TITLE: 'Out of Africa' 4/?
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.
{Well, *that* was unexpected …}
Giles relaxed back into the support of the pillows, watching as Buffy headed for the door - and the company that awaited her there. An inevitable moment of perturbation tugged at his heart as he saw Angel gently drape his arm around his Slayer and led her from the room. Actually, he watched about *three* Buffys walk away and at least two Angels. His vision was swimming in and out of focus, along with the rest of his senses. It had taken real effort to concentrate on Buffy's anxious visit, welcome as it had been. There were moments when she'd sounded as if she'd been underwater, and he wasn't entirely sure he'd heard everything she'd said. He'd got the gist of it though - along with the underlying guilt and anxiety that she'd been trying to conceal.
He sighed, letting his eyes close and darkness replace his current fuzzy, washed-out view of the world. He didn't know what the strange vampire had done to him, but he knew it wasn't good. He also knew it hadn't been Buffy's fault. Angel was right; this new player in town was very old and extremely dangerous. She'd picked her moment very carefully and had known exactly what she was doing.
Well - right up to the point where greed had overwhelmed her intentions and she'd taken that little more than he'd been able to spare. He suspected that she hadn't intended to kill him - not given her actions *before* the bite - but it had been very, *very* close. In fact, if it hadn't been for Angel …
He shivered, not wanting to go there, but needing to all the same. The kiss of a vampire touches the soul as well as the skin. The wound she'd made was throbbing softly, echoing - not just *her* attack, but the deed that had followed it. There had been a time when he'd lived with the expectancy of feeling Angelus' teeth in his throat. Even - very briefly - a time when he might have welcomed it. The anger and the madness of his grief still haunted him, tainting his perceptions and twisting his heart every time Angel came near. He'd always known - intellectually, that is - that the demon who'd killed Jenny and tortured him with such relish was *not* the same as the troubled, soulful creature that his Slayer loved. That hadn't meant he'd been able to deal with the difference emotionally. His acceptance of the situation, of the vampire's return, had been both reluctant and bitterly begrudged. Tonight, though - through that fleeting moment of contact - he had somehow been able to sense the depth of Angel's remorse, the true agony of his curse. It was an uncomfortable revelation and the memory of it lingered, a disturbing counterpoint to the hungry impact of the earlier assault. Where *she* had found nothing but pleasure in his pain and his resistance, Angel's gift had been a torment for them both.
He shivered a second time, emotionally overwhelmed by the events of the evening. He felt weak, battered, bruised and *violated*. It hadn't been the first time he'd come face to face with his own mortality, but there was a big difference between knowing you risked your life for a worthy cause and having it taken from you with such casual and contemptuous ease. There was no comfort in knowing that he'd been more than a casual victim of the vampire's hunger. She'd taken whatever it was that she'd wanted and left him feeling like roadkill, crushed beneath a thundering juggernaut.
One that Buffy was going to have to face, one way or the other …
{Keep her safe,} his heart entreated, addressing his prayer to higher powers, to fate - and to the tormented soul whose love for his Slayer was as deep, if not deeper than his own. He'd trusted Angel once. That trust had been shattered; he'd thought beyond recall. He realised now that had to change, for Buffy's sake, if nothing else. And that meant examining his feelings with a little more honesty than he really liked. What *was* it that had stabbed at his heart as they had left together? Fear? Or a little jealousy?
Maybe Travers had been right. He had got too involved, too close to his Slayer. He *cared* about her. Wanted, sometimes, to be the arms that gathered her up and protected her from the evils that beset her on every side. She was still so much a child, so innocent and vulnerable behind the tough façade she offered to the world. But he wasn't her father, and he had no intentions of trying to be. The relationship they had was a lot more complicated than that. Besides, even if he *were*, it wouldn't be right for him to stand between her and her destiny. She was the Slayer, the chosen one. The only thing he could do was stand beside her, as long as she needed him.
And she *had* said she needed him.
The thought - and the comforting remnant of her parting kiss - remained with him as he sank into the inevitability of an exhausted sleep. It was a sleep filled with disturbing dreams, with struggle and with overwhelming terror. Tawny, gold flecked eyes transfixed him, held him, trapped him in their depths, bound by her words, imprisoned by her will. He couldn't move, couldn't breathe.
Couldn't even scream …