sparse story about a teen being sexually assaulted and left for dead in an alley not far from the school. The story detailed that the unidentified teen received a traumatic brain injury and that an off duty police detective had performed CPR on the injured girl until an ambulance could arrive to transport her to Sunnydale Memorial. The article gave little notice to the ongoing health of the girl but did congratulate the police officer for his dedication to duty.
For a moment, Willow wondered if the girl was someone she knew. Her next thought was whether the assault was supernatural in nature. After folding the local news section and tucking it in her back pocket, Willow moved to her computer. With a minimal amount of effort, she soon found the information she wanted. She closed her laptop and exited her room through the french doors to the outside.
Fifteen minutes later, Willow knocked hesitantly on a dark wooden door tucked into an alcove of a fountain filled atrium. The teen glanced around the light stone and plant filled area and would have enjoyed the pretty view if her heart hadn't felt so heavy. As she waited for an answer to her summons, Willow silently hoped that she had found the proper place.
"Willow?" Rupert questioned in surprise as he opened the door from his flat. The librarian stood dressed in the same rumpled outfit he had been wearing for more days than he cared to count. His only concession to comfort had been his tossing aside the suit jacket and unbuttoning the upper part of his shirt. His tie had been lost since Saturday and he was not sure where it had landed.
For a moment, the teen just stared at her mentor. His appearance made her heart ache even more. From the state of his dress and need for a shave, it was obvious to Willow that the normally stiff Brit needed a shower. When he spoke, the teen caught a whiff of odor that she normally only associated with Xander's parents. She added the need for some coffee onto the list of things the Scooby Gang mentor required.
Nervously, Willow clasped her hands against her stomach. She shifted her gaze from the Watcher to the ground and back again.
"Umm, I wasn't... that is I... umm," the teen stumbled in her speech as she tried to explain why she had sought out older gentleman. For the moment, she forgot her original impetus for visiting the Watcher. The newspaper remained folded in her pocket as their shared grief once more came to the forefront of her thoughts.
"May I come in?" she finally pleaded when she realized that there was no way to articulately express her churning emotions and that Giles appeared to be so shell-shocked that his normal adherence to proper protocol had flown the coop.
With good manners ingrained over a lifetime, Giles immediately invited his young guest into his flat. As if on autopilot, he offered her a seat and a drink. While Willow settled onto the couch, Rupert moved into his small, galley kitchen to prepare some tea. He could see his teen guest stiffly waiting through the open breakfast counter that separated his kitchen from the living room. As the water heated, the librarian pulled some shortbread biscuits from the cupboard and placed them neatly on a serving tray. The neatness of the tea set reminded the British gentleman how utterly opposite his own appearance was. A wave of embarrassment warmed his system as he realized that he had lost a bit of himself over the past couple days.
Leaving the kitchen, Giles took the couple steps across his hall to his bathroom. A few minutes of attention at least improved some of his appearance. He swapped his soiled, offensive shirt for a discarded one that he had worn earlier in the week. A comb and toothbrush finished his quick attentions. He returned to the kitchen in time to add the heated water to the tea pot so the loose leaves in the strainer could seep properly.
Giles placed the tea service on the low table in front of the couch. The librarian only had time to seat himself on an overstuffed chair before the doorbell rang once more. He frowned as he wondered who else would be visiting. While Willow nibbled on her buttery cookie, the older man answered the door. He quickly returned with a overnight package and a confused expression on this face.
Willow poured them both tea while the librarian opened the large envelope that had been delivered by private courier service from England. A collection of official appearing documents fell into Gile's lap as he extracted a thick piece of vellum. Concern marked the Watcher's face as he read the formal missive.
"Is it something important? Should we be worried? Is it another apocalypse?" Willow asked quietly as her anxiety grew while she watched the normally reserved Rupert start to shake. The teen assumed the find tremble was a fear reaction. She jumped in startled surprise when Giles bit out an angry retort.
"No, no... no apocalypse. I have just been bloody well fired."
"Fired?" she squeaked in echo. The thought of her academic idol being fired flummoxed the teen.
Giles tossed the letter from the Watcher's Counsel onto the table and snorted. He ran his fingers through his hair which disrupted its short-lived neatness.
"Of coarse, they didn't say termination," he groused. The older man reached for the notes once more and began to read the contents.
