Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Disclaimer: I do not own Buffy the Vampire Slayer. I write these stories for fun not profit.

Crossover: Multiple xovers, ideas stolen from the movies ‘Outbreak’, 'Contagion' and at least one book that I read so long ago that I can't remember the title.

Spelling, Punctuation, and Grammar: Written in glorious UK-English which is different to US-English.

Timeline: BtVS S2, around the time of ‘School Hard’.

Words: Twelve chapters of 2500+ words.

Warnings: Character deaths.

Summary: “Quarantine,” Buffy explained, “looks like we're surrounded by the army, navy and airforce, I expect the Marines will storm ashore later.” A strange disease sweeps through Sunnydale and vampires are dying from the 'flu'; who will be next?

T S Eliot.

High Polar Orbit.

No one in the Galactic Organisation and Dominions physically travelled anywhere if it was at all avoidable, after all what was the point? Nowadays Projection Technology was so advanced a person could travel the universe from the comfort of their own home or work station. Why spend tedious months flying from one side of the galaxy to the other when PT could get you there instantly? Once you were at your destination you could see, hear, touch and smell as if you were actually there, you could even bring back samples with you. Plus there was the added bonus that any local lifeforms couldn’t detect you, unless you wanted them to. It was fast, safe, cheap and better than actually being there, most of the GOD’s scientists and explorers here more than happy to use PT.

However there were always a few mavericks which was why Junior Academician Vilchjo was walking along the brightly lit but deserted corridors of his starship. It orbited the planet below completely undetected by the indigenous population. No one in the GOD built starships anymore either, the craft that he was using now was at least twenty or thirty times older than his own three hundred years. It was a living ship, one of the last ships that had once protected the GOD from the more violent races of the galaxy. Now the GOD was so powerful and enlightened it didn’t need ‘ships of violence’ to protect it. So the enlightened GOD had released its living ships to wander the galaxy with no purpose to their never ending lives. This was how Junior Academician Vilchjo had persuaded the starship to carry him and his companion across the galaxy. He’d given the ship a new purpose to its existence, in a way he’d piqued the ship’s curiosity.

Arriving at the ‘bridge’ as it was called, Vilchjo had no idea how the control centre of the ship had come to have such a name, he’d meant to find the answer but he’d never quite had the time. Standing there next to what was called the ‘Captain’s chair’ (another strange term he didn’t understand) he looked up at the primitive three dimensional view screen and gasped at the beauty of the world they were orbiting, the sight never failed to take his breath away no matter how many times he saw it. The beauty of Jegfidoc was one of the reasons he’d researched his own race’s involvement with the development of this world.

What he’d found disturbed his enlightened sensibilities greatly. His race had visited Jegfidoc when they were little more than unenlightened adventurers. These unenlightened ancestors would land on planets such a Jegfidoc and strip it of any resources that they needed. With no thought for how their actions would effect the development of intelligent life on the world in question, they would then move on to despoil yet another world. They would rape then leave the planet unconcerned by the destruction they’d inflicted. It was only after he’d read all the ancient accounts of the abominable violation of Jegfidoc that Vilchjo had discovered the true horror of his race’s involvement with the planet.

Those ancient freebooters (another strange term that Vilchjo had failed to find a meaning for) had left something behind. Unwittingly these adventurers from that terrifying and unimaginable past had left a curse on Jegfidoc that in a mere few hundreds of local years would destroy the indigenous population as surely as if he’d stopped the local sun’s nuclear reaction in its tracks. This was why he was here and why he intended to save the world of Jegfidoc from his own race’s meddling.

“Morning’s greetings, Junior Academician Vilchjo,” Academic Assistant Venka turned and nodded to Vilchjo as he arrived on the bridge, “I trust you are well rested?”

“Morning’s greetings, Academic Assistant Venka,” Vilchjo replied as he crossed the bridge to stand near his assistant, “I am well rested and you?”

“Well enough,” Venka replied softly.

Academic Assistant Venka was a female who wasn’t even two hundred years old, she’d been Vilchjo’s assistant for less than twenty years. But, they worked well for all of her inexperience, and Vilchjo liked her. He imagined that had he lived in a time when people still did such things he might very well have ‘loved’ her and perhaps even had ‘sex’ with her. Nowadays, of course, no civilised person indulged in such primitive and vaguely disgusting practices.

“I have prepared the Projector,” Venka gestured to the projection device that stood to one side of the captain’s chair.

Shivering slightly, Vilchjo turned to look at the device. If truth was known there was no real reason for an actual ‘device’. The technology existed to allow yourself to be projected from location to location without the need to go to a particular place and use a particular device. But the upper ranks of the GOD’s Academic Society liked to put you ill at ease and over awe you with their own self importance, so, when you needed to visit them to ask for some boon they made you go through the indignity of having to use ‘the device’.

“Yes,” Vilchjo sighed quietly and pursed his lips; he supposed that if he wanted to get what he needed he’d have to play the Supreme Academician’s games, “hopefully I won’t be ‘gone’ long,” he told Venka, “in the mean time keep tracking those anomalies and the numbers of the infestations around them.”

“As you wish Junior Academician Vilchjo,” Venka turned away and Vilchjo watched her eyes go blank as she joined her mind with the ship’s sensors.

Standing by the ‘device’, Vilchjo found himself wondering if ‘love’ and ‘sex’ where actually so ‘primitive and vaguely disgusting’. He’d studied the indigenous population below for long enough to discover that sex and especially love were some of their best characteristics. For a moment he tried to imagine what ‘being in love’ would be like and what having sex with Venka would feel like. But he had no way of knowing, it was an impossible question to answer and he was foolish to even consider it as a possibility. Sighing once more Vilchjo stepped into the ‘device’.

Stepping out of the Projector and into the Great Hall of the Academics, Vilchjo knew his physical body was still in the starship orbiting Jegfidoc on the other side of the galaxy. But, for all intents and purposes he was here in the ancient halls of academia on his home world; and there, sitting high up on a dais on the far side of the great hall sat the triumvirate who would consider the merits of his project and tell him yes or no.

Starting to walk towards the dais, Vilchjo realised that this was another of the powers that be’s ways of making a petitioner feel small and insignificant. For just a moment Vilchjo felt angry that the leaders of his guild would want to play such petty games. But then he shrugged, if they wanted to play games he wouldn’t let them worry him. After a long walk Vilchjo found himself standing in front of the dais and looking up at the Supreme Academician who looked and would no doubt sound like some ancient, mythical deity.

“Junior Academician Vilchjo,” Supreme Academician Mihijo’s voice echoed like doom around the great hall, “you have leave to present your project.”

Swallowing hard and taking a deep breath, Vilchjo quickly and concisely explained his races involvement with the planet of Jegfidoc, the triumvirate appreciated brevity.

“…I believe, Supreme Academician,” Vilchjo began his summing up, “that in a very few local years that the balance between the infestation and the indigenous population will reach a tipping point. At this point the infestation will have reached such numbers that the indigenous population will be reduced to mere food animals for the infestation.”

“And your solution, Junior Academic Vilchjo?” asked Senior Academician Esperanta who sat to the right of the Supreme Academic.

“I intend to infect the indigenous population with a pathogen which will kill the infestation when they feed on them,” Vilchjo explained further. “The pathogen will not kill the infestation immediately, it will allow time for the infected infestation to pass on the pathogen to others of its kind by bodily contact.”

“An interesting idea,” announced Academician Kandajho, her voice as smooth as something very smooth and dangerous, “are there any side effects, especially to the indigenous population?”

“There are some dangers,” Vilchjo admitted slowly, “as the infestation and the indigenous population share the same genetic background I expect 5% of the indigenous population to become casualties. However,” Vilchjo bravely caught the eye of the Supreme Academician, “this 5% will mainly be the very old or young who are already infected with one of the many diseases that afflict the indigenous population. After all,” Vilchjo shrugged, “you can’t make s'geg without breaking a few slemteets and in all probability I’ll leave the indigenous population stronger than it was before.”

“As my colleague says,” Supreme Academician Mihijo intoned, “an interesting idea and one that has some merit, excuse us while we consider our answer.”

Finding himself cut out of the conversation, Vilchjo passed the time looking around the great hall and wondering when had been the last time its thousands of seats had been full. A long time ago he told himself, now with the Projector Technology there was no reason for people to gather in great numbers like they had in the days of old. Sadly, Vilchjo wished he’d been alive to see all those countless thousands of learned men and women come together and debate the important issues of the day.

“Junior Academician Vilchjo,” called Academician Kandajho, her voice like oil; slippery and twice as treacherous, “how do you intent to spread this pathogen, initially I mean. From your own observations I see that the infestation is fairly solitary and not prone to infection by others of its kind.”

“Academician Kandajho,” Vilchjo replied, “if you look in the section on the geography of Jegfidoc you will see there are a number of anomalies spread around the planet. The infestation appears to be drawn to these anomalies and can be found there in unusually large numbers.”

“And the cause of these anomalies?” Senior Academician Esperanta asked.

“As best as I can tell these are the points at which the ancient freebooters mined the planet for whatever minerals they were looking for,” Vilchjo explained. “I intend to place clones of the indigenous population into these areas and others, to start infecting the aborigines in closest proximity to the greatest numbers of the infestation first.”

“Ah, I see,” Senior Academician Esperanta nodded her head slowly before adding, “one more moment.”

Vilchjo watched as the triumvirate deliberated for a few more moments.

“These aborigines,” muttered the Supreme Academician, “the indigenous population of this world, how advanced are they?”

“Very primitive,” answered Vilchjo, “true they have a basic technology but they don’t even recognise the danger they are in and even if they did they’d be unlikely to be able to deal effectively with it without some form of outside help.”

“I see,” Mihijo nodded and once again Vilchjo was left to his own thoughts.

After what felt like an eternity, Vilchjo looked up again, the triumvirate had come to their decision.

“Junior Academician Vilchjo,” Academician Kandajho called out, “the triumvirate has decided to approve your project subject to all the normal oversight procedures, congratulations you may go now.”

Slightly stunned Vilchjo found himself dismissed and heading back towards the Projector. Very soon he was stepping out onto the bridge of his starship to find Venka looking at him expectantly.

“The triumvirate said yes,” Vilchjo said still not quite believing that he’d got the go ahead.

“Then I will start preparing the clones,” Venka walked passed Vilchjo and out into the corridor.

As Venka passed by Vilchjo he found himself wondering again what sex might be like with Venka. Perhaps when he’d finished his work here he might start a new project on the subject.

Sunnydale, September 1997.

Cursing quietly to himself as he felt the sand of South Beach slowly start to fill his shoes; Detective Jim Stein of Sunnydale PD saw the fluttering police tape around the abandoned motor boat that had been washed up on the sand. He also breathed a sigh of relief as he recognised the two uniformed officers who were guarding the boat.

“What have we got, Walter?” Stein asked Officer Bloem, a twenty year veteran, as he got close enough to be heard over the sound of the surf.

“Come and see for y’self, Detective,” Bloem grinned as he pulled back the sheet that covered the two bodies that were still in the boat.

Accepting the older cop’s invitation, Stein studied the two bodies before nodding to Bloem who recovered their pale, dead faces with the sheet once he’d seen enough.

“They look Mexican,” Stein glanced at Officer Pete Hernandez, Bloem’s younger partner, Hernandez nodded his agreement.

“Probably illegals trying to get around the border fence,” Hernandez observed.

“If they were they died for nothing,” Stein said slowly, “would have been easier and safer to cross the border with the rest of the…” Stein stopped himself from saying ‘wet-backs’, he glanced guiltily at Hernandez before finishing what he was about to say, “…illegals. Any sign as to how they died?”

Stein had seen none himself but it often paid to ask, after all Bloem was a very experienced street cop and a lucky one; you had to be ‘lucky’ in a place like Sunnydale.

“No marks or wounds that I saw,” Bloem announced, he glanced at his partner who shook his head in the negative.

“Oh well,” Stein sighed, “perhaps the ME can find something.”

“Maybe they just died of exposure or something,” Hernandez suggested, “they didn’t look very well prepared to come all the way up the coast from Mexico.”

“Yeah but why did they come here?” Bloem replied, “Why not land near LA and disappear there, they’d have stuck out like sore thumbs in Sunny’D.”

Sunnydale was known to be unusually ‘Anglo’ for a Californian town.

“Whatever,” Stein shrugged, he’d already chalked this one up to the weirdness that was Sunnydale, “Like I say maybe the ME can tell us more. Until he does I’ve got enough unsolved murders on my desk to worry too much about a couple of illegals who probably died because they screwed up and didn’t bring enough water and fuel with them.”

“Okay Detective,” Bloem agreed, “we’ll clear up here…you’ll let us know if you find out anything?” Bloem asked meaning if Stein found out this was something natural.

“Yeah, sure,” Stein waved as he turned away and headed back to his car as more sand got into his shoes.

When Bloem and Hernandez had first found the bodies, Hernandez had touched one of them, he’d instantly become infected with Vilchjo’s pathogen. When he and Bloem got back to the station house Hernandez touched several other officers who also became infected. Later when he got off duty he went out to the movies where he kissed his girlfriend, she also became infected. Later Hernandez’s girlfriend hugged one of her friends and infected her. The following night Hernandez’s girlfriend’s girlfriend was attacked by a vampire who fed on her and he also became infected. All around the world at the locations of the hellmouths, more and more vampires became infected as they fed from infected humans. The plague had begun.

Chapter Text

2.

Sunnydale High School.

“Giles!” Buffy called as she burst into the library leaving a faint trail of ash behind her in the air as she walked, “Giles where are you?”

“Buffy?” Giles appeared in the doorway to his office, cup of tea in hand.

“What’s going on here Giles?” Buffy came to a halt next to the library’s counter, ash fell from her clothing to settle in little piles on the floor.

“I’m not sure…” Giles began as he walked further into the main part of the library; he noticed the state of Buffy’s clothing and the little piles of dust on the floor, “…I say would you mind not bringing the outside inside?”

“Look at me Giles!” Buffy turned, moving her arms as she did so; more ash was dislodged from her clothes and fell onto the floor, Giles frowned. “Six vamps at once and they all exploded over me! It’s in my hair,” she ran her fingers through her hair causing a small grey snow storm to slowly drift to the polished floor, “it’s all over my clothes, its even in my br…”

“Yes!” Giles stopped Buffy before she could say anything else; he looked away as Buffy tried to get at least some of the vamp-ash out of her bra. “Six vampires you say,” his frown getting more intense, Giles put down his tea cup and headed for the book cage.

“Yeah,” Buffy jumped up and down a couple of times causing a cloud of vamp-ash to form around her, she sneezed.

“Bless you,” Giles called as he disappeared into the book cage only to reappear a moment later carrying a vacuum cleaner.

“This is the second time this week Giles,” Buffy explained miserably, “is there a Vamp convention in town or something?”

“Yes well it does seem a little odd,” Giles plugged in the vacuum cleaner as he spoke.

“Odd!?” Buffy wasn’t about to be mollified with a simple ‘odd’, “Sunnydale redefines the word odd, what’s going on Giles?”

“Here,” Giles passed Buffy the nozzle of the vacuum cleaner, stepping away from his slayer he switched it on and waited for Buffy to vacuum up the worst of the ash. “Right that’s better,” he said as Buffy sucked up most of the ash from her clothes and from the floor.

“Six vampires you say?” Giles repeated as he disappeared back into his office.

“Yeah,” Buffy replied as she walked over to the research table and sat down, “it’s getting dangerous out there, a girl could get hurt, I need answers, Giles.”

“Yes I expect you do,” Giles reappeared from his office carrying a fresh cup of tea; he walked over to where Buffy sat and placed the tea in front of her, “Well, off the top of my head I can’t think of any special reason for more vampires to be congregating in Sunnydale.”

“Well they are,” Buffy sulked; she took an experimental sip of tea, deciding it wasn’t as bad as she thought it was going to be and took another sip, “and you know, a few of them didn’t look well…”

“Didn’t look well?” Giles raised a questioning eyebrow, “In what way didn’t they look ‘well’?”

“Oh you know,” Buffy sipped her tea again, it was hot, sweet and made her feel more relaxed, no doubt this was why Giles could stay so infuriatingly calm during a crisis. “Sort of pale…” Buffy thought about what she’d just said and qualified it, “…well, y’know paler, with red noses and eyes and a few of them were sneezing and coughing…like they had the flu or something.”

“How o…” Giles began.

“You say ‘odd’ again and I’ll punch you,” Buffy warned in a low voice.

“How strange,” Giles corrected himself, “as I’m sure you’re aware, vampires being the undead don’t normally get sick.”

“Well take it from me a couple of these guys looked like they were at death’s door,” Buffy explained unaware she’d just made a little joke.

“You’re sure,” Giles wanted confirmation and ignored Buffy's unintended play on words.

“Look Giles,” Buffy finished her tea and had a strange craving for cookies, “if you looked like a couple of these guys did I’d be calling for an ambulance right now.”

“Oh!” Giles took off his glasses and started to polish them as he considered everything Buffy had said, “What about the other denizens of the night.”

“Nothing,” Buffy shrugged, “nada.”

“In what way, precisely?” Giles replaced his glasses.

“Not much demon activity and what there was didn’t look like they were coming down with whatever the vamps have got,” Buffy brushed at some ash on her skirt that she’d missed with the vacuum.

“Well, this does sound interesting,” Giles noticed the cloud of ash rising around Buffy again and decided it was time to get her out of his nice clean library, “I’ll look into it, now you better get away home.”

“Home?” Buffy glanced at the clock on the wall, it was still early she’d thought Giles would want her to do another patrol or help him with research.

“Yes home,” Giles walked around the table and started to chivvy Buffy towards the door.

“Cool,” Buffy grinned, “you don’t have to tell me twice…well you do, but hey I’m outta here!”

Picking up speed Buffy disappeared through the doors leaving little dusty footprints behind her as she went.

Standing in a shadow Spike watched as the slayer walked down the sidewalk away from her school, perhaps she was heading for home he mused. Deciding that it might be useful to find out where the slayer lived, Spike started to move from shadow to shadow always keeping a safe distance from the girl as she walked seemingly without a care in the world. Of course very soon she would have more cares than she either wanted or needed…just before he killed her.

Having arrived in Sunnydale the previous night, Spike had already made an agreement with ‘The Annoying One’ to kill the slayer. He liked Sunnydale, it was the perfect place to stay while Drusilla got strong again. However Sunnydale belonged to the Annoying One, so it was wise for him to play nice, at least until he was more secure in his position, and what better way to secure his position in the vamp pecking order than to kill the slayer.

Watching the girl, Spike noted that she was younger, shorter and cuter than her immediate predecessor. But those facts wouldn’t save her when he came to kill her. Being younger she was likely to be less experienced than either of the two previous slayers he’d killed. But…but she had dealt efficiently and swiftly with the half dozen minions he’d sent after her just so he could see how she fought. On the other hand the vampires around here did seem to be a little sickly, Spike frowned at the thought but it was driven from his mind as the slayer stopped and looked around, he quickly hid behind a tree. When next he looked the slayer had gone.

Walking out into the street again, Spike looked up at the house. This must be where the slayer lived. Noting the address, he turned away and headed back to his lair and Drusilla. Snapping his fingers in annoyance at himself he stopped and looked around.

“Now I wonder if there’s anywhere still open?” he asked himself; he needed to get something for Dru to eat and he felt like a light snack himself, perhaps a toddler or something.

Standing on the sidewalk outside her house, Buffy looked around, she’d had the strangest feeling someone was following her. Wondering if Angel was stalking her again she looked into the shadows with her enhanced slayer night vision and saw nothing. Shrugging she trotted up the garden path to her front door. Slipping the key into the lock she opened the door and sneaked inside, listening for her mother Buffy was just about to head for the stairs when she heard her mother’s voice.

