Fic: Sleepovers

["bearshadow2" <bearshadow@xxxxxxxx>]

Title: Sleepovers
Author: Exiled
Spoilers: None
Rating: PG for a near-rape scene. Otherwise this part is G.
Feedback: Yes, Please!  I live on it! (Poster's note: E to the author 
is constrained at this time. FB on the list and hopefully she'll see 
it!) 
Archive: Please Ask.
Pairing: Buffy and Willow
Disclaimer: I don't own them, I'm just torturing them for you.
Summary: A night at the Bronze doesn't go as planned.

Hi everybody. I'm posting this for a fic author you all know and 
(hopefully!) love who cannot at this time post to the lists 
herself. "Exiled" is a new nom de plume. "IG" is the initials of who 
you know. 

Note the second. I did post this at Howard's post testing group--and 
it looked like hell--and I can't figure out how to fix it. So--sorry 
if the line breaks are random and if anyone can tell me how to fix 
them I would be most appreciative! 

**********


"Hey Will. Where is she?" Xander asks sitting down at the 
table.  "She said she was just going to do a quick patrol and come 
back."  I can see the worry in his brown eyes.  I just stare at him 
as a list of appropriate responses runs through my mind.  I want my 
response to be caring, as in how one female best friend feels for 
another female best friend, just not too caring like how a best 
friend that wants to be more than a best friend would . . . .  Now 
I'm confused.
"Earth to Will," Xander waves his hand in front of my face to get my 
attention.  "She's over an hour late and that's just not like 
her . . . or it is like her, I guess?" he finishes lamely.  

I finally figure out my response; I should act concerned just not to 
concerned or worried.  I don't want anyone to figure out my secret.   
This is Oz's big night and I need to make sure that I'm supportive to 
my boyfriend; he's my cover so that no one figures out that I'm gay.
"Xander, it's El Niño out there, it's raining and you know how Buffy 
hates to show up at the Bronze with wet hair."  That's a reasonable 
assumption considering it's raining buckets and has been for two 
days.  Still, Buffy did say she would be right back, maybe 
something's wrong?  No, it's just the weather that's holding her up.  
The school even declared today as casual Friday, so everyone in their 
right mind wore jeans and sweatseven Buffy.  

"I don't know Willow, I think something is up," he persists.  And now 
I'm beginning to get more than a nagging feeling that he could 
right.  No, I'm just picking up on his worry,.
"Don't you know that Oz has his cool solo coming up in the next song 
and I worked on my "encouragement face" all homeroom instead of 
studying for that "pop" Trig quiz Miss Gonzales always springs on 
us?" I snap at him to shut him up.  Of course the fact that Buffy 
insisted on helping me with my "encouragement face" just added to the 
fun. 

"Ok, ok, Will," he says holding up his hands.  

"Hey loser, dance with me," Cordelia saves the day and drags him off 
to the dance floor. 

And I'm left alone to think about how Buffy looked this morning.  It 
was enough to get my teen hormones raging.  She had on faded jeans, 
an old UCLA tee, with a gray hooded sweat shirt. Her hair was pulled 
back in the most haphazard pony tail I had ever seen.  

And she was absolutely stunning.  With no make-up, no trendy clothes, 
with her hair falling down and framing her face . . . she was the 
most beautiful thing I had ever seen in my life.  The noise of the 
Bronze fades as I remember her laughing this morning.  Xander was off 
flirting with Cordy so it was just Buffy and I sitting face to face 
trying out different expressions.  

A missed note from the stage makes me realize that I let 
my "encouragement face" falter and I look up to see Oz frowning.  Why 
does such a nice guy have to like me?  I know I'm using him. Why 
can't I love him back the way that he loves me?  Why do I hide behind 
Oz instead of just having the courage to tell Buffy the truth?
Then it just hits me, I've been so caught up in pretending to be 
supportive of Oz, so that my secret about Buffy won't be revealed, 
I've been ignoring the growing feeling that something is horribly 
wrong with my Slayer.
I've known that something was wrong, I just ignored it `cause  . . .  
oh what does it matter why!  I have to go, I have to leave, now!  The 
crowd is stifling me.  The door, I have to get to the door.  I know, 
I just know that something is wrong and if I don't find her . . . I 
jump out of my chair, pushing it over, and I slam right into Xander 
knocking him into some jock. 

"Will what the . . .?" is all I can hear Xander say as I start 
pushing through the crowd of people trying to get to the door.  A 
girl is too slow in stepping out of my path so I shove her over; she 
falls into another girl . . . .  

I hit the steel exit door at a full sprint and push it so hard that 
it bounces off the wall. That too, is of no importance as the cold 
rain soaks through my coat the second I hit the street. 

