TITLE: WARLOCK 4/14
AUTHOR: vatwoman
DISCLAIMER: JOSS WHEDON, MUTANT ENEMY AND FOX/UPN OWN EVERYTHING AND EVERYONE ‘BUFFY.’ NO INFRINGEMENT INTENDED. THE CHARACTER OF KOVACS IS MINE.
FEEDBACK: YES PLEASE, TO VATWOMAN@Y...

"Damn!" Jenny muttered as she checked her watch. <I'm going to be late. Damn Snyder and his bloody meetings! > "Bloody meetings? Bloody torture sessions!" Her words pulled her up short. She leaned on her desk and hung her head, shaking it in ... she sighed, another couple of Giles-isms for the collection. Hell, her inner voice was even starting to say these things in an English accent! "Die on me, Rupert Giles," the muttering was back, along with drawer and cupboard slamming, "And I'll kill you!"

"Jenny?"

She spun around in fright, dropped the chalkboard duster and took a step back. A hand went to her throat and she could feel her pulse suddenly pounding.

"Andy!" She took a deep steadying breath. "I didn't hear you come in." <And maybe I should've done: the door was closed>

His smile was oddly unrepentant and she frowned as he shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans and strolled to her side. He sat down on her desk and picked up her car keys and began to gently roll them from one hand to the other. Then he looked up at her, his eyes a deep unblinking blue.

"How is Rupert?"

Jenny took another step back. A filing cabinet stopped her retreat.

"Still in hospital. We get the results of his tests today. Infact," she glanced at her watch again, "If I don't go now, I'm going to be late. So, if you don't mind ..." She held out her hand for her keys.

"You look pale.” He cocked his head to one side. “Did I frighten you?"

She stared at him. "Andy, I have to get going. I'd like my car keys." The tone was calm and no-nonsense. She was pleased that the hand she held out was steady as a rock. She had no idea why the fear she'd felt when he'd come in hadn't disappeared, or even why she’d been scared in the first place, but it hadn't and she suddenly realised that she was terrified.

"Do the doctors have any idea what is wrong with him?"

She shook her head.

"Hmm," he nodded, "Very mysterious. Such violent symptoms to just appear and then disappear in that way. Sounds very serious." Was that a ghost of a smile? "I hope, however, it not serious."

"So do Rupert and I."

"Tell me about him?"

"Andy ..."

She closed her hand down onto her keys. <Fatal mistake, Calendar. > Kovacs's fingers clamped around hers and pulled her to his side as he stood. This close she could feel it, the unnaturalness of it. How twisted it had become. How much it reeked of pure, unadorned, hatred. The corollary of love? She wondered when the moment had passed. Had he been smiling at her, as he was smiling at her now, and she at him? Or maybe they'd been laughing together at something? Or parting, both a little embarrassed, but friends still, when she'd told him that she was involved with someone else? And in that moment had he seen her inattention to him? Her lack of interest? The way her eyes lit up whenever Rupert was near? And was that when he'd started to believe that she'd unmanned him? Her heart pounded and a sudden cold sweat drenched her body.

They were virtually the same height and standing so close that she could feel his breath on her neck and on her ear as he spoke into it. "How much older than you is he? Ten, fifteen years? He's too old for you." His voice was soft, lilting - there was madness in it. She struggled against his grasp. Dropping her keys he caught her chin with his other hand and pulled her head around so he could look into her eyes again. "Does he satisfy you?"

"Let go of me!" His fingers tightened as she fought against his hold.

"Does he satisfy you, Jenny? Does he make you come .. and come again ... and again ... and again?" His mouth was fractions from hers, his body also. The heat radiating from him felt like it was burning the shape of him onto her. He stepped in and pressed himself full length against her, his hard cock nestling into the juncture of her thighs. "What does he feel like when he holds you like this?" He nuzzled at her neck. Jenny tried to pull away but the hand holding hers tightened; she could feel the bones being crushed against one another. A flash of pain momentarily marred her features - and he saw it. His stare deepened, the colour of his eyes intensified. Blue into violet. "Does he get this hard for you? Can he get this hard for you?"

She threw her head back but he held on and dragged it back to his .. and savagely closed his mouth onto hers. Pushed his tongue in. Bit at her lips. Then he shoved her away. She fought for breath. She fought the urge to be sick. He wasn't even breathing hard.

"He's nothing, Jenny, and you're mine." And then he was gone.

Jenny stood there, rooted to the spot, shaking, until long after the sound of his footsteps had disappeared.

************************

Jenny turned the key in the ignition and slid the car into gear.

"Home?"

"Home."

>>> ... The doctor looked up from his notes. Impassive face. No clues as to what he was going to say. Giles could feel his heart pounding - he could've used any one of half-a-dozen relaxation techniques to slow it down but found he didn't want to. His heart pounded, therefore he was alive. And fear? Something to be controlled. Something he could control. He met the doctor's eyes.

