"Matched Set" ~ Chapter 4

SPOILERS: loose Season 5, after "The Body" but before "The Gift"
RATING: FR-T for mature themes, mild violence, language.
DISTRIBUTION: KoalasPlace.com, Dword's theLIST, HeadQuarters. Anyone else, ask and it's yours!
DISCLAIMER: Without Prejudice. Buffy the Vampire Slayer characters and concepts are copyright ©1997-2002 20th Century Fox, WB Television, Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, UPN Television. No Infringments of these copyrights are intended, and are used here without permission. The story and all other characters are mine.

Chapter 4

Giles slipped and stumbled in the darkness, again cursing the unsuitability of black patent leather shoes for hiking through the wilderness at night. In the three seconds it took him to right his step, the bracelet on his left wrist sent a jolt of pain down his arm, so intense it drew a string of rather loud obscenities from his lips.

"Huh," Buffy mused sourly from the night shadows several feet behind him, "never thought I'd live to hear you say that."

"Just try keeping up," Giles shot back, his mood equally testy. He ducked under a low tree limb devoid of foliage, automatically holding it back for Buffy.

"I can manage," she insisted, siding up to him on the rocky trail they were blazing up the hillside.

"Fine," he said unpleasantly, letting go the branch and moving ahead, finding childish satisfaction at the way she had to duck. He really had no good reason to be angry with Buffy, aside from the fact that she was clearly still angry with him.

'Stubborn girl.'

Roughly forty-five minutes ago, they had been escorted off the hunting lodge grounds, through a set of tall, iron gates, and on past a private airstrip. The sight of the waiting jet, sitting unguarded and ready under the floodlights of the tarmac, had prompted Buffy to ask, albeit only half-heartedly, whether his childhood fantasy of becoming a fighter pilot had actually led to any flying lessons, which Giles negated with an irritated grunt and a shake of his head.

Beyond the lodge, which itself sat secure as a fortress behind a formidable wall of electrified fencing, spread an open plain, with the dark silhouettes of a mountain range rising into the night sky several miles in the distance. With no immediately foreseeable cover in which to take refuge, it was clear that when the hunt began, they would be sitting ducks. So while Buffy stubbornly argued his decision to run away, Giles made another decision to run even further.

With their pursuers packing some very advanced weaponry, their best chance lay in getting to the mountains, or at least the foothills, and then outmaneuvering the hunting party once their lead-time was up. Giles' plan necessitated finding a safe haven where he and Buffy could regroup, mentally and physically, and arm themselves for the coming clash. Not that spears and rocks were much match for the sort of technology available to those chasing them, but far better than remaining in the banquet hall where they had been so horrendously out-gunned. Strategy played a key role in the art of winning any war, and to Giles, the present situation held little difference to any dozen other times when they had been out-numbered and out-matched, yet fought the denizens of the underworld and won. Now was not a time to let the overwhelming odds undermine confidence in their abilities. Now was a time for keeping their heads . . . by which he hoped they might end up actually 'keeping their heads'.

Buffy, however, appeared to be taking it all very personally, as if her inner Slayer had been morally offended by his suggestion of a tactical retreat.

'Stubborn, over-sensitive girl . . . '

Somewhere between the idea and the execution of the idea, the heart of the matter suffered a grave breakdown. The foothills were a tougher slog than Giles expected, the level ground giving way to rocky crags and steep slopes. Most of the trees, save for the evergreen pines, and all of the underbrush lacked summer foliage, stripped bare weeks before by the crisp fall air. Any cover he had hoped to find was lost to the season. There was also the hazard of uneven footing. The twisted jumble of fallen limbs, and mossy rocks obscured by the decaying leaf litter and pine needles, quickly became a real concern, especially in his present footwear. He would not have wanted to climb this terrain in daylight, let alone at night with only the cloud-filtered moonlight by which to see. Giles could well imagine one of them making a misstep on the slippery, irregular ground and ending up in a gully with a broken leg. Or worse.

'That's all we bloody well need!'

A jolt from his bracelet made him bite back another derogatory remark. Moments later, a second intensified shock prompted Giles to wheel on Buffy with a look of undisguised irritation. "You could at least make an effort to match my pace!"

"Well, maybe I could if you didn't walk so fast!"

"Buffy, this isn't a stroll in the woods. We're working on a deadline here."

"And I'm telling you, your legs are just way longer than mine!"

"Fine. Give me you hand."

"Fine," she echoed angrily. She thrust her right hand out for him to take, which he did, pulling her up the slope to him with more vigor than was actually needed. Off balanced, she ended up against him.

The moment gave them both pause, the contact making them both take a mental step backwards to realize how foolish they were acting. They were in this together, completely out of their normal element, running for their lives. All they had was each other, and filleting one another with their tempers was both pointless and costly.

"I'm sorry," Giles began. He still had hold of her hand, her fingers so wonderfully warm in his, so small and vulnerable that he couldn't help but instinctively feel protective toward her, even though he knew she needed no protection.

"I know. Me too." When she gazed up at him in the moonlight, eyes equally apologetic and sweet lips parted, she looked so incredibly sensuous that his heart threatened to burst out of his chest. The animosity drained from him, replaced by a sudden, intense yearning to unleash all his hidden passion.

