Title: The Bitter Thing
Author: K.V. Wylie
Rating: R
Pairing: Giles/OC
Disclaimer: Permission to use these characters relating to BtVS & AtS, has not been given. Joss, Twentieth Century Fox, UPN, WB & Mutant Enemy own TM and copyrighted them. This is purely for fun, and no copyright infringement is intended

Someone had taped a small plastic wreath on the door of room 2011. Some nurse with a dredge of seasonal spirit, Rupert Giles guessed, but the sight of it bothered him. He had an urge to rip the thing from the door and wing it down the hall. Then came the bitter thought, 'What good would that do?'

He put his hand on the knob, paused, then went in the room.

It was dim inside, quiet in contrast to the ceaseless movement in the hall. The smell hit him immediately, the peculiar mixture of paint and bleach mixed with the vase of gardenias on a table just inside the door. Underneath, reinforced by the sight of a nurse carrying a covered basin, was the further smell of sickness, acidic and penetrating.

The man in the bed went from end to end for he would have been a tall man standing up. But he lay to his side now, eyes tightly closed and a hand resting on the white covers over his abdomen.

The nurse nodded at Giles, neither friendly nor unfriendly. He stood by the door until she left, then he drew a chair to the side of the bed and sat down.

He waited.

"What time is it?"

The voice, a bare harsh whisper, jolted Giles. He cleared his throat. "Uh, I don't know. Late."

The man in the bed opened his eyes but he didn't move his hand away from his stomach.

Giles gestured at the IV bag. "What is it tonight, Winslow?"

"Scotch with a little Amphotericin. Go right from ingestion to hangover, no annoying drunk phase in between." The last word cut off as Winslow abruptly grimaced.

Giles reached out with a futile motion. Winslow rode out the spasm, then drew a strained breath.

"200 proof, Rupert."

"You must have found one of dad's old supply," Giles tried.

"He always had the good stuff, didn't he?" Winslow silenced as another wave went over him. When it eased, Giles realized he was bending the arms of his chair. With effort, he let go.

Winslow swallowed several times. "Talk to me, Rup. I need to hear something."

Giles' mind was blank. He was silent for so long that Winslow finally looked over with a steady hazel-eyed gaze.

"Rup."

"I, uh, went to dad's grave this afternoon. They've been keeping the snow cleared off the marker since we complained." He paused when Winslow tensed again, then continued, "Um, you don't have any mail except for an advert for carpet cleaning. The bloke next door shovelled your walk. He asked how you were."

"How's Lissa?" Winslow asked tiredly, not bothering to open his eyes.

"She's fine. She sends her love. Her, uh, shop is open late tonight. Some author is doing autographs or something."

"What author?"

Giles rubbed his forehead. "I don't know." He quieted again, his fizzle of small talk over.

A cart with a squealing wheel rolled by the door, followed a few moments after by soft footfalls. When their noise faded, Giles heard Winslow, breathing soft, shallow but even draws of air.

He sat, listening, until a nurse came in to check the IV. She smiled. "He's sleeping. Why don't you go home?"

"Just a few minutes more," Giles whispered.

"We'll take good care of him for you."

But that hadn't been the point. Giles remained, afraid that if he left, Winslow would wake up the moment after to find himself alone.

At shift-change, a non-negotiating nurse with a titanic-sized bosom neatly dispatched Giles to the hall. He huddled into his coat as he walked to the bus stop, waiting an interminably long time as a further fall of snow, on top of this morning's, came down. By the time he got home, white shrouded everything.

He stamped his feet outside before going in. The hall light was on and Lissa's blonde head poked in from the kitchen.

"Rupert, I was getting worried!" She came down the hall then reached up to kiss him, holding her housecoat closed as snow fell off his coat. "I was about to call the hospital."

"I wanted to stay for a bit," he said. "They started another round of Amphotericin."

"Bad?" she asked.

Giles shrugged.

"I'll bake him an apple spice cake tomorrow."

"I don't know if he'd be in the mood for it."

"The last time he had that stuff, the second day was better." She shook his scarf, sending snow around her feet. "I kept your dinner warm."

"I'm sorry. I'm not hungry," Giles tried but she pulled him towards the kitchen.

"I made Yorkshires, not that I know how to. I struggled through one of your grandmother's recipes so the least you can do is try them," she said in mock severity as she put on oven mitts and retrieved a plate from the stove.

"Yorkshires, a cake, and last week scones," Giles murmured. "I may have to buy you an apron."

"Don't even think it. I'm not getting that domesticated." She put the kettle on and pulled up a chair beside him. "Did you get that exhibit in?"

"King Pankut-a-mahn is only waiting on his display case," Giles replied, gingerly biting into one of the Yorkshire puddings. "I was in the antiquities basement for most of the day."

"Is that why you look so dusty? Not that you don't usually have a little on you somewhere," Lissa teased. She gave him a long kiss and he felt his mood start to lift.

He glanced at his plate. "What are these?"

"Pork chops."

"With Yorkshire pudding?"

She punched his shoulder. "I don't know how to cook roast beef."

Giles held one up on his fork. "They don't look like pork chops."

"They did when I started out."

He tried to eat but it was as though his throat was so closed he couldn't swallow. When the kettle boiled, he said, "Lissa, just unplug it and leave it."

"You don't want tea?" she repeated. "Horrors! What happened to the Rupert Giles I know? You know, the one who left me waiting in a theatre lobby for hours because Food Villa had a sale on Earl Gray."

"It wasn't hours," he tried.

"Two hours, Rupert."

"The buses were slow."

"No, you were carting your stash off to a place of safety."

The corners of his mouth twitched. "Melissa, it's been a year. Just how *long* will I have to pay for that particular transgression?"

She came up behind him and wound her arms around his neck. "I'll let you know when you've paid."

The phone rang.

"Damn," she mumbled as his shoulders tightened.

He reached for it. "Hello."

She saw his face change, his cheeks hollowing and the small lines reappearing under his eyes. "I'll come right away," he said, hanging up, looking tired.

"Rupert?" she pushed.

"Winslow had convulsions from the IV. They're increasing the Benadryl again."

"It's the first day," she said. "It's always bad the first day. Tomorrow….." She trailed off for he wasn't really hearing her. She went to touch him but stopped, then waited.

"I'd better go back."

She ran after him down the hall. "Rupert, he's got doctors and nurses right there with him. There's nothing you can do and if you don't start getting some sleep soon--"

"I can be there," Giles said, pulling on his wet boots.

"He won't even know you're there, he'll be so out of it."

Giles shook his head. "I'm the only family left. I don't want him there alone."

Lissa stood uncertainly in front of the door. "We could call Trish."

"They're divorced."

"But maybe she would go."

"She hasn't been yet," Giles said with an edge in his voice. He pulled on his wet coat. Then he paused, looking at her small figure at the door. "I'm sorry, Lissa. This is my brother."

"It scares me when you go out alone so late at night. You seem to be some sort of beacon."

He pulled a chain out from under his shirt until the silver cross on it glimmered in the light. "I have this. I'll be fine. I haven't seen one in months." He bent down and kissed her. "Get some sleep."

"Alone."

"His doctor said this should be the last round. I'll just make sure he's all right and then I'll come back."

She reluctantly stepped away from the door.

"I love you," he said.

"I love you too."

"Get some sleep." He opened the door and stepped out into the snow.

---

"Mr. Giles?"

He jerked awake at the sound of his name but when he opened his eyes, he found a doctor looking down at Winslow.

