Author's Notes: I updated with this chapter AND chapter 9 today, so make sure you read 9 before you read 10. We’re going to take a slight AU detour here, before we dive back into canon for “Into the Woods”. This chapter follows canon in that events are similar—which was a deliberate choice on my part—but the details are mostly different. And as they say, the devil is in the details…

Disclaimer: Buffy the Vampire Slayer and all recognizable characters, locations, and dialogue belong to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, and the various writers. Show writers and any other quoted authors have been credited in individual chapters. I'm making no money from this—it is purely in the name of fun.

Credits: This chapter contains dialogue from the episode "Listening to Fear" by Rebecca Rand Kirshner.

Betaed by Phuriedae

Banner by Phuriedae

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Chapter 10

Listening to Fear

The good news is that the tumor is operable. The bad news is we're going to have to wait a few days before they can actually operate. Luckily for me Riley and the others are cool with taking patrol, freeing me up so that I can spend as much time with mom as possible.

It's not so bad, actually, I mean, aside from the whole ‘my mom is in the hospital because she has a brain tumor’ thing. We spend a lot of time watching daytime TV, poking at the hospital food and making bets on what it used to be, and playing with the bed. The doctors have explained the whole operation in little words so we can understand. It's still scary, but at least I feel like we're going to be doing something.

There's a plan.

Plans are good.

The hospital people are being super nice about me staying with her through the night. When she settles down for a nap I go down to the commissary to get some coffee. When I come back, Mom's chewing something.

"Whatcha got?" I ask.

"Contraband," she says with a smile.

"Ooh," I say, sitting down in the chair beside her. "Have you been holding out on me? Gimme."

"Hey, this is my chocolate, young lady," she says, but she's laughing and handing me the box.

Mmmmm...double-chocolate caramel. Yum. "Who'd it come from?"

"A friend stopped by," she shrugs. "I wonder if there's a coconut one in here..."

We eat half the box before I notice her starting to nod off. I clean up the wrappers and stash the box under my bag where the nurses hopefully won't find it. The chair isn't that comfortable, but I've learned how to fall asleep pretty much anywhere.

***

When I wake up, I'm still fully clothed, and standing beside the bed in the dream room. I sit down and wait. It's not long before Mr. Gordo arrives.

"My stomach is better," I tell him, as he approaches. "No more leaky Buffy. I've been sitting in a hospital room almost all day, though, and I think my legs are starting to atrophy. Can we spar, or something? I really need to move."

Yes, he taps. He moves off again, away from the bed. Carefully I follow.

"Okay," I'm thinking, trying to decide how best to do this. "I guess... we start slow? Really slow?"

Yes.

I relax, assuming a fighting stance. I can sense him nearby, just out of range. I try to concentrate on the tingles, on what they're telling me.

When he hits me, he pulls the punch, his fist just barely grazing my cheek. It startles me. I thought I'd feel it coming, but I didn't. I lash out with a leg, to kick him, aiming for where I think his head is, but he's gone and I miss. The move unbalances me, sending me to the cold stone floor.

"Ow," I say, standing up. "Okay, that bruised my ego."

We try again.

And again.

Each time he manages to evade, while still managing to land hits. I hit the floor enough times that I know I'm going to be a walking bruise in the morning. I haven't felt this clumsy since ... well since before I was the Slayer.

"Okay, what am I doing wrong?" I ask, picking myself up again. It's rhetorical; obviously I don't expect him to answer. He surprises me, though. He steps up behind me and touches my arms. It's not a hold; so I don't break it, just wait to see what he'll do. Gently he positions my arms and hands, so I'm in a more defensive pose. He taps me on the shoulder to let me know he wants me to hold the position, then moves around in front of me.

This time I feel him punch in slow motion. When it connects, he uses his other hand to show me how to move, how to block, hold, and hit back all in one smooth movement. Then he repeats it from the beginning. It takes a couple of tries, but I catch on.