"Your hands are cold," she observed quietly.

"Probably because I'm freezing my arse off out here," Giles said, attempting to sound casual; attempting to crush the hot-blooded fervor rising within him. Despite the exertion of the climb, the thin material of tuxedo offered little protection against the alpine elements. "Aren't you?"

She shook her head, flecks of moonlight catching her golden hair. "Not really. Slayer constitution and all. Plus my coat is pretty warm. But . . . if you're cold . . . " She pressed closer and slid her arms around his waist, laying her head against his heart. "Let me warm you."

For a moment he just stood there in emotional turmoil, allowing Buffy to hug him but too afraid of betraying his feelings to hug her back. When she whispered that it was all going to be okay, her compassion tipped him over the edge. He responded to her the way he had always longed to do, encircling her in his arms and returning her embrace with all the love he possessed.

What a mess they were in. What an absolute sodding great mess. If they managed to get out of this alive, he swore he was going to tell her how he really felt; ancient bloody prophecy be buggered. Somehow, they would skirt fate and make it work. Somehow, he would find a way for them to be together . . .

For several long minutes, they just held each other in the moonlight, the tendrils of love warming every part of him.

"Giles?" Buffy finally said, lifting her cheek from his chest.

"What?" he asked unsteadily, hiding the tremor of emotion in his voice by nuzzling the top of her head. If she told him now, if she whispered, 'I love you', then he would respond in kind, no matter the prophetic consequences.

"What the hell is that?" she asked flatly.

He huffed out a breath, part disillusioned and part amused at her timing. But her question was his cue to release her, so he stepped out of her arms and turned to examine the area she was pointing at behind him.

It was a hole, dug into the hillside, with a crude crisscross frame of branches and a scattering of leaves from the surrounding woods deliberately masked its top. It was an intentionally built trap, and since the top had been broken through near one corner, its purpose to ensnare some unsuspecting animal had presumably worked.

"It's called a 'dead fall'," he said, carefully kneeling at the edge. He flung aside the remains of debris-covered top, his efforts revealing a deep, straight-walled pit lined with a bed of deadly, point-up stakes. Impaled in its center was a pair of human skeletons--a pair of headless human skeletons--their bony fingers still loosely entwined, and familiar looking metal bracelets still adorning their wrists.

"And now I see why. That could have been us," Buffy said, putting voice to the reality of just how close he had come to stepping on the fragile pit cover. "That could have been you."

"I think we should keep moving," Giles said quietly, not wishing to admit that she was right, that two more steps of his foolish, angry, trailblazing gait, and it would have been all be over.

As he straightened, she protectively slipped her hand in his. "And I think we should stick together."

He nodded, giving her fingers an encouraging little squeeze, before they resumed climbing up the ridge, hand in hand.

* * *

"Milady, I beg you," Ethan pleaded, as his demon lover drew him reluctantly along an upstairs hall toward her bedchamber. She had hold of his hand in a bone-crushing grip, probably believing it was a tender caress.

Her over-exuberant mood cast no doubt to the activity she had in mind, but in this state, his chance of actually surviving the encounter was extremely questionable. The sheer defiance of Buffy and Giles in the banquet hall had whetted her appetite for the coming hunt, so much that the adrenaline reverberated off her in waves. Realizing the truth of the matter, how aroused their insolent behavior made her, Ethan started to sweat. If he didn't please her, he was a dead man. And if he did please her, he would undoubtedly wish he were a dead man.

He tried to reason with her. "S-surely there is no time for--? What of your hunt? Shouldn't you be making preparations?"

"Tay is making preparations." The Xazax stopped and rounded on him, lust changing her quicksilver eyes to the color of dark, dangerous gunmetal. "Meantime, there is only one thing I want to do."

"Yes, but . . . " he tried desperately, realizing they had well over an hour remaining of the head start she had promised. Holy Chaos, she was going to kill him! Or at the very least, maim him for the rest of his life.

She stopped his coming protest with a domineering kiss. Her lips were cold, hard as marble, and about as exciting as kissing bathroom tile. Ethan had never felt so helpless, so completely at the mercy of another.

"Your chosen warriors are going to be my best hunt yet! But I gave my word. I promised them two hours." She leaned against his chest with the flat of her stone-cold palms. "I am Xazax. Our word is law." Then she spun from him, more like a virgin schoolgirl on her first date than the noble demon she proclaimed herself. "Can you think of a better way to pass the time?"

Ethan gulped. "Canasta?" he suggested feebly.

She laughed, believing he was joking, her high-pitched shrill harsh on his human eardrums. When she tugged on his hand to get his stubborn feet in motion, only one thought went through his mind: 'Oh crap . . . '

Twelve and a half minutes later, the demon huntress let out a wild cry of pleasure. As she rolled off him, Ethan moaned in misery, his body bruised and abused. She settled contentedly--at least for the moment--allowing him to escape to his side of her enormous bed. From previous experience, he knew his reprieve was only temporary; her true satisfaction was a multi-orgasmic event.

This was a bad idea. This whole thing was a very bad idea, indeed.

Attempting to sit up without revealing too much of his agony, Ethan made the ultimate decision of self-preservation; glorification or not, he would rather take his chances being hunted to death, than he would trying to survive another round of her . . . enthusiasm. He would rather take his chances in the woods with Buffy and Giles.