"Were you speaking to me?" he asked groggily.

"Yes, I was. You are his brother?"

"Yes. Who are you?"

"Dr. Sharma, an associate of Dr. Rabin."

Giles straightened in his chair. "I saw your name on his chart."

Sharma favoured him with a stern look. "One of the sisters gave you his chart?"

"No, it was…..no." Without apology, Giles muttered, "No one tells me anything."

"What would you like to ask me?"

"Exactly how much Benadryl is he getting now? How much longer does he have to have this drip in him? Where did that other one come from and what's in it? There weren't two bags last night. Is it going to work this time? When can he go home?"

"Your brother is receiving a fairly high dose of Benadryl but it's necessary to counteract the side effects of the Amphotericin."

"They told me he had convulsions."

"That is a side effect, Mr. Giles. Frightening to see but I wouldn't worry too much about it. The other drip is tetracycline. Your brother has some infection in one lung but it's not very bad and we've caught it quickly. If all goes well, and I think it will, your brother should be able to go home by the weekend."

Giles glanced at Winslow's huddled form and something in his face caused Sharma to add kindly, "The sister at the desk can give you my card, Mr. Giles. If you have any concerns, please call me, no matter what time it is. I'm on rounds right now but I'll check on your brother again this afternoon."

"Thank you," Giles said without looking at him. Just as Sharma reached the door, he asked, "Where's Dr. Rabin?"

"He's taking a week holidays. I think he's skiing."

Giles clamped down a surge of exasperation. Other people's lives did go on even if his brother's wasn't. Then he noticed a clock and realized, with further irritation, that he was late for work.

Cursing in several languages, he dashed out the door.

---

It was a day of frustration and just-misses. Giles called Lissa twice and missed her both times. He caught only the last minutes of a Director's meeting because he was on the phone with workmen for the display who had somehow forgotten the museum in their list of stops. The lift overshot his floor. He ran up three flights of stairs but missed his bus anyway, its rear lights a clear indication that he had a half hour wait ahead of him, if not more. While he stood in the slush at the bus stop, he finally noticed that his secretary had taped a telephone message to the outside of his briefcase. Dated at nine-fifteen that morning, she'd written, 'Pager Company needs to speak to you immediately' which was the Watcher's Council's code for, 'Call Us Right Now And Don't Stop For Anything Else First.'

Two months ago he could have simply gone home after a day such as this and laughed it off with Lissa.

It seemed so long ago.

A driver of a Saab honked angrily at a slower-moving Volkswagen. He glanced over, then caught sight of a lighted sign indicating Amanda's Grill. Lissa used to meet him there after work, ordering fish and chips and tea in a back booth and insisting on that horrid malt vinegar, the smell of which lingered on their fingers for the rest of the evening. It had been the scene of their first date too, a date which she'd engineered after becoming curious about the tall quiet man who spent so much time browsing in the classics section of her bookstore.

There was a phone just inside the door. He could walk across the street, pick up the phone, call her, wait in the back booth for her. The fingers of his left hand closed around a ten pence in the pocket of his coat.

But the bus came, spewing icy dirty water from the curb. He extracted the ten pence, and the rest of the change needed for the fare, and joined the queue.

---

Winslow's room was empty.

"Where is he?" Giles asked the nurse at the station in a tone that caused her to put down the phone quickly.

"Miss Krevluk took your brother to the sitting room, Mr. Giles. She brought him a cake and he wanted to share it with some of the other patients."

Giles relaxed his hold on the edge of the counter. "He's well enough to leave his bed?"

"She took him in a wheelchair. Doctor says he should be home by the weekend. They're there." The nurse pointed down the hall.

"I'm sorry," he said. "Thank you."

Lissa smiled and jumped up when she saw him. "Hey, baby," she whispered in his ear before kissing him. "I saved you a middle piece."

A middle piece? he wondered, then saw the square cake pan in Winslow's lap.

"You're lucky she saved it, Rup," Winslow said. "This tastes like the apple spice cake Grandmother used to bake for Christmas."

"I used her recipe only I didn't know what size a decanter of rum might be, so I had to guess."

After Giles took a bite, he realized Lissa had erred on the side of generosity. He glanced at Winslow, then around the room at the other occupants, and figured out where the happy glow each of them wore was coming from.

"This cake is *very* good. It's just what I need right now," he said truthfully though this recent urge of hers to be in the kitchen seemed strange to him.

Giles eased onto a chair, wincing when an ache down his back reminded him how many hours it had been since he'd had a moment to sit down. He stretched his legs, ate cake, and listened to Lissa and Winslow as they picked up a conversation his arrival had interrupted. It would never have occurred to him that a few minutes on a vinyl chair could be any type of golden moment, but it was. He closed his eyes, enjoying it, until he heard Winslow say, "I think you'd better take him home."

"I am not asleep," he retorted and opened his eyes when he heard them laugh at him.

"Those were the last words you said to me in Maxwell's Theatre just before you started snoring," Lissa said.

Giles blinked at her. "When was this?"

"When we went to see _On Golden Pond_."

"I'm with my brother on this one," Winslow said. "No male can get through the first ten minutes."

"But that was last *February*!" Giles said. "Good Lord, Lissa, do you have a tape recorder in your head?"

Winslow chuckled. "Get used to it, Rupert."

Later, when they got home, she asked, "Does it bother you that I remember little things like, oh, I don't know, you falling asleep in a theatre on me?"

He wasn't so tired that he didn't pick up the undercurrent. "No, it doesn't bother me whatsoever."

She kept eyeing him. Finally he repeated, "Truly, no. I'm fine with it."

She sighed, then turned her back on him and started up the stairs.

"Lissa." He started after her. "Lissa! What is it?"

"You didn't come home last night."

"I'm sorry."

She gave him a small smile. "I understand. I understand but it bothers me." She paused for a second, then added, "Knowing what you are, when you're out at night, I get so worried, Rupert."

"I can't hide indoors every time the sun goes down."

"I know. You wouldn't anyway, even if you didn't have to go out. You're not a…..hider. But it still scares me."

Giles hugged her to him. "Lissa, I haven't seen one for over three months. I promised you that I would not be dishonest with you about this."

She held him so tightly in return that he was amazed at her strength, yet she shivered underneath it.

"Let's go to bed," she said against his chest. He kissed the top of her head, her cheek, her eyelid, even her nose, before letting her go. She slipped into the bathroom but when she came back out, a bare minute later, he was on their bed, on top of the covers, asleep.

She touched his shoulder but he didn't stir. "Oh, Rupert," she whispered as she got a blanket and wrapped it over him. Then she slipped under the covers beside him but lay for a long time, watching the snow fall outside their window.

---

His job didn't go any better the next day but his luck with the buses did. Giles found himself in Winslow's room while it was still light outside.

Winslow was sitting up in bed, his skinny arms wrapped around his drawn-up knees. Giles, in the act of setting a package on the table, paused at the sight of several fresh bruises on his brother's forearm.

"How did you get those?"

Winslow shrugged. "From the IV."

"A nurse did that to you? Which one?"

"Rupert, it wasn't her fault. I don't have a lot of vein left. What have you got?"

Giles definitely didn't want to switch subjects but Winslow was just as stubborn. As well, the latter was the older brother and often pulled rank.

"A couple of weeks ago I heard about this doctor in Paris. He did some trials with a drug called Sumarin on people who have---"

"No," Winslow interrupted.

