Archive of Our Own

Jenny had actually managed to wake up early that morning.

She’d given herself time to enjoy her morning coffee and a real breakfast, not just half a granola bar shoved into her mouth before she ran to her car.

Even more impressive – she’d remembered to set out her clothes the night before. That matching, pale green skirt and top set that she’d bought at some flea market or other and then shoved to the back of her closet to be forgotten about for months. 

It seemed that she’d decided to reinvent herself that day for some reason; the new outfit, waking up at a sensible time for once in her career, the whole breakfast thing.

Rupert would be so proud. She’d have to tell him all about how she hadn’t even smacked the snooze button on her alarm when it yanked her out of a particularly good dream; lately, anything that didn’t flash images of Uncle Enyos’ body lying still and cold in his bed qualified as a ‘good dream’. The bar was low.

Still, Rupert would’ve been very impressed. 

That was, if Rupert had been in the business of talking to her lately, he would be. 

They’d spoken yesterday, briefly. It had ended pretty spectacularly, with Jenny making an awkward and inappropriate confession of love in her classroom, leaving him completely bewildered and unsure how to respond.

It was just Jenny’s luck, really, that her mouth decided that it was time to tell him that she loved him at that particular moment. So much for romance.

So much for self control, more like.

Still, she'd started her day on a good note.

Unfortunately, though, she’d chosen to leave out those shoes the night before. The white heels that were just slightly too high for comfort, tightened around her ankles with thin, uncomfortable straps.

Hindsight was a cruel thing. 

Running hadn’t exactly been on the cards for her when she’d decided that they went nicely with her outfit.

And yet there she was. Running. Running like she never had before.

The heels of those damn shoes clicked against the hard floors of Sunnydale High, betraying any chance that she might be able to lose Angelus as he pursued her. He was several metres behind her now, despite the fact that she knew how easily he could catch up to her if he wanted to.

If he wanted to.

Jenny knew it as well as he did; Angelus was going to win. He was simply enjoying the thrill of the chase. He was a lion watching a deer from within the long grass, knowing that it could pounce and tear it to shreds with little effort, but letting itself bask in the rush of adrenaline that came from chasing its prey. 

Despite the temptation to stop and kick off her shoes, gaining herself just a few extra seconds, Jenny kept moving, her heart pounding against her chest as she followed a familiar route through the school. She used to make the very same journey every morning, every lunchtime, and after school.

It was exactly where Angelus would expect to find her, but what difference did that make? He could follow her out of the school, to her car, to her apartment…either way, he would catch her. But if she could just make it to the library in enough time to leave a note, to make a call, even…all of that work she'd put into translating the curse wouldn’t be a complete and utter waste of time.

Jenny was going to die, but at least she was going to die having successfully completed the one thing that she knew could defeat Angelus.

When Jenny barged through the library doors, Angelus was still around the corner, cackling to himself as he taunted her with words that she couldn’t hear over the pounding of her heart, the rush of blood in her ears. It wouldn’t take him long to guess where she was, but it gave her time to slide the latch across the door, switch off the lights, and break her way into Rupert’s office.

Hey, she was going to die soon. She wouldn’t have to worry about paying for a replacement lock. Still, without a working lock on the door, Jenny only had the time and energy to move Rupert's chair and a few of his heavier books. It was a lacklustre barricade. Not a great match against a seriously overpowered vampire with a personal score to settle. 

But still, once Jenny was confident that the door was secure enough to buy her some time, she scrambled for one of the wooden stakes in Rupert’s (thankfully) unlocked filing cabinet drawers. She also grabbed a cross for good measure, gripping it tightly in her free hand before scanning the office for a pen and a scrap of paper. She realised that it would be pretty difficult to write with her hands full like this. Considering her options, she decided that she’d rather have the stake close at hand, choosing instead to tuck the cross into the waistband of her skirt. 

She stayed down on her knees, careful to hang below the window as she squinted in the dark of the office to find something to write on. As she searched, the office phone sat there on the desk, taunting her, telling her to pick it up and dial the one useful number that she had memorised, but…

But she’d managed to evade Angelus somehow this far, and surely making a phone call would only put her at further risk. What if he heard her speaking? What if nobody picked up at first, but they called back and he heard it ring?

Last resort. If she didn’t find anything to write on in the next drawer she opened, she would call someone. She would call Rupert. 

Would he even be home yet? He usually had a lot of errands to run in the evening before he dragged himself back to his apartment for a late supper. He was a perpetually busy sort of man.

Jenny slid the final drawer open slowly and silently as she heard something break in a nearby classroom, followed by a growl of frustration. 

She ignored the way that her blood turned to ice in her veins – it was too late for such a silly thing as fear. She’d pretty much accepted that she wasn’t going to make it out of there alive, but not before she did this.

Paper! She felt her hand fall upon an old scrap, a receipt from Barnes & Noble with a blank side. Also rattling around in the drawer was an old, uncapped pen.

This had better work , Jenny’s mind supplied as she shook the pen before laying the receipt flat on the ground, heart rate not slowing down as she began to scrawl a message. 

In the dark, she wasn’t even sure if her handwriting was legible, but that didn’t matter anymore. She wasn’t even writing in full sentences.

Floppy disk computer room - YELLOW!! Angel’s’ so– 

No.

No, no, no… Jenny could no longer feel the smooth glide of ink against paper, and as her eyes slowly adjusted to the dark inside the office, she could confirm the worst. 

The pen had run out before she could even explain why the floppy disk was important . Before she could even state who the note was from .

Why had she wasted ink clarifying that the disk was yellow , for gods’ sake?

The phone continued to taunt her from above, and a door swung open somewhere in the distance. A fast, terrified glance towards the library door confirmed that it was still on its hinges. For now.

Jenny had no choice.

Rupert probably wasn’t in yet. They hadn’t planned to meet for well over an hour…god...Jenny wished for any chance at showing up at Giles’ later that night. She was going to die regretting never being able to tell him everything that she’d forced herself to push down for over a year. 

Still, she didn’t know any of the kids’ home numbers, so…he was her best shot.

