The halls were curiously empty and silent as I made my way through the school. I couldn't even hear the murmur of teacher's talking to students, or hear a room of classmates laughing at something witty another student had said.

The further down the corridors I went, the more strange I began to feel. I can't explain it very well, but it felt as though there was something heavy in the air, something suffocating but at the same time vague and non-invasive but definitely there.

As I said, it's difficult to describe it, but I could feel there was something not right.

I actually took this to be a sign that Buffy was nearby, since wherever she was trouble was sure to follow.

I followed the heavy feeling in the air, but I was starting to feel dizzy, and the phantom pains, if they were indeed phantom, were making their presence known in spite of my best attempts to make them stay away.

I hissed in pain when I accidentally brushed the shoulder I had been shot in against a locker, and when I reached up to put my hand on the old wound, I felt something cold and wet coat my fingers. I froze mid-step and quickly withdrew my hand and stared at my hand.

I was bleeding. Not badly, but that was definitely my blood on my hand. It was darker than blood should be, though not as dark as it had been in the nightmare, which was the only consolation I had concerning this development.

What could I do? It wasn't bleeding badly, but what if it got worse? What if I came across Buffy and she was in trouble? Could I help her if I was in this much pain?

I had to try. I had to at least try.

I wiped the blood off on my pants and continued on my way, rather slowly, I must admit.

There was another corner just ahead of me, and when I turned it, I found myself next to a supply closet. The door was shut to the closet, and I paid it no mind at all at first, but as I passed, I heard the sound of feet scuffling, and then I heard something fall.

It wasn't the sound of a person falling, it sounded more like someone had brushed into something and knocked it over.

Now, normally I wouldn't have given this a second thought. After all it was a harmless enough occurrence. Just a noise in a closet. It could have been a janitor.

The main problem with this thought was the fact that we were in the Hellmouth, and nothing has a simple explanation here. Also, I didn't smell anyone in the closet, so a person hadn't knocked something over, nor did I smell any sort of rodent.

So naturally I had to investigate.

I hesitated for a moment, after all if it was something of a more violent, unnatural nature I was hardly in a fit condition to begin a battle in the middle of class time, but at the same time I knew I was going to go in anyway, it was merely a matter of strengthening my resolve.

I clenched my jaw and reached for the doorknob. The door swung open almost as soon as I touched it, or perhaps I yanked it open harder than I thought.

Inside was dark. Very dark. What was odd about it was the fact I couldn't see through it like I normally could. That was also very worrying.

"Who's in there?" I asked. I didn't expect an answer, of course, but that doesn't mean one should enter a room unannounced….most of the time, anyway.

Nothing immediately flew out and attacked me, so I assumed that was a positive sign. I knew I was going to regret this decision, but I strangely felt as though something was drawing me into the closet. It may have had something to do with the heavy presence in the air, or maybe it was the pain making me not think straight, but I was going to go in.

And go in I did.

Of course as soon as I went into the closet, the door slammed shut behind me. I wasn't surprised, in fact I would have been disappointed if it hadn't slammed shut by itself.

What did surprise me was what happened after the door slammed shut.

One second I was in complete darkness, and the next I was suddenly in the library again.

I blinked in confusion and looked around. This was definitely the library, though how I had gotten here from the closet was beyond my understanding. For all I knew there had been a portal in there and I'd just stumbled across it.

I wasn't nearly as hopeful as I make it sound, here.

In truth I was frightened, bewildered, and not a little worried about what had just happened. The library felt real enough, and it was, but it was still different somehow. That heavy presence in the air had gotten heavier, and I was feeling far dizzier than I had been when I was in the hall.

Air, I needed fresh air, I needed to clear my head.

I stumbled for the door, and nearly went down when I put weight on the leg I'd wounded fighting the demon from the internet.

There have been many sentences formed I never thought I'd have to use in my long life. That was one of them.

Anyway, my progress was halted when I fell to my knees in agony, and I couldn't help but shudder as waves of pain crashed through me like a brutal tidal wave.

"Now this is not what I expected at all."

I jumped in surprise and twisted in the direction of the voice. I saw a man standing at the top of the landing, holding an open volume of Vampiric lore. He wasn't supposed to see that, no one from outside our group was supposed to see those tomes.

"Wh-What are you doing?" I demanded, struggling to my feet and trying to mask how terrible I felt. I didn't do a very good job, I'm afraid. I swayed on my feet and I felt blood beginning to drip from my fingertips where the blood had leaked from my shoulder.