Giles paused. "Winslow—"

"*No*."

Giles put a hand to his forehead. "I've been reading some articles—"

"For Godssakes! What aren't you hearing? You do this every time, Rupert. You get one little idea and suddenly there are a hundred books in front of you, ninety-nine of them useless."

Giles silenced. After a few minutes, Winslow said, "These people here have done what they need to do and I'm leaving on Friday to spend the weekend at home watching rugby and eating pizza."

"All right." Giles threw his coat over the package and sat down by the window.

Winslow tried to pull his sleeve over his forearm but it was too short. Without looking at Giles, he said, "Christmas is coming soon. Are you and Lissa planning anything special?"

"We haven't talked about it. It's never been much of a holiday to me anyway."

"No, you were peculiar that way, always so busy with your studies or your work that you didn't get into that sort of thing much. You were even that way when we lived with grandma, before dad called us back home. She tried having a big Christmas every year but you never noticed."

"It's not that I didn't notice," Giles said. "It was our mother's holiday. It was different after….."

"After she died," Winslow said.

"After she was killed."

Both brothers were quiet for a moment.

"This is a hell of a conversation to have right now," Winslow said at last. But then he continued it by asking, "Did you ever wonder what she saw in dad? She was nineteen when they married. He was fifty-eight."

"He was her Watcher."

"And that's how it could happen?" Winslow glanced at Giles. "Someday, you'll have a Slayer. I wonder how Lissa's going to take to it."

"It may never happen," Giles said.

"Wouldn't that be somewhat insulting after everything you've put into it?"

"It's not like that."

"And I suppose, as always, you're not going to bother to explain it to me."

Giles glanced over, annoyed, but the sight of the bruises and IV stopped him.

Winslow leaned back in the bed. "Sometimes I can't remember our mother. I have to read one of dad's old journals to bring her back."

In a low tone, Giles said, "I still see her going out the door that night."

"You were only six, Rupert."

"She was wearing a light blue sweater, the kind that sheds. Our father didn't like finding bits of it wherever she'd been but she wore it anyway. It got in my nose when she hugged me goodbye. Then she told us both to have a bath and she would read a story to us later."

"I don't remember that," Winslow said dubiously, pale and taut.

"We were in your room, waiting and waiting. Then you said that the cook would have gone to bed and we went downstairs to nip a jam jar. Our father was in the hall and there were other men. They stopped talking when they saw us." Giles trailed off, his gaze distant but unmoving on a floor tile.

"Dad told us to go back upstairs," Winslow said suddenly, remembering.

"And he left us up there. We knew something was wrong. There was so much noise in the house, so many voices, but he left us all alone. It wasn't until our grandmother came for us that we found out."

"His wife had just died. Dad was in shock."

"He left us alone upstairs for the entire night," Giles said harshly. "Our mother, Winslow. She was our mother!"

"For Godssakes, it's overwhelming when someone dies."

"You don't think I know that?"

"Oh shit, here we go again," Winslow muttered. "You're the Watcher. You've seen too many people die. You know *all* about it and so on and so on."

"Since I turned ten," Giles started but Winslow cut in.

"Uh huh. Ever since that Council of yours sent you out into the big bad world and I have no idea because I'm not a Watcher. Well, it's all bloody meaningless, Rupert, because the reality is that the death of someone you don't know is *nothing* whatsoever like the loss of someone you love. Who the hell have you ever lost?"

"Besides our parents?" Giles said icily.

"You were six when mom died. When dad passed away, you were way the hell off in Tibet and hadn't bothered to say two words to him in over ten Goddamn years. I was the one here when he had stroke after stroke. Don't tell me you know anything at all about it!"

"I know that if our father had been a better Watcher, our mother wouldn't have died."

"He was in his sixties!" Winslow cried. "Was he supposed to go slogging through the graveyards with her night after night?"

"If he loved her at all, he would never have sent her out there alone."

"You've never had a Slayer but our father did so maybe you *don't* know!"

"Even without a Slayer, I am still a Watcher, Winslow, and my ass goes out there night after night!"

Winslow edged onto his side and closed his eyes, and Giles abruptly stopped.

"Shit….." he murmured.

"Pardon?" Winslow asked.

Giles stood. "I'm sorry."

Winslow shrugged. "I think I wouldn't care to have your job, Rup."

Giles walked around the bed towards the door, then paused. There was something he couldn't get past that prevented even the small gesture of laying a hand on the shoulder of his brother. Still, he waited until Winslow's breathing calmed into the rhythm of sleep before picking up his coat and package from the table and walking out into the gray corridors of the hospital.

---

-4-

Lissa's coat and boots were gone and a note was taped to the fridge.

'Girl's night out. Gone to see one of those movies through
which no man can stay awake. Your supper's in the oven.
Love, me.'

He extracted something unrecognizable from the oven. Some kind of meat in an unknown sauce. A burned crust overtop.

Giles dumped it into the garbage, realized Lissa would find it in there and picked up the bin to take outside. The backs of his neighbours' houses were dark and his porch light reflected off a startled tabby's eyes. It hissed at him before jumping the fence.

He paced out to the back of the yard and was dumping the bin into a garbage can when a blow of gritty cold wind hit his face. He blinked, then stilled, the lid of the can still in his hand.

Someone was in the yard with him. A shadow stood at the edge of his vision.

He turned slowly. The figure subsided into nothingness in the dark but the feeling of someone watching him became stronger and stronger.

He retraced his steps, holding the lid like a shield. He gained the advantage of the top step, faced them, and waited.

When the tabby returned, Giles let out the breath he'd been holding and set the lid down on the porch. When Lissa returned later, she found every light in the house on, including the one outside the front door, and Giles asleep in a chair in the kitchen, a large cross in his hand.

"Rupert?" she asked softly. When she touched his arm, he jumped up, instantly awake, swinging the cross up in front of him so fast he nearly hit her.

Then he saw her. "Oh damn. Sorry, Lissa."

"Is something going on?" she asked, a little frightened.

"No. Nothing." He pulled off his glasses and rubbed his eyes.

"Why do you have that?"

Giles laid the cross on the table. "I heard a noise in the back earlier but it was a cat. Kind of a vicious one. I think it might have rabies. Don't go out there."

"A cat? Which cat because Mrs. Mallory's orange one has been digging by the fence again."

"It was, uh, gray or black. Don't go out there. I'll see what sort of damage has been done in the morning." He put his glasses back on and tried to smile at her. "Um, how was your movie? You did go to a picture, yes?"

"It was wonderful, about a ballerina. It starred Christopher Plummer and….." She paused at the look on his face. "You were just asking out of politeness, weren't you?"

"No, no. It sounds most interesting."

She snorted. "Did you get your supper?"

"Yes, it was one of your better…..uh…..it was good."

Lissa regarded him suspiciously. "I tried it with onions this time. Did you notice?"

"No. I ate so…..quickly," he stammered. "Perhaps we could go out to dinner soon and give you a break from the kitchen."

"Tomorrow? Just you and me, Rupert? It's been so long since we had a nice evening out."

"I have a meeting tomorrow after work."

"A meeting?"

"With the Watcher's Council."

The last two words hit her hard. "Aren't those the ones that sent you to all those hellholes?"

Giles felt a wave of exhaustion come over him. "I have to check in every once in a while. It's nothing more than that, Lissa. It's late. Maybe we should turn in."

"It's not even eleven."

