From: owner-buffyfic@lists.xmission.com (buffyfic-digest) To: buffyfic-digest@lists.xmission.com Subject: buffyfic-digest V2 #296 Reply-To: $SENDER Sender: owner-buffyfic@lists.xmission.com Errors-To: owner-buffyfic@lists.xmission.com Precedence: bulk buffyfic-digest Wednesday, August 12 1998 Volume 02 : Number 296 In this issue: BUFFYFIC: "Faith" -- "Part One: If Not For Misery" (1a/9) BUFFYFIC: "Faith" -- "Part One: If Not For Misery" (1b/9) See the end of the digest for information on (un)subscribing to the buffyfic or buffyfic-digest mailing lists and on how to retrieve back issues. ---------------------------------------------------------------------- Date: Wed, 12 Aug 1998 02:13:03 EDT From: Subject: BUFFYFIC: "Faith" -- "Part One: If Not For Misery" (1a/9) Feedback: YES! I've spent two months on this story, and I'd really, really like to know what people think of it. Vampyric Lore Disclaimers: "Wyrm" and "Garou" are both terms from the White Wolf Roleplaying universe. The rest of the Buff-stuff belongs to the Great God Joss, and anything that you don't recognize outside of that is mine. Lyric Disclaimers: "If Not For Misery" is copyright The Rembrandts, off their first CD. "Happy New Year" is copyright Semisonic, off "Feeling Strangely Fine". "The Path Of Thorns", "Elsewhere", "Fear", and "Circles" are copyright Sarah McLachlan. "The Dreaming Tree" is Dave Matthew's Band's. "Firecracker" and "How" belong to Lisa Loeb. And finally, "Ode To Family" belongs to the Cranberries. Even though they'll likely never see this story, I'd like to thank each of these artists for their amazing, inspiring songs. Thank Yous: To Sarah and Nastassia, for beta-reading. Also, to Jen for beta- reading and for crying at this one. And to Alex, for the title. Distribution: Not without my permission, please. Timeline: Begins a few days before New Year's Eve, 1998 -- the fall after the events of "Becoming, II" ~ "Faith" "Part One: If Not For Misery" By Rachel Brody //So hard we try to make it like before Beyond these walls there must be something more Where love won't die, it's time to say good-bye. We need to let it go, it's not the love we used to know Oh listen, can't you see? If not for misery, we'd have nothing left at all.// -The Rembrandts, "If Not For Misery" "Will?" Willow glanced up from her desk, toward the window-- and saw Angel there. She offered a weak smile. "Hey," she said quietly. The smile Angel returned was even weaker, and Willow felt her heart sink. "Didn't go too well, did it," she said. It wasn't a question. Nonetheless, Angel shook his head. "Not...no." He swallowed. Standing, Willow moved to the window, her steps soft on the carpet. She sat on the bed, looking toward the vampire, wondering at all that had passed since last spring. After Whistler had gotten Angel out of Hell, the vampire had brought Buffy home, and they had all assumed everything would be as it had been. Before. They'd been wrong. Scared and scarred, Buffy had refused every attempt any of them had made at contact. Angel had gone to her, tonight, at Willow's urging...Willow had hoped he would have been able to talk sense into Buffy before she and Giles left Sunnydale to pursue what Buffy called "a more traditional Slayer lifestyle, you know?" From the red stains that laced Angel's cheeks, starting at his eyes and running over his pale skin in a downward direction, Willow could see things hadn't gone as she had hoped at all. "What happened?" she asked, though she wasn't entirely sure she even wanted to know. Angel shook his head, and when he spoke, his voice shook. "I hurt her too badly," he said quietly. "Oh, no," Willow told him quickly, shaking her head and reaching out for his hand. "Angel, you didn't, I mean, we all knew it, it wasn't you, because you'd never hurt her--" "Willow," Angel stammered, turning his mournful gaze upon her once more. "Stop. Please." She fell silent, then sighed as her gaze moved to the floor. "It was my fault. All of it," Angel said. "From the moment I asked Darla to show me her world...all of it's been my fault." Willow swallowed, then looked at him and shook her head. "It's not," she said quietly. When it looked as though he might interrupt her, Willow pressed on. "Angel, you were one of her closest friends, she can't just push you _away_ like that, you know. She cares about you too much." "She _doesn't_!" Angel burst out, his voice coming sudden and almost harshly. Willow pulled away, and her quick motion caught his attention. He sighed. "Sorry," he said. "But Willow..." He shook his head. "You shouldn't have brought me back," he said. Confused, Willow shook her head. "But Whistler's the one--" "Before that," he interrupted. "You should have let her kill me." He sighed, looking at his hands, then running one nervously through his hair. "She would have killed me and it all woulda been okay, then." Willow bit her lip, watching him. Wondering. She'd been so hopeful, at first, that everything would be okay between Angel and Buffy, because she had tried so _hard_ to help them be together, because they were so _perfect_ with one another...she could remember all the nights she and Buffy had stayed up on the phone, back before Angel and Buffy had gotten together, when Buffy would just go on and on for hours