Title: Blood Sport Author: Wyndchyme Spoilers: I'm playing fast and loose with the timeline here; meant to be set in second season, after 'Some Assembly Required,' but well before 'School Hard.' Hey, it's my story! Disclaimer: Joss is God. I am not. 'Nough said. Author's Notes: I wrote this while I was suffering a common female incapacitation and was feeling maudlin, so blame the angst on hormones. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ "Ugh," Buffy moaned, as a fresh wave of nausea and pain swept through her. She leaned a hand against her locker and bowed her head. Wonderful. Just wonderful. She shuffled through the items on the floor of her locker absently, but without any hope; she knew she was out of drugs. And the idiocy of the school policy wouldn't allow the nurse to disperse anything more powerful than an aspirin, and she knew from experience that wouldn't get anywhere near dealing with the pain. She'd whined to her mother about the severity of her cramps. "Hey, you have it easy," Joyce said. "We didn't have all these new-fangled drugs when I was younger." "Yeah, cramps must have been a bitch in the Stone Age," she'd said thoughtfully, laughing and ducking when her mother swiped. She groaned. Lovely. At least she wouldn't have to stay after school today to train with Giles; she could beg off claiming illness. She wasn't going to get any more specific than that; though Giles often admonished her to tell him everything, there were some barriers yet to be crossed. "Really Buffy," he'd said severely, "any little thing, no matter how trivial, can affect your Slaying capabilities. I need you to tell me everything." She'd rolled her eyes and assured him, yes, she would, now could they get on to kicking his ass? She smirked as she slammed her locker; he was the Watcher, let him figure this one out. "Buffster!" Xander bounced up, followed by Willow. "What's happening? What's the what? Tell me the scoop!" She gritted her teeth in a parody of a smile. "Not feeling so good, so nothing happening, no what, no scoop." Xander pouted and put an arm across her shoulders in sympathy. "Cold? Flu? Spell? Demonic possession?" "Hope they're not contagious," Willow suggested evilly. He removed his arm and backed swiftly behind Willow, shrugging sheepishly. "No offense, Buff, but I've about used up my quota of sick days, and I need to keep some for finals week." He waved and retreated to the student lounge. Willow drew nearer. "You ok?" "Not really." Buffy grimaced. "You wouldn't have any drugs, would you?" "Huh? Oh," she said in realization. "Let me check." She set her bag down on the floor and rummaged. Buffy watched in growing amazement as various clinks and clanks resolved into a collection of crucifixes, holy water vials, a thick spell book, a pencil case, a tiny fold-up travel brush, books, computer printouts, loose change and, strangely, a Hello Kitty box. Willow emerged from the mess, a pill bottle held triumphantly in her hand. "My hero," Buffy sighed. Giles took her misdirection fairly well; he admonished her to get some rest, and to drink fluids. He'd even offered her a box of herbal teas, which she'd politely declined. "I'm just gonna curl up in bed for awhile," she said truthfully. There was little else but sleep and time that could cure her cramps. He'd patted her shoulder and sent her off. Feeling a bit guilty, she'd gone home, downed a few extra-strength pills, changed her clothes and went out to do a sweep. She didn't have to be totally helpless, now did she? It was a pretty quiet evening; the streets were deserted, and the cemeteries restful. She did dust two newly risen in quick succession, hardly having to do more than stand over them as they emerged from the earth, howling, and stake them as their torsos appeared. She snorted at the ease, and sat on a tombstone to rest for a moment. "Next time, I'll bring an axe," she promised herself aloud. "Then I can just behead them as they come up." An internal squeeze jolted her from that pleasant thought and she bent over, her hands on her abdomen, trying to breathe slowly through the pain. "Well, lookee here, boys," a whiny voice intruded. "Looks like we got a sick Slayer." Buffy shifted on the tombstone to look behind her. There were arrayed seven vampires, grinning toothily at her, their leader, Big Biceps she immediately christened him, was practically salivating at her. "Always wanted to try me a Slayer," he said. His gang chuckled evilly. "Hmm, I have an idea." Buffy jumped to her feet. "Why don't you die, and I'll go home and get some sleep?" The vamps roared and lunged. "Or, I suppose we could go this route," she sighed and swung into counter attack. Three of them came at her at once, and she leapt atop the tombstone, kicking one in the jaw, whirled to deliver a downward punch, then flipped over the last, to turn and drive her stake through his back. He crumbled to dust before her, and she turned again, to find that the other two had rejoined their leader and comrades, leaving six. She frowned. Usually the vamps were stupid enough to come at her one at a time, each wanting to be able to claim the 'honor' of defeating the Slayer; she could take