FF: Fever Chapter 4a

["Christeen Demons" <Shyfox30@xxxxxxxxxxx>]

Okay, so I've got the first half of what's turning out to be a reeeaaally 
long chapter written, and I thought I'd let you guys see it, just so you 
know I'm still out here.:-) Working fervently.:-) Hope you enjoy.:-)

Shyfox

Disclaimer: We all know the drill. Characters of Buffy the Vampire Slayer 
belong to Joss
whedon, mutant enemy, and I guess Upn.

Subtext: You bet. Willow and Buffy Rosenberg Summers are very happily 
married. If
this isn't your cup of tea...run...run away.:-)

This takes place somewhere in the seventh month of Willow's pregnancy...in 
the sappho's spell universe.


Chapter Four: Heart's on Fire

Silence in the darkness creeps into your soul.
And removes the light of self control.
The gate that holds you captive has the door.
Burning with determination to even up the score.

Heart's on Fire, strong desire, rages deep within.
Heart's on Fire, Fever's rising high.
The moment of truth draws near.

Time will not allow you to stay still.
Silence breaks the heart and bends the will.
Defense is guilty passions out of control.
Rules and regulations have no meaning anymore.

Heart's on Fire, strong desire, rages deep within.
Heart's on Fire, Fever's rising high.
The moment of truth is here.

John Cafferty

If you asked Willy, the owner of Willy's bar, if life was good, he'd rub the 
same spot on the countertop that he had for years, screw up his little 
weasel face like he was thinking really hard about something, and then look 
up at you, shrug his shoulders, and say, quite
complacently as he looked about his bar full of customers, not the ordinary 
kind mind you, but customers all the same, and say, "Can't complain." Of 
course, that would be on most days. But unfortunately for Willy, and his 
customers, today is no ordinary day.

It started off normally enough, except for the rain. Which was strange 
enough, since it seldom rains in Sunnydale. Almost never, in fact. But 
today it was pouring like the clouds had just opened up, and if Willy didn't 
know any better, and if he believed in the place, which he had his doubts 
about, he'd say that heaven was weeping.

Still, customers trickled in, as they were known to do, with their coats 
thrown over their heads. Some would think it was to protect them from the 
downpour but they'd be wrong. Still, as long as they were buying, and not 
tearing up the joint, Willy was a happy man.

The change was piling up quite nicely today. He wasn't sure what it was, 
whether it was the inclement weather, or the fact that his customers really 
had no place better to hole up from the storm, except for maybe the sewers, 
or the crypts, but it didn't really matter...as
long as he kept fresh blood on the tap, he'd be a semi-wealthy man. Only 
one thing...one person really, could spoil it for him, but he'd heard she'd 
retired so...

The sudden implosion of his front door from the outside in, shattered his 
thoughts with the finesse of a jackhammer as the room rapidly descended from 
a dull roar into an eerie silence. Not a creature in the room made a sound 
as all eyes turned to face the interloper
standing in the doorway. Willy could feel his heart beating wildly in his 
throat as he made out her shape in the flickering light of the fluorescents 
outside. He ran a dirty rag over his face, not remembering, or not caring 
that it was the same rag he had just used to wipe up Chaos Demon slime. 'Ah 
hell.' He thought to himself. 'So much for a nice profitable evenin.'

"Uh, h-h-hey, S-Slayer," he managed to stammer out a greeting, even as his 
clientelle, unnerved by the Slayer's prescence slipped quietly from their 
seats, and started stealthily making their way to the door in the back. A 
few glanced back toward where the Slayer was still standing, but none were 
all that anxious to confront her. He watched them slip
away out of the corner of his eyes. 'Cowards.' His mind called after them, 
already missing the loss of their coin.

'Oh yeah?' A rhetorical voice in the back of his mind asked, cynically. 'And 
wouldn't you be doing the same if you could?' It taunted mercilessly.

'Well.' Willy confronted the voice, feeling slightly bemused that he was 
talking to himself. 'They're paying customers, I ain't.'

