Bloodletting

Bad Blood

Faith’s mind was numb from hours of sitcom after boring sitcom. As the tiny little monochrome people moved across the screen, she yawned. The theme to The Andy Griffith Show came on. She contained the urge to break the monotony by whistling. This is just— Removing the headphones, she switched the TV off.

After carefully stretching, her attention came to rest on Amy, who dozed in the recliner next to her bed. Faith restrained her voice in an effort not to startle her friend. “Amy, go home. I’m a big girl. I’ll be fine.” It’s touching. She’s been here since I got out of recovery. Twentyish hours. No clue what the deal is, but it’s time to cut her off. One of us should find the fun. God knows, it won’t be me.

Amy mumbled, “Why should I?” sounding absolutely beat. Her eyes opened a crack. She slid around in her chair, obviously stiff and uncomfortable. Meeting Faith’s gaze, she said, “You didn’t leave me.”

Unable to control the surprise, Faith snapped, “That was different.” Is that what this is about? Oh, please! She seriously needs to get over it. That’s ancient history. She folded her arms. “You needed someone to make sure—”

She didn’t get to finish her thought. Amy cut her off with a snarky game of fill in the blank. “To make sure I lived? To stop me from going to see Rack again? To care?” Scowling stubbornly, she grumbled, “Not leaving.”

Faith got that she’d been vetoed. Whatever. She mumbled, “Alright,” through a sigh. She was still pretty miserable from the surgery. Arguing’s pretty pointless. She’s a big girl too. Uncrossing her arms, she laid them at her sides before conceding. “Suit yourself. It’s not like I can make you. But you should think about eating something.”

The defiant edge faded from Amy’s expression and she replied, “Giles and Jonathan were here while you were asleep. They said they’d bring me something.” Her posture relaxed. She settled back in the recliner. It wasn’t long before she was dozing again.

I just wish she’d take care of herself. That’s all any of this was ever about. I couldn’t let her destroy herself. There’s too much there worth keeping.

Faith put the headphones back on and returned her attention to the TV. Anything to pass the time. At least they say I’m outta here tomorrow. Thank God! I hate these places. They smell like sterile death.

Time crept by. The television got no better.

Eventually, a silhouette cast on the curtain caught Faith’s eye. A nurse? But they usually say something. She reached for the headphones.

A blur of motion overwhelmed her senses. She was mashed to the bed. Pain shot through into her neck.

It took a sec, but she caught up. She was pinned by a small, blonde vamp. Struggling to push her assailant away, Faith kicked and swung. Wickedly fast and strong as an ox. I’ll be damned! She’s finally gonna finish it.

The vampire jerked. Turning to her left, Faith just caught the end of the show. Amy had tried to move. The vamp’s foot connected with her face.

The room lost focus as blood loss claimed Faith. Her arms and legs weighed a ton. She couldn’t move.

Her eyes wouldn’t stay open. Cold and heavy, she drifted away.

The elevator doors slid open and Buffy stepped inside, with a box of flowers cradled in her left arm and the other around her witch. Willow moved aside, allowing Buffy to stab the button for the fourth floor with her free hand. As the elevator closed and it began to ascend, Buffy leaned against the opposing wall, regarding Willow.

The three-quarter length, black lambskin coat she’d chosen was tasteful and nicely tailored. It looked good on the redhead, very much appropriate for an evening on the town. And that was the point, the illusion Buffy wished to project. Costumes.

Buffy’s interest lingered. The darker of the two scarves was tied around Willow’s throat. Pretty. It pulls your attention away from the obvious. Traces of bruising were visible just above it. Having to remember to get them—

Swallowing thickly, she looked down. The bruises are really horrible. I knew they would be. I had it figured so well, I even bought two colors so she could pick what to wear.

And like a good monster, I could hide the evidence.

Guilt.

Fuck, this sucks!

Buffy glanced up when Willow asked, “What’s wrong, sweetie?”

Her witch’s expression said ‘concern,’ but Buffy brushed it off with a thin smile and a boldfaced lie. “I’m fine, Will.” The tone of her voice was too light and chipper. She kicked herself for overacting like a bad vaudeville star. Thankfully, Willow didn’t press.

What’s worse, she probably thinks she deserved it. I snapped over the round of true confession. And she took it like a sweet little victim. Just like I trained her.

We make a really fucked up pair. I punish her, she punishes me. Yeah…that’s healthy. Like I even know what the word means.

The doors opened. Buffy took her hand and stepped off the elevator. “Are you warm enough?” she asked, giving Willow’s hand a gentle squeeze.

Willow murmured, “Yeah, thanks,” as Buffy began to follow the signs, turning right and leading them down the hall.

Giving the witch a sidelong glance, Buffy replied, “I’m glad.” She pasted on the same thin smile and mumbled, “There’s a trick to finding stuff that’s warm, but looks right. You don’t want to look like Nanook of the North.” A hint of preoccupation thickened her voice. Again, Willow didn’t ask. Buffy was, after all, navigating them through the maze of corridors. It made a pretty good excuse.

I remember what it was like. Being cold like that. I don’t want that for her. When they reached the end of the hallway, she glanced at the signs and made a left.

I’ve never been colder in my life then when I woke up on that concrete floor.

It didn’t last long. I went home one final time, took a shower, packed a bag and built a fire. I’ve been burning things ever since.