“Buffy! Is that you?”

“Hi Mom,” Buffy replied; two thoughts went through her mind; first, her mother must have hearing like a bat, second, if it wasn’t her coming home who was her mother expecting?

Joyce Summers came around the corner from the family room and into the hall, she looked at her daughter before holding up a type written note in her hand and used it to gesture at Buffy.

“Do you know what this is?” Joyce asked.

“Erm…notification that we’ve won the State lottery?” Buffy replied hopefully, she could actually guess what the letter really said.

“It’s a reminder for the Parent-Teacher Evening,” Joyce frowned, “When were you going to tell me about that?”

“Soon?” Buffy replied unconvincingly.

“Buffy,” Joyce gave an annoyed sigh, “why do you do these things and what have you been doing that would make you not want me to go and see your teachers and why are you covered in…” Joyce looked closely at her daughter, “…ash?”

“Erm…” Buffy thought quickly, if she did this right she could sidetrack her mother off the subject of Parent-Teacher evenings, “…th-there was a problem with the school boiler and it blew ash into the library and I stopped behind to help Mr Giles clean up.”

“Oh…” Joyce didn’t quite know whether to believe Buffy or not, “…you do seem to spend a lot of time with this Mr Giles…”

“Hey what can I say?” Buffy asked brightly, “I’m big with the books!”

It was at this point Joyce knew Buffy was lying, she might love her daughter but she’d long ago resigned herself to the fact that Buffy was never going to be some sort of intellectual giant. Whatever her daughter might say she wasn’t ‘big with books’. A worrying thought crossed Joyce’s mind; her daughter did spend an awful lot of time in the library with this Mr Giles. Joyce decided that she’d be happier if she met this librarian, after all you did hear stories about older men and attractive, impressionable, teenage girls.

“Hey, Mom,” Buffy had been watching as her mother appeared to be thinking of something else, “look I really should shower and I’ve still got homework to finish…”

“Oh! Yes, of course dear you better get on,” Joyce watched as Buffy disappeared upstairs; yes she’d be a lot happier once she’d met this mysterious Mr Giles.

The Bronze, the following evening.

Sitting at one of the tables just off the dance floor, Willow was trying to help Buffy revise her French grammar so that their French teacher wouldn’t call her an imbecile again. On the other hand Buffy was sort of hoping that Angel would turn up, but she kept being distracted by Willow, French irregular verbs and Xander’s antics on the dance floor. Glancing behind her Buffy looked for any sign of Angel, there was none.

“Hey, guys!” Xander was unexpectedly off the dance floor and standing at their table, “this band is great you’ve gotta come and dance with me.”

“We’re trying to work,” Willow announced sternly.

“Look,” Buffy gave a relieved smile and silently thanked Xander for giving her an excuse to leave her French books behind, “all work and no play makes Buffy a grumpy slayer,” Buffy smiled hopefully at Willow, “I mean how long have we been at this?”

Willow glanced at her watch, “Twelve minutes.”

“There, see?” Buffy jumped down from her stool, “Time for a break!”

Dragging a reluctant Willow behind her Buffy made her way out onto the dance floor and started to dance. Very soon Willow stopped being annoyed and joined in. Laughing and joking the three teenagers concentrated on having a good time until the band finished their set and went for a break. Walking back to their table, Buffy caught sight of Angel standing by her school books.

“Angel!” Buffy cried happily as she bounced over to the table and only just managed to stop herself from hugging and kissing the tall, dark, brooding vampire; instead she said, “So you came down after all?”

“I wasn’t sure you’d be here,” Angel explained his late arrival.

“I said I ‘might’ be here,” Buffy explained with a frown.

“That’s ‘girl’ for, ‘I’ll be lining up at the door waiting to get in on the off chance that you’ll turn up’,” Willow gasped, “You’re two-hundred years old and you couldn’t work that out?”

“What can I say?” Angel shrugged and then sneezed, “I’m a slow learner.”

“Are you alright?” Buffy placed the back of her hand against Angel’s forehead just like her mother did to her on the rare occasions she was feeling sick.

“Gotta say, Angel,” Willow looked closely at the vampire, “you look like death warmed up.”

“I’m okay,” Angel tried to shrug Buffy and Willow’s concern off, “I must have picked up a bug or something.”

“Maybe its Vamp-flu?” Xander sniggered.

“You’re shivering!” Buffy said with alarm, she looked closely at Angel’s face, “And are those zits?”

“What!?” Angel’s hand went to his face before he could stop himself.

“Yeah, like maybe you should get some Clearasil,” Xander observed enjoying Angel’s discomfort.

“This is weird,” Willow looked closely at the three or four little zits that were forming on Angel’s forehead.

Although it was strange that all three teenagers never seemed to get any zits the fact that Angel appeared to be developing them was stranger still.

“I think you should go and ask Giles,” Willow suggested in a concerned tone, “vampires aren’t supposed to get sick or have zits…”

“It must have been something I ate,” Angel tried to explain, “something in my pig’s blood.”

“Gross, much,” Buffy whispered.

“Yeah man,” Xander was finding it hard to keep the amusement out of his voice, “maybe you should go an’ see, Rupert Giles, Vamp Doctor!”

“Yeah, Angel,” Buffy moved her hand away from Angel’s head; those zits looked as if they were getting ickier by the minute, “maybe we should take you home or something?”

“No I’m…” Angel stumbled against the table and started to fall to the floor; in an instant Buffy was there to hold him up.

“No you’re not fine,” Buffy had Angel’s arm around her shoulder and was holding him up, she could feel him shiver as his temperature started to rise, Buffy looked at her friends, “Can you give me a hand guys we need to get him home.”

“Okay,” Xander stepped up and wrapped Angel’s other arm around his shoulder, “although I want it understood I’m doing this for Buffy not Angel.”

“Whatever,” Buffy started to manoeuvre Angel towards the door while Willow collected up their books, bags and jackets before following Buffy out of the door into the cool night air.

“Interesting,” Spike said to himself as he watched his old friend Angelus being helped out of the nightclub by the slayer and her friends no less.

Drusilla had been going on about the pixies in her head hitting her with their little hammers, so, Spike had left her to go out and find something to eat. It was odd but every time he brought Dru something to eat she seemed to get weaker not stronger, he wasn’t feeling too good himself, perhaps it was something to do with the hellmouth.

Whatever, Spike pushed all these other thought to the back of his mind; what was Angelus doing with the slayer and her friends? Earlier in the night he’d asked around about the slayer. He’d found out she had family and friends in town which was very unusual. The Council usually tried to isolate the slayer from everyone except her watcher. He’d intended to use tonight to introduce himself to the slayer and explain that he was here to kill her. But that could wait, what the slayer was doing with Angelus was much more interesting than messing with the slayer’s mind.

Chapter Text

3.

Giles' Apartment, that very night.

“Maybe it’s something to do with the Hellmouth,” Giles suggested and then dismissed the thought almost as quickly as he’d come up with it, “no that can’t be right, the hellmouth is supposed to make things stronger not weaker.”

“Isn't there something in your books?” Buffy asked as she wrapped Angel up in a blanket.

The three friends had taken Angel to Giles' apartment and he was now lying on Giles' couch. The watcher wasn't happy about having a vampire in his home but Buffy had sort of insisted and when Buffy insisted Giles found it very difficult to deny her anything. But, Angel did look very sick, which was curious (Giles had almost said 'odd' but he'd remembered his conversation with Buffy earlier and managed to stop himself) because as he kept telling everyone who'd listen, one of the plus things about being a vampire was you never got sick.

“I really don't know why you're doing that,” Giles said as he walked over to one of his bookcases and got down a large volume with the word 'Vampyre' embossed on its leather cover. “As a vampire is always at room temperature it seems pointless to try and keep him warm.”

“But he's shivering, Giles,” Buffy looked at her watcher with big concerned eyes.

“She's right,” Willow knelt down next to Buffy and touched Angel's forehead, it felt like he was burning up, “EWWW!” Willow squeaked as she pulled her hand away from Angel's head, before adding, “That's gross.”

“What's gross?” Buffy asked as she watched Willow fumble for a tissue and wipe her hand with it.

“I got some of that pus stuff on my hand,” satisfied that she'd got all of Angel's bodily fluids off her hand she screwed up the tissue and threw it in Giles' bin.

“Yeah, gross,” Xander agreed as he leaned towards Angel for a closer looked, “Hey Giles I think you should look at this.”

“Do I have to?” Giles sighed as he joined the group, “Oh yes,” Giles looked at the suppurating sores on Angel's forehead, “I agree...gross!”

“Giles!” Buffy looked up at her watcher angrily, “I don't think you're taking this seriously.”

“Yeah, man,” not unsurprisingly Xander agreed with Buffy, “you know how much I so don't like this guy,” he gestured at Angel, “but he looks totally wrecked y'gotta do something, Watcher-man.”

“Yes Giles,” Willow added her voice to the pro-Angel lobby, “you've got to do something.”

Looking at the three sets of teenage eyes staring at him pleadingly, Giles sighed heavily as he put his big book of vampires on his dinning table.

“I suppose I could keep him here under observation for the night,” Giles replied grudgingly, “But you know its not Council policy to look after sick vampire?”

“Oh thank-you Giles!” Buffy got up and ran around the couch to give Giles a big hug; she was quickly followed by Willow, but when Xander tried to join in Giles stopped him in his tracks with a sharp look.

“Yes, yes,” Giles patted Buffy and Willow on their shoulders slightly self-consciously; although in general terms Giles didn't mind being hugged by attractive young women, being hugged by his young slayer and her bestfriend was, he felt, inappropriate, “I'll see what I can do,” he reassured everyone as he was slowly released from Buffy and Willow's embrace, “But in the meantime,” he looked down into Buffy's eyes and for a moment he felt incredibly sad that such a pretty, lively girl would probably never see her eighteenth birthday, “I think you should go home, perhaps taking a turn around the Union Street cemetery?”

“Yeah, okay,” Buffy replied reluctantly as she looked longingly at the couch where Angel lay shivering and moaning.

“Yeah, Buffy,” Xander chimed in, “it's best we leave 'Watcher-guy' to his books,” he looked hopefully at Giles, “that's right isn't it Giles?”

“Erm, yes,” Giles agreed; it was obvious to him that Xander had his own reasons to keep Buffy away from Angel and for once he agreed whole heartedly with the teenager.

If Buffy had to have a relationship, something that Giles had resigned himself to allowing to happen. But, who was he kidding? There was little he could do to stop Buffy doing exactly what she wanted and if she ever realised this he'd be in deep trouble. However, his feeling were if Buffy needed to have a relationship with a young man he'd prefer it was with Xander and not a mass murdering vampire even if he did claim to be 'good' now.

After ushering the teens to the door, Giles let them out before going back to look at Angel. Yes, Giles nodded his head sagely to himself, Angel did indeed look 'wrecked' as Xander so aptly put it. Taking his glasses off, Giles began to give them a slow contemplative polish. The very idea of a vampire getting sick was preposterous, there were a few mystical poisons that could affect a vampire but this didn't look like any of those. However, it was a good place to start, if it wasn't one of the poisons known to be effective against vampires, he could start to look for other possible causes.

In the meantime it might be useful to take a look at some of the pus that was oozing quite freely from the sores on Angel's face. Turning away from the vampire, Giles went over to a closet and took out his Watcher's 'Junior Science Set', as he called it. The box he took in his hands held a wholly inadequate set of scientific instruments that he'd not actually had much cause to use before.

Taking a test tube and a wooden tongue depressor from the box of cheep supplies (it was typical of the Council to equip their field watchers with the cheapest equipment available). Going over to Angel he bent down and scraped a little of the yellowish white pus into the test tube. Standing up he held the test tube up to the light and watched as the sample slowly turned to ash.

“Damn it!” Giles cursed quietly, “Of course, once separated from the vampire,” he reminded himself, “it'll turn to dust.”

A thought struck him and he walked over to his waste paper bin. Picking Willow's soiled tissue out of the trash he opened it up to find a few grains of vampire ash. Well, he shook his head, that's not going to get him far. The next thought that entered his mind was, why was he bothering? Angel was a mass murdering, blood sucking fiend from hell who could very possibly be leading his slayer to her own destruction. Giles had never really been taken in my the entire, tortured soul out for redemption tale that Angel had been spouting to Buffy and everyone else.

“Damn you Xander,” Giles muttered angrily, “why didn't you have more back bone and ask Buffy out on one of these date things when you had the chance?”

No, Giles was not taken in by Angel's story, well, he might have been, just a little. But, that only showed how dangerous Angel was. If he could pull the wool over an experienced watcher's eyes. Leading a young, inexperienced, innocent slayer to her death would be easy.

“Bloody hell Xander!” Giles muttered again, “I might not have liked you being Buffy's boyfriend but you'd be one-hundred percent better than the alternative.”

Giles found himself looking at Angel's helpless form as he tossed and turned on the couch; he wouldn't have a better opportunity to 'deal' with Angel once and for all. All he needed to do was to get a stake from his weapons chest. Ram it into Angel's black heart and vacuum up the ash. But what would he tell Buffy? What he told Buffy wouldn't be a problem because there'd be no one to argue with his account.

He could just tell Buffy that Angel had suddenly recovered and had gone back to his lair just before dawn. It wouldn't be his fault if Angel never made it home or decided to leave town. In fact the more he thought about it the more he liked the idea and maybe with Angel out of the way he could nudge Xander into being Buffy's boyfriend. Xander was a known quantity, he could be controlled and he could help control Buffy.

“Good god man!” Giles asked himself angrily, “What are you thinking?”

No, Giles shook his head, that was not the way to go, if he wanted to have any influence over Buffy he'd have to win her trust not use a web of deceit and lies to control her. A loud grown from Angel intruded into Giles' thoughts. He looked over to where the vampire tossed and turned as he groaned loudly on his couch. Not sure what to do, Giles rushed over and knelt down next to the vampire.

“I say old chap, what's...!?” Giles never got to finish his question because Angel simply exploded into a cloud of ash right there in front of his eyes. “How odd.”

Buffy's House.

“Hi Mom, I'm home!” Buffy called as she led Willow and Xander through her front door.

The patrol around the Union Street cemetery had been a bust, it was dead for the undead, for which Buffy was grateful, she wasn't really in a slaying mood tonight.

“Hi honey,” Joyce appeared from out of the family room and stopped dead in her tracks when she saw that Buffy had brought her two best friends home.

“Oh hello, Willow...Xander,” Joyce smiled at the teens.

“Hi Mrs Summers,” Willow and Xander chorused back.

“I hope you don't mind mom,” Buffy said knowing that while her friends were here her mom wouldn't bring up Parent Teacher night, “but I brought my buds home to hang.”

“No...no, that's fine,” a thought had come to Joyce's mind, maybe if she could get one of Buffy's friends alone she might be able to find out more about this Mr Giles. “would you like something to drink, maybe a snack...”

Yes that would work, Xander's eyes had lit up at the mention of snacks just as she knew they would.

“No, mom I...” Buffy began but was almost immediately interrupted by Xander.

“Gee that's nice of you Mrs 'S',” Xander beamed.

“Would you like to be my kitchen buddy Xander while Buffy and Willow go up to Buffy's room and talk about you?” Joyce asked with a grin.

“MOM!” Buffy cried, turning slightly pink with embarrassment.

“Look, Buffy,” Joyce turned a serious look on her daughter, “it's a mother's duty to embarrass her daughter in front of her friends, now you wouldn't want me to be a bad mother would you?”

“I suppose not,” Buffy sighed before turning to Willow, “come on Will,” she started up the stairs towards her room, “we might as well while mom pumps Xander for information on what we all do together.”

“Buffy!” Joyce and Willow cried looking shocked while Xander just said “'Pumped'?”

“Come on Xander,” Joyce headed off towards the kitchen as Buffy and Willow headed up stairs.

“Pumped?” Xander asked again, but by now there was no one around to answer him so he followed Joyce into the kitchen.

Joyce liked Xander, he seemed such a nice boy, nicer than some of the boys Buffy had been involved with, she really wished her daughter had Xander as a boyfriend rather than this mysterious 'Angel' who sounded far too old for her daughter. But Buffy seemed to be attracted to older boys. This thought made Joyce remember the real reason to get Xander away from Buffy and Willow.

“Xander,” Joyce began as she quickly and efficiently moved around the kitchen getting a tray of snacks and sodas ready to be taken upstairs, “this Mr Giles, do you and Willow 'hang out' in the library as much as Buffy seems to?”

“Oh yeah,” Xander sneaked a chocolate chip cookie and popped it into his mouth, “Giles is totally cool, for an old guy.”

“In what way is he 'totally cool'?” Joyce demanded as she turned to the boy, “What do the three of you get up to in amongst all those books?”

This was not how she'd planned to talk to Xander but her concern for her daughter's well being had overruled any subtler means of questioning...plus it was 'that time of the month' so she was feeling a little on edge.

“Erm...” Xander did scarred rabbit impressions as he tried to back away from the suddenly weird acting 'Buffy's mom', “...I'm not sure what you mean...”

Actually he was pretty damn sure he did know what Mrs Summers meant, but he wasn't going to risk putting his big foot in his mouth until he'd had it spelled out to him.

“I mean...” Joyce wrung her hands together, “...I mean...does Mr Giles act in anyway inappropriately towards you, Willow or....Buffy?”

“Inappropriately?” Xander repeated, slowly the penny dropped through the molasses of his mind, “OH! You mean 'inappropriately' as in the naughty, touchy, feely way?”

“Erm...yes,” there Joyce had admitted it to someone that she was worried for her daughter's 'honour' and she felt like a great weight had been lifted from her shoulders; although how long that feeling would last depended on what Xander said next.

“Giles?” Xander laughed, “Inappropriate? HA!” Xander shook his head, “Giles is so proper that you'd think he had a broomstick rammed up his...” Xander stopped himself before he said anything wrong, “...back! I meant to say 'back' all along...” Xander looked at the worried woman in front of him and wished that his own parents could show him just a fraction of the love and concern that Mrs Summers had for Buffy. Xander took a deep breath, “Take it from me Mrs Summers, Mr Giles is the least of your worries...”

“You mean there are other things I should be worried about?” Joyce asked in horror.

Shaking his head and sighing deeply, Xander realised that where Buffy was concerned, Mrs Summers saw the cloud not the silver lining and the glass would always be half empty.

Giles' Flat.

Sitting down in his favourite chair, a glass of Scotch in his hand, Giles starred over at his now empty couch. After Angel had exploded he'd vacuumed the dead vampire up, only keeping a few ounces of vamp ash just in case it told him something at a later date. Once he was sure there was no trace of Angel left in his flat he'd phoned the Council in London. After describing what had happened to Angel he'd not only been congratulated for ridding the world of a vicious killer but he'd also received some interesting information.

In all there were twenty-five known Hellmouths scattered around the would. Of these, four were active with the one in Sunnydale being the most dangerous; which accounted for the Slayer's presence on this particular Hellmouth. It appeared that over the last week there had been increased vampire activity around all the hellmouths including the inactive ones. There also appeared to be a plague sweeping through the vampire population the symptoms of which sounded very much how Giles had described Angel's demise. After being told to monitor the situation in Sunnydale, the Council had rung off leaving Giles with his own thoughts.

“How very odd,” Giles said to himself as he sat and sipped his Scotch.

Chapter Text

4.

Sunnydale High, the next day.

Arriving bright and early (well, early for her, she didn't have to run to avoid being late) Buffy hoped to be able to go and see Giles and find out if there was any news about Angel. Instead she was confronted by a smirking Cordelia Chase almost as soon as she walked through the front door.

