Growing Pains III

– o – o – o – o – o – o – o –

Xander's gaze flicked to the left for a moment as Giles walked into the hospital room, the man's attention focused on the half-conscious Mrs. Summers in bed and Buffy sitting protectively beside the older woman's bed. The sterile scent of disinfectant and the steady beep of the heart monitor filled the air, irritating both his sensitive inhuman nose and ears. Great, 'cause my day wasn't complete without a trip to the medical fun house, he thought sarcastically, wrinkling his nose at the sharp, clinical smell.

He and Willow stood a bit away, both of them against the wall. As irritated as he was, Xander couldn't help but feel out of place, like an intruder in a private moment. Hospitals always gave him the wiggins, with their too-bright lights and the constant sense of sickness and death hanging in the air.

Willow was worried. It was obvious, the way her eyebrows were clenched and from how her hands fidgeted nervously at her sides, fingers twisting together like anxious snakes. He could practically feel the anxiety radiating off of her in waves, a tangible thing that made the air around her seem to vibrate with tension.

He… he felt angry.

No, more than that. He was fucking pissed. Rage boiled in his gut, hot and heavy, threatening to spill over at any moment like a pot of molten lava. How dare that bastard do this? Buffy's mom, of all people? I swear, if I get my hands on that undead son of a bitch, I'm gonna introduce him to a whole new world of pain, Xander seethed internally, his jaw clenching so hard he thought his teeth might crack.

Buffy's voice cut through his internal tirade, soft and hesitant, like she was afraid of the answer. "Do you remember anything, Mom?"

Her mother's voice was slurred, sedatives doing their best to ease the pain, the woman clearly at least a bit fuzzy. "Just... your friend came over. I was going to make a snack." She blinked slowly, her eyes unfocused and glassy.

Buffy repeated the words, "My friend," the statement sounding bitter on her tongue, like she'd bitten into a lemon.

Joyce remained slurred as she continued, her words running together like watercolors. "I guess I slipped and cut my neck on..." She paused, her brow furrowing in confusion, as if trying to grasp a thought that kept slipping away. "The doctor said it looked like a barbecue fork. We don't have a barbecue fork..." She trailed off, her eyes drifting closed for a moment before snapping open again.

She narrowed her eyes, looking closer at Giles as her gaze focused for a moment, like a camera lens adjusting. "Are you another doctor?"

Buffy interjected quickly, her voice strained, the words coming out in a rush. "Mom, this is Mr. Giles."

"The librarian from your school?" the poor woman said, her words coming out in a mumble, like she was talking through a mouthful of cotton. "What's he—?"

Giles stepped forward, his hands clasped in front of him, the picture of British propriety. "I just came to pay my respects. To wish you a speedy recovery," he said smoothly, his voice calm and reassuring.

She took that into her sedative-filled head, nodding slowly, like a bobblehead in slow motion. "Boy, the teachers really do care in this town."

Buffy said, "Get some rest now," her voice gentle but firm. She gave her mother a kiss on the cheek, the gesture tender and full of love, before walking out of the room, both Xander and Willow following behind her like loyal soldiers.

And the award for Best Supporting Friends goes to... Xander thought wryly as they trailed after Buffy, the fluorescent lights buzzing overhead like angry flies.

In the corridor, Buffy leaned wearily against the wall, the fluorescent lights casting harsh shadows on her face, making her look older than her sixteen years. "She's going to be okay. They gave her some iron. Her blood count was a little..."

Xander could see her fighting for control, rage and guilt and worry and self-hate fighting each other inside her blonde little head like a cage match. Who the fuck decided sixteen year old girls need the weight of the world on their shoulders? he raged inside, his face still and unmoving, a mask of calm concealing the storm within. It wasn't fair. None of this was fair. Buffy should be worrying about prom dresses and zits, not fighting fucking vampires and watching her mom get drained like a juice box.

"A little low," the older man said, giving her time to collect herself. "It presents itself like a mild anemia. You're lucky you got to her as soon as you did."

She whipped her head toward him, her eyes flashing with anger. "Lucky? More like stupid," she said miserably, her voice thick with self-loathing.

"Buff, it's not your fault," Xander cut in, barely able to help himself, the words bursting out of him like a geyser. He couldn't stand to see her tearing herself apart like this, not when the real blame lay with that undead asshole.

"No?" Buffy looked at him with a hard, angry expression, her jaw clenched tight, the muscles in her neck standing out like cords. "I invited him into my home. And even after I knew who he was—what he was—I didn't do anything about it because I had feelings for him. Because I cared about him."

"If you care about somebody," Willow offered, with a quick glance at Xander, her eyes wide and earnest, "you care about them. You can't change that by—"

"Killing them?" Buffy demanded, her voice sharp as a knife. "Maybe not. But it's a start."

There was a silence, heavy and oppressive, until Xander broke it, his eyes hard as he said, "We'll keep an eye on your mom. Just… be careful."