on end, talking about him. And of course, every time Willow stopped to say that maybe Buffy liked him, the Slayer would deny it with a giggling sort of vehemence that put them both into stitches. Later, Willow had stood by and been there while Buffy told her all about the relationship, all about what was going on. Buffy had done the same for Willow when Oz came around. Even though by that point, the she was being forced to deal with the sudden death of her own relationship. Now...Willow had thought that by bringing Angel back, she would be able to make Buffy happy. She'd seen her friend dying, being killed by inches, and thought that if she could restore Angel it might make some sort of difference. It had, just not the sort she had wanted it to make. She sighed, and looked at Angel, her voice suddenly far more quiet than it had been before. "I'm sorry," she said. "I just thought it would help." Angel looked up at her, confusion on his face for a few seconds before he shook his head. "No!" he said. "Willow, I didn't mean I'm blaming you or anything. Don't think that, okay?" And the feelings behind the words were genuine. Taking them at face value, Willow nodded. "'Kay," she said. A few seconds later, she sighed. "But...you couldn't talk her into staying?" Angel shook his head. "She told me she didn't want to see me. Ever again." Willow swallowed. That _was_ worse than she had expected. "What about Giles?" she asked. "His first responsibility is to her welfare," Angel sighed. "And even if he wants her to stay here, at this point in time he's probably right...getting away from me is best for her." "Her mom?" Angel gave her an almost rueful look. "She hasn't talked to her mom since she got back," he reminded her. Willow nodded, she knew that. It was just that she had thought, maybe something might have changed since the last time she had seen the Slayer. Maybe Buffy's mom would be willing to have a mind that was a little more open, maybe the Slayer herself would be willing to give Mrs. Summers a little more time to assimilate what was going on. But they both had blind expectations of each other, ones that far outstretched what either was capable of in the immediate future. Which left Buffy staying at Giles' apartment while he quit his job as Sunnydale High's librarian to stay there and train her. Realizing that the silence in the room was growing more and more prominent as the seconds passed, Willow glanced up from the floor and looked back to Angel. Or at least, where he had been sitting. Like he had done so many times before, the vampire had simply vanished into the darkness outside. Willow sighed, glancing back toward her desk. She couldn't go out this late at night, her mother would kill her. She had tried sneaking out last night and gotten caught. If Giles and Buffy were packing, they wouldn't answer the phone. But...she needed to talk to them. Standing, Willow crossed the room to her telephone, then she lifted the receiver off the hook and dialed the first number she had ever memorized after her own. The phone rang four times, and then he picked up. "Hello?" "Xander?" Willow said, her voice shaking a little, "we need to talk." "Sure, Will, shoot." "Angel was just here." There was momentary silence on the other end, no doubt Xander was trying to keep himself from saying anything more until he knew exact circumstances. Willow pressed on. "He says Buffy and Giles are leaving." Another silence, but this one broke far faster than the last. "How's he know?" "He went to try and patch things up," Willow replied. On the other end of the line, Xander sounded uneasy. "You want to go check things out?" he asked. Willow nodded, though she knew he couldn't see the gesture. "Yeah," she said. "If you can." "Sure. Cordie's here. She can give us a lift." Willow nodded, and they quickly exchanged good-byes before she hung up and moved to tell her parents she had forgotten, but Xander had wanted her to come over and tutor him for tomorrow's exam in...her thoughts raced as she tried to come up with a good class...the pre-calc exam. She sighed. Like her parents would accept that Xander, having fulfilled the math requirements he needed for a diploma, would subject himself to pre-calculus. Maybe, she thought to herself, they would just accept it this time. She hoped. * "Buffy," Giles sighed, watching as his charge piled jeans and t-shirts into a suitcase, "don't you think this course of action may be a bit rash?" The Slayer shook her head, pushing the top of the suitcase down and effortlessly pulling the zipper so it closed. "No," she said. "I've been here three months. What better place to start a new year than _somewhere else_?" Giles sighed again and moved to assist her with the suitcases, only to have her lift them effortlessly in a gesture that clearly told him just how obsolete his chivalry was when he was dealing with a child of the 90s. "Perhaps," he acquiesced, "and yet Angel did seem quite sincere, and I know--" "Don't say that," Buffy said sharply, coming back up the stairs and moving back into the room he had given her when she had realized she wasn't going to be able to fit back into the mold her mother had created for her daughter's return. Giles' brow knit in confusion. "What?" he asked. "His name," Buffy