Twilight had long faded into full darkness, and Giles stretched his tired muscles in a hope of easing the painful knot in his lower back. The wooden cross resting on his lap shifted as he moved. It slipped to the side of his leg towards the center console of his late model vehicle. Absently, he returned it to position so that it was easily accessible in case of emergency. Sitting alone in the dark in Sunnydale was a crap shoot on whether the emergency would occur. It could go either way. Rupert figured with his current string of luck that the dice were sure to fall firmly on the side of the emergency.
"I am getting too old for this," he muttered to his empty car interior. He sighed in frustrated exhaustion. The ex-Watcher had safely returned Xander and Willow to their homes over an hour ago. Since that time, he had been waiting near the Summers residence on Revello Drive. While waiting, the tired librarian found little to occupy his time. He had watched the woman across the street from Buffy's house arrive home. The dark-haired woman had scurried into her residence with an uncommon self-preservation that seemed lacking in much of the populous of Sunnydale. Given her behavior and the well established flower garden along the side of her house, Rupert figured that she had resided in the town long enough to realize that something was slightly unsafe in the town. Even a nice, suburban neighborhood like this one held potential disaster if someone was outside after dark.
Exhaustion embraced the gentleman in its cloying grasp. Too many nights without proper sleep and too many hours of emotional turmoil allowed him little reserve. Giles' eye lids lowered. He shook himself and took a deep breath. Settled into place again, his eyes closed once more only a few heartbeats later. The ex-watcher would have fallen deeply into oblivion if a high set of car lights had not startled him slightly from his slowly relaxing position. Barely awake, Giles followed the progress of the headlights as they approached and then turned when the dark green SUV pulled into the driveway to the right of the Summers' house.
For a moment, Rupert stared at the vehicle while his sleep deprived and befuddled brain attempted to remember why its arrival was important. He fumbled with the door of his outdated Citroen as the jeep's lights went out and the engine stopped. Giles stumbled across the street on an intercept course for the sandy-haired woman who exited the dark SUV. He called to the weary woman as she stepped into the warm yellow illumination of her front porch.
Joyce screeched at the unexpected summons. She whipped around to stare into the darkness as she backed cautiously towards her front door and more firmly into the perceived safety of the light. The single woman dug into her coat and retrieved her keys while still searching the darkness for who had addressed her. Nervous at the unexpected intrusion on top of the events of the weekend, Mrs. Summers fingered her keys until she had four of them hanging loose along her knuckles. Pulling the hand slightly behind her back to hide her make-shift weapon, Joyce called into the darkness and demanded to know who was there.
"Mrs. Summers," Rupert repeated as he stepped into the light. He offered the frightened woman a tired smiled.
With a relaxing sigh, Joyce's shoulders slumped.
"You're Mr. Giles, right? From the school library," she stated while reaching for the door handle. Vaguely, the nervous woman remembered the kindly librarian from his brief visit when she was in the hospital after her unfortunate accident with the bar-b-ques fork. If she had been less emotional, Joyce might have thought his presence strange but her mind refused to dig any deeper into his appearance.
"Ah, yes," Rupert affirmed encouragingly. "I am sorry to show up so very late but I was... that is... I was concerned about Buffy. You see, she was supposed to..."
"Oh!" Buffy's mother exclaimed in complete disregard to interrupting her unexpected companion's speech. "Buffy was supposed to help with your project with Willow?"
"Well, um, yes, exactly," Giles improvised. "I was worried that she did not show up to help and so I was wondering if everything was alright. We called a number of times yesterday and were unable to reach her. We have all been quite concerned about her."
"Oh Mr. Giles, I am so sorry," Joyce gushed sincerely despite her personal exhaustion. "If I had known, I would have called. Buffy had an accident. She's in the hospital."
Relief flooded Rupert's system and he swayed on his feet for just a moment before he regained his equilibrium. Joyce offered him additional information on where Buffy could be found and promised that she would tell her that he asked about her. The normally slightly reticent librarian gushed his thanks to the Slayer's mother for the information before excusing himself with an almost exuberant wish for a good evening. After returning to his car, Giles briefly rested his forehead on his steering wheel as he offered a prayer of thanks for his charge's survival. Although exhausted, Rupert summoned enough reserved energy to head to the hospital. He needed to see his slayer in person to relieve the last bit of anxiety about her condition that was gnawing at his guts.
When the British gentleman reached Sunnydale Memorial, he found it necessary to sneak onto the ward where Buffy rested. Visiting hours had elasped almost an hour before his arrival. No greeter sat at the information and reception desk; only minimal staff wandered the dimmed hallways on their regular routines. Rupert strode confidently down the hallways and no one stopped to question his presence. Slipping past more clueless staff near the nursing station on the acute care floor, Giles sought and found the proper room. He entered quietly and pulled the door closed behind him. He then shifted the closed curtain and padded silently towards the Slayer's bedside. He moved across the darkened room and stopped within reach of the adjustable bed where the teen rested. The soft light from outside the curtain offered enough illumination to allow him to see her form and face but was not enough to distress the still light sensitive girl.