Hatred can keep you pretty warm.

She guided them to the right, twisting her upper body to allow Willow to file in behind her as they passed a couple nurses with a gurney. Now she knows. I haven’t got a clue why she knows. But she knows. Once they slipped past the obstacle, Willow matched pace beside her.

Maybe it was a moment of weakness? I’ve never had one those. Not since before…

Or if I did, it was always punctuated with a body count. That, or more pretty fire.

This time it was verbal diarrhea.

As changes go…

They passed an intersection. Buffy took a quick look at the signs. The really weird thing is, I don’t think I regret it. Not that part. Not now, at least.

Give it a few months.

Whatever.

The corridor ended at a windowed alcove with matching tacky maroon furniture. The patient’s lounge was swarming with people. A young couple tried to quiet their two young children. Buffy paused, watching them. The scene made her skin crawl.

She turned left to stare down the hallway. It was bustling with activity too. Four-twenty-three, it should be just down here. She sighed and took off, confirming her suspicion by glancing at the sign as she passed. The pace she set was purposeful. No one took notice when they slipped past the knot of people clustered around the nurse’s station.

After locating the right room, Buffy poked her head in the door. A bright sunny smile lit her face.

Time to play.

The first bed was empty, so she moved on. When she peeked around the cream colored privacy curtain, her smile evaporated.

Willow stared, bewildered, as Buffy launched herself forward. The curtain billowed. A soft thud resonated through the small room. She looked down. The box of flowers had hit the floor. From behind the curtain came more thudding, crashing and scraping.

A squeal rang through the air. Just guessing, but that’s probably not a pig.

Or Faith. At least I hope it’s not Faith. Uh…

Wait, if it’s not Faith, then…?

Willow stepped forward, pushing the curtain aside. Her attention fixed on Buffy. She stood beside the bed with her right hand raised above her head. From it a petite blonde vampire hung suspended by the back of her neck. As the young vamp flailed her arms and legs, blood trickled over Buffy’s hand. A drop fell. Willow watched it hit the floor.

The bed jerked. Willow’s attention returned to Buffy’s captive. The vampire was thrashing, out of control. Buffy glared at Willow and snarled, “Will, take this thing.”

Huh?

The vamp’s heel struck her thigh.

Thing?

Buffy winced but didn’t let go.

Oh! But—

Willow melted under the fierceness of Buffy’s stare. The air around her crackled as she focused. She felt powerful and alive.

“Evincio.” Her voice was wispy like the bonds she summoned from the ether. They took hold around the vampire’s wrists and ankles.

She snapped them tight with an absent thought. The vampire’s body splayed out and Buffy let go.

An icy lump formed in Willow’s tummy, but she ignored the unrest. This is good. I’m doing good by being bad. That’s a new one.

There was a dead spot along the wall between the chairs and sink. She concentrated on moving the creature out of the way.

The young vamp whimpered. Willow muttered, “Contraho,” choking off her voice. We’ve already made too much noise. There’s just no way…

Willow reached out to touch the door with her will. It swung closed, sealing them inside.

Buffy moved to the bed and bent over the slayer. After a moment of silent inspection, she announced, “She’ll live.” But Willow couldn’t see how. The smell of death loomed in the air.

She went to Amy’s side, stooping to lift her into the chair. “She’ll live too,” she whispered. The scent of the other witch’s blood made her weak. She felt the change and was powerless to control it. Hunger gripped her and she admitted the truth. “But she smells too much like dinner for that to—” She broke off to lick her lips.

Buffy chided through a laugh. “Be nice, Will.”

Willow didn’t see anything funny about it. She looked up from where she kneeled to see Buffy wink. I’m trying to, but—

But you—

As Willow stood up and rounded the foot of the bed, a snapping sound caught her interest.

You won’t let me.

She faced her prisoner. The demon had lost its hold. She found herself looking into the pale blue eyes of a very frightened young woman. The hair that framed the girl’s face was straight and much fairer than her partner’s. Her soft, pasty features had a naïve look about them.

Buffy stood in the now open window behind the girl. “Put that thing outside,” she directed as she stepped out of the way. By her definition, we’re ‘things’ too.

Willow focused on the blood around the girl’s mouth. It made it easier for her to accept the word ‘thing.’ There just has to be a better way. This ‘thing’ is something we made. A person. Or sort of.

Maybe there’s a chance. Maybe I could give her a soul?

As the girl floated backward, Willow bent her into a fetal position. Once she was through the window, her limbs stretched out again.

There was a smile on Buffy’s face when she looked over her shoulder and said, “Closer, I wanna be able to touch her.”

The knot in Willow’s tummy moved to her throat, but she followed her partner’s order.

Buffy leaned out the window and hissed, “The slayer’s mine. Touch her again and die,” pausing for effect.

Oh, well maybe—

Willow’s hopes were crushed when Buffy continued. “This town is mine.”

No, this is territorial. She’s making a point.

The rage pouring off her mate came sharply into focus.

Buffy concluded her statement by asking, “Understand?”

The young vampire nodded and fought to croak a feeble reply. Her words weren’t words at all, just gibberish. Willow didn’t need to hear them to understand a plea for mercy.

“Flay her,” Buffy snarled.

No!

No. I can’t. Please, don’t make me.