The tone of her voice bothered him. "This weekend, Lissa, let's do nothing. It will be just you and me."

She crossed her arms over her chest and leaned against the counter, facing him. "But?"

"No exceptions. I don't have to go into the museum. Winslow will be out of the hospital by then. We'll do whatever you want." He checked that the back door was locked. "I'm going to bed. Please, don't go out because I'll look in the morning to see what that cat has done. There's something wrong with it and I wouldn't want it to come after you."

At his tone, she felt a prickle of alarm again. "I'm only going to make a cup of tea, Rupert, and then I'm coming to bed."

He studied her for a moment longer, then kissed her. "Good night." He left the kitchen and she heard his step up the stairs. As she put the kettle on, she glanced out the window but it was black out and there was nothing she could see.

---

Giles gently set a towering pile of books on a table, then straightened and groaned, putting a hand to his back. As he eased into a chair, he contemplated the stack.

Egyptology, ancient history, archeology, mythical archetypes - the binding was loose on that last one, he noticed. He'd have to remember to have it repaired before it went into the museum's collection.

He heard the door open behind him and high heels clacking on the floor.

"Jean, if it's about the display case again….." he started as he turned.

It wasn't his secretary though. In that half-second when he realized it wasn't, his lap was filled with warm blonde woman and she was kissing him extensively.

When she finally let up for him to catch his breath, she teased, "Were you expecting your secretary instead?"

"Well, it *is* Wednesday, Lissa."

She landed a small punch, then, kicking off her shoes, leaned back in for another round of kissing.

"Lissa," he gasped, "this isn't exactly an out of the way room."

She put her lips to his ear which brought his face in against her neck. "Tell me to stop." She wiggled on his lap as she enclosed his hips between her legs.

Unfortunately, the look on his face and the lack of response underneath her was her answer. His arms tightened, not to hold her closer but to lift her up. He rose, placed her in the chair, and paced around the edge of the table.

She felt an almost overwhelming need to cry and to throw something that would make a lot of noise. Somehow she swallowed both down as she watched him cross and re- cross a patch of floor. She'd been looking at him for a year, evenings of endless happy stares across tables, mornings waking up tousled in his arms, but this man here was strange to her. That shadow on his forehead – where did that come from? The fists pushed down in his pants pockets, constant adjustments of his glasses, a harsher quicker draw of breath and a hard set to his back – all so unfamiliar.

"Rupert, why can't I reach you? What's going on with us?"

He stopped moving and his hand came down onto the table top as if he had to hold himself up. "It's not us. There is an awful lot going on right now."

"With your brother? He was diagnosed five months ago."

"And he's in the hospital."

"He was when he had the first round of treatment too. It didn't do this to us," Lissa said softly. "You used to come home and talk to me. You didn't use long run-on sentences but I got words out of you. You used to hold me. I can't remember the last time we made love."

"It wasn't like this before."

"Over three weeks. Is it me?"

"No. Not you." He turned to look out the window. His profile was alien.

"I don't know you," she said so suddenly she surprised herself. The jolt started her crying.

The door behind her opened and she saw him look overtop of her. Then she heard his secretary's voice.

"Mr. Giles, the hospital just called about your brother."

For some reason, he couldn't find his voice. His throat closed as he watched Lissa bend for her shoes.

"Mr. Giles?" Jean asked.

"What did they say?" Lissa asked, not looking at either of them as she pulled on her coat.

"They asked if Mr. Giles could come right away."

"Oh God," Lissa muttered. "Come on, Rupert."

---

"They tell us to hurry, then they make us wait," Lissa said so softly she barely heard her voice. The rush of nurses and interns in the corridor bothered her but not nearly as much as Giles' silence. He hadn't said a word since his secretary had carried the message, not during the taxi ride, not at the nurses' station, and not here in the hallway. He sat in a chair beside her, leaning forward, mute and strained.

"Are you going to miss the meeting with that Council?"

"Yes." The answer was simple and unemotional and the only word he'd spoken in three hours.

She wanted to touch him or be held by him or even just breach that bare inch span between them that kept even the brush of him out of reach. She felt miserable and angry and very scared.

"How can they leave us sitting for so long?" she burst out.

"Go home."

Ashamed, she took a breath and said, "No. I'll wait with you."

"Please go home."

"Rupert….."

"Then go to a girlfriend's. I need you to go somewhere where I don't have to worry about you."

"I'm better here than there."

"But I'm not better if you are. Take a taxi right to the door. Do you have enough money?"

She eyed him. He was white around the eyes but otherwise unreadable.

"Why—" but he started digging out his wallet.

"I have enough." She stood.

He finally looked at her. "Right to the door, Lissa. Make him take you right to the door. Once you're in, stay in. I'll call you."

"It wasn't a cat, was it?" she asked, instantly staggeringly afraid.

Though he looked as if a paper clip might knock him over, he stood and took her shoulders. "Maybe my eyes playing tricks, maybe a cat. Lissa, I don't know but please believe I wouldn't send you somewhere if I didn't think you would be safe."

Underneath the heavy tone were faint echoes of the man she lived with, not many but enough. She still had some part of him.

"I'll go to Rachel's," she said. She wanted to kiss him but hesitated, and ultimately just left. He watched her go before returning to his chair.

"She's a pretty little thing. Your wife?"

Giles turned, startled to find a gray-haired man in a seat beside him.

"Uh, no."

"I was married once. Best thing for a man, or so my missus told me." He chuckled at his joke. Giles turned away from him but he didn't take the hint. "You waiting on a doctor? You'll wait forever."

"Yes, I know."

"I've been here most of the day. They leave you in agony, absolute agony." The man pointed at his side. "Just a hernia, they tell me. Just a hernia, my ass. The damn thing hurts like hell. They're going to have to do something. I can't live like this. Do you know what I've tried for it?" He startling prattling off a list of painkillers and Giles' felt a burning sweep over his chest.

The man ended by exclaiming, "Do you know what will happen if it pops? They don't care."

Giles couldn't have cared less himself, irate beyond feeling. Winslow was his benchmark. If it didn't get there, it was nothing.

He got up and left, taking a straight line to the nurses' station. "I have to speak to someone now."

It was the formidable nurse from the other day. She heaved in a bellow of air in preparation of giving him her Class A lecture on waiting until it was his turn, but something in his face paused her.

"You don't want me to come around that counter and get on that intercom myself," he said very quietly.

"I'll get the doctor for you right now," she said though her voice was still stern in her submission.

Dr. Sharma answered the page. "Hello, Mr. Giles. Is it about your brother's bronchoscopy?"

"His what?"

Dr. Sharma frowned. "You don't know about that? I apologize. The infection in your brother's lungs was getting worse so I ordered the lab to get a tissue sample. He was given a general anesthetic at two-thirty and the procedure was finished just before three. Unfortunately, we've had to put him on a respirator."

"He can't breathe?"

"The respirator is just for now," Dr. Sharma replied in a mild voice. "Your brother is having a little trouble with the anesthetic. Some people do have problems with this procedure as the surgeon goes down through the esophagus in order to get the tissue, but the effect is usually temporary. He's in intensive care right now but I expect he'll be able to talk and sit up by tomorrow morning. Once we can take him off the respirator, he'll be able to return to his room. I can only let you in to see him for a few minutes, Mr. Giles. I'll let the nurse on duty know you're coming." He pointed at the elevator. "Third floor."

The nurse at the desk there opened the doors and said, "Bed five, on the right."