"Where are you going?" his demon lover asked, as he slowly pushed to his feet and gathered his clothes.

"Um, just popping out for a cigarette," he lied, forcing himself to stand up straight. "Human males . . . sometimes we need--"

"I am well aware of the needs of human males," she stated, rolling onto her elbow. A devilish smile played on her ridged features as her alluring silver eyes dropped to a part of him that was normally better clothed. "Don't stray too far."

"No, Milady," he intoned obediently, trying not to shrink under her hungry gaze. Forcing himself to play the part, Ethan ignored the protest of his battered body and bent down to kiss her under the pretense of unabated passion. "When I return," he promised huskily, drawing his hand along her velvety, but rock-hard cheek, "I shall teach you something you don't know about the needs of human males."

"I'm intrigued already." She reached for him, but he back-stepped to avoid her clutches.

He waggled a playful finger at her. "Patience."

"Ah, another human quality, this patience. I don't think I like it."

"Waiting makes the reward so much sweeter."

"Is that true, sorcerer?"

"Absolutely."

"Then take your time." She smiled and stretched her slim, nude body amidst her luxurious bed coverings. "But not too long."

Ethan smiled to himself. "Your will is done, Milady."

He slipped out of her silk and satin torture chamber without another word, quietly closing the door behind him. Its electronic lock beeped, and he briefly wondered if he needed a key card to get back in. Not that he was going back in . . .

Further down the hall, he found an empty, unlocked room in which to dress. Time was not his ally. It would be no more than ten minutes--fifteen tops--before she grew impatient, or became suspicious of his absence, and raised the alarm. Just one problem; he had no idea how to get out of the lodge and off the grounds, let alone find Rupert and his Slayer. From what he had seen, he would rate getting in to the lodge comparable to laying siege to a medieval castle. Why should getting out be any easier? His only chance was to carry the bluff all the way, and walk out through the front door.

"Time to play it Bogart . . . " he murmured to himself.

Zipping up, he peeked out the door to see if the coast was clear. Pulling a cigarette from the half-crushed pack in his pocket for appearances sake, he forced himself to walk with confidence as he made his way along the deserted hallway toward the lodge's central staircase. But as Ethan passed the open doors of the tactical room, something on the electronic wall map caught his eye; two red blips moving slowing over the huge topographical display.

'How curious . . . '

Getting into places he where had no right to be was something Ethan as very good at, and in a quick change of tact, he allowed his true mischief-maker persona full reign. He might even gain useful information, or be able to steal something to aid him in getting outside the compound.

Mustering his sapped muscles to the charade one last time, he stood tall as he waltzed into the tac room, as if he belonged there. Tay was present, conversing with the vampire operating the GPS system, while a pair of quill demons stood silent and obedient against the unoccupied wall to the left. Idly, Ethan wondered if their kind ever rested. They always seemed to be standing about guarding something, or waiting to be called to some bone-crushing action.

Remembering they were also telepaths, he quickly schooled his thoughts.

Tay noted him immediately, and straightened from where he had been leaning over his kindred's shoulder. He snarled hatefully, glaring out of his remaining good eye. Ethan tried not to grimace at the sight of the vampire's horrible disfigurement. Tay would clearly rather eat him than talk to him after the Holy water episode, but Ethan was pretty certain that while the minions knew he was the one sleeping in the master bedchamber, then none of them, despite their personal irks, would dare touch a hair on his head. It was common knowledge that the Xazax had a short fuse, and a considerable wrath. Why else would they stay in her lackluster employ? Well, there was the unrestrained mayhem and killing . . .

"Sorcerer. I thought you were . . . busy."

"What's this?" Ethan asked, waving his hand with the unlit cigarette at the giant electronic wall map. He hoped that by intentionally ignoring the question, he displayed the necessary authority. After all, he had been in charge of the team sent to Sunnydale to kidnap Buffy and Giles, with the vampire under his command. Nothing had changed; Ethan still ate at Milady's table and slept in her bed. He just needed to reassert that authority.

The vampire drilled him with a resentful glare, but remained silent.

Ethan glared back. "Would you prefer if I woke your mistress and asked her?"

"Milady is sleeping?"

"Milady has succumbed to complete physical exhaustion," Ethan announced loftily.

"Congratulations." Tay snorted. "That was quick."

"Just tell me about the map."

"Why?

"Because I'm ordering you to."

Tay's voice dropped to a spiteful level. "One day, sorcerer, it will be just you and me."

Ethan's voice lowered too. "And until then, you will do as I say."

There was a brief hostile standoff, until the vampire, clearly knowing his place, backed down. He was, after all, just a minion. "It represents approximately two hundred miles of the terrain surrounding the lodge," he told Ethan. "All of which Milady legally inherited when her human husband . . . died."

"Impressive," Ethan observed truthfully, moving closer to the map to study it in better detail, absorbing what landmarks he could for future use. He turned to the vampire again. "And the red dots?"

"The location of the prize. With this setup, we can pinpoint the Slayer and her mate, anywhere they go, down to the nearest rock."