"Bloods. Toxicology. MRI. CAT scan. All clean. The good news, Mr. Giles, is that your results say that you're in excellent shape." The medical man sat back and fiddled with his pen. "We can find nothing wrong with you." ...<<<

Giles pressed his head against the cool glass of the window and watched the streets rushing by them. There was nothing wrong with him and now he was truly scared. He could have laughed: it all came down to the Hellmouth. Every damn thing came down to the Hellmouth. He should've known. He should've seen. Felt it somehow.

>>>... "And the bad news?" Confront what the man hadn't said. Control the fear: the demon inside.

"The bad news is that we can find nothing wrong with you."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning that we have no idea what caused the symptoms." ...<<<

Not illness: magicks. And something else ...

>>>... "And?"

"And it means that we have no idea if they will re-occur."

"Re-occur?" Jenny looked from the doctor to Giles and back again. "He was in absolute agony! He could've died! Another attack might kill him!"

Giles laid his left hand on top of Jenny's right and squeezed gently. "Jenny." ...<<<

He placed his left hand on top of her right as it rested on the steering wheel. "What happened?" His thumb brushed against the discolorations patterning her wrist and hand.

"It can wait."

"These are bruises, Jenny."

"Yes."

"How ... "

"... It can wait."

>>>... "What should I do?"

The doctor smiled. "Get on with your life. It's the only advice I can give you. I can't invent a disease or a condition to explain away this attack." He shrugged. "We can find nothing wrong. Go home." ...<<<

His apartment looked exactly as it did the last time he remembered seeing it with a clear head. He'd always looked on it as his haven, protected by so many wards that he'd felt that nothing could touch him here. And Jenny: this was now her place too and her very presence here made him feel safe and loved ... He wondered why he expected it to be different. He knew. He'd been found here. No safety here. Not anymore.

>>>... Jenny closed the door behind them and watched as Giles slumped against the wall outside the doctor's office. <The kids> They were sitting in the chairs down the corridor. Just a few seconds. She had just a few seconds. His composure was shot to hell and he was shaking. He looked completely drained. She had to get him home.

"Hey." she placed her palms on his face and gently pulled his head down so that she could look into his eyes. "What do you say I take you home?"

There were tears in his eyes and as they spilled onto his cheeks he buried his face in her hair, hiding it from view. She felt his hot breath on her neck. The dampness on her neck. She wrapped her arms around his back and pulled him close. The kids. They were coming down the corridor. Almost running. She shook her head and Buffy, leading them, brought the group to a halt. Jenny smiled her thanks.

His neck was hot where she touched it.

"Hey." Her word of choice today. He kissed her shoulder and she closed her eyes against the gentle caress of his lips and pressed her head against his. He stood up straight again and let her wipe away the tears before he turned to face Buffy and the gang. His smile brought them on at a dead run, straight into his waiting arms. ...<<<

***********************

He was gone from their bed when she woke - and she panicked. "Giles!" It was always 'Giles' when she was worried or scared or, as when that hellish thing came out of the Hellmouth, just plain terrified. Never Rupert.

"I'm down here."

His voice drifted up from the main living area below the loft bedroom and now that she was more awake Jenny could see the light flickering from the candles that he'd lit and could hear music playing softly.

He watched her come down the stairs, his t-shirt clinging to her curves, and smiled at her. Since they'd stepped back into his apartment they'd been as two birds, mated, renewing their bonds after being parted. It had been like a dance, all smiles and looks and touches. Not to arouse, but to bond. And he felt bonded. This woman, who had never done anything less than shake him up, had shaken him to the core. And he loved her - it had taken Eyghon to make him see that. He'd been so blind and so very stupid, trying to protect himself by allowing her in just so far, not realising that if he let her all the way in her love would protect him from almost anything.

His smile deepened as she climbed onto the long sofa, straddled him, and gracefully draped herself full-length on top of him. Resting her hands on the top of his chest and her chin on her hands she smiled up at him.

"Hi."

"Hello." He ran his hands down her body and lightly grasped her hips to move her into a more comfortable position for him. The t-shirt rode up as she shifted and his hands stilled. He raised an eyebrow. "Mmm, interesting - a woman who's all t-shirt and no knickers."

She shook her head, deadpanning him. "Too British for me, England, was that a compliment or an insult?" Then as his hands gently kneaded her ass and she shifted again, she had her answer ... and grinned. "Why thank you, kind sir!"

"My pleasure." His voice had a lazy turned-on edge to it that made her laugh.

"And mine!" She wrapped her arms around him and they lay together warm and close. Their breathing slowly synchronised. "You ok?"

"Mmm," he rumbled, "Just couldn't sleep. Too many thoughts."