But an old man was in bed five. Giles backed up, recounted, then looked more closely at the thin curled-up figure between the bed rails.

"God…..Winslow….." he murmured. He noticed the hand he held up to his forehead was trembling. He grabbed onto a bed rail.

"Winslow?"

There was a small moan, followed a few moments later by another, but Winslow seemed to be responding to something in a bad dream rather than to Giles' voice. A mask enclosed his mouth and nose and an IV had been taped to a vein in the top of his left hand. His right hand was caught under a wire that led to a softly beeping heart monitor.

Giles gently pulled Winslow's hand free and laid it on top of the bed sheets. It was the first time he'd touched his brother since this thing had begun and he was astonished by how fiery and dry the skin was.

He laid a palm on Winslow's forehead, barely touching, and felt the heat across his entire hand. Winslow moaned again.

Giles noticed movement at the foot of the bed. It was the nurse.

"Can't you do anything about the fever? He's burning," he said, stricken to a whisper.

"He has pneumonia in both lungs," she said gently. "But he's on antibiotics and morphine and we're changing the ice packs quite often."

"He's in pain." Giles persisted. "Can't you hear him?"

She took his arm. "I'm right here. Let me take care of him. I'll call you if anything happens, I promise you."

He let her lead him back to the door. "You have my number?"

She repeated it and the fact that she could remember it without looking gave him a small stab of comfort.

The air outside felt exceptionally cold after the stifling heat of the hospital. He shivered uncontrollably at the bus stop and during the ride home. Once home, he found the red light blinking on the answering machine but it was only a quick message from Lissa that she was at Rachel's.

It was when he took off his coat that he noticed the smell.

What *is* that? he wondered, holding his sleeve to his nose. It was in his mouth, on his hands. His shirt, as he took it off, reeked as though it had been weeks at the bottom of a laundry hamper underneath something that had been vomited on. He stripped ferociously, tearing out of his clothes as he went to the bathroom and into the shower, turning it on so hot his skin burned.

The steam swirling around him made him dizzy. It entered his throat and he gagged and stumbled out, slamming up the seat of the toilet and leaning over it. But he only retched weakly. Finally he lowered his forehead against the clammy porcelain and closed his eyes.

---

Giles did an unwanted tour of the hospital, trying to find his brother, before an intern discovered Winslow had been returned to 2011. On the table inside the doorway, the gardenias had been replaced by white and pink carnations. He glanced at the card before going to the bed by the window.

The head of the bed had been jacked up and Winslow lay huddled on his side, looking out the window. He barely moved at Giles' appearance but he smiled.

"Hello Rupert." He croaked on the words but didn't lose his smile.

Giles blinked. "Hello," he said cautiously.

"Did you see the flowers? Trish sent them."

"I saw. Was she here?"

Winslow shook his head once, slowly. Giles pulled a chair over, careful not to block his brother's view of the window. He glanced at the amazing amount of tubes that disappeared under the covers and a strange circular series of abrasions around Winslow's mouth. The respirator accounted for the latter bruises, he was thinking, when his brother suddenly said, "Dialysis." He coughed. "I broke the record."

Dialysis was something to do with kidneys, Giles knew. "The record for what?"

"Projectile vomiting. I went for distance." He coughed again and his hand fluttered up to his throat.

Confounded, Giles eyed him.

"I did when we were kids," Winslow said hoarsely.

"Did what? Threw up?"

"No, went for distance. Remember when we peed in the front garden? I got farther." He swallowed and added, "Mom spanked us."

"Well, mom had people over at the time."

"You cried. I didn't."

"No, you never did," Giles murmured.

Winslow closed his eyes. Giles was watching a shaft of sunlight inch across the metal bars of the bed railing when his brother said suddenly, "I dreamed you were here."

Giles glanced up. His brother was watching him. "But it's daytime, Rupert."

"I didn't go to work. I called in sick."

"Wuss." Winslow managed another quick grin before shutting his eyes again, this time to fall asleep.

Using a phone in the hospital's front foyer, Giles checked the answering machine at home. The Watcher's Council had left another message, this one more unsympathetic than the morning's. He punched in the code that caused the machine to erase its messages, just in case Lissa checked, and went for his bus.

Lissa's bookstore was busy. He passed through a crowd of people gathered at the Christmas book display and sidled through the mystery section before he found her standing in the nook behind the cash register and changing a music tape in a cassette player on a shelf.

He paused before calling to her. She looked so unencumbered, her hair falling in blonde waves down her back as she juggled an armful of books in order to reach the play button. The red dress she wore went nearly to her ankles. It wasn't one he'd ever seen before.

When the sounds of Kenny Rogers singing Little Drummer Boy started, he went over to her. "Lissa….."

She turned, startled. "What on earth are you doing here?"

"I didn't go into work today."

"Why?'

"No reason, I just…..ditched."

She half-smiled but it disappeared quickly. "Did you go to see your brother?"

"Yes."

She couldn't read anything from his face. "How is he?"

"I don't know," he said honestly. He glanced at the line of people her cashier was ringing through. "Can I help you around here?"

"That's never worked well in the past," Lissa said. When he frowned, she added, "Your intentions were always good but you never lasted more than ten minutes before you'd find a book and disappear on me."

"At least I have good intentions."

Though several feet of floor still lay between them, her sense of him was back. Even if it only lasted a little while, right now he was all hers.

"May I stay?" he asked politely.

"Always," she said, quietly so the cashier wouldn't hear.

He started towards the back, where the classics section was, but paused first to say, "By the way, you look beautiful in that frock."

Settled and happy, she watched him continue down the aisle, but a quiver of worry went through her when she noticed how heavy his step was. She set the books in her arms on the counter, pulled the phone towards her, and dialed the hospital.

---

As Giles set a bag of groceries on the kitchen counter, he heard Lissa say, "I'm glad we got milk. I think this has turned."

She handed him the container from the fridge. He dumped it down the sink as he looked out the back window.

"What do you want for dinner?"

"A pizza," he replied with a shrug.

"My stomach's not in the mood for pepperoni," she said as she started putting the food away.

He gave her a sharp look. "Are you coming down with something?"

"No, I'm just tired of all this running around."

"Tea and toast?" he asked, getting the bread.

"And an evening in front of the telly."

"I'll join you after I get back."

Lissa sucked in her lower lip. "Rupert…..we need to talk about something."

"About Winslow?"

There was an edge under his voice she didn't want to go near. "Something else."

He rubbed his cheek. "Lissa, tell me now, please."

"No, not now. Not while you're trying to get out the door. When you get back." She reached up and hugged him before leaving the kitchen. When he heard her going up the stairs, he quietly unlatched the back door and went out onto the porch.

He stood for a few minutes, his breath condensing before him. Then he walked the perimeter of the yard. A cat had dug a hole beside a frozen bush at the fence. It had also been into the garbage as he hadn't replaced the lid the last time he'd been out here. He retrieved it from the porch and covered the can, and stood for a few moments more, looking at the bedroom light upstairs that Lissa had turned on.

He suddenly remembered that he'd stood like this once before when they'd first moved in. The first time he'd taken the garbage outside, he'd turned and discovered the glow of the light from behind the curtains. The realization that she was up there, waiting for him, had given him such a rush of delight that he'd actually laughed out loud before running up the stairs to her.

He returned to the kitchen and made a pot of tea and a plate of toast, spreading the strawberry jam so thickly that it dripped off the edge of the bread in the way she liked. He carried it up to her on a tray and found her already in bed, sitting in among all the pillows with the television remote in her hand.

