TITLE: Beauty 1/7
AUTHOR: Lily2332
RATING: PG-13
SUMMARY: Deals with the Freshman. What if something had happened to Buffy after Giles so coldly sent her away from his apartment?
SPOILERS: The Freshman
FEEDBACK: Yes!
DISTRIBUTION: Solo, Cap, anyone else just ask.
DISCLAIMER: They’re not mine, don’t sue.

"Giles?" Buffy felt strange entering her ex-watcher’s seemingly empty apartment. She hadn’t been here since she’d gotten home from being gone all summer, and suddenly wished that she had. Something was off. Hopefully he wasn’t mad about her not coming by earlier. Or calling.

<Where is he?> She couldn’t wait to talk to him, to tell him about how horrible college had turned out to be. As soon as she saw his face, heard his words of encouragement, she’d be fine. He would make it all right again.

Buffy was startled by a female voice in the kitchen, looking for food, apparently.

<Who is that? Strange woman.> Her mind scrambled for an answer. <Giles’ kitchen.> She couldn’t reach a logical conclusion, because the first and most obvious one was immediately rejected.

"You’re not Giles." The woman said, when she noticed Buffy. She didn’t seem threatened at all by Buffy’s presence. Or surprised. How many women did he usually have around?

Buffy found herself engaged in a conversation with the stranger, taking in everything, her skin, hair, eyes, accent, not listening to any of the words they exchanged. She knew that she was speaking because she felt her mouth moving, but the words had no meaning. All she could do was stare.

Suddenly, Buffy felt inadequate. An outsider. This woman belonged here, with her tousled hair, and half covered body. The shirt she wore was Giles’, of that Buffy was certain. But more than that, she wore his scent. His touch. She had been with him, and now had a place here that Buffy herself had never held. She had…cheese.

<Cheese? Petty much?> Her head was spinning, and then, emerging from the hall, there was her watcher. Looking as she’d never seen him. Relaxed, contented, and completely indifferent. She felt a pang at his lack of expression. She’d been away all summer, hadn’t he missed her?

This could not be real. Her stomach turned. It wasn’t right, the two of them were looking at her. Waiting. As though she needed a reason to be there.

Olivia left the room, giving the impression that she was leaving only because she chose to do them the favor. Giles watched her leave. Buffy wanted to grab his face and force him to look at her. She couldn’t suppress a feeling of betrayal. She allowed herself one small outburst, which quickly abated when all the reasons she threw at him for her anger had questionable validity, at best.

Giles asked about school. How was it? The question was a pleasantry, nothing else. Where was the love in his eyes, where was the concern? And where did this distant, uncaring Giles come from? It hurt, and with every word of dismissal, he stripped Buffy of her confidence. Buffy tried to focus on what he was saying.

"…you are going to have to take care of yourself. You’re out of school, and I can’t always be there to guide you."

The last bit of security that Buffy possessed fell away. He had given her this confidence, and now it was he who tore it from her, leaving her naked and vulnerable.

Buffy left his house numbly, walking nowhere in particular. Giles had been the last resort…that was just his place in her life. When everything else wasn’t working out, she would go to Giles, and he would make it better.

He’d told her she could handle it on her own. The least she could do was try.

A few hours later, Buffy was fighting for her life. Fighting for her life from a group of witless, undisciplined vampires. And she was afraid. For the first time in three years, no one knew where she was. No one would be rushing to her rescue.

The vampire’s leader, Sunday, was a bitch. So much that on at good day, Buffy would’ve taken pleasure in staking her, even using one of her better puns as she did so. But despite her inferior strength and skill, the vamp was winning, a fact that became clear when she wrenched Buffy’s arm from the socket.

Buffy cried out in pain, wincing at the sound her own shoulder had made. This was just like college. She couldn’t handle it. Giles had insisted that she could do this on her own. She felt a surge of indignation as she struggled to get off of the ground. Giles. He was probably getting it on with Olivia right now, she thought angrily. She hadn’t even gotten to her knees yet when she was kicked down again.

She opened her eyes, seeing with blurred vision that they had her completely surrounded. <Run.> Was her last thought before the final blow, sending her into unconsciousness.