His silent war with himself lost it's ammunition as the Slayer moved. He 
watched in trepidation as the avenging angel stormed across his bar, making 
the distance from the entrance to his counter in about four long strides, 
her focus centered squarely on him. He gulped as he watched her move, 
startled by the rage he could feel radiating from her in
every step, the tight, controlled way she moved her body gave evidence to 
the tightly controlled emotion seething just below the surface. He didn't 
even have time for a startled squawk as she grabbed him by the scruff of the 
neck, and pulled him across the rough hewn wood of his bar, until he was 
looking directly into her enraged face.

"Willy," she hissed, her teeth tightly clenched. "I have questions. You're 
gonna give me answers. Or you're gonna die. It's that simple."

Willy had no doubt that she meant every word. He could see it in the 
shuttered, angry look in her eyes, the iron tight set to her jaw, the way 
her hands were clenched in the thin material of his shirt, and yet, he 
couldn't stop his mouth from running away from his brain.
"Hey, S-Slayer...what's up? I'd heard you'd retired, what with the little 
woman at home I can see why. So, what's a married woman like you doing in a 
place like this? Got bored huh? What, the little woman not doing it for ya 
anymore...I hear they get...um...non-sexual as their stomach's get bigger, 
but can you blame them? All that
bumping and grinding while your stomach is way out to there can't be 
comfortable, ya know?"

The Slayer didn't answer, she didn't even grunt...she just flexed.

'I knew I should have kept my mouth shut.' He had time to think right 
before his head connected with the counter and the dull pain cleared his 
head of thought. Then the Slayer was over him, breathing angrily in his 
ear. "Don't think. Don't talk, unless you have an answer to my questions. 
Got me?"

"Jeez, Slayer. I haven't seen you this riled up since the Mayo..."He 
started to say, but the tensing of her arm told him she was about to slam 
his head again. "Okay...Okay! I'll tell you whatever I can...just 
please...stop doing that."

He thought for a moment that she was going to go ahead and do it anyway. He 
could hear her breathing harshly in his ear, could almost sense the barely 
restrained rage and he shivered as he wondered at it's cause. "What have you 
heard?" She asked finally, her voice still low and raspy.

'Heard?' Willy scrunched his eyebrows in confusion. 'Can't she narrow the 
spectrum down a little?' This was Sunnydale after all, there were always 
new spots of interest popping up, and of course, being the owner of a bar, 
he heard about it all. "Bout what?" Willy asked, cringing as his head met 
the bar once more.

"Willow's sick." She spat in his ear, tersely, and he could swear he could 
feel a little spray of spittle from the force of her words. "Very sick. 
Hospital sick."

"Sorry to hear that, Slayer...OW! God, Slayer! My head is not a pinata!" 
Willy groaned, as she pressed his face hard into the bar.

"I don't want your condolances." She growled, low in her throat. "I want 
to know why."

'What do I look like...a doctor?' Willy thought sarcastically, before he 
remembered just who was leaning on him so heavily. Looking for any way to 
appease the Slayer he opened his mouth and out came words. "Maybe..maybe it 
was something she ate? Cause when my sister was pregnant, she ate lots. 
Blimp sized. Got some bad tuna one day. That
was a bad scene. Really bad. I think I remember the cure, I could call my 
mother if ya want. Did Willow eat tuna lately?" He could hear his voice 
squeeking, but under the circumstances he thought it was to be expected.

To his amazement Buffy released his head and stepped back from him. "Yeah 
sure...wow Willy. Thank you." Her voice was sweet, even cordial, and when 
he looked up at her incredulously, she had a smile twisting her lips. "You 
make that call, Willy." Her voice
had just a slight twinge of condescension in it now. "But if it doesn't 
work..." Her hand punched easily through the plastered wall beside him, the 
force of the blow knocking beer steins from their shelves. "I'll kill you." 
Her voice was quiet, almost still.

Willy looked at her and gulped. "On second thought...maybe this has nothing 
to do with bad tuna."

"Ya think?" Buffy asked, sarcastically. Then her eyes turned deadly cold 
again. "She's got tons of doctors, and they can't find anything wrong with 
her. Which leads me to one conclusion. Something's going on in Sunnydale 
that I don't know about. That makes me nervous. And you know how I get when 
I'm nervous, Willy." She added a second hole in
the wall on the other side of his head with a careless flick of her wrist.

