Title: When I Lay Me Down to Sleep
Author: Neena

Rating: FRAO
Pairing: Giles/Buffy
Feedback: Pretty please? I’m an addict!
Disclaimer: The characters and Buffyverse belong to Joss Whedon, Fox, Mutant Enemy, etc. This little ficlet is for fun only.
Setting: Season 3, before Angel and Faith come into play. Buffy’s in school, though.
Summary: Everybody needs to sleep, but even sleeping can be dangerous when you live on a Hellmouth.
Warning: Non-consensual sex. Violence.

Archivist's Note: I don't usually include fic this dark - or with sex before Buffy's 18th birthday - in this archive, but the sensitive issues in this story have been handled very well. It's a little blacker than I usually like my arts, but Neena's really done a great job with this fic. Please enjoy...

Buffy really didn’t like this. It was way creepy how human this demon looked. Only its glowing violet eyes gave it away. Well, that and its super-human strength, of course. She dodged as the very normal-looking man (but, no, he’s not a man) swung his sword at her.

The demon was strong, but his technique sucked. Buffy slammed him into a tree, and the startled look on its face was, again, uncomfortably human. He quickly recovered and charged her again, missing her by at least an arm’s length.

“Are you even trying?” she asked.

The demon spun around and growled at her, but with his youthful and innocent-looking human face, he just couldn’t pull it off.

“Oh, please! I’ve seen scarier game-faces on teddy bears.”

The demon swung his blade wildly at her, and she easily avoided the blows. When he’d tired himself out, she gave him a solid round-house kick to the chest that sent him flying. Buffy strolled over to the pathetically sprawled demon and picked up the sword he’d dropped. She stood over him, ready to plunge the weapon into his chest. Anytime now, he’ll turn into Mr. Big ‘n Ugly, and the real fight will start. The demon merely stared up at her, motionless. Or not.

“Would you like your sword back?” Buffy rammed the thick blade into the demon’s heart, and he grinned up at her.

“Thank-you, Slayer,” he said, and promptly combusted into a large cloud of heavy, purple smoke. Buffy coughed, trapped in the cloud of foul-smelling demon vapours.

“Ewww. I’ll never get this smell out of my hair…and what do you mean, ‘thanks’? That’s great. I’ve really got to remember to ask the questions before I slay them.”

Buffy pounded her clothes, trying to get the smoke out of them, but it was useless. Covered in a purple soot, she made her way home, avoiding the populated areas.

It took a good half an hour under the hot spray of the shower before Buffy finally felt clean. It was like the soot had seeped deep into her pores. Even now, looking at herself in her bedroom mirror, she could still see the faintest tint of purple in her usually pinkish tones.

“Stupid demon,” she said, and yawned hugely. The hot shower had sapped her of all her energy—all she wanted to do was crawl under her covers and let sleep claim her.

An insistent knocking at his door awoke Rupert Giles from a deep sleep. He felt around on his bedside table for his glasses and slipped them on. His clock read 3:43 am. Feeling a jolt of alarm, Giles swung his legs out of bed and grabbed his housecoat from the bedpost.

He hurried down the stairs—the pounding on the door hadn’t let up, and soon his nosy neighbour would be calling to complain. Quickly tying his housecoat, he peered through the door’s small window. It was Buffy. She looked downright impatient, which irked him. Did she have no idea what time it was?

Giles opened the door, intending on giving Buffy a verbal lashing for making such a racket in the middle of the night. But before he could open his mouth, she charged in, shoving him so hard against the wall it knocked the wind out of him. She slammed the door behind her, then advanced on him like a panther stalking its prey.

“Buffy! What on Earth…” he lost his train of thought when Buffy grabbed the lapels of his housecoat, pulling it roughly over his shoulders to reveal his bare chest. Giles was too shocked to move—too shocked to even form words. Buffy’s small but powerful hands were roaming through the hairs on his chest, slowly following the hairline downwards.