"What? You mean she's cheating?" He chortled. So much for the myth of the noble Xazax huntress! No wonder Milady had so many trophies in her foyer. He had really underestimated her ruthlessness. "So the bracelets have a far more practical purpose than to just keep them together?"

"They give off a homing signal that we can track . . . with those." Tay pointed to the equipment that had been prepared for the hunt, waiting on the table by the tac room door. Amidst the various assault weapons, ammunition, and radio headsets were half a dozen handheld Global Positioning System units. "They've been modified to suit our purposes, of course."

"I see."

"And now that you do," the vampire growled impatiently, "I have work to complete. Unless you want explain to Milady why her hunt is delayed?"

"By all means, carry on." Ethan motioned at his cigarette. "I have things to do, too."

"I hope that doesn't kill you," Tay said, referring to his smoking, "because I want to do that personally." With a meaningful snap of his jaws, the vampire turned back to his undead colleague. They began speaking computerese as they poured over the incoming satellite data, leaving Ethan to find his own way out.

No one noticed the equipment table was short one modified GPS unit, until several hours later.

* * *

The higher they climbed into the mountains, the more the topography changed to a true alpine setting, with tall evergreen pines reaching high into the sky, distant, rugged peaks capped with snow, and the occasional freshwater lake. It all looked tranquil and inviting, if it weren't for the fact that they had a bunch of crazed, Rambo-demons hunting them.

Sitting with her back against the rough surface of a boulder, Buffy watched with heavily lidded eyes, as the moon sank lower toward the lightening horizon. Soon, the sun would be up. That meant they had been on the move all night. Their two-hour lead had long ago expired, and right now, somewhere in the lowlands behind them, the Xazax huntress and her posse of underworld goons were gunning for their heads.

Despite her exhaustion from hours of arduous climbing, the Slayer in her wondered who or what the hunting party would consist of, since the vampires in the lady demon's employ obviously couldn't go out in the daylight without a fatal case of sunburn. She knew nothing about the big porcupine grunts that were always standing about doing nothing, nor the Xazax herself. Maybe none of them could go out in the sun. Maybe she and Giles could rest in safety right up until nightfall.

Rest. Buffy so much wanted to close her eyes and sleep for a bit. She and Giles had mutually agreed to take a respite only after they reached the top of the ridge and safety, only to have their hopes dashed as they mounted the summit and found another peak in its place. Now, as they sat together in the craggy niche they had discovered just over the crest, with a new, more difficult challenge still ahead, the feeling of futility threatened to sap what remained of her strength and gusto. With each passing minute, she was finding it harder and harder simply to stay awake.

Just as her head began to loll towards sleep, a loud snore from Giles' direction instantly snapped her back to full awareness. Buffy gently nudged him awake. "Hey, big guy, you told me no sleeping on the job, remember?"

"What? Oh, yes. Quite." He reached to the ground beside him, and lifted a dirty bundle made from what used to be his clean white handkerchief. Holding it above his head and tipping his chin up, he squeezed a few drops of dirty water from the bulbous end into his open mouth.

Buffy grimaced, watching him swallow. After scraping a little scorched bark off a tree, Giles had wrapped the charcoal chips in his handkerchief and dipped it in a stream they passed. The idea, he explained, was that as the water filtered through the charcoal any impurities were removed, thus making it safe to drink. Buffy wasn't sure where this particular survival skill had come from, only that his method left a lot to be desired. It made what used to be fresh clear spring water look and taste like an old campfire.

She shook her head as he offered her the blackened handkerchief. She'd rather take her chances with water-born bacteria than drink another mouthful of that.

Putting his dubious water filter aside, Giles hugged the lapels of his tuxedo jacket closed around him, seeking whatever meager warmth he could find. "You know, I'm beginning to suspect the injection Ethan gave us had a particularly nasty side-effect. Lingering fatigue. I'm tired, yes, but I'm also reasonably fit for my age, so I shouldn't be feeling like this."

"Like what?"

"Like I'm ninety and I've just run a marathon." He shivered, then added, "I suspect this night air isn't helping. I'm still bloody cold."

"Well, I'll see your 'cold' and raise you a 'hungry'." Buffy stared up at the night sky, tapping the back of her head against the boulder out of sheer boredom. "God, I could eat a couple of All-You-Can-Eat places out of business right now."

"I dare say it's been a couple of days since either of us had a decent meal," Giles agreed, shifting position. He parked a shoulder against the boulder so that he could look at her, eye to eye. "Chocolate Kisses notwithstanding."

His attempt at levity made her face him. The rock beneath her cheek felt almost as rough as the healthy growth of beard looked on Giles' chin. He was right. It had been days, and she suddenly suffered a pang of doubt about their actual chances of survival. "Giles? How are we gonna get out of this?"

His eyes grew compassionate. "We will. I promise."

Unfortunately, hollow reassurances weren't what her inner Slayer wanted to hear. She was not used to sitting on her butt waiting for trouble to come find her. She needed a plan. She needed to take the fight back down the mountain to the enemy.

Her frustration at doing nothing exploded in response. "But we've got a bunch of gun-toting gung-hoes tracking us even as we sit here! We're both running on empty, and we have no weapons beyond half a stupid bottle of Holy water. We don't even know where the hell we are, let alone where we're headed, or what we're gonna find when we get there."