“Okay,” Buffy sighed as she came to a halt in front of the attractive brunette, “what's gone wrong now?”

“Nothing,” Cordelia gave a self satisfied smile, “at least not for me,” she handed Buffy an official looking note, “Snyder wants to see you.”

“Oh darn,” Buffy cursed as she accepted the note and read it.

“You better move it,” Cordy suggested, “he looked real mean...” Cordy started to turn away, but stopped in mid-turn, “...but then he always looks totally mean...” Cordy gave Buffy a bright, tooth flashing, insincere smile, “...good luck!”

Before Buffy could ask if Cordy knew what Snyder wanted to see her about the other girl was half way down the corridor and talking to her real friends. Muttering under her breath about the injustices of life, Buffy turned her feet towards Principal Snyder's office. It didn't take her long to get to the office, Sunnydale High wasn't that big a school. Standing nervously outside Snyder's office, Buffy tried to compose herself. She also tried to think of any reason, other than Snyder being an obnoxious creep, that he'd what to see her. Giving a resigned sigh, she lifted her hand and knocked.

“Come!” came the muffled reply from inside the office.

Opening the door, Buffy went in to find Snyder standing with his back to the window behind his desk. Looking slightly to her left she saw the only other person in the room. Frowning Buffy tried to place the girl, she was obviously a student and in her year, but she just couldn't call the girl's name to mind.

“Sit!” Snyder said in the same sort of tone you might use to a disobedient dog.

Sitting down on the free chair facing Snyder's desk, Buffy clutched her books to her chest as if they were some sort of magical protective talisman, she cast the other girl an anxious glance. The other girl simply gave Buffy a disinterested shrug before going back to studying the cracks in the ceiling. By her demeanour and from the way the girl dressed, Buffy guessed that she spent a lot of her free time studying ceilings. Movement caught Buffy's eye and she turned her head to find that Snyder was looking out of his window with his back to her.

“A lot of educators tell students,” Snyder began, “'think of your principal as your pal', I say,” pausing for dramatic effect, Snyder turned around slowly and looked down at the two teenage girls, “Think of me as your judge, jury, and executioner. Tell me, who do you think is the most troublesome student in this school?”

The two girls glanced at each other, Buffy shrugged while the other girl continued to look even more bored and disinterested.

“Well,” Snyder sighed when it became obvious that neither girl was going to answer him, “it is quite a match between you two. On the one hand, Buffy hasn't stabbed a horticulture teacher with a trowel.”

“I didn't stab anyone with a trowel,” the other girl spoke for the first time, she smiled before adding, “they were pruning shears.”

“On the other hand,” Snyder continued trying to ignore the girl's comment, “Sheila has never burned down a school building.”

Right, Sheila, Buffy remembered the girl now; Sheila was the school slut (every high school had one...or two), Sheila worked the lower more violent end of the school hierarchy while Cordy serviced the more well-to-do end of society. Realising these thoughts were mean and (probably) uncalled for, Buffy scolded herself before looking up to see Snyder staring down at her, he was obviously expecting some sort of comment from her.

“Erm...well, that was never proven,” Buffy pointed out in her defence, “the Fire Marshall said it coulda been mice.”

“Mice?” Snyder asked unconvinced.

“Erm, m...mice that were smoking?” Buffy suggested in near panic.

“The two of you seem to be tied in the class-cutting and fight-starting events,” Snyder continued as he dismissed Buffy's explanation for the lie it was, “You really are neck and neck here. It's quite exciting.”

“What does the winner get?” Sheila drawled.

“Expelled,” Snyder replied with a happy smile.

“Expelled?” Sheila asked as she shifted in her seat, she sat and thought about this for a minute before smiling and saying, “GREAT!”

“What!?” Buffy found herself asking at the same time as Snyder.

“That's great!” Sheila bounced to her feet and started to head towards the office door.

“Sit right back down, young lady,” Snyder pointed to the now vacant chair, “I haven't finished with you...”

“But I've finished with you,” Sheila smiled, her hand on the door knob, “I'm outta here...do y'know how much I can make starring in porn movies?”

Shocked, Snyder shook his head.

“Neither do I, but it's gotta be more than I could make in any job I got after leaving this dump,” Sheila tossed her head indicating the school and the interview were sooo over, “I'm outta here an' I won't be back to clear out my locker...” she fixed Snyder with a look of triumph, “...screw you man!”

With this parting shot, Sheila opened the door and walked out of Snyder's office and his life forever. In the silence that followed Sheila's surprise departure, Buffy and Snyder found themselves staring in stunned silence at each other. Buffy felt that she really needed to say something, but she was relieved of that necessity when Snyder asked...

“Where was I?”

“You were saying something about being 'expelled',” Buffy supplied helpfully.

“Yes that's right...expelled...” Snyder took a moment to compose himself, “Tonight is Parent-Teacher night.”

Buffy didn't need telling this as she'd been living in terror of this night happening for weeks; she didn't know which was worse, being killed by The Master, or her mother finding out what her grades were really like.

“Your parents, assuming you have any,” Snyder continued unaware of Buffy's inner turmoil, “will meet your teachers, assuming you have any left. I had decided to put the two of you in charge of this event. But now there's only you, Summers and you'll have to do it all by yourself,” Snyder smiled evilly, “in between your normal lessons of course, You have the rest of the day to prepare the refreshments, make the banners and transform the school lounge into a habitable place for adults.” Snyder sneered, “In the unlikely event that you succeed, this will incur my good will which may, or may not, affect what I tell your parents when I meet them. Are we clear?”

“Today?” Buffy asked more than a little shell shocked, “And go to class?”

Snyder nodded, a big smile on his face.

“But that's im...”

“Impossible?” Snyder asked, “Well, of course it is...of course you could follow Sheila's example and save us both a lot of trouble.” Snyder smiled even harder when he thought of something new to say, “Perhaps Sheila can get you a job in the 'movies'.”

This last comment was almost Snyder's last because Buffy had great difficulty holding herself in her chair and not ripping Snyder's still beating heart from his chest and stuffing it down his throat. On second thoughts, Buffy told herself, that would be incredibly messy and she'd ruin her clothes. However, she knew a lot of interesting ways of killing obnoxious school principals that hardly left any marks and wouldn't get any blood on her clothes at all!

“So what are you waiting for?” Snyder looked at his watch, “You have less than nine hours before you get expelled.”

Okay, Buffy thought as she got slowly up from her seat, the guys will rally 'round and help out.

“Oh and another thing Ms Summers,” Snyder called from behind his desk, “if I find any of your friends helping you they'll be expelled too.”

This was too much, now Snyder was threatening Willow and Xander. Turning as she pulled one of the stakes she always carried from her bag, she threw it at Snyder. The Principal had no time to dodge or even react as the stake hit him in the chest and punctured his heart. Watching from the doorway, Buffy smiled as Snyder slumped across his desk and his blood started to pool around him.

Blinking her eyes, Buffy saw Snyder sitting there watching her as he waited for her to leave. Damn! she thought, it was only a daydream, wishful thinking, but maybe... Pushing all thoughts of principal-icide from her mind, Buffy opened the door and rushed outside.

“He what!?” Giles demanded after Buffy had explained about her interview with Snyder, “He can't do that, I'll...!”

“No Giles!” Buffy grabbed hold of her watcher's arm to prevent him from going to see Snyder.

The way Giles was acting was scaring Buffy, she'd never seen the normally placid Englishman so angry before; she'd heard about people going pale with anger, but she'd never seen it for real; until now.

“But...”

“No Giles,” Buffy pulled her struggling watcher away from the door and back towards his office, “I can do this...given a couple of minor miracles. But what I don't need is for my watcher to get himself thrown into jail for beating the Principal to a bloody pulp...” Buffy took a deep breath before explaining, “...if there's any beating to be done, I'll do it.”

It was now Buffy realised what she should have done while she was in Snyder's office. What she should have done was to rip open her top and start to scream, before running out of the room apparently crying. Even if Snyder didn't get arrested for assaulting one of his female students it would have muddied the water long enough for parent-teacher evening to be cancelled. Wasn't it always the way? You always thought of the best put downs hours after the event.

“Look,” Buffy found herself being the voice of reason, an unusual position for her, “we can get through this if we hold ourselves together and don't murder Snyder in the next twelve hours...”

“But we can can kill him when the twelve hours are up?” Giles asked a little too eagerly.

Buffy frowned at this example of role reversal, normally it was her wanting to kill or hit or strangle or burn things. For a moment Buffy imagined Snyder being, hit and strangled and set on fire.

“Buffy?”

Buffy looked up to see her watcher giving her a concerned look.

“W...what?”

“For a moment there you looked very happy and just a little insane,” Giles explained, “I was a tad worried.”

“Hey!” Buffy tried to shrug her daydream off, “You and your tads...in all the excitement of impending expulsion and a life spent working in the porn industry...”

“Porn industry?” Giles gave Buffy a puzzled look as he took off his glasses to give them a vigorous polish.

“I'll tell you later,” Buffy's bantering demeanour changed in a heart beat, “I forgot to ask about Angel.”

“Ah, Angel?” Giles slowly put his glasses back on; what was he supposed to say?

If he told Buffy that Angel had exploded that would probably push Buffy over the edge and who knew what would happen then.

“Yes Angel,” Buffy looked up into Giles' face expectantly, “you know, tall, broody vampire, I left him at your apartment last night...”

Buffy's voice faded away as she read the expression on Giles' face.

“I'm sorry Buffy,” Giles began slowly, he couldn't lie to her; lying always caused more trouble than it was worth, even little white lies about how a certain vampire had simply exploded.

“W...what happened?” Buffy gasped guessing the truth.

“Here, sit down,” Giles led an unresisting Buffy into his office and sat her down on a spare chair.

“Tell me what happened, Giles...please,” Buffy felt as if her heart had stopped beating and she wished Xander had never given her the kiss of life after the Master had killed her.

“After you left,” Giles began slowly, “I'm afraid Angel got worse...”

“Why didn't you call me?” Buffy asked as if from a thousand miles away.

“There was nothing you could do,” this was the truth, “and there wasn't time,” this little fact wasn't a hundred percent true but Giles could live with the discrepancy. “he simply exploded there on the couch.”

“Exploded?” Buffy whimpered her eyes shining with fresh tears.

“He...” Giles hesitated not knowing the best thing to say, he decided on the truth, “...he sort of groaned loudly and exploded...I had to vacuum him up...”

“Vacuum him up?” Buffy asked rather sharply as she wiped at her eyes with the back of her hand, “You vacuumed the man I loved up as if he was just so much household dust?”

“I put him in a jar afterwards,” Giles hadn't, but he could, given five minutes and an old coffee jar once he got home.

“And that's supposed to make me feel better?” Buffy demanded as she stood up and sent her chair flying, “How could you Giles?”

“How could I what?” Giles demanded as he too got to his feet, he was under the impression he'd done nothing wrong; okay telling Buffy he'd vacuumed Angel up might have been a little insensitive, but what else was he supposed to do?

“I hate you Giles!” Buffy actually stamped her foot in anger before turning and leaving his office at high-speed.

“BUFFY!” Giles called after his rapidly departing slayer as she headed on out of the library.

Standing there in the doorway to his office, Giles watched as the library doors swung back and forth after Buffy had gone through them like a short, blonde tornado.

“Damn it,” Giles muttered angry at himself, “I didn't handle that very well, did I?”

Whatever had happened he felt sure that once Buffy had calmed down she'd come back and everything would be fine again. In the mean time Giles felt he needed to settle things with Mr Snyder once and for all time. After ensuring that his glasses were polished to crystal clarity he set them firmly on his nose and headed for Snyder's office.

Not bothering to knock, Giles burst into Snyder's office.

“Mr Giles!” Snyder looked up from his desk in alarm at the usually mild-mannered librarian.

“Principal Snyder,” Giles came to a halt in front of Snyder's desk, “I'm afraid Ms Summers won't be available to complete the Twelve Labours of Hercules that you set her as someone very dear to her has recently died...”

“Oh,” Snyder smirked and almost rubbed his hands with glee, “I love the smell of expulsions in the morning.”

Seeing red and losing all self control, Giles reached across Snyder's desk and lifted the principal bodily from his seat. After all Giles was watcher to a slayer and had to be pretty fit and strong to train her, he'd also been known as 'Ripper' for several years of his life.

“Now listen to me you obnoxious little toad,” Giles said with quiet menace as he held Snyder within inches of his face, “When Ms Summers feels she's ready to return to full time education you will personally apologies to her for any distress you might have caused her and you will never again threaten her in anyway what-so-ever, do I make myself clear?”

“And if I don't?”

Giles couldn't make up his mind if Snyder was brave or just plain stupid.

“You might be a powerful man in this town,” Giles smiled, but not in a nice way, “but I know people who could destroy your life with the stroke of a pen, so you'd never get any type of job ever again...”

The Council of Watchers had the power and influence to destroy Snyder's life. Whether they would do so just on Giles' say so was another thing and something Snyder didn't need to know. Dropping Snyder back into his chair, Giles turned and left the office slamming the door behind him.

Chapter Text

5.

Spike's Lair.

Sitting on a chair in the underground room he'd called home, Spike stared in disbelieve at the bed he'd shared with Dru. There lying on the covers was Dru's outline marked out in ash, unbelievably she was dead, gone forever like so many of his brethren. He'd left Dru the previous evening going out in the hopes of finding something or someone who could tell him what was wrong with her and how to make her well again. But he'd found nothing. Those demons who were willing to talk to him had been able to tell him nothing new. His fellow vampires were just as ignorant and frightened as he was, whatever was happening was 'new' and most vampires and demons didn't handle 'new' very well.

From the first, Spike had thought there was something odd about Sunnydale, he remembered how the Hellmouth had called to him. He'd known other Hellmouth's in his long career as a vampire, they'd all called to him and his kind but not as strongly as the Sunnydale Hellmouth. When he'd arrived here with the sickly Dru in tow he'd hoped that it would be a place she could recover from her experiences. But, instead of growing stronger she'd grown progressively weaker until sometime the previous night she'd quietly turned to ash and was gone.

Of course Dru wasn't the first vampire that Spike had seen weaken, get sick and eventually explode into a cloud of dust. But Dru was the only other vampire that he'd cared about and loved. He'd loved her like no other creature living or undead in both his life and un-life and he'd brought her to Sunnydale. The place was cursed, it had to be, what was happening was like nothing he'd ever experienced. Sitting there in the semi-darkness clutching one of Dru's dolls to his chest his sobs of regret turned into a wet, hacking cough.

He knew he too was dying, he didn't know what from or how long he had left but he was filled with a steely resolve to go out and take vengeance on the world for killing his one true love. He'd sat motionless in the chair for most of the day as he tried to decide how he should make the world suffer for killing Dru. Many fanciful plans had formed in his head only to be dismissed as unworkable, Spike was a rarity amongst vampires, even with a broken heart he thought with his brain not his fangs.

Not knowing how long he had left, he looked at the oozing sores on his hands and guessed he didn't have long, he decided to pick a target close to home. He laughed as the idea came to him. It would be a good way to go out, to make his hat-trick as it were and be remembered as the only vampire to have killed three slayers. Pushing himself to his feet he stumbled as he was afflicted by a wave of dizziness. Holding onto the wall he closed his eyes until it passed, stifling a bout of coughing he moved slowly towards the door. Pausing he turned to look back to where Dru had lain.

“See y'soon luv,” he croaked before going out to find Buffy Summers and kill her.

The Gallery.

After looking around the deserted gallery one last time, Joyce turned the 'Open' sign on the door to 'Closed' before locking the door. Walking back to her little office at the rear of the shop, Joyce looked at her watch in annoyance, she'd meant to have closed up a couple of hours ago. But, just before she'd gone to lock the door up a customer had arrived. The gallery didn't have that many customers that she could afford to turn them away, so she'd let him in and spent some time showing Mr O'Mahony around.

As it happened the time had been well spent and Mr O'Mahony bought several expensive pieces. With the profit from the sale, Joyce would be able to pay her local taxes for the rest of the year and still have a sizeable amount of cash left over. Joyce really wished that customers like Mr O'Mahony walked into the gallery every week. However, dealing with rich Irishmen had made her late for the parent-teacher evening.

Collecting her bag and coat, Joyce decided to go straight from the gallery to the school, she had her car parked out back and she could be at Sunnydale High in five minutes. Glancing at the phone on her desk as she picked up her keys, Joyce decided to phone home, just to check on Buffy's where abouts. Frowning with concern she picked up the receiver and dialled, the phone rang and rang, obviously Buffy wasn't at home.

“Darn!” Joyce muttered as she put the phone down, “Where's that girl got to now?”

Not once did Joyce think that Buffy might have been in the shower and couldn't come to the phone. No, she just assumed that Buffy was doing something, not exactly bad, but something she shouldn't. But then again who could really blame her, what with Buffy's past track record? Switching off the light's in the gallery, Joyce headed for the back door where she paused to set the alarm before heading outside and locking the door behind her.

Only when she was out in the yard behind the gallery did Joyce notice how dark it was and remembered the higher than average number of muggings in Sunnydale. Watching the shadows for movement she walked rapidly towards her car. Unlocking the door she climbed in without being attacked by gangbangers on PCP. Sitting behind the wheel for a moment, Joyce found herself thinking about Buffy again, she couldn't understand what her daughter was thinking. Yes, she made allowances for Buffy's age. After all, Joyce admitted to herself, she'd been no angel at Buffy's age and had, no doubt, driven her mother to distraction. But Buffy's behaviour seemed something more that the normal teenage rebellion.

Pulling out of the yard and heading towards Sunnydale High, Joyce resolved to try and get to know her daughter better. Even before the divorce and moving to Sunnydale things hadn't been perfect between Buffy and herself, Joyce admitted that she'd not exactly paid as much attention to her daughter as maybe she should. Waiting at a traffic signal for the lights to change, Joyce found herself sitting up straighter as she resolved to pay more attention to Buffy's life than she had before. She loved her daughter, always had, always would, but she didn't think that Buffy realised that. No matter what Buffy's teachers said, Joyce decided the time had come for her to be a better parent.

The Library.

“Xander!” Giles cried as he saw the youth burst into the library, “any...?”

“No sign of her anywhere, Giles,” Xander cut Giles off in mid question before coming to stand next to the counter where Giles stood nervously watching the clock.

“You looked everywhere?” Giles asked as he started to pace up and down like a caged tiger.

“The Bronze, her house, the movie theatre, the Expresso Pump and every cemetery in a five block radius,” Xander replied as he looked around for somewhere to sit down; his feet were killing him after all the walking he'd done today.

“No sign?” Giles asked he'd stopped pacing and started fiddling distractedly with his date stamp.

“None,” Xander limped over to the research table and sat down in one of the chairs around it.

“I phoned the police and hospitals,” Giles admitted, “no sign of her there, thank god.”

“Look Giles,” Xander found himself in the unusual position of being the emotional support, “she'll turn up...she's the slayer, if she doesn't want to be found then she won't be and its not like she's a defenceless teenage girl, y'know?”

“Under normal circumstances I'd agree,” Giles put down his date stamp and started to polish his glasses, “but she's probably distracted by everything that's happened. In such a situation even a slayer can be taken by surprise and well...” Giles paused reluctant to paint a picture of what could happen to a distracted slayer, “...well, you know what I mean.”

“But this is Buffy, Giles,” Xander pointed out hopefully, “she'd never be that distracted.”

“You didn't see her,” Giles came out from behind the counter and came over to sit down next to Xander, “and grief can do strange things to people...of course I hold you entirely responsible for this state of affairs.”

“ME!?” Xander cried in shock, “How? Why? What...!?”

