***
Giles had lost count as to how many times he had paced the hospital corridors, from the waiting room for surgery down the corridor and into the ER area, where the coffee machine was rapidly becoming his best friend and relief. Too many times for his liking. Still, the walk was a welcome distraction to the hours of waiting. So he paced, fetched coffee and offered shallow words of comfort and reassurance to Mrs Summers as the doctors did their best with Buffy. It had been a hellish night and he was hoping, as he refilled his cup with the black sludge that laughingly passed for coffee, that sunrise in an hour would be the bearer of good news.
"We've got a Jane Doe here," a paramedic called out, causing Giles to spill the hot coffee over his hand as an ambulance gurney was wheeled into the relatively empty ER. "Severe blood loss, pulse is irregular and fading fast, mostly external damage..."
"Geez, what is it freak night or something?" asked one of the young doctors as he rushed forward, quickly running a critical eye over the girl and checking responses. "Okay, we need to get her hooked up and quickly..."
Giles ignored the various medical jargon and terminology the young man used, he'd heard too much of that already tonight, instead he turned his attention to the gurney and its bloodied and tattered charge as it was hastily pushed past him. The coffee fell to the floor, splattering and staining his trousers as he stared, the blood draining from his face.
"Willow," murmured Giles as he recognized the fallen girl, pushing forward and reaching out to her. "Dear god."
"Sir, please, we need you to step back," one of the paramedics insisted, holding his arm out to stop the Watcher from interfering with the gurneys mobility.
"I know her..." he whispered as Willow and the small team of medics disappeared from view.
"You know her?" the paramedic asked, safe in the knowledge that his charge was in good hands. With a guiding hand he led Giles away, back toward the nurses station and front desk. "She family?"
"No, no, she's a student and, well, a friend," Giles stated shaking his head in disbelief. This couldn't be happening, he'd assumed that Buffy had been by herself when she was attacked, and if the Slayer had been so badly hurt... "Is she going to be alright?"
"I don't know," it wasn't the reply Giles had been hoping for and he silently cursed, berating himself for not even checking if she was safe when he'd got the call that Buffy had been hurt. "The doctors are going to do everything they can. Once she's stabilized we can go from there."
"Stabilized?" Giles asked.
"She's lost a lot of blood..." the paramedic turned away from the paling Watcher, speaking quietly to the young women behind the desk and being handed back a clipboard full of registration forms.
"Blood," Giles whispered as he fought the sudden wave of nausea that welled up. "Is there anything I can do?"
"Name, contact numbers, her parents need to know that she's here," the clipboard was thrust toward the exhausted Watcher. "Any information you can give would be a great help."
"Yes, of course," murmured Giles, dutifully taking the forms. He forced himself not to think of anything but the various details needed, even though his hand shook and he was intensely aware of the sounds in the ER, of the comings and goings in the general direction they'd taken Willow. Ten minutes later, with a heavy heart, he handed back the forms, sadly lacking in anything but the most basic of details, and asked to use the phone to call her parents. All he got was the answering machine. Rubbing at his tired eyes, Giles wondered exactly where they were, he vaguely remembered Willow mentioning something about them being away, whether they were in the States or abroad he couldn't say. For the time being he left a brief message and hung up, turning back in time to see one of the medical staff leave the small, enclosed area that hid Willow.
"Excuse me," Giles drew the man's attention as the white coater approached the clerical desk, the forms once more exchanging hands. "Is she going to be alright?"
"I can't say," the doctor merely shook his head as he glanced over the information Giles had given them. "At the moment we're doing some tests, making sure that there was no internal damage done."
Giles, if possible, paled even more. "What about external? I mean, with that much blood lost...what happened?"
"I don't know what exactly, sir," the medic turned to Giles and shook his head. "Externally, she has lacerations covering her back, shoulders and wrists as well as a number of puncture wounds to her throat..."
"No," murmured Giles as he closed his eyes, trying to block out the nightmare. "I can't believe this is happening, first Buffy...oh lord, Mrs Summers...Joyce," he turned his head to glance back up at the long corridor that he'd walked along so many times. "She must be frantic by now."
"You're here with the Summers girl?" the medic asked his brow furrowing in concern as Giles nodded silently. "Look, leave your name and once we have Ms..." frowning the medic read from the clipboard he still held. "...Rosenberg settled I'll send some one up for you."
"That would be..." Giles turned back to the doctor and for once he was at a lost for words. "Thank you."
