She ran through the shadows, panting heavily. Her head was down as she pumped her arms, pushing her body to the limit. She ran like the wind, crashing through bushes and brambles swiftly.

Yet the sounds grew closer.

She saw a light coming up closely, and veered for it. As she emerged onto the street, she slowed, coming to a stop. Her heart was racing, her knees trembling. She darted her glance around nervously, trying to catch sight of her pursuer. But there was nothing. She leaned over, placing her hands on her thighs. She closed her eyes, trying to stop the swirling sensations that were taking her over. Beadlets of sweat rolled down her neck, soaking her sweater.

Suddenly, a bush rustled.

She shot up, eyes wide and frightened, breath coming in short gasps. As she peered into the bushes, she saw eyes, like sparks of fire, gleaming at her. She tried to run, tried to get away. But her feet were rooted to the spot. A tear trickled down her cheek as the realization swept over her.

With a crunch and a crackle, the bushes parted. And she was swept into oblivion.

**

Giles groaned silently. He had been watching Buffy and Wesley verbally spar for at least three hours, and yet they still hadn't gotten anywhere. "You know, you could just have Willow dig deeper into the police files... there might be something you missed."

But there was no response. Buffy continued her infuriated pacing, while Wesley wrung his hands and worried.

"Four people."

"Yes, we've covered that."

"Don't you get it? Four people, and I haven't done a damn thing!"

"But we don't know what is causing it... research is in order."

"We've researched for hours already, and nothing!" Buffy randomly hit the table.

Sighing softly, Giles gazed lovingly at the door. His usual zest for research had been shot down by the two "official" fighters of evil lost in their confusion. He just wanted to go home, go for a walk, do anything that would not put his rear end to sleep and drive his mind to boredom caused death. As Wesley hunted through a random book, and Buffy smacked the railing, Giles decided that he wasn't needed at the moment.

Standing up quietly, he murmured a farewell. Neither the Slayer nor the Watcher heard him, nor did they see him disappear out the doors.

**

"Die die DIE!!!" Xander moved in his seat, unconciously becoming one with the character onscreen. Moving his fingers across the controls quickly, he howled with joy as Scorpion grabbed Rayden, shouting, "Get over here!"

"You aren't gonna beat me, Xan!" A statement with truth, as Xander's cousin Marcus lightning bolted Xander to death.

"No fair, man. You said no special finishing moves."

"Hee hee, I lied!"

"Why you..." Xander tackled his cousin, pinning the ten year old to the ground. He took his knuckles to Marcus' head, giving him a classically executed noogie. Marcus squealed, punching Xander in the chin. The two collapsed, laughing hysterically.

"Well, little bro, it looks like it's time for me to hit the road."

"Aww, man."

"Sorry, but your mom promised to kick my butt if I kept you up past your bedtime." Xander stood, straightening his corduroy pants. Heading for the foyer, he grinned at his cousin. "Next time, dude, rematch."

On the sound of his cousin's vows of vengeance, Xander stepped out the front door into the night air. He pushed his hands into his pockets, walking down the pavement to the sidewalk. Turning, he stared at his aunt's house, brightly lit.

His sigh was loud, floating on the air like a breeze.

Then he slowly turned towards home.

**

It rushed through the darkness, cold, swift, mind intent on one thing.

And it would not fail.

**

He always enjoyed the swirl of tequila into coffee. It was kind of psychadelic, the round loops of tawny on the milk addled brown. Giles wasn't a particular fan of coffee, especially the weak American instant, but he wouldn't profane tea with liquor.

As he stirred the brew, he absently listened to the news on TV. The anchor droned on and on about the recent crimes, showing clips of police discussing them, statistics, etc.

"The news is showing interest," he said dryly. "How quaint."

Taking a deep gulp of his dosed coffee, Giles wandered over to his chair. His eyes watched the screen blankly, taking in the same old information about the dead teens, the brutality, the yadda. He drank more of his coffee, feeling the heat as it went down his throat. He blinked, trying to rid himself of the fuzziness taking over.

"We plan on exploring every means necessary to stop whatever is commiting these horrible crimes."

Giles snickered. "I'm sure you will."

He mentally tuned out the television, focusing on his night with Xander. On how they had kissed, how they had touched each other, how he knew that Xander was *right*...

The TV continued to blare, it's lights flickering on Giles' face, reflecting off of his tears.

**

Xander trudged down the silent street, walking slowly towards home. His mind bounced from subject to subject, thinking of TV and college and laundry and paper towels and next month's issue of "Time". Bouncing from front to front, sliding thoughts over the mass that lurked beneath.

Giles.

He *knew* they had to stop. He knew that the one night they had was not to be repeated. He knew that everything they had was only to be kept in memories.

But that didn't stop him from wanting to go over to the apartment and tackle him. "Jump his bones," he whispered amusedly under his breath.

As he crossed a street, he smacked himself on the forehead. "Enough, you dork."

But the night itself seemed to whisper to him, taunt him, tempt him. Haunt him with visions, step on his mind with cleats. "Damn it. I'm good! I am trying!"

His eyes, bright with desperation, stared out at the invisible judge who tormented him. "Why can't ... stuff ... just leave me alone!"

Realizing that he was arguing with himself, he snorted. "Harris, ya monkey."

**

From the bushes, the creature stared. Saliva dripped from it's fangs, it's yellow eyes gleaming. Staring at the boy walking down the sidewalk, it growled.

It was time.

It parted the shrubbery, leaping out with the speed of a cheetah. It pounced, knocking the unsuspecting youth to the ground.

He didn't even have time to scream. His head hit the pavement with a solid crack, his limbs collapsing. He lay there, blood pooling beneath his head, unconcious.

The thing whipped a paw up, claws extended, ready to lash out.

"No."