Buffy!  Where is she?  Left-right? Did she say Restfield or 
Shadyrest?  Which way to godo I go left or rightwhat were Buffy's 
exact words this afternoon during Chem?  Time, she could be bleeding 
waiting for me to come find her!
Did she say she was going to patrol Restfield or Shadyrest?

"Hey sweet thing how about a light?" A huge man with dirty hair 
sticking out of a Petterbuilt cap asks me from under the overhang of 
the Bronze's roof, he looks like a cliché, dirty jeans that end at 
filthy worn boots.  

He wags a cancer stick at me; I think he feels that it makes him 
look . . . gag! Sexy. Well newsflash dummy, cigarettes are gross, 
dirty, and they smell!  Only I don't say that, "No, thank you," I 
answer, dismissing him.  

Shadyrest, yes, it must be Shadyrest.  I'm yanked around. Pulled into 
an embrace by the man, his putrid breath in my face.
"Oh, I think you do," he breathes more foul beer and cigarette breath 
into my face.  I don't have time for this idiot.  I know he's human 
because his body is hot, nearly steaming in the cold rain. I don't 
have I have to find Buffy!  

I have to swallow down the bile that rises up in my throat to answer 
him.  "I really don't and I have to go," I tell him, starting to 
struggle. I gotta find Buffy!  Why can't this creep understand that I 
have to go?  He's just so strong! All my struggling is just making me 
rub against him.
"Yes, you do," he starts to pull me down the street. Do what?  Yes I 
do what?  I know there's an alley on the other side of the Bronze 
because that's where Vamps like to take their victims.  I know that 
if he gets me into the alley then bad things are going to happen!  
Oh, my god what's pressing into my . . . . his breath catches . . . 
oh God this can't be happening!  This is just not happening! I have 
to find Buffy!  

Scream dummy!  I think but as I take a deep breath he slams his 
slimy, stinky hand over my mouth and its all slippery and smells of 
copper, oh gross he couldn't have been doing that with it. I'm gonna 
be sick.  Now I really do start to gag, the muscles in my tummy 
cramping up with the need to get rid of every single thing I ever 
thought about eating.  Even if he did release me I know I couldn't 
run from him because I'm so sick!
We turn the corner of the alley and he pulls me deeper into the 
shadowsI try to fight him by squirmingbut what would have had me 
freed in five seconds flat with Xander is useless against this man.  
He's just so incredibly strong, I start to try to scratch his arms, 
only it's then that I notice he has on a thick leather jacket.
And if it's possible the bulge in his pants grows bigger. There is no 
mistaking the fact of what this man is going to do when he gets me 
all the way back into the shadows.
"Let her go. Now!" I hear the shout and he tightens his grip on me as 
he whips around.  

Buffy!  Thank god, the Goddess and all of her angels . . .  does the 
Goddess have angels?
I hear him snicker; people who don't know that she's the Slayer have 
that reaction.
"No," he tells her, and I expect her to smile back at him and then 
knock him into next week.  It's only then that I notice that I'm not 
facing the front of the alley; I`m looking towards the back.  The 
lone street lamp is behind me.  At the same time I notice this I also 
see that Buffy is leaning against the wall behind her, all her weight 
on one leg. As my eyes travel down her body I see bloody rips in her 
clothing.  But it's the gash in her thigh that makes a lead weight 
sink into the pit of my stomach.  Her leg is laid open as if a 
butcher had taken a blade to it.
The man shakes me and I can't stop the yelp as his bruising hand 
leaves my mouth to squeeze my breast.  

"I think I'm going to have a two for," his fowl breath washes over me 
once again as he twists around to nuzzle my neck.  I ignore him as I 
look up into Buffy's eyes and see the glaze of shock.  She has a long 
bruise from her hairline down to her jaw and I can see just the 
faintest trickle of blood running from a cut on her forehead.  

"Buffy?" I ask, without a clear idea of what I'm asking her.  My 
attacker twists me around again and I can feel his erection against 
my stomach, he leans down trying to kiss me but misses because his 
eyes are on Buffy.  Even in the cold pouring rain, the heat from the 
man's body is horrible, I know I'm about to be . . . raped.
Raped in front of Buffy and there is nothing she can do about it.  
Nothing, I have no idea how she is able to stand . . . .  Once he 
finishes with me . . . . 

The image of this . . . thing rutting into her . . . I can't let that 
happen.  I just, oh god!  He shoves me against the wall, his full 
weight pushing at my back, the brick tearing the skin of my face.  He 
is impossibly strong as I struggle to push him back, push him off of 
me.  I'm standing but my feet aren't touching the ground as he holds 
me up . . . 