She could always leave a voicemail.

Jenny reached up to pull the phone down from the desk, careful not to yank any wires out of the wall as she rested it in her lap. 

As she did this, though, something grabbed her attention. Bright, neon yellow. A little post-it note attached to the phone stand, right next to the dial, something written down in large, neat handwriting.

With shaking hands, Jenny peeled it away from the phone stand, squinting to read it.

Her heart pounded again, but not with pure fear anymore.

Summers’ Residence - I.C.E!!!!

It was written in Buffy’s loopy handwriting – Giles would never add so much unnecessary punctuation. And he definitely wouldn’t dot an ‘i’ or an exclamation mark with a little heart.

Jenny chuckled to herself. That was a real Buffy thing to do, bubbly and fun, even in the writing down of a phone number.

A phone number that made Jenny want to kiss a post-it note as she dialled it, wincing every time the circular dial snapped back on itself, much too loud against the silence of the office.

The dial tone seemed to go on for hours, screeching in Jenny’s ears as she waited for someone to pick up, listening out for Angelus at the same time.

Finally, after an agonising series of rings, something clicked at the other end of the receiver. Buffy’s voice crackled through, music to Jenny’s ears as she forced herself not to laugh with relief. “ Hello?” Buffy asked. 

“Buffy, Buffy it’s me,” Jenny whispered down the phone, forgetting all previous animosity once thrown at her by the girl. “It’s Jenny, I–”

“What do you want?” Buffy’s voice hardened. Jenny’s pounding heart clenched with the fear that Buffy would just hang up without even attempting to hear her out, and she’d have to just sit there, completely helpless and waiting for Angelus to find her. A sick, twisted game of hide and seek that ended with her cold, lifeless body, drained of its blood and discarded on the floor of Giles’ office for him – or god forbid one of the kids – to discover the next morning. 

Jenny rushed through her speech as she replied, her whispers becoming more urgent as panic rose. “Look, I know that I’m the last person you want to hear from right now, but– but I’m in the school, and I don’t have long left, okay? I just need to tell you that–”

“Wait, what? Miss Calendar, what do you mean?” Buffy demanded, voice no longer cold, but nervous. Jenny heard Willow in the background, a murmured question that she couldn’t quite make out. “What’s going on?”

“Don’t worry about me, okay?” she answered, already regretting her dramatic choice of words. I don’t have long left – what was that going to do? That wasn’t why she called. She didn’t call to scare her, just to…to give her a chance. A little bit of hope. Hope that this astoundingly shitty and traumatic period of her life could come to an end soon. “I just…I have something that will help you to defeat Angelus – restore his soul – there’s a yellow–”

“Is he there?” Buffy interrupted again, the crackling receiver doing nothing to hide the fear in her words. God, she was young. She was so, so young . She didn’t deserve any of this. Jenny had to fix it. “Miss Calendar, please. Is Angelus there?”

Willow’s voice again. High and shrill, panicked.

Jenny sighed. “Yes,” she answered. The phone clicked. A long beep.

Buffy had hung up.

This terrified Jenny; not because she thought that Buffy had hung up to abandon her, leaving her new least-favourite teacher at the hands of a bloodthirsty monster. Quite the opposite, in fact.

Buffy was the slayer. Jenny knew that she had hung up the phone with the intent of leaving her house and walking straight into the lion’s den, wracked with the misguided guilt that it was her fault that Angelus had returned. 

Oh, god. Jenny sighed, silently, to herself. She had to call Giles. She had to get him to stop Buffy.

But of course, that wouldn’t end well. Jenny felt like tearing her hair out; Giles would probably just come with Buffy.

The slamming doors were getting closer.

Jenny could either continue to hide, or she could fight. Face Angelus one last time. She was going to die, but she wasn’t going to go without getting a few hits in herself. After everything he had done. Everything he would do. 

(The more that she acknowledged her impending death to herself, the easier it became to stomach.)

The main thing that was difficult for her to face at this stage…she didn’t even manage to tell Buffy about the floppy disk.

If only she could find another pen in Rupert’s office without switching on a light, without alerting Angelus to her whereabouts before she got the chance to write down everything that she wanted to say.

Sitting, knees curled under her chin, she allowed herself for a moment before giving in and leaving the library, making a mental list of the things that she would say and do if she had the chance to. All of the words that would follow her into an early grave because she was too scared to turn the lights on and look for a damn pen.

She would make sure that Buffy and Rupert knew the truth . That she truly hadn’t known what could happen, that she was so, agonisingly close to finding a way to fix it, and that she hadn’t been faking everything for the past year. She really did love Rupert, she really did want to help. She’d already told Rupert that she’d fallen in love with him, but she would’ve given anything for the chance to say it again. To say it on purpose and not feel the need to apologise for it immediately after. She needed more time with him. For him to really see her…to understand her, and to know her, maybe even to love her. 

She would make sure that Willow knew how fantastic Jenny thought she was, how proud Jenny was of all of her progress. Jenny could tell that Willow thrived on constant validation, and she was more than willing to give some to her favourite student. If she had the chance, she would practically shower her with it.

She would reconnect with her family again, she would- 

Thump!

Something shook the library doors, making the windows rattle as the lock strained. Jenny would’ve screamed with horrified surprise, if she wasn’t so desperate not to be found so soon. She just needed one minute more, one moment of peace before it all ended. 

Her last moments would be anything but peaceful.

The library door thumped again, and Jenny tightened her grip around the wooden stake in her hand.

What if she just killed him? She didn’t have Buffy’s slayer skills, but still…she could ram that stake right through his cold, dead heart and watch him crumble to dust at her feet. 

But would Buffy ever forgive her for that? If she dusted him before they even had a chance to try and restore his soul? If she destroyed the body of the man that Buffy had loved before a demon had taken residence there? 

She couldn’t kill Angelus. All of these fears stopped her from making that choice. She could, however, take the stake and the cross into her final battle, a false sense of security to ease her through these last moments.