“Yes you.” Giles replied sharply, “If you'd shown more backbone when Buffy first arrived in Sunnydale and asked her out on one of these date things then none of this would have happened.”

Xander's mouth moved but no words came out as he tried, but failed, to articulate just how unfair Giles was being. After a moment or two, Giles sighed heavily and smiled apologetically at Xander.

“I'm sorry,” Giles admitted, “that was totally uncalled for, after all how could you possibly compete with a tall, dark and brooding vampire? The danger of the situation was probably enough to turn Buffy's head.”

Shutting his mouth with a snap, Xander tried to work out if he'd just been insulted or not. Deciding to let it go, he reached out and placed his hand on Giles shoulder.

“Hey, Watcher-man, we all love her,” Xander shrugged, “she'll turn up.”

Giles didn't answer he just stared at Xander's hand as it rested on his shoulder until Xander moved it away.

Sunnydale High.

Unlike many other students, Willow didn't need to worry about what her teachers would say about her work. For one thing her grades were always good, in fact they were better than good they were fantastic! Another reason for her not to worry was the knowledge that her parents wouldn't show up tonight. As usual they were out of town, they were lecturing at UCLA and wouldn't be back until the weekend.

The reason Willow was standing in the entrance lobby casting nervous glances at Cordelia, was that she'd volunteered to be a hostess and show parents around the school and take them to meet their children's teachers. It also meant that she might be able to intercept Buffy if she turned up at school. Willow was extremely worried for her friend; Xander had been out looking for her most of the day but hadn't found her. With dark thoughts going through her mind as to what might have happened to Buffy, Willow almost didn't notice Mrs Summers standing hesitantly just inside the doorway.

“Ms Summers!” Willow cried as she approached Joyce and plastered a happy expression on her face.

“W...Willow?” Joyce frowned as she succeeded in remembering Willow's name, “What are you doing here?”

Willow knew she needed to juggle several conflicting priorities; she needed for Mrs Summers to never actually meet any of Buffy's teachers. Principal Snyder had to be avoided at all costs and finally (and probably most importantly) Joyce Summers must not find out that her daughter was missing.

“Hi,” Willow smiled like she'd never smiled before as she took hold of Joyce's arm and started to steer her away from the entrance, “I'm playing hostess tonight, now is there anywhere you'd like to see first?”

“I'm not sure,” Joyce said as she tried to stop Willow dragging her off down a corridor, the girl was surprisingly strong.

“How about we should start in the maths room?” Willow happened to know that Mr Mitchell, Buffy's maths teacher was off sick today.

“Erm, no,” Joyce remembering her concerns about Buffy and the librarian, Mr Giles, she decided that she'd start out in the library, “Is Mr Giles the Librarian in tonight?”

“Oh yeah!” Willow smiled brightly, this was easier than she'd hoped, she could take Ms Summers to see Giles, Willow was sure he'd not say anything bad about Buffy. “Yeah the library's right this way.

Almost dragging Joyce along the corridor, Willow headed for the library.

The Library.

Standing helplessly in his library, Giles distractedly moved books from one place to another without much thought. He cursed parent-teacher evenings, if he hadn't got to be where he was he could be out looking for Buffy instead of having to rely on Xander. The boy's heart was in the right place but that didn't stop Giles from thinking he should be doing more to look for his slayer. Hearing the door open and close he looked up expecting to see some parent who'd wandered in by mistake. Instead he saw Buffy standing like a small, forlorn child just inside the door. Even at this distance he could see how red her eyes were from crying.

“Buffy,” he breathed in relief as he saw his slayer was unharmed.

“Giles...” Buffy looked up before taking a step towards him.

“I'm sorry,” they chorused as Buffy rushed into Giles' arms.

“Thank god you're back,” Giles murmured as he held onto Buffy tightly, “I was so worried...”

“I'm sorry I yelled at you Giles,” Buffy sniffed, “I should have known you'd do nothing to harm Angel...”

The door opened again and Giles couldn't help thinking that he'd had more visitors tonight than he had in the last month.

“...and this is the library,” Willow announced proudly as she led Joyce into the room, “and this is Mr Giles our...” Willow gasped as she noticed Giles and Buffy for the first time, “...oh my god!” Willow squeaked, “Giles...Buffy?”

Seeing Buffy and Giles in what looked like a totally inappropriate embrace, Joyce marched across the library to come to a halt right in front of Giles.

“I'll thank you to take your sick and perverted hands off my daughter!” Joyce snarled; she took hold of Buffy's arm and pulled her from Giles' grasp.

“M-Mrs Summers!” Giles cried with rising panic, “This isn't what it looks like...” a frown crossed his face as he asked himself why he was acting so defensively, he'd done nothing wrong.

“Of course its not,” Joyce's hand lashed out to catch Giles across the face with a resounding slap, “if its not what I think it is, what is it then?”

“I...?” Giles' hand went to his face to adjust his glasses that were now sitting crookedly across his nose.

“MOM!” Buffy cried as she pulled herself free of her mother's grasp and stood between the two adults, “What do you think you're doing?”

“I'll tell what I'm doing,” Joyce grabbed hold of Buffy's arm again and started to pull her towards the door, “I'm taking you out of this den of...of...depravity a-and VICE!”

“Vice?” Xander asked as he joined the scene in the library, “Where?”

“Mrs Summers,” Giles called after Joyce, “I can explain...”

“Save your explanations for the school board and the police,” Joyce cried as she neared the door.

“NO!” Buffy yelled bringing her mother to a halt.

“Buffy?” Joyce tugged on her daughter's arm but found she simply couldn't move the girl.

“Mother,” Buffy's face was set with determination, “you're going to stop and sit down and let Mr Giles and me explain about what you saw instead of...of...of, I don't know what.” Buffy glanced at Willow and Xander, “Watch the door and don't let anyone in...” she turned her attention back to her mother, “...mother,” Buffy pointed to a chair, “sit!”

Sunnydale High, Students Lounge.

Stumbling into the open area, Spike looked around for Buffy, he'd seen her come into the school building and followed her, now she seemed to have vanished.

“Where's that bitch of a slayer?” Spike demanded loudly as a dozen or more heads turned to look at him.

Staggering across the room, Spike was vaguely aware of several humans coming towards him; he heard someone tell someone else to call for the police.

“Police won't help,” Spike laughed, his laugh quickly turned to a hacking cough as he pushed one of the humans away, “Where's that fucking, slayer, bitch?” he demanded as the room began to spin and more hands were laid on him; he didn't seem to have the strength to fight them off, “let me go you bastards!”

All of a sudden, Spike felt his body spasm as he tried to cough up his lungs, somehow he knew this was the end for him. He'd never get his revenge on that little, blonde whore, but on the good side he'd soon be with Dru again. With one final, violent coughing bout, Spike exploded into a cloud of ash that drifted away on the draft from the open front door.

Having helped grab hold of the young man, Mr Levinson father of Jonathan Levinson, was most surprised when the man exploded into a cloud of ash. In fact he was so surprised that he gasped and breathed in a lung full of the ash. Coughing and spitting he tried to get the vile stuff out of his mouth he shook his head and wiped the tears from his eyes. He looked around only to see the surprised faces of the other parents looking back at him.

“Spontaneous human combustion,” Snyder called out, “The same thing happened in Springfield only last month.”

Chapter Text

6.

Sunnydale, Friday.

“How's your mom?” Willow asked, she was sitting next to Buffy on top of a mausoleum waiting for a vampire to dig himself out of his grave.

“Mega embarrassed,” Buffy had to stop herself from sniggering before she spoke.

“Well...” Willow hesitated before saying anything else, she didn't want to say anything unkind about Buffy's mom but she liked Giles and couldn't understand how Mrs Summers could suspect him of doing anything 'bad' to Buffy. “...I'm sorry Buffy, but to think something like that about Giles of all people.”

“Yeah, but Willow, my mom doesn't know Giles like we do,” Buffy defended her mom gently, “and I can understand how it must look...I mean, we do spend a lot of time either in the library or at his apartment and we never say what we're doing there so...”

“Yeah,” Willow agreed, “I get that but...”

“I mean what would your mom say if she found you and Giles hugging in the library?” Buffy asked defensively.

“Never happen,” Willow confessed, “for a start my mom would have to be around for more than five seconds to notice anything happening.”

“Sorry,” Buffy turned her head to look at her friend; at least her own mother was around to look out for her even if she got it wrong some times. “I take it your mom and dad are away...”

“Again...” Willow sulked, “...I try not to care but sometimes...”

“Hey!” Buffy put her arm around Willow's shoulder, “If your mom and dad are still away why don't you stay at my house, we can have a sleep over.”

“Oh, I don't know,” Willow frowned, “I don't want to intrude, what will your mom say?”

“My mom,” Buffy grinned as she gave Willow an extra firm hug, “will just about agree to anything I ask just at the moment.”

“How long do you think that'll last?” Willow wanted to know.

“For as long as I don't ask for a tattoo or anything like that,” Buffy laughed, “about a month, so what do you say?”

“Beats going to bed in an empty house,” Willow admitted, “I'm in...but I'll need to go home and get some stuff.”

“Not to worry,” Buffy took her arm from Willow's shoulder and picked up her stake, “you can borrow some of my stuff...now where the heck is that vamp?” she asked scanning the grave yard for any wayward undead, “And talking of people who aren't here...where's Xander.”

“Flu,” Willow replied.

“Flew?” Buffy looked at her friend and frowned, “Flew where?”

“Not flew, flu,” Willow explained, “I should have mentioned it earlier.”

“Poor Xander,” Buffy pouted, “I hate it when my buds are sick, we should go visit tomorrow.”

“Yeah, good idea,” Willow agreed, “we can take him some grapes or something.”

“Yeah...” Buffy seemed distracted as she looked between the grave stones once again, “...now where's this vamp?”

“Erm...” Willow wanted to ask Buffy about Angel but she'd not found the right moment, now seemed as good as time as any, “...how are you doing, y'know...Angel?”

“Angel...” Buffy sniffed and turned her head away as she wiped her eyes with her hand, “...I'll get over it...”

“Sure you will,” it was Willow's turn to give her friend a supportive hug, “but in the meantime....” she pointed to where something was digging itself out of its grave, “...VAMP!”

Looking to where Willow was pointing, Buffy saw the earth move just in front of the new gravestone. Jumping down from the tomb she ran towards the grave, stake at the ready. Arriving at the grave just as the new fledged vampire was pushing himself to his feet, she raised Mr Pointy ready to strike only to see the vampire explode into ash and drift away on the breeze.

“Wow,” Willow cried as she ran to join Buffy, “that was like mega fast, I mean that musta been your fastest staking ever!”

“I didn't stake him, Will,” Buffy said slowly as she watched the vamp ash drift away.

“You didn't?” Willow looked from Buffy to the open grave and back again, “Then how...?”

“I don't know,” Buffy admitted, “but I know a man who probably does and we'll tell him all about it in the morning.”

“Cool,” Willow grinned, “I don't think I've ever seen Giles on a Saturday before...” Willow frowned as a thought crossed her mind, “...it is Giles we're going to see right?”

“Who else,” Buffy asked as she slipped her stake into the back pocket of her jeans, “you think I've got a weekend watcher stashed some place?”

Sunnydale's only Cinema.

Harry Levinson hadn't really wanted to go to the movies on this particular Friday night but his wife had insisted saying he never took her anywhere. This last was quite untrue (and Mrs Levinson knew it) it was just a bargaining chip to help her get her husband out of the house on a Friday evening; she also wanted to see the movie that was being shown tonight. It was a forties classic romance. All black and white and soft focus.

Thinking he'd be able to sleep late on Saturday morning, Harry had eventually agreed to go, mainly to shut his wife up, but also because it was a good film that he remembered seeing years ago when he and Martha had first started to date. He'd not felt well since Thursday night when that weird guy had 'exploded' and he'd breathed in some of the ash. Just thinking about what had happened made Harry frown. He didn't care what that little freak Snyder said, people just didn't explode like that. Of course Martha claimed to have noticed nothing unusual. Whatever, he sighed as he drove them to the movie theatre, he'd probably never find out what really happened; Sunnydale was a weird place, perhaps it was time to move somewhere new.

Harry didn't start coughing until he was already sitting in the theatre, it was like someone had stuck a feather down his throat. After one particularly bad coughing fit that had drawn annoyed looks from the people sitting close by, Harry told his wife that he was going to find himself a drink of water. Standing up he found himself swaying unsteadily in the aisle between the seats. Walking uncertainly towards the exit, Harry told himself that maybe he should go see the doctor in the morning. By the time he'd made it to the lobby, Harry was staggering like a drunk as the world spun around him. Coughing he fell to the ground as people cried out in alarm, he didn't remember hitting the floor.

Sunnydale General Hospital.

The next time Harry was aware of much of anything he found himself in a room he didn't recognise. He was lying on a bed and there was a mask over his nose and mouth feeding him oxygen, he found he could breath more easily and he wasn't coughing so much. Distracted by movement to his right, Harry turned his head a little to see a man in a white coat, obviously a doctor.

“Hi Harry,” the man smiled down at him as he checked Harry's pulse, “I'm Doctor Baker you're in Sunnydale General,” the doctor looked closely into Harry's eyes, “Whatever you've come down with, we've caught it early and you're going to me fine. But I need you to fight for me Harry, can you do that?”

Harry nodded his head weakly.

“Good,” Doctor Baker smiled before pointing to Harry's left, “now look who's here to see you.”

Harry looked to see Martha come and sit on the edge of his bed.

“Oh, Harry,” Martha scolded gently as she looked down at her husband, “why didn't you tell me you were felling sick?”

Turning away from her husband for just a second, Martha coughed into her hand.

Buffy's House.

“Hi mom, I'm home!” Buffy called as she shut the front door behind Willow.

“Hi honey...” Joyce appeared from the direction of the kitchen, “...Oh! Hello Willow.”

“Hi Ms Summers,” Willow smiled back.

“Mom, is it okay for Willow to stop over tonight?” Buffy asked.

“Well I...” Joyce had really wanted to have some one on one time with Buffy and of course Willow had been there when the truth had been revealed about Buffy's relationship with Giles and Joyce didn't know if she could look the girl in the eye just yet.

“It's okay if its too much hassle,” Willow volunteered, “I'm used to my folks being away.”

“Your parents aren't at home?” Joyce asked, her concern creeping into her voice despite herself.

“No, they're in LA,” Willow explained.

“Then of course you can stay over,” Joyce agreed, “I'll go make up the couch...” Joyce looked at Buffy, “...you know if you helped me to clear out the spare bedroom, Willow could stop over when ever her parents were away.”

“Yeah...right,” Buffy gave Willow a look that said, 'my mom is acting weird', “and there's no need to make up the couch, Willow can sleep with me in my bed.”

“You sure?” Joyce asked.

“Yeah, you sure Buffy?” Willow added, she didn't know if she was at the stage in their relationship when she felt comfortable sharing Buffy's bed.

“Sure I'm sure,” Buffy said determinedly, “its a big bed and way more comfy than the couch. I'll lend Will some PJ's and what do you think we'll be doing up there?” This last was directed at her mother, “I mean we're both girls mom its not like I'm asking if my boyfriend can sleep with me.”

“Well as long as Willow doesn't mind,” Joyce looked at Willow and tried to keep her face neutral.

“Erm...” Willow hesitated for a second or two more before saying, “...no, that's fine,” she smiled, “as long as Buffy doesn't snore.”

Sunnydale General.

Sitting in his office, Doctor Baker frantically thumbed through his medical books trying to find whatever it was that was affecting his patients so badly. What had started as a slow trickle of sick people had rapidly turned into a flood. Since Mr Levinson had been admitted at about nine o'clock there'd been another twenty-five people brought in. All had the same flu like symptoms and all of them were getting worse and there were still more coming in almost every minute.

The only connecting thing between all his patients was that they'd all been in the movie theatre at the same time or had come into close contact with people from the movie theatre. One of the first things Baker had done was to call the Mayor and the Chief of Police and have the theatre closed. Just as Baker had come to the end of one medical book his head nurse, Emma Blake, came into his office.

“They just keep coming, Stanley,” Emma stood wringing her hands, she was more used to dealing with neck trauma and barbecue fork accidents than this sort of thing, “that's nearly fifty new cases in the last hour, including Mrs Levinson.”

“Martha Levinson?” Baker looked up from his useless medical books and stared in horror at Emma.

“Yeah she collapsed like all the others about half-an-hour ago,” Emma explained.

“Good god!” Baker breathed as the reality of the situation hit him.

“What do we do?” Emma wanted to know; she glanced behind herself as yet another victim was wheeled passed Baker's office door.

“The best we can,” Baker replied, “but in the meantime, I want this wing of the hospital sealed off and I want all staff to wear masks and gloves at all times when dealing with the infected...”

“Infected?” Emma's face paled as she realised what Baker was suggesting.

“Yes,” Baker nodded curtly, “I think we've got an epidemic on our hands, I'm going to call the CDC in Atlanta.”

Buffy's Bedroom.

Lying in bed next to Buffy, Willow listened to her friends breathing as it slowly lost its normal rhythm as she began to sob into her pillow.

“Buffy?” Willow asked quietly, “Is there something wrong?” Willow could in fact guess what was wrong with her friend...Angel.

“I loved him so much,” Buffy shifted position until she lay with her arm across Willow's tummy.

“Oh come on Buffy,” Willow shifted a little uncomfortably at Buffy's touch, “ask yourself, seriously, did you really? I mean I don't wanna sound cruel or anything, but you only knew him for what? Less than six weeks?”

“But it felt like we'd loved a life time,” Buffy explained as she shifted so she was touching Willow all down her right side.

“Don't start quoting lines from films at me,” Willow wanted to move away from Buffy, but didn't want to upset her friend anymore than she was already; instead of moving away, Willow put her free arm around Buffy and patted her gently on the shoulder. “The film thing is Xander's and my game...and anyway Angel was a Vampire, you're a Slayer you've got to see it would never have worked out...plus there was the age difference.”

“I know,” Buffy sniffed as she snuggled up to Willow, “but it doesn't make it hurt any less.”

“Oh boy,” Willow sighed softy; despite herself she could feel herself start reacting to Buffy's warm, firm body pressed against her own, “Look, you'll just have to work your way through it and I'll be with you every step of the way.”

“You will, Will?” Buffy looked up at her friend and kissed her on the cheek, “You know, Willow,” Buffy rested her head on Willow's shoulder and sighed contentedly, “your the bestest bud I've ever had.”

“I am?” Willow replied genuinely pleased and surprised.

“Uh-huh,” Buffy replied sleepily.

“Cool,” Willow replied just as Buffy raised her head and coughed into her hand, “Sorry,” she apologised, “I got something caught in my throat.”

The Center for Disease Control, Atlanta.

It was nearly midnight and Dr Bobbie Keough and her team were celebrating the fact that they'd successfully stopped a particularly nasty and virulent strain of the flu virus in Cleveland. The virus had only killed two people but it had made twenty or more very sick. However, the sick were responding to treatment and there'd been no new cases in the last forty-eight hours, it looked as if they were in the clear. Just as illicit bottles of Scotch were being taken from hiding places in the bottom drawers of filling cabinets and plastic cups were being handed around. A fax machine in the corner of the office started to print out a page of closely typed text.

Noticing the page of print appear from the fax machine, Dr Frank Mascelli walked over to the fax, picked up the page and read it through quickly. By the time he'd reached half way down the page any thoughts of celebration had fled from his mind. His eyes went back to the top of the page and he read the fax through again. Holding on to the fax he made his way through the happy throng of scientists and Doctors to where Bobbie Keough stood holding a plastic cup half full of Scotch.

“Bobbie,” Mascelli called, “looks like we've got another outbreak...”