The man looked at the blood, his mouth quirked up in an amused smirk, and he brought his eyes back up to meet mine.

Those eyes…those eyes I had seen in my nightmares.

The man was tall, very tall, taller than Giles but thin as a whippet. He had softer features than I would have guessed he would have had, the only thing sharp about his face was his cheekbones, which was odd, considering how thing he was.

He had long, dirty-blond hair pulled back into a ponytail that still managed to kiss his shoulders. In the light from the windows it still managed to look golden and glowing. The light also made his pale skin appear almost luminescent.

Those eyes though, they were what caught my interest the most.

They were feline eyes, black slits for pupils surrounded by a golden amber color. They seemed to pulse as they searched my eyes, and there was something decidedly cruel in them, despite the man's otherwise attractive appearance.

"You recognize me, do you?" he asked, tilting his head, "How interesting. Am I all you dreamed, and more?"

He smirked again and snapped the book closed. He tucked it neatly under his arm and slid his free hand into the long dark coat he was wearing.

"I've only ever seen your eyes in my dreams," I answered, "father." I bit the word. It would be the first and last time I called him that, I swore it to myself as soon as the word was gone from my lips.

The man, the demon, Zarthos, tilted his head back and laughed. It would have been a pleasant laugh, musical, even, but it was as though there was a shadow around it. A dark shadow that distorted the music in the laugh and deepened the sound until it rumbled ominously.

"You do recognize me," he said, still chuckling as he came towards me, "how pleased I am." He looked me over with those feline eyes again. They flashed for an instant with something that looked like disgust, which he quickly hid and replaced with a façade of benign interest.

"I'm surprised you recognized me at all. You didn't get any of your looks from me, I'm afraid." He flashed that smile at me again, only this time his teeth were fangs.

"Well, most of them, anyway." He added.

I stared at him, trying to understand. Why was he here? Was this even really my father? Or just another nightmare made flesh? I had never seen my sire, so perhaps this was just what my imagination had supplied, or perhaps it was the Essence supplying his appearance for me since it recognized its first Host.

Either way, none of this made sense. Why were we in the library? Why was he here? What did he want?
"What do you want?" I demanded.

His face flickered again, this time his amber eyes glowing red in anger for a second before fading, once again quelled.

"Is that any way to speak to your father?" he asked, putting a hand to his chest in mock hurt. "After all these years, what's all you have to say to me?"

"You mean besides 'Get out'?" I asked. This time when his eyes glowed red, they stayed red.

"You dare speak to me that way, impudent little beast?" he growled. His voice contorted and dropped into a growl. Before I could even blink, he was suddenly on me, with a hand around my throat. He lifted me into the air as easily as he would a doll and his lips curled back in a vicious snarl.

"You pathetic little mistake," he growled, his eyes pulsing faster as his anger grew in intensity, "you think you can speak to me in that insolent manner and not suffer the consequences?" He growled and threw me across the library.

I slammed into a picture hanging on the wall, and my head cracked back against the glass. I felt a sharp, stabbing pain, and then felt blood dribble down my neck. I crashed to the floor in a shower of glass shards, and the picture fell on top of me. The stabbing feeling in my neck sent a fresh burst of pain shrieking through my head.

No doubt I had glass shards peppering my neck, but I hurt too much to bother with it at first. Instead I tried to get up, which was also a bad idea, but at the very least I managed to slide the picture off me.

As soon as the picture slid off, however, Zarthos was on me again.

He grabbed a handful of my hair and yanked me to my feet.

"You should thank me," he spat, jerking my head back so that I had no choice but to look up into his face, "for not finishing the job." He growled again, but the growl turned into a chuckle as he pushed me back into the wall.

"Of course," he continued, "I won't lie, I thought your mother would get you both killed in the birthing process. After all, giving birth to an abomination and you can't be easy. Imagine my surprise when I start hearing legends years later of a lordling's daughter, impregnated by a demon, who gave birth to a creature with eyes of ice and a thirst for blood."

He tilted his head at me again.

"Leave it to humans to over-exaggerate everything," he scoffed, "you're pathetic. Look at you, when was the last time you fed?" he shook his head in disgust, "I can't believe a daughter of mine would be so weak, so pathetic. You're so soft it's a wonder you made it through your first century."

He began circling around me as I pushed away from the wall and limped to the middle of the room, if for nothing else than to feel not so confined by him. He swung his arms easily as he moved, perfectly at his leisure to do whatever he wanted to with me, and knowing I couldn't do a thing about it.

"And now I hear you're friends with a Slayer?" he laughed again, his eyes changing from red to yellow and back to red again, "Now that's funny. That is really and genuinely funny."