Pulling herself up off the ground, she steadied herself on her feet as she gripped the stake and the cross with shaking hands. Her shoes were rubbing now, the tight straps sure to leave blisters on her ankles and her Achilles tendon, but at least they made her a few inches taller. She wouldn’t be quite so far away from Angelus as she came face to face with him.

She was going to die, but she would put up a fight. Maybe she would stake him, if her fear that Buffy would go on hating her until the bitter end faltered for just a second.

Suddenly, the library door swung open, and there he stood. Broad shouldered, tall, and grinning, fangs bared and glinting under the light of the moon that filtered through the library windows. “Found you,” he sneered, standing completely still, taunting her as he didn’t even bother to make a move.

If she moved, he would catch her. If he moved, he would catch her. If they both stayed this way, frozen still, for long enough, he would lap up the fear in her eyes until he got bored enough to lunge forwards. Whichever way she looked at it, she knew he would catch her.

At least Buffy knew that there was something that could stop Angelus, that Jenny had it, and that that left very few places in Sunnydale that it could possibly be – her classroom, her apartment. Maybe the library.

Jenny inhaled a shaky breath, her feet carrying her forwards as she approached Angel, one arm outstretched and brandishing the cross. “Angelus,” she said, hoping to stall him with some talking. It had worked in the classroom before. They’d spoken, he’d taunted her with cruel words and outbursts of non-fatal but threatening violence…he enjoyed it that way. 

But Jenny wanted more time, and she would get it. Even on his terms. Everything was on his terms now, anyway.

“I…I don’t think you want to kill me,” she said.

Angelus laughed, low and dark. “Is that so?” His voice was dangerous, and he took a step forward. “And why’s that?”

“The…the curse,” she explained. “You can’t destroy the curse without me.”

“The curse is already gone, Jenny, ” he taunted, sneering her name with venom, “I destroyed your little computer, remember? Nice try, though.”

His steps picked up pace, approaching Jenny with purpose even as her cross remained outstretched. Panicking, Jenny blurted: “How do you know that I don’t have more copies? I could…you need me alive to find them.”

Angelus chuckled, and Jenny felt sick. “Bargaining now, are we?” he asked, stopping to stand still, a few inches away from the cross that Jenny was holding. She saw him wince, pulling his head back slightly, but he didn’t falter. “Or are you just bluffing?”

“Please,” she begged, as a very last resort. He probably loved that. Probably relished in her desperation. “Please!”

“You know,” Angelus growled, and it took every last ounce of strength left in Jenny’s trembling body not to whimper. “I really wish you’d get that thing out of my face.” 

Angelus snarled at the cross before reaching forward to grab Jenny’s wrist, twisting her arm sharply to the side with a sickening crunch as the cross slipped from her fingers, clattering to the ground as she bit the inside of her cheek to suppress a cry. She could see stars; the pain coursing through her body was white hot and almost unbearable.

Angelus was taking his time. She’d angered him, and he wasn’t going to offer her the mercy of a quick ending.

Sore, dizzy, and unable to stand upright, Jenny fell back against Rupert’s office door with a painful thud. She still had the stake, but it felt futile to raise it up to Angel’s chest. She was completely numb and barely able to register what was happening as a strong hand gripped her throat, slamming her head against the door's window.

Her breaths were becoming shallower, with nowhere to go as his fingers closed around her windpipe. Jenny felt herself begin to weaken, the grip of her fingers around the wooden stake loosening until it, too, clattered against the library floor as spots of white and purple static flickered across her vision.

She thought she heard speaking, shouting…probably Angelus getting in one final word as she faded out of consciousness, making sure that his was the last voice she heard before the lights finally went out. 

It was taking so long…she felt a cold, wet tear slide down her face. Then she heard a loud thud, the last thing that she registered that she could be sure was real.

She must’ve been dead, because she could no longer feel his hand against her neck, and she felt herself floating, or…or falling. She wasn’t really sure which, but she was certain that she'd hit the ground.

And then everything went black.

*

“Oh...oh, no no no...is she okay?” 

Someone was sniffling, and soft, small hands cradled her face gently.

“Willow, call an ambulance - quickly!”

Willow…funny little Willow. She always wore the nicest little sweaters…bright and colourful and fun…funny little Willow with her rainbow striped sweaters…

Who needed an ambulance? Was Willow okay? 

“Should we call Giles?”

The question came from a thick, wet voice. More sniffling.

“Ambulance!”

That one hurt her head, loud and sharp as soft footprints scurried away. 

She couldn’t open her eyes, but she could remember a bright, white light. Something like…like TV static. Voices muffled like she had her head under the water, like she was in the bath.

She could also remember a hard, solid pain against her chest. Air filling her lungs.

“...on their way…ten minutes…awake…Buffy, is she…”

And Buffy, too? Buffy was so brave…was she hurt? Was Buffy going in an ambulance? She was always brave, braver than any kid should be expected to be…but she always did it.

At least Buffy had Willow…they always stuck together, it was sweet. At least they had each other. 

*

“Where the hell am I?” Jenny croaked. It hurt to speak, her words scraping against her throat like nails.

“You’re awake!” someone cried, and Jenny’s eyes drifted over to find Willow Rosenberg, face streaked with tears, nose red, and her hands hidden behind long, pulled-down sleeves. Her voice wobbled as she said, “I– w-we didn’t know if you were going to make it, we thought you'd never w-wake up.” Willow sniffled. “Me and Buffy left as soon as we knew that he was…that he was there. Why was he after you?” Willow’s voice was snotty as she spoke, wet and sad as she rubbed the back of her hand across her nose. 

“I…” Jenny tried to speak, but she was completely disoriented. She struggled to open her eyes all the way, the bright white walls of the room that she was waking up in causing them to ache. A steady, rhythmic beeping disturbed her thoughts as she blinked, allowing her eyes to adjust.

She was in the hospital. 

The computer room…Angelus…the library…the cross…her arm…the ambulance…it was all slowly coming back, but only in snapshots. Little sparks of recognition as she attempted to piece the evening together.

“I…I don’t know what he would’ve done if we were there a second later, Miss Calendar,” Willow continued speaking, rambling like she always did when she was nervous. “I’m so glad we found you before–”

Before he killed me , Jenny finished in her head, but chose not to voice it out loud in front of Willow. 

