Chapter Three
Turn and Face the Stranger
I still don't know what I was waiting for
And my time was running wild
A million dead-end streets and
Every time I thought I'd got it made
It seemed the taste was not so sweet
So I turned myself to face me
But I've never caught a glimpse
Of how the others must see the faker
I'm much too fast to take that test
Ch-ch-ch-ch-Changes
(Turn and face the stranger)
Ch-ch-Changes
Don't want to be a richer man
Ch-ch-ch-ch-Changes
(Turn and face the stranger)
Ch-ch-Changes
Just gonna have to be a different man
Time may change me
But I can't trace time
--David Bowie
"Changes"
Newbie vampires generally didn't take this long to dust. Xander had joined Buffy on enough patrols, witnessed her dusting enough newly sired vamps, to know this. Usually a newbie attacked without thinking or planning an attack, allowing Buffy to easily ram a stake in his or her heart. No muss, no fuss.
But tonight, it was different. The vamps weren't different; they wereyour garden-variety newbies, all hunger and appetite, mindless under the throes of the madness that came with needing to feed for the first time.
No, Xander mused as he dodged the severed limb that Buffy had ripped away from one vamp before staking her, it was Buffy that was different. Shewas frustrated, at odds with herself. He had seen her in this state before, shortly after her birthday, when she had blamed herself for the return of Angelus. She held herself responsible, even though she had no cause to blame herself. She had no idea about the curse that bound Angel's soul, and how it would be lost to him during a moment of pure happiness. As much as Xander resented the knowledge that Buffy had made loveto Angel, he would always empathize with his friend and hero over her grief.
As he empathized with her grief now.
It had been a week since Miss Calendar had succeeded in casting the spell to restore Angel's soul. One week since they watched Angelus callouslysnuff out the life of their friend Oz. One week since Buffy drove her former lover away, vowing never to forgive him for Oz's death.
One week since they had last seen Willow.
The image of Willow staring at the cooling body of her once-beloved was etched into Xander's memory and would never leave him. If in his old agehe would forget everything else that had happened to him in his lifetime, he would remember Willow's unblinking eyes, the tears flowing freely; her mouth hanging open, her jaw slack and unmoving, shock and terror settling into her face.
One more reason to hate Angelus, Xander mused to himself. He may not have known Oz very well in the few months that he was part of their gang, but Xander did acknowledge that the taciturn young guitarist was a good friend, a stand-up sort of guy, and above all else he was good to Willow. Soul or no soul, Xander would never forgive Angel for killing Oz.
He certainly wouldn't ever forgive him for making Willow cry.
And if she never returned to the gang as a result of his actions, Xander would hunt Angel down and stake the vampire himself!
Xander returned his attention to the Slayer, who had finally dispatched thelast of her sparring partners with a stake thrust squarely into his heart. She stood stock still, her arms slowly lowering to her sides, her right hand grasping her stake in a death-grip. She glanced around her, looking for more undead victims. She snarled as she scanned the area with wolfish eyes, "Anyone else want a piece of me?"
"Uh, I think you scared off every vamp west of the Continental Divide," Xander offered hesitantly. Buffy glowered at Xander with an unpleasant fire in her eyes, almost challenging him to risk her anger by speaking further. "Look, what say we call it a night and head home?"
Buffy stared hard at Xander, her features hardening into a 'game-face' thatwould intimidate any demon that dared to cross her. "It won't be enough, will it?" she shouted to the night sky, lifting her stake into the airand shaking it desperately. "It'll never be enough. No matter how many I take down, there will always be more waiting. Always waiting forme to turn my back, waiting for me to drop my guard...waiting...to kill someone who's only crime was being my friend..." Her grip slackened, and the stake dropped soundlessly to the dirt beside her. She lowered her arms, the strength leaking out of her like air from a punctured tire. Her shoulders sagged, her head lowered and her eyes half-closed. Xanderrushed to her side, noticing the fatigue and exhaustion that threatened toovertake her. "C'mon, Buffy," he rushed to her side and gently shouldered her weight next to him. "Let's get you home." Buffy, too tired and too depre
ssed to put up even a token resistance, allowed him to lead her out of the cemetery.