The words felt inadequate, but he didn't know what else to say. I'll kill him myself if I have to, he thought fiercely, his hands clenched into fists at his sides.

"Be careful?" Buffy turned to look at him, frowning. "I'm gonna rip his head off."

Xander didn't flinch, staring at her with a blank face. "Vampires get stronger with age and experience and he's got two hundred years of both."

Buffy blinked at Xander's words. "I-"

"He's clearly not a normal bloodsucker if he can play the long game like this," Xander continued, not backing down even as Willow's hand came to rest on his arm. "Take his head, fine. Just don't lose yours." Don't you fucking dare die on me, Summers. Not now, not ever.

The blonde was silent for a moment, before she finally nodded. "Okay."

Turning to the Brit, she held her hand out, her voice steady. "Giles, library key."

– o – o – o – o – o – o – o –

Buffy stomped off with a determined set to her shoulders, leaving Xander, Giles, and Willow lingering in the hospital corridor.

Xander gave Willow's shoulder a reassuring pat just as Giles cleared his throat, drawing their attention with an air of seriousness that was all too familiar to Xander. Here we go again, he thought, suppressing the urge to roll his eyes.

He lifted his gaze to meet the older man, suppressing the urge to frown as he could already tell what was coming. It was the same song and dance they'd been doing for a full week now, ever since the whole hyena possession thing. Giles just couldn't seem to let it go, always giving him those suspicious looks when he thought Xander wasn't paying attention.

Giles' eyes were on Willow first, his voice measured. "Willow?"

Perking up, Willow glanced between both Giles and Xander, confusion flickering across her face as she could clearly feel the tension. "Yeah?"

Giles's voice softened slightly, taking on that 'I'm-an-adult-and-I-know-what's-best' tone that Xander hated so much. "Would you mind checking on Mrs. Summers? I need a moment with Xander, if that's alright."

"Oh, sure," Willow blinked, a flicker of curiosity crossing her face before she nodded. She gave Xander a quick, concerned look before adding, "I'll go check on her," and walked away hesitantly, her footsteps echoing in the quiet corridor.

Xander exhaled quietly, his thoughts laced with sarcasm. Way to be subtle, G-Man. No, really, great job. I'm sure Willow won't suspect anything at all.

Irritation bubbling up just below the surface, he turned to Giles and forced a smile, the expression feeling more like a grimace on his face. "What's up, G? What's the word?"

Giles adjusted his glasses, his expression earnest as he failed to return the smile. "I've been worried about you since the incident with the Primal spirit. You exhibited quite severe symptoms, Xander."

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Laughing off the concern, Xander shrugged, trying to play it cool. "Yeah, well, as soon as the possession was kicked to the curb, I've been peachy. Right as rain, fit as a fiddle, all that jazz." He wiggled his fingers in a little jazz hands motion, hoping to lighten the mood.

"But you see," Giles persisted, his tone earnest, "why one might be worried—"

"Worried, huh?" Cutting him off, Xander's smile faded, replaced by a hard look in his eyes. "For or because?"

"..." The Watcher blinked, clearly taken aback by the sudden shift in tone. "Pardon?"

Xander didn't bother smiling again, his expression serious as he met Giles' gaze head-on. "Worried for me or because of me? There's a difference, you know."

There was a brief silence as Giles sighed deeply, clearly trying to navigate the conversation with care. He took off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose, a gesture Xander had seen him do a hundred times before. "This isn't an accusation, Xander. After last week, I realize I may have been... overly cautious. I'm merely trying to ensure there are no lingering effects, given the unusual nature of your symptoms. My concern is only for your well-being."

Xander's smirk faded into a more serious expression, his brow furrowing as he studied Giles' face. "Really? 'Cause I've caught you giving me the side-eye more than once. Thought I was going crazy." Or maybe I am, he thought bitterly. Maybe this whole devil thing is just one big hallucination and I'm really locked up in some padded room somewhere.

The teenager bit back a growl, staring daggers at the older man. "You've been suspicious about me since that night, like I'm some sort of time bomb, okay?" He shook his head. "I don't like it, G-Man. Makes me feel like you don't trust me. What's your deal?"

Giles exhaled slowly, his frustration clear in his tone. "It's my responsibility to consider all possibilities. Such as whether or not the hyena might have… merged with you possibly. I admit my original approach was harsh in its wording but I had to be sure you were yourself. It's not personal. I was just concerned."

Xander leaned back against the wall, crossing his arms over his chest as he huffed out a short laugh. "Concerned about good ol' Xander?" He let out a humorless laugh, staring down the Watcher with a look that was as bitter as he could make it. "And not Angel, like I said Buffy should be yesterday?"

"I assure you, I'm quite concerned about Angel," Giles retorted, his voice firm.

Xander scoffed, shaking his head in disbelief. "Not yesterday you weren't. Not when I brought it up."

Giles sighed again, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Xander, you're being ridiculous. We didn't know this about Angel."