“You–” Jenny croaked, trying to tell Willow that she’d done a great job – Buffy, too – but it hurt too much to speak. She winced. “What–?”

“Buffy got him pretty good,” Willow explained simply. It was enough for Jenny, for now. They were both okay…she’d actually made it out alive thanks to those girls. 

“I…I–” Jenny croaked, feeling another tear slip down her cheeks. “Thank you, I–”

Jenny felt a small hand curl inside hers. “It’s okay, Miss Calendar,” Willow comforted, “you should probably rest. We can chat later – unless…would it make you feel better if we weren’t silent? I mean…I know that the hospital noises probably aren’t great for sleeping, so– so I could just talk, if you like!” Willow babbled and, surprisingly, it did make Jenny feel better. As though for just a moment, she wasn’t lying in a hospital bed on the brink of death, but going through the motions of a regular day at Sunnydale High, listening to Willow ramble on about her weekend plans, something that Oz had said, something that had happened on patrol last night…

Jenny nodded, inviting Willow to continue.

“Oh! Okay, well…well, Buffy’s just gone to get some snacks, and to call Giles. We didn’t really know what to do about him,” Willow explained, holding Jenny’s hand carefully with one hand and picking at a pull in her jumper with the other. “But, you know, we thought he should probably know, you know? I hope it’s okay that he’s coming. I know that you two aren’t exactly… talk-y right now, but, hey! Neither were you and Buffy, but…” Willow trailed off. “You know.” She didn’t elaborate, but she found something else to talk about quickly enough. “I’m sorry, by the way. About your top. They had to cut up the sleeves so that they could get to your arm, and…and I think it’s a little ruined, which is a shame, ‘cause it was really pretty. I’m sure you can buy a new one, though!”

Jenny laughed. She laughed before she was even really sure what was funny – there was nothing funny. This whole thing was sick, and awful, and Jenny had almost died, but Willow…Willow was worried about breaking the news to her about a top that she’d only remembered had existed yesterday. Willow didn’t want Jenny to be upset about her clothes . So Jenny laughed. She laughed until tears streamed down her face and Willow had to pull her in for an awkward, one-sided hug.

“I’m pretty sure you’re laughing,” Willow whispered, “but you’re also crying, so I’m gonna give you a hug. But not a real one, ‘cause then I’ll hurt you.”

“Okay,” Jenny whispered. Whispering didn’t hurt as much as talking, and she just wanted to say something to comfort Willow, to let her know that it was all okay.

It wasn’t, of course, but Willow was only sixteen, and didn’t need to trouble herself with the details of Jenny’s hellish evening. She probably shouldn’t have seen half of the things that she already had, living on the hellmouth. Jenny would spare her this, at least. 

She also wouldn’t ask what had happened to Angelus. Not yet.

And certainly not now that Buffy had entered her room. “You’re awake!” she exclaimed, smiling nervously with exhaustion as she spotted Jenny, lying down with open eyes and holding Willow’s hand. Her eyes were wide and wet as she stared at Jenny, her chin wobbling.

“Hey, that’s what I said!” Willow grinned, and some of the tension eased. “Miss Calendar isn’t really saying much right now, but…but I think she’s okay. Well, fine. Well…”

“Alive?” Buffy offered weakly, and Willow nodded. Jenny smiled, fixing her eyes on Buffy. She wanted to say thank you, but was afraid of her own voice, how much it would ache to speak. “Alive and…not quite kicking, but alive.”

“Did you…did you speak to Giles?” Willow asked, squeezing Jenny’s hand. Buffy had pulled up a chair next to Willow’s, resting her head on the other girl’s shoulder and linking their arms.

“Yep,” she answered. “I…I tried to make it sound not so bad, but…then he started asking all these questions, and you know I hate lying to him.”

“Do you?” Willow asked, tilting her head to the side just as Jenny raised a questioning eyebrow. 

“Hey! I so do!” Buffy protested. “I just…I could tell that it was worrying him more that I was, like, leaving stuff out, so he knows. Well, he knows everything I know, which I’m guessing isn’t everything – right, Miss Calendar?”

She turned to Jenny, who simply stared. It was more than Buffy had said to her for weeks, and it was friendly. Jenny blinked, and Buffy hummed.

“I’ll take that as a yes ,” she said. “Hey, do you think I should call Xander and Cordy? They’ll probably want to know. What about Oz?” Buffy was rambling now, too, and Jenny was hit by the sudden realisation that two terrified teenage girls had been left in charge of the entire situation. Despite it saving her life – however Buffy had ended up getting rid of Angelus – Jenny felt awful about having to make that particular phone call.

“I think we should wait until Giles is here,” Willow answered softly. “Then we can both go, and we won’t have to leave Miss Calendar by herself.”

“Right,” Buffy answered, nodding. “Right, of course. Sorry, I guess I…I don’t really know what the protocol is, you know?”

“Is there one?” Willow asked. Jenny shrugged.

“I–” she croaked, forcing some words out, “I think that…just Rupert for now. Okay?” she managed, and Willow’s eyes widened.

“Do you…do you want us to go?” she asked, loosening her grip on Jenny’s hands.

“I didn’t mean–” Jenny stopped, squeezing Willow’s hand. “No.”

They didn’t say much else for a while after that, just some quiet small talk about whatever inconsequential thoughts came to Buffy and Willow's minds. Jenny mostly just listened.

But then, after about ten minutes, she almost jumped out of her skin as the door burst open, her grip on Willow’s hand tight enough to cut off her circulation as she was suddenly reminded of the library. The pounding on the door, the breaking of the lock, Angelus standing there in the doorway…eyes staring down at Jenny as her breaths grew shallow and her heart slammed against her ribs.

“My god – are you alright?”

But it wasn’t Angelus. It was Rupert, standing in the doorway, a deep crease between his furrowed eyebrows as he stared down at a thoroughly panicked Jenny.

“Easy, Giles,” Buffy said softly. “Less of the sudden movements, please.”