As the tired warrior and her best male-friend ventured toward the cemetery gate, Buffy glanced beside a familiar gravestone. She lifted her hand, signaling for Xander to stop, as they read the epitaph that Devon had given his former bandmate;
"Daniel 'Oz' Osbourne
1982-1998
While My Guitar Gently Weeps..."
Looking downward, Buffy grimaced at the pile of loose rocks at the foot of the stone. "Geez, wouldja look at that," she murmured. "Some a-hole's piling rocks on top of his grave. Can someone say 'no respect'? What say we clean it up before we head home?" She lifted herself from Xander's side, slowly moving toward the grave.
"Don't, Buffy," Xander barked at her, stopping the Slayer suddenly. Buffy turned toward Xander, puzzlement furrowing her brow. "It's not vandalism. It's Willow."
"Willow?" Buffy twisted her head rapidly, nearly giving herself whiplash, hoping to see her friend again.
"She's the one who put the stones on his grave," Xander explained. "It's a Jewish thing. She told me once that Jewish people place stones on the graves of their loved ones instead of flowers, because flowers fade and die, while stones are eternal."
Buffy stared at the stones. "She must have been here every day since the funeral. God, she must hate me. I mean, if Oz hadn't been there-"
"Okay, Buffy," Xander gently placed his hands on the Slayer's shoulders, quieting her rant, "stop that line of thought now. You are not, repeat,NOT, permitted to blame yourself for anything you didn't do. You want to blame someone for Oz's death, blame Angelus. As for Willow hating you, I've known her for only forever, and I can tell you that she couldn't spell 'hate' if you spotted her the 'h', the 't' and the 'e'! She does not hate you. She does not hate, period."
Buffy's questing gaze reached Xander's eyes and saw the truth in them, the truth of his words. She turned back toward the grave, her eyes resting on the stones that her friend had placed on the headstone. She wanted to believe Xander's assertions. She wanted to believe that the person who placed the stones so reverently on the grave would never hate, thatthe girl she called 'best friend' would forgive her for failing Oz, or more likely declare that forgiveness wasn't required.
But she knew something else. She knew that the body of Willow Rosenberg now housed a soul far older than her years on earth.
A soul that, out of rage, had killed.
A soul that, out of despair, tried to destroy all creation.
A soul whose motives Buffy couldn't fathom.
A cold clammy dread grabbed Buffy's heart. More than Angelus, more than Spike, more than the Master, she feared that she had lost her best friend.
========
Buffy approached her house without speaking to Xander. The young man silently insisted that she not try to go home alone. The adrenalin charge she received from fighting the vamps had worn off and all that was holding her together was Red Bull and good intentions. To worn out and frazzled to argue, Buffy accepted Xander's company without speaking.
As she neared the front door of her home, a new fear hit her; her mother was probably waiting up for her, angry that she stayed out late with no good reason. She had considered her usual means of late-night entrance; climbing the tree up to the window of her bedroom, but was too weakened for even that maneuver. Her only hope was that her mother was working lateat the art gallery.
That hope was dashed the moment she opened the door. Joyce Summers, arms crossed over her chest, eyes narrowed as she regarded her daughter. Buffy felt a black lump of acid form in the pit of her stomach, knowing beyond all doubt that the words 'you're grounded' would figure prominently in the conversation.
Xander, recognizing the glare on Mrs. Summers' face, immediately charged tothe rescue. "Uh, hi, Mrs. Summers, sorry I didn't tell you I was borrowing your daughter. She was helping me on my, uh, history paper. World War I."
"Right," Buffy nodded vigorously, grasping for anything she could remember about the first World War. "Remember, Xander, it was the assassination of the Arch Duke Ferdinand that started the war."
"And all this time I thought Ferdinand was a bull," Xander quipped. "Uh, I'd better be going. Don't bother to see me out, Mrs-"
"Xander," Joyce barked suddenly, "you'd better come with us. Come on,Buffy, we'll discuss your lame excuse later. Right now we have to goto the hospital."
"Hospital, Mom?" Buffy asked blankly.
"Mr. Giles called me while you were out," Joyce answered, a weariness in her voice as she grabbed the purse hanging from the doorknob and headed out the door, with Buffy and Xander close behind. "Apparently Willow collapsed at his front door tonight. He's bringing her to the hospital andI promised that we'd meet her there."
