Vaguely fourth season, if fourth season hadn't been shown yet…

Part one

The first thing he remembered, when he woke up, was the hunger. It filled his throat, hummed in the back of his brain, and whispered evil things in his ears.

Actually, no, he realized. The evil thing in his ear was Drucilla.

"You’re awake. I’ve been waiting for you to wake up. We’re going to have such fun, you and I..."

His mouth stretched into a grin at her words, and the blood-sweet smell of her breath, and he could feel the fangs prick into the dead skin of his lips.

#

Buffy was feeling pretty good about herself. It was early, but she’d managed to dust half a dozen vamps.

"Quota met, and still time to get some studying done."

Although it wasn’t quite the same as it had been last year. Giles was off having a capital-L life, Willow was either in the library-which-wasn’t-their-library, or off in Oz's room, and Xander was busy at his job, no studying required, Cordelia was in Los Angeles, and..

"And no Angel," she admitted to herself. Shrugging away the melancholy that always swamped her when she let herself think about her former lover, Buffy took a turn onto her street, preparing to wipe everything from her mind except the chapter she had to somehow cram into her brain, and a pint of Ben&Jerry’s finest.

"Slayer..."

The taunting voice came out of the shadows, making her swing around, stake ready.

"What do you want?" She knew better than to ask who it was. The was a voice she wasn’t going to forget any time soon, for all the wrong reasons.

"I wanted to give you a message, Slayer," Spike said, stepping out of the darkness. His bleached hair gleamed, as did his mocking grin, but the expression on his face was hard.

"Fine. Give, and get. This truce thing of ours is making me grind my teeth, and that always gives me a headache."

"You’re going to have more than a headache soon, Slayer. My Dru, she was annoyed at us for taking her Angel away. Me, she forgave. But you.. She misses her da, you see. Makes her testy."

Buffy tensed. "Spit it out, Spike. She really wants a re-match?"

The vampire shook his head. "Don't I wish. I'd sell tickets, make a fortune. But Dru’s got a poetic soul. An eye for an eye thing. A soul for a soul, if you will."

"What..."

"It’s already too late, Slayer," Spike said, enjoying the indecision which had her frozen in place. "While we were chatting, Dru took her prize. She’s always been a firm believer in family values, you see..."

"Mom!"

The blonde girl took off across town at an impossible pace. Spike, his grin replaced by a sadder, more human expression, watched her go. "You never did understand, did you, Slayer? And now it’s too late."

#

"Buffy?" Joyce Summers came into the kitchen, still wearing her work clothing. She must have just gotten home

"Mom. You’re okay?" She glanced around the house, seeing that everything was undisturbed, then back at her mother. "No vamps skulking around the house, no freaky phone calls, nothing?"

"No. Honey, what’s wrong?"

"Nothing. Just..." For once, having her mom know her secret identity was going to come in handy. "There’s a vampire back in town, and she’s got a severe mad-on for me. So just be careful, okay? Stay indoors when it’s dark, don’t go anywhere alone.. All the usual cautions only more so." She dropped her bag on the kitchen counter, and went to the phone. Picking it up, she dialed a number she had conned out of Willow, memorized, then promised herself she’d never call..

"Angel? You’re okay? No, nothing, it’s... Spike and Drucilla’re back in town, talking even more crazy than usual. Something about paying me back for taking you away. Seems she misses her dad-"

Buffy stopped, her hand tightening on the receiver until the plastic casing cracked.

"No. Oh, no..."

#

Angel arrived at Giles’ apartment an hour later. He must have talked to her mother after she dropped the phone, put the pieces together the same way she had.

Only they were too late.

Buffy sat on the sofa, looking at the blood soaked into the carpet at her feet. Shards of glass and pottery littered the room. Only one lamp remained intact, and its light cast a deathly illumination onto the Slayer’s skin.

"He put up a fight," she said in a flat, toneless voice when the vampire paused at the sight of her. "He can pack a hell of a punch. Could. How did she get in here, Angel? Giles would never let her in. He would never..."

Her voice cracked, and her fingers tightened convulsively on the stake in her hand. Angel stood, unhappily, in the doorway. If he went to her, held her, she would break down. And he couldn’t afford to let her do that.

"You’ll be able to ask him," He said finally, after her shoulders had stopped shaking.

His words brought her head up. She looked at him, eyes red-rimmed, staring uncomprehendingly. Then she turned to look down at the bloodstain, and realization dawned.

"She took him. Turned him."

Angel nodded. "He’s not here, she’d have no reason to drag his body around.... Buffy... " He paused, not wanting to say this. "You have to stake him, Buffy. You can’t hesitate. Find him, and do it, before he gains strength."

"No! I.. I’ll have Willow curse him. Give him his soul back. He’ll be fine --"

Then Angel did reach for her, grabbing her by the shoulders and shaking her until she looked at him, really seeing him.