Rupert’s shoulders dropped, but he didn’t move, eyes still fixed on Jenny as she began to calm down after her shock.

“I– I’m sorry, I…my god.”

Jenny once again found herself unable to speak. Instead, she chose to pat the edge of her bed with the tips of her fingers, the only movement left in her broken arm. Rupert, understanding, moved towards her, gently lowering himself down to take a seat.

“You can’t hold that hand, Giles, because of it being all broken and stuff,” Willow told him as he brushed his fingertips against Jenny's knuckles. “And I’m keeping this one, so…you can just sit and look, if you like.” Willow seemed afraid to let go of Jenny.

“Quite alright,” he answered, folding his hands over one another and resting them in his lap, all without pulling his gaze away from Jenny’s face. Although, a few times, his eyes slipped down to her neck. She didn’t want to think for too long about what he might’ve seen there. It would bruise, surely. Ugly bruises, too. Lots of them.

Nobody seemed to know what to say. Jenny couldn’t really say much, physically, and knew that Rupert wasn’t about to empty his heart in front of the girls. Maybe he had nothing to empty. She didn’t know what he was planning to say to her that night, if she’d ever even managed to get to his apartment. She’d had hope that it was good, but…was anything really good in Sunnydale

Well, this was kind of okay, Jenny supposed. Being alive. Surviving another day – especially such a dreadful one. 

After a few moments, someone was finally brave enough to speak. “I don’t want to be a downer,” Buffy said, “but…I don’t really know how much longer we should stay here. The hospital’s a public building, and it’s still dark. It won’t take long before Ange– before he figures out where you are.”

“I don’t get it,” Willow said, “why is he after Miss Calendar? I mean, sure there’s the whole… you know, ‘keeping an eye on Angel’ of it all” she said, voice faltering as she brought up the topic that had been so delicately danced around as the four of them found themselves conversing civilly for the first time in weeks. “But how could he know about that? And why would he kill you for it? You haven’t done anything.”

Buffy turned to Jenny before asking, “Does this have anything to do with that thing you were telling me about? On the phone, I mean. Something about Angelus’ soul?”

After a moment’s hesitation, Jenny nodded. “I was trying to–” Rupert’s eyes widened as Jenny’s voice croaked from her lips, his chest sinking with relief as he was reminded of what her voice sounded like. “I found the curse,” she said. It didn’t explain much, but it was the best that she could do. “His soul.”

“I thought that was what you said,” Buffy breathed. “You think you can get Angel his soul back? Really?”

Jenny nodded. Yes, Angelus had broken the Orb of Thesulah, but it wasn’t some one-of-a-kind item. They would be able to get another one. She could still offer Buffy that sliver of hope. “I translated it. I was…I was ready.”

“My god,” Rupert said, lifting his hand slowly, hesitating slightly before reaching over to tuck a loose piece of hair behind Jenny’s ear. “You really are brilliant.”

She chuckled, rolling her eyes fondly in an attempt to distract from the blush creeping into her cheeks.

“You’re the brilliantest!” Willow grinned, eyes flickering with the smile as something heavy seemed to lift off her shoulders.

“Willow,” Rupert muttered, “that is not a word.” Jenny was warmed by the familiarity of it all. It all felt so normal.

“Oh, lighten up,” Buffy said, sounding exhausted as she plastered on a slightly weaker variant of her ‘exasperated with Giles’ face. “This is the closest thing to good news I’ve gotten since…well, since.” She tilted her head where it rested on Willow’s shoulder, facing Jenny, her eyes blazing with something fierce. “Thank you.” 

“Of course,” Jenny replied. “Now all there is to do is find that Orb of Thesulah, I guess. Just…let’s give it a couple of days while I–”

“Oh, there’s no need for that,” Rupert interrupted, brushing her off gently. “I have one in my office.” Jenny blinked. 

That really was a piece of information she could’ve done with that morning. Before she spent the money on one, only for it to get smashed the same day…trust him to just have one lying around and not even tell – oh, right. Secret mission and all that. 

After a moment of silence, Giles finally elaborated. “Paperweight,” he said weakly.

Jenny couldn’t help but giggle. It hurt her sides and made her throat throb, but she couldn’t help it. Rupert Giles keeping an ancient and powerful artefact as a paperweight in his office at work was just too good.

They could do all of that serious, adult chatting later on. Much later on. 

*

The nurses refused to let Jenny go home that night, insisting that she should stay for at the very least one more day so that they could keep an eye on her. This stressed Buffy out to an extreme degree, so much so that she insisted that she and Willow perform the same ritual they had in their houses on Jenny’s hospital room.

“Yes, alright,” Rupert had reluctantly agreed, sending them off to fetch the ingredients from Buffy’s house. “But for goodness sake, be careful . And if it isn’t safe to return - stay where you are. We shall have no more disasters tonight, please,” he said, brows furrowed with worry as he watched the girls leave. He exhaled as the door closed behind them, but it wasn’t a sigh of relief. Not even close. His under eyes were dark, and his fingers were trembling in his lap.

“You okay, Rupert?” Jenny asked, forcing herself to become accustomed to the low, half-whisper that was the least painful way for her to communicate. 

“I– please, Jenny,” he said with a sad smile. “You needn’t worry about me. You– you’re–”

“I’m fine ,” she interrupted. “Well, not fine , exactly, but I’m alive . I– there was a moment back there that I really thought…” Jenny trailed off mid-sentence, tears pricking the backs of her eyes. Before, she probably would’ve gladly died before crying in front of Rupert, but for obvious reasons, she wasn’t feeling too inclined to hold back anymore. She had bought herself something priceless. More time. “He was going to kill me. I tried to…I tried to leave you a note,” she said.

“A note?” Giles asked, encouraging her to continue. His eyes were rimmed with red as he took Jenny’s now free, unbroken hand, stretching across to reach it. 

“Yeah,” she answered, “only…you know, for a guy who’s so stubborn about your physical records, you should probably think about keeping a damn pen in your office.” It was an attempt at a joke, but as she chuckled, it came out more like a sob, and she had to press her fist against her lips to contain the loud gulps that escaped. 