replied. "Don't say it." Giles sighed, nodded. "Very well," he said. "But you realize that you're simply running away again." "So stop me," she said, her eyes flashing angrily at him. "Make me stay." "Buffy, that's not at all the point--" "Then what's the point?" she asked, her voice oddly calm. She shook her head when Giles didn't answer, and looked around the room. "This...Sunnydale's a place I don't wanna be right now. Or ever, if that can be swung. It's nicer out in the woods. And you've always told me I needed to concentrate more on my duties as a Slayer, right? So where's your complaint here? I'm gonna work and I'm gonna be the best. End of problems." "It's not quite that simple," Giles said. "You've been debating this for several weeks now, you know I'll back you whatever your final decision, and yet--" "Pass me that outfit over there, would you?" Giles passed the tank top and cutoff jeans before continuing. "--and yet it's quite clear that the event that cemented this plan of action, for you, was the fact that An-- that he came to speak with you tonight." Buffy scoffed, turning back to him. "You think he's got that kind of effect on me anymore?" She shook her head, her voice falling slightly. "I'm numb to him, Giles. Him and everything he does." She swallowed, suddenly looking like the same vulnerable, scared girl-child she had been when Angel had first brought her back from her five months of self-imposed exile from Sunnydale. "It's a dam I'm not gonna open up again. Feeling anything. About him." Giles sighed, moving toward her with a sigh, giving her a slight hug before taking a step back. "Buffy," he said, lifting her chin slightly so she was meeting his eyes instead of looking at the floor. "I realize this is painful. But I don't want you to make any decisions you're going to regret later on." She rolled her eyes. "Oh, please," she said. "What is there to regret? Education? No, since I got expelled. Friends? No, I keep getting them in trouble. A life? I think we scratched that one off the boards _way_ back there." She straightened slightly, her posture improving as her eyes took on an air of defiance. "This is what's best for me," she said. "For now." "For now," she agreed. "And if, at any point in the future--" "--if I get prepared to let things get complicated again, yeah, we can come back. But I don't think that's gonna happen and I know it's not that kind of time, now." Giles looked at his Slayer, wanting for all the world to say something that would make her understand that running away was the furthest from the best thing for her to be doing right now. But he had tried every strategy he knew of, short of going to Willow and Xander himself and having them come to say something to her. That would have been far too much a betrayal of trust, and trust was something Buffy had a hard time giving these days. He wasn't willing to risk losing it over something that could easily hurt more than it would help. As Buffy picked up the final suitcase, then left the room, Giles turned back to look at it. Bare, empty, it reflected nothing of the personality of the person who had just finished cleaning it out, which would have made him feel nostalgic if not for the fact that Buffy had never put up posters or pictures anyway. The room had been bare since she had moved into it, and in the past three months she had shown no indication of wanting to change that. As he left the room, following her, Giles refused to let himself notice the lack of decoration about the place. Boxes filled with his books, his weapons, his furniture, and everything else that had once made this apartment feel anything close to a home lined the walls of the front hall, waiting for the movers who would come and take them the next day. Buffy was right, in some ways. Living in the cabin the Network had secured for them would certainly give her more time to perfect her methods. It would allow him the luxury of having her attention twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, and for once he felt no tredeptation regarding whether or not she would be capable of putting forth the required concentration for her studies as the Slayer. The problem, Giles thought silently as he pulled the door of his apartment closed, locked it, and turned to go to the street where Buffy was already waiting in the car, was that he wasn't sure if her newfound myopia was a good sign, or quite the opposite. ~ (More to come) ~ Comments to KylenRevik@aol.com, please. ------------------------------ Date: Wed, 12 Aug 1998 02:13:13 EDT From: Subject: BUFFYFIC: "Faith" -- "Part One: If Not For Misery" (1b/9) See part 1 for disclaimers and notes. ~ Cordelia's car had barely pulled up in front of Giles' apartment building when Willow pushed the door open and ran toward the door. Xander arrived behind her a split second later, and once she had parked, Cordelia was close behind. "Are they in there?" she asked. Willow turned back, shook her head. "The lights are out." Xander rattled the doorknob. They couldn't be gone, couldn't be. He and Cordelia could have moved faster, they could have found some way to get here sooner, and if they had, maybe they'd have still been here-- and yet, if he let himself think that way, he would become too weighed down by guilt