Title: Uncovered
Author: Karen Jephson
Rating: PG-13 [Angst}
Pairing: B/G
Summary: Late night meeting. Reply to Susan Carter's challenge
Disclaimer: Joss and Co broke it. I'm just doing my bit to fix it.
Feedback: kjephson@bigpond.net.au
Distribution: Just ask.
Author's note: Thanks to Gail for the beta

Archivist Note: This challenge can be found on ODD. It is ODD Challenge #31.

Buffy silently let herself into the house, carefully avoiding the furniture blocking her clear path to the stairs. Now that there was a world full of slayers, most of whom seemed to be living in this house, she didn't need to patrol any more. In fact, as the most experienced slayer she was actively encouraged not to take these 'silly risks' any more. But sometimes it felt good to go on the hunt, to pit her wits and skills against normal vampires. Pity most of them were ineffectual newbies who didn't even get her quips half the time.

She paused on the stairs as a sound reached her sensitive ears. She wasn't overly worried about the moan. Just about every Sunnydale survivor had suffered from nightmares in the first few weeks. You couldn't go through what they did and not have it invade your sleep. But this had come from downstairs. Which meant one of the men. When they'd first found the house with its three or four reception rooms and a downstairs bathroom, Xander and Giles had confiscated part of it as the men's quarters. The only visitor allowed at night was Faith, and that only because her roommate had complained about Robin's late night wandering.

The sound of glass clinking against glass caused a frown on Buffy's face. If it was Dawn or one of the younger slayers she would be there, but she didn't feel the adults needed somebody to hold their hand during the bad sleep. And one or two adults would have told her so in no uncertain terms.

She sighed. It wasn't until after Spike died that she'd realized how close she'd come to losing her friends over her treatment of him, and them. It didn't matter

that she'd been right in the end, that he had been the one to save them. Her arrogance and habit of putting the vampire before everyone else had almost destroyed all her other relationships. For some weeks later Dawn had expected her to go running off, or to take the slayers and leave her sister behind. Willow and Xander had been extremely gun-shy, waiting for her to turn against them again. They'd started mending fences the day they'd confronted the First Evil, but there had still been work to do. Fortunately for her, they were very forgiving friends.

There was one relationship however that hadn't been mended, not fully. She and Giles spoke, and appeared to be back on old terms, but she knew. There was a look in his eyes, or maybe the loss of a look that used to be there for her. And though he was involved in decision-making conferences, he rarely put suggestions forward. And he never argued against her choices. When she'd asked him once why he'd agreed to an outrageous plan, he told her she was an adult and quite capable of making her own decision. Funny, she'd thought that for some time, but she was disappointed to hear him say it.

The sound of bare feet running through the house, and the flicking of the toilet light distracted her from her musings. But when she heard somebody vomiting, she made her decision. Turning toward the sound, she moved quickly, worried by the retching sounds that never seemed to stop. A shadow in the doorway pulled her up.

"Sometimes I can stop him before he goes this far. I think he has an ulcer, so it only takes a couple of drinks to do this to him. Usually I wait until he's done, then help him back to bed." Xander waited, allowing Buffy to make up her mind. They both knew that the other man's pride would be hurt if she saw him in such a state. And it would be easy to keep pretending if she didn't see him. Something they were all so good at.

Realizing the time for pretending was over, Buffy turned and walked toward the toilet. She didn't see Xander nod, or turn back toward his own room. Her eyes were concentrated on the sight before her.

He was wearing only boxers. She knew he normally wore pajamas, mainly because of the number of young girls, and could only guess he'd had to remove them. Unfortunately, it exposed his back, and his secret to her eyes...so many of them. Some light, others deep enough they would have needed stitches. One or two looked as though they could have been caused by a sword, and the most recent from the spear one of the Byzantine Knights and thrown at him. She thought there might even be a bullet wound from the size and shape of it. But what froze her in place and made her want to join her Watcher were those scars that could only have one origin.