Buffy knew she was in trouble even before she opened her eyes. Usually, when regaining consciousness, there was a brief period of oblivion. Not so this time, first feeling the sting of Giles’ rejection, followed by the physical pain.

Giggling abounded in the room around her. She eyed every one of the vamps, noting with sinking feeling that not one of them seemed afraid. In fact, they all felt free to mock her, cheering one another on. Buffy felt small, and even more helpless than she had the time she’d lost her strength, on her birthday.

She didn’t struggle against the restraints. There was no point. Maybe she would’ve tried, but her will was weakened. Her foundation had crumbled, and without support, the motivation to succeed was gone.

Sunday approached her. "Everybody out." She ordered, smiling at Buffy. Her lips curved upward, but Buffy could see the rage simmering beneath the surface. She wasn’t as cool and collected as she wished her followers to believe.

"Well, Buffy." She made a show of licking her red lips. "You probably think I’m going to kill you, don’t you?"

Buffy was more frightened by the fact that she honestly didn’t care, than the prospect of dying. <Some slayer I am.> she was thinking. <What will they think when they find me? Giles will be so disappointed…the one time he thinks that I can handle it on my own, and->

"Hello!?" Sunday snapped her fingers in front of Buffy’s face. "Are you paying attention? Maybe this will help you stay alert." Her face morphed into the demon.

Buffy looked blankly at the blonde. Like she’d never seen that one before.

"I can’t believe I’ve got the slayer, all tied up here, all mine." She gloated. "See, Buffy, all I ever wanted my whole life, was to be…the boss. I guess that’s what you could say. I’m bossy. I want to be the smartest. The strongest. The prettiest…." She stopped, her face returning to normal.

"Now, I think we’ve already established that I’m the smartest. Not too hard with these cretins I keep around. As for being the strongest, well, I beat the hell out of the slayer, that should say something."

Normally, that comment would’ve elicited a biting response from the slayer in question, but Buffy let it slide.

Sunday appeared disappointed, but continued. "As for being the prettiest…" She placed her cold fingertips gently on Buffy’s cheek, caressing gently. She leaned in and whispered, her lips almost brushing Buffy’s face. "I’m going to keep you around, slayer, but in order to do that, I’m going to have to make a few adjustments."

Buffy stiffened, her eyes widening in shock as Sunday withdrew a large, shiny pair of scissors from behind her back. "What are you going to do?" She blurted, disgusted with herself when the vamp smiled, finally having gotten the reaction she desired.

"Watch and see." She reached out and grabbed Buffy by the hair, yanking spitefully before hacking off a large chunk of blonde locks. Buffy closed her eyes, making a strangled sound. She was ashamed that this hurt her more than the beating she’d taken earlier.

"That wasn’t very even, let me try again." Sunday’s eyes blazed with excitement, reveling in the pain she was inflicting. The scissors made crisp slicing sounds as she went to work, leaving a pile of golden hair on the floor. When Buffy heard the sound of metal falling to the floor, she opened her eyes. She tried to bite back tears. It would be bad enough for her friends to find her, but to find her like this, humiliated…

The vampire was thoughtfully eyeing her. "You’re still too pretty." She said flatly. "Don’t be flattered, princess. In a minute that’ll be a thing of the past." She retrieved the scissors from the floor, opening them as wide as they would go.

Buffy stiffened, biting her lip as she felt the metal cutting into the skin of her temple, dragging down to her jawline. It was deep. The blood flowed, warm and sticky, down her face, onto her blouse. There was only a break of two seconds before the blade penetrated again, this time on her cheek, ripping uncleanly through the flesh, this time in a jagged pattern, all the way down her face. Buffy knew that it should hurt more than it did, but she was numb.

"Oh, what a mess!" The vamp gasped in mock distress. "I can barely see what I’m doing for all the blood." She leaned in again, this time dragging her tongue slowly across her handiwork. She growled in appreciation, and for a moment, Buffy thought she’d just feed and get it over with. But she didn’t.

Buffy didn’t need a mirror to know that, should she somehow survive, her face would be marred for the rest of her life. She waited for the next round of cutting to begin.