Giles' eyes told her he didn't have any answers to make the bleak situation any brighter. Feeling only marginally better for the outburst, Buffy huffed out an exasperated sigh and turned her back on his apologetic gaze. The sharp movement sent a stab to her side, eliciting a whimper of pain and making her put an instinctive hand on her injured ribs. Despite her superior healing abilities, they still hurt like hell. And her scuffle in the banquet hall hadn't exactly helped aid her recovery.

"Buffy?"

"I'm all right," she insisted grumpily, without looking at him. In truth, she knew she wasn't up to fighting a squirrel right now. And Giles . . . he was past 'running on empty'. He was almost completely burned out. He didn't have her Slayer constitution to fall back on; he needed proper rest in a warm place, and real food in his stomach, soon, or he would be too weak to be any good to her when their moment came.

And it would come. Of that she had no doubt.

The snap of a twig tweaked her Slayer hearing.

"What?" Giles asked in a whisper, noting her focus had shifted to the rocky outcrop they had just climbed.

"I heard something."

"An animal, perhaps?"

There, again. A quiet intrusion in the normal forest sounds. She couldn't tell if it was animal or demon, only that something or someone was coming up the ridge!

"I don't think we should wait around to find out," Buffy concluded. She scrambled to her feet alongside Giles, as fast as her injured ribs would allow, the adrenaline of the moment shoving her heart up in her throat. They were unprepared, completely off guard, proverbial sitting ducks. The hunting party had laser-sighted weapons and the skill to use them. She and Giles didn't even have a decent-sized rock between the two of them. As much as she hated it, there was no choice but to run.

Again.

They started moving together, each pulling on the other's hand in their haste to make a quick getaway. But the downhill slope proved even more treacherous than the ridge they had just climbed. Buffy lost her footing first, slipping on the uneven, mossy slope, and instinctively tugging on Giles to try to right herself.

"Oh, sh--!" she began, too late realizing that her attempt to save herself only served to off-balance him. In an almost comical moment, both Watcher and Slayer hit the ground on their backsides and began an uncontrollable slide.

Thoughts of whoever or whatever was tracking them up the ridge were quickly forgotten. They lost hand contact as they tumbled and slid down the mountainside together, remaining close enough to each other that the distance between their bracelets was not a problem. Not that electrocution was the foremost thing on Buffy's mind. As they picked up speed, the bare, protruding branches sliced and scratched at her clothes and exposed skin, making her raise both hands in defense of the brutal, knife-like attack. She grunted and groaned as the rocks, which before had been a hazard underfoot, made permanent indentations in her back and legs and arms. The rough, uneven terrain constantly tossed her from side to side and back again, in a nightmare blur of mud, moss, dead leaves, and skeletal foliage. From the quick glimpses she had of Giles, as the world mercilessly bounced her from one hurt to another, she saw he wasn't fairing any better. If they somehow managed to survive this, they were both gonna hurt for a month . . .

Then, as she blinked the dirt and debris out of her eyes, she saw it coming over the tips of her ruined black boots. Their rollercoaster ride was about to end . . . with a cliff!

Acting on adrenaline, she flipped herself on her stomach, where her plan was to use the saplings and scraggy underbrush being tore down by her wild ride as a brake. Reaching out with a cry born of a primal nature, she managed to latch onto Giles with one hand, while simultaneously anchoring herself on a low lying tree branch. Tightening her grip, she brought the madcap journey to a stop.

Buffy thought herself prepared for the jolt when momentum caught up. She thought wrong. With her legs and lower body hanging over the bluff into empty space, and Giles dangling as a dead weight below her, she heard the sharp snap of bone even above even the sound of her own labored breathing. Then the woods echoed with the exquisite agony of her half-knitted ribs tearing apart.

"Buffy!"

She sucked air into her burning lungs, blinking back the sweat and pain, and desperately trying to summon the strength to hang on to him. Steeling herself against the pure torture of the ordeal, Buffy spat the grit out of her mouth and looked down at the man she loved. He was hanging precariously by one hand with his back to the rock face, the drop beyond his shoes every bit a hundred and fifty feet. The coming dawn shed very little light into the ravine below, but enough for her to tell there was water at the bottom, some sort of central pool formed by the surrounding mountains, which depending on the season, emptied their rain or snow runoff via a network of tall waterfalls and rugged gullies. Trouble was, the pool was the bullseye of a lot of large, jutting rocks. Hitting it, without taking a header off the side of the gorge first, would not be easy.

Giles--cut, bloodied, and absolutely filthy--looked up at her, panic painted on his face. His life was, literally, in her hands.

But not for long.

"Grab my wrist!" she shouted above the buzz of pain cloying her senses. Her tenuous, mud-covered grip on him was slowly beginning to slip. "Giles, you have to reach up and grab hold!"

He flailed about in the air, throwing his legs around as he tried to twist his body to the right position. "I can't!"

Buffy dug the nails of her other hand into the soft wood of her anchoring branch, burrowing in. "You've got to! I can't hold you like this!" She shut her eyes and grunted with the agony of bodily trying to haul him up, but his muddy fingers slithered through hers just a little bit more. "Giles, my ribs . . . God, I can't--!"