Before she could explore too far south, Giles collected his wits and pushed her away. He quickly readjusted his housecoat and backed his way into the dark living room. Buffy prowled after him, closing the gap between them with a devilish grin on her face.

Giles bumped up against the couch—with no more room to back away, he held up his hand, signalling her to stop. She kept coming.

“Buffy—what are you doing? Is this some kind of joke? Because I don’t think it’s funny.” She was right in front of him. “I want you to stop this right now. Do you hear me?”

Buffy yanked the glasses off his face and flung them over her shoulder. As they clattered to the ground with a tinkling of broken glass, Giles looked at his slayer with a burgeoning fear. She was not playing games—she was deadly serious.

“Buffy, talk to me,” he demanded.

She pushed him again, throwing him off balance so he fell back onto the couch. She was on him in an instant, pinning him against the cushions with a strength he couldn’t hope to match. Her mouth crushed his, her tongue prying his lips apart to invade him. Giles struggled to free himself from her grasp, but she held him firmly in place.

This can’t be happening. Why is she doing this to me? Giles’ mind was in a frenzy trying to deal with the insane turn his life had just taken.

Buffy pulled back from Giles’ bruised lips and ripped his housecoat open. He stared up at her in utter confusion, breathing so fast he thought he would hyperventilate. There was no compassion in her countenance—just a hunger so base and cold that it froze him to the core.

She moved further down his body, yanking the housecoat away, then started in on his pyjama bottoms.

Giles sat up in panic; “Buffy, no! Please don’t do this.”

Ignoring him, she pulled the bottoms down his legs until he lay naked beneath her. He scrambled to the other end of the couch, kicking at her in his attempt to get away. He managed to get halfway to the telephone before Buffy landed heavily on his back, effortlessly flipping him over onto the floor. Her eyes glinted oddly in the dim light as she smiled almost demurely at him.

“You know this is going to happen. You can’t fend me off—don’t even bother trying. Just lie back and let it happen, and I promise I’ll let you live. Sound like a deal?”

“Why…” he started.

Buffy struck him hard across the face, bringing stinging tears to his eyes and an angry red mark to his cheek. She wagged her finger at him. “No more talking.”

She raked her nails down his chest, raising welts in their wake and drawing blood in a few places. Buffy’s small, cool hand grasped his flaccid penis and began to stroke him. Giles cringed and turned his head away, mortified to find that his treacherous body was responding to her caresses.

She continued to massage him until he was fully erect, then she stood over him and removed her shoes and pants. Now naked from the waist down, Buffy crawled on top of her watcher. Taking his hard penis in her hand, she guided it into her hot, wet opening.

Giles squeezed his eyes shut, trying to block out what was happening to him. Buffy’s hips rose and fell again and again, plunging his shaft deep inside her. Her movements grew more rapid and frantic as she ground her pelvis against him with increasing force. Then, with a fierce growl, she flung her head back. Giles felt the walls of her vagina spasm around his penis as she came. The orgasm seemed to surprise her—she looked down at him, stunned and elated all at once. Soon she was riding him with renewed vigour, gasping and moaning as the sensitive nub of her clitoris rubbed against him.

Despite his efforts to fight it, Giles’ body had kicked into auto-pilot and his own orgasm shook him just as Buffy was reaching her second one. Buffy fell on top of him, and she gripped him by the jaw forcing him to look at her.

“There, now. That wasn’t so bad, was it? I know I enjoyed it.” Buffy climbed off him and got dressed.

Giles sat up and pulled his legs up to his chest, hugging them tightly.

“Sweet dreams,” she said, and strode out of his apartment, banging the door closed after her.

Giles sat there in the darkness until the first grey light of dawn crept its way into his living room. Numb from shock, he finally stood up on two rubbery legs and weaved his way to the bathroom.