His eyes grew brighter and he drew closer.

"Does she know you weren't always so…domesticated?" he breathed, "Does she know what happened when you embraced your true nature? How many innocents died?" I winced and looked away, in too much pain to even answer him.

"Does she know about that one night when you were truly worthy of being called my spawn?" he asked.

"Don't!" I screamed at him. He jerked back, surprised.

"Never speak of that to me again," I said, shaking with rage, "I want you gone. You're not real. This is a waking nightmare, nothing more. This is the Hellmouth, not you. I want you gone. I want you to get out."

That smirk that I was fast learning to hate spread across his face again.

"You think I can't hurt you?" he asked. His voice was dangerously low and he started to come towards me again. Something glinted in his hand, something I hadn't noticed before. It was a large shard of glass from the picture, he must have picked it up when he shoved me into the wall.

Again, in the blink of an eye, he was suddenly standing right in front of me, and before I could even lift my hands to defend myself, he had grabbed the back of my head and thrust the shard of glass into my stomach.

It's a curious sensation, being stabbed. It's so sudden that at first you don't even realize it's happened. Not to mention the object used for stabbing is usually sharp and thin enough to where penetration is quick and unnoticeable at first.

Then your body realizes what has happened, and the pain starts. It's like a flame slowing growing hotter and hotter until it suddenly flares into an inferno.

The inferno reached me and I couldn't help but scream in agony.

Zarthos laughed.

It was an odd cacophony, his laughter mingling with my wail.

"Margery!"

I barely heard my name shouted over my scream as it ended. It only ended because Zarthos gave the glass shard a twist that was so sudden and agonizing it cut off the air from my lungs.

"This isn't over." Zarthos whispered in my ear as he stepped back, leaving the glass shard in my stomach. I wrapped my hands around what was left of the stem of the glass and fell to my knees, shaking in pure agony and unable to breathe.

"Now the real nightmare starts." He chuckled again, and then was gone.

"Margery!" the voice called again, and Giles burst into the library.

Then I understood what my sire had meant.

This was my true nightmare.

I was dying. I could feel it. I managed to take a shuddery breath, and I locked eyes with Giles. He stared at me in horror and started to come towards me at a run.

"GET OUT!" I shrieked at him, the effort pushing a fresh burst of blood out around the glass in my stomach.

"Margery?!" he said, halting, "What's happened? Let me help you." He started to come towards me again and I panicked.

"No!" I begged, tears of pain and sheer, bloody terror starting to spring to the surface. "Please, no, Giles, th-th-this is m-m-my n-nightmare." Breathing was so difficult I was just panting out my words at him.

He stared at me uncomprehendingly.

"What?!" he shouted, his panic beginning to edge its way into his voice.

"My nightmare." I breathed, beginning to feel faint and dizzy, "Is killing you."

That gave him pause. He gaped at me, and I saw his eyes travel down to the pool of blood rapidly spreading across the library floor.

"Leave me." I whispered. I tried to make it louder but I just so bloody tired, now. "Leave me while you can."

I gave him one last look, pleading with him to do me this one last honor, this last favor, to let me spare the life of an innocent.

Take him

'No.'

TAKE HIM! We'll live if you'll only take him, I can help, give you power

'I WON'T!'

You're a fool

I felt my fangs lower without my will, and suddenly I was up and stumbling at Giles in a mad, lopsided stagger that accomplished nothing beyond leaving a trail of blood behind me.

I wasn't in control of myself, and it terrified me. All I saw of Giles was the fact that he was my lifeline, my one shot at survival.

And I denied myself that.

'STOP!'

I staggered again and fell onto my side, and the glass scraped against the bottom of my ribs.

"S-S-Sor-Sorry." I panted, shuddering and convulsing with every breath. "Sorry, sorry." I whispered over and over again.

I could hear Giles' breathing, quick and frightened, and I heard footsteps, presumably his. Everything had lost all color and was out of focus. I couldn't really see anything anymore so I closed my eyes and tried to ignore how cold I felt. That's not what I had expected, this horrible, empty, cold feeling that started to steal over me.

I was dying. I was dead, and I was scared, but relieved. Relieved because I had at least not let my true nightmare come true.

Then I smelled the blood, fresh, delicious, warm blood, inches from my face.

The Essence writhed in ecstasy and spurred me awake.

Blood dripped slowly, beautifully, in large, shining drops onto the floor in front of my face.

"Wha-What?" I managed to breathe. I meant to ask what was happening but I couldn't form all the needed words.