I can barely see Buffy out of one eye as she shuffles towards us. But 
her torn leg gives out after just two steps and she collapses into 
the black water pooled on the rough cement street of the alley.
"No one will save you. If you stop struggling and please me I just 
might let you live," my attacker whispers the lie in my ear.  He 
enjoys the fight too much.  He's enjoying the power and the added 
bonus of having a second victim helpless and watching.  He pounds 
into my back, dry humping. Each blow slams me against the wall, 
cutting my face and tearing the air from my body.  I slump, dizzy and 
sick, no longer struggling, resigned to the fact that there is no way 
to stop what he going to do.
"I can't wait to rip into her pussy," he whispers with hot putrid 
breath.  He reaches for the zipper of my pants. "When I'm done with 
you I'm going to make you watch as I &" I don't hear the rest of his 
threats because there is no way I'm going to let this . . . pig 
defile Buffy.  

Think Willow, just think!  I order myself urgently.  Then I vaguely 
remember something the self-defense instructor said during that 
mandatory class.  I had been so worried about Buffy showing off her 
Slayer strength that I barely listened . . . .
I can hear the instructor's voice in my head . . .  your attacker 
will be stronger than you are . . . but his fingers aren't stronger 
than your hand.  I reach down to where his hand is on my zipper and 
grab his pinky finger and pull it back with all my strength.  I feel 
it snap and pop, then I release him and he steps back slightly, 
yelling. My feet hit the ground and I slump forward against the 
wall.  I know a blow will be coming, but again the instructor's voice 
fills my head, as I think I should turn around and kick him in the 
groin.
Again I hear the instructor's voicenever ever try to kick your 
attacker in the groin, they expect it and there are weaker 
unprotected placeslike the eyes, the knees.  

I know he probably has on steel toed boots and I only have on tennis 
shoes, so I kick back with my heel, I feel it make contact with his 
shin, and I put all my weight into sliding my foot all the way down 
his leg until I can stomp on his instep.  

"Goddamned bitch!" I hear him shout, and I cover my head with my arms 
like a boxer expecting a blow that never comes.  I turn around and 
see my attacker reaching into his pocket for something, at the same 
time I realize that all his weight is on his uninjured leg, so I kick 
out at his knee.  My aim is off and my kick glances off his lower 
leg, just below the knee.  But his knee is so fragile that it folds 
and he topples to ground, the knife he was reaching for clatters 
harmlessly away as he screams.  He grabs his ruined, dislocated leg, 
whimpering, trying to crawl away . . . I grab the discarded knife 
thinking . . .  no . . .   Thinking how dare he want to hurt Buffy! 

And I'm about to drive it home through his pants . . . 

"Willow, no." I stop. Buffy is sitting against the wall.  "Vamps are 
coming, I can feel them, let . . ." she fades and slumps forward.  My 
breath is coming in ragged heaves, I want to be sick, I want to curl 
up into a small ball and cry my eyes out, I want to take a shower to 
wash that . . . creature's smell off of me.
What I do is rush to Buffy's side.  She is sitting in the water, when 
I touch her face her skin is cold.  She rouses and lifts her hand, 
pointing at a door that's in the back of one of the buildings.
"Angel's apartment," she says as she grabs onto my hand. 

"Angel has an apartment?" I ask confused.  "I thought he lived on 
Crawford Street?" She just shakes her head in answer.
"Right, safety now, questions later," I tell her.

I help pull her up, and drape her arm around my shoulders.  "Vamps 
will be tracking me . . . didn't want to lead them home." She tells 
me brokenly as I nearly drag her to the door.  I am relieved to find 
it unlocked, as we stumble inside out of the rain.  She uses her 
other hand to brace against the wall of the narrow hallway, leaving a 
red smear from her blood as we limp to another door.  

There is a keypad, instead of a lock. "1-19-98" she tells me and I 
punch in the numbers. Ouch, is all I can think as I remember that 
it's the date she and Angel slept together; the night she gave him 
that one true moment of happiness.  The bastard!  It was cruel making 
the combination such an awful number.  I hear the click from the lock 
and then the door swings open.  We take a step into the apartment and 
Buffy reaches for the light switch.  It seems like that one switch is 
a master because immediately the entire apartment is bathed in a soft 
light.
The apartment is beautiful; with antique furniture and landscapes 
making up for the fact that there were no windows.  