***
"Good morning," Giles greeted, walking into the room and smiling at the two occupants. "How are you feeling today, Buffy?"
"Better," she stated, nodding her head and he wondered whether it was true or not. While she was certainly looking better than a few days ago, no longer hooked up to various monitoring machines, she was still far from being her usual self, too quiet and too pale. There was a vulnerability about her, to look at her in the bed was for Giles to see the girl and not the Slayer, a girl who'd been so close to death. Smiling, he dropped his gaze to her hand entwined with her mothers. "How's Willow?"
"She's doing well," Giles stated. The short statement was purposely elusive, just as everything he'd told Buffy about Willow had been.
When Buffy had first regained consciousness, one of her initial questions had been about Willow and Giles had simply told her the redhead was also in the hospital. He didn't tell her that when Willow had woken her disorientation and confusion had quickly escalated into a fit of hysteria, during which she'd torn the various IV drips from her wrists and reopened the wounds on her back. Nor that since then she'd remained heavily sedated, carefully arranged on her side, supported and surrounded by a soft barrier of pillows to prevent her from rolling onto her injured back. Neither did he tell Buffy about the medical reports that he'd seen briefly, nor the overheard conversations between medical staff and the Sunnydale police, littered with the word rape, mentions of a ritualistic cleansing and traces of alcohol in what little blood she'd been left with. No, those were the things that Buffy didn't need to know at the moment. Later, when both the girls had physically recovered, then he felt that would be the time to reveal the true horrors of the night.
Until then, vague sentences and forced smiles were the best thing.
"When is she coming to see me?" Buffy asked and her mother squeezed her hand.
"When you're stronger, dear," Joyce answered for the exhausted Watcher, giving her daughter a bright smile. "Until then the best thing to do is rest and later you two can terrorize the nursing staff together. Maybe," she glanced over at Giles. "We could organize for both of you to have a room together."
"Perhaps," Giles replied vaguely, even though he knew that was impossible. Within a matter of hours of Willow's admittance into the hospital, she'd been transferred to a private ward and Giles had been told that under her doctor's instructions, with parental approval, her visitors were to be limited. Each evening, he would trek across the hospital to the private wards and sit, watching while she slept, reluctantly leaving an hour later when the nurse insisted. Giles had thought it best for both the girls to be in the same room, however the suggestion, when put forward, was turned down flat with the hospital administration stating that Ms Rosenberg had been placed in the private wards at the insistence of her family. And Giles was not family, merely a friend, which is why his visitation rights were restricted as was the information he'd managed to collect.
Giles sighed and glanced once more at the blonde, looking so small and pale in the hospital bed, as she spoke softly to her mother. Perhaps Buffy, with such a swift but damaging attack, had been lucky. Only time would tell exactly what atrocities Willow had suffered during her ordeal.
"You look tired, Buffy," Giles stated with another forced smile. "Perhaps you should get some sleep."
"Maybe," Buffy closed her eyes briefly. "I keep...dreaming about it. It's nothing more than a nightmare."
***
The nightmare was continual for Willow.
Sedation may have stilled her physical struggles but not so her mind. There was no solid time for her, it wandered in patterns of light and sound. Sometimes there were voices, raising above the constant buzz that filled her ears, forming words before dropping back down to drone on with the sounds of the hospital. Sounds were accompanied by glaringly bright light while shapes of white and muted brown moved about. And, of course, there were the distinctive scents that moved with the hours of the days. The strong disinfectant stench that seemed to be ingrained in all hospitals was often overwhelmed by the rich perfume of fresh flowers, eventually fading with the bustle and bright lights into the smell of old medicines, leather and cigarettes.
Those first few days, when the hallways fell relatively silent and dark, she could hear him, an Angel telling stories in a foreign tongue. The words, though foreign, were familiar and created a mystical place filled with faeries, magical creatures and old world charm. But as that voice filled her mind and the words wrapped about her, the pain would become almost unbearable with an unrelenting pressure on her back, she would choke on her screams and the liquids that were forced down her throat. Then, as the pain numbed, the words would fade and the general bustle of the hospital would drown everything out.
Eventually the nightmare began to fade into daylight hours, the brightness flowing through the large window in her private room, falling across her bed and the fresh flowers that were left every night. During those long daylight hours the room was empty, she was left alone to drift in and out of consciousness, the level of sedative was significantly reduced during the day but stepped up again by mid afternoon so by early evening she was sleeping soundly. With the darkness the nightmare would return, only to soften and become a surreal dream of words and caresses.