He stopped kicking and squirming all of a sudden, causing her eyes to fly open and look down at him in alarm.

"Then you have to let me go," he said levelly.

"No." Uh-uh. No way. Not in a million years. She was not going to let him fall to a possible death. "That's not even an option here," she insisted, losing another quarter-inch on his hand.

"Buffy, listen to me--"

"NO!" She sucked down another ragged breath. Her chest burned. Besides the fact that she would never intentionally let him go, his noble self-sacrifice served absolutely no purpose. "If I let you fall, then I'm toast too. Your bracelet, remember? Just try to reach me!"

"Need a hand?" a familiar voice calmly asked.

Buffy's head snapped around in surprise.

Ethan Rayne skidded down the muddy slope to join her at the cliff edge. He squatted into her field of vision, pocketing a small electronic device. After peering carefully over the edge of the bluff and assessing the situation, he smiled amicably. "Well, well, fancy meeting you here."

"Go to hell," Buffy grated. But in truth, she was ready to beg him for help, to agree to whatever terms he put before her or do whatever he asked of her, if that's what it took to save Giles.

"Dear Buffy, I'm only offering a helping hand. Looks to me you could use one about now."

"Why would you want to help us?"

"Because I need you," Ethan said simply.

Buffy's eyes widened. "I'm losing him!"

Ethan quickly flattened himself on the muddy ground beside her, leaned over the edge, and stretched out his hand. He was still a few inches short of Giles' grimy tuxedo shoulder. Success would only come if the man in question made the effort. "Give me your hand, Rupert."

"You sodding bastard . . . " Giles growled through gritted teeth.

"Yes, yes, we can exchange pleasantries later. Give me your hand."

Buffy felt Giles slip again. As her feeble hold on him diminished to the strength of his curled fingertips, her gaze flew to his in a moment of total candor. There was so much love in his beautiful green eyes, so much regret and pain and things left unsaid. But he didn't need to say any of them to convey exactly what he felt. She knew, in a heartbeat, just how much she really meant to him.

Beside her, Ethan was beginning to fret, yelling at Giles to grab hold of his hand, or else. Whatever the sorcerer needed them for, denying the backstabbing little weasel was first and foremost on Buffy's list. Giles' too, from the expression on his face.

With their Watcher/Slayer bond in tune and humming with the harmony of absolute love and trust, Giles nodded ever so slightly.

"Giles, for God's sake, man!" Ethan was yelling, obviously very afraid for his own life.

Buffy turned her head to look at him one last time. "You know what, Ethan? Giles and me, we've decided we can manage without your help."

"But--"

"Be seeing you," she said, using one of his own catch-phrases. Then she let go of her anchor, and gladly let Giles' weight pull her over the edge.

* * *

Giles broke through the surface of the pond, splashing up out of the freezing water and gasping for air. As he settled, he realized two things. Despite the block of ice forming in his stomach and the heaviness in his extremities, he was alive and . . . alone.

"Buffy?" he called hoarsely.

Treading water double-time in order to stay afloat his clothes, he spun in a frantic circle in search of her. The approaching dawn hadn't quite penetrated the night shadows clinging to the bottom of the gorge, making it difficult to see. He squinted, wishing for his glasses. He knew she was somewhere close by; his bracelet would have informed him otherwise. He just couldn't see her.

Dire thoughts filled his head. What if she hadn't made it? What if her broken body floated half-submerged somewhere just beneath the surface?

"Oh dear God . . . BUFFY!" His desperate shout echoed above the din of the nearby waterfall and reverberated off the surrounding cliff faces.

In answer to his call, she emerged up though the water just a few feet from him, heaving for breath but undeniably alive. His joy, however, was short-lived as he realized she wasn't splashing and flailing, as he had done in the icy water. She was deathly still with her head resting back, and he was again concerned she had not successfully cleared the rocks in the fall.

Dear Lord, if she had hit one and suffered grave injury . . .

She choked out his name. "Giles?"

"I'm right here," he said, scooping her into his arms, his legs kicking madly in order to support them both. "Are you hurt? Buffy!"

She coughed in reply, which caused her to ball against him in obvious pain.

"Just hang onto me," Giles instructed, one arm supporting her and the other already paddling for the shore. As his feet touched bedrock, he ignored the protest of his exhausted, battered body and stood with her limp form across his arms.

Struggling over the mossy boulders in his wet shoes, water running off them both in torrents, Giles carried Buffy up the rocky embankment until he found a reasonably level area to lay her down. Mindful of potential injuries, he set her on a makeshift bed of soft pine needles beside a babbling stream. She coughed again, favoring her side and clearly in pain. He knew she had several broken ribs, but he prayed that was all.

Stripping off his wet tuxedo jacket, he balled it under her head to make her as comfortable possible. The cold, November air immediately permeated his wet dress shirt, which stuck to him like a second skin, making him shiver.

"Buffy?" With a gentle hand, Giles brushed the water-plastered hair from her face. She looked awful, the blood from countless cuts running down her cheeks in watery rivulets and her clothes--like his own--torn and ripped. "Please talk to me."

After hacking up another mouthful of water, she wryly managed to say, "Now there's something . . . you don't get to do . . . every day . . . thankfully."