She smiled at him and the sight of it ached right through him.

"I wish I could forget everything and stay here with you," he said.

Self-consciously, she said, "If I'd known old flannel nightgowns and no make-up turned you on, I would have tried it much sooner."

"Well now you know," he said, giving her a kiss on the temple as he set the tray over her knees. He went into the bathroom and, when he came out, he kissed her again, this one on the mouth and mixed with warm sticky strawberry.

"I'll wait up for you," she said, which gave him another pang.

At the bus stop, huddled against an icy wet snowfall, he could still taste the strawberries.

---

Winslow lay on his other side, facing the door and restlessly asleep. Giles touched his brother's forehead and found the hair soaked with sweat.

The small touch bothered Winslow. He pulled away in his sleep, moaning, and woke a few minutes later to see Giles sitting on a chair at the foot of the bed.

"Back again?" he asked sleepily.

"How are you doing?"

"Fine," Winslow managed a shrug. "It's fine." He peered at the door. "Rupert, would you open that so I can see people go by in the hall?"

Giles did so. He glanced pensively at his brother. "Do you want a television in here? I could get one."

"No, the door."

Giles returned to his chair in silence. He thought Winslow was falling asleep again when the latter said, "This is so small."

"What is?"

"This, a bed, a curtain, and that door."

"You'll be home soon."

"Rupert, don't lie to me. You're different than when you were here before."

"I am?" Giles replied, having no idea what Winslow was talking about. "You have quite a mixture of drugs in your system right now. When this round is finished, you'll feel better."

The sentence seemed to amuse Winslow for he chuckled. Unfortunately, it made him cough. Giles half rose but his brother shook his head.

"When I see you Rupert, I'm seven again and you're five and you're getting ready to run off to tell mom about something I've done. You were mom's."

"We both were."

"Faulty memory, Rup."

"You were dad's," Giles said. "He never forgave the Council for telling him it was me, not you. He never forgave me either."

"He never said that."

"He never said much of anything. I found out that he once made a plea to the Council when I was fifteen. They wouldn't budge. After that, nothing I did was ever right."

"Is that what you think?"

"Winslow, I was there, day after day, trying to please him, studying until I couldn't focus, until I was so tired I would fall asleep on the floor having never made it from my desk to the bed. Once I fell asleep in the shower, crashed right down into the tub. Meanwhile, you were off, the rugby team, girls, parties, no curfew, no repercussions."

"There's a repercussion now," Winslow said softly.

Appalled, Giles said, "God, Winslow, don't say that."

"I have to say everything. I don't have any more time. You're the special one, some kind of hand-picked chosen centre of the universe and, Rupert," Winslow looked over at him, "it's ok."

Giles stared back. "Winslow, I'm not…..*that*"

"Rup, I've had time to think lately. Dad was angry at the Council but you were the angriest, at yourself." Winslow paused for a few seconds, clearing his throat. "I was pissed off. You were always my little brother. I got to order you around and get all the good stuff first. Then on your tenth birthday, dad called us home and the world changed. You weren't my little brother anymore and I didn't know what I was or wasn't that caused it to pass me by and Dad wouldn't discuss it. That old bastard closed right up every time I asked him. He wouldn't tell me why I wasn't good enough." He shut his eyes briefly. "When he died, I opened his journals. I read November nineteen-sixty. I read how mom died. Rupert, I know what killed her, every detail. That bastard wrote it out in blazing colourful detail. It was his own wife!"

In a harsh tone, Giles said, "Actually, this part I understand."

Winslow opened his eyes. "He killed her. Our father killed our mother!"

"No he didn't. Something unspeakable did."

"He put a stake into her. He pounded it in with a…..rock."

Giles dropped his gaze to the floor. He heard Winslow shift. "Did you know this, Rupert?"

"I…..assumed."

"He didn't want to. The Council made him. They came right to the house that night, all those jackasses and not one of them willing to spare him, to take it on themselves."

"It had to be him," Giles said quietly. "Winslow, stop this."

"Tell me why."

"There are no 'why's'." Giles' head shot up. "Winslow, for Godssakes, she was strong enough in life. No one else could have gotten near her, only someone she thought loved her so much that he wouldn't be able to."

"He was able to. All these years I never knew. Not until he died and I read it."

"Winslow, sshh, please."

"Rupert, how can you deal with that?" Winslow demanded.

"There's no choice."

"I couldn't have done it. He loved our mother but he wrote about her death like he was making some kind of gory itemized-list. If something should happen to Lissa, would you have to--?" He received a muted terrible look in return. He added, "I wouldn't trade places with you. Don't ever think I would."

"Winslow, when you come down from whatever the hell they've given you, you're going to regret this conversation. It wasn't one we needed to have. You should never have had those journals," Giles said, a hollowness biting at his words.

"I tried to tell you when you were here earlier."

"I don't recall that."

"You changed your shirt. I heard a poem."

Giles glanced at the I.V., sighed, and said, "Winslow, I'm going home to Lissa now. Get some sleep."

Winslow started coughing, a weak rasping hack that went on and on. Giles, standing at the side of the bed, looked down in concern, then glanced at the doorway, intending to call the next nurse her saw. Then, slowly out of the wracking vibrations, he heard Winslow.

"Say it once more, Rupert, what you promised me."

Giles eyed in him dismay. "What did I promise you?"

"A better place but then all those doctors came in."

Giles touched Winslow's shoulder but drew away quickly at the feel of the thin bone under the hospital gown. "Go to sleep," he mumbled. "No more of this."

---

Lissa woke just before the alarm went off. It was a habit she wished she'd never fallen into, waking up exactly two minutes before the ringing and knowing she wouldn't be able to lay there, waiting for it.

She shut off the clock, then looked over at the man sleeping beside her. She hadn't heard him come in last night but the tray and dishes were gone. He must have taken them back downstairs before slipping in beside her. She wondered what time that had been.

She kissed him, grazing across the unshaven cheek. "Rupert."

He wasn't a sound sleeper. He jerked up immediately. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing. You always ask me that and there's never anything wrong. I'm beginning to think you must have spent all your life before we met sleeping in a war trench," she said. "One thing I've always wanted to ask you, just how many women shared that trench with you before I pulled you out of it?"

That got a smile out of him. "None. You were the first."

"You're such a handsome liar."

She snuggled up next to him and laid her face on his chest.

"Lissa," he said and she could tell, by the tone of his voice, that he was breaking the mood. "What is it you want to tell me?"

She raised up on an elbow so that she could meet his eyes. "Rupert….." but she couldn't find the words. Finally she took his hand, drew it down under the covers and pressed it against her just under her stomach.

"Please tell me it's all right," she whispered.

He frowned for a half-second. Then it dawned on him.

"Oh Lissa."

She peered at him, unsure.

"But we were—" he started and she cut in.

"We weren't exactly conscientious about it."

All of a sudden he smiled in a way she hadn't seen for months.

"Rupert, tell me it's all right because I'm scared."

He lifted the covers and looked down at where his hand was. Then he looked back into her face. "Lissa, don't be afraid. Don't ever be afraid." He gathered her in to him. "I suppose I'd better hug you while I can still get my arms around you."

She sighed loudly. "My knee is in a very interesting place. Don't make me use it."

"In a few months I won't have to worry about how far you can raise your knees either."

Before she could respond, he started kissing her.

---

"Australia," said the middle-aged man behind the massive desk.