Jenny was still lying flat on the bed, so instead of wrapping her into a tight, comforting hug, Rupert chose instead to move to the other side of the bed, away from her injured arm. There, he shuffled onto the edge, lifting his feet up off the ground so that he was lying there next to her, an arm resting on her stomach, replacing the embrace that he wished he could pull her into. 

“I’m sorry, Jenny,” he whispered, voice cracking as he contained his own sobs. “I’m sorry.”

“What are you sorry for?” she asked, stroking his hair with her fingers.

“For…for not listening, for not trusting you, for- for everything ,” he explained.

“Hey,” she said, “let's do this later, okay? I want to explain everything – and I will – but for now…can we just enjoy the fact that I’m not dead?” she asked, making sure to add a little smile, trying to remind Rupert of their conversations in the school halls, the way that she would tease him with little mercy. "Look at how not dead I am, Rupert!"

He exhaled slowly through his nose, somewhat exasperated. “I really don’t find that very funny, Miss Calendar,” he grumbled, tucking his head between her neck and her shoulder.

“Oooh,” she replied, “Miss Calendar? Am I in trouble?”

Giles was quiet for a moment, thoughtful. “Yes,” he answered finally. “You’re in terrible trouble.”

Pouting, Jenny asked, “Why? What did I do? Not my fault that I almost–”

“Please don’t say it,” Giles interrupted, smile fading as his eyes met Jenny’s. His nose was almost touching her cheek; she couldn’t turn her head properly to face him, watching him closely out of the corner of his eye. “I dread to think of what would’ve happened if you hadn’t called Buffy.”

“Don’t think about it, please. I’m trying not to.”

But Jenny did think about it. A lot .

Every time a door slammed on the other side of the hospital, her nerves would flare up, the beating of her heart suddenly uncomfortable and hard to bear.

Rupert and the girls always noticed; they saw the way that her knuckles would whiten, clenched around her coffee cup, the way that she’d jolt slightly in her bed whenever the door handle turned. She knew that Rupert was watching her sleep, that his was the hand that rested gently on her shoulder as she awoke with a cry, screaming into the dark of her hospital room after being pulled out of her sleep by a particularly vivid nightmare. She had at least six nightmares in a row that first night in the hospital.

In every nightmare, something different went wrong; she pulled the phone cord out of the wall accidentally as she removed it from the desk; she tripped in those shoes as she took a flight of stairs; she didn’t think to shelter in the library office; Buffy was out, or hung up as soon as she heard Jenny’s voice, or…or Buffy was having an off-day, and Angelus was finally able to best her in combat. 

Lots of the nightmares featured Jenny not only being unable to save herself, but unable to save Willow or Buffy either, dragging them into the line of fire and leading them to their untimely deaths. 

She hoped it wouldn’t be like that forever. It couldn’t be like that forever. She had to get back to work, she had students who needed her, a job . The stark white hospital room, the too-sweet smell of the bouquet of flowers on her bedside table (courtesy of Buffy and Willow on behalf of the Scoobies that couldn’t be there in person), the bitter hospital decaf…they were all working on her last nerve. 

She couldn’t sleep properly, she needed her own bed, the safety of her apartment. Something familiar that didn’t remind her of what had happened every waking moment. Every second.

“How long do I have to be here for?” Jenny snapped that next afternoon. “I feel fine . The longer I’m here, the more likely he is to figure out where I am, so can I just go before it gets dark again, please?”

“Jenny,” Rupert said in that soft, gentle tone that was starting to drive her a little insane too. He was being so…so patient, so understanding , like they hadn’t been playing the avoidance game for weeks before she nearly died.

And he wouldn’t even let her say that . Say it like it was. She’d attempted to joke about it, thinking that it might make it feel a little less terrifying, a little more like regular old hellmouth antics. But she couldn’t escape the stark reality of what had happened. The ‘mortal danger’ felt a different this time around. A little more ‘mortal’ than usual.

Jenny had almost died, horribly and all alone, and if she didn’t get home soon, Angelus would probably return for a second round - she’d been reminded of the ‘public building’ clause in a usually very convenient condition of vampirism the hard way.

Rupert continued, gently taking one of Jenny’s hands in his own. “You can’t leave before you’re ready - you aren’t well enough yet.”

“You know what would make me really unwell?” Jenny asked, her voice cold and tired. “Getting murdered by Angelus.”

“I’m not going to let him–”

Jenny barked a bitter laugh, interrupted Rupert’s attempts at comfort, a promise to defend her. “Let him? Let him? Rupert, Angelus isn’t going to ask for permission to come for me again!” Jenny could feel her chest tightening as she spoke the name aloud, and phantom fingers brushed against the skin of her neck, her wrist throbbing suddenly as, across the hall, the door to another room swung closed and slammed loudly against the doorframe. 

Jenny couldn’t help it; she screamed, knocking the cup of coffee resting on her lap tray over and sending hot, brown liquid spilling all over herself, burning her legs through the thin material of her hospital gown.

“Shit!” Jenny cried, feeling hot, thick tears spring from her eyes and spill down her face. Silently, Rupert began reaching for the tissues by her bedside, passing a few to Jenny before he began to wipe the coffee from her the best that he could. “Stop it,” she grumbled. “Just. Just stop, okay? I can do it.”

“Jenny…”

“What?” 

Her breathing was ragged now, her head swimming and her face tingling as she failed to inhale full breaths. She wanted to throw Rupert out, to ban him from the room for at least and hour so that she could scream, and cry, and punch her uncomfortable hospital pillow in peace. 

But she’d almost died, and she was too exhausted to think about whether or not she wanted him to see her cry.

So she cried. She cried, and she didn’t even push Rupert away when he wrapped his arms around her, holding her tight as she got tears and snot all over the sleeve of his jacket.

It’s his own fault, she thought, who wears tweed to visit someone in hospital?

After a few minutes, Jenny ran out of tears and finally managed to catch her breath, keeping Rupert’s arms around her. A few minutes after that, he spoke again. “Jenny, I…I’ll see what I can do. About getting you discharged a little early. I’ll see what I can do, alright?”