I’ll kill her. That’d be humane.

You can’t ask that. Not and…

You want one thing, but—

It doesn’t make any—

When nothing happened, Buffy looked over her shoulder. Cold, steely eyes met Willow’s. She swallowed the lump and reached out with her right hand. Something inside her broke when she focused her will and muttered, “Excorio.” Fiery bolts arced from her fingertips. They connected with the girl, stripping her clothing and flesh. It dripped away in smoldering lumps.

Willow stared at the bloody musculature of her victim’s face and felt nothing. Dead inside, she awaited the next command.

Buffy put her hand to her chin. “Thank you. Now eviscerate her. Don’t kill. Just take the minor organs.”

Willow traced a line with her finger. Her prey opened neatly down the center. The creature’s muscles peeled back like a curtain, revealing her intestines. The organs came out in chunks no greater than a handbreadth. Sparks showered from the living carcass. The pieces made squishy sounds as they rained onto the rooftop below.

Buffy reached out to yank a stubborn piece that hadn’t fallen. What remained of the girl flinched. Willow was shocked she was still conscious. The pain must be excruciating. Her brain’s having trouble keeping up. I’ve seen this before. It’s fascinating. You’d think she’d pass out, but her brain just switched off. And desperation keeps the body going.

“’Kay, now…listen close,” Buffy hissed. “You tell your little friends I’m coming.” She looked over her shoulder to issue the next command. “Now the major muscle groups. I want it to take hours for her to move.”

Willow followed the directive with the same clinical precision. The connective tissue severed, but the joints stayed together. Muscles pulled away. They sheared into pieces as they left the body. Each one fell once she was done dissecting it. They plopped, making wet sounds when they hit the pile beneath.

When her victim’s skeleton was stripped clean, she fixated on the ribcage. A thin membrane held the organs inside. She peered through it at a small mass of muscle that lay clumped in the hollow. It looked like charred jerky. Willow wondered if her own heart was desiccated like her victim’s.

Yes.

Reaching out, Buffy caressed the girl’s skull where her cheek once was. She drew her hand back and licked the blood from her fingertips. “Drop her. Keep her together. No dust.”

Willow let the vampire go, using magic to bind the important parts together. Her victim made a crunchy, splintering sound when she struck the rooftop.

As Willow peered out the open window, Buffy shut it and closed the drapes. Moving to the sink to wash up, Buffy cast a concerned glance Willow’s direction. “Sorry ’bout that. I just wanted—”

Willow cut her off. “To send a message.” Her delicate voice held an acidic edge.

Seemingly oblivious, Buffy washed her hands. “That would be it. She’ll never be right again. Even if she does heal,” she remarked as she pulled a paper towel from the dispenser and dried off.

The last of Willow’s resolve crumbled. She fought to keep the trembling in check. It came through in her voice when she reflected, “I remember the last time. You don’t have to—”

Buffy pitched the paper towel into the trashcan under the sink and whispered, “I know you do, Will.” She turned, trying to pull Willow into an embrace.

Please don’t touch me. I don’t think I can stand it. When Willow recoiled, she saw something she never thought she’d see on Buffy’s face. The steely edge melted away, replaced by hurt.

Looking away, Buffy murmured, “I’m so sorry.” The hurt was even clearer in her tone.

Willow caved, giving in to the hug. I can’t believe she can stand to touch me after that. She has to feel this. And I look—I’m not even sure how I look, I just know it’s bad. Like death.

It didn’t matter. Buffy caressed Willow’s back and held her. She gave Willow a tender kiss and some of the energy trickled away.

Willow recalled how awful Faith had looked. She cleared her throat and pulled away. Ignoring her own needs, she said, “I’ll be okay. You need to get a doctor for these two.”

Buffy replied, “Are you sure?” When Willow nodded her consent, Buffy said, “’Kay…I’ll be right back.” Willow released her hold on the door as Buffy tore off out of the room.

She took deep breath to clear her head and closed her eyes. As she tried to siphon off some of the nasty energy, her head bowed. She couldn’t do much, just a little.

Eventually, the pressure of time brought her back. Her gaze came to rest on the long forgotten flowers. That they hadn’t been stepped on was a small miracle.

Willow located the shopping bag she’d been carrying between Faith’s bed and the curtain. How it had gotten there was a complete mystery. She had no memory of even dropping it.

The vase wasn’t broken. Her hands trembled as she filled it with water and arranged the flowers for Faith. Just something, anything useful helps. She placed them on the bedside table along with the card.

Once she was finished, she withdrew from the room to await Buffy.

Jonathan rounded the corner just down from the nurse’s desk. His attention fixed on a tiny blonde who was arguing with one of the nurses. He almost dropped the tray of fountain drinks he was carrying. “B-Buffy,” he stuttered without thinking. Oh! Good one! Call the crazy vampire’s name, that’ll keep her from killing you!

Buffy turned to look.

Oh, hell!

It took every ounce of strength he had not to turn around and run. Her expression was neutral, if not slightly amused. She couldn’t care less. Of course not, she could rend you without so much as mussing her hair. Buffy winked and returned her interest to the nurse.

Giles had already moved ahead of him. Jonathan mustered his courage and crept closer. Curiosity didn’t kill the cat. It was hesitation. He needed to hear and there was just too much noise in the waiting room next to him. That and it irritated him when the old British librarian showed more courage than he did.