Blind, I have to try to hold my position. I also have to let him connect, so that I know where he is, and then use that to my advantage, slipping in under his guard. I don't have a stake, but my fist planted against his chest becomes our signal for a staking, and if I hit right, he backs off. His hands at my throat or around my head are his signal that he's killed me, and I back off. He's very careful not to bring his fangs near my throat, for which I'm really grateful.

After awhile I relax more, letting my muscle memory take over. We speed up a bit, and don't pull our punches as much. He manages to land a few to my face that I know are going to be hard to explain in the morning. I get in a few to his nose, and at least one to his eye.

He doesn't talk, of course, which isn't unusual for a vampire. Most of the fledglings aren't big talkers either. He does growl, and gives off little puffs of unneeded breath now and then. When I hit his nose, he snarled a little the first time, but after that he didn’t make any noise. I start to listen carefully to the sounds of his feet on the floor, to the little whistle of air that precedes a punch, to the whisper of fabric when he moves.

It's still an uneven fight. Since I’m blind here, but he’s not, I’m at a serious disadvantage. He "kills" me at least three times for every one time I manage to "stake" him, but by the time I'm exhausted I feel better, like I've accomplished something.

Oddly, it's the best workout I've had in months. If I can manage this, my reflexes are going to be incredible. Giles won't be able to even touch me during training.

"Wow," I gasp. "That was... really good." He waits ‘til I'm standing again, then escorts me back to the bed. "We definitely have to do that again." He gives my elbow a squeeze, then lets go and moves around to his side.

I'm feeling a lot more confident about this. He could have killed me more than a dozen times over tonight, but he never even tried. Hell, now that I know how hard it is to fight when you’re really, totally blind? He could have killed me at any time over the last few months. But he hasn’t even tried. As dream vamps go, Mr. Gordo is a total gentleman. There's probably an oxymoron in there somewhere. I'm just hoping the moron isn't me.

***

When I wake up, it's because the nurse has come in to check on my mom's IV. I yawn and stretch, half expecting to feel the pull and ache of tired, bruised muscles.

It doesn't come.

Huh.

Without waking my mom, I excuse myself and slip into the little private bathroom area off of her room. Under the fluorescent lights I examine every inch of my face in the mirror, looking for any telltale bruising from last night's session. There's nothing.

It really was a dream.

A very freaky, detailed dream that I have every night... but the evidence is pretty conclusive.

Just a dream.

Weirdly, I'm kind of disappointed.

***

Willow arrives bearing gifts: a beerhat for my mom, which makes us laugh, and the course catalog for next semester for me.

"I'm not even sure if I'll be able to go back," I say, flipping through it. A couple of classes catch my eye, though, and I can't help but pause to go over the descriptions.

"Well," Mom says, sounding more optimistic than I feel, "We'll know in a few days how the surgery goes. With any luck I'll be back on my feet before Christmas."

"Registration is still open for a few more weeks," Willow says. "You don't have to decide yet."

"Honey, I want you to go back. I really hate that you've missed out on school so much this semester in order to take care of me," Mom's got her serious face on.

"I know," I say. "I want to go back. But if I do, I'm going to stay at home. No dorm rooms until I'm sure you're healthy again, lady." I point at her in mock seriousness. She smiles, then grimaces. "Headache?"

"Just a little one," she says, then winces again. "Biggish little one. I'm fine. What else is in the bag?"

Willow fishes the last present out and hands it to me. "A yo-yo for hardworking Buffy."

"Thank you, tiny Jewish Santa," I say with a grin.

"If I'd wanted rum, I'd have asked for it!" Mom exclaims suddenly. Then she looks confused. So does Willow. "I... I think I'm going to take a nap now," Mom says.

Willow and I go out into the hallway.

"Okay... what just happened?" Willow asks, looking uncomfortable and nervous—exactly how I feel.

I sigh, leaning back against the wall. "The doctor said that the cancer is pushing on parts of her brain, which can make her say weird things. But it's just, like, a flash."

"And after the surgery," Willow asks, "no more pressure?"

"Right. So, just... you know, if she says something weird, it's kinda normal. As normal as it can be, anyway."

***

Willow and I head down to the cafeteria and grab some lunch. The food here is marginally better than what they feed my mom—but only because I get to stick to the fruits and salads. Meat, by the way, should never wiggle.