“But you’re not making any promises?” Jenny asked, grumbling. It wouldn’t be Rupert’s fault if the nurses refused, but she wanted him to be able to promise her that. She wanted something in her awful life to feel reliable. 

“I’ll try my best, but…but I won’t promise,” he confirmed.

Jenny huffed, slowly pulling away from the hug and resting back against her propped-up pillows, folding her arms. “Well…I suppose it’ll just have to do, won’t it?” she said, attempting a smile. Even she could tell that it wobbled. “I’m sorry about that, by the way. For shouting. It’s…it’s not your fault, and I shouldn’t–”

“Please don’t apologise,” Rupert interrupted, his voice quiet. “After all that you’ve been through, I should say that a little shouting is warranted.”

“And some crying, too?”

“Undoubtedly.” 

*

Rupert must’ve been very persuasive, because Jenny was discharged from the hospital later that afternoon on the condition that he would check up on her regularly and make sure that she didn’t forget to take her painkillers.

So, Jenny would be hosting an overnight guest for a few nights. That was fine, she could do that.

At least she wouldn’t be alone for a little while. Plus, the rest of the scoobies had taken it upon themselves to help out, so every day at four o’clock without fail, five teenagers would come knocking on her door with a different offering with the intent of making her feel better.

“Here you go, Miss Calendar,” Xander said, passing her a paper cup. “Crappy staff room coffee to-go, just how you like it.”

“Cold?” Jenny asked, wrinkling her nose as she took a small, unsatisfactory sip of the cold, bitter liquid.

Xander shrugged. “It didn’t do too well in transit, I guess.”

“Well, thanks anyway,” she said with a small smile. “It is called crappy staff room coffee for a reason, I guess.”

“Also,” Willow announced, passing a tote bag to Jenny, “I brought those papers for you to mark, just like you told me!” 

Jenny smiled, about to thank Willow, when Rupert entered from the kitchen, hands on his hips and a tea towel draped over his shoulder. “Miss Calendar is meant to be taking time off work, Willow – or has she already forgotten what the nurse said?”

“ Miss Calendar is an adult ,” Jenny replied, eyebrows raised. “She’s also bored out of her mind. She wants to make herself useful .”

“Why are you speaking in third person?” Cordelia asked. “Are you two, like, fighting or something? Is that why Giles called you–”

“We are not fighting, Cordelia,” Giles interrupted. “Not that…not that it would be any of your business if we were , of course. We– we are your teachers, and our personal lives are…are none of your concern."

“Smooth,” Jenny teased.

“But you’re not fighting, right?” Buffy checked. “Just to be clear.”

“No,” Jenny and Rupert replied at the same time, and Jenny continued, “I’m just trying to keep myself busy, and Rupert won’t let me.”

“He only wants you to get better, Miss Calendar,” Willow said, her voice small. Oz, who usually came around and said very little (sort of like what he did everywhere, then), rubbed her back gently. “We all do. I– I could always do your marking for you!"

Jenny contemplated this, eyes flicking between the pile of papers that were meant to relieve some of her boredom and the concerned faces of everyone in the room. 

“How about you do half and I do half?” Jenny compromised. “I just want something to do,” she added, mainly directed at Rupert.

“Do you think you’ll come back to school soon?” Xander asked. 

“Yeah,” Buffy said. “We…we miss you. We all miss you.” As she said this, she stared meaningfully at Jenny, eyes fixed onto hers.

The truth was, as much as Jenny wished that she was keeping busy right then, as much as she wished she could just mark her papers and plan her lessons like normal…the thought of setting foot back in Sunnydale High while Angelus was still on the loose made her blood run cold.

She didn’t think that she could go back to her classroom, where he’d been sitting, watching, stalking. She couldn’t walk the halls that she’d ran through. She’d never leave the house again without taking a moment to decide if her shoes would be practical if she needed to make a break for it. She couldn’t even stand the idea of stopping by the library at lunch.

“I’ll go back when I’m ready.” It sounded like such a simple answer. It seemed to please the kids, at least. And Willow was pleased to be given a stack of papers to mark, happy to be helpful, happy to be trusted with such an important task. The mundane chatter and flicking of the pages almost reminded Jenny of being in the library, working with the scoobies and teasing Rupert in between classes. 

She wished that she could go back to that.

“Is anyone else hungry?” Oz asked a little while later, sprawled out on top of one of the armchairs.

“I could eat,” Buffy answered.

“Well,” Rupert began, “I suppose I could get some tea on if you’d all like?”

“Tea?” Buffy repeated. “I said hungry, Giles, not thirsty.” Her mouth quirked upwards at the corner, her eyes twinkling with that sparkle that only came when she was picking on her poor watcher. She knew exactly what he had meant, but any opportunity was a good opportunity to poke fun at one of Rupert's little Britishisms. Jenny shared Buffy’s smile, grinning as Rupert realised what was happening.

“Yes, Buffy, very droll,” he grumbled. 

“I kinda like Giles’ little British guy phrases,” Willow said sweetly. “Like how people over there say ‘cheerio!’ How silly is that?”

“Oh c’mon, Will.” Xander rolled his eyes. “People don’t actually say that, right Giles?”

“I am not humouring this conversation,” he huffed in reply. “If any of you need me, I’ll be in the kitchen - try not to need me.” They all knew he didn’t really mean it; for all of his exasperated sighs and pursed lips, he really would do anything for them if they asked.

Jenny followed behind him, setting her pen down on her coffee table as she took a break from her marking to join Rupert in the kitchen.

“Need any help?” she asked.

“I would ask you to peel some potatoes,” he answered, “but considering you currently only have the use of one of your hands, and you’re meant to be resting, I will instead ask you to go back in there and sit down.” His voice was gentle and concerned, and he rested a hand on Jenny’s shoulder as he spoke.

Jenny exhaled. “I know, I know. I just…I was kind of hoping to talk to you alone. The helping was just a really good excuse.”

“I see.” Rupert paused. “Is it something that can wait until the children are gone?”