"You’re mine, slayer." Sunday told her disdainfully. "Now everyone will know who’s in charge on this campus." She called for her friends, who all gathered noisily around Buffy, hooting in appreciation at the sight of the bloodied, disfigured slayer.

One of the girls gathered up Buffy’s hair from the floor. "I’ll make a locket for you, Sun." She said eagerly, "So you can show the next slayer exactly what you did with ‘the chosen one.’" Everyone liked this idea, scrambling around for their own piece. Buffy watched them, the feeling of violation almost unbearable.

"Let’s go." Sunday hollered, and the whole group made a mad dash for the door. Nobody wanted to make the vampire who had broken the slayer angry. She was the boss.

Buffy lifted her head, disoriented. She was comfortable, and for some reason that seemed wrong. <the hospital.> She remembered, bringing her hand to the gauze on her face.

Soon after Sunday had left, a heavyset girl snuck back in and released Buffy, setting her free without a word of explanation. Buffy hadn’t asked questions, had just run until she couldn’t run any further, collapsing on the street. Someone had brought her here, and here she sat, hating the rays of sunlight that lit the room.

"Honey," Joyce came into the room, smiling a false smile. For a moment, when her eyes flickered over her daughter, her face contorted in horror, but quickly went back to normal. Her voice was the pitch of someone who was trying to hide something. "How are you?"

Buffy watched her mother busying herself with moving a chair, then straightening the tray next to the bed. Anything to avoid looking at Buffy. She was pretty sure that Joyce wasn’t expecting an answer to that question.

Finally, when there was nothing else to distract her, she sat next to her daughter. "I’m so glad you’re okay, honey." She said, her voice strained. "I’ll call Mr. Giles for you."

"No!" Buffy sat up, wincing when she put pressure on her hurt arm. "I don’t want him to see…" She stopped. What didn’t she want him to see? Her feelings for her watcher were so jumbled and complicated at that moment, she didn’t know what she wanted.

She was ashamed of having failed, but another emotion fought to be heard. Anger. He had sent her out to do this, after she’d asked for help. Her stomach twisted as she considered this. The one person who was supposed to protect her. Angry tears burned behind her eyes, but she didn’t give in to them.

"Mom, I don’t want him to know about this. I don’t want anybody to know." Joyce was already shaking her head, but Buffy was set on this. "Please!" She begged. "Please…I just want to come home."

The prospect of having her daughter all to herself, and getting to be a mom again was too tempting for Joyce to pass up. "All right, sweetie. If you’re sure." She was almost glad. She patted Buffy’s hand. "I’ll go home and get your room all ready."

The clock said 2:00. Buffy wondered if that meant AM or PM. It didn’t really matter, but she was curious all the same. It was impossible to tell with the heavy black drapes she’d insisted her mother put on her windows, and when that hadn’t been enough to block the intrusive daylight, she’d pouted until Joyce had installed miniblinds underneath.

Buffy felt that as long as she stayed in the darkness, everything was fine. She’d told Willow that she had the flu. Giles probably didn’t even notice that she wasn’t around. She flipped on a lamp. Her favorite lamp, with a bulb that bathed the room in a golden light. She had always loved this because the light was so flattering, almost giving her skin a glowy, goddess-like appearance. Now all the flattering light in the world wouldn’t help her, she thought miserably. Even in the near dark she could see the gruesome results of her failure.

Buffy sat on her bed, looking at her reflection in the mirror. Her hair reminded her of when she was seven and had given her Barbie a haircut. Now Buffy had the same, choppy shorn look of the doll, in some spots her scalp was visible.

For some reason, every time she inspected the damage on her face, she thought of Olivia’s smooth, unblemished complexion. It didn’t make any sense, but she found herself comparing herself to the woman nonetheless.

Tears welled up in her eyes, but she wouldn’t cry until she was completely finished with this self-torture. She studied her face, the blackish stitches reminding her of Frankenstein. The red swelling around the incisions had lessened, and now Buffy could imagine what she would look like when it was healed. Even if it healed nicely, there would be thick, jagged scars. Sunday hadn’t been precise in her cutting, making it difficult for the doctors to sew her up neatly.