to function as the situation required. So instead, he fought down the guilt and turned to Willow. "Did Angel say where they were going?" he asked. Willow shook her head. "Some cabin," she replied. "Well, what are we, you know, waiting for...right?" Xander and Willow turned toward the third, and Xander felt a flush of pride in Cordelia's suggestion. Damn, but she had come far. Unfortunately... "We don't know where the cabin is." Cordelia's cheeks turned bright red, matching her lipstick. Which had almost completely worn off. Xander grinned inwardly for a moment, before shoving his thoughts back into line. He had no business thinking about _that_ while Buffy and Giles were splitting town. "Angel might know," Willow piped up. "Yeah, but what makes you think Dead Boy would help us?" Xander asked. When Willow gave him a hurt look, he sighed. "He might tell me," Willow replied. "He might. If you could find him. Which, unless he wants you to, you won't." Xander felt an inward wince at his tone, but knew there wasn't a hell of a lot he could do to stop it. He couldn't help his feelings toward Angel, nor could he help that knowing Angel might be able to help when he couldn't made him feel...well, jealous. Slightly. "Maybe the Bronze?" Cordelia asked. Willow shook her head. "He's been avoiding it," she said. "Too many memories, he says." "And yet he wants to pick things up with Buffy. Not too many memories there, huh?" Xander swallowed at the look Willow gave him, one that clearly said if he didn't cut the attitude, she would cause him bodily harm. "Actually, maybe I'll shut up now." Willow looked back at Cordelia. "We could try it anyway," she said. With a nod from Cordie, the three were moving back to the car, which soon pulled away from the curb once more. * Tracking wasn't a skill Angel had practiced in a while. Not as himself, he thought as a memory of stalking Buffy through someone else's eyes snapped into his head. He shook the memory away, not wanting any part of the demon who had caused both him and those around him so much pain. Luckily, with his extrasensory abilities, Angel found it was like riding a bike-- he had done it before, and it was easy enough to pick up again now. And it wasn't as though he could ever forget Buffy's scent, or the way his intuition had kicked him in the gut every time he'd ever been near her. Tracking someone while riding a motorcycle, now that was new. The fundamentals were the same, but he had to react so much faster than he was used to, and being a vampire that meant split second and then some. The two-lane highway Buffy and Giles had used to get out of town was easy enough to ride along, in a silence that was absolute, except for the roar of his bike. It was mid-winter, the nights were long, and he had at least six hours before the sun would come up. Angel was praying like he hadn't done since he was human that he would find them before the sun rose, because there was nowhere to hide out here and he wasn't sure if he'd be able to pick up a day- old trail even if he did somehow manage to survive the sunlight. The biggest problem, Angel soon found, was that the memories were threatening to wear him down the same way the rest of his life had been trying to do for over two hundred fifty years. Every breath he took, something reminded him of Buffy in the worst of ways. Even the bike. Remembering the first time she'd seen his Harley, her reaction, the joking tone in which she'd said motorcycles were a definite turn-on...it had been ages before they had done anything to pursue the "on", and yet still, remembering the wicked, playful look in her eyes, Angel couldn't help but wonder why he had wasted the time in getting to the point of things. But then again, he'd wasted so much time over the span of his life, he supposed a few months, even a few years or decades, shouldn't make any sort of difference. But...there _was_ a difference in Buffy's case. Because she was the Slayer. Forbidden love was always the most fulfilling, or so Angel had thought. Now it was more a matter of keeping himself from dwelling on what would happen when, inevitably, Buffy began to grew old. If she grew old. Or, more inevitably, when she died. He shivered at that thought, the motion jostling the bike a little. Angel shifted his weight to keep control of it, ignoring the wind in his face in favor of the thoughts in his mind. She would grow old, or die, or both, and sooner or later he would be without her. He couldn't make her a vampire, she would never let him. He didn't want her as a vampire, either. He wanted her. Buffy. As his. Or better, as a part of him. Fat chance, he thought ruefully, after everything Angelus had done to her. The road curved, and Angel took it tight, feeling the cycle's wheels skidding under him, threatening to throw the bike out of control. He found, oddly enough, that he hardly cared. So what if he went over the edge of the road, into the woods? Who would be around to care? Not Buffy, she had made that abundantly clear. He snorted to himself, disgusted with the way things had turned around on him. When Whistler had told him he could leave Hell, Angel's first reaction had been to say he didn't deserve to leave, he deserved to rot. Whistler, of course, hadn't seen it that way...no, he