“It can,” Jenny replied. “It’s…it’s just that I think if I’m allowed to leave it until then, I’ll chicken out and never actually say it.”

Rupert set down the potato peeler mid-peel, turning to give Jenny his full attention. “You can tell me anything - please."

“I…do you think the kids would be mad if I didn’t go back to Sunnydale High?” Jenny asked, her voice barely a whisper as she spoke. “I mean, at least for a little while. I love my job, you know that, it’s just…it’s a little too much right now. I don’t know how I’m supposed to...to go back there.”

“I see,” Rupert said, watching Jenny thoughtfully. 

Jenny chuckled with a hint of self-deprecation. “I bet you think that’s ridiculous, huh? I mean…how much shit have I seen go down at that school, and all of a sudden this one thing is my breaking point? It’s silly.”

“Not at all,” Rupert objected. “What you went through…I can’t even begin to imagine, and it makes complete sense that you wouldn’t wish to return to–”

“The literal mouth of hell?”

“Well…yes.”

Jenny huffed a half-laugh, dragging her fingers through two days old hair. “God, I need a vacation.”

Rupert was smiling into the bowl of potato peelings on the countertop, and Jenny hoisted herself unsteadily onto the countertop. “Be careful,” Rupert said, instinctively reaching to hover his hand in front of her; Jenny didn’t know if he expected to be able to catch her with one hand if she slipped, but the gesture was sweet. Familiar. 

“Okay, okay, I got it.”

“You know,” he continued, “once all of this– this Angelus business is resolved…I should like to take you on holiday. I think that neither of us deserves a break more than you, Jenny.”

“Ooooh!” Jenny grinned, trying to ignore the throbbing ache in her neck as she turned her head to face him properly. “Where are you taking me?” She nudged his elbow with one of her feet, poking him with the edge of her slipper.

“Somewhere terribly boring,” Rupert teased. “Lots of museums, dusty old artefacts and the like.”

“Hey,” Jenny replied, “I kinda like dusty old artefacts.” She punctuated this with a wink as she grinned down at Rupert – the only time he’d have to tilt his head up to look at her. 

“Hmph,” Rupert grumbled. “I’m not that –” he cut himself off, doing his best impression of a man that wasn’t going to take the bait. Then, something twinkled in his eyes. “Do you mean to imply that you like me, Miss Calendar?”

“What are we? Five?” Jenny snorted. “I already told you how I feel,” Jenny reminded him. Then, she leaned down as far as she could, as close to Rupert’s face as she could stretch before her wrist started to strain. “Ball’s in your court, England.”

“Yes,” Rupert replied with a nod. “We shall go to England.”

Jenny raised an eyebrow. “Really? You’re not scared we might bump into one of your relatives? Not sure they'd like me all that much – aren’t they all…stuffy and fancy?”

“People can surprise you,” Rupert answered weakly. “I have two aunts who would certainly enjoy fawning over you, I’m sure.”

“Hmm…meeting the family seems pretty serious, Rupes–” Jenny teased.

“Do not call me–”

“Do you like me, or something?” Jenny asked, ignoring his protests as she grinned, all teeth and smile lines.

Rupert sighed, a soft admission of defeat. “I like you very much, Jenny. More than I could possibly put into words.”

“Try.”

“I…” Rupert inhaled, not closing the distance between their faces. “Jenny, I don’t want you to have to live another minute not– not knowing the true extent of my feelings for you. I- I love you. I love you, Jenny,” he repeated with emphasis. Jenny’s heart stuttered, and all that she could do was nod. “To think…to think that you may have died not knowing that, well, I–”

A stray tear slipped down Rupert’s cheek, landing in the corner of his mouth. Jenny closed the gap between them, pressing her mouth gently to the spot where it sat, the salty water dampening her lips. 

“But I didn’t,” she reminded him. “Look at me – I’m still here, right? I’m…I’m going to be okay. I’m not saying it’ll be easy, but I’ll heal in time.”

“I’m going to stay here until you’re better,” Rupert declared before stammering, “I– I mean…that is if–”

“Hey,” Jenny stopped him, nudging him with her foot again. “I’d like that.” She hastened to add, “but I’m not reshuffling my stuff, okay? I have a system.”

“Of course."

“And maybe we can talk a little more about that vacation, hmm? But I want to go to the beach – somewhere warm.”

“England is warm…occasionally. And there are beaches!” Rupert said, adding peeled potato halves to a pot of boiling water.

“And better tea?” Jenny asked; she’d been present for plenty of disgruntled rants about the state of the tea available in America, the awful coffee maker in the staff room. 

“Well, that certainly helps.”

“What about Europe?” Jenny suggested. “Paris? City of love?” 

“And some truly fascinating history,” Rupert added, teasingly. “But also, yes, you’re quite right.”

“We could make out at the Louvre,” Jenny offered, just to see if she could still get Rupert to blush like a flustered, lovestruck fool even after mutual confessions of love.

She could.

She didn’t even know if this hypothetical trip to Europe would become anything more than that, a hypothetical. She didn’t know if it would ever leave the confines of that apartment, that kitchen, even. Still, it was a nice thought.

A nice thought that, despite the fate that she’d accepted in the library a few nights ago, Jenny would see her next summer break. She would get the chance to go on touristy couples breaks with Rupert, she would get to teach another computer science class (eventually), she would get to see her students graduate…maybe she’d even get back in touch with her family. She had an aunt in the state that she hadn’t seen for years…a second cousin who she always liked talking to at family functions…a near death experience could really make you appreciate that there really is no time like the present.

Jenny was thirty years old – she wasn’t ready to go just yet. There was still too much for her to do, too much for her to see.

There would be plenty more disastrous evenings to come, and it would be at least six months before she could be left in the library alone, but things would get better.

Some scars would remain, but she’d heal what she could and adapt to what she couldn’t. She’d travel. She’d try that course that she didn’t have time for because she was bogged down with some other commitment. She’d drag Rupert to one of those music festivals that he’d despise, until he saw how much she enjoyed it. She’d teach Willow that spell they’d been talking about. 

Jenny would live.