Buffy blanched at the statement, and at the worry lines etched deeply into her mother's face. She could almost hear Xander's teeth grinding behind her, as her own heart began hammering in her chest. Without a wordshe followed her mother out of the house and toward the jeep with Xander in pursuit. "Did Giles say what was wrong, Mrs. Summers?" Xander asked as hefollowed the Summers women.
"He said that it looked like a severe flu," Joyce answered as she opened the driver's side door. Xander quietly jumped into the back seat while Buffy took shotgun. Without another word, Joyce started the engine and drove off toward the hospital.
========
Giles and Jenny greeted the others when they arrived at the hospital, saying that Willow was in the Intensive Care Unit, and that's all the doctors would say. All they could do now was wait, which aggravated Buffy no end; if there was one thing Buffy was terrible at doing, it was waiting. Especially at a hospital.
Cordelia quietly entered the waiting room, carrying a box of Krispy Kreme donuts. She and Xander had argued earlier when Xander insisted on tagging along with Buffy on her patrol. She had accused Xander of being too concerned about Buffy, especially considering that he was dating Cordy now. After hearing about Willow's medical emergency, Cordy found it harder to justify her anger toward Xander. "Here, guys," she whispered,"thought you could use a sugar rush while we wait." She placed the box on a nearby table, adding, "Xander calls dibs on the chocolate frosted one, though." She glanced at Xander, a comforting smile on her face, which Xander returned warmly. Giles and Joyce both reached for a donut, but Buffy sat quietly in her seat.
Buffy started to scan the waiting room before staring down the clean white hallway at the antiseptic white doors of the ICU, watching while white suited doctors and nurses hurried to and fro, carrying white trays and pushing white carts. "Why do hospitals have to be white?" she muttered to no one in particular. Xander craned his head in Buffy's direction, a question forming on his brow. "Seriously," she continued, noticing Xander's casual interest. "Why all this white? Can't you have sterile environments in earth tones? How about some wooden floors, or paisley seat covers or something, huh?" Shaking her head in frustration, she added, "Sorry, guys, I'm not coping. I just wish that they'd tell us what's wrong with Willow!" She slumped in her seat and lowered herhead in quiet rage.
Xander, Giles and Jenny glanced at the agitated Slayer, then turned back toward Joyce. Mrs. Summers nodded sympathetically toward her daughter. "She's always hated hospitals," Joyce explained. "Her cousin Celia died in a hospital when she was eight." The others nodded quietly, as Buffy closed her eyes and slouched further in her seat, her misery compounding as the seconds ticked by in agonizing slowness.
Finally a doctor emerged from the ICU and approached the gathered friends. "Excuse me," the doctor asked Giles, "I'm Doctor Garber. Are you Miss Rosenberg's father?"
"N-no," Giles stammered in slight discomfort, the fiberglass waiting room seat aggravating the crick in his back. "I'm one of her teachers, Rupert Giles. Jenny and I," he hastily gestured toward his girlfriend, who nodded helpfully, "we're teachers at Sunnydale High School."
"Ah," Dr. Garber answered calmly. "Actually, she has 'Rupert Giles' listed as her contact on her school ID, in case of emergency. I thought you might be her legal guardian or some such."
"Sadly no," Giles answered. "Her parents, however, are frequently absent," ('And as far as I'm concerned, she's better off without them,' he thought but didn't say) "so I suppose I'm the next best thing."
"I see," Dr. Garber nodded non-committally. "Anyway, Willow is recovering from a rather serious flu. Her fever just broke, however-" The doctor's statement was interrupted by two audible sighs from Buffy and Xander. "-so she's going to pull through. I would like to keep her here for observation, however. We'll be wheeling her into a private room shortly, but we're not sure how she'll handle visitors. She's still a little delirious."
As Dr. Garber finished speaking, the ICU doors flew open, as orderlies wheeled out a steel gurney. Buffy caught sight of a flash of red hair, and jumped out of her seat, rushing toward the gurney, the others rapidly following her. "Willow," Buffy soothed, "you're gonna be okay. Just rest, honey. Just rest."
"N-no," Willow began to thrash back and forth on the gurney, moaning softlyas the orderlies gently restrained her and mopped the sweat off of her brow. "No, got-ta stop-stop the v-vampires…the K-kin-nderstodâ