Giles couldn't stop himself from grinning like a madman, such was his immense relief. "Thank God," he said, still soothing her forehead, the action a poor substitute for the caress he longed to give.

"Urgh," Buffy said expressively. "I feel like I just went parachuting . . . without the parachute." She looked up at him, studying him in the murky light with concerned eyes. Frowning, she reached for him, gingerly touching a tender spot on his temple and causing him to flinch. "You're hurt . . . "

"And rather black and blue, I dare say." They both bore more cuts and bruises than he could count, but at least they had survived the fall. "I expect we'll live."

Buffy grunted, and attempted to get to her feet. "Only if we don't have to do that again." She winced, one hand clamped over her broken ribs.

Arm around her, Giles gently helped her up. "I don't think anyone in their right mind would ever want to do that intentionally," he remarked as he steadied her on her feet.

There came a cry of plunging terror, punctuated by the sound of an enormous splash in the pool behind them. Ethan Rayne had arrived at the bottom of the gorge.

Giles pulled a sour face. "I rest my case."

"What is his problem?"

Giles' temper flared. "I have no idea, but I'll bloody kill him!" He turned quickly, intent on heading for the pool, but Buffy grabbed his wet shirtsleeve.

"No, wait. He's not worth the effort. Let's just . . . " She shivered, then grimaced. "Let's just go, before we freeze to death."

It took him a second to realize that the 'effort' she referred to was her own, that keeping within the safe radius of his bracelet while he thrashed his former friend to an inch of his miserable life would take more energy and enthusiasm than she had right now. And she was right. They now faced a new danger--hypothermia. Now more than ever, they needed to find a warm, safe haven, and shed their soaking wet clothes.

Giles shuddered at the thought. Spending time with Buffy in close quarters was enough to drive him to distraction. Spending time with her naked would surely send him over the edge.

He raked a frustrated hand through his wet hair, now acutely aware of the way her sodden clothes clung to her body. He stooped to collect his tattered jacket from the ground and awkwardly pulled it on. Nothing like a little uncomfortable trudging through the freezing, pre-dawn woods to get one's mind off . . . other things. "Yes, yes, you're quite right," he said, picking up her hand out of habit. "Let's go."

"Oh, that's just bloody brilliant. Sod off and leave the one person who can actually help you."

They both turned to find Ethan slicking his hair back as he came towards them, stumbling over the moss-covered rocks and shivering in his wet clothes.

"I must say, this is a novel approach to staying alive, Buffy. I suppose, now, we can all look forward to dying of exposure instead of decapitation."

"One more step," Giles warned evenly, "and I swear I'll--"

"Rupert, perhaps you still have water in your ears," Ethan interrupted. He stopped, but well out of Giles' immediate punching range. "I said I could help you."

"As Buffy said, we don't want your help."

"Really? Not even if I tell you how to remove those?"

He pointed, causing both Buffy and Giles to look down at their joined hands, and the matching silver bracelets resting comfortably close to each other.

"You know how to open these?" Buffy asked, anxious to be shock-free.

"I should. I helped put them on," Ethan drawled confidently. "And I think I should warn you that, as cozy as the two of you appear to be with all this 'togetherness', removing them really is a question of priorities."

"How so?" Giles asked, not fond of the idea of Ethan Rayne's help, but grudgingly willing to hear him out.

"It appears your sporting chance," Ethan said gleefully, "was not so sporting after all. Those bracelets give off a sort of homing signal, which Milady and her lackeys are following at this very moment." Fishing in his pocket, he brought out a small electronic unit, reminiscent of a two-way radio. "Modified Global Positioning units," he explained, tossing the thing to Giles. "Not terribly difficult to understand. After all, I found you."

"After all." Giles caught the device and gave it a quick perusal. Despite having been submerged in the pool after Ethan jumped from the cliff, the thing was still functioning, recording the latitude and longitude of his and Buffy's bracelet as reds blips on a small topographical display. Part of him again immediately marveled at the idea of their demons and vampires adversaries using such sophisticated technology, while the other part of him was simply interested in doing what it took to survive. Stuffing the unit in his coat pocket, he looked at Ethan and asked, "And the hunting party?"

"About forty-five minutes behind me. Hence the urgency to get those bloody bracelets off before we go anywhere."

"We?" Buffy asked. "Since when are you playing on our team?"

"Buffy, I'm hurt," Ethan feigned. "Didn't I let you keep the Holy water? I have always been on your side."

"Coulda fooled me."

"Get these off us," Giles said flatly, "and I might let you keep all your teeth."

"How gracious of you," Ethan said, moving over to take both their wrists. He began to examine the bracelets as if he really did know what he was doing. "Milady has a rather vile sense of humor."

"You mean, apart from the fact that she collects human heads for fun?" Buffy asked, employing sarcasm. "Go figure."

Ignoring her, Ethan turned them to face each other, their joined hands and bracelets between them. "No, I mean the spell on these. Something to do with her late husband's infidelity, I expect. You see, your bracelets are secured in place by a love pact."

His explanation made Giles send a sharp glance at Buffy, only to find her already looking at him. The implications of Ethan's words were perfectly clear.

"Blood is the key, Rupert," Ethan continued. "Yours opens Buffy's bracelet, and vice versa. Diabolically simple really, worthy of something I myself might have devised."