"Your services have been admirable in the face of daily danger and the emotional toil of supporting your young charge. As a reward for your dedication to your duty, the counsel has elected to release you from formal service. Diplomatic measures have been ensured that your current cover position will be maintained. You will receive furloughed compensation for six months at which time counsel policy will necessitate completion of said funds. Due to tenure of service, counsel pension will not be available."
Giles snorted once again.
"We thank you once more for your commitment to the Watcher's Counsel and hope that you will contact us if a situation arises in your region that requires the more active consideration of the counsel."
"They really fired you?" Willow repeated in whispered horror.
Giles crumbled the expensive cream-colored paper into a ball and whipped it across the room. Willow flinched as the paper sailed past her head and bounced off the guild mirror on the wall.
"It would appear so," he replied.
Silence fell for a heartbeat.
"Poop-heads," muttered Willow as she took another cookie and bit it viciously as if imagining the biscuit was part of the Watcher's Counsel.
Just a hint of a smile softened Rupert's pinched expression. He picked up the now cooled cup of tea that his guest had poured for him.
"Quite right, Willow. Poop-heads indeed."
"Good afternoon, Mrs. Summers," a deep yet quiet voice greeted to the older of the two occupants in the curtain divided step down care unit room. Although the space could provide support for two individuals recently released from the intensive care unit, the room currently hosted only one patient. The dark haired man wearing a rumpled suit glanced quickly at the teen tucked under the hospital blankets but still attached to all the bells and whistles the medical staff could muster to monitor her condition. When he noticed no change in the patient's condition, he returned his attention to her mother.
"Any change, Mrs. Summers?" he questioned gently although he already anticipated a negative answer.
Joyce Summers lifted her head from her position beside her comatose daughter. Buffy's chest rose and fell as she breathed and the monitors beeped with her heartbeat. For all appearances, the teen seemed to be gently sleeping. Unfortunately, her mother knew better. Joyce offered the handsome police officer a tired smile.
"No, Detective Ricci," the distressed mother replied evenly although she felt herself still hovering along the edge of an emotional breakdown. The emotional roller coaster on which she found herself trapped had refused to give her any relief.
Friday had seemed fine as her daughter dressed for the dance despite her lack of date. For the first time in a long time, Joyce had actually felt like she connected with her often distant daughter. Buffy had hugged her tightly and told her mother that she loved her before leaving for the Spring Fling.
Joyce had prepared for bed and then settled comfortably on the couch while she waited for her daughter to return from her dance. The black and white movie that she had found on the television had done little to hold her attention and she had dozed for quite a while. Around three in the morning, Mrs. Summers had awoken with a pain in her neck and an infomercial on the television. Noticing the time, Joyce had wandered up the steps while rubbing her sore shoulder and neck muscles. She had assumed that Buffy had arrived home after the dance and went to bed. A quick peek into her daughter's room crashed her pleasant assumption. Buffy's bed was undisturbed and her room empty.
Joyce double-checked the entire house. When she still did not find her daughter, she contacted both Willow's and Xander's homes. The Harris call provided her with slurred rambling followed by a sharp disconnect. The phone rang busy when she tried to call back later. The Rosenbergs were equally unhelpful. In fact, Willow's mother had the nerve to accuse Joyce of poor parenting skills and recommend that she seek some additional training since it was not Shelia's responsibility to know where Joyce's wayward daughter was spending her Friday night.
By four thirty in the morning, Joyce was at wits end. She had contacted the police station which had provided little assistance. The clueless desk staff had recommended that she contact her child's friends. Joyce had taken a hint from the Harrises and hung up on the disinterested woman. Finally, the agitated mother called the local hospital. After explaining her situation to three different hospital personnel, the overnight charge nurse for the emergency department finally offered her some hope. The overworked woman had explained that a teenaged Jane Doe had arrived by ambulance near the beginning of her shift. After confirming that the injured patient was similar in appearance to her daughter, Joyce had rushed to Sunnydale Memorial where she found her daughter in the intensive care unit. To add to Joyce's distress, Buffy remained unresponsive because of the head wound.
While sitting with her daughter, Joyce was soon joined by Detective Ricci who she learned was the person responsible for discovering her daughter in an alley behind a diner where he had enjoyed a late supper. The off duty police officer had resuscitated the young assault victim but explained that she never regained consciousness while he waited for the ambulance to arrive or during the trip to the hospital.