Sounds suspicious. Where’s your proof? The safe bet says any smart cats would be halfway to the street by now.

He rolled his eyes. Not to mention the scaredy ones…

At least I don’t get knocked out half as much as Giles does.

Buffy spat, “Look, lady…” background noise drowned out part of what she said, but Jonathan put it together by reading her lips “…my lawyer spent more on lunch today than you make in a week. You can bet on it.”

He was within range to hear her voice when she yelled, “Don’t screw with me or I’ll own your simple ass!” He flinched. Of course, half the hospital might’ve heard that. Soda dripped from his fingers.

The funny thing, the old nurse looked completely bored. She’s gonna get herself killed.

Not missing beat, Buffy continued her tirade. “Now choices…make ’em quick, lawsuity badness or come with me. It’s not that hard.” She sounded totally dangerous, but the dense old nurse just sat there. I wonder why she’s not moving. Well, Buffy does look like she’s maybe thirteen or fourteen. And she is yelling. I might ignore her too if I didn’t know better.

Marching around the counter, Buffy snarled, “Today might be nice.” She seized the old nurse’s arm and said, “Come on, lady,” dragging her to her feet.

Jonathan was a little surprised that Buffy didn’t toss the nurse over her shoulder. It seemed like what would follow. Instead, she took off, ranting, “There’s a patient bleeding to death just down the hall.” The nurse staggered along behind her as Buffy made a beeline for Faith’s room. “How difficult can it be to do your goddamned job?”

The old nurse squawked, smacking Buffy’s arm. Buffy was totally unaffected.

Jonathan ran after them. He caught sight of Giles outside Faith’s room. He’d lost track of him while Buffy was going off. Giles was moving their way at top speed, looking extremely upset. He took the nurse’s other arm and said to Buffy, “Thank you, but I do believe we have this under—”

Buffy didn’t let go. She didn’t even slow down. Oblivious to Giles, the nurse and all of the other people around her gawking, she muttered, “Stupid, stupid woman,” under her breath. The effect was that the petite blond ended up dragging both the nurse and Giles until he wised up and let go.

Jonathan almost laughed.

At the doorway their train picked up another passenger. A scary looking black haired Willow stepped in front of him. His heart stammered. He stopped dead in his tracks, fighting the impulse to flee. But she didn’t even look at him. She just filed into the room behind the others.

Despite his better judgment, Jonathan followed her in. From behind the curtain, Buffy commanded, “Fix it, now.”

The curtain rustled and she emerged. She met Willow’s gaze and the witch asked, “We good?”

“Better,” Buffy spat, “Mindless cattle.” She took Willow’s hand and started for the door, grumbling, “Let’s bail. No good can come of this.”

Jonathan plastered himself against the wall, giving them room to pass. Without thinking, he followed them out the door, stopping just outside the room. As they strode hand-in-hand down the corridor, he couldn’t take his eyes off of them. I don’t get it. This is so weird. It’s almost like she was trying to help in her own twisted way.

But that just doesn’t make any sense. Look at Willow. Her eyes were black. And the veins. She doesn’t get that way conjuring bunnies.

I hope Faith’s oh—

No! Faith isn’t okay! You know better. Buffy was trying to—

But it doesn’t make any sense! Why would she help? She’s never helped us before. Kinda the opposite. It hasn’t been two weeks since she—

“Code blue. Trauma team report to room four-twenty-three.” The nurse’s voice echoing over the P.A. snapped him to his senses. He shuddered and stepped back into the room.

Tears streamed down Amy’s cheeks. She was powerless to stop them. Man, I should let them give me a shot, but I just know it’d make me loopy. I can’t afford to be loopy.

And trying to talk would be fun. It’s bad enough after a trip to the dentist. I can only imagine this.

When the doctor pushed on both sides of her nose, Amy whimpered. That was the only sound she made. Clenching her jaw, she bit the rest back. As the cartridge moved, her nose and eyes poured. She pressed her lips tightly together to keep the blood out. The pain was worse than actually being kicked. I didn’t think it could get worse. Stupid me.

He blotted away the mess and packed her nostrils with gauze before applying a plastic splint. When he finished taping it down, she relaxed her grip on the arms of the chair.

Amy blinked to clear her eyes and looked at Faith. Her friend was pale and unconscious. The machines clustered around the other side of her bed beeped and blinked. Another doctor was working to stabilize her. Amy asked, “She going to be okay?” She half-feared the answer.

The other doctor replied, “She’ll be just fine, Miss.”

Bastard’s worried. Why bother hiding it? He doesn’t even lie well.

The doctor attending to Amy said, “Please just sit still. I’m almost finished.”

It wasn’t hard to follow his instructions. My face feels like it might fall off. And I kinda wish it would. The pills he gave me haven’t even touched the pain.

Giles sat down next to Amy. She glanced at him. He appeared lost. She tried to recall if she’d ever seen him this way. No, Giles is the one who always has all the answers. She took the hand he offered as much to comfort him as herself. I need to get a grip. The others have to know. I can’t fall apart no matter how much I need to.

The sound of rustling paper caught her attention. Amy turned her eyes to look. It was just Jonathan setting the food on the counter next to the sink. He faced her, offering a weak smile. She wanted to return the gesture, but thought better of it.