"Tell me?"

"Glad to be home. Glad you're here." His arms moved to hug her to him. "Glad to be alive, really." He rolled over onto his side, taking her with him. The sudden movement startled her and her eyes widened - then she frowned as she saw his sober demeanour. Reaching down between them he touched her right hand. "It's time, Jenny; tell me about this." He reached up again and laid his fingertips on her lower lip. "And this?" <Of course he'd see it - he sees everything - and he would've felt it when we kissed. > And of course he needed to speak about this. She, too. The fear was still with her, added to other fears, but she knew she would do well to keep control of this conversation.

"Who did this to you?"

"Andy Kovacs." No hesitation and with her gaze steady on his she saw his brow knit into a frown.

"Because he wants you."

"Yes."

"And he won't take 'no' for an answer."

"Yes."

A small pause.

"Did you put something on the bruises?"

"Yes."

He touched her lip again and for an instant the frown deepened.

"Did he break the skin?"

"No."

He nodded, "Good."

Then silence.

He closed his eyes and lowered his head until it was resting on her chest. Jenny ran her hand through his hair and down across his jaw. The muscles there pulsed as he clenched and unclenched his teeth. "Rupert?" She pushed his head up so she could see his face. The skin was stretched taut across the bones and his eyes were flat and hard. "What are you thinking?" Her voice was pitched low and soft, asking him to come back from whatever dark place these episodes put him.

"I'm thinking how delighted I'll be to thrash the living daylights out of that bastard." And the accent ... edgy and raw ... was pure 'Ripper.'

"Don't." Her hand cupped his cheek. "Don't do this to yourself. Don't put yourself in this place."

"What do you mean?"

She smiled quietly. "It's nothing."

"He assaulted you!" He tried to pull his head away but she wouldn't let him. "Damnit, Jenny, he bit you!"

"Yes, he did." Her hand moved to stroke his neck but her eyes never left his, waiting for the colour of them to reassert itself: waiting for the pale green-brown to rediscover itself amongst the unyielding silver they'd become. "Let it go, Rupert."

She would never call him 'Ripper.' She'd heard Ethan Rayne use it and use it as a torment ... and god knows Rupert tormented himself with it. These episodes came on him so quickly and left him again so slowly. Even after she'd been possessed by Eyghon, in those hours that immediately followed when the demon had taken her but did not yet fully control her, she'd been aware of him, stretched out with her on this sofa, his arms around her willing her to sleep, aware of him shuddering as his own 'possession' slowly washed away. He'd been tense then, too, his chest a solid wall. Then, as now, nothing about him spoke of comfort: pliable metal transformed into hard-edged steel. She'd known then that he would've killed to keep her safe ... would've died to keep her safe ...

"Are you going to report him to Principal Snyder?" He still sounded so angry. Jenny shook her head. "I don't understand why not."

Her response was a whispered, "Kiss me. Softly." For a moment she thought she'd misjudged him, but then, as he blinked in surprise at her request, his face gentled. His lips were silk against hers. She allowed herself a smile as he leaned away from her again. "Now again ... harder."

"Your lip ... " he demurred.

" ... will hurt. I know, but please, Giles, kiss me!"

And he did. Hard and fast. His mouth slanting across hers. His tongue, a warm, moist invader. Her moan pulled him back.

"Jenny ... " A growled warning ... or a plea.

She sat up and raked her hands back through her hair. He didn't move and she looked back down at him, the anxious expression on his face, the deep concern in his eyes and knew for utter certainty that she never had and never would love anyone as she loved this man. But more than that, she trusted him, with her heart, yes, but also with her very life. And if not her life, then her soul. And so ...

"This hurts," she touched her mouth, "So I have to believe that the damage is real. You were in absolute agony, so I have to believe that the attacks on you were for real."

He tilted his head, wondering where this was going. "What do you mean?"

"Could they have the same source?" She shook her head at her lack of courage. Even now, even after the madness she'd endured with him over the past year, she still couldn't come out and say it, say, 'Hey, this shit is the Hellmouth. Right?'

"Kovacs?" He sat up cross-legged and wrapped his robe around himself.

"Could he have done something to you?" And saying it crystallized it. She was right about this – she knew that now.

"Done something to me? Such as?"

"I don't know."

"Poisoned me with something?"

“I don't know!”

"And why would he want to ... " The last pieces came into place, drifting down between them like leaves in the Fall. He looked at Jenny with horrified eyes and she nodded. <Of course, if not the Hellmouth, then the man. Magick calls to magick. Power to power. > She'd seen what he had only guessed at. "It would have to be a spell of some sort. How?" He narrowed his eyes. "Tell me everything that's happened between you and him."

**********************

“So he’s a warlock?” Xander asked, his usual ‘saying-it-aloud-kinda-brings-it-into-focus’ question.