"Bathroom," Buffy wheezes through clinched teeth.  I have most of her 
weight once again as we make our way across the plush carpet into the 
small bathroom.  I ease her down so that she's first sitting on the 
edge of the tub, but then she slowly slides back until she's laying 
in it.  Her wounded leg draped over the edge where I would have easy 
access to it.
She leans back and closes her eyes.  The soft light coming in through 
the door isn't enough for me to work by so I turn on the bathroom 
light.  And I catch sight of my face in the mirror, it's scratched 
and bruised and it's like that & pig has his hands on me all over 
again.  I can smell his breath, I feel his body pressing against 
mine, I look at my hands and I remember how slimly his feltI rip off 
my jacket and fumble with the knobs trying to turn on the water in 
the sinkI have to wash.  I have to get clean & a shower. I need to 
take a shower.
A scream begins to work its way up from my gutI can smell the pig on 
me, in my hair, I can taste him in my mouthI have to wash it all 
away.  I whip around intent on a shower and I'm met with the sight of 
my best friend lying in the tub.  In the harsh light her face is 
nearly a bloodless white, her lips are tinged slightly blue, her 
leg . . . well it's not as bad as I had thought.  If you were going 
to get your leg sliced open from hip to knee like a filet then that 
was the place to do it.  No arteries, no tendons, or ligaments appear 
to be damaged.  What ever did it was sharp because there are no 
ragged edges to trim up.
"Will," Buffy opens her cloudy eyes.  In this light they appear 
almost black.  "Will, water?"  she asks, looking around.  I don't 
think she really sees me.  "Will?"  

Then my gut twists for an entirely new reasonI had forgotten BuffyI 
had forgotten that my best friend was bleeding to death not a foot 
away.  How could I be so . . . self-centered?  How can I . . . 

"I'm here Buffy, just a moment."  I get a cup from the edge of the 
sink.  She's too groggy to hold the cup so I kneel down and help her 
drink it.
"More?" she asks when she's finished.  We repeat the process five 
more times before she's had enough water.  Buffy's Slayer healing is 
an amazing thing but her body needs the raw materials to sustain it.  

I look down at her as she drifts off to sleep.  It's a relief to me 
because I'm going to have to scrub her leg and that's going to be 
painful.  I push a strand of wet blonde hair out of her eyes.  Some 
color is returning to her cheeks and the cut on her forehead has 
already closed.  

"Right, time to get busy," I say to her. I know she can't hear 
me . . . still I want to talk.  I want to have noise, I have to have 
to noise . . .as I stand thinking that Angel must have a first aid 
kit my wet hair falls into my face and with it the odor of the man.  
He's grinding against me. His horrible, disgusting hands are reaching 
for my zipperdid the door lock after we came into the apartment?  

I've been in here with Buffy, what if he was able to follow us?  He 
could be in the next room?  Angel would be more interested in demon 
proofing than . . . man . . . what if he's right outside of the 
bathroom waiting for me . . . what if he's sitting in the chair 
smoking?  

Do I smell smoke or is it just my clothes?  I'm getting dizzy, I have 
to stop, I need to find a first aid kit and that means I have to go 
into the other room . . . I have to go into the other room.  I hear 
something . . . it sounds like someone is opening the door . . . Oh 
God . . . my vision is narrowing, going black.
No, I can't faint.  I have to look after Buffy, I have to be strong 
for Buffy.  Buffy, Buffy, Buffy . . .  please God.  First Aid kit, 
where would it be . . . deep breath, another one, that's right, 
breathe.  My vision is beginning to clear and I find that I'm lying 
on the floor curled into a ball with my back against the wall.  The 
bathroom door is slightly ajar, did I hit it or . . .  no don't think 
about that . . . first aid kit.
Since I'm sitting on the floor I open the cabinet under the sink; I'm 
sure I'm wasting my time, who would put a fully stocked . . . I love 
you Angel!  There it is, the first aid kit.
I feel burning on my cheeks so I reach up and my hand comes away 
wet.  I'm crying. The burning is the salt from tearsnot my face 
being smashed over and over again into the rough brick of the wall as 
he . . . stop it.
Buffy.

I don't have to leave the bathroom, I kick the door closed and then a 
shot of panic lances through mewhat if he really is waiting for me 
to leave the bathroom and now that the door is closed he might come 
in here!
I lunge for the lock on the door and throw it.  Then my stomach 
revolts, I barely have enough time to lean over the toilet before 
everything comes up.  

My vomit sprays the toilet and the wall behind it, I can't stop, and 
my whole body is in convulsions as everything comes up, I can't 
breathe again but this time I welcome it.  The smell of sickness in 
this tiny room is better than that pig's odor.  I finally finish, I'm 
exhausted but still feel better.  I  flush the toilet and then wish I 
hadn't, I'm afraid that if I do it then I'll smell him and I can't 
deal with that thought.
Fix Buffy first then clean up. I turn on the fan.

tbc 





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Willow: "It's a good fight, Buffy, and I want in."
Buffy:  "I kinda love you."
                     'Choices'

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