Her doctor bailed her out by handing her an icepack. She gingerly brought it to her face. It stung like hell, but she forced herself to keep it there. Leaning back in the chair, she shut her eyes and filtered out the noise.

Giles got up to speak with her doctor as he left the room. She caught enough pieces of the conversation to get that the doctor still wasn’t thrilled. Nothing new there. He didn’t like my answer at all.

“I’ll be back to check on the bleeding in an hour. She needs to keep her head inclined. And no unnecessary movement,” the doctor said.

No problem. I’ll get right on that.

“Very well, I’ll see to it,” Giles replied, returning to take a seat. “I trust you heard that?”

“Yes,” Amy said. Her voice sounded like total crap. Worse than if she’d been pinching her nose. Without opening them, she rolled her eyes. This just couldn’t get more fun. I need to be serious and taken seriously…and I sound like Pilz-E the Squirrel on Xanax. Whatever. Doesn’t matter. I need to get this over with.

She tilted the icepack so she could speak around it. “Giles, there’s something you need to know.”

Giles leaned toward her and said, “Yes?”

Moving her lips hurt. Amy tried not to as she mumbled, “You know how I’ve been learning to read auras?” Of course, her voice sounded worse. And she had to speak very slowly to enunciate her words. Thankfully, if Giles is anything, he’s patient. She stifled a snicker. I wonder if he knows sign language. Might be easier. Charades are kinda out with the not moving. Anyway, I might pass out. And writing with my head leaned back—? Let’s not.

Amy cracked her eyelids and turned her eyes to look at Giles. He nodded and said, “Yes,” matching her subdued tone.

“Well, I’m not sure ’cause, y’know…head injury…and seeing stars. But I think Buffy had one,” Amy muttered. She paused to swallow some of the drainage. It was gross, but she didn’t really have a choice. “I was coming to when she dragged the nurse in the room. It scared the crap outta me.” Please don’t argue with me, Giles. I get that I’m not at my best, but I didn’t just see this. Or I mean, I did see it. I wasn’t seeing things. It was red and smoky. You don’t just see that. It wasn’t a trick of the light.

She was pissed! No mystery there. Nothing new.

But her aura said so too. And that’s way new.

Giles mulled over what she said. Finally, he stated the obvious, “But the only way—” or tried.

Amy finished his thought. “The only way she’d have one is if she had a soul.” To her surprise Giles didn’t object. More confident, she mumbled, “Yeah, I got that. I don’t think it was her. The vamp that attacked Faith. She was heavier than Buffy and her hair was lighter.”

Giles stammered, “But that would mean—”

It was all Amy could do not to burst out laughing. She snorted, instantly regretting it. The pain was awful. Her eye streamed with fresh tears. Giles gave her a concerned glance. She shut her eyes and muttered through clenched teeth, “I’ll be fine.” Taking a moment to scrape it together, she whispered, “Buffy was trying to help.” This is good news, Giles. It’s screwy and really hard to get your head around. But there’s hope. I’m not sure how much. And God knows, I’ll be the first to play skeptic, but—

“I thought so too,” Jonathan interjected from his place by the sink. Amy looked over and he smiled before filling in, “She was really upset out in the hall. I don’t think you saw that, Giles. It was so weird. She threatened to sue the hospital. When threats didn’t work, she just grabbed the nurse.”

“The witch, Willow, what do you make of her? She had just worked some very dark magic,” Giles said in a low, thoughtful voice.

“No clue. Head injury. Remember?” Amy mumbled. There was a vamp. And I don’t think it was Buffy. So it tracks— “Maybe she got rid of the other vamp. There’s no trace. No dust I’ve seen.”

Giles didn’t answer for a few moments. Eventually, Amy felt him move. She guessed it to be a nod. “Perhaps,” he replied. It was as close to an affirmation as Giles usually gave. He likes to keep his options open. His restrained voice sounded just above the level of the monitors. “Supposing you are correct, what do you believe we should do about it?”

“I dunno. I wasn’t suggesting we do anything,” Amy whispered. She wanted to snicker. Like that wouldn’t be a mistake. The smile hurts bad enough. “I’m not even sure what a soul would mean to someone like Buffy. I just thought you should know.”

The air was frigid. Fog rose up around Buffy, making it hard for her to see. She shut her eyes and leaned into the large metal chest, feeling around with her gloved hands. There was nothing within reach. Her feet left the ground. She balanced on her tummy and giggled. I felt a midget before I almost fell into the ginormous cooler. Now?

She dipped just a little further down and found something. Grasping a slab of dry ice, she leaned back. The tips of her boots touched and she pushed off, landing on the balls of her feet. She bent down and placed the dry ice into a normal-sized cooler. After removing the gloves, she closed the lid of the chest.

She looked over her shoulder and said, “There has to be a better way, but right now, I’m clueless. This is the best solution I’ve got.”

Willow didn’t reply. She sat at a desk in the corner of the smallish, dimly lit room. Her face was illuminated by the glow of a computer monitor and whatever hocus pocus she was up to. She was so into it that she didn’t even bat an eye. Uh-boy. Computer plus Willow pretty much always equals felony. I wonder what it is this time.

Taking an insulating liner from the stack on the shelf, Buffy knelt and lined the cooler. “So, whatcha stealing now?” she asked, choking off a laugh.