"You look tired," Willow says as we grab a table.

"I am, a little. I haven't been getting much sleep, honestly," I say, peeling my orange in one big spiral.

"Worried?"

"Mostly."

"Weird dreams?" she asks.

"Not Slayer dreams, no, but...," I'm strangely reluctant to talk about Mr. Gordo. Somehow I think Willow would freak if she found out that I was still dreaming about him. "Just weird."

She nods.

"How was patrol last night?" I ask. Look, a shiny new change of subject!

"Oh! Good! I staked two vamps! In a row!"

"Go, Willow!" I say, meaning it. "What about the guys?"

"Oh," and she's suddenly grinning. "Giles and Xander were getting beat up on like little girls. I had to save them. They were all, POW and then with the... the slamming into the crypt and then I was all... whoosh! and POOF goes the vamps!" I laugh and it feels like ages since I've had a real laugh.

"How'd Riley do?"

Suddenly Willow looks uncomfortable. "Oh, Riley. He... he didn't actually... he kinda... wasn't there."

"Where was he?" I ask, frowning. She shrugs and picks at the tab on her can of diet Coke.

"I don't know, he just... never showed up. We figured he must have forgot, you know? Or maybe... maybe he got busy?" she adds, hopefully.

Huh. Riley never forgets patrolling. Weird.

***

Mom is totally going crazy being stuck in the hospital.

I think the surroundings are making her more agitated, because the last few days she's been having more and more weird moments. She calms down, though, when she finally convinces the doctor that she wants to go home until the surgery.

I’m in total agreement. Hospitals give me the wig. I’d much rather do my waiting at home, where I can be comfortable and not have to look at Mr. Thompson, down the hall, who is ninety years old and likes to walk around with his hospital gown flapping open, exposing lots of things that are wrinkly and sagging. Sometimes I think it might not be such a bad thing to be selectively blind.

"It'll be more work for you," the doctor tells me, but I'm totally on it. I can do this. It’s much better than sitting around, feeling useless.

It takes forever to check out. There's a ton of paperwork, not to mention instructions on how to monitor my mom's condition, getting all her medicine and when to give it to her. By the time we're finished we're both exhausted.

Somehow I manage to drive us home in one piece. The lights seem to hurt her eyes so I turn off as many as I can, then get her upstairs and tucked in bed.

Once she’s settled in, I come downstairs and turn on the TV. I have no idea what I'm watching, but I'm not ready to sleep yet. I'm still wired from all the coffee, and too worried about my mom to sleep. I don't know how long I sit there, zoning out, before I hear the noises in the kitchen.

"Mom? What are you doing?" I ask, stepping into the kitchen. There's something on the stove smoking, and I hurry to pull it off the burner.

"I'm making breakfast," she says, angrily. "And you shouldn't eat anymore, you're disgustingly fat."

Okay, ouch. That hurt. I know it's just the brain thingie talking but...

"Oh, Buffy," she says, suddenly normal again. "I... I don't know what I'm doing."

"It's okay," I tell her. "You just need some rest. Let's get you back to bed."

Once more I help her upstairs and tuck her in. "Sleep now," I tell her, and she nods like a little kid.

"Okay," she says.

Slowly I make my way downstairs and into the kitchen. I gather up all the dirty dishes and pile them in the sink, then turn on the radio to some Mexican station and start scrubbing.

I'm not even sure when I start crying.

It just happens.

***

After awhile I wipe my face and turn off the water. That's when I hear it: a low moan from upstairs. Snapping off the radio, I run upstairs, thinking that mom's in pain.

I'm totally surprised when I open the door and find a demon sitting on her chest. He's small and squat and ugly, covered in hair, and he's leaning over her like he's whispering something. Her eyes are wide open, staring at the ceiling, and she’s whimpering and moaning like she’s in the middle of a horrible dream.

"Get off my mom, you ugly little freak," I launch myself at it and it dives away, skittering into a shadow then out the door. I pause just long enough to see that mom's still breathing, then go after it.