“Where?” Bobbie put down her cup and turned to Steve as everyone in the room slowly stopped talking.

“Place called Sunnydale in California,” Steve explained, “Fifty plus people have come down with flu-like symptoms in the last four hours. All the patients appear to have been at the local movie theatre.”

“Crap,” Bobbie cursed under her breath before looking around at her team, “Okay People, looks like we're going to California!”

Chapter Text

7.

Saturday.

“So, what y'wanna do first?” Buffy asked cheerfully as she placed a glass of orange juice in front of Willow.

The two girls were having a breakfast of, juice, bagels and jelly in Buffy's kitchen. After Buffy's tearful, Angel induced, teenage, angst moment of the night before, both girls had slept surprisingly well until Joyce had woken them up at about eight before she headed for the gallery.

“First,” Willow paused while she sipped her juice, “I'd like to go home and change...”

“Yeah, about that,” Buffy replied slowly, she was wondering how her friend was going to react to what she was about to suggest, “why don't you pack a few things and stay here 'til your parents come back,” she suggested hopefully, “I'm sure mom wouldn't mind.”

“Erm...” Willow eyed her friend not knowing what to say, “...I suppose I could...I mean I could help you clear out the your spare room...”

“Or...or, you could sleep in my room,” Buffy suggested brightly, “I mean the bed in the spare room is way too small and the mattress is sooo lumpy and...”

“Buffy,” Willow asked with a grin, “are you gay? Coz if you are I'm fine with it, but you do seem way eager for me to sleep in your bed.”

“GAY!?” Buffy laughed nervously; she supposed looking at it from Willow's point of view it might look that way. “Gay? Me? No!” Buffy tried to reassure her friend, “It's just...” Buffy sighed heavily, she might as well tell Willow how she felt, after all the redhead was her best friend. “...it's just that some times I feel so lonely what with the slayer stuff and Angel 'dying' and...”

“I understand,” Willow replied, “at least I think I do...I get lonely too.”

“You do?”

“Uh-huh,” Willow nodded; and would it be that bad if Buffy was gay, she asked herself, didn't she feel a little 'gay' herself sometimes?

Buffy was, as Xander would put it, 'buff', Willow reminded herself and she did like Buffy (a lot) and they told each other everything and...and would it be that terrible if they both touched and kissed a little and... Willow put the mental brakes on and stopped that metaphysical train of thought from going down a line she didn't want to go and what's with all the railroad similes she asked herself? Mentally out of breath, Willow placed her hand on Buffy's.

“I'd love to stay over,” Willow reassured her friend, “but if you start snoring you can sleep on the couch!”

After breakfast Buffy and Willow walked over to Willow's house. Not unsurprisingly Willow's parents still weren't back from LA. In fact there was a message from Willow's mom on the answer phone saying how she and Willow's dad had been delayed and they wouldn't be back until Tuesday at the earliest, possibly not until the following Friday.

“You sure your mom won't mind me stopping over for so long?” Willow asked a frown crossing her face.

“She'll love it,” Buffy admitted, “my mom's a sucker for waifs and strays...” Buffy grinned a wicked grin, “...and it'll give us more time to pretend to be lesbian lovers!”

“BUFFY!” Willow squeaked as she aimed a half-hearted slap at Buffy's arm.

“Hey you started it,” Buffy giggled as she easily dodged Willow hand.

Ten minutes later, Willow had collected up the things she needed for a prolonged stay and the two girls walked arm in arm towards Giles' apartment.

The Gallery.

Looking up at the sound of the door bell, Joyce smiled when she saw her assistant, Gale, walk into the shop.

“Sorry I'm late Joyce,” Gale hurriedly headed towards the rear of the shop to hang up her jacket in the office, “but the kids have come down with colds or something.”

Gale was ten or so years younger than Joyce and had two small boys of five and seven.

“Oh you needn't have come in,” Joyce explained, “you should stay home with your boys.”

“To be honest, Joyce,” Gale said as she slipped off her jacket and hung it up, “I can only play the nurse for so long without exploding and anyway, Norm's home and he loves looking after the kids.”

“Well if you're sure?” Joyce asked.

“I'm sure,” Gale replied, “but thanks for offering, maybe I'll go home a little early if that's okay with you?”

“Of course it is,” Joyce replied before going to deal with a customer.

Ten minutes later, after Joyce had sold a small African fertility statue that she'd thought she'd never get rid of, she joined Gale at the rear of the shop and accepted a cup of coffee off the woman.

“There must be a bug going around,” Joyce said after taking a sip of her coffee, “what with your boys and everyone that's come in this morning looks as if they're coming down with the flu or something.”

“Hey,” Gale turned to look at Joyce, “didn't you hear about what happened last night?”

“No,” Joyce shook her head.

“Load of people got sick at the movie theatre and had to be taken to hospital,” Gale explained.

“No,” Joyce hadn't heard, she'd been too busy worrying about Willow being left 'home alone', “do you know what's wrong?”

“No, the guy on the TV news didn't say,” Gale took a tissue from her bag and wiped her noise, “but they did say that the Mayor has had the cinema closed down and the Emergency Room at Sunnydale General has been closed.”

“That sounds serious,” Joyce looked at Gale and noticed that her eyes had gone a little red and she seemed to be sniffing a lot, Joyce frowned with concern, “Are you okay, Gale coz you don't look well.”

“I'll be fine,” Gale smiled, “I've probably caught what the boys have got.”

Giles' Apartment.

The door to Giles' apartment opened before Buffy had even knocked, obviously Giles had been waiting for them.

“Come in!” an agitated Giles said tersely as he stepped back from the door.

“And good morning to you, Giles,” Buffy replied as she led Willow into Giles' apartment, “what's got you all hot and bothered,” she wanted to know, “run out of tea?”

“If only it was that simple,” Giles rushed off in the direction of his little kitchen, “talking of tea anyone want a cup.”

“No thanks,” Buffy called as she noted all the open reference books littering the room, “I'm good...”

“I'll have a cup,” Willow called as she dumped her bag of clothes and went to stand next to Buffy.

“Erm,” Buffy called, “what's up?” lots of books lying around usually meant something bad was about to happen.

“Something bad might be about to happen,” Giles called confirming Buffy's fears as he brought a tray with the tea things into the room and set it down on his dining table.

“You expecting a plague?” Willow asked; she'd been looking at the open books and they all seemed to be opened at pages describing mystical plagues, “Ewww,” Willow wrinkled her nose at the description of one illness, “that sounds icky.”

“That's cute,” Buffy smiled.

“Cute?” Willow looked at Buffy as if she'd turned bright pink.

“When you wrinkle your nose like that when you say 'eww',” Buffy explained.

“Oh, you think?” Willow didn't know quite what to think but she took it as a compliment.

“Ladies,” Giles scowled at the two girls, “if you've quite finished?”

“Sorry,” Buffy and Willow replied suitably contrite.

“I've had some disturbing news from the Council in London,” Giles paused for effect.

“Come on Giles spill,” Buffy ordered, “Will an' I've got a lot to do today.”

“Nothing as important as this I'll warrant,” Giles replied, however noticing the slightly bored look on Buffy's face and the way Willow was getting more interested in his books than in what he was saying, he thought he better cut to the chase. “As I've told you and you might even remember me saying, Sunnydale isn't the only town to have its very own Hellmouth, although the one here is the most powerful and dangerous.”

Giles paused as Buffy and Willow found themselves somewhere to sit.

“In the United States there are in fact two active Hellmouths the other one being in Cleveland,” Giles paused again to take a breath and polish his spectacles. “The council isn't sure about the other inactive hellmouths, after all some of them are in pretty inaccessible places...”

“Like?” Willow asked.

“W-what?” Giles stammered.

“Inaccessible places?” Willow asked, “Like?”

“Ooh, I don't know,” Giles shook his head slowly, “Ah! There's one up the Amazon River and another in the middle of Australia.”

“Okay,” Willow shrugged, “Fair enough, I just wanted to make sure the guys in London weren't slacking while we're out here working our fingers to the bone.”

“So what aren't the Council guys not sure about?” Buffy wanted to know.

“Well,” Giles replaced his glasses, “as I say they can't be one-hundred percent sure...”

“Okay, we get the 'not sure' thing, Giles,” Willow said rather impatiently, “Just exactly what aren't they sure about?”

“I'm just coming to that,” Giles replied testily, “it would appear that some sort of plague is sweeping through the vampire population...”

“Okay...” Willow said slowly as she turned her head to look at Buffy.

“That would explain a lot,” Buffy raised an eyebrow as she returned Willow's look.

“Explain what, precisely?” Giles wanted to know.

“Last night,” Buffy began, “we were waiting for a vamp to rise and like he was real tardy...”

“It can take a while for a vampire to rise,” Giles pointed out, “waking up in a coffin can be very disorienting.”

“Whatever,” Buffy shrugged, “anyway by the time he did show he exploded before I'd got a chance to stake him...”

“Poof!” Willow explained, “Like there one second, cloud of ash blowing away in the breeze the next.”

“Interesting,” Giles mused as he sipped his tea.

“Yeah, you can say interesting but I wasted hours waiting for that vamp to rise...” Buffy started to explain but was interrupted by Willow.

“It was hardly hours,” Willow pointed out.

“Okay,” Buffy frowned at her friend, “so it wasn't hours, but there were definitely minutes there that I'll not see again.”

“She's right,” Willow admitted as she looked up at Giles, “there was hardly any point Buffy being there...we could have gone to the Bronze.”

“Yes, I see,” Giles broke in, “this would seem to confirm that something very odd is...” Giles stopped talking when he saw first Buffy and then Willow stand up and start to head for the door, “...hey! Where are you going?”

“Like I said,” Buffy stopped and turned towards Giles, “me an' Will have things to do.”

“But aren't you going to stop and help me research?” Giles asked plaintively.

“No,” Buffy shook her head, her blonde curls bouncing around her face as she did so, “you seem to have got it well sewn up there Giles.”

“B-but...” Giles stammered as the prospect of doing futile research all by himself loomed.

“Yeah,” agreed Willow who, under normal circumstances was quite happy to help Giles out, “but we've got to go visit Xander.”

“Xander?” Giles asked a little nonplussed, “What makes him so special that you're willing to desert your Watcher and let the fate of the world hang in the balance?”

“Willow says he's sick,” Buffy pointed out.

“Oh well you better go and nurse him back to health,” Giles replied with just a touch of sarcasm.

“Was that sarcasm?” Buffy asked Willow, “I'm sure I heard just a little, tiny hint of it there.”

“Sounded like it to me,” Willow agreed as she linked her arm through Buffy's.

“Gotta go,” Buffy smiled as she steered herself and Willow towards the door, “Toodles!”

“Yeah, bye Giles,” Willow waved without even bothering to look back as she and Buffy headed on out the door.

“Bloody hell,” Giles said quietly as he stood alone once more in his living room.

Walking over to the door he pushed it shut. As he did so he wondered why nursing Xander could appear more important than helping him with his research. Sighing heavily he turned back to his books, he'd never understand the youth of today.

Xander's House.

“Car's gone,” Willow observed as Buffy and herself walked up the path towards Xander's front door.

“Yeah,” Buffy nodded as she climbed the steps up onto the porch and raised her hand to knock on the door, “Hey!” Buffy's hand froze in mid knock, “Front door's open too.”

The two girls exchanged a worried look.

“Okay,” Buffy said quietly as she started to push the door open, “stay behind me Will, you never know what might be in here.”

“Yeah,” Willow curled her lip in disgust, “like Mr and Mrs Harris lying drunk on the floor.”

“Are they really that bad?” Buffy paused to look over her shoulder at Willow.

“Sometimes,” Willow shrugged before urging Buffy on, “Xander's room is at the end of the corridor.”

“Hello,” Buffy called as she followed Willow's directions, “Mr and Mrs Harris?”

“It's Willow, Mrs Harris, I've come to see Xander,” Willow called not wanting to be shot as an intruder by a drunk Mr Harris.

The house remained silent and no drunken householder appeared to gun down the two girls. Eventually they came to Xander's room.

“Xander?” Willow called; the door was half open so she gestured to Buffy to push it open all the way.

Walking into the room Buffy found the air, stale and unpleasantly smelly, she immediately looked around for a window but couldn't find one. Frowning she wondered if Xander's room actually had a window. The sound of Willow crying out in alarm and rushing towards Xander's bed distracted Buffy from her window search.

“Xander!” Willow cried as she knelt down next to his bed.

“Jeez, Willow,” Buffy came to stand behind Willow, “you weren't wrong when you said he was sick.”

“My god he's burning up!” Willow almost snatched her hand away from Xander's forehead.

Although there was sweat pouring off Xander soaking his pillow and the t-shirt he was wearing, he was shivering like he was at the South Pole or somewhere even colder.

“We need a doctor,” Willow announced as she grabbed a towel from the floor next to Xander's bed and started to mop his fevered brow.

“Or an ambulance,” Buffy added, “hey, you look after him a moment and I'll make the 911 call.”

Buffy hurried out the room while Willow started to try and make Xander more comfortable. While she worked she realised that Xander's parents had just left him there, alone and sick while they... Willow muttered curses under her breath, she knew Xander's parents were assholes but she'd never imagined that they'd leave their sick son alone like this.

As Willow struggled to pull off Xander's sweat soaked t-shirt, she noticed some sores developing on his back and in his armpits. Strange, she thought, that sort of looked like the sores on Angel's face, so... Willow's train of thought was derailed by Buffy's reappearance in the room.

“I couldn't get through to the doctor,” Buffy explained, “and when I called the hospital they said they couldn't send an ambulance.”

“They couldn't?” Willow wailed, “then what are we supposed to do?” Willow looked pleadingly at Buffy, “He's got zits like Angel had.”

“He has?” Buffy's mind raced, “Then we'll have to take him to the hospital ourselves.”

“How?” Willow wanted to know.

“I'll drive us!” Buffy smiled excitedly.

“YOU DRIVE!?” Willow cried out in horror at the very idea.

The Highway heading for LA.

Thirty miles away and still heading south, Mr and Mrs Harris sat silently in their car as they drove towards LA. Mrs Harris shifted in her seat to look back the way they'd just come.

“There was nothing we could do for him,” Mr Harris explained, “he was as good as dead the moment he caught it.”

In his youth, Mr Harris had done a few things that his wife didn't know about and if she did would not have approved. He'd seen whatever it was his son had before, in Africa. There if you caught it you died, no 'ifs', 'buts' or 'maybes'. You might as well put your gun in your mouth and pull the trigger, dying that way was less painful and messy than letting the disease take its course. However, even knowing this he still couldn't bring himself to shoot his own boy. Anyway who knows, he tried to rationalise, in the last twenty of thirty years they might have found a cure.

Driving on towards LA, Mr and Mrs Harris were unaware that they were both infected and they were now carrying the plague towards LA and its population of over twelve million people.

Chapter Text

8.

Saturday afternoon.

While Willow stayed with Xander and did what she could to make him comfortable, Buffy ran back to her house to get her mom's car. Normally her mother drove the family SUV to work but this Saturday she hadn't for some reason; for which Buffy was really grateful because she didn't like the idea of having to carry Xander to hospital. It wasn't that she didn't love Xander enough to do it, she did, but there'd be people staring and asking questions. Bursting into her house, Buffy slid to a halt in the hallway as she wondered where her mother kept the keys. Rushing into the kitchen she noticed them hanging on a hook along with all the other keys. With a cry of relief she grabbed the keys and ran back outside.

It was only as Buffy sat behind the steering wheel that she appreciated just how big the SUV was, sitting there with her hands on the wheel, Buffy found she could only just see out over the top of the dashboard. Raising the driver's seat as much as she could and pushing it forward so her legs could reach the peddles, she fastened her seat belt and put the key into the ignition. At this point she wondered if this was such a good idea; yes she'd seen the film with all the car wrecks, not that it'd had the desired effected; she saw worse than what was on the film almost every night. But, if she was honest, the truth was she'd not actually driven a vehicle for more than a few yards before.

“Nothing ventured, nothing gained,” Buffy told herself as she twisted the key in the ignition, the engine burst into life at her first attempt; with a sigh of relief she put the SUV into 'reverse', “Here we go!”

Wincing as she watched Buffy drive down the street towards Xander's house, Willow flinched every time Buffy missed a parked vehicle or in one or two cases didn't miss a parked vehicle. Shaking her head, she wondered why Buffy wasn't a better driver, perhaps the slayer package didn't run to modern driving skills. Opening her eyes after one particularly scary near miss, Willow saw that Buffy had 'parked' (and that was using the term loosely) in front of the house.

“Hey Will!” Buffy called as she opened the driver's side window, “I'll back up to the front door and we'll load Xander up, okay?”

“Okay,” Willow agreed uncertainly.

A blow by blow account of Buffy backing the SUV up to Xander's front door would take most of the rest of the chapter to try to explain and give it the detail it really deserved. However, suffice to say that after destroying several shrubs, one small fruit tree and reducing the front lawn to a state where military re-enacters could recreate the battlefields of the Great War, Buffy eventually brought her mother's car to a halt. Moments later she jumped out of the vehicle and grinned triumphantly at Willow.

“I hope the Harris' don't come home soon,” Willow said as she looked out over Xander's devastated front yard.

“Hey,” Buffy's face fell a little as she joined Willow and got to see exactly what she'd achieved, “I thought it was pretty good for a first attempt.”

“Whatever,” Willow shrugged the ruined front yard off and turned to go back into the house, “lets get Xander.”

While Willow kept watch, Buffy carried Xander down the steps from the house to the back of the SUV. Following Buffy, Willow opened the tailgate and helped Buffy get Xander comfortable in the back of the car. After packing blankets and pillows around their friend the two girls shut the tailgate and climbed into the front seats.

“Not too fast, right Buffy?” Willow said nervously as she strapped herself in extra tightly.

“Hey you worry too much,” Buffy pressed down on the accelerator, the engine raced but the car didn't move.

“Brake?” Willow suggested; she just knew that this was going to end with them all in hospital.

“Brake?” Buffy looked at her friend and frowned; slowly the penny dropped, “Oh! Brake!”

Buffy let off the parking brake, but didn't let up on the accelerator. The car shot forward at high speed as she fought to regain control. Narrowly missing a parked car on the other side of the street, she turned the SUV towards Sunnydale General. The sound of the vehicle's racing engine were rivalled only by Willow's screams of terror.

It was nearly one-thirty and Joyce had let Gale, her assistant, go home some time ago. As the day had progressed, Gale's cough and flu-like symptoms had got worse until Joyce had demanded that the young woman go home and go to bed. If she'd had her car she'd have driven Gale home but today she'd walked. This had all happened about an hour ago.

After a couple of early morning customers no one had come into the shop. This was unusual as Saturday morning was usually her busiest time (if she wasn't running an evening exhibition during the week). However, today there didn't seem to be many people walking by, shrugging and putting it down to the flu that seemed to be sweeping through the town, Joyce decided to lock up early and head for home.

Arriving at Sunnydale Hospital, both Buffy and Willow observed that it was odd to see the place during daylight hours. What was even more odd was the crowd of angry, frightened looking people that milled around outside the entrance to the ER. There were three or four cops on the door holding back the crowd while a couple of medical orderlies tried to separate the patients from their panicking relatives.

“I don't think we're going to get passed that crowd,” Buffy observed quietly.

“Then what do we do?” Willow cast Xander an anxious glance as he lay in the back of the SUV; he didn't look at all well.

“We take him back to my place,” Buffy announced as she put the car back into gear, “we can look after him there.”

“But...” whatever Willow was about to say was cut off by her yelp as the car shot off backwards only just under Buffy's control.