The paw froze in midair.

"This is the one."

The man stood over the creature, staring at Xander's crumpled form. "Let's get him ready for delivery."

The creature took hold of the boy, dragging him into the night. The man held his ground for a moment, looking at the pool of blood. Kneeling down, he reached a hand out, tracing something on the pavement.

Finally, he stood, and followed the path of his beast.

**

Knocking filled the room, harsh and loud. Giles awoke from his stupor, shaking the sleep from his face. "Hold on, hold on, I'll be there in a minute."

He walked over to the door, throwing it open. His guest jumped a little at the bleary disarray of the Brit. "Giles... I saw something on patrol... you really need to see this..."

Giles looked at Buffy, disgruntled. "Okay, let me get my coat."

**

His eyes were blank, his heart cold. Buffy was saying something, lots of things, but he was only dimly aware of her. His whole being was focused on the words slashed out in blood on the pavement.

"Again, Rupert."

He staggered, falling to the ground, faintly realizing that Buffy was rushing to his side.

Then all went black.

**

Faces in the darkness, peering out at him, whispering.

His father. "Again, Rupert."

Faces, staring reproachfully at him. Angrily at him.

The Elder of the Council. "Again, Mr. Giles."

Sorrow.

Ethan. "Don't let them do it again."

**

The whip cracked on his back, over and over, sending ropes of pain through his body. He had curled into a ball, whimpering, trying to block out the pain. He sat on the cold floor, blindfolded, hearing nothing but the lashes and his own frightened breath. His naked skin beaded with sweat, his lip bleeding from the bite he had taken out of it. He cowered on the stone floor, his toes growing numb from the pressure, the ground slick with sweat of hours gone past. His back tingled harshly, his knees aching, and all he could see was *his* face.

"Giles," he whispered sadly, longingly.

The whip stopped.

Xander's ears perked up, listening for whatever had stopped the pain.

But he heard nothing, not even the whistling of the two by four as it slammed into his neck.

**

Giles' eyes fluttered open. "Xa-"

The confused look on Buffy's face quieted him. "Giles? What's going on?"

He stood shakily, finding his equilibrium. Ignoring Buffy, he began to walk dazedly in no specific direction. Mumbling to himself, he didn't notice that he was shaking. "All over again... no... I should have known... the dead kids... warning... oh god, I love you..."

Buffy laid a hand on his shoulder.

"I can't..." His voice broke, and the tears came. He sank to his knees, remembering...

~~

"He doesn't want to see you, Rupert."

"But Father..."

"No."

Frantic worry for Ethan filled his mind.

"But I..."

"You've done enough."

~~

Despair washed over Giles as he remembered the sterile whiteness. "Why did I have to be one of them?"

He looked at his hands, worn and shaking. They held no answer.

**

Xander opened his eyes, grateful at the lack of blindfold. He stared at the room, taking in it's every corner. Every homogenized, everyman corner. The room was generic, indistinguishable.

And he couldn't move. Chained down to a slab, he began to shiver. But yet no one came.

Suddenly, from behind him, a knife came whistling through the air.

And the room rang with his screams.

**

Giles lay at home, on his couch. Buffy, Willow, Wesley, they had all tried to reach him, tried to find what was eating his mind and silencing his soul. The two girls had tried to reach Xander, but to no avail. And Giles was no help. He wasn't with them.

His mind was somewhere else.

~~

"Xander... we shouldn't..."

"I don't care."

~~

Giles began to thrash on the sofa, moaning, his eyes rolling back in his head. Buffy ran over, trying to do something for him, her hands frantic. But she couldn't stop his convulsions. She could only watch as he suffered.

~~

"I do love you, Xander..."

"I... love you too."

~~

"Love..." Giles' voice was fragile as he shook. "I can't do this... No... no... NO!"

He sat up, eyes blazing. Buffy cringed back as Willow gasped. "Gi-Giles?"

He didn't answer, only glared at the air in front of him. A low growl emanated from his throat as he charged towards the door. But instead of leaving through the door, he stopped.

Buffy cautiously approached the motionless man, barely breathing. However, before she could reach him, a loud scream of anguish erupted from his throat.

Slamming a fist forward, he hit the wall, breaking into it.

"Oh god, Giles!" Buffy rushed over, putting her arms around him. His scream died down into a whimper as he withdrew his hand. His face collapsed into sobs, his bleeding, plaster dusted fist drawn close to his body.

**

The car drove swiftly up towards the apartment, black like the Meatwagon*, fast like the wind. It screeched to a silent halt in front of the building. From the inside, the door was thrown open, a bundle tossed roughly out onto the sidewalk. As it rolled, the car slammed shut, and drove away quickly.

A groan erupted from the bundle. It shifted some, creakily, then was still.

Up at the apartment, the door was thrown open. People came rushing out, Giles at the forefront. His eyes were hopeful, bright, yet tear stained. He ran towards the bundle, stumbling down the walkway. The others followed confusedly.

He reached the silent canvas wrapped heap on the sidewalk, and fell to his knees. His trembling fingers reached out for the folded cloth, his breath stilled. Anxiously, he pulled back the cloth.

"I'm so... sorry..."

Touching the battered cheek of his lover, his eyes crinkled sadly. Xander's breath came in sharp gasps, barely audible. His lips were bloody, parched, moving slightly. Tears dripped off of Giles' chin, falling freely onto the boy. A large blackish bruise spread over Xander's neck, contrasting horrifically with his pale skin.

Giles moved the canvas back some, exposing Xander's chest. He touched the cuts, as if for confirmation. He stared at the marks, transfixed. Stared at the words spelled out in deep cuts on the chest of the one he loved.

"One Of Us."

He held Xander gently, rocking, crying, not getting up. The others came over, upset, shocked, confused, but still he rocked.