Although she never opened her eyes, Buffy whispered a soft greeting. Instinct told her who had entered.
"Hey, Giles," she called in a husky voice that would never be heard by anyone human outside the small private space. The rasp in her voice made Rupert frown.
A tight pain clenched in the ex-Watcher's gut as he mentally cataloged his slayer's injuries. Seeing the extent of damage even after days of Slayer healing, he barely contained the desire to touch her arm and confirm her life with his own hand. Unlike Buffy's mother, the British gentleman's reserved nature forced him to refrain from sharing the simple comfort. Instead, he did the only thing remaining that he found comforting. He looked for answers.
"What happened, Buffy?" he prompted softly as he again resisted the urge to smooth the errand hairs that rested against the teen's brush burned cheeks.
"I died," Buffy whispered in a slightly flippant manner. Unlike Detective Ricci, the librarian understood the young woman's defense mechanism. He smiled indulgently in return.
"I should have known that wouldn't stop you," he complimented his Slayer with a bit of awe in his tone.
"Was it the Anointed One?" the ex-watcher speculated. "Or a new demon?"
A haunted darkness flashed through the teen's eyes.
"The Anointed One is gone. I staked him. Didn't need him to take to me to the Master once I confirmed he was still cork-i-fied. Even if he was a kid, I didn't see a reason to preserve the Master's pet messenger boy."
"Wise decision," Giles offered before asking once again what had caused her injuries.
Buffy sighed and shuddered. She took another deep breath.
"On my way to the cemetery, I cut through an alley behind the Silver Sun Diner. Unfortunately, it wasn't empty though. No vamps or demons. Humans. Guys."
Buffy swallowed before glancing away from her mentor. Her eyes searched the darkness but found no relief for her troubled thoughts.
"They were older than me. I figure, seniors or maybe even college age. Probably college. There were seven of them. They had a bunch of buckets filled with blood. Must have had something planned and I figure that I disrupted their plans. When they saw me, one of them actually whooped."
Buffy shifted her attention back to Giles and her apprehension seemed to decreased for just a moment.
"I mean, really, he whooped. Like this spoiled little kid on his birthday who got something better than he expected as a gift. Like, I was the ten speed when he was expecting a book on gardening or something."
The teen snorted in a manner that might almost be seen as amusement by most people but Giles could read the frustration and pain hidden behind the harsh sound. The lump in his stomach grew exponentially.
"The head-wacko, well, he said something about a change in plans and gabbed my arm. I told him I was too busy to play delinquents with them but he just laughed. I slipped his grasp easy-peesy but the other guys moved in and surrounded me. Wack-o number one then yelled something about it being for um, Mecala or something and then grabbed me again."
Buffy paused in her tale. She looked a bit confused as if not sure how to best explain the next bit. She drifted her fingers over the pattern on her blanket for a moment as she tried to find the proper words.
"It was way weird, Giles. Up to that point, I really thought that they were only human but then suddenly there was like, I don't know, something extra lending Wack-o one a super power up. It gave me the major wiggins. Kind of like having a vamp and the vibe from Amy's mom all rolled together."
"Anyway, I kicked one of the guys and he flew across the alley and smashed against a dumpster. Popped another one in the nose with my free hand but then one of them hit me in the back of the head with something really hard. Most likely a bat or pipe or something similar."
Buffy shifted on the bed until she was fully sitting instead of reclining against her pillows. She pulled her knees towards her chest and once again wrapped her arms around her legs. Just like the earlier discussion with the detective and her mother, the Slayer shuddered over the next part of the tale. She rested her forehead on her knees and spoke into her blanket instead of looking at her companion. "My vision flashed a bright light then I was on the ground."
The teen paused for a moment. Images of what happened next assaulted her senses. For a long moment, the teen felt the rough stones of the alleyway against her back and smelled the cloying trash from the nearby dumpster. She could feel the cool air on her newly exposed skin and taste the blood in her mouth. Her stomach churned as she vividly remembered the crushing pain of the oppressive evil beating against her skin and soul at the same time as her body was violated. Viciously, the Slayer fought the urge to vomit. She tightened her hold on her legs as she pulled herself into a tighter ball. The sudden lump in her throat prevented her from continuing her exposition. She abandoned the images and sensations and forced herself to focus on her tale to move her explanation forward. After a couple painful swallows, Buffy finally skipped to a less painful point and continued.
"My mom said that an off duty police officer found me. My heart must have stopped or something cause he had to do CPR. Next thing I know, I woke up here with my mom and Officer Friendly."
Rupert stared at his injured Slayer and knew that she was withholding part of her story. Despite this certainty, he refused to push for further details. Instead, he disregarded years of ingrained training and reached towards his distressed Slayer. With a feather-light touch, the gentleman just barely brushed his hand across the teen's hairline in an uncomfortable tenderness that surprised them both. Almost as quickly as he started, Giles snatched his hand back from Buffy's limp tresses. The ex-Watcher cleared his throat as he nervously slipped his hand into his suit jacket pocket.