“Yes,” Giles confirmed, “And a very powerful one.”

“Because?” Xander again.

“Because a witch... ” Giles pulled a face as he corrected himself for gender, “ … a warlock normally requires something that belongs to the target of the spell in order to make that spell work properly.”

“And nothing of yours is missing.”

Giles turned his head and nodded to his Slayer.

“Exactly.”

“So this is no wimpy ‘Buffy’s bracelet’ spell?”

In spite of himself, Giles smiled at Xander’s statement. “Possibly, I’m not sure yet, but whatever it is I suspect that defeating it may be beyond this aging spell caster.”

“Hence the Council of War?” asked Buffy, not for the first time sounding exactly like her Watcher.

“Hence the Council of War.” Giles looked at the faces around him: the entire Scooby Gang. He’d need all of them, he suspected, and Angel, and felt his guts clench. Some day he knew it would be one request too far, one fight too many, one moment when the saving of one of their number would probably get all of the others killed. <Don’t let it be here. Now. Please>

“But why is he doing this?” Cordelia asked. “What does he want?”

“Me.” All heads turned to Jenny. “He wants me.”

“So that leaves the ‘Just Say No’ campaigners with egg on their faces.” Xander muttered.

“But why the spell?” Cordelia objected. “Why doesn’t he just shoot you, or stab you, or poison you, or throw you off the pier, or run you down …”

“Cordy!” Xander snapped.

“Hey, I’m helping! I’m asking questions! This is me helping!”

“Alright.” Giles held up his hands before this erupted into a full-blown row. “Cordelia has brought up an interesting point.” He glared at her before she could throw some ‘triumphant’ remark at Xander. “Part of it, I think, is that he wants to make me suffer and all of Cordelia’s suggested methods of killing me… ” That got Cordelia a glare from Buffy, “… are too quick to serve that purpose. But I think the main reason is because they lack elegance.”

“ ’Elegance’?” Buffy parroted Giles’s word as if she’d misheard him … or hadn’t and thought maybe one of Kovacs’s spells had driven him suddenly mad.

“The spell reflects the spell caster.” Giles explained. . “Oooh!” Willow joined in for the first time. “Like mine! I’m kinda new at it and so my spells are kinda … well … uncontrolled?”

Giles nodded, “Exactly.” All heads turned to look at him. “In the past my spells have been ‘kinda uncontrolled’”

“And now?” Xander again.

“Kinda heroic.” This from Buffy.

“Kinda awesome.” Willow.

And from Jenny, grinning. ”Kinda sexy.”

Then everyone grinned, Giles with them, proud beyond words of all of them; that once again they were ‘laughing in the face of danger’ and again not running away.

“Well,” Giles drawled, “Be that as it may, as I said this spell is an elegant one.”

“So where does this elegance come in?” asked Buffy.

“Spells are, for the most part, all about full frontal assault. However, the spell being worked on me apparently allows the caster to be creative. He’s subtly manipulating the effects of the spell in order to cause certain physical stresses in me.”

“Is this something we should’ve seen earlier, Giles?”

“No, Willow, it’s not.” Of course she’d be the one to ask this question. This was a matter of magick and she was becoming more attuned to that realm with each passing day. But this was not something that any of them should berate themselves for. “This is an immensely clever spell cast by an immensely powerful warlock – and none of us could have seen it earlier than we have.”

“So, research?”

“Yes, Buffy, research.” The Gang started to rise, the stacks calling to them, but Giles stopped them with a raised hand. He spoke quietly into the sudden silence in the room. “Cards on the table.” Everyone’s eyes were on him. “I’m getting weaker. This spell is designed to kill me by degrees and, eventually, there will come a point when I won’t be able to assist you any longer.” He looked at each of them in turn. “Do you understand?”

“Of course we understand.” Willow looked close to tears. “You need our help and we’re going to find the answer.”

“I don’t suppose killing him would be the answer?” The tone of Buffy’s voice was blistering. She felt hot inside, ready to fight. So Kovacs wanted Miss Calendar? Well he wasn’t going to get her and he sure as hell wasn’t going to get her Watcher either.

“It wouldn’t be the first one that springs to mind, no.” Giles’s tone was as dry as she’d ever heard it.

Buffy wasn’t deterred. “Well if it’s the second, just remember me, the girl with the stake … and probable cause!”

“He’s a human being, Buffy.” Giles gently reminded her.

“Yeah?” Her voice still dripped with fire. “You sure? ‘Cos I haven’t seen any evidence of that!” Giles stared at her, one eyebrow raised but Buffy refused to be quelled. “Nobody gets my Watcher or my Watcher’s honey!”

“Alright.” Giles nodded, clearly intent on moving on now that they’d both made their positions clear. “So, shall we start?

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