Xander pushed himself off the wall, standing up straight as he glared at Giles, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. "And you don't know anything about me!"

Giles blinked, clearly startled by Xander's raised voice. "I—"

Xander cut him off again, his voice sharp. "Stick to what you think you know. Read your old books and help us kill the baddies." And stay out of my business, he added silently, his jaw clenched tight.

"Um..."

A nervous voice had both of them turning to see Willow standing awkwardly at the doorway to Mrs. Summers' room. She bit her lip, clearly hesitant to interrupt the argument but clearly feeling like she had to. "Mrs. Summers just said something...important."

Giles stepped toward her, his tone urgent. "What is it, Willow?"

Willow glanced between Giles and Xander, her voice barely above a whisper. "Angel didn't attack her."

Xander frowned. What?

– o – o – o – o – o – o – o –

The fluorescent lights overhead buzzed and flickered as Xander, Willow, and Giles ran through the lobby of Sunnydale General Hospital, the three of them ignoring the weird looks from the patients and staff. As they dashed through the sliding doors, the cool evening air hit Xander like a slap, the sudden change in temperature making him feel energized.

"I guess Angel wasn't actually messing with Buffy, after all," he said, his voice a mix of surprise and reluctant acceptance. Honestly surprising.

Willow, always the believer, gave him a pointed look, her green eyes narrowed. "I told you!" she exclaimed, a hint of exasperation in her tone.

"Okay, okay, score one for team Angel," Xander conceded, raising his hands in defense. He could feel the warmth of his power thrumming under his skin, the energy itching to be released on some sick vampire bitch. Focus, Xan-man. You'll rip her head off later.

Giles, always one to focus on the practical, was already in the lead as they hurried out towards the parking lot. "My car is unfortunately out of commission, so we shall have to make our way on foot. We must hurry," he said, his voice urgent.

"You really need to replace that old lemon alr—" Xander's jab cut off mid-sentence as he froze in place, his body tensing like a coiled spring. A scent hit him, something that made his nostrils flare and his fists clench instinctively. Grave dirt and old blood... great, just what they needed tonight.

"Xander?" Willow's voice was full of concern, her own steps halting as she noticed his sudden pause. She reached out a hand.

Giles stopped too, turning to face him with a frown. "What is it?" he asked, his voice sharp with worry.

Xander forced a smile, though it didn't reach his eyes, the teenager carefully unclenching his fists. "You guys go on ahead, okay?" he said, trying to keep his voice light and casual.

"What?" Giles's confusion was evident, the Brit tilting his head to the side.

"I've got a super soaker full of holy water at home. I'll grab that and catch up," Xander said, the lie slipping out as smoothly as he'd gotten used to. That's a good idea though. Note to self: water guns with holy water.

"But what about—" Willow started to protest, eyes wide with worry.

Giles, always focused, grasped Willow's hand and started to pull her away. "We don't have time. He'll meet us."

"At the Bronze!" Xander called out after them, watching as they rounded the corner, disappearing from sight. "We'll meet up there!"

"Okay!" Willow shouted back, her voice fading as they moved further away.

He waited until their footsteps faded away, blending with the night's usual sounds, before turning back to the empty parking lot. He dropped the facade, his expression hardening, eyes narrowing. "You idiots know I can see you, right?" he called out, his voice low and dangerous.

The silence stretched, thick and tense, throughout the parking lot.

Xander could feel the hairs on the back of his neck standing up, his senses on high alert. Come on, you undead bastards. Show yourselves.

Exasperated, Xander growled, frustration making the warm energy in his gut spike. "I know you walking corpses are dumb with all that formaldehyde in your brains, but the smell of grave dirt and old blood's giving me a headache." He dropped into a loose boxing stance, more rugged than formal, one he'd been getting live practice with over the past couple of months. "We doing this or what?"

Slowly, figures began to detach themselves from the shadows—some rising from behind cars, others stepping out from between the vehicles. They were a motley crew, each clad in variations of leather biker gear, some with gloves spiked at the knuckles. Oh, great. The undead Hell's Angels. Just my luck.

"Oh great, they sent the Village Vampires after me," Xander quipped, his eyes darting from one figure to the next, counting them silently. At least twelve in total, a few brandishing chains or wooden bats. Fan-freaking-tastic. This is gonna be a long night.

"The Master sends his regards," one of them growled, stepping forward. He was thickly built, muscular and tall, with long blond hair tied back into a ponytail and a thick, grizzled beard. He gripped the chain in his hands tight as his face morphed into the classic "game face", all wrinkles, ridges and glowing yellow eyes.

"Is that a euphemism?" Xander shot back, his hands curling into fists. "'Cus I gotta be honest, I'd rather not play at the YMCA."

Their faces contorted into snarls as they all shifted their faces, each one more grotesque than the last.

"Well, come on then!" Xander taunted, cracking his knuckles. "You gonna stand there all night or are we gonna dance?"

As one, they charged him, roaring like beasts.

"Come get some!" he roared back.