them down like that, easy. But organization was harder. And this leader seemed to have brains. He hadn't been in the first rush. More the pity; usually killing the leader confused the minions and allowed for easier Slaying. "What, just going to stand around and admire yourselves? Hate to tell you guys, but that whole lack of reflection thing hasn't done much for your looks." One snarled and moved forward, but the leader backhanded him. "Stupid," he growled. "She wants us to come one at a time." Buffy felt a niggle of fear run through her. They knew entirely too much. It was time to take down numero uno. "Hey, fang-breath," she called, "want to go a little one on one?" He smiled nastily back. "Oh, I don't think so." She blinked in faux innocence. "Don't think you can take on little ol' me?" "Oh sure," he said confidently, "but it's just so much simpler to have the dirty work done for me." A blow across the shoulders sent Buffy stumbling over a headstone, landing on her face in front of Big Biceps. 'Stupid, stupid, stupid!' she raged at herself. 'That's it. I'm getting Giles to teach me how to use that vamp-sensor first thing tomorrow.' She looked up at the vampires circling her. 'That is, if I get to tomorrow.' She thought quickly. This was looking less and less promising. Time to get gone. Buffy bolted to her feet, keeping low and dashing through the legs of one of the group. He snatched at her and managed to catch the hood of her sweatshirt, making her tumble, but she rolled and threw her last stake. It thudded thickly into his middle, and she wasted no time squirming free of the ashes and dashing off. "Get her!" the roar came from behind. She didn't look back, just put her head down and concentrated on where she put her feet. Automatically, she made for the front gate, but almost immediately recognized that this would be an obvious place for them to try to trap her. She shifted directions and pelted to the high spiked railing walling the grounds. She leapt, and caught at the top, her feet scrabbling against the slick ironwork. Gritting her teeth, she swung hard, and got her leg up. Balanced for an instant on the top, she looked about. "There!" the shout came from behind and to the right. Twisting automatically to look behind her, her foot slipped and she fell, the tall spikes catching on her leggings and cutting through them and her upper thigh cruelly. She slammed to the ground, her leg twisted up beneath her, and she muffled the shriek that came to her lips. Crashing and swishing tree branches heralded the vampires' approach and she whimpered. She looked around wildly, finally recognizing a landmark, and, hauling herself painfully to her feet, hobbled away as fast as she could. A trail of blood followed. Wheezing, tears falling down her cheeks from the pain, she was finally across the street from her targeted destination. Unfortunately, that was when the gang caught up. They rushed her en masse, and weaponless she stood and screamed. "Angel!" She went down under their battering, and curled in pain as boots kicked her ribs, feet stomped on her hands, and inevitably, a hand reached down and pulled her upright by the hair. "Say hello to death, little Slayer," Big Biceps hissed into her face. Then he exploded, and Buffy, unsupported, fell, only to be caught up again in black leather-clad arms. She sagged into Angel's embrace, and was roughly stood back up on her feet, a stake shoved into her hands, as her dark avenger turned to face the remaining minions. Numbly, she shoved a stake into a vamp ineffectually, as it seemed to pierce only a lung. He looked down at the protruding object, then back up and snapped his teeth at her. Buffy turned and fled to the apartment building and the light spilling from Angel's open door. She made it scant centimeters before the vampire, tripping in the hall and sprawling across the floor. She pulled herself farther forward quickly, then turned to look as the vampire crashed full force in to the magical barrier. It shook him momentarily, but before he could fully recover, Angel appeared like a dark apparition and dispatched him. He crossed the threshold, knelt and grasped her shoulders frantically. "Buffy, what on earth..." and then he was catching her again as she slumped to the floor. A hot stabbing pain pulled her reeling from the darkness, and she shot up in Angel's bed, grasping his gently probing hands. "Shh, shh," he hushed her, "just wanted to see where all this blood was coming from." Buffy swallowed and looked down. Blood had left a dark stain on the blue sheets of Angel's bed and she felt slightly nauseous, seeing her blood spread about so thickly. Demon blood was different, often multi-colored, and more importantly, not hers. She made to slide off the mattress, but Angel pushed her back firmly. "You're not going anywhere." "Angel, I'm fine, just let me use your bathroom, and I'll get cleaned up -" "No." Louder this time, and he held her down. "You're covered in blood." "Huh? No I'm not, it's just this cut on my leg - " "No." Angel's brow creased her and he looked her up and down, puzzled. "I can smell blood all over you." Buffy paled and then blushed fiercely, realizing