Willy cringed against the wall as far as he could get from the Slayer's 
reach and prayed to an existance he was starting to hope was there that she 
wouldn't kill him. "I swear I don't know anything about it, Slayer!" He 
said, holding up his hands to prevent another attack.
"I haven't heard a peep. I swear!" He added as she stepped forward 
menacingly, looking ready to jump the bar if necessary. His face took on a 
weasely look, as if he were considering something. "But if I were a betting 
man...I'd wager that it was something magical." His smile grew larger and 
more weasely if that were possible. "Yeah...yeah...something so strong that 
it would knock out that powerful Wiccan of yours. Something that 
would...what did you say was wrong with her?"

"I didn't." The Slayer snapped.

"Well, how do you expect me to help you Slayer, if you don't give me all the 
details?" Willy asked snippisly.

"She's running a fever, all right?! A very high fever with no cause. And 
she won't wake up."

The smile on his face grew wider, until he saw the Slayer flex, like she 
wanted to hit him, and his smile faded. "Yeah, that sounds like something 
witchy all right. If I were you, Slayer...I'd find whoever's behind it and 
chop their heads off."

Willy, half expecting the Slayer to be shocked at his statement, was 
disappointed by her actual reaction. She remained sullen, silent, as her 
gaze turned inward. 'Huh? Could have sworn I'd get her with that one." 
Willy thought, uneasily, searching the silent Slayer for any sign that she 
was about to attack him again for his enthusiasm. But she merely stood 
there, and Willy could swear he could see the wheels turning furiously in 
her head.

'Wonder what she's thinking?' He wondered, scratching his head nervously, 
feeling the dampness of fear induced sweat slicked through his hair. 'This 
silence can't be good.' He thought, feeling like an eternity had been 
dragged out since anyone had last spoken.

Finally, her eyes rose to meet his, the gaze still shuttered with inner 
mysteries. 'Man those are cold eyes.' He couldn't help thinking as she 
looked at him.

"Thanks, Willy." The Slayer said.

He felt no warmth from the expressed gratitude...merely a platitude from a 
woman who was too polite to simply turn on her heel and walk away. He 
started breathing again, not realizing that he hadn't been mere moments 
before, as he watched her walk quietly away, her movement every bit as 
controlled as when she had first walked in. Not allowing
himself to acknowledge the twinge of arousal he got from watching the tight 
backside as it walked out the now gaping open entrance, where his door had 
once been, he wiped a trembling hand across his mouth. 'God, I need a 
drink.' The sudden thought quickly turned into a fervant need, and even 
though he hadn't touched the stuff in twenty years, his
shaking hands unerringly found the hiding place of his best fifty year old 
scotch. The bottle had cost him a fortune, but as he lifted it to drink, he 
decided he didn't give a damn about the price, nor the lost battle with his 
sobriety. 'To the Slayer.' He thought, as he
lifted the bottle in a silent cheer, grateful at least that the vengeful 
woman had left him alive. 'Hope you find who you're looking for.'

*****

The hospital room was forebodingly quiet when Xander poked his head in the 
open doorway and peered around. Joyce Summers sat across the room, on one 
side of the occupied hospital bed in a hard backed chair that didn't look 
too comfortable. Of course, none of the furniture in hospitals was ever 
comfortable. Xander would know, he'd visited
and even taken residency in them enough to know. 'No...no overstuffed easy 
chairs in this place...wouldn't want you to get too comfy. No...you might 
actually like it here and stay.' Xander thought sarcastically, then 
shuddered. That was just one thing that he hated about hospitals.

Giles was at Joyce's side, his arm wrapped supportively around her 
shoulders, and Xander couldn't help noticing how grave they both looked. 
Sheila Rosenberg was on the other side of Willow's bed, and closest to the 
door, so all Xander could see of the woman was
the back of her head, but he could hear her sniffling and knew she was 
crying, or had been crying, it was hard to tell from this angle. An 
oppressive sadness clouded the room as they kept their silent vigil, and 
there was that other thing that he hated about hospitals: The
no fun zone.