There were things missing, Willow realized that as she was slowly released from her drug induced stupor. The heavy gold necklace no longer adorned her neck, instead her throat was covered with a cotton gauze bandage and she found herself clawing and scratching at it. When she demanded the necklaces return the nursing staff said it was missing, that it had never been brought in with her. The panic she felt at that revelation was overwhelming, a fear that rose up from the pit of her stomach and spread through her ~ like the blood in her veins had turned to ice. Without the necklace she felt naked, lost, almost like she'd been abandoned. The necklace was everything.
Her nights were also missing. They became little more than a fantastical world fuelled by the dark timbre voice weaving tales. That was the one constant in her dreams, the voice ~ sometimes it seemed to stay with her all night and other times it was just a brief interlude in the darkness.
And when she'd wake she was always alone.
When she asked about her friends and parents the questions were shrugged off or blatantly ignored. It was five days before she found out that Buffy was in fact alive, a slip of the tongue by one of the younger nurses, and that her friend was still a patient and Willow demanded to see her. It was a demand that was easily met and late afternoon found her happily ensconced in a wheelchair, being ferried about by an orderly. As they made their way down one of the hospitals many hallways, Willow heard a familiar voice in the midst of telling some lame joke.
"Wait," Willow instructed the orderly as laughter came from a room across the wide corridor. The door was wide open, giving her a clear view of the room's occupants.
They were all there, gathered about Buffy who was sitting up in bed, bright and happy. Xander was making jokes and eating the various bits of junk and comfort food that had been snuck in for the Slayer, while Cordelia was perched on the end of the bed, flipping through one of the many glossy magazines that littered the bedside table. Seated on either side of the bed were Giles and Mrs Summers, chatting and smiling. Everything was bright and happy, everyone in their place, gathered in a tight circle around a blissfully happy Buffy. There was a disorganized chaos in the merry little scene before her, the comfortable way they were all lolling about and the number of discarded candy wrappers and magazines scattered about suggested they'd all been there for hours.
And Willow was alone in the hallway. She'd been alone for days and couldn't recall having visitors, there'd been no phone calls from either her friends or her parents.
"I want to go back to my room," she murmured, closing her eyes and turning away from the happy group. When the wheelchair remained motionless, she lost her patience. "Now!"
The word, impatiently snapped out, didn't attract the attention of anyone in the room, the acoustics didn't allow it to and Willow was silently wheeled back to her room. A room that was empty and silent and far too bright for the headache that was growing with every beat of her heart. Despondently, she climbed back into her bed, sparingly requesting that the blinds be pulled and that she be left alone.
And she was.
For four hours she remained in her room, solitarily silent and sullen, undisturbed until a nurse bustled in bringing with her a suit bag and other bits and pieces...amongst which was a black velvet jewelry box containing the heavy gold Celtic knot-work necklace. An hour later, when Giles made his trek to see her, the room was empty.
"I'm sorry sir," the nurse on duty smiled up at Giles. "Miss Rosenberg has been discharged."
"What?" Giles asked, startled by her sudden disappearance. "When?"
"You just missed her," the nurse offered. "A car was sent for and I believe she's on her way to the airport to join her father."
"Oh, well, I see," frowned Giles. "Thank you."
***
"Angelus?"
"Yes, darlin'?" he asked, idly flicking through the in-flight magazine, wondering what psychologically disturbed idiot came up with the mindless dribble held within.
"Are my parents dead?"
"Yes," he answered, turning to fix his eyes on her, the shadow of a smile hinting at his lips. The garbled welcome of the airhostesses voice was lost over the rushing of her blood as Willow held his gaze and the magazine was tossed aside.
"How long?"
"For longer than you could have possibly imagined..." he waited, watching the green eyes that were glassy from medication rather than tears. She was silent for a moment, not moving until she blinked once and flinched slightly as she dropped her eyes down to break the gaze. Still, there were no tears, although he wasn't really expecting any.
"I see," Willow stated softly, turning away and leaning back against the seat as the aircraft gathered speed. She couldn't remember the last time she'd spoken to her parents or seen them. Truth be told, she'd locked them away in her mind a long time ago and they'd become nothing more than a faded memory of a life that no longer existed, almost as faded as the shattered images of her friends. Their deaths were insignificant to the daughter they'd produced, a daughter who stared into the dark night and couldn't mourn the loss.