TITLE: 'Out of Africa'
AUTHOR: Pythia
E-MAIL: pythia@tiscali.co.uk
DISCLAIMER: The characters are the property of Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, Sandollar Productions, Kuzui Enterprises, 20th Century Fox Television and the UPN Television Network. The story is written for the pleasure of the author and readers, and has no lucrative purpose whatsoever. Please do not reproduce this story anywhere without the author's consent.

POSTING NOTES: *.* is for emphasis. {.} denotes thought and [.] implies translation from another language.

Buffy had been beginning to lose her temper by the time she finally managed to down the persistent vampire and put him out of his misery. She hated the ones that went on coming long after sense should have told them to turn tail and run. They were hard work and they just wouldn't get the point - at least, not until she gave it to them, sharp and final, straight to the heart. This one looked decidedly startled as she did it. He took a moment or two to collapse into dust, his astounded expression lingering in the air as he drifted into nothingness.

"They *really* don't get it, do they?" she asked, turning to share her exasperation with Giles, who should have been standing where she'd left him, one of those 'you could have handled that better' looks on his face.

"I mean - " Her words died in her throat. The sight that met her eyes was an impossible, *unthinkable* nightmare.

Because - less than fifteen feet from where she'd been busy slaying - her Watcher was on his knees, his head thrown back in agony as *another* vampire eagerly helped herself to vintage librarian. And not just any vampire, either. This one was a striking woman, dark skinned, and wearing little more than a twist of leather across her breasts and a high cut, slashed up one side skirt thing that revealed laced sandals and a whole lot of leg. Her arms and her body were swirled with white tattoos, and she appeared to be draped with jewellery made entirely from shells and teeth and bones.

She looked exotic. She looked *dangerous* - and right there and then she had her teeth in Giles' throat, poised in an obscene parody of a kiss, her eyes gleaming gold and feral over the curve of his shoulder.

Buffy's blood ran cold.

She didn't stop to take a breath. She hurled herself across the distance, charging to the attack with a cry of fury and a sense of desperate fear. The vampire heard her. Looked up. Smiled. And then stood up, picking up her now unresisting victim by the shoulders, so that she could throw him into the path of the advancing Slayer.

Buffy was moving too fast to avoid the impact, which was strong enough to knock her off her feet. The two of them went down in a tangle of limbs and confusion. The stake flew out of her hand, and she was pinned by Giles' ominously limp weight, giving the vampire time to smile down at them both.

"I shall excuse your lack of courtesy," the creature advised teasingly. "Since this is not a formal audience. Be assured that - when next we meet - I will teach you *proper* manners." Her eyes flashed with a sudden hint of power. "And you will learn the lesson well." She lifted her finger to scoop up a dribble of blood which was oozing from the corner of her mouth and studied it with amusement. "I have already taken my tribute. It was a rich gift." She smiled and deliberately licked the finger, like a cat cleaning itself after a kill. "Rich *indeed*." She vanished into the night, leaving a hint of laughter drifting in the air.

Buffy was seriously torn; torn between racing after the demon which had just left, and checking that its victim actually had a chance of surviving the experience. Fear won out over rage - but only just. "Giles?

*Giles!*"

He stirred, making a half hearted effort to lift himself up, only to collapse back against the turf with a heartfelt groan. This was encouraging. For an extremely worried moment or two, she'd thought he might be dead.

"Don't move," she advised, agitated. She eased herself out from under his weight and pulled him into her lap so that she could get a closer look at the damage. She was expecting the usual kind of vampire bite, two neatish punctures and a little tender swelling just beginning to show. What she found was a deep, gaping wound in his throat. It was bleeding badly - and the skin above and around it was mottled with rapidly darkening bruises. His face was pale, too pale for comfort, drained of colour and creased with pain.

"Buffy?" he croaked, opening his eyes and blinking up at her blearily.

"Sssh," she soothed, hastily tugging free his blood-stained tie so that she could wad it up and use it to stem the bleeding. "It's okay. It's okay. She's gone. Just lie still. Save your strength. Oh god, Giles, I'm *sorry*. I - "

"Not - your fault," he murmured. His voice was faint, his usual cultured tones fractured into hoarse, effort filled utterances.