I manage to kick it down the stairs, but it takes off into the shadows again. It’s long dark hair blends in, and it’s small enough that it can hide behind the furniture. I can feel it, somewhere nearby, and I realize that my demon sense has been going wild for a while now. I sneak into the kitchen and grab a knife out of the block.

There's a light on in the basement, and the stairs suddenly creak.

When the door swings open, though, I'm not all that surprised to see...

"Spike?"

He's looking around, his head cocked to the side as if listening. "Yeah... do you hear something?"

"What the hell are you doing in my house?" I demand.

He looks as if he wants to say something. His mouth works for a minute, then clenches tight. Finally he says, "Right then, caught me. Your basement's full of junk and... me being in need of junk..."

"You were stealing?"

"Well, yeah," he says, as if he thinks I’m dumb. "Can't exactly work at the Burger Barn, can I?"

He's got something in his hand, a battered journal that I'd seen him scribbling in before. I want to ask him what it is, but just then I hear something moving behind me.

When I turn, the demon is flying toward us. In the moonlight coming in through the windows I get a better look at it. It's like a really short, really hairy, really ugly lawn gnome. It dives at Spike, as if angry. Spike yells, startled, then snarls at it. The demon snarls back then jumps toward me.

It's surprisingly strong. We both hit the floor and I grapple with it, trying to ignore the stinky breath and greasy fur as it pins me to the floor. "Ugh, what are you?"

Suddenly my head is filled with images.

...I’m standing in front of a grave, late at night. The headstone... oh god, it’s my mom’s headstone. “I’m so sorry, mom,” I whisper, leaning down to put flowers on the grave. A dead hand claws up through the dirt, wearing my mother’s rings...

...Angel steps out of the shadows, grinning. There’s something in his arms... a body. My mom’s body. Her throat has been torn out...

...Riley looks back at me once, sadly. Then he slowly starts walking away. With every step away from me, he becomes more and more inhuman. He’s growing demon parts. No...

With a wrench, the thing is flung off of me, over against the wall. It screams and lurches toward me again, but Spike is pummeling it as best he can, given the height difference. It's squirmy, though, and it dodges past him, flinging itself back at me. I scramble backward, scooting along the floor toward the door.

"Buffy!" Spike yells, tossing me the knife. I catch it, and manage to stab the demon as it throws itself on me. It screams, and I stab again. Every time it touches me I get a flicker of another nightmare, though they quickly fade whenever I stab it. Finally Spike reaches us and grabs the demon’s head and gives it a neck-breaking wrench to the side. He throws it off me. It lands in the foyer and doesn't move.

Panting, for a moment Spike and I just look at each other. Then he holds out a hand.

Without thinking about it too much, I take it and let him help me to my feet. His hand is big, strong and cool against mine. We stare at each other, frowning a little.

Did Spike just—

Then the door opens and Riley walks in.

He does that military thing where he takes in the scene in one glance: me with the blood-covered knife in one hand, and holding Spike's hand with the other; the dead demon on the floor; the mess from the fight in the kitchen.

"Are you okay?" Riley asks me.

Am I okay?

Oh, crap. Mom.

I let go of Spike and go rushing up the stairs. Last thing I hear from downstairs is Spike. "You missed a real nice time," he drawls.

***

"Mom," I ask, pushing the door open, "are you okay?"

"What was it, honey?" she asks, looking at me groggily. Oh, thank god she’s okay. Relief nearly makes my knees buckle. I’d never forgive myself if I’d brought her home and something had happened to her. What was I thinking?

"I don't know,” I tell her. “Some kind of demon. But it's dead now. I killed it."

"I was having the worst dreams," she tells me. "I dreamt... I was invisible, somehow, and...you were on this tower and going to jump and I kept wanting to tell you not to. But you wouldn't listen."

"Shh," I say. "It's okay. I promise. There's no tower and no way I'd jump off it even if there was one." I sit down on the bed beside her and squeeze her hand.

"You promise?" she says.

"I promise."

"Okay, well, what about the other dream, where you were running an army of Slayers?"

"So not gonna happen. Seriously. Can you really see me wearing a general's uniform?"

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