As Willow replied, “Not exactly ‘stealing,’ more like ‘rescuing’,” Buffy picked up the cooler and crossed the room, heading for the refrigeration units.

She placed the cooler on a rolling metal cart and clarified, “So whatcha ‘rescuing’?” unable to stifle a snicker this time. She’s so bad.

Buffy moved the metal cart next to the refrigerator. After opening the door, she began to inventory the contents as Willow answered. “I’d be upset if you destroyed my property. You really don’t want me upset.”

No, no I don’t.

Buffy was way more focused on what she was doing. She mumbled to herself, “Looks like they’ve got lots of a-positive. No surprise.” This is bad enough without taking the last of something. All I need is another innocent death strung around my neck. That’d be just peachy.

But it is sorta us or them. We’ve gotta eat to live. Without us there won’t be a them, so…

I can rationalize anything. It’s a gift.

What Willow had said finally sunk in. Buffy asked, “Your ‘property’?”

The lid of the dry ice chest shut. She glanced over her shoulder. Willow was magicking another cooler together. Show off.

As Buffy loaded the first bags into her cooler, Willow explained, “The car, don’t kill it.”

A happy little flutter made Buffy giggle. She reached for two more bags of blood and said, “Really?”

Willow brought the cooler over and leaned in to whisper, “Really. It suits you. Nothing subtle.”

The breath on Buffy’s cheek made her shiver. And Willow’s voice had this slight tremble that made it gravelly. Buffy took an unneeded, much needed breath before placing the bags she held into the cooler.

Willow moved to the second fridge and began to contribute to the other heist. It took a couple minutes of Buffy feeling like everything was gonna be fine before she came to her senses. There’s no way it’s that easy. It’s never that easy. Something’s always gotta be fucked up. And what with—

Willow seemed be reading her mind. A clattering sound echoed through the room and she hissed, “Dammit!”

Buffy smelled the blood before she saw it. Quickly stashing the bags she had in hand, she rushed to her witch’s side. Willow was clutching a drippy bag in her shaking hand. The cooler lay on its side, at her feet. Bags of blood spilled out of it. They all appeared to be intact. Buffy took the torn bag from Willow and said, “I’ve got this. Go get cleaned up and sit down.”

She led Willow to the sink and went through the cupboards while her witch washed her hands. Willow tore a paper towel out of the dispenser and cursed under her breath when it rattled.

Buffy was sort of shocked to see it still hanging on the wall. She hurried, combing the cabinets and finally managed to find a mug on the desk. Setting the torn bag in the sink, she washed the mug out and filled it. Then she turned her attention to Willow. There were a few spots of blood on her coat. Buffy used a damp paper towel to clean them off.

There was still the mess on the floor, but it was the last thing that mattered at the moment. She pitched the empty bag and led Willow over to the desk, setting the mug in front of her.

When Willow took a seat, Buffy crouched down in front of her. The witch looked horrible. Her face was gaunt. The color of her skin was so intensely pale that Buffy could see the veins underneath. Buffy reached out and tucked a lock of Willow’s black hair behind her ear. A fresh twinge of guilt crept up. She tried to come up with a way to help, but nothing came to mind. Grasping at straws, she whispered, “Look, Will, there’s always a hooker or two at the truckstop on the interstate. It’s a bit of a drive, but—”

Willow took both of Buffy’s hands and said, “You really don’t get it do you, Buffy? ‘Whore’s just another way of saying ‘victim.’ Look at me.”

I am looking at you. Buffy swallowed. Her throat felt stiff. She cleared it, trying to get the lump to go away. It was useless. She mumbled, “I shouldn’t have—” She wasn’t able to finish the thought. She looked down at their joined hands. Clearing her throat again, she asked, “If you knew how bad this was gonna be, why’d you do it?”

“Because you told me to,” Willow whispered.

She can’t be serious. It’s not that simple. This shit’s never that simple. She hesitated.

That just means she thought it over. It was her choice. She could’ve said ‘no.’ I wouldn’t have taken it well. But what could I really do?

And that’s no better. That actually makes it—

While Buffy was choking on the answer, Willow put some distance between them, took a careful sip of the blood and went on. “I told you I’d follow.” Buffy leaned against the desk to listen. It was hard, but she tried to clear her mind. “That doesn’t mean ‘pick and choose.’ That means ‘follow.’ You need to decide what you want from me.”

Oh, God…

Buffy couldn’t bear to look. The ground at her feet suddenly became really interesting. What she’s talking about is something I always demanded, but never expected to get. Definitely not from someone like her. I think Luke’s the only one who ever— And he’s just a mindless zealot. If he has two brain cells to rub together to keep a thought warm, it’s ’cause I gave him permission to keep them.

“I think it was smart. It hurts like hell, but it was smart,” Willow muttered. She tried to take another sip and almost spilled the cup.

Buffy grabbed it, keeping it steady. She helped Willow drink and put the cup back on the desk. Her mouth was dry. She considered taking a sip. No, Willow needs that. It might help. She ignored her own discomfort and asked, “What makes you say that?” She sacrificed herself for me. And not even for a good reason. She knows how I am. I was pissed. Wrathy begins to cover it. That wasn’t rational. And now she’s trying to justify it.