Giles straightened in his chair. "No, Forrest," he said.

As if he hadn't heard, Forrest continued, squinting through his bifocals at an atlas before him. "Christmas Creek, between Margaret River and Noonkanbah. At least it won't snow there for you."

"No."

Forrest looked over the top of his glasses. "We believe a hellmouth is opening up, Rupert."

"I can't go now. My brother is in the hospital and I have other concerns."

"I heard about your brother but you were told when you returned to London to keep away from involvement."

"It's not an involvement. It's my brother."

"And there is also a woman, isn't there?" Forrest studied some notes on a pad of paper before him. "Ah, yes, here she is."

Giles deliberately did not look at the pad. "There must be other Watchers closer than myself."

"Two but they are training potential slayers in active locations. As you do not have one, you are portable. There is a young girl there. I'll give you her file. She has just turned thirteen and, with your training, I think she could be entrusted with the problems at this site."

"I'm supposed to approach a young girl in the middle of the street and not get arrested."

Forrest sighed ponderously. "We cannot take the active Slayer away from where she is at this time. You do not have a choice."

"Yes I do and I'm telling you no."

Forrest was unimpressed. "This is a serious action you're contemplating. We do not tolerate refusal." He lifted a cup and saucer from the sideboard. "Tea?"

"You're getting a refusal now," Giles said in a low voice.

Forrest leaned back in his chair and scrutinized Giles for a long time. "You are a Watcher and, as such, you attract demons. It is what you and the Slayer are meant to do, to draw the Vampyr to yourselves. You are at risk in any one place for too long without a Slayer in training and you put those around you at risk as well. I'm not telling you anything new, Rupert. Are you sure you won't have a cup of tea?"

Giles' mouth tightened.

Forrest poured out a single cup for himself. "It was mentioned to me that you encountered a Vampyr in your yard the other night. Why haven't you dealt with it yet?"

"I haven't seen it since."

"Then you haven't looked very hard. I expect you will before I send the courier with your visa and plane tickets. Good day, Rupert."

Giles stood. "You can send your courier any damn place you like but I'm not going."

"I seem to recall this rebellious streak coming out in another conversation, some years back," Forrest mused. "Look where it got you."

Giles considered saying out loud what he was thinking. Ultimately, he opted for the gracious exit and, picking up his briefcase, paced out.

---

Winslow murmured something. Lissa looked up uneasily from a magazine she hadn't been able to concentrate on.

"Rupert will be here soon, Winslow," she said, trying to sound cheerful. She wasn't sure if he could hear her or not but speaking to him made her feel better. "He had something planned after work. I don't know what. Hopefully, Christmas shopping for a present for me."

'Rupert, where are you?' she thought. She hadn't realized how bad it was, hadn't expected this sight, these sounds. The enormity of it descended, heavy and close, like a painful weight over her shoulders. She could barely lift her arms, she was so stricken by the sight before her.

In an hour she'd descended to complete hopelessness. She could see the edge of the void and it frightened her. There were supposed to be two brothers, their voices like two echoes off the same person. Arguing rugby on a Saturday afternoon. One coming in a room on the heels of the one leaving. For Lissa, it was like being between two pendulums. Now one was disappearing, going under the gravel. He was shedding himself, dropping away like pieces of riverbank eroding into the current. The tall man with laughter in his hazel eyes wasn't here – there was only a brittle shell washed up by an ocean storm but still rocking painfully in the crashing waves.

She felt like she was speaking to a shell, its occupant long gone into a new home, or that she was shouting down a long thick tube to a person who had let their end fall away.

Lissa dropped the magazine in a sudden burst of nervousness and put her hand on his cheek.

"Winslow. Winslow! You have to wake up. Rupert will be here soon!"

He made a noise as if in response, a lonely distressing moan like someone calling from a far shore. It repeated again and again.

"…..oh no….." she cried softly, leaning forward in an instinctive reach to hear him better. Her hair fell onto his face and she brushed it away quickly. "I'm sorry."

"Are you all right, miss?"

Lissa turned at the voice behind her. A young man in a while hospital uniform stood in the doorway, holding a stethoscope.

"Who are you?" she asked.

"Dr. Groves, the resident on-call tonight. I need to check his vitals. Do you mind?"

She pulled away and watched him listen to Winslow's heart and check the I.V. drip.

"Is that stuff keeping him asleep?"

"Probably," Dr. Groves said. "He's getting a high dose of morphine."

"Take it out. He can't wake up."

"Dr. Sharma ordered it."

Lissa felt as though she might cry. "Where's he?"

"Well, I'm on call tonight. Dr. Sharma will be back tomorrow morning."

"You can't take that out?"

"I'm sorry, miss. I don't think I should," he said, not without sympathy.

"But he can't wake up."

"Are you his wife?"

"I'm his sister-in-law. Please, take it out. Just for a little while. It's too strong."

"Let me talk to the doctor on duty."

"When will that be?"

He gave her a smile. "I'll go find him right now." He glanced over her shoulder. "Oh, hello."

She turned but a corner of Winslow's bed was all that she saw. Suddenly she was on her side, skidding across the floor and into the baseboard. She smacked hard with an impact that crunched her teeth together.

She tried to get her bearings but could barely see through the swirl of bright pinpricks filling her vision. She put a hand on the cold tile before her but froze as a quick but piercing screech cracked the air.

The scream cut off in a wet gurgle.

Something grabbed her, something strong that smelled like dank sewer. Its powerful grip was sticky and frigid on her arms. Lissa saw two yellow eyes in front of her, then the rest of the face came into view. It was an repulsive face, bloated and white, like the bellies of dead fish she'd once seen floating on a pond.

"Want to be our woman?" it asked and the foul breath behind the words made her choke.

Frozen, she let the thing come down to her. It nuzzled her neck. She felt it tug her skin under her ear.

Abruptly, she was back on the floor. She heard a bang and a hiss and saw the vampire stumbling backwards from her, clutching its arm. A man's pant leg came into view. She looked up and found Rupert, holding a cross as he placed himself between her and the thing.

"Watcher not play nice," the vampire said angrily.

Giles didn't answer. Lissa saw his one hand go into his coat pocket and retrieve a pointed wooden stake. Her eyes widened and a cry escaped her. The vampire glanced at her and laughed.

"Pretty woman. We have her," the vampire pointed at Winslow, "or we have him." As if in reply, Winslow moaned loudly. Lissa looked over and saw that he was half out of the bed, hanging by a bent bed rail.

"Neither, I think," Giles said simply.

The vampire suddenly dove towards Winslow. Giles reacted before he discovered it was a feint. Lissa felt herself grabbed again and lifted into the air. She was thrown, this time towards the door. She landed on something warm and bulky, looked down, and found the mangled body of Dr. Groves under her. She rolled off him and into a smear of coagulated blood.

"Oh God," she whimpered. His neck, ripped into fleshy shreds, seeped thin blood onto her leg. She edged away but came up against the metal leg of a table.

A shatter of a window breaking caused her to scream and involuntarily cover her head with her arms. But the window was at the other side of the room and the break had been caused by the vampire smashing into it. Giles kicked the demon again and Lissa saw the stake come up.

And miss.

The vampire leaped towards the door at the same time Giles did. Lissa saw Giles come for her, swoop her up, and push her into a group of bewildered nurses at the door. Then he turned back around and advanced towards the bed, holding the cross in front of him.

"This ends now," he said.