A knock sounded on the door before Buffy could reward herself with a bout of cleansing tears.

"Honey, Mr.Giles is here." Her mother’s voice said softly. "I told him you’re not feeling well, but he wants to see you."

Buffy looked around frantically. Her mother had bought her a combination hood/scarf, but Buffy had screamed in outrage when she’d seen it, not even wanting to acknowledge that someday she’d have to go out in public. Now she grabbed it thankfully, covering her head, diving into bed. She hid the scarred half of her face in the pillow, pulling the covers up to her chin.

The door opened, and Giles stood there a moment, trying to adjust his eyes to the dim lighting.

Her mother had said she was sick, a fact that he found hard to believe. Upon further investigation, he found out that she’d had a visit to the hospital that night. No one would say anything, and Willow hadn’t appeared to be lying when she said that she didn’t know.

But here she was, in bed, turned away from him. Guilt took a firm hold of the man. "Buffy." He said, sitting on the bed. Her small form was completely still.

"I-I just wanted to make sure you’re all right….I-I went after you that night…it wasn’t right to send you off like that. I’m sorry." The words seemed so weak, ‘I’m sorry’ didn’t begin to describe his regret at how he’d handled his reunion with his slayer.

She wasn’t answering. He didn’t deserve an answer, he knew. He’d seen her confusion at his house that day, and her hurt. But instead of reassuring her, he’d pushed it further. Wanting her to see him differently. She’d gotten hurt, because he had wanted to show her that he was a man to be desired by women. He had wanted her to see that he and Olivia had been intimate. It seemed so incredibly trivial now.

"Were you hurt badly, Buffy?" His voice held all the self-hatred that he was feeling at the moment. He’d taken a vow to protect her to his utmost ability, to the death if need be. And he’d broken that vow in a moment of selfishness. She looked so tiny in the bed, completely lost in all the blankets. What had happened to her?

Buffy’s throat burned as she clenched her jaw, keeping the sobs at bay. Why did he have to be this way? Making her want to tell him that it was okay, that she didn’t blame him, even though part of her did. She felt a physical need to be in his arms, and to share everything she was going through with him. But part of her wanted to punish him, as well as protect herself.

She remained silent, not trusting her voice. One word and she’d crumble. Just a few more seconds of silence, and he’d leave, she knew. If only she could hold out a little longer. Her body began to shake from the effort of suppressing the tears.

"Buffy?" Intuition told him to be afraid. Fear kept him from finding out why. Giles rose and walked to the window. She’d never refused to speak to him before. There was nothing left to say. Things had never been left before like this, but here they were, at a stalemate. She didn’t want to see him, and he didn’t know what to say.

Buffy peeked at her watcher, standing by the window. He moved the curtain aside, opening the blinds. The afternoon sun filtered in. She gasped, retreating completely into her hiding place. It hurt to breathe, so desperately was she trying to make it through these moments until he left.

She wouldn’t be able to bear the pity in his eyes if he saw her, and the guilt.

The guilt would kill him. But more than anything, she realized with a jarring revelation, if he saw her like this, he’d never look at her in the way he’d watched Olivia that day.

"I’ll see you when you’re feeling better." He said abruptly, letting the drapes fall, the darkness once again covering her like a safe blanket. He didn’t wait for a reply, knowing that she wouldn’t break now.

He stopped at the door. "Buffy…whatever it is, we can talk about it. Alone if you want. I’m here. I know that I may have led you to believe that I’m not. But you are more important than…anything." They both knew that he meant more important than Olivia.

The door closed as a sob broke free from Buffy’s tight restraint. A river of tears followed, as she poured her sorrows into her pillow as she had every night since she’d gotten home. She finally allowed herself to think the thought that she’d kept at bay since it had happened. She wasn’t beautiful anymore.

Giles stood outside Buffy’s door with Joyce, giving the woman a harsh look. He knew she could hear the girl’s cries as well as he could. But she ignored them, instead leading him downstairs, rambling on about how tired Buffy was from her flu. There was nothing he could do as she shut the door behind him.

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