Arriving home after a long walk through Sunnydale's almost deserted streets, Joyce was confronted by the sight of her SUV as it stood parked crookedly on the drive. The wheels and bodywork were covered in a layer of dust and mud, the tailgate had been left open and there was a trail of what looked like bedding leading to the still open front door. Feeling a tide of righteous anger rise in her chest, Joyce strode determinedly towards the front door.

Bursting through the door, Joyce could hear Buffy and Willow's voices coming from the front room. Exploding into the family room like some very angry, mom-like, avenging angel, Joyce came to a rapid halt as she took in the scene in front of her. What she'd expected to see was Buffy and Willow involved in a drink and drugs fuelled orgy with some of the local boys. What she actually saw was Buffy and Willow fussing over the recumbent body of a boy she could now clearly see was a very sick looking Xander Harris. It was more or less at this moment that Buffy noticed her mother standing in the doorway.

“Sorry for all the mess, Mom,” Buffy turned tearful eyes on her mother, “but we had to bring Xander here, his parents have disappeared, we couldn't get to the hospital and we couldn't just leave him...”

“Of course you couldn't,” Joyce replied as she walked over to look at Xander; he really did look ill, “you did the right thing...” Joyce took off her jacket and threw it onto a chair before bending down and touching Xander's forehead, the boy was on fire. “Okay,” Joyce stood up as she went into full 'mom' mode, “Buffy go upstairs and get the first aid box from the bathroom, take Willow and show her were the spare blankets are kept and bring a couple down here.”

Kneeling down next to Xander, Joyce had a closer look at the boy while the two girls headed off up stairs. Looking with concern at the unpleasant looking sores that were developing on Xander's face, neck and arms, Joyce couldn't help but feel just a little proud of her daughter. While Willow always seemed to be a sensible girl, Buffy could be a little wild and careless, but, when it counted (like now) she seemed to be willing to do anything to help her friends whatever the consequences. Turning at the sound of Willow and Buffy coming back down stairs, Joyce looked up from where she knelt at Xander's side.

“Look,” Joyce began, “we'll make him as comfortable as we can down here, then while you, Willow, keep an eye on him, Buffy and I'll clear out the spare bedroom and make up the bed.”

Joyce started to wonder how they'd get Xander upstairs, but then the thought hit her that Buffy and Willow had obviously managed to get him from the car into the house and presumably into the car at Xander's house. They'd manage, perhaps she should call that Mr Giles and ask him to help?

Giles Apartment.

At that very moment, Rupert Giles was a very troubled man. He'd just got off the phone to the Council of Watchers in London, the news was, to say the least, worrying. The Council, with their contacts around the world and in a multitude of governments, were receiving reports from countries who's territories included the location of the world's active and inactive Hellmouths. It would appear that a flu-like illness was spreading through the human populations around the Hellmouths.

So far the numbers infected by this disease wasn't anything to panic about. The council's own scientific advisers were of the opinion that it was some sort of fallout from the disease that had apparently wiped out the world's vampire population and would die out soon enough. At the moment there were only a relatively few casualties around each of the inactive Hellmouths. Infection rates seemed to be higher around the active Hellmouths but that was only to be considered normal. The highest take up of the illness was in Sunnydale itself. This was why the Council wanted Giles to take Buffy and get-out before the US Government decided to quarantine the town.

Giles had tried to point out that Buffy was unlikely to want to go and leave her family and friends behind. The Council 'member' he was talking to told him that he'd have to make her go. When Giles asked how he was supposed to make a teenage girl with super-strength go anywhere she didn't want to go he was just told to get on with it and catch the next flight to London Heathrow.

“Pratts,” Giles muttered to himself as he put the receiver down; the Council really needed to come down from their ivory towers once in a while and see how the real world worked.

Sitting for a minute, Giles looked around his flat at all the books that lay open on every available flat surface. He might as well clear those up now, the one good thing that had come out of his conversation with the council was that whatever was making people ill wasn't magical or mystical. The council could safely leave this one in the hands of science. Standing up in preparation for the big book clean up, Giles' eye fell once again on his phone, sighing he shook his head; Buffy and himself would not be going to London in the near future.

Sunnydale General.

“This is Doctor Baker, he was on duty when the first patients came in,” Doctor Kriegel gestured to the man in the bed, “and this is Nurse Emma Blake, she was the head nurse in ER at the same time.”

Kriegel watched as the two doctors from CDC bent over his colleagues. They were dressed in full protective suits while he had to make do with his normal white coat with a plastic apron over the top. While the people from CDC had fully enclosed helmets with their own air filtration system, he wore a normal surgeon's mask and a plastic visor.

“Tell me again,” Doctor Keough's voice was only distorted a little by her helmet's communication system, “when that was?”

“Friday night, at about eleven,” Kriegel informed her, this wasn't really his area of expertise he was actually a surgeon, but with so many people coming in sick everyone had to pitch in.

“How many dead?” the other Doctor from CDC, a Doctor Mascelli asked.

“Only Mr and Mrs Levinson, but there's half a dozen others that look as if they'll soon be joining them,” Kriegel explained, “we have nearly a hundred cases so far with more coming in by the hour. Who knows how many people are lying in bed at home with this thing thinking they've come down with the flu.”

“I understand,” Bobbie Keough replied with what, to Kriegel, was infuriating calm, but to Keough was calm professionalism, “I've already contacted the appropriate authorities and help is on the way.”

“Good,” Kriegel sighed a sigh of relief, “it can't get here soon enough.”

“I know,” Keough replied, “now tell me how the illness progresses.”

“First the patient presents with flu like symptoms,” Kriegel explained, “the first sign appears to be a cough. Next there's a fever and at this point the patient usually loses consciousness,” Kriegel stopped himself from taking a deep breath before saying more, “Next the sores start to appear as the patient's temperature continues to increase. The sores spread as the patient gets weaker. The final stages appear to be convolutions followed by death.”

“Over what sort of period of time?” Doctor Mascelli asked.

“That's the thing,” Kriegel shrugged, “it seems to depend on the patient. So far only the Levinsons have actually died, they died within hours of first contracting the illness. But I wouldn't bet on them being the only fatal casualties.”

After thanking Doctor Kriegel for his help, Keough and Mascelli walked out of the hospital towards the secure mobile lab that had been set up in the hospital's parking lot.

“This sounds a lot like the Cleveland cases,” Bobbie observed.

“Except for the sores,” agreed Frank Mascelli, “and this seems to be developing at a slower rate.”

“Yeah,” agreed Bobbie, “I want to do an autopsy on the Levinsons see if these two outbreaks are really connected or if this is just some particularly nasty strain of flu.”

“I hear you,” Mascelli nodded but the gesture was lost under his suit.

The two doctors reached the door to their lab, stepping into the airlock they went through the decontamination process before stripping off their suits and going to join their colleagues.

Buffy's Home.

While Buffy was pretending to struggle while she 'helped' her mother and Willow carry Xander upstairs to the spare room. On the roads leading to Sunnydale long convoys of military trucks headed towards the town their cargo areas packed with troops. Overhead helicopter gunships flew in loose formations as they took up positions over the town. Just as the trucks and Hummers reached the town limits they turned off the road. Soldiers dressed in full NBC protective clothing and clutching their rifles tightly jumped from the back of the vehicles to start setting up barbed wire fences. By dawn Sunnydale was cut off from the rest of the country.

Chapter Text

9.

Regimental Command Post, 5th Infantry Regiment.

“Colonel Briggs?” General Ford asked as he climbed out of his Hummer.

“Sir!” Colonel Briggs snapped off a salute before shaking the General's hand, “Nice to see you again, General,” Brigg's smile of greeting faltered a little as he cast a glance towards Sunnydale, “I only wish it could be under better circumstances.”

“Indeed,” agreed General Ford as he returned the colonel's handshake, “tell me what you've done so far.”

“If you'd like to follow me, General?” Briggs led Ford forward to where they could see Sunnydale spread out before them.

The CP was positioned on a low ridge to the north of Sunnydale, standing side by side the two officers could see all of the town right down to the sea.

“I have an inner and outer cordon all around Sunnydale,” Briggs explained, “the Navy is patrolling the coast so no one can get out by sea. The airport's been closed and all incoming flights have been redirected.”

“Good,” Ford nodded his head before scanning the town through his binoculars, it was still relatively early for a Sunday so there wasn't much civilian movement, he did however see military vehicles patrolling the streets, “What about inside the town itself?”

“At the moment I have a rifle company in the town supporting the local police,” Briggs hesitated for a moment before adding, “Sir, those Sunnydale PD guys are an incompetent bunch of morons, I'm probably going to have to reinforce the garrison before too long.”

“Whatever you think's best, Colonel,” Ford replied as he lowered his binoculars, “What are things like in the town itself?”

“At first there was some panic and there were a lot of angry, frightened people about,” Briggs explained, “but we seem to have calmed things down...although I'm not sure how long that will last.”

“What do you mean, Bill?” General Ford asked quietly.

“I'm not sure what'll happen if people start to die in large numbers, General,” Briggs explained, “Things could get messy pretty quick if they do.”

“Well Colonel,” Ford sighed heavily, this was an unpleasant situation and not one you could properly train for, “you'll have to deal with it the best way you can. I'm not here to second guess you,” Ford explained, “you're the man on the spot and I'll support any decisions you have to make.”

“Thank-you General,” Colonel Briggs breathed a quiet sigh of relief.

Sunnydale General Hospital.

The end of the morgue, furthest away from the door that led to the rest of the hospital, had been closed off with sheets of heavy duty plastic. There were in fact two sets of plastic walls, an inner and an outer even the ceiling and floor had been covered in plastic, the CDC weren't taking any chances. On trolleys inside the sealed off area were the bodies of Mr and Mrs Levinson covered by white sheets which were already stained with red tinged, yellow fluid from the sores that continued to ooze pus even after the unfortunate couple's deaths. Next to the bodies stood Doctors Lisa Aronson and Julia Ruiz they would be conducting the autopsies on the bodies. The doctors were both dressed in CDC issue isolation suits, both doctors wore two sets of gloves.

“Okay,” Lisa said quietly to her friend and colleague, they were in fact the only people in the morgue who weren't already dead. “Maximum sharps precautions, right?”

Julia nodded her head as she picked up a scalpel and held it above Mr Levinson's chest ready to make the first incision. Her hand shook as she tried to force herself to cut into the body, she'd done this sort of thing hundreds of times before, but this time she just couldn't bring herself to cut into the corpse.

“Here,” Lisa took the scalpel from her friend's trembling hand, “I'll do it.”

Taking a deep breath, Lisa paused before starting to cut. As she made the first incision dark, almost immediately black blood oozed from the wound. That was unusual, she glanced up a Julia, dead bodies didn't normally bleed.

“We're sure he's dead, right?” Lisa asked half jokingly.

“No heart beat, no respiration, no brain activity,” Julia informed Lisa, “unless he's a zombie he's dead.”

The unusual bleeding seemed to lift the atmosphere in the morgue and both Lisa and Julia felt more relaxed.

“Okay,” Lisa sighed, “I'm going in...” she grinned across the body at Julia, “...unless Mr Levinson objects of course.”

As it turned out Mr Levinson didn't object and Lisa was able to cut into his body and open his chest cavity.

“Oh my god!” Lisa looked in horror at the bloody mess that had been Mr Levinsons internal organs, “It looks like a bomb went off in here!”

Julia moved so she could get a better view.

“Just like the victims in Cleveland,” she observed as she pocked what looked like it might have once been a lung, “it's fairly obvious how they he died, massive organ failure...”

“Hold on,” Lisa stood back as she looked down at the body, “something's not right here.”

“What?” Julia gave her friend a concerned look.

“Think about,” Lisa said slowly, “with this much organ damage the patient should have died long before it got this bad.”

“So you're saying...” Julia froze as the full horror of the situation percolated through her mind.

“The virus, or whatever it is,” Lisa pointed out, “must have remained active for a considerable time after the patient died.”

“But that's impossible,” Julia gasped, “the virus in Cleveland died not long after the host died.”

“I think we've found something new, here,” Lisa stepped well away from the corpse.

“This means we're going to have to be very careful disposing of the bodies,” Julia said slowly, “if this virus can live on after the host has died and it gets into the soil...”

“Right,” Lisa agreed, “so no burials all bodies to be burnt,” Lisa thought for a moment trying to decide what the best course of action should be. “Okay, I'll report to Bobbie while you stay here and supervise the disposal of the bodies, I expect the hospital has an incinerator to burn hospital waste, you better use that.”

“Okay,” Julia nodded.

“Once you've done make sure you and everyone else is properly decontaminated, right?” Lisa ordered.

“Don't worry,” Julia started to clear up the few instruments they'd used, they'd all have to be sterilised two maybe three times as long as normal, “I'll make sure everything is scrubbed clean.”

Revelo Drive.

Unable to sleep much after the sun had risen, Buffy had climbed out of bed being careful not to disturb Willow as she did so. Having spent most of the night sitting with Xander, Willow hadn't gone to bed until Joyce had more or less ordered her to. Now she slept the sleep of the physically and emotionally exhausted.

Slipping her robe on over her PJs, Buffy shuffled off down stairs to the kitchen and started to make the early morning coffee. As she ran the water into the jug she found herself staring out of the window; she didn't know why, perhaps it was all something to do with her being the slayer. But, she knew that Xander wouldn't get well again, that he was as good as dead only he didn't know it yet. As the coffee jug overflowed, Buffy found herself crying as she fumbled to turn off the tap. Putting the glass jug down she stumbled over to one of the kitchen stools and sat down.

Sobbing quietly so as not to disturb her mom and Willow, Buffy thought back on all the times Willow, Xander and herself had faced danger together, had cut class together, how they'd spent their free evening in the Bronze or in the library researching the latest threat to humankind. Now none of that would ever happen again, at best there would only be Willow and herself to help Giles.

“Who'll get the doughnuts now?” Buffy asked herself tearfully.

Wiping her eyes on a couple of sheets of kitchen towel, Buffy blew her nose and pulled herself together; she needed to be strong and not fall apart when the inevitable happened, she needed to be strong for Willow. After putting the coffee on, she made her way into the family room where she switched on the TV and sat down. Using the remote control she flicked through the channels until she came to the local news channel that was reporting on what was happening in Sunnydale.

A young woman in a smart blue suit was doing a piece to camera as behind her soldiers moved back and forth doing soldier-like things that Buffy had seen soldiers do before.

“The US Army and the CDC report,” the young woman explained to the camera, “that the virus which has struck this quiet Californian town has been contained as they search for answers.”

“Well that's good to know,” Buffy told herself as the woman on screen turned to point out the soldiers and the town in the distance, “I'd hate to think everyone was ignoring us.”

“A tight quarantine has been established to protect neighbouring communities and extends down to the Pacific Ocean where the US Navy and Coast Guard are patrolling the waters just off shore from Sunnydale.” the sound of helicopter engines intruded into the woman's report and she had to pause to let the sound of the engines fade a little before continuing with her report, “As you can no doubt hear there is also a no-fly zone over Sunnydale with helicopter gunships patrolling at low level while USAF fighter jets patrol higher up.”

“Anything on the news, honey?” Joyce asked as she walked into the family room.

“Sorry did I wake you?” Buffy turned to look up at her mother.

“No dear,” Joyce smiled, “the news?”

“Nothing much,” Buffy admitted, “but I hope you weren't expecting to go out of town today.”

Joyce gave her daughter a quizzical look.

“Quarantine,” Buffy explained, “looks like we're surrounded by the army, navy and airforce, I expect the Marines will storm ashore later.” Buffy sighed, “No one's going anywhere today.”

Sunnydale.

Driving along the highway towards the edge of town, Dave Conroy and his family found themselves stopped by yet another army road block. What the hell was going on here? This was supposed to be America not Russia, all he wanted to do was to get his family somewhere safe. They weren't infected by this virus (that the government were no doubt testing on SunnyD and they probably had the antidote for), he had no intention of letting himself and his family become victims of some government screw-up; he'd seen the black helicopters himself so it had to all be the government's fault. As he sat in the driving seat with his wife and children beside him, Dave saw Bob Drake's pick-up come towards him, it looked like Bob had been turned back. As he watched, Bob slowed down next to Dave's vehicle and called out of the window to him.

“Follow me, if ya wanna get outta here,” called Bob just before he drove on down the road.

Heaving on the steering wheel, Dave pulled his jeep out of line and followed Bob's vehicle. They soon got off the main road and headed down some minor roads towards the edge of town. Here the army cordon was thinner and the troops were relying more on patrols mounted in Hummers than actual lines of troops. They had, however managed to put up a significant barrier of barbed wire, certainly enough to stop someone on foot and seriously damage any car that might try to force the fence. Glancing out of the jeep's rear window, Dave saw they'd picked up a tail, two Hummers with machine-guns mounted on top. As he pressed down on the accelerator, Dave really hoped that Bob knew what he was doing.

Up ahead of Dave's jeep, Bob steered his pick-up towards an old wooden warehouse that had been used to form part of the army's perimeter. Bob knew the building as he often used it to store stuff that he'd rather Sunnydale PD didn't know about. He knew that the building's wooden walls were rotten and it wouldn't take much for him to drive right on through. Driving into the warehouse, Bob's pick-up burst out of the back wall almost immediately, Bob and his buddies Steve and Jeb were home free, if they could get to the woods that were only a couple of hundred yards away. They'd only crossed half the distance to the woods when a helicopter gunship came and hovered between Bob's pick-up and the woods.

“Halt your vehicles,” came a voice like god's from the helicopter's PA system, “and dismount.”

“Shit,” cursed Jeb as he clutched his hunting rifle across his chest.

“They're bluffing,” Steve called, “Keep going, keep going!”

“You have entered a restricted area,” the helicopter pilot explained over the PA, “We will fire...this is your last warning.”

The vehicles kept heading for the woods and the pilot had no choice but to fire warning shots that chewed up the ground in front of the lead vehicle.

“Damn!” Bob cried as the earth exploded all around him, desperately he turned the wheel to try to get around the gunship. Of course his futile manoeuvrings were pointless as the chopper pilot turned to keep his guns fixed on their target. Inside the pick-up, Jeb pointed his rifle at the helicopter and fired off a couple of shots. By some miracle one round hit the bullet resistant canopy of the chopper.

“What the fuck are these assholes doing?” the pilot asked his weapons operator, his orders were clear, in the event of being fired on he was to use deadly force. “Okay,” sighed the pilot sadly, “light 'em up.”

The stream of twenty millimetre cannon shells intersected with the lead vehicle, a pick up, and tore it to flaming pieces. Thankfully the second vehicle stopped and the passengers were captured by the crews of the following Hummers.

Revelo Drive.

As the morning progressed, Buffy had started to feel more and more like a third wheel. Her mom and Willow where still trying to help Xander, a project Buffy now felt was pointless. They might as well just keep him as comfortable as they could until he died and not hold on to any hopes that he might get better. It was times like these Buffy hated being the slayer. As there was nothing new on the news, she got up, changed into some old clothes and went outside. Connecting up the garden hose she started to wash the mud and dust from her mom's car.

As she worked she heard a loud voice drifting across the neat suburban lawns towards her, Switching off the hose she walked down to the road to see what was going on. Moving slowly down Revelo Drive towards her was a military jeep with a couple of loud speakers on the roof. The loud speakers were giving the same message over and over again.

“If you are feeling sick in any way,” came the disembodied voice, “you should hang a pillow case or any piece of white cloth on your front door. Soldiers will take you into a testing facility and you'll know the result in a few hours. Early stages of the virus resemble the flu with coughing and a high fever. Anyone showing these symptoms should report them immediately. Doctors have the situation well in hand and are working day and night to find a cure.”