"I'm not letting you die, Margery." Giles' voice was low, and it shook, but it was determined.

I saw then he was holding a small glass shard, and it was glistening red along the edge. Then I understood what it was he was going to do.

"No." I said, trying to roll away from him but only really managed to flop an arm over.

"It's not your choice," he said, leaning closer and pushing his bleeding wrist towards me, "I'm not letting you die."

"I-I'll kill you." I said, grabbing his arm and pushing it away as best as I could.

"I know you won't."

Frustration send a wave of anger through me and gave me a small burst of energy.

"Nightmares are coming true," I growled at him, "what makes you think I won't?"

"Because I know you, Margery." He answered. I shook my head.

"Y-You don't k-k-know the half of it."

"Then you need to live to tell me about it." He answered.

I had to laugh at that, and the glass scraped along my ribs again.

The laugh ended in a painful hiss and my head dropped to the floor again.

"Margery, take it." The tiniest drop of blood hit my lips and a small bit of color returned to the world.

"Rupert," I looked at him, "please, don't make me. I-I couldn't live with myself if I killed you. Please. Please."

I thought I had won the argument, but then he brushed my mouth with his bleeding wrist, and I lost control.

The taste of life sent me into a frenzy and I grabbed his arm with both hands and bit down around the wound. I felt his arm tense with surprise, and his hand grabbed my shoulder, and I felt a warning growl burn through my throat as I drank.

I don't know how I clearness of mind to do this, but I actually remembered to pull the shard of glass out while I drank, to let the wound close.

"Margery…" I heard a faraway voice whispering. I pushed it away, too intense on the wonderful feel and taste of blood to notice or care.

"Margery!" the voice was louder now and the growl in my throat was louder, but something in me told me this was wrong, that this had happened before.

And I remembered the nightmare, and I remembered Giles was my friend, my best friend.

I pulled back and opened my eyes with a gasp, terrified I had gone too far already.

"Giles?!" I cried, still holding his arm but using one hand to grab hold of his shoulder before he fell over. He looked pale and shaken, but he managed to smile weakly at me.

"Th-There, you see?" he murmured, grasping me with a trembling hand. He managed to laugh quietly.

"That'll teach you to ever doubt that I know everything." He finished. I laughed along with him, more out of sheer, bloody relief than anything else. He was all right. He was alive, I hadn't killed him, in spite of the bloody stupid nightmare and the phantom of my sire, he was alive.

I looked down at my stomach. There was a bloody slit in my shirt, but the hole was gone. The pain was gone too.

Was that it? My nightmare was over?

"Giles," I murmured, looking at him, meeting his eyes, "I don't know how I can ever repay you. What you did…that was too much. Far too much. You shouldn't have taken such a risk."

"You're my friend, Margery." He put a hand on my shoulder. "I would do it again if it meant saving you."

I smirked and took his still bleeding wrist and then reached into Giles' pocket and pulled out the backup handkerchief he kept there and wrapped it around the wound.

"If you ever take such a risk again," I said, looking at him again, "then I really will kill you." Giles chuckled again.

"That seems rather counter-productive, doesn't it?" he asked.

"Don't argue with me," I said, "I've just been brought back from the brink of death and I'm in no mood to argue technicalities."

"Fair enough." He said. I stood up, and offered my hand. He accepted it and I helped him stand up, and steadied him as his thinned blood rushed back to his head.

"Are you all right?" I asked, "I took too much, didn't I?"

Giles shook his head, patting my shoulder.

"I-I'll be all right. Just…recuperating, that's all."

"Well hold on to me and let me know if you need to rest." I said. Then, impulsively, I hugged him, if for nothing more than to assure myself that he was really alive and all right, more or less.

"Thank you." I murmured.

"You're very welcome." He said, returning the hug, though with a bit less strength than before.

Of course, no quiet moment of relief and appreciation can ever be enjoyed for long in the Hellmouth. No sooner had we pulled apart than we heard distant screaming.

"The east wing," I said, looking at Giles, "it's still being repainted."

"Xander and Willow." Giles answered, grabbing my wrist and leading the way.

Giles may not be the best of fighters, but I will fight anyone who claims he is not one of the best examples of bravery and determination.

Except around clowns, perhaps…

(All right sorry for the SUPER long delay, guys but I've been working a lot lately with it being the Holiday season and all so that's the reason I haven't had time or energy to write as much as I want and this I just managed to squeeze in before work, so if you see a bunch of typos, that's the reason. Thanks for being so patient with me!)