"The last time a Watcher was turned, he killed seven Slayers. Seven, in one year." His voice was cold, colder than she could ever remember Angel being. "A vampire with all the knowledge, all the training of a Watcher... with the magical training that Giles has had? It must not be allowed!"

Buffy broke free of his grasp, staring back into his eyes with anger and defiance. "Not Giles. I don’t care what kind of demon’s inside him now, Giles will fight it. He won’t kill anyone. He won’t."

Finally, mercifully, Angel left. The plan was for him to catch the rumors underground, see if anyone knew where Dru might have taken the Watcher. Find out if there was a new monster in town.

("Not Giles. Even Ripper wouldn't. He's not like --"

Alone, Buffy stood in the trashed apartment, a thousand memories chasing each other through her brain. How many hours had she spent here, when the library was off limits for whatever reason? Here was where she’d confronted him, argued with him...come back to him. And always been welcomed, no matter how much hurt was in his eyes. Always allowed to come home...

There was a blanket thrown over the sofa that looked warm and fleecy. Maybe even handmade. All she wanted to do was crawl under it. Crawl -into- it. Hold if against her skin until Giles’ scent became her own. Until it all became a bad dream, the worst-ever nightmare, worse even than what she’d thought was her worst nightmare. Until the broken door opened again and Giles came in, the warm sunlight making his skin sweat, but not burn, never burn...

"No time. Even if he’s a slow riser, we don’t have time." First, break the news to the gang. Her heart faded a little at the task in front of her. But they had to know. And then get the stuff for the curse, and let Willow do her mojo...

"And then, okay, Watcher as vampire. Not good. They’re going to send Wesley back. Oh god."

Shaking off the thought of her erstwhile replacement Watcher, aware that she was babbling, wasting time, Buffy closed the door gently behind her, as though it weren’t hanging off one hinge, the frame splintered into kindling around it.

As though care now would put back all the broken pieces.

#

Her feet wanted to walk to the site of the old high school, turn the corner and find the library with the usual midnight oil burning, the usual gang assembled...

Instead, she found herself in the student center, Oz and Xander intent over a blast’em kind of video game, a half-dozen empty soda cans at their feet. She watched them a moment, letting the numbness wrap her in a kind of comforting denial. Then Oz lost his turn, stepped away from the machine, and saw her.

"Hey."

"Hey. Is Will around?"

"Nope, she went home for her dad’s birthday party. Just us. What’s up?"

Xander’s voice, so normal, Oz’s calmly questioning expression, broke through the calm Buffy had been operating through. Suddenly it was real, it was happening, and she barely made to Xander’s arms before she collapsed.

She hadn’t said more than two sentences before Oz was on the nearest pay phone to Willow.

"Baby? News, not good."

#

The dorms were never what you might call quiet, but Willow had learned how to dim the noises, separate herself from the relentless dull roar of activity, and focus.

The flicker of her candle flame was the only warning she got, her last thought that the dorms, with their constant flow of transient ownership and casual traffic, probably qualified as public spaces....

His hands were cold. Dead-cold, she thought wildly, maniacally, just before the lights went out on her thoughts completely.

When she came to, it was dark. *Maybe I'm still out. But if I were, I wouldn't be thinking this. So I'm not. Unless you can think when you're unconscious...* She tried to figure it out until the pain kicked in.

*Okay. Awake.*

A scratch-and-hiss noise in the darkness, and a match flared incandescent in the pitch. Someone touched the red tip to a candle, and the gloom retreated slightly.

"G-Giles."

His smile was brief, barely touching his lips, but otherwise bore no relationship to the shy grins she was used to from him. It was cold. And cruel. And did not bode well for her at all.

"You ha-haven't killed me." She meant it to sound bold, defiant, like Buffy. Instead she sounded astonished. Willow to the end.

His smile reappeared. "No."

A pause.

"Not yet."

*Oh. Not good. Very not good.*

She tried to scramble away, and discovered that she couldn't move. Her arms and legs were held fast. The bindings weren't metal... Leather?

"How traditional" she found the presence of mind to say. It wasn't quite Buffy-quality, but it would have to do.

"I didn't want you to hurt yourself," he said with mock concern, moving closer. "I wanted to save that privilege for myself."

She tried to scream then. But the moment her lips opened, his mouth was against hers. His tongue filling her, gagging her. His cold hands on her shoulders, the side of her face, holding her still as she tried to turn her head away.

She bit, hard.

He laughed, the sound vibrating in her throat. She -felt- him change, felt the fangs brush against her lips, the ridges of his face scrape against her own skin, and felt a sudden, sick desire to see him that way.