Willow mumbled, “It’s just—” pausing to lick her lips “—these girls are obviously organized. Maybe not totally organized, but someone’s leading them. They’re too focused. It has to be that. If we show them mercy, they’ll think they’re dealing with someone soft. They’ll wonder why. They may even arrive at the truth. But by showing them what we did—”

Buffy picked up the thought and finished it. “They’ll think nothing’s changed.” That makes sense. What else? We are talking about Will. She’s always been a little crazy. Well, more than a little. But she’s also deviously brilliant too. Damned dangerous combination. It was such a pain in the ass keeping her in check. Funny thing, in retrospect, I think Xander helped. He distracted her.

Whatever.

Willow nodded and reached for the cup. Buffy beat her to it, helping her to drink again. The shaking was a little better, but not much. I wonder if this happened before. Is this new? Willow opened her mouth to speak and Buffy let her. “I need you to pick.” I’ll ask later. Willow looked away as she pleaded,“Please, I can’t be both things. If you really want me to be good, then you can’t ask me to do stuff like that. I told you I’d follow and I really, really want to. But I just can’t. I can’t be both.”

My god, she is…

How can she believe in me that much? After all the rotten things I’ve done, she shows me devotion. Real devotion.

I can’t face this right now.

Sighing, Buffy turned away and said, “I’m gonna go finish up.” It makes a good excuse. But she didn’t even get around the desk before she stopped to ask, “Are you gonna be okay?”

“Eventually,” Willow whispered.

Buffy went back to work, cleaning up the spilled blood, wiping things down and filling the coolers. I need to make this quick. We’ve already been here too long. And Will really needs—well, I’m not even sure what she needs.

While Buffy busied herself, she tried to keep the conversation alive as much for Willow as for herself. “Y’know, I really don’t understand what you do. I need you to help me.”

Willow mumbled, “Well, it’s not really that hard. Stuff that causes harm is bad. I can’t do anything like that without—” Her voice was so soft it was hard to hear. When she broke off, Buffy wasn’t sure if she’d stopped talking or—

Buffy glanced over her shoulder. A blank expression covered Willow’s face. She stared into the computer monitor, doing nothing.

Without this.

Okay. No big. It not like I can’t handle the eviscerations from here on out.

Buffy placed another couple bags of o-positive in the first cooler and shut the lid. Picking it up, she set it out of the way as she asked, “But there’s other stuff, right?”

“Yeah, there’s the elemental magic—regular witchy stuff.”

There’s a ‘but’ in there.

When Buffy turned to look, Willow explained, “Trouble is, the fire thing pretty much scares the shit outta me.” Buffy closed the first fridge and moved to the second. “And earth? It’s sorta the same deal. I can do small stuff, but anything big hurts.” After taking a quick inventory, Buffy began to fill the second cooler with more o-positive. “And air’s similar, not so bad though. Water,” Willow said, stressing the last word. “Water’s the only thing that feels right.”

“So, I’m guessing immolation’s—?” Buffy asked.

Willow finished the thought. “Not gonna happen.” She giggled. “Manipulating and conjuring fire? Yeah, that’d go well. You have to channel the element. So, unless you want a big pile of ash, uh…no.” There was a lag before she amended, “Me, not them.”

Yeah, we’ll skip that.

After shutting the lid on the cooler and closing the fridge, Buffy turned to face Willow and said, “Makes sense.” She leaned against the fridge. “’Kay, so…from now on you tell me. I’ll let you know what the problem is, but I won’t ask you to do anything specific. You can come up with a solution. If there are choices, let me know what they are.”

Buffy crossed the room. Willow’s mug was empty, but she was still a wreck. Picking it up, Buffy went to wash it. While she was at the sink, Willow moved to grab one of the coolers. “Will, seriously…let me handle those. You just get the doors,” Buffy said as she returned the mug to the desk. She pitched the paper towel and looked around. “Is there anything you can think—anything that’ll help?” She sighed and shook her head, moving to pick up the coolers.

Willow said, “It’ll pass. I really need—”cutting off when Buffy finished her sentence.

“A victim.”

Willow nodded as she opened the door.

The coolers were a little awkward, but Buffy compensated. She held one in front of her and one behind as she passed through the doorway.

Willow hung her head. Buffy wouldn’t have noticed the change if Willow hadn’t spoken. “I’m better off doing, moving, concentrating on something else. Distracted.” Humiliation tainted her voice.

Moving quickly down the hall, Buffy pushed the stairway door open with her back. “Let’s get outta here and we’ll make a sweep of the town. We can hit the Bronze, if nothing else,” she offered.

The stairwell was empty. Buffy stopped and put the coolers down. When Willow joined her, she whispered, “It’s not your fault, Will.”

Buffy took Willow in her arms. She placed her fingertips under her witch’s chin and gently lifted. As Willow’s dark eyes met hers, Buffy said, “It’s not you. I’m the bad.” She gave her witch a tender kiss.

Withdrawing, she rested her forehead against Willow’s and murmured, “I’m sorry.”

The doctor recently vacated, having done all he could. He couldn’t say exactly what the results would be. Faith lost a great deal of blood.

Sounds of life carried in from the hallway, but within the room the mood was somber. From his seat at Amy’s side, Giles stared at his charge’s face. It’s curious how peaceful the gravely injured appear. It seems that it should be quite the opposite. That the strain the body’s under should peek through to the surface, but that’s never the case.