He stood staring at his reflection in the mirror—the darkening bruise on his cheek and the welts down his chest blaring reminders of his recent encounter with his slayer. He’d read in some of the watcher’s diaries how some slayers had turned violently against their watchers. But then, having read those diaries, he’d thought those slayers had been justified—the council’s methods often tended towards the cruel when it came to training the slayers. Giles had always considered his relationship with Buffy to be one of mutual trust and respect…so why had she turned on him? Had he done something to set her off?

Giles stepped into the shower, making the water as hot as he could stand. He scrubbed his skin until it was pink and raw, and then he continued to scrub until it became painful.

As he towelled himself off, he thought about the day ahead and his heart plummeted. How could he go to that school today and face Buffy’s friends? How could he face Buffy? He toyed with the idea of calling in sick, but that wouldn’t solve anything, and he really didn’t want a confrontation with Snyder right now. He did his best to push these thought from his mind, focusing his attention on the mundane rituals of getting ready for work.

Giles arrived at work late, hoping to find the library student-free. He sighed with relief—he was alone. The morning passed uneventfully. Like most days, the routine of the library soothed him, and for brief moments, when he was busy indexing or cataloguing, he was able to forget what happened the night before.

He was lost in one of those moments when the door of the library swung open. Giles felt a jolt of dread at the sight of Buffy and Willow chatting cheerfully as they entered the room.

“…and then whoosh! Purpleness. A stinky world of purpleness.” Buffy dropped her books on the table with a thunk, then hopped up and sat on the table next to them.

“And it said ‘thank-you’?” Willow asked in disbelief.

“Mm hm. It’s nice to know someone appreciates the work I do around here.” She turned to Giles who stood as rigid as a statue, a stack of index cards held firmly in his hands. “Giles? You okay?”

“Looks like you saw some action last night,” said Willow, causing Giles to gape at her in horror. She pointed to her cheek; “Something whacked you pretty hard on the face,” she added in explanation.

Giles turned his eyes on Buffy, trying to gauge her reaction. She hopped off the table and walked towards him. He backed away from her instinctively, even though, rationally, he knew she would never do anything in front of Willow.

She reached her hand out to touch his cheek and he flinched away. Buffy looked at him, concerned and somewhat puzzled. If she didn’t know any better, she’d have sworn he was frightened of her—he was breathing too fast, and his eyes darted around the room as if he was looking for an escape route.

Willow appeared at her side, also looking at him with concern. “What happened to your glasses?” she asked, noticing he was wearing his old pair instead of the new ones.

Again, Giles studied Buffy for a reaction, but he saw no indications of guilt, or even knowledge. He was taken aback by her flippant behaviour. One thing was certain; she was a damn site better at acting than she let on at the talent show.

“I-I’m fine. Honestly,” he said, hoping it sounded more sincere to their ears than it did to his. “I tripped down the stairs last night—broke my glasses. Nothing serious, I assure you.”

“You really should be more careful,” said Buffy. She seemed to accept his explanation on faith. After all, why would he lie? Willow, however, watched him a little longer, clearly not satisfied with his answer.

Giles shifted uncomfortably under her scrutiny. Willow was a dangerously perceptive girl—keeping her out of this was going to be a problem.

“Wh-what were you saying when you came in? A purple demon, or something?” Thankfully, Willow took the bait and proceeded to tell Buffy’s slayage story.

“…and then whoosh!…purpleness,” she finished. “I don’t really know what that part means.”

“It means the demon guy turned into a stinky purple cloud of smoke. I had to throw out my favourite shirt,” she grinned widely.

“Wow, Buff—you’re taking the loss surprisingly well,” said Willow.

“I can’t help it. I woke up this morning feeling like a totally new person. I swear, I feel more relaxed and happy than I have since…” she blushed remembering that the last time she’d felt this good was right after she’d been with Angel. “Well, let’s just say it’s been a while.”

Giles coughed nervously and tried to squeeze past the girls. Buffy suddenly shot her arm out to stop him. He blanched visibly and backed off a few steps. Willow eyed him, thoughtfully.

“Where are you going?” asked Buffy. “Aren’t you going to say something about Mr. Purple? Don’t you think it’s kinda weird?”