"My little kitten. All spit and fire. What else can you do with your mouth, hmmm?" His familiar voice was obscene, talking that way. She felt a shudder run along her spine, and a heat pool between her legs.

*Giles. Vampire. Not a turn on. Oh god. Oh god, no. Don't do that. Don't...*

As though he knew what she was thinking, he pulled away, stepping back into the shadows. She took a deep breath, then exhaled it in a hurry.

"Sweet, sweet Willow. Not so sweet, are you? I’ve seen what your doppleganger got off on -- is that true for you, too?" And his hands slid up her thighs, under her skirt, reaching unerringly for the juncture of her thighs. He was so cold, and she was burning up...

Willow moaned, despairing. She had wanted this. Only not this, this. In a kind of vague, not-wanting kind of way. In the wondering, what's-he-like-under-the-tweed kind of way.

His thumb pressed against the cotton panel of her underwear, dragging an unwilling groan out of her. How could it feel good, when she was so scared? Giles... no, Not Giles. Giles was dead. Gone. Not Giles, not Giles, notGiles...

She was going to die. She knew that now. He -- the vampire who had taken Giles -- would never allow her to live. Not when she was the only one who knew the technical stuff of how to do the resouling spell. And knowing that gave her a weird kind of courage.

"You're as bad as Angel. All talk. Is that a vampire thing?"

She had forgotten how fast vampires could move. And how strong they were. One downstroke of his hand, and her underwear was shredded cotton looped through his fingers. The air was cold against her pussy, and she shivered again at the contrast. Her limbs tensed against the restraints, pressing against the slab she was tied to. If she could get him angry enough... Buffy had said that Ripper had a short temper. Maybe the vampire was more Ripper-like... maybe she could get him angry enough to kill her first.

"Sorry, love." He was leaning over her again, his mouth tracing the line of her jaw, down to her neck. "I've wanted a piece of this too long to end the game now. Dead bodies just aren't as much fun..."

He licked her neck, a long stroke from collarbone to ear. "They don't fight back. Fight me, little Witch. Maybe I'll even let you die afterwards."

*oh god*

Then he was on her, on the table. His hands were flat on the table by her head, his knees on either side of her thighs. By now, the candle-lit dimness was as comfortable as daylight. She could see him hanging over her, his face pale, his eyes glittering green like a cat's.

NotGiles, notGiles, notGiles...

"Scream for me, little Witch."

And then, finally, she did.

#

As a council of war, it was sadly lacking. Lacking its leader, the knowledge guy. His absence made the silences scarier, the occasional sounds from the hallway more unnerving. The years of familiarity gone, with one violent swipe.

Buffy, Xander and Oz had spent all night in Buffy’s dorm room, looking through the books she had lugged from Giles’ apartment, trying to find something that would give them an idea of what to do. Angel had shown up just before dawn, looking every bit as bedraggled and shell-shocked as the rest. Cordelia was out on an audition-- Angel had left three messages on her answering machine, increasing in urgency, just in case. Willow was supposed to meet them in the morning, when it would be safe to travel outside, with the ingredients for the curse.

Buffy was going through Giles’ journals, feeling an odd sense of disloyalty as she did so. These were his words, about her, about what they went though. And yeah, next generations were going to read them, and maybe get help from them, but he’d never expected her to see what he’d written.

*So I’ll make it up to him later. He’ll understand. He’d expect me to do whatever I could, whatever it took.*

Whatever it took... Including staking him, to keep the demon in his body from...

*No! Curse. Re-Giles. No other option.* She chanted it like a mantra. She would not lose him. She would -not.-

Sirens broke the silence, and all four lifted their heads to track the sound.

"East side," Angel said finally. "Probably another pileup off Broad and Carter."

"Probably," Buffy agreed.

"Willow’s home safe," Oz said, reassuringly practical. "Cordelia knows enough to stay put. We have weapons and numbers on our side. Besides, he’s probably not even risen yet."

"He may not.. I mean, we don’t know..."

Angel cut Xander off before he could voice their one, faint, forlorn hope. "She did. And he is. And --" He looked at Buffy, sympathetic but resolved. "He would be the first to tell us not to take any chances."

Buffy looked down at the journal again, turned a page. *Curse. Re-Giles. No other option. None. None.*

#

Cordelia Chase liked to think that she was a level-headed, practical woman. Sentimental when the occasion arose, sure, especially if it involved flowers, dinner and jewelry. But otherwise, everything in its place, and common sense over all. When you forgot that, things happened. Bad things. Like getting a stick through your ribs.

This was a bad thing. a very, very bad thing.

She sat in the overstuffed chair by her apartment’s one window, watching the sun move into the west. Once, she’d thought sunsets were nice, pretty. Then they became a warning signal, a reminder of what happened when you weren’t paying attention.

Now...

In the background, the answering machine finished its regurgitation and clicked off.