Watching as the jeep drove slowly by, Buffy got the feeling that things were a lot more serious than just an outbreak of flu.

“Now why,” Buffy asked herself, “don't I believe you?”

Chapter Text

10.

US Army Cordon around Sunnydale.

“The military have escalated the quarantine here at Sunnydale almost doubling their presence in and around the town,” reported the TV presenter as he looked earnestly into the camera. “The authorities have remained silent about the numbers and details of the situation and are continuing the media blackout. From here we can only guess at the seriousness of the spread of the disease.” The scene behind the reporter showed troops going by in trucks and Hummers, “Our sources have put the number of dead as low as ten and as high as fifty.” The picture cut away to show four helicopters landing in a parking lot and disgorging even more troops in NBC gear, “Its like a war zone out here and we can only imagine the fear and frustration of the citizens of this once quiet town,” the picture once more rested on the reporter, “Their voices too are silent, all forms of communication have been cut off. Those we can hear, those with the information, will not speak. It is, in a word, frightening...Gab Feebly, ZNN, Sunnydale.”

Sitting on the couch next to Willow, Buffy sipped her orange juice, she glanced away from the TV towards Willow. The redhead had just come downstairs from checking in on Xander, apparently he was no worse but he wasn't any better either.

“Frightening?” Buffy raised an eyebrow, “He should see it from in here.”

“Gab Feebly,” Willow shrugged, “master of the understatement...hold on,” Willow pointed to the screen, “here's Mayor Wilkins.”

The Mayor didn't look well, his eyes were red and he kept coughing as he explained again how the Army and the CDC were doing everything possible to bring the situation to a successful conclusion. He also read from what was obviously a prepared statement telling people to stay in their homes as much as the could and not to congregate in large groups. All schools and government buildings would also be closed for the foreseeable future.

“Great!” cried Buffy happily at the news that she wouldn't have to go to school.

“Oooh,” moaned Willow disappointedly.

The Mayor ended his piece to camera by encouraging people to co-operate with the CDC and the military authorities. He hoped that Sunnydale would soon be back to normal and everyone could get on with there lives. The picture cut to a military officer as the mayor had a coughing fit.

“He's got it,” Willow observed just before the officer started to read from the sheet of paper in his hand.

“A military curfew is now in effect, remain in your homes as much as possible,” the officer said in a monotone voice, he obviously wasn't used to speaking to camera, “Anyone found on the streets after nineteen-hundred hours or seven o'clock pee-em will be arrested and confined. Remain in your homes you will be safe there.”

“Why don't I believe these people when they say we'll be safe in our homes and everything will be fine?” Buffy asked.

“It's because you spend too much time with Giles,” Willow explained, “and you've been infected by his natural British cynicism,” Willow grinned at Buffy, “or maybe everyone's feeding us a line and talking complete crap!”

“Willow!” Buffy gasped, “I never even knew you knew words like 'crap'...and talking of 'British' were is Giles?”

“At home if he's got any sense,” Willow pointed out.

“Yeah,” Buffy shrugged, “I expect you're right...you know this seven o'clock curfew thing's going to put a major cramp on my patrolling, and he could have called.”

“What?” Willow took a moment to catch up with Buffy's train of thought, “Yeah right,” she said after a moment or two, “you'd have thought he could have picked up the phone to...” Willow gasped as a terrible thought hit her, “...you don't think Giles has come down with whatever this is, do you?”

“Nah,” Buffy shook her head, “not Giles, no germ, virus, whatever would survive one of his disapproving looks...” Buffy glanced at the TV screen; she saw that the news bulletin had finished and the local channel was going back to its normal schedule, “Cool,” she smiled, “Scooby-doo!”

The moment Joyce woke up, she knew she'd contracted the virus. Her head throbbed and her body was slick with sweat, as soon as she sat up in bed she started to cough. Groaning softly to herself she swung her legs out of bed and sat on the edge of the mattress for a while as she tried to stop her head from spinning and attempted to control her cough. Eventually after several minutes she got her body under control. Pushing herself to her feet she staggered a little and put her hand out to steady herself.

Shuffling around her bed she found her robe and slippers. Putting them on she headed for the bedroom door. Once out in the corridor she could hear the TV on downstairs, it sounded like Buffy and Willow were watching cartoons or something. Making her way slowly along the corridor, Joyce headed for the bathroom, perhaps she'd feel better after having a shower.

As it turned out a tepid shower did make Joyce feel marginally better. After getting back to her room and getting dressed, Joyce sat for a moment and looked at herself in her dressing table mirror. Giving a weak laugh she had to admit she looked like crap, she'd not be going to work today in fact she was thinking that she might put a white cloth out on the porch and let the army take her away...and Xander too.

What at first thought had been a rather weak joke to herself, suddenly became the 'sensible' thing to do. Xander hadn't got any better since Buffy and Willow had brought him here. It stood to reason that very soon she'd be in the same condition. However much the two girls cared, they were just teenagers they couldn't look after two very sick people for the foreseeable future. No, the sensible thing to do was to let the army take herself and Xander away.

Mind made up, Joyce got slowly to her feet only to have a coughing fit make her sit down again. Once she'd stopped coughing and could breath again she tried to get up once more. This time she succeeded. Walking out of her room and down the corridor to the top of the stairs, Joyce had to stop and clutch hold of the banisters as the stairs swayed alarmingly in front of her eyes. After once again waiting for the world to stop swaying wildly, Joyce made her way slowly down the stairs clutching a white pillow case in her hand.

Reaching the front hall undetected by either Buffy or Willow (who were laughing at the cartoon on TV) Joyce opened the front door. For a moment she stood and shivered as the outside air touched her sweat slick skin. At that point Joyce knew she must be very sick with a high fever, the air temperature in Sunnydale never got low enough to make her shiver normally. Fixing the pillow case to a hanging basket, Joyce hoped that one of the army patrols would see it and see it soon. Closing the front door behind her, Joyce heard Buffy call out to her.

“Mom?” Buffy called her voice light and free from care, “Is that you?”

“Hi honey,” Joyce pushed open the door to the family room, “Hi Willow.”

“I hope we weren't making too much...” Buffy froze in her seat as she turned and saw her mother, “...MOM!”

Buffy sprang to her feet and was just about to rush to her mother when Willow grabbed her.

“BUFFY! NO!” Willow cried urgently, but Buffy pushed her easily to one side; where Willow's physical attempt to stop Buffy rushing to her mother had failed, the urgency in her voice stopped Buffy a few feet short of her mother.

“Sweetheart,” Joyce croaked as she tried to stifle another coughing fit, “I think its best that Xander and I go and get proper help.”

“But mom...” Buffy cried tearfully, “...I can look after you, I...”

“No, sweetheart you can't,” Joyce shook her head, “this is too serious, Xander and I need to go to hospital.”

“But mom...” Buffy tried again to get to her mother, but she was brought up short by Willow as Joyce retreated towards the hall.

“Look,” Joyce forced a smile, “it's probably just flu, they'll give me some tests and I'll be back by this evening or maybe tomorrow...and Xander can be properly looked after.”

“Mom...no...please,” Buffy sobbed, somehow she knew that if her mother walked out of the door she'd never see her again.

“Now you girls be good,” Joyce smiled weakly, “don't go wrecking the house and don't forget to brush your teeth...”

There was a knock on the door, so soon, Joyce asked herself. Turning, she open the door to see a couple of soldiers standing there in their protective suits and masks.

“Ma'am?” one of the soldiers asked politely even if his voice was distorted by his mask.

“There's two take away,” Joyce suddenly had visions of the 'Bring out your dead' sketch from Monty Python, she smiled and even managed a small laugh, “Myself and the young man in the spare bedroom.”

“If you'll come with me ma'am,” one of the soldiers gestured to the big army jeep parked on the road outside.

“In a moment,” Joyce replied, “I want to say goodbye.”

Standing there her eyes blurred by her tears, Buffy watched as two soldiers went upstairs with a stretcher. Only a couple of minutes later they brought her friend down and took him outside.

“Mommy,” Buffy sobbed as she watched her mother turn to go with the soldiers.

“I love you,” Joyce whispered as she followed the soldiers to the jeep.

Standing in the doorway, Buffy and Willow hung on to each other as they watched Joyce and Xander being taken away. Neither could stop crying as they both suspected that they'd never see the people they loved again.

Sunnydale General.

It was only a short trip to Sunnydale General where the CDC had set up their testing facility. Here Joyce was shown in to the prefabricated building after being given a mask to put over her nose and mouth. Xander was taken away by a couple of orderlies dressed in white protective suits, she was told he was being taken to a recovery ward.

Everything was well organised and Joyce didn't have long to wait until a man in a space suit like protective outfit took a sample of her blood. Watching as her blood flowed into the test tube attached to the needle stuck into her arm, she noticed the numbers, 'one-six-one-two' written on the side of the test tube. Did that mean she was the one-thousand-six-hundred-and-twelfth victim? She was about to ask but the man taking the samples waved her on.

After having her blood taken, Joyce sat in a large room with a lot of very sick looking people. It occurred to her that if she'd not been sick before she probably was now. Once again she didn't have long to wait before she was put on board a truck and driven to Sunnydale High, Buffy's school. Obviously the hospital was full and they were using the school as an overflow facility.

It was only as she walked up the path to the main entrance of Sunnydale High did Joyce fully appreciated the full seriousness of the situation. There was a steady stream of sick people being shepherded towards the school between two lines of armed soldiers. Looking around, she saw other soldiers with weapons watching as people went into the school; Joyce wondered if the soldiers expected people to try and get away.

Once inside the building, Joyce mused on the fact that the last time she'd been here was for Buffy's parent-teacher evening; was that only last Thursday? She never did get to see any of Buffy's teachers and she didn't suppose she ever would, not now. After giving an official her name, address and details of anyone left at her house, Joyce followed everyone else through the school.

Coming out onto the sports field, Joyce paused to take in the sight in front of her. The entire field was covered in army tents. There was a high barbed wire fence all around the field with more armed soldiers patrolling up and down. Behind the wire she could see medical staff rushing between the tents with medical equipment or pushing people on trolleys or in wheelchairs. As she walked through the gate in the barbed wire fence, Joyce couldn't help but wonder why someone hadn't put up a sign saying, 'Abandon hope all ye who enter here'.

Grateful to be out of her protective suit for a while, Doctor Keough ran her fingers through her short brown hair and decided she could really do with a shower. Looking up she came to the conclusion that showers would have to wait, Doctors Aronson, Ruiz and Mascelli were heading towards her with grim looks on their faces.

“What's...” Bobbie had to stop to clear her throat before continuing, “...what's up guys?”

“Its not looking good,” Frank Mascelli announced as he pulled up a chair and sat down near Bobbie.

“People are starting to die,” Lisa Aronson pointed out.

“I'm sorry to say but that's sort of to be expected,” Bobbie pointed out.

“No Bobbie,” Lisa shook her head, “a lot of people have started to die.”

“What do you mean, 'a lot'?” Bobbie wanted to know.

“So far about ten an hour,” Frank explained, “but there's more going every minute and the most worrying thing is its not just the oldest cases that are dying first.” Frank took a deep breath, “Some of the victims have only had the virus for a day or less...in fact some of the older patients actually looked as if they were getting better just before they died.”

“We think they got reinfected with a new strain of the virus,” Julia Ruiz explained.

“How are we doing finding an antidote?” Bobbie wanted to know, she coughed into her hand, “...excuse me.”

“The virus appears to be mutating very rapidly,” Julia who was in charge of the team looking for an antidote explained, “every time we think we've got it nailed down it changes...” the young scientist paused, what she was going to say sounded silly, “...it's almost as if the virus is in some way intelligent and is actively trying to prevent us from finding a cure.”

“That's impossible...” Bobbie was about to say more but a violent coughing fit prevented her from talking for a minute or two, “...oh god!” Bobbie looked up at her friends with horror filled eyes, “I've caught it...I've caught the virus!” Bobbie watched as her friends rapidly retreated to a safe distance, “But how!?”

“You sure you didn't take your suit off near anyone who was infected?” Frank asked as he fumbled a surgical mask over his nose and mouth.

“I'm sure...” Bobbie had to pause as she coughed into her hand again, this time when she looked there was blood amongst the mucus, this was something new, “...oh crap!”

Chapter Text

11.

The White House, Washington DC.

“...the most optimistic projection USAMRIID is willing to make for the spread of the virus is this...” the army general stood in front of a large flat screen TV showing a map of the continental United States. “...twenty-four hours...” red dots started to appear around the cities marked on the map, “...thirty-six hours...” by now the East and West coasts of the United States were solid red while the center of the map looked as if it had a bad case of measles, “...forty-eight hours,” by now the map was completely red, the general turned towards his audience and spoke calmly.

“The containment procedure must be viewed objectively,” the general explained, “be compassionate, but be compassionate globally...thank-you.”

The general turned and walked back to his seat at the long table where his audience had been sitting, as the map on the TV cleared and the screen went back to showing the seal of the United States.

“All right, all right,” the President's Chief of Staff slapped his palm on the table to prevent any outbreak of wild conjecture that the other people around the table might make; he needed to point a few things out, to remind people of their duty before they got down to discussing what needed to be done. “Please...the President's ETA from the East Asia Economic Summit is in twenty hours,” the Chief of Staff explained as people settled into their chairs once again, “he wants a recommendation from this group by then.”

The Chief of Staff got up from his chair and took off his jacket and hung it over the back of his seat before starting to pace up and down the length of the room.

“Now as I understand it,” the Chief of Staff nodded to the army general who'd just finished his presentation, “you want to drop a nuclear weapon on the town of Sunnydale, California, population thirty-thousand...”

“Actually, sir,” the general spoke up from his seat, “we would use six tactical nuclear weapons to ensure full coverage and the total destruction of Sunnydale and its out lying suburbs. The bombs would be set for an air-burst which has been calculated so none of the fire balls would touch the ground,” the general took a deep breath, “there would be little or no radioactive fallout.”

“Whatever,” the Chief of Staff paused in his pacing, “again as I understand it, the explosion,” he glanced at the general, “or explosions, will suck up all the available oxygen and vaporise every thing in the blast area; men, women, children and hopefully one killer virus. Destruction complete, case closed, crisis over.”

The Chief of Staff paused for a moment to let that sink in as he studied the faces of the people around the table, they all looked suitably shocked. In the silence that followed his statement he reached into his back pocket and pulled out a booklet.

“This,” he held up the booklet, “is a copy of the Constitution of the United States,” the Chief of Staff started to walk down the line of the table, “I've read it cover to cover...I don't find anything in it about vaporising thirty-thousand American citizens. But it does say, several times,” by now the Chief of Staff had reached the other end of the table, “that, 'no person shall be deprived of life, liberty or property without due process'.”

Leaning on the table the Chief of Staff again watched the faces of his audience, satisfied by what he saw he continued to speak as he started to pace back to his seat.

“So, a couple of things before we even consider 'Clean Sweep',” Clean Sweep was the Army code name for the operation that would reduce Sunnydale to a radioactive cinder, “One, unanimous, unwavering support for the President on this one.” The Chief of Staff counted off points on his fingers, “I mean you're going to stand there shoulder to shoulder with the President publicly. He goes down, you go down!”

“Two;” the Chief of Staff counted off another finger as the people around the table started to look uncomfortable at having to defend their decisions in public. “I want an army of experts citing thousands of lab experiments telling any idiot with a camera that THERE WAS NO OTHER WAY!”

The Chief of Staff banged his fist on the table making several people jump at the unexpected noise.

“You got that?” the Chief of Staff asked quietly as his voice took on a slightly menacing tone, “No member of this government is going to sneak off to the Washington Post and say that they were the sole voice of opposition...IF THERE'S A VOICE OF OPPOSITION I WANT THEM IN HERE NOW!”

“Those are the citizens of Sunnydale!” the Chief of Staff threw a pile of photographs showing some of the victims of the virus, he held up one picture for all to see, “GO ON! Look at them,” reluctantly several of the people around the table picked up photographs to study them more closely, most only looked at them reluctantly. “This is not a statistic,” the Chief of Staff pointed to the photo in his hand, “They're flesh and blood! I want you to burn those faces into your memories, because those images should haunt us to the day we die...”

As the silence around the table stretched, the Chief of Staff lowered his hand and turned the photograph towards himself. He saw a woman in her forties, probably a wife and mother, he wondered if her children were still alive. Turning the photo back over he read the notation on the back of the photograph; 'Patient one-six-one-two, Joyce Summers (Mrs)'.

Sunnydale.

Buffy stood in the dark, the dark was the slayer's element; the night belonged to her whatever the demons and monsters might think. But tonight there were no demons or monsters and the soldier boys were too busy to be looking out for one teenage girl who might be breaking the curfew. Standing in a deep shadow, Buffy watched as the soldiers carried long, black plastic bags into an old warehouse. She could tell by the way the bags bent in the middle and by the way the soldiers struggled with some of them that the bags contained bodies. Just for a moment she wondered if any of those bags contained her mother's or Xander's bodies. Having heard nothing from the authorities she sort of assumed that her mother and her friend were dead.

Moving to a position where she could see into the warehouse, she watched as the soldiers laid out the bodies on the floor. Once they had a layer, other soldiers would come in from the opposite end of the warehouse carrying wooden cargo pallets. They then laid the pallets of the first layer of bodies, when this job was complete the soldiers would come and pile on another layer of bodies. This is how it went on, bodies, pallets, bodies, pallets until the bodies almost reached the roof of the warehouse. Next as most of the soldiers cleared the building three or four soldiers went in and started to empty cans of gasoline over the neatly stacked bodies. Eventually these men too cleared the building.

A lone soldier with what looked like a large pack on his back and a strange looking gun in his hand advanced on the warehouse. Just as the jet of flame reached for the building, Buffy realised that this was the man with the flame thrower detailed to light the funeral pyre. Watching as the flames were reflected in her eyes, Buffy wondered how many more funeral pyres would be lit for the residents of Sunnydale. It just didn't seem fair to her, after all that the people of Sunnydale had suffered at the hands, claws and fangs of the monsters around the hellmouth. After everything she'd done to try and protect everyone, to mitigate in whatever small way the horror that was Sunnydale. The town had fallen victim to some microscopic creature, the one kind of monster she couldn't fight.

Turning away from the now blazing warehouse, Buffy started to head for home; she'd be quite safe as long as she stayed to the back streets and the darkest areas. The Army patrols weren't looking for lone girls, they were looking for people who were taking advantage of the emergency and were out to loot the shops that had been deserted by their dead or scared owners. The world might be coming to an end, but life and property still had to be protected.

Just for a moment, Buffy wondered if the virus was the apocalypse, now that would be ironic. They'd always thought that the apocalypse would come in the form of some hell god or monster or possibly some human asshole with more magic than sense. For a moment, Buffy hesitated; she'd been heading home but she now wondered if she shouldn't try to find Giles. They'd not heard from him since...was it Friday? It was now Tuesday and he'd not even called. The thought struck her that her watcher might be lying dead in his apartment or was he burning in the warehouse behind her?

Unsure what to do, Buffy was torn between going to find Giles and going home. Willow would be frantic if she didn't come home on time. Before starting out on her patrol, Buffy had told Willow to expect her back in a couple of hours it was nearly that now. No, she decided, Giles could wait. If he had something to tell her he could call, if he was dead he could wait until the morning. Having made up her mind she trotted through the dark towards Revelo Drive and the only friend she had left in this world which was rapidly turning to crap.

Sunnydale General Hospital.

Sitting next to Bobbie Keough's body, Frank Mascelli looked down at the laptop computer that rested on the table in front of him. A tiny tear in her suit had let in the virus that had killed her as surely as if she'd danced through the plague wards naked. Bobbie had died within twelve hours of them spotting the symptoms. He coughed up blood and flem as he read through what he'd written and waited to die. They'd all caught the virus, Lisa, Julia and himself when Bobbie had coughed during their meeting.