Willow couldn’t help noticing that Giles hadn’t yet made eye contact with Buffy. He was not acting normal…then it struck her—she’d seen this kind of behaviour before, when Xander would take refuge at her place on those nights when his father’s drinking got out of hand. She studied Giles, who was inching his was closer to his office. She knew he needed help, but would he let her help him?

“I-I’ll look into the purple demon, if you want, but, by the sounds of it, I don’t think we have anything to worry about.”

“So…good! No apocalypse scheduled for this week. Hey! This would be a good time to get in that extra training you’re always pestering me about. What do you say we get in some hand-to-hand after school?”

“No! I mean, tonight’s not good for me. I’ve made other plans. Why don’t you take the night off?”

Buffy positively beamed at him. “Wow! I thought I’d never see the day you’d turn down a chance to do some extra training. Last chance to change your mind…Nope? Okay, then, it’s the Bronze for me tonight. You gonna come, Will?”

Willow looked from one friend to the other—Buffy bubbling over with energy, and Giles more off-balance than she’d ever seen him. The decision was easy. “I wish I could, Buff, but—you know—gotta study. I’m sure the others will be there, though.”

Buffy pouted half-heartedly. “Party poop.” Grabbing her books, she made a bee-line for the door. “See you later. And thanks, Giles!” She was gone.

“Well then…” said Giles from the doorway of his office, “I’d best get started on that research.”

“Giles,” said Willow nervously. She wasn’t sure how he would handle a confrontation. With Xander it was easy—they’d known each other since playschool—but Giles was an unknown entity.

“Yes, Willow?” It was clear that he wanted nothing more than to slip quietly into his office and be alone, but Willow was determined to get to the bottom oh this.

“Is there something wrong?” Oh, brilliant, Will. That’ll really get him to open up.

“Wrong? No, there’s nothing wrong. Sorry—I’d love to chat, but I really should do some research.” He ducked into his office, but before he could close the door, she’d slipped into the room with him.

“Willow, this really isn’t a good time…” his voice trembled slightly.

“That much is obvious. Are you going to tell me what happened?” He had that trapped animal look, and Willow wasn’t sure how much further she should push him. This was the man who used to be Ripper, after all.

Giles fought to control his emotions. He sat calmly in his chair, pulled a book off the shelf at random and started flipping through it.

“Giles?”

“I’m busy, Willow.”

Willow came up to him and turned the book over in his hand so he was no longer reading it upside-down. She raised an eyebrow at him.

“Haven’t you got a class you need to go to?”

“Nope. It’s Monday—I’ve got a free period after lunch, remember?”

“Look, I don’t want to seem rude, but I’d rather be alone right now.”

“No.”

“No?”

“I’m not leaving until you talk to me.” She crossed her arms and stood in front of him resolutely.

Giles sighed, removing his glasses so he could rub the bridge of his nose; “Alright, if that’s what it takes to get some privacy, I’ll talk. What do you want to know?”

“Well, for starters, how’d you get that shiner? And don’t tell me you fell—I didn’t believe that the first time.”

“If you really must know, I had a run-in with a demon last night, but as you can see, I’m fine.”

“And was this demon named Buffy?”

Giles snapped his head up and gawked at her.

“Come on, Giles, I’m not blind. You were acting like she was radioactive out there. Did the two of you have a fight?”

“No.”

“But she hit you.”

Damn it. Why won’t she just let it go? Is she going to keep picking at the wound until it bleeds?

“Giles…?”

“Giles?” she tried again.

“Just leave me alone!” he snapped.

“Did she hit you?”

“Willow…” he growled.

“Did she hit you?”

“Yes. Alright? Yes, she hit me. She threatened to kill me unless…unless I…” Giles hid his face in his hands, unable to go on.

Willow, shaken by the power of the emotions she’d unleashed, reached out tentatively and lay her hand on his shoulder. He jumped at the touch, but didn’t pull away.

“Unless what, Giles? What happened?”