the source of her blood-scent. She pushed against the manacle-hands that held her wrists to the bed, needing to remove herself from this mess, before it got any worse. Luck was not with her. He held her down, and stripped the leggings off her, dragging her shoes and socks with them. Buffy closed her eyes, absolutely mortified. She lay there, half-naked and tense, a leg coming up to shield her inadequately from view. "Angel," she whispered, pleading. A cool rough hand pushed her leg back down firmly, and attempted to pry her legs apart. Ok. That was it. She flew up and scrambled past the startled Angel, backing against a wall and pointing an accusing finger. "Ok, now, I find you attractive and all, Angel, but this is hardly the time-" Angel stood, and motioned to her legs. "You're bleeding." "Yes, I know that!" she snapped. He blinked at her. "Let me bandage it for you." "No, far too much of your hands on my body. Mine. Just point me at the first-aid kit, and I'll take it from here." Angel's nostrils flared, and, with a sinking feeling, she felt the blood oozing down her leg, warm and thick, and not just from the cut on her inner thigh. Her head dropped into her hands. "Can this get any more humiliating?" she muttered. She was shoved against the wall, pressed there firmly by the large body of Angel. "Buffy," he said reasonably. "You're hurt and bleeding. Let me bandage you up, and I'll take you over to Giles - " "No! You don't understand! He can't know about this!" Angel's eyes narrowed dangerously. "Buffy, you got hurt tonight and very nearly killed. I'd say embarrassment should have no part - " "You don't get it!" she shouted back. "Then make me get it, Buffy," he growled back, a flash of fang coming through. "Because you aren't getting out of here until I do." Buffy arched and managed to move an inch but no more. Frustrated, embarrassed and aching, she shrieked, "I've got my period, you nincompoop!" He looked at her blankly, and she turned away and shoved. "Get off you oaf." His grasping hands tightened, and she looked up in time to see his eyes gleam yellow. She swallowed hard and hoped fervently that his control would hold. Angel closed his eyes and let his forehead come to rest on hers. He purposefully took a deep breath in and held the scent in his nose and dead lungs. Vanilla, sweat, adrenalin, all Buffy-smells, but with fresh blood and - he sniffed again - old blood. Hot blood. Woman's blood. He dropped her like he would a hot branding iron and she fled to the bathroom, slamming and locking the door. Buffy ran a shaking hand through her hair, turning automatically towards the mirror. There wasn't one, though there was a paler section of paint where one had once hung. Her brain took a minute to catch up; of course Angel would have no need of a mirror, it would just serve as a painful reminder of what he really was. She dropped her gaze and regarded her remaining clothes with dismay: her top was smudged and torn and her hooded sweatshirt had a rent in the sleeve, along with several large messy boot prints. She eased out of the tops and turned her attention to the body underneath. Bruises were blooming nicely along her torso where she'd been kicked, an especially vicious-looking one in bilious shades of green and yellow was on the upper arm that she'd landed on in her fall from the fence top, and her hands were scraped raw. Gingerly, she probed her face, wishing for the absent mirror. It didn't feel too bad, a split lip was all her exploration yielded. She rubbed the sore spot on her scalp where her hair had been pulled and made a face. She hated being dragged about by her hair. A cautious breath and resulting pain confirmed what she'd thought; she'd hurt a rib. Probably just bruised when some slime-ball of a vamp had gotten in a lucky shot. She put a hand to her side and padded over to examine Angel's bathtub. She considered, then shrugged. She was dirty and sore all over and a clean Buffy was easier to bandage. Easy solution. Resolutely, she cranked the faucet and steaming water poured out. Stepping out of her panties, she unsnapped her bra and cast about for Epsom salts. A surprisingly selection of bath salts, gels, and lotions was carefully arrayed in the cabinet under the sink. She blinked and selected one at random, emerging with a honeysuckle-scented bath gel. Opening the top released a soft wave of sweet scent, thankfully subtle. She poured in a generous dollop and let it bubble up in the water for a few minutes, then shut off the faucet and climbed gratefully in. She sank to her chin and groaned pleasurably. Stretching difficulties went hand in hand with ouchy ribs, so she slid under the water to scrub at her hair. She eased back up carefully, but her side twinged nonetheless. She pressed her hand to it and curled around the ache. It eased after a moment and she looked up - to see Angel. She shrieked, then gasped when her side screamed abuse. Trying to simultaneously hide under the bubbles and protect her ribs, she flailed in the water and slipped. Angel's hands under her shoulders and head brought her spluttering back to the surface. "Buffy: The Drowning, Part II," she wheezed. To Be Continued...