After apologizing to Joyce, the police officer had gently questioned the anguished woman about her daughter's activities the previous evening. The concerned detective had offered to stay with Joyce when the doctor came to discuss Buffy's condition. Shell-shocked, Joyce latched onto his hand and her body trembled as she listened to the bleak prognosis. Her horror only grew as the very clinical medical professional dispassionately detailed Buffy's injuries from the blunt force trauma to the back of her skull and the injuries from the violent sexual assault. Since Joyce had no one to offer her support, the kind, off-duty officer had stayed for a number of hours until finally leaving Saturday evening.
Just like yesterday afternoon, Detective Ricci offered Joyce a gentle touch and an encouraging smile when he realized how close to an emotional break down she hovered.
"They obviously moved her from ICU. That has to mean something, right?" the concerned officer offered.
"Not sure. This morning, the doctor mentioned moving her to a long term facility once she has stabilized."
The idea of her beautiful daughter being shuttled into a facility to be forgotten send guilty stabs of pain into her chest.
"Do you have news, Detective Ricci? Is that why you came to visit?" Joyce prompted in hopes of stopping her morbid thoughts.
The officer smiled sadly.
"I told you to call me Antonio," the gentleman reminded Buffy's mother as he pulled a small white box from his suit pocket. The detective waved the box slightly in the air.
"I am sorry but I don't have anything new on the investigation, Mrs. Summers," Ricci expressed.
"Joyce," the older Summers woman offered with a tentative smile.
Antonio nodded once before explaining his reason for the visit.
"I hope that you don't feel me forward, but I brought something for your daughter."
The police officer offered the plain box to Joyce. She lifted the lid and stared at the delicate gold cross on a matching gold chain nestled on the white cotton stuffing in the interior. Joyce's fingertip gently shifted the pendent from its cushioned spot. From the indentation on the fluffy cotton, it was obvious that the necklace had been resting in the same spot for quite some time.
"This is beautiful," Joyce murmured as she shifted the pendent once more before raising her light brown eyes to meet Antonio's dark chocolate ones. "It is obviously precious. We can't accept this."
Joyce closed the lid on the gift and attempted to return it the officer. A pained expression flashed in Antonio's eyes before he quickly hid the response from view. He held up his hands and refused to take back the box.
"I don't understand," Joyce expressed. Her family had never been overly religious and so she did not understand why the detective felt the need to spontaneously give her daughter a gift with obvious Christian sentiment.
"I didn't want her to be without her protection," Ricci explained softly as his right hand raised to brush against the similar gold cross he wore on a more masculine chain around his own neck. "When we collected her personal items to check for residuals, we had to remove her silver cross. It is still at the lab and will most likely be there for days if not weeks."
Antonio shifted the sign of his faith back inside his collar.
"Given the wear on her necklace, it was obvious that she wore it regularly. Since she can't have her own, I just thought, well, I thought having another one might help."
"But it is still too expensive a gift," Joyce countered despite her surprise at hearing Buffy was so attached to a symbol of what she felt was a non-existent faith. Even if the tired woman was starting to feel like she did not know her daughter as well as she should, her pride would not allow her to accept the present. Joyce offered the box back to the officer.
"No... please take it," the detective expressed. "It was my daughter's."
"But won't she..."
Antonio shook his head and his eyes suddenly seemed tired.
"She doesn't need it. I think she would like to know that someone else was wearing it."
Understanding the implied loss, Joyce graciously accepted the gift. She offered a soft thank you before removing the pendant from the box. After dropping the box on the blanket, Joyce moved to place the necklace around her daughter's neck. The cross settled perfectly along Buffy's collarbone but seemed to draw attention to the mottled bruising around her neck. As it sat against her body, her skin began to warm the delicate metal. Joyce's chilled fingers shifted Buffy's hair off her cheeks after securing the cross in place. Her fingertips ghosted over the raw scraps on her daughter's bruised skin before she placed a soft kiss on her forehead.
She had just pulled herself back from her daughter when she noticed that Buffy's eyes were suddenly open. Joyce gasped.
"Mom?" whispered Buffy in a raspy whisper. Confusion and a touch of fear laced the softly spoken words. "Mommy?"
Unable to contain her shock, relief and elation, Joyce sobbed and crumbled against her daughter's chest as she repeated a litany about how much she loved her daughter. Buffy winced ever so slightly at the weight on her abused body but offered no complaint.
"Love you too, Mom," the slayer murmured in reply.