His mouth went dry at the thought of actually stepping into that dismal 
room. 'Jesus Christ I'm going to hate this. I just know I'm going to hate 
this, why can't I just go home and watch TV or something?' Xander thought, 
starting to panic, as he imagined himself walking into that room, looking 
down at the face of his best friend, lying so still and
feverish in the bed, feeling that sad weight bearing down on him. He would 
have backed out, if that had been an option, none of the adults in the room 
had even noticed his presence yet, it's not like they would miss him. But 
the two people moving in from behind ruled that one out, as Anya's loud and 
angry voice filled the hall causing him to cringe.

"Xander, quit stalling. Would you hurry up and get in there already? The 
nurses are starting to stare." Anya complained to his stiff back.

"They're starting to stare, Anya, because you're shouting." Xander hissed 
back at her, before entering the room completely. Oz rolled his eyes and 
said nothing. The ride over had not been pleasant.

The three adults looked up as they entered the room, causing Xander to feel 
foolish as he dripped rain water on the linoleum, holding a bouquet of 
equally dripping flowers in his hand. He took in their looks, noticing 
their eyes staring as the water dripped from his
soaking form to the floor below. "Uh...sorry..." Xander started awkwardly, 
cringing as his sneakers squeeked on the tiled hospital floor. "It's coming 
down in buckets out there. Sunnydale ain't living up to it's name." Xander 
said, in mock outrage, feeling slightly
inane, then as he noticed them still staring at him, not saying a word, he 
decided to quickly change the subject.

Looking over at the bed again, not wanting to, but feeling compelled anyway 
he stared at Willow. The sight brought back unbidden memories, of another 
time when Xander had been afraid his best friend and buddy was going to die. 
When that bastard Angelus had put her into a coma. She had looked so 
frail, nearly childlike then, and he hadn't been able
to help remembering all the times when they were little when she'd gotten 
sick. With the flu...chicken pox...didn't matter really, and he'd offered 
to play doctor. Course, he hadn't known what that really meant at the time. 
Those same memories came rushing back now.

Xander's teeth clenched tightly as he tried to force a wave of emotion back. 
'Hey Will.' He greeted her internally, as he reached down and touched a 
sweaty hand, lifting it in his own. 'Sorry I haven't been around much. You 
know how it is...work...sleep...work...sleep.
Find time to visit sick friends in the hospital while you're girlfriend 
gives you grief about not having enough orgasms. Yeah...I see that 
smile...go ahead...laugh at my expense... if it will make you feel better. 
And what's up with that, by the way, huh? You know I hate
hospitals...so why do you have to get sick and drag me in here? Really wish 
you'd wake up, Will. I...uh...I kinda miss my best friend...ya know?'

"Has she..." He started to say, wondering if she had woken up at all, but 
he was pretty sure they would have told him that already if she had. Unable 
to tear his eyes from the pale redhead, he gulped back a lump of emotion in 
his throat, then tried again. "How is she?" He asked, picking somber eyes 
up to look at Giles, knowing the older man wouldn't lie to him.

Giles sighed, removed his glasses and started rubbing at tired eyes. "No 
change. As far as the doctors can tell she's in a very heavy unconscious 
state." Xander studied the older man's eyes, and got the strangest notion 
that he'd left something unsaid.

"Like a coma?" Xander asked, uneasily.

"Sort of." Giles hesitated in answering. "Except that she...she's 
dreaming...which is unusual for coma patients."

Xander glanced down at Willow's face again and noticed that she did, indeed 
appear to be dreaming about something. He hadn't spent years as a Scooby to 
not pick up on the mystery going on here. There was something in Giles 
eyes...no...something in his voice that made him wonder...

"Where's Buffy?" Anya's sudden question brought Xander's head around to 
look at her questioningly, and then it dawned on him as he looked around the 
room, the absence of his friend extremely noticeable now that he thought 
about it. He wondered why he hadn't noticed her absence earlier.

"Yeah? Just where is Buffy?" He asked, eyeing the older man suspiciously. 
'There's something going on here.' His subconscious whispered to him 
gleefully. 'Something Hellmouthy.' Suddenly, like a bolt of lightning out 
of the blue, the pieces connected for
him and he could see the whole picture...Willow's illness...Buffy's 
absence...not only strange because Buffy would never leave Willow alone for 
a minute right now unless there was something more important that she had to 
do...and what could possibly be more important than Willow. Well, finding a 
cure for her ranked right up there in Xander's
opinion. "She's out hunting isn't she?" Xander asked, his eyes narrowing 
at the older man. Giles didn't even have to speak, he could read the answer 
in his eyes.