Angelus was good. The cuts were deep enough to bleed, but not kill. They would have also caused a great deal of agony when healing. Some looked as though they'd festered before closing up. One or two scars showed the vampire had become impatient at times, the size of them indicating his frustration at her Watcher's stubbornness. And one scar, she figured the last, had dug deep. She could almost feel the blade as it roughly drew through his skin, leaving welts as it made its way round to his stomach. She knew these were Angelus' work because they combined to make a name. Hers.

"Enjoying the view?" Giles hadn't changed his position. Buffy knew she hadn't made a noise, and yet he'd known she was there. The bitterness and pain in his voice rubbed raw against her nerves, pushing the need to scream in rage at the monster who'd done this time him. Yet it was too late for that. Too late to be angry at Angelus, or even Angel. She'd given up that chance when she'd chosen yet another vampire over the man before her. Guilt and shame rose within her, causing bile to clog in her throat. She'd been the cause of this, and instead of being there to comfort him, she'd run away. After all, what were a few broken bones in fingers compared to having to kill the love of your life? Pity she'd never stopped running from him since.

Buffy knew what Giles wanted from her. What he expected. And when he began retching again, she realized he believed the decision had already been made. Her shoulders slumped, she turned away from the door. She didn't see the dropping of his shoulders, the relaxation of his body even has he brought up more bile and blood. She did notice his shock, however, when she placed the wet washcloth against his neck, gently cooling his heated flesh. And when he'd finished, when there was nothing left in his stomach to release, she used the same cloth to wipe away the remains of vomit and blood from his mouth. Neither had spoken in the last several minutes. Only now did she break the silence. "Have you finished?" At his exhausted nod, she rose and flushed the toilet. He remained where he was as she returned to the bathroom.

Buffy paused, looking at the exhausted body before her. Beyond the scars she could see the man: the breadth of his shoulders, the firm thighs beneath his boxers, a few tufts of gray hair amongst the naturally brown. He wasn't as buff as Xander or even Angel, and he certainly wasn't as skinny as Spike. He was a man in his middle years who'd had a hard and physical life. It showed, and she didn't think she'd seen such a wonderful sight in some time.

Kneeling behind him, she touched one of his scars gently, skin barely brushing against skin. Taking her time, she traced every mark, every welt, wanting to know them as well as he did. When touching wasn't enough, she leaned forward, kissing each one as if to take the pain away. He was still before her, the only sign of life the rippling of muscles beneath her touch. Some muscles would never move again. Her hand followed the final scar as it meandered to his front. She followed it down, somehow not surprised at how close to his groin it came. Angelus would have enjoyed removing his manhood given the chance. She'd finished the job he started.

Her hand poised at the waistband of his boxers, brushing against the evidence of how her touch had affected him. She was tempted to continue her exploration, but to do so at this time would just be taking advantage of his physical and mental weakness, and he would resent her for it. Pulling back, she turned until she was resting against the wall, then waited until he'd shifted until he was facing her.

They stared at each other, both knowing what choices needed to be made. The speculation on his face did not mask the rage in his eyes. He was still waiting for her betrayal, for her to abandon him again. A slight nod of the head indicated he'd made his decision. "I have vomit breath."

She nodded. "I know. That's what toothbrushes are for." They both smiled slightly. She leaned forward, tracing her fingers on his shoulder, down his arm, then stroking his hand where it rested against his thigh. Picking it up, she held the callused palm between her two hands, wrapping it in her warmth. "But not yet."

His expression went from smugness to panic before he masked his emotions yet again. He'd been willing to sacrifice that moment to protect himself. And she would have allowed him. Even half an hour ago, the child that was Buffy would have let him use their bodies' reactions to run away from the pain and the shame and anger. But the woman that Buffy was now knew better. Drawing his hand toward her face, she gently kissed the knuckles, then allowed it to rest entwined with her own in her lap.

"Tell me."

END