"Was too," she rejoined with decided feeling. "Mundo my faultness. If I'd been paying attention …"

He actually smiled at that, lifting his hand to drape it over hers. Blood was oozing out from under the bundled fabric, staining her fingers, stirring her sense of panic and guilt. "You're - *eighteen*," he gasped. "I - I don't expect you to - "

"*Sssh,*" she insisted, silencing his words with the fingers of her free hand. "Don't talk. Stick with breathing. Breathing is good." Her hand slid down, gently exploring the damage to his throat. She'd been wondering why he hadn't called out - but the bruises, along with the painful croak in his voice, told a clear and discomforting story. Anger boiled up inside her, adding to the pounding race of her heart. For all she knew, he was dying - and if he did, it *would* be her fault. She was the Slayer. She should have sensed the second vampire. Should have protected him. Defended him.

"I've got to get you to a hospital," she realised, glancing around the night in some vague and impossible hope that help would materialise out of nowhere. She could hardly leave him to get help - there was every possibility that the vampire was waiting for her to do just that - but, on the other hand, she couldn't exactly pick him up and carry him either. He'd already lost a lot of blood and was sinking into shock. Moving him might open the wound even further.

"Buffy?" The question was circumspect, the questioner appearing out of the shadows and staring at her with anxious concern. "My god, Buffy. What happened?"

Miracles happened, that's what. Angel strode across to join her with hasty steps, hunkering down beside her and her Watcher and wincing as he took note of the problem.

"Vamp," Buffy said shortly, her brief sense of relief subsumed by her rising panic. She still couldn't stop the bleeding. And there was so much *blood*. "She came out of nowhere. I - I should've - I didn't - I - I think he's bleeding to death …"

"Let me." Angel's hands peeled hers away from the wound, his features briefly shifting as the pressure she'd been applying was released - and the blood bubbled up anew. "*Dammit*, that's bad," he realised, forcing himself back to his more human aspect. "And savage. More like an animal than a vampire."

"Definitely a vamp," she assured him. "It won't stop. We have to make it *stop*."

He nodded, glancing at her patient's face with anxious consideration. Giles was practically paper white. His eyes were closed, and he was breathing in soft, shallow gasps, each one laden with painful effort. "I can do that," he announced, not looking entirely happy about the fact. "But -" He wrestled with his conscience for a moment; it wasn't clear which of them won. "Giles," he said, addressing the wounded man with disquieted concern, "you're losing way too much blood here. I'm going to have to close the wound, and I suspect it's going to hurt. Just - don't fight me, okay? And Buffy? You do trust me, don't you?"

She nodded, not knowing what he had in mind, but certain that *something* had to be done.

"Then don't you fight me, either."

She was glad to have had the warning. His features twisted into his demonic aspect, and - before she could voice a protest - he bent down and clamped his mouth over the savage laceration. Buffy gasped in alarm. Giles arched in reaction - and a moment later the vampire reared back with a snarl, fighting for self control. There was blood on his lips, and hunger raging in his eyes.

"Did that get it?" he asked tightly, looking away, wrestling with desire and *need*. Buffy looked down. Where - a moment before - there had been a sucking, open wound, spilling scarlet into the night, there was now a cleaner, puckered tear. It was still raw, and still angry - but no longer weeping. The vampire's kiss had sealed the damage, leaving its victim shivering with shock and pain.

"Yeah," she breathed shakenly. "That - that got it. How did you - ?"

Angel shuddered, finally gaining enough control to turn back and look at her. His vampiric visage shifted slowly, returning him to his human form. "It's the bite," he explained hesitantly. "There's a way to - to keep the blood flowing. So that its easier to drink. And then, there's a way to - close the wound. To - " he couldn't meet her eyes. "To savour a victim a piece at a time."

"Oh," she registered, deciding she probably hadn't wanted to know that. "Well - thanks. I think." There'd be time to worry about that sort of thing later. Right now she had more immediate concerns on her mind. Her Watcher was barely conscious, and his skin was turning clammy and cold. "He needs help. We have to get him to a hospital."

"Of course." Angel's expression was as concerned as her own. "Here - let me." He reached to lift the wounded man from the ground, and Buffy reluctantly let go. It wasn't that she didn't trust him - hadn't he just proved that he was worthy of that? - but Giles' shirt was sodden with blood and it didn't seem right to torment his rescuer that way. On the other hand, it wasn't *that* long a walk to the nearest phone, and the sooner they got to an emergency room, the better.

Bad enough her ex-boyfriend was a vampire.

She didn't want her Watcher turning into one too.

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