Giles drew in a ragged breath and looked up at Willow. He couldn’t possible tell her what her best friend had done to him. He had a hard enough time believing it himself.

She looked back at him, her large brown eyes encouraging him. To his horror, he felt hot tears forming in his eyes and a heavy lump squeezing his throat tight. Willow drew Giles close and stroked his back as he buried his face against her stomach. His arms went around her small waist, clinging to her as silent sobs racked his body.

Willow responded to his pain with tears of her own, and she hugged him tighter. What could Buffy have done to him to hurt him so deeply?

“Oh, God,” she said, putting the pieces together. “She didn’t…she couldn’t have! Did she—did she rape you?”

Giles pulled away from her, his whole body stiffening defensively. He nodded, avoiding her eyes.

“Giles, are you sure? I mean—we’re talking Buffy here. Our Buffy. Are you sure it was her?”

He gave a small, mirthless laugh. “Oh, it was her alright. I only wish to God it wasn’t.” He wiped his eyes and suddenly stood up. “I’m sorry, Willow—I can’t do this.” Grabbing his glasses, Giles rushed out of his office and didn’t look back.

Willow stood alone and dumbfounded in the little room. It was unthinkable. She didn’t know what to believe.

That night at The Bronze, Willow slipped in unnoticed and watched as Buffy danced and laughed and had an altogether great time with Xander and Cordelia. She seemed to be acting pretty guilt-free to Willow. In fact, she hadn’t looked this guilt-free since she’d returned to Sunnydale.

Willow was about to high-tail it out of there when Buffy spotted her and waved her over. Xander, who was busy dancing with Cordelia, smiled at her and waved. It looked like she would have to face Buffy whether she wanted to or not. Willow picked her way through the crowd and shouted her ‘hello’s’ over the blaring music.

“I thought you had to study,” yelled Buffy as she continued to dance.

Willow stood, fidgeting with her sleeves. “Actually, I needed to talk with you. Can we go outside?”

Buffy took one look at her friend and knew something was up. “Sure, Will.” She mimed to Xander that she was going, and he mimed back ‘okay’.

They stepped out into the alley, and the door shut on The Bronze, muffling the din of shouted voices and music.

“What’s up?” asked Buffy.

Willow knew she had to tread carefully. This was like a Buffy mine field—one false move and the whole thing could blow up in her face.

“Last night…Buffy, did you tell me everything that happened? I mean, you can tell me anything. You know that, don’t you?”

“Of course I know that,” she answered, not liking where this was heading. “Are you alright, Willow? Did something happen that I should know about? ‘Cause, first Giles freaks out on me, and now you’re acting all wiggy.”

Willow looked into her eyes and was convinced Buffy was innocent. But still, she had to ask: “So you really have no idea why Giles was upset today?”

“No…but then, Giles has never been big on opening up. Why? Do you think he’s in trouble?”

Her concern was genuine, Willow was sure of it. But what did that mean? Giles’ suffering was just as genuine. The only thing she knew for certain was that she didn’t have enough information to prove anything. She needed some time to sort things out—things would be clearer in the morning.

“Forget it,” she said. “I was probably just reading too much into it.”

Buffy thought there was more to it than Willow was letting on, but the beat coming from The Bronze was calling out to her, and she so desperately needed to have a little fun.

Seeming to sense what Buffy was thinking, Willow smiled a little smile and said, “Go on. Go have some quality fun time. I’m sorry I dragged you out over nothing.”

“Aren’t you coming back in?”

“Naw. Studying—remember?”

“If it’ll make you feel better, I’ll talk with Giles tomorrow; see if I can find out what’s bugging him.”

“No! Don’t do that! You know how he is—you’ll just embarrass him. I think it’s best if we leave him alone for now.”

“If you think so,” said Buffy.

Willow nodded, inwardly sighing with relief.

“Okay, then. I’m gonna head back in. See you tomorrow?”

“You bet.”

Buffy opened the door and disappeared into the deafening world of The Bronze.