"I have never been so happy to have someone defy prophecy," Giles offered softly.
Buffy grinned slightly.
"Just call me anti-prophecy girl."
Giles chuckled to hide the nagging suspicion that his Slayer may have defied one prophecy only to fall headfirst into another one.
"Master, please, we have brought offerings of fresh blood," Absalom stated as he roughly shoved two hysterical teenagers towards the sullen vampire who reclined petulantly on a bed of shattered rock. Behind the devoted zealot, two other minions to the Order of Aurelius watched warily. For the past couple nights, the Master had done little but rant and destroy whatever came within his reach. He did not seem to care if it was a piece of furniture, a hulking bit of rock, or a cold blooded demon. Everything had fallen victim to the fiend's powerful raging fit.
Unbalanced by the shove, one of the teens fell on the uneven floor. Her newly skinned knees tickled the olfactory nerves of the dark skinned vampire with the promise of a fresh coppery treat. Her companion reached towards his girlfriend and assisted her to stand despite his own terror and shaking limbs. A frightened shout escaped his lips as the trapped vampire turned from facing the wall. Faced with the horrible visage of the ancient vampire both prisoners babbled in terror.
Ignoring the simpering snack food, the Master's dark eyes narrowed in barely restrained fury. The rage centered on Absalom and not on the bleeding offering. One of his hands flashed forward quicker than the fastest asp could strike.
"Are one of these offerings a slayer?" the Master questioned his fanatical minion as his fingers wrapped around the female victim's neck. He lifted her effortlessly from the floor until she hung choking from his grasp as Absalom fervently apologized on the failure to bring the Slayer to the head of the Order of Aurelius. For a moment, the undead leader listened to his followers feeble excuses. His disgust grew at the failure to lure the Slayer to his side. Like a child flinging away a useless or detested bug, the Master viciously tossed the trapped girl against the rough rock wall of the sunken church. Her body shattered on impact with the stone and the now dead girl slumped to the floor in a slowly increasing pool of her own blood.
Without a thought for the violently discarded food, the Master instead grabbed the now screaming young man. The nightmare faced vampire tore into the neck of his male prey and quickly drained him. The Master dropped the useless husk before turning his back on the room as if to return to his previous pouting.
"Master," Absalom pleaded in hopes of holding his beloved leader's attention for just a while longer. "I have heard rumor that a new Slayer has been called."
"Impossible," growled the Master as he whipped around to glare at his hovering minion. "I need the blood of the Slayer to escape this cursed prison."
"Prophecy promised that she would be mine."
The ancient vampire practically stomped his foot like a spoiled two year old who lost a toy. In his rage, the Master could not fathom that the Sunnydale Slayer could be gone and that a replacement girl had been called somewhere else.
"She wasn't supposed to dust Collin. My Anointed One was to lead her to me so that I could drain her life and leave this blasted prison along with my devouring dark children."
The Master flopped onto his hard bed of rock.
"I hate this foul girl. How dare she take my children from me?" His voice rose in pitch and volume with each new accusation. "She stole my favorite daughter from my side. She dusted my greatest warrior and vessel. She led astray my darkest progeny. She destroyed my shining child. She denied me my release."
The vampire howled in frustration and pounded his clawed fists into the rock. Small fractures surface in the stone from the power of the blows but his skin bore no marks from the angry display.
"The Order shall find you the power," Absalom promised to his distraught leader.
The Master arose from his tantrum and stalked towards the edge of his prison. He kicked the dead male body from his path. Like a morbid soccer ball into a make-shift goal, it sailed across the room and through the entrance to the sunken church. The sound of crunching bones echoed down the dim tunnel. Livid, the Master wretched his most precious text of the Order from its alter. He flung the book of prophesy and faith at the insolent minion who dared attempt to sooth him from his agitation. The heavy volume struck Absalom in the head. It split his lip and bloodied his nose. The spine cracked and tore the text into three pieces. Loose and tattered pages fluttered to the floor when the dark skinned vampire attempted to catch the destroyed work.
"Perhaps," started Absalom only to be interrupted by the Master when the head of the Order sharply ordered his devoted minion to leave him. His two cowardly companions had fled when the Master had first started his furious tantrum. The irate vampire continued to scream at the lesser demon until Absalom finally followed their lead and fled the darkened ruin.
Alone once again, the Master dropped onto the heavy wooden throne tucked along the wall of his sixty year prison.
"How dare my Children leave me all alone?" he lamented as he rolled his head back to rest against the side of the seat. He stared at the ceiling as his mind wandered. As his despair grew, the ancient and evil being offered a dark prayer to the demons of old. He prayed for the gifts of strength and sight to help him escape his cursed existence.
Across the country and halfway over the Atlantic, dark eyes opened wide and a squeal of delight shattered the quiet of the darkened state room.
"Coming Grandfather," giggled Drusilla as she danced about the room in joyful abandon.