had told Angel that there were people back on Earth who needed him and to get his ass off the lava and back into the real world. Things had been fine-- at first. Then they had rapidly soured as everyone involved realized they were trying to hard to make everything go back to how it had been before. Fights. Screaming. Threats. "If you hadn't"'s. "If I had--"'s. Accusations, skeletons coming out of closets people hadn't even realized existed. And always, he and Buffy were on different sides. When Xander accused him of being a soulless, selfish bastard, Buffy had agreed that _Angelus_ had hurt them all. When Willow had found out Buffy was trying to leave, Cordelia had been backed up by Xander when she said maybe Buffy needed a little break-- and then the three of them and Angel had found themselves trying to pound that through the head of a Slayer too distraught to listen. None of them could seem to get through to Giles, these days. Angel shuddered. Giles, at least, tolerated him. God knew how, because Angel had probably caused him the most pain of all of them, except for Buffy herself. But tolerating him, apparently, had nothing whatsoever to do with listening to his suggestions or letting him near the Slayer. And tonight, Angel knew, he had done it for good. Things were over, and yet he still couldn't let go. He still needed to know that, if she wasn't going to let him be near her, she would at least be safe. He couldn't be sure of that when she was with Giles, only. And though he was sure he would feel it if anything ever happened to her, he couldn't make himself believe it enough to let Buffy off on her own somewhere. As the road dodged through and into a small forest, the trees dense and dark, Angel felt a chill run through his body. Garou might be out here, and he didn't want anything less than he wanted to be found, alone and unarmed, having to face a pack of werewolves on their own turf. Oz was one thing, immature and incapable of harnassing what he really was. A pack was something entirely different. Thanks to the chill, he nearly discounted the twist in his stomach. But then it came again, stronger. Buffy. He gunned the bike's engine, feeling the wind pick up even more as he zig-zagged through a few more sharp curves. Then, up ahead, he could make out light. Flickering and unsteady, but blazing in the darkness. A knot rose up in his throat as he saw where the light was coming from. "Oh no. No, no..." Angel heard someone saying, in his voice, as the motorcycle squealed to a stop and he practically jumped off, running the last twenty meters to the edge of the blaze that surrounded not only a large, dead tree...but an old, beat up, outdated clunker of a car, as well. He didn't stop until he could almost feel the flames licking at his flesh, and when it came to that point Angel realized he could go no further. "Buffy," he whispered, for the car was unmistakably Giles'. No one else drove a heap of junk like that. Yet when he reached the edge of the flames, so that he could almost feel them licking at his boots, he could go no further. The fire was too deep to see in further than the end of the car's hood, the paint blistering and the metal twisted, glass shattered and melting on the road. Angel took another half-step forward, knowing he couldn't just leave her in there. Even if she was nothing but ash, he had to get her out. It wasn't until his foot left the ground to take him into the flames that a hand fell on his shoulder. "You'll serve no purpose, going in there, friend." Angel jerked around, and felt a violent shudder run through his body as he faced what he had feared meeting in the forest-- a Garou, in human form. It was only the eyes that made it clear what the Garou was-- long, yellow slits instead of normal human irises. Angel tossed glances around the edges of the darkness where the flames from the care ended, but saw no other shadows. He looked back at the Garou, swallowing, telling himself he could take on just one of these easily enough. "I've got a friend in there," he said. The Garou looked at him gravely, and shook his head. "No," he said. "We have her. And the old one." Angel raised an eyebrow. "Where?" he asked. "With the pack," the Garou replied, cocking his head slightly and looking at Angel with the same wolfish look that Angel had seen in all their expressions, every time he had met one. They were almost as suspicious as vampires, almost as exclusive a club to join, and far more loyal to one another than anything Angel had seen in vampire covens. And they hated vampires with a passion. So it was no wonder a pack had saved the Slayer. But then, why was he being told she was safe? They had to know who he was, or at least what he was. "You know what I am, right?" he asked. When the Garou nodded, Angel took a quick breath. "I don't want an ambush, Garou," he said, his voice rough. "There will be none. I've called you Friend." He said it as though it should be taken for granted, then offered a hand. "On whose authority?" Though he was far from well-versed in the intricacies of the Garou honor code, Angel knew at least that as far as calling another-- especially one infected with what they knew as the Wyrm, and Angel's kind called a demon-- Friend could be a big deal. And not