"What?" Sheila and Joyce both asked at the same time. Neither of them 
knowing what was going on, but Joyce quickly filling in blanks in her head.

"Oz, could you shut the door please?" Giles asked, of the man who had stood 
quietly by the door this whole time. Oz nodded and did as asked, as eager 
to find out what was going on as the rest of them were.

"What's going on, Rupert?" Joyce asked, and Giles cleared his throat, 
finding himself suddenly the center of attention.

"This...this illness...whatever it is...isn't natural. I've had my 
suspicions from the beginning, but upon conferring with Dr. Wiseberg, and 
questioning Buffy about the dream she had that night, it became apparent to 
me that whatever Willow's going through is being
caused by some darker force than a mere virus. Upon hearing of my 
suspicions Buffy has taken it upon herself to root out the cause." Giles 
explained, gravely.

******

Sunnydale, when it was sunny, could cover up the fact that it had a rotten 
inner core. Something about the way the light slanted over the concreted 
streets, or the tree lined avenues somehow hid the darker shadows. However, 
when the skies clouded over, covering that bright spotlight, when the sky 
opened up and the rains started to fall,
Sunnydale's insides, were on the outside.

She stood unflinching under the cold downpour, mostly unobserved, as she 
watched people scurry through the rain toward the relative safety of their 
cars, their eyes darting, almost subconsciously to the darker shadows. 
Maybe they sensed the Things when the rains came. She was unmoved by the 
sight. She had seen it before. Had never forgotten
really, even on the most sun filled days, what Sunnydale truly was. The 
only one who never forgot. She was the one who battled against it.

On the outside, she was calm, collected, in control...the perfect Slayer. 
This was familiar territory, she'd done all of this before. She always had 
a plan of action, a plan of attack, the monster would rise up...she would 
find out how to kill it...and would do just
that. It was simple, straightforward, and had worked well in the past. 
Inside though, she was shaking like a leaf. Someone had turned the tables 
on her...changed all the rules. Willow's life was in her hands and that was 
scaring her to death.

The thought of potential failure beat down on her like a thick, black cloud 
hindering her every thought and movement. She was torn, caught between her 
need to find the elusive 'monster', and her growing desire to be back at her 
wife's side.

'Oh Will...' She pleaded wordlessly, sending her thoughts across town to 
where her wife lay very sick...maybe dying, in the sterile controlled 
atmosphere of a hospital room. 'I should be there...I should be holding 
your hand, kissing your face...pleading with you to
wake up. Not out here on this meaningless search.' Pent up frustration 
slipped from her control, as she kicked an empty can across the nearly 
vacant parking lot. The lonely, toneless clinking of the can across the 
pavement caused more chills than the rain tickling
down her spine.

A vision of a barely lit, hospital corridor ghosted across her memory and 
she shuddered with an ominous feeling of dread. 'I didn't mean that...I 
didn't...it's not meaningless...it's not fruitless...I just...I wish you 
were awake...I wish you could tell me what to do...I need your help!'

Desperation filled her and she was helpless to fend it off. 'What if I blow 
it? What if I can't find them? What if you...no...no no no you can't...I 
won't let you. I'll find them Will...I swear to god I will...just...don't 
give up on me.'

'But where do I start?' She found herself floundering as she looked for an 
answer.

The one thing she did know, that Willy was oh so helpful in relating, was 
that it was probably a group of witches behind it...or one very powerful 
witch...which in itself lent to a whole nother slew of problems. Witches 
weren't vampires...or demons, who she could
easily kill. They were human. Which meant that they'd had a choice. And 
had made a deliberate choice to attack the person that she loved the most. 
They'd crossed a line in attacking her, Buffy realized. One that she didn't 
know if she could back away from. She wondered if she'd find herself 
bumping up against that clause in the unofficial Slayer's handbook that 
stated 'Slayers don't kill humans'. She wondered what would happen if she 
did. The rage searing in her gut, seething through her veins, hinted very 
loudly at one possible outcome, an outcome she really wasn't finding herself 
dreading. Cause right now,
all she really wanted to do was find her a bunch of witches and start 
slaying.

To be continued.:-)



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