I’ve read accounts in the Watchers’ Journals of slayers who were drained to near death. The verdict was always the same. And sometimes it held true. However, there are also examples of slayers who awoke and waged great battles mere days or even hours after such injuries.

I must remain hopeful. I’m not certain what I shall do if she doesn’t awaken. I suppose, return to England, though I don’t relish the thought.

Seven years living on the Hellmouth have taught me a great many things. The most important of these lessons is that family earned is far stronger than the meaningless ties of blood and heritage. I have come to genuinely love and respect these children. They are my family.

Giles averted his eyes. It was impolite if not imprudent to stare. His attention fixed on the heart monitor. The machine emitted strong, regular pulses. It said good things for his charge.

She will awaken. Of that, I’m confident.

It’s simply a matter of time.

Amy’s hand closed around the back of his on the armrest of the chair. Giles turned his hand, allowing the young witch the comfort she sought. There are more pressing matters. Buffy for instance. There has been a change. That much is apparent. It goes without remark.

The tangle of prophecy surrounding that girl is staggering. Thus far, little of it has come to pass. Though, in her own peculiar way, she has maintained order and up until recently, brought a sort of uneasy peace to this place.

If she has indeed been given a soul, it bodes well. However, Amy is quite right. It is difficult to predict what the results will be. The only instances we have are the prophecies concerning—

“Someone get rid of those,” Faith groaned and made a feeble gesture, perhaps indicating the ceiling.

Amy leapt to her feet, but Jonathan was already halfway to the door.

Giles beamed. The lights went out. As Jonathan crossed the room, Giles half-stood, leaning forward to flip on the small lamp over Faith’s bed. The switch turned in his fingertips and Giles stifled his toothy smile in favor of a more conservative grin. Inside, his heart positively leapt for joy, but he settled back into his chair to allow the others their moment of celebration.

Amy leaned over Faith’s bed and said, “Guess I don’t have to ask how you are?”

“Feel like crap,” Faith replied brusquely.

Giles’ smile returned. Ah, ever the poet. I never thought I’d say this, but it’s truly marvelous to hear that voice.

“Right behind ya,” Amy muttered. Though her back was to him, Giles took the wince for a failed attempt at a smile. She didn’t waste any time getting right down to business. “Faith, flowers, card,” she said, gesturing to the nightstand. “We weren’t sure we should touch them. Can I?”

Faith followed where she was directed to look. “Oh, who brought those?”

Amy looked over her shoulder to meet Giles gaze before she offered, “We were thinking Buffy, but—”

Giles winked. That was a subject of minor debate. It’s good that she has presence of mind to mention it. I for one am quite curious.

Faith spat, “What makes you think that?” The slayer groaned, obviously regretting her outburst.

Amy put her hands up, making a gesture for Faith to settle down. “A couple of things just don’t add up,” she explained. “Don’t stress.” She paused, allowing time for Faith to calm before pressing on. “May I look at the card?”

“Sure. Knock yourself out. I don’t get why she’d bring me flowers,” Faith grumbled and folded her arms.

As Amy opened the card, Faith began to chuckle. The slayer had the room’s full attention when she remarked, “But then, I s’pose it’s tradition to buy a girl flowers before a meal.”

Amy snickered, but Giles suspected that she was merely placating Faith. After reading the card, she passed it to him and said, “Are you able to move, Faith?”

Giles glanced at the card. The words ‘I’m going to fix this,’ jumped off the page. They were all he needed to see. He pocketed the card and turned his attention back to his charge.

Faith carefully sat up and whispered, “Yeah, I think so. Why?”

Putting a hand behind the slayer’s back to steady her, Amy said, “’Cause you’re going to stay with Giles for a few days.”

His charge appeared utterly bewildered. “But what’d the card say,” she inquired.

Amy snickered. Again, her mirth ended in a wince and curse. She drew in a breath to steady herself and replied, “Rough translation from Buffy-speak. Keep your head down. She plans to fix the mess she made.”

Faith furrowed her brow. Incredulous and rightly so, she asked, “And you trust her?”

Dropping the bedrail, Amy helped Faith to swing her legs over the edge. “Not so much ‘trust,’ but I see a pattern. Two days, two attacks. Both—well, you get the idea. The advice is sound. The source is meaningless,” she responded in a gentle, yet forthright manner.

Giles stood and held up his hands. “Perhaps you should wait,” he said, rounding the end of the bed. “Allow me to make the arrangements. While I appreciate the sense of urgency, it might be prudent to inform the hospital staff we intend to remove a critically ill patient from their midst. Doubtless they won’t like it, but there’s little they can do.”

Jonathan stepped forward, taking the space next to Giles and asked, “Faith, if you want, I could go get your stuff.”

Faith appeared distracted, but answered, “Yeah, thanks.”

“I’ll see you back at Giles’ then,” Jonathan confirmed, but Giles took his arm, halting his advance.

“It might be wise to wait until morning. A few hours will make little difference.”

When Jonathan looked to Faith, she echoed her watcher’s opinion, “Yeah, Giles is right. We should stick together.”

Giles offered her a brief approving nod and exited the room.

All material derived from pop culture at large is the property of its respective owner. No copyright infringement is intended. Please read the disclaimer.