one that would be honored if done improperly. "My own," the Garou said, his voice remaining calm. Angel looked at him for a few long seconds, then nodded. It wasn't as though he had a choice, if Buffy had been taken by the Garou. As sure as he was that they would take care of one of the world's most potent weapons against the Wyrm, he couldn't take something as important as Buffy's safety on faith. Not from a Garou, at any rate. "Fine," Angel finally acceded. "Let me get my bike." He moved toward his motorcycle, then stopped as he heard a snarl. He turned back to the Garou, who was glaring at him. "Come _on_," he sighed. "It's faster." "And it causes harm to Gaia. Leave it here." For a moment, Angel considered refusing. He felt the blood in his veins, which had been reacting to the presence of the Garou since he had first realized it was here, run a little faster, a little harder. Then he fought the urge to attack the thing, and veered away from his bike. "Alright, it stays." The Garou's lips, which had been curled back in a snarl, relaxed and closed. Angel nodded toward the woods. "So let's go," he said. Without another word, the Garou nodded and moved away into the darkness. * "Take her to a hospital." "We can help her here. _They_ can help her more?" "More than your-- than this ridiculous nature-healing crap you idiots are trying to pull!" The angry voices, escalating, hurt her mind. The very air itself hurt her body. Everything else, it seemed, hurt her soul. Beside her, someone was talking softly. Further away, she could feel soft hands rubbing some sort of cream onto her arm. And someone else was chanting in a voice so low as to be almost inaudible. Giles, where was he? What had happened? She couldn't crack her eyes open, the flesh hurt so badly, and so she was stuck watching the movie that kept replaying those last few seconds on the road in the Imax of her mind. Her own voice, shouting as something had rushed across the road, Giles jerking beside her and the wheel going to one side, her swearing, the shattering of glass, Giles suddenly unconscious beside her. Her seatbelt had been stuck. Her legs, trapped in the mangled mess that had been the dashboard of the car. The nearly- non-existent crumple zone of the hood smashed up all around the front hood. A pain in her side, in her stomach. A broken rib, perhaps. It still ached, but not as badly as the rest of her. She couldn't remember what had come next, until strong, warm arms had lifted her from the unconscious stupor that had settled over her and she murmured his name, knowing it couldn't be him, because she had sent him away. That thought brought out a half-formed sob, which in turn wracked her body and made her want to scream in pain. The voices were still speaking. "She needs medical care. Like, from somebody with a _degree_." "She cannot be moved." The first voice was so familiar, laced with pain and caring, and when Buffy realized who it was that was speaking she wished she was still stuck in the neverland of semi-consciousness. "She _has_ to be!" "They would pollute her body the same way they have polluted the Mother. She must stay here. We will keep her pure." There was a pause, and then Angel's voice again. "I don't want her pure, I want her _alive_, dammit!" She moaned softly at the tone of his voice. That frustrated, caring, and yet not understanding way Angel had shown so prominently since he had returned from Hell. When he would listen to her and still not hear what it was she was saying, when she would have to resort to screaming to make him hear anything at all. And now he was using it with whoever this other person was. "It is light out now, Childe of Cain. Do you wish to take her back with you and make it no further than the door of the pack's dwelling? Or would you prefer to wait, give us the hours; we will keep her safe until then." She heard someone make a half-hearted scowling noise, almost a growl and yet not quite. Then she heard footsteps. Her eyes still closed, she could tell they were coming toward her. A thin hand fell upon her forehead, and she gasped in pain when the palm touched the cut on her forehead. The touch didn't lighten as she had hoped it would, rather it stayed firm. She heard a soft voice, a calm one. "You will live to see sundown, child." Fighting the burning pain in her throat, Buffy forced herself to speak, despite the way everything that was her screamed when she so much as took a breath. "Giles...okay?" There was a soft chuckle above her. "He should awake before sunset, as well." Then, as suddenly as it had come, the hand left her forehead and she heard the owner of the voice walking away. At the same time, the chant died, and the hands that had been on her arms left. Two more sets of footsteps slowly left the room, and Buffy was alone. ~ Comments to KylenRevik@aol.com, please. ------------------------------ End of buffyfic-digest V2 #296 ****************************** To subscribe to buffyfic or buffyfic-digest, send the command subscribe buffyfic-digest or subscribe buffy to majordomo@xmission.com. You will need to go through a confirmation process, and the listowners have to manually approve your subscription request, so it may take some time. 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