"Don't flatter yourself," Giles grated, fighting the rising tide of emotions now boiling within him. The wanton look on Buffy's face was enough to shatter the virtuous intentions of the most honorable of men. He diverted his eyes.

"Well," Buffy said, "at least that's something we don't have any shortage of right now."

Giles forced himself to hold still as she reached up to the cut above his eye. Her touch was waiflike, but fiery hot against his water-chilled skin, and he winced despite himself . . . not from her touch, but from the caress just barely concealed beneath it. He tried to douse the burning within him and concentrate on their dilemma, watching as she smeared his blood on the smooth metal of her bracelet. Following her lead, he stroked his fingertips over the open gash on her forehead, his breath catching as she melted into his palm. She practically mewled like a kitten beneath his touch, until he reluctantly pulled his hand away and painted the surface of his own dreaded bracelet with her blood.

Nothing happened.

And the lack of the anticipated result was just the thing Giles needed as a reminder that the bracelets--indeed, the entire situation--was Ethan's fault.

"That's it?" Buffy asked doubtfully.

"How odd." Ethan rubbed his chin. "Are you two certain you love each other?"

Buffy flushed. "What?"

Giles kept his gaze well away from her face. If he looked at her now, his facade would surely crumble. Instead, he glared daggers at his old chum for putting voice to the ever-present emotions, and stirring up even more trouble. "Now I kick your arse," he said, dropping Buffy's hand and bringing up his fist.

"No wait!" Ethan pleaded, keen to escape the trouncing he knew was coming. "Perhaps you should try . . . saying it!"

"Why don't you just admit," Giles began, grabbing a fistful of Ethan's wet shirt, "that you don't have a bloody clue how to--"

"Giles?" Buffy's quiet voice interrupted. "I love you."

The stunning simplicity of those words had the power to change his world. Forgetting Ethan, Giles turned to Buffy with his heart in his throat. He had known her feelings, of course, but hearing her confess them aloud for the first time still took his breath away.

She found his gaze in the dim morning light, her expression never more sincere. "I love you with all my heart and soul."

For the longest moment, he simply held her honest hazel eyes with his own, robbed of his voice but not of his passion for her. It was something he had secretly longed to hear her say, and more recently, since deciphering the prophecy in the Codex, dreaded. She had almost admitted it the night before Halloween, in his living room, as they shared chocolate Kisses. Then, he had crushed her feelings out of necessity, but now . . . now the necessity had shifted to something completely different. In a heartbeat, he realized he didn't want to disappoint her again. If they were going to die on this bloody mountain, then, by God, she would not perish without hearing him say it, and mean it, with every fiber of his being.

"I love you, too. God help me . . . I have always loved you."

Hope lit Buffy's bruised and bloodied face, tears of joy welling in her eyes. Her expression spoke straight to his heart, and his answered in kind. Held captive by the look on her face, Giles felt his bracelet open and drop from his wrist, Buffy's following in quick succession. He swallowed the hard, raw lump of emotion in his throat, wondering if he had just made her the happiest woman on earth, or driven the final nail into her coffin.

'She will draw life from the one who watches and protects, and he will be her undoing.'

She closed the space between them in a single step, and, even as she fell into his waiting arms, Giles' heart broke with the knowledge that things must never go beyond the innocence of a simple embrace.

"Very touching," Ethan remarked off-handedly. He bent to retrieve the bracelets from the pine needles underfoot. "I'm so happy you finally found each other. Can we leave now?" He pulled back his arm, preparing to pitch the bracelets that had caused them so much grief, yet had brought them to this joyous conclusion, into the water.

"Wait, give me those!" Buffy abruptly ordered.

Reluctantly releasing her, Giles watched her take the bracelets. With their mystical catches now released, they looked like ordinary silver bracelets with ordinary latches and hinges. Evidentially, whatever magic held them in place, also concealed their workings but only while they were worn.

Taking care to keep them together or risk their electric bite, she said, "I've got an idea."

The GPS unit proved not only waterproof, but it floated as well. Using Giles' tuxedo bowtie, which miraculously still hung around his shirt collar, Buffy tied the bracelets to the tracking device and set the whole thing adrift in the babbling stream.

"That should buy us a little time," Giles agreed, watching the unit bob away in the running water. By the time the Xazax huntress and her party found it, they would be miles in the opposite direction. Or such was the plan.

"I just wish I knew how much," Buffy said doubtfully, taking his hand again. There was, of course, no need for her to maintain physical contact with him now or even keep in close proximity, but somehow it just felt right.

Giles looked down at her, drawing strength and confidence from the love in her eyes. Despite the strenuous nature of their ordeal, he felt revived by her nearness. Confessing his love had not been the disaster as previously dreaded, his courage rewarded with solace and fortitude never imagined possible. He squeezed her fingers and smiled, confident in his ability to love her as he had always loved her; unrequited and from afar, and thus without threat to her life.

"Enough," he promised.

His renewed determination strengthened the morale of his battered Slayer. Buffy may have been down, but she was definitely not out of this fight. To prove it, she drew her weary, injured self up to her full height, and then, as the first fingers of sunlight wandered lazily over the ridge above, she turned to find them an alternative way out of the ravine.