People were now dying off at an alarming rate, normally about ten or fifteen hours after the first symptoms presented themselves. Lisa and Julia were no closer to finding an antidote or vaccine. They'd thought they were onto something earlier in the day but just as they were about to try out the possible antidote, the virus mutated and the antidote was ineffective. It was almost as if the virus knew and had mutated itself just before the test, it was almost as if it was playing with them. Coughing again and spitting up more blood and mucus, Mascelli tried to concentrate on his report.

It all seemed so hopeless now, those of the medical staff who hadn't come down with the virus were sneaking away home to be with their loved ones (and probably infecting them too). The soldiers who were detailed to help out in the wards were refusing to enter the tents full of the dead and the dying. Their officers had stopped issuing orders that they knew wouldn't be obeyed. The Colonel in charge of the army units in and around Sunnydale had told the CDC that he would no longer be supplying men for body disposal after today. He had the safety of his men to consider and the bodies could just as easily be burnt where they'd died.

The lethality of the virus was one-hundred percent, if you caught it you were as good as dead, you might as well put a shotgun in your mouth and blow your head clean off. Mascelli truly believed that there was no cure for the virus, given time and a lot more resources they might find a vaccine. But, the chances were by the time a vaccine was put into production and distributed every one would already be dead. No, the only way was to destroy the virus with nuclear fire, to wipe out each and every centre of the disease (there'd been cases in LA and Cleveland as well as other places around the world. The time had come for 'Clean Sweep' there was nothing else for them to do.

Typing a last paragraph outlining his findings and recommendations, Dr Mascelli sent his report via e-mail to the CDC before closing up his computer. Coughing he checked his watch, he calculated that he'd remain conscious for another hour maybe two, by the morning he'd be dead.

Giles' Apartment.

Replacing the receiver, Giles stared in horror at the phone for a minute. He'd just been contacted by the Council in London. The virus was spreading from each active and inactive hellmouth right around the world and governments were starting to panic. There was talk, which the council believed to be true, that the nuclear powers were about to use there arsenals to wipe out the centres of disease before the virus spread any further. The Council had advised him that if the troops now in and around Sunnydale suddenly left he was to collect his slayer and leave the area immediately. This looked like it was the apocalypse to end all apocalypses.

Giles' laugh turned into a cough, he knew he'd caught the virus and was as good as dead. What he didn't understand was how he'd caught it. He'd been very careful about not getting into close contact with anyone, not even Buffy...Buffy, the thought came to him that she needed to know what was about to happen. Lifting the receiver of his phone, Giles was halfway through dialling Buffy's home number when he realised the phone was dead. Taking the receiver from his ear he looked at it as if it was a trusted friend who'd just betrayed him.

Slamming down the useless piece of plastic, Giles realised that the authorities must have cut off even the towns internal phone system. They'd tried to isolate Sunnydale from the world almost as soon as the emergency had started, but the Council had methods of keeping such things as the telephone line to their watcher open that the US security services would love to get their hands on. But this didn't alter the fact that he still needed to contact Buffy. He could of course try and make his way to her house. But he might get picked up, or worse yet, shot by one of the army patrols. He could also die from the virus before he got to Buffy's home.

No the best thing to do was to wait here and hope that Buffy would come to him tomorrow...but tomorrow he'd likely be dead. Walking slowly over to his writing desk, Giles took pen, paper and an envelope over to his dining table. Sitting down he began to write.

My dearest Buffy...

Chapter Text

12.

Giles' Apartment.

'My dearest Buffy...'

Early that morning, Buffy and Willow had driven through the strangely quiet streets of Sunnydale. Although Buffy's driving skills had not radically improved (even after all the practice she was getting) over the last few days they'd not been stopped by either the army or Sunnydale PD; there was simply no one else out on the streets. After arriving at Giles' apartment they'd made their way through the little complex and down to his front door. It was there they'd found the envelope taped to the door.

Giving Willow a concerned glance, Buffy took down the envelope and opened it, unfolding the single sheet of paper she started to read the hand written letter. Before she'd even got half way through she'd gasped as she placed her hand to her face. Passing the letter to Willow, Buffy sat down at the little table next to Giles' front door where he used to sometimes eat his breakfast. Giving her friend a worried look, Willow opened out the crumpled piece of paper and started to read.

'My dearest Buffy,

If you are reading this it means that I'm already dead. I don't know how, but I contracted the disease sometime in the last twenty-four hours and must have died of it last night. Do not try to open the door and find me because I think my body will still be infectious and I wouldn't what my remains to be the cause of your or anyone else’s deaths. I, of course, am beyond caring and you can do nothing for me except survive.

The latest information I received from the council in London is most worrying. It seems that the disease has broken out around all the hellmouths, although Sunnydale is by far the worst affected location so far. The US government has decided, with the other nuclear powers, to use nuclear weapons to 'sanitise' the infected areas if the disease is deemed to have got out of hand. In all probability Sunnydale will face nuclear destruction in the next day or two if a cure cannot be found. The first indication that the government is putting 'Operation Clean Sweep' into action will be the sudden withdrawal of troops and medical staff from the town...'

Willow stood there for a moment as she realised they'd seen no troops patrolling the town that morning.

“My god!” Willow gasped as she looked around to see Buffy weeping quietly into her hands, “Buffy, we've got to do something, stop them dropping the bomb or something...Buffy?”

Buffy didn't seem to be listening so Willow continued to read the letter.

'In this event my advice to you is to leave Sunnydale immediately by whatever means you can, do not stop for anything. Your only hope of survival is to flee immediately. I suggest you head for the mountains and find somewhere isolated to hide out in until this madness has passed, I would suggest six months at the very minimum.

Although it might not have seemed like it at the time, I have always loved you and cared about what happened to you. Yourself, Willow and Xander have been like the children I never had and will now never have. It has been a privilege to know you all. It has been a particular privilege to be your Watcher and my only regret is that I will not be there to guide and teach you to become the slayer and woman I know you would have become if things had turned out for the better.

Give my love to Willow and Xander and your mother.

I remain your most bemused, perplexed, exasperated and loving Watcher,

Giles.

PS; I heard that Snyder was one of the first to succumb to the disease, you know what they say about silver linings?
RG.'

Wiping a tear from her eye, Willow looked around only to see Buffy stand up and head for the door to Giles' apartment.

“NO BUFFY!” Willow cried out as Buffy smashed open the door, “Giles said not...to...”

The words died on Willow's lips as she watched Buffy march into Giles' home. Standing by the doorway, Willow admitted to herself she was scared, she didn't want to die and if not dying meant not going into her mentor's home, she'd stay right here by the door. Anyway she could see Giles' body perfectly well from where she stood. He sat slumped in his favourite chair a book on his lap and a glass of Scotch near his hand.

Buffy stood stock still in front of him, staring down at the corpse of the man who'd been more like a father to her than her real father these last couple of years. Her face was bereft of all emotion, she'd even stopped crying. To be frank, Willow didn't feel like crying either, she felt too numb and anyway she'd cried so much over the last few days that she felt like she was all cried out.

“Buffy,” Willow called softly, “we've got to go, Giles said...”

Buffy didn't appear to hear so Willow called louder.

“Buffy, we've got to go,” she called, “they're going to blow up the town...”

“I don't care,” Buffy replied in a toneless voice.

“Well, I do!” casting her fears aside, Willow marched into the apartment; taking hold of Buffy's arm she steered her towards the door, “Giles wouldn't want us to get burnt to a crisp by a nuclear bomb, so...move your ass slayer!”

Much to her surprise Willow got Buffy out of the apartment. As soon as they were out in the daylight again, Buffy seemed to snap out of her gloom, she looked at Willow questioningly.

“Nuclear bombs?” she asked.

“Look,” Willow explained as they headed towards the stairs to the parking lot, “Giles said the government is going to drop nuclear bombs on Sunnydale to destroy the virus or whatever it is.”

“Right,” Buffy followed Willow towards her mothers SUV, “and he knew this how?”

“The council in London,” Willow cast a nervous glance at the sky as she imagined bombers loaded down with big, fat nuclear bombs heading towards Sunnydale right at that moment. “Buffy,” Willow took Buffy by her arms and looked deeply into her eyes, “I don't think now is a good time to question where Giles got his information. I think now is a good time to be heading out of town.”

“Yes,” Slayer Buffy appeared to have come back from wherever she'd gone and pushed little, frightened, teenage girl, Buffy out of the way. “You're right,” she ran around to the driver's door and pulled it open, “lets get gone!”

Although no one knew it at the time, destroying Sunnydale with nuclear weapons only made things worse. The alien super-virus that had originally been designed to kill off the world's vampire population had started to mutate almost as soon as it made contact with Earth's atmosphere. It mutated particularly quickly around the Sunnydale Hellmouth. The effect of the electromagnetic pulse from the exploding tactical nuclear weapons over Sunnydale only served to make the virus mutate at an even faster rate.

Sensing the explosions seconds before the bombs detonated, Buffy was able to drive her mother's SUV off the highway. The two young women were far enough away from ground zero not to be affected by the fire ball and the blast effects swept over them doing little more than stir up the dust and trash at the side of the road. The real 'killer' was the EMP which trashed the SUV's electrical systems, leaving the girls to continue their journey on foot.

Having only stopped to grab some bottles of water and snacks from a deserted gas station, Buffy and Willow weren't properly equipped for survival in the semi desert that surrounded Sunnydale. However, by moving at night and hiding up during the day they escaped the worst of the desert heat and avoided contact with other people. Eventually they reached the mountains to the north of where Sunnydale had stood and were lucky enough to find an old, tumble down shack hidden deep in the forest and near a stream.

Unknown to Buffy and Willow world events were moving on apace. At first it seemed that the destruction of Sunnydale had stopped the virus in its tracks. The major outbreaks in Cleveland and LA appeared to have been contained. Around the world one or two other cities had had to face nuclear sterilisation, but again the smaller outbreaks of the virus were being contained and it was hoped that no more nuclear weapons would have to be used.

About a week or ten days after the destruction of Sunnydale the virus seemed to have blossomed into a new deadlier, faster acting version of itself. The virus burst from the containment areas killing people within only a few hours of infection. As the virus swept through the population the government used bigger and bigger nuclear weapons in a vain attempt to get ahead of the disease. Soon the authorities in urban centres stopped reporting outbreaks of the virus for fear that the central government would nuke their town. It didn't matter either way, everyone died and whether it was from nuclear fire or from the virus made no difference.

Around the world, countries that were only suspected of having nuclear weapons used them to settle old scores with their neighbours. North Korea fired missiles at South Korea. Pakistan fired missiles at India, India retaliated and utterly destroyed Pakistan. Iran used some fairly primitive bombs loaded into trucks on Israel. In retaliation, Israeli submarines, firing from the Indian Ocean, obliterated most of the Arab world's capitals. It didn't matter, the virus came and wiped out whatever populations remained after the radioactive dust had settled.

Up in their mountain home Buffy and Willow knew nothing of this. They lived by raiding nearby settlements for food, clothes and any other needs they might have. It was always Buffy who went on these raids, leaving Willow to look after their camp. Going into these settlements now populated only by the dead, Buffy felt sure that her slayer metabolism would protect her and if there was anything bigger than a virus waiting to attack her, well, her slayer metabolism could deal with that too.

It was three weeks after the destruction of Sunnydale, that the radio the girls had found in a deserted house stopped picking up any broadcasts. A couple of days after that Willow grew sick and died within hours. Willow had guessed that her early exposure to the virus (when she'd got some of Angel's pus on her hand) must have been protecting her, unfortunately it didn't protect her from the newer, deadlier form of the virus. Buffy was devastated, she'd convinced herself that Willow was protected and that she'd never catch whatever it was that was even now wiping out the remains of the world's human population.

Having watched helplessly as her friend had died, Buffy went outside and dug a grave. As she dug down into the sandy soil Buffy thought it odd that in all the death and destruction this was the only grave she'd dug. After laying Willow to rest, she filled in the grave before sitting down and waiting for her own death to come. However, Buffy still didn't die, she'd been right, the fact that she was 'The Slayer' protected her, she was just too tough for the virus.

Unfortunately her 'slayerism' didn't protect her from radiation poisoning. A lot of the nuclear weapons fired had been primitive 'dirty' bombs which had been set for ground burst and had thrown up great clouds of radio active dust. Those areas that escaped contamination by fallout were destroyed by the virus. By the end of the twelfth week after the first case of the virus had been reported, Buffy Summers was possibly the only human being still alive on Earth.

“Here she is,” Academic Assistant Venka called as she walked up to the tumble down porch of the shack.

Buffy lay slumped in an old rocking chair, her body gaunt from lack of food and the ravages of radiation poisoning. Most of her hair had fallen out as had her teeth and her gums bled almost continuously. Junior Academician Vilchjo came to join his assistant and waved a scanning devise over Buffy's still form.

“Radiation poisoning,” he announced a little surprised at his findings, “odd there is no trace of the pathogen in her system.”

“Most odd,” agreed Venka, “do you want me to take samples?”

“Yes do so,” Vilchjo nodded.

Of course neither Vilchjo or Venka were physically there, their real bodies were still safely aboard their starship in orbit around Earth's moon. They were using the Projection Technology that allowed them to visit potentially lethal environments while still enabling them to use there own senses and collect samples for later study.

“I simply do not understand what has happened here,” Vilchjo explained as Venka pressed a device against Buffy's arm and took her samples which were immediately 'beamed' up to their starship. “The pathogen should have only killed off the infestation and a few of the weaker aborigines. I never expected anything like this to have happened.”

“Perhaps there were some environmental issues that the probes did not pick up on?” Venka suggested as she stood back from the barely breathing human and checked that her device had collected a full range of samples from the subject.

Yes thought Vilchjo that must be it. He couldn't be blamed for what had happened here if the equipment he'd been given had been faulty or there had been unexpected conditions.

“She is the last of her kind,” Venka announced as she looked down at Buffy's poisoned and wasted form; she looked at her closely, “From the images I have seen she would have been thought of as sexually desirable...it is a pity we can not preserve her as she once was...” she glanced over at Vilchjo, “...put her in a museum I mean.”

“No,” Vilchjo shook his head firmly, he had no wish to have his 'mistakes' preserved for all to see. “it's too late now,” he checked one of his scanning devices, “she's almost dead.”

The truth was that Vilchjo could have 'preserved' Buffy, the GOD had technology that was quite capable of bring living creatures back from the dead. He could have had Buffy taken to his ship. The medical systems aboard could have cleansed her system and nursed her back to health; Buffy could have lived out eternity as a living exhibit in one of GODs vast museums believing that she was still on Earth amongst her own kind living her life over and over again. No doubt the label on the pod where her material body would be stored would have read, 'Human, Teenage Girl, Earth'.

But Vilchjo didn't want anyone to be reminded of the mistakes he'd made here on Earth. As long as no one in authority had their attention drawn to the disaster here no one would notice. After all the galaxy was a vast place and not even the Academic Guild could keep track of everything that its members did, they were only sentient beings and not some all knowing mythical deity. As long as he was careful what he published he'd be safe and his reputation and career would not be damaged. After all he had succeeded, the infestation had been completely eradicated.

“Look,” Venka gasped, “she moves!”

Groaning and wondering why she was still alive, Buffy opened her eyes, the world began to spin as she tried to focus on the two beings that stood in front of her. Buffy wanted to die and she cursed the fact that it was taking so long for her to shuffle off this mortal coil; she wanted to be with her Mom and Willow and Giles and Xander and all her other friends. Why was it taking so long? Why did it hurt so much?

One of the beings said something and drew Buffy's attention to it. The beings were vaguely human looking, they were dressed in white, a white so bright that it hurt her eyes to look at it. Their skin seem to glow with health and vitality and their hair was like a bronze coloured halo around their heads. They regarded her with cold, golden eyes that held no pity for a seventeen year old girl who couldn't wait to die so she could be with her family and friends again.

“Bastards,” Buffy croaked as she looked up at the angels, “you did all this...” Buffy made a weak gesture that still managed to encompass all the desolation around her, “...you killed everything...”

Summoning up her last reserves of strength Buffy tried to push herself up and confront the killers of her race, to make one last 'slay', to die fighting as the protector of her people should. But she never made it to her feet, she was too weak. Slumping back into her chair she fixed the two angels with her gaze and cursed them and all their kind, it wasn't much but it made her feel better for a moment. Taking one last shuddering breath, Buffy stiffened as the end came, soon...soon she'd be gone.

As her brain shut down due to lack of oxygen, Buffy saw her mother and her friends waiting for her on the porch of her house. Running up the pathway of her home she threw her arms around her mother's neck and hugged her.

“Mommy...” whimpered the last girl in all the world as her life finally ebbed away.

“She is dead,” Venka announced not even bothering to look at her scanner.

“Time for us to go,” observed Vilchjo; half a second later they were back aboard their starship and found themselves standing in the medical containment area.

Watching as Venka checked the stored samples they'd taken, unaware that the virus had already escaped the containment field it had been placed in; it had become a 'Hive Intelligence' and something as simple as a medical, containment field could hold it now. Vilchjo smiled to himself. It was time to put Jegfidoc behind him and start on a new project. They'd been in orbit around the planet's moon where they'd been studying some interesting ruins on its dark side and had been too preoccupied to notice what had happened on Earth. He'd also started his initial research for his next project. He'd been looking into sex and all things connected with it and he'd been particularly looking into what had been thought attractive in a sexual partner over the eons. He'd been correct in his earlier thoughts, Venka was, by most of the standards of history, a very attractive female. As she was also his assistant he wouldn't have to spend very much time finding a new and equally attractive subject for his project.

“Venka,” Vilchjo called as the female finished storing away the samples taken from the dying human girl, “I'd like to talk to you about your part in my next project...”

“I hope it will not involve the extermination of any other sentient races, however primitive they might be.”

If Vilchjo had been familiar with the concept of 'sarcasm' he'd have recognised Venka's words as an example of that mode of speech.

“No,” Vilchjo replied lightly, he coughed before continuing with his explanation, “I was wondering if you would be willing...” Vilchjo coughed again, he smiled apologetically at his assistant, “...I seem to have something caught in my throat...”

Starting to cough uncontrollably, Vilchjo fell to his knees as the ship's corridor began to spin around him and his body temperature increased at an alarming rate. Backing away from him, Venka watched in horror as sores broke out on Vilchjo's skin, burst and started to ooze pus, He coughed some more as he brought up large amounts of mucus and blood. Finally his entire body went into spasm before he relaxed and died right there in front of her eyes. Wondering if she was going to die as well, Venka ran along the corridor towards the bridge, she had to warn people to keep away from Jegfidoc.

Venka never reached the bridge of the living starship. The ancient vessel had lived to protect the peaceful civilisations of the galaxy, it knew where its duty lay. The ship was also old and would welcome the death that could come only by its own actions. As Venka ran for the bridge the ship switched off the containment field around the gravitational anomaly that powered its systems and gave it life. In the blink of an eye, had there been anyone left alive to blink, the ancient ship was sucked into the black hole it had created within itself and vanished.

The peoples of Earth had been avenged by Buffy Summers who had made her last and possibly greatest slay.

A/N: Yep it was an 'everyone dies' fic. I don't think I've written one before and I don't think I'll write one again (however, I'll still knock off individual characters if it seems like the right thing to do for the story) but this idea has been bugging me for some years so I had to write it to get it outta my mind. This last chapter might seem a little 'rushed' but I got here and found I'd nothing much left to say. The actual 'end' went through several rewrites, the one posted came closest to what I was trying for.