*Giles. Damn. I never got to tell you...anything.*

a shadow outside, on the sidewalk, caught her attention. She stood, moving closer to the window, hoping against hope that it was Angel. Buffy.. Even Xander. He moved across the grass, staying just out of clear sight. Too tall to be Buffy. Way too tall. Too tall to be anyone...except...

Those were her hands on the window, unlocking the sash, pushing it up. Those were her hands, pressed against the screen.

He didn’t come closer.

"Giles?"

"Close the window, Cordelia."

His voice was the same. Soft, accented, a little harsh, a little distracted.

"That’s not a demon talking."

"You think even a demon wants to put up with your nattering eternally?"

She grinned, involuntarily. She was going to miss their exchanges. He always made her feel like Hepburn, even if he wasn’t exactly Spencer Tracy. "She’s going to stake you, you know."

"No, she won’t." He sounded casual, confident. "She hasn’t learned a damned thing."

Since that was true, pretty much, Cordelia didn’t reply, instead following up on the main thing on her mind.

"Are you going to kill me?"

He laughed then, a very un-Giles laugh. Dark, and skittering, like bugs under the floor.

"I haven’t decided yet. Stick around."

And then he was gone, sliding back into the full night that had somehow arrived while they were talking.

Her hands shaking, Cordelia lowered the window, and huddled back in the chair.

*Buffy’s got to take him out. ‘Cause, if she doesn’t...*

#

"She's late."

"It's barely eight, Buffy."

"No, she's right. Will would have been out of the house the minute the sky was clear. Something's keeping her."

The door swung open, and they jumped. But it was Cordelia who came in, dressed uncharacteristically in black jeans and a sweatshirt. Her arms

were crossed, as though she were hugging herself against the cold.

"Cordy?"

"Cordelia, are you okay?"

She shook her head, a shaky laugh their only answer.

Xander poured a cup of coffee from the small pot on a warmer, and handed it to her. "Here. I take you got the vamp-alert."

She sipped at the coffee, wincing at the taste. "Good thing, too. I got a visit last night."

"What?"

"When?"

"Giles? "

Cordelia nodded, putting the coffee down on the counter. "He just showed up, doing that not-making-noise thing. God, it was..." She shuddered

again. "It was Giles, but it wasn't, you know? I mean, way weird."

"So he's risen."

She looked at Angel, who had been sitting out of the way of the light

coming in the window. "Oh yeah. And he's in a really wiggy mood, too."

"So what did he do? What did he say?" Buffy practically danced in front of the other girl in her impatience.

"He... I don't know. It was so weird, I don't even remember... He said he hadn't decided if he was going to kill me or not. And this -- okay,

this is the weird part. He told me not to open the window."

"What?"

Cordelia sank down into the chair, looking up into Buffy's face. "He told me not to open the window."

"He warned you away from him?" Angel asked.

She nodded. "If I hadn't known, I would have invited him in... but he

wouldn't let me."

"Well," Oz said. "This is interesting."

"You see?" Buffy turned to Angel. "I told you he wouldn't be able to hurt any of us. Not Giles."

"Buffy, stop this. Giles is gone. Whatever reason the demon had -- it's playing a game with you. He's planning something."

"And you would be the one who knows all this, huh?" Xander said, standing behind Buffy in a belligerent pose. "‘Cause you're the one who went on a killing spree, but hey, it's okay, we can resoul you, no problem. But when

it's Giles, don't bother?"

Angel refused to rise to the bait. "Buffy. Don't do this. Giles

wouldn't want this..."

The back of her hand sent him sprawling to the floor.

"Don't tell me what my Watcher would want. Don't you -dare- tell me

what's best for him."

"Buffy..."

"Get out of my way. When Willow gets here..."

Cordelia looked around then, only now noticing the absence of the

red-haired girl. "Where -is- Willow, anyway?"

#

"Well. You certainly didn't waste any time, did you?"

Spike walked around the stone table, clucking his tongue thoughtfully.

Ripper shrugged, twirling a stake between his fingers. "I prefer to take care of potential problems before they become actual ones."

"Forethought. I like that. One of the things that annoyed me so much about Angelus -- always prattering about, never getting anything done.

Stupid wanker."

"Oh, he's rather endearing. Much like a puppy that's too dumb to train, but too cute to put down." He caught the stake, considered it. "Although I will. Eventually."

"She looks cold," Dru said, wisping about the table, running her fingers

over the still body there. "Cold and shivery, and her shininess's all

gone. You made her all shadowy."

"Yes, I did rather, didn't I?" He sounded pleased with himself.

Spike spared a glance over his shoulder at the human still tied down to

the table. "She's hardly a threat any more. Why keep her like that?"

He looked back to meet Ripper's cold green gaze.

"Because I like her like that."