TITLE: 'Out of Africa' 26/31
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.

Giles had been terrified that they wouldn't make it in time. The jostling, desperate race between the hospital and the museum had seemed to take forever - and that despite Xander's foot down, run every red light, hope we don't pick up a cop, style of driving. Once he'd finished climbing into the clothes that Angel had found for him - and he hadn't been about to ask whose locker he'd raided for* those* - the Watcher had counted off every junction and every corner, trying desperately not to imagine what they might find when they got there. Images of Buffy, helpless in the hands of her captors had kept bubbling to the surface of his mind - and every time he'd banished them, he'd found Lilithu's feral smile haunting the space they left behind. He'd tried to banish that too, knowing that he couldn't afford to be distracted by the memory of what she'd done to him. There would be, he'd told himself firmly, time for that later. Much later.

Provided there *was* a later, of course …

There'd been a grim kind of irony in that line of thinking, a disturbingly positive aspect to being gifted with a whole new bunch of nightmares. {Something to look forward too,} he'd acknowledged wryly, not for one moment missing the equal irony of having the subject of most of the old ones crouched behind him when the thought occurred.

{Angel, not Angelus,} he'd reminded himself firmly, conscious that the vampire had probably saved his life after Lilithu's misjudgement in her initial attack. It was obviously a night for ironies; he'd never suspected that being attacked by a vampire both older and far deadlier than Angelus had ever been might prove to be the catalyst that refocused his perspectives in *that* regard. He'd never expected to have those perspective refocused for a start - yet, there they were, allies and comrades in arms, the Watcher and the vampire with a soul, racing to save the world once again.

Racing to save *Buffy*.

She was the reason that made it right, whatever might have been before. The Slayer was Angel's inspiration, the choice he'd made when turning the endurance of his curse into a quest for redemption - and she was her Watcher's purpose in life - not just his service and his sacred duty, but the unexpected answer he'd found to that age old, ponderous question. ''Why am I here?'

He was probably one of the few people in the world who could answer that with utmost certainty - although by the time Xander pulled up in front of the darkened museum, Giles was half convinced he'd be answering in the past tense from that day forward. The knot in his stomach had grown tighter and tighter as they'd raced through the night, and a sense of desperate panic was tearing through his soul. His Slayer was outnumbered, out matched and running out of time. If Lilithu hadn't killed her by now - killed her, or god help them all, *turned* her - then it would only be because the vampiress found her defiance amusing.

Or because she'd found a better use for her alive …

"How many did you say she'd sired?" Angel's question was anxious; he'd stilled Xander's instinctive reach for the van door and was peering out into the night with wary concern.

"Six," Giles answered, doing much the same. "And yes - she left one on watch out here. Along with a very dead night-watchman, I regret to say."

"You have nothing to regret. There was nothing you could do."

Now *that* was irony, that a vampire could offer him such quiet and considered absolution - and mean it with absolute sincerity. He appreciated the thought. Being forced to stand and watch as an innocent man was slaughtered in front of him hadn't exactly been a pleasant experience. "No," he acknowledged softly, suppressing a small shiver at the memory.

Xander threw him a worried look. "You sure you're up to this?" he asked. "I mean - you being all 'dead man walking' and stuff … I'd be looking for a small dark place to hide. Or a - not so dark place. A bright, lots of people, hello *company* kind of place …" He trailed off under the look he received; a patient, slightly pained look . "I am so not helping here, am I."

"Not really." The Watcher could hardly blame the young man for his concern - and, truth be told, he was pretty close to being right. Giles desperately needed to distance himself from the raw and vivid memories of his recent experiences - and if he weren't facing the prospect of striding in to confront the demon responsible for those experiences, he'd might well be busy crawling into the bottom of a bottle of very good single malt.

For strictly medicinal reasons, of course.

But Buffy was in trouble, and seeking the refuge of oblivion was not an option, so he was just going to have to push those sort of issues to one side and work out how deal with them later. The here and now was the important thing at the moment; the safety of his Slayer, the call of duty, and the potential fate of the world resting in his hands.

Which appeared to be shaking …

Giles grimaced with self annoyance, taking a deep breath and clenching his right fist over his left to still their mutual trembling. His damaged wrist protested the pressure, but he ignored the shiver of pain and focused on more important matters, his expression settling into tight, determined lines. He didn't have time to fall apart and, he wasn't about to. Lilithu might have subjected him to long hours of intolerable torture, but her greater sin was the pleasure with which she'd taunted and tormented Buffy, the cruel games she'd been playing and her arrogant confidence that she was destined to win. The anger that came with that thought was a source of strength; he seized hold of it, using it to fortify his resolve. The bitch was going to pay.

No matter *what* it might cost him.

"There he is," Angel announced, pointing out through the window of the van. Giles stared in that direction, briefly envying the vampire his enhanced night vision. The lurking creature was hard to make out in among the shadows.

"Got him," Xander announced gleefully, then added, "Whoa. Ugly or what? Think you can take him, Angel?"

"Think you can lure him away from that door?"

The young man and the vampire exchanged a look - one that sent a cold shiver down the Watcher's spine. He didn't want Xander out there, risking his life like that - and he certainly didn't want him doing it in response to some stupid macho dare, as if there were some obscure and pointless point to prove. "Angel," he started to protest, "I-I'm not sure that - "

"It's okay," Xander interrupted. "I can do this. The bait thing, I mean. I'm good at being bait. Lots of baitiness in me. All those demon's out there, keen to get their teeth into that genuine Xander goodness. And I so wish I hadn't said that … But, hey. This I can do. I'll lure, he'll stake - and you go get the bitca, okay? Save Buffy. And - the world, I guess, but - Buffy?"

Giles swallowed against a sudden lump in his throat; there wasn't anything he could say to that - except, perhaps, let a little of the enormous pride and affection he felt for this young man surface in his eyes. Time and time again, he'd seen Xander Harris rise to the challenge - and surpass it. He knew there was something special about Buffy, about the loyalty and love she inspired in her friends - but there was something special about those friends, too, in the strength and commitment they brought to their mutual cause. "Just - b-be careful," he advised as sternly as he could manage in the circumstances. "Don't - do anything - stupidly heroic. Unless absolutely necessary, of course."

Xander grinned at him. "Back at ya, Watcherguy." He pushed open the van door and slid out into the night, taking a few deliberated steps away from the vehicle before thrusting his hands in his pockets and starting to whistle jauntily. Angel picked up a stake and started to go after him; Giles put out his hand and held him back for a moment.

"If anything happens to him …" he warned softly. The vampire threw him an understanding look.

"It won't. Go. Get to the staff. Stop Lilithu. We won't be far behind you."

NEXT