Lissa knew someone was holding her, someone so frightened that they were shaking her in their grip. She pushed them away and clutched onto the door frame.

The vampire crouched on the bed, holding Winslow in front of him. Giles advanced slowly, one step after the other, until he was touching the railing.

He waited.

The vampire eyed him. "We will kill you Watcher."

"Do it. Come for me," Giles said softly.

"We will!"

"Burn me," Giles said, in an almost lulling tone. He looked into the vampire's eyes and continued, "rip me."

"Yes," the demon spat but he didn't look away.

Lissa didn't know if she were dizzy or if Giles was swaying but he appeared to be moving from side to side.

"Tear me," Giles said, in the same lilting voice.

The vampire swayed too, following the movements.

"See me," Giles said. He took a step along the side of the bed. "Touch me."

"Yes," said the vampire, Winslow sliding from his grip.

"Want me," Giles whispered, a bare reach away. "Take me."

The stake came up in a single fluid movement. The demon watched it as if transfixed.

At that moment, Winslow chose to wake up.

He groaned as he opened his eyes. The spell broke and the vampire looked down at him.

And smiled.

"A better place," the vampire said. It risked a look at Giles. "He thought we were you."

Though Lissa could only see Giles' profile, an awful expression crossed it.

"We will keep him," the vampire seethed and it lowered its mouth to Winslow's neck.

It closed its eyes in the ecstasy of feeding. At that moment, it was vulnerable.

Despite that moment, Giles didn't move.

Lissa heard Winslow look vaguely around. He saw Giles and asked, "Rupert, is it getting dark in here?"

His voice cut off in a sputter.

"Rupert!" Lissa managed.

He didn't turn. The cross started to lower.

"*RUPERT*!" she screamed.

He jumped at her yell. She heard him say, "I'm sorry, Winslow," before he rushed forward.

The stake went up and in. The last sound she heard was a loud high shriek, then dust exploded into the room. When it cleared she saw Giles, kneeling on the bed, the limp form of Winslow in his arms.

---

Lissa rolled onto her side and shivered. Despite the sheets, she could feel the cold of the metal table. A nurse approached her with a robe and wrapped it around her shoulders.

"The ultrasound is finished," she said. "The doctor will speak to you in a moment. Do you need help getting dressed, Miss Krevluk?"

Lissa tried to answer but a bout of shivering overtook her. The nurse patted her back and helped her into her clothes.

She waited in a lounge of some sort, with big coffee tables and stuffed chairs. She could hear bits of conversations from nurses and interns passing by and knew the events in room 2011 were quickly becoming common if erroneous knowledge.

"It was some big guy all strung out on heroin. Nancy said she saw him and he looked half-chewed."

"I've always said, haven't I always said, that we don't have enough security? Why, anyone can just walk in off the street. Now this just goes to show!"

Lissa closed her eyes. Even the nurses who had been in the hallway with her and who had witnessed the whole thing had reduced it to an incident involving a gang member on drugs.

She heard a step and opened her eyes in instant terror.

Giles knelt before her. He went to take her hands but she pulled away.

"Lissa?"

"Don't touch me." She pulled back as far in the chair as she could. "Get right away from me."

He studied her, unsure.

"Get the hell out of my sight!" she shot out and he jerked back. He took a few steps away, then stopped.

After a few moments, he tried, "Lissa….."

She cut in, "Why didn't you kill it?"

"I did."

"Not right away." She shook her head. "You let it—"

She looked up at him to find him staring blindly at the floor. "Why?" she demanded.

"I thought….." Giles' voice caught.

"You thought it would do that THING to Winslow so he'd still be alive in a way!" Her voice rose. "It nearly KILLED me!"

"I wouldn't have let it do that."

"But you'd let it take your brother!"

Giles shook under her words, then silence came down.

As much as she tried not to, she started crying. Deep heavy sobs went through her. He took a hesitant step but she turned away, drawing her knees against her chest.

A doctor came into the lounge and paused at the scene before him. "Miss Krevluk?" he asked.

Lissa looked over at him, trying to wipe the tears off her cheeks. The doctor glanced at Giles and said, "Sir, if you wouldn't mind giving us a few moments alone."

"I'm the father of the baby," Giles said harshly.

The doctor frowned at him briefly before taking the chair next to Lissa's.

"I've gone over your ultrasounds, Miss Krevluk, and the baby is fine. Everything is just fine there. You're very lucky." He laid his hand on top of hers. "Do you hear me?"

"Are you sure?"

He nodded, smiling. "Yes, I'm very sure. You are going to have some bruises but your baby is safe."

She slumped so quickly that the doctor grabbed her arm. "Do you want me to call someone for you?"

Lissa shook her head. "I'm just so relieved."

The doctor looked at Giles. "Miss Krevluk, I can have a nurse stay with you here while I call for someone for you."

"No, it's ok."

The doctor left reluctantly. Giles took a step towards her.

"No," Lissa told him. "I can't…..just let me alone, Rupert."

"Lissa, I—"

"No. I've called Rachel and she's coming."

Giles backed a few steps, then stood helplessly, hands jammed in his pockets. She tried to find a kleenex, struggling with the clasp of her purse with fingers that felt numb.

Without looking at him, she asked, "Winslow?'

"He's gone."

"Gone where?"

"Gone forever, Lissa. He died."

She wiped her face as best as she could. She heard him move but it was to the window, away from her. "I didn't know it was like that," she said, her voice almost breaking.

"What was?"

"Your world, what you are. Did you tell me and I forgot or did you never tell me?"

He looked at her and in a flat voice replied, "I don't know."

"Are there going to be more?"

She glanced up into his face. He took an unconscious step forward but halted when she cringed. "Is there anyplace you can go where there won't be any more?" she asked, her hands over her stomach.

She waited. After a long time, he slowly shook his head.

---

Giles heard the door but didn't move from the chair. Her steps came down the hall, pausing at the doorways. Finally she came into the kitchen.

He looked up and saw a yellow bruise on her cheek. He knew there were more, far more, but she was bundled up in a bulky sweater and huge winter coat, her arms tightly wrapped across her chest, yet she still looked little and fragile.

"I love you, Rupert."

"I hardly deserve that," he said, his voice low and rough.

"If you were to say to me that you could keep our child safe, I know you'd be lying." There was no accusation in her voice.

"Yesterday, I truly thought I could. What I have done….." his voice fell off.

She came around the table and laid her face against his. He didn't move, afraid she would jump away at the gesture. But her arms went around his neck and she kissed him wildly, the way they kissed the first time they made love. But it was futile and bitter and she ended it, pulling away abruptly.

"Rupert, don't ever tell, don't write, don't come near me. Don't leave a trail, don't make a path. If you love me at all, don't make me afraid for our child."

He felt a flash of anger but it extinguished under a crushing hollowness. It was a possibility he'd already thought she might take, a conclusion he'd reached during the early dark morning.

"Rachel's waiting outside in the taxi."

"Now? Already?"

She kissed him again, her mouth hitting his hard, her cheek wet against his. Then she was leaving, almost at a run, as if she were afraid to even be in her own home. The sound of the door vibrated through the whole house.

Giles could hear the taxi, the crunch of snow under its tires and the whine of its engine as it went up the street. After the taxi came the soft rattle of the window behind him as more snow pelted it and ran in slow rivulets down the glass.

He leaned forward, bringing both hands to his face. His glasses dropped to the table.

"Oh God," he whispered. "Oh God."

END