Don't Feed the Plants.

Part Three

If you wanna be profound
And you really gotta justify
Take a breath and look around
A lot of folks deserve to die …

The plant might have looked like a psychedelic orchid on speed, but it had the scent of a stinking corpse lily and the manners of a drunken slut.  Having discovered – by dint of playful experiment and a teasing tug or two - that its victim was firmly secured to the racking, and that it couldn’t just yank him free and swallow him whole, it had decided to spin out the experience instead, swaying into place beneath him to catch the slow drip, drip of his blood.  What Giles needed to do was catch his breath; the momentary tug of war had left him dizzy and disorientated – not to mention gasping with almost overwhelming pain.  He could no longer feel his fingers, and the numbness was working its way down his arms, battling with the stabbing protests of his wrenched joints and the teeth-gritting sear of ripped and torn skin.

He closed his eyes for a moment, feeling the world spin around him.  He really had to stop getting into these kind of situations; tricked into lying on a guillotine, hung up to be sacrificed for the Master’s return …

At least this time, he was hands up and feet down, although that really wasn’t much of an improvement; nor was being a tug-toy for a man-eating plant – especially one that seemed to be taking so much pleasure in his undignified distress.

“Shit,” he heard someone exclaim, echoing a number of his current sentiments.  It took him a moment to realise that it had been Xander – and by the time the implications of that had found a foothold in the fuzziness of his thoughts, Buffy was speaking, her crisp, defiant voice both a terror and a delight to hear. 

“Now, aren’t you a feisty one,” the plant chuckled below him.  The thick choking scent of it surged up – and so did the creature itself, assaulting him with an obscene caress of its ‘tongue’, painting him with stinging digestive juices and slurping at him as if he were a stick of seaside rock.

Giles shuddered and then regretted it, since even that was enough to stir fresh protests from his body, adding to the agony of his situation.  He heard Willow’s angry protests through a haze of pain – but that was enough to focus his thoughts with a vengeance; it was bad enough Buffy was there, readying herself to fight this thing, but she was the Slayer.  This was what she was destined to do.  She had supernatural strength and speed on her side.  Xander and Willow were only human.

Adrenaline kicked in, helping him to shake free of his pain-induced daze.  He blinked blood from his eyes, and took advantage of a moment’s respite from the plant’s hungry attentions to take a wary look around, trying to assess his situation.

Buffy was busy dancing, her opponents a whole slew of animate and agitated vines that slithered and slapped around her.  She was doing a pretty good job of avoiding their smash, grab, tease and tug style of assault, but she wasn’t making a lot of headway.  For every length of vine that hit the dirt, courtesy of a well-wielded axe, another two took its place; she was being directed, driven away from the rest of her friends – and she was no closer to the creature’s central mass than she had been when standing in the doorway.

Willow and Xander were still there, their attentions apparently focused on Kellman for the moment.  The plant seemed to be ignoring them both, something for which he was decidedly grateful.  It wouldn’t last, though, and he knew it.  The monster was playing with Buffy, not fighting her; its writhe of vines were lightning fast and delivering stone-shuddering punches.  If it wanted to hit her, it would – and even she would be hard-put to endure that kind of battery for long.  Dirt and dust were drifting down from the leaf-enshrouded roof, shaken free by each playful stab in the Slayer’s  direction. 

His eyes were drawn up to its source, and he frowned, squinting past the glare of hanging lights to assess the state of the greenhouse roof.  The main trusses had an odd twist to them, as if they’d been shifted ever so slightly out of alignment – and there was a crack in the central pane, the one sitting right above the main body of the plant.  Not a little crack either; it ran almost right across the glass, starting in one corner and fanning out barely a hand-span from the other side.  Even a minor tremor might bring it down, Bob had said …

Giles looked down.  The plant was rearing back and laughing, amused at Buffy’s efforts to reach it.  Xander had Kellman up against the wall, and Willow was busy glaring at him.  And – yes, there was Angel, lurking in the shadows of the outer laboratory, watching Buffy’s progress with tight lipped frustration on his face. 

The Watcher frowned for a moment, wondering why the vampire hadn’t joined the assault; he didn’t think it was anything personal, but …

His bemused observation became a shuddering squirm; the monster had dipped back for another slurp, lathering at him like an enthusiastic Labrador given an over-sized bone.  He kicked at it in protest, then kicked again, reasoning that – if he could keep its attention on him, then Buffy might have a chance of getting close enough to do some serious damage.

The plant chuckled – as well it might, since struggling disturbed his wounds and encouraged them to bleed more freely.  Giles cursed under his breath, recognising the reason for the creature’s amusement.  By fighting back, he was simply giving the thing more of what it wanted.

By the time Buffy did reach him, there might not be enough of him to save.

More detritus filtered down from the roof, the worst of it deflected by the racking from which he was suspended.  The nearest of the large, over-bright lamps quivered as its support shuddered under one of Buffy’s wild blows and Giles glanced upwards again, the germ of a totally suicidal plan taking root in his mind.  If he could just get her to attack the building, rather than the plant …

The Watcher kicked out again, ignoring the pain it cost him.  If his idea was going to work, he had keep the plant distracted, keep it from recognising the danger it was in.  That meant he couldn’t just tell Buffy what he wanted her to do: he’d have to find some other way to get the message across.

It's not a question of merit,

It’s not demand and supply…

“Look, you.”  Xander was as scared as Willow was, venting his frustration on the older youth’s quivering shoulders.  “If … if Giles gets eaten, you’re going to be the next things down that … that thing’s throat, understand?  We turn off the lights, we haul him out of its reach, and … well, Buffy and Angel can spend the rest of the night picking flowers if they want to.  But you, me, Will, now. Capicce?”

Kellman gulped, glancing from Xander’s grim expression to the plant's amused antics and back again.  “Okay,” he agreed shakily.  “Okay.  The light switches are over there.  But you’ll never reach the ropes.  It’s real fast when it wants to be.  And it won’t let him go.  Not now it’s got a taste.”

“Shit,” Xander muttered for the second time that evening.  He let Kellman slump to the ground and made his way across to the switch box, studying its makeshift construction with a wary eye.

“It looks kinda – sparky,” Willow ventured after a moment, hunching her shoulders in sympathy as Buffy went flying over a bench and something writhed after her, lightning fast.

“Yeah,” he agreed, tentatively reaching out his hand and then pulling it back.  “You wanna find something to … throw at this?”

“Good plan,” she said, casting around for something suitable.  Her eyes landed on a large flower pot, and then she paused, distracted by the battle going on in the middle of the room.  Buffy was nowhere near close enough to do serious damage – and the plant was laughing at her attempts to advance.  Willow winced as she saw the dangling Watcher twist away from his tormentor’s attentions, kicking weakly at the thing’s groping tongue to distract it from his Slayer’s advance. 

“Willow,” she heard him call, half gasp, half bitten-back cry.  “Consider the heavens..”  He jerked his head in the relevant direction as he spoke, a movement that had to have been as painful as it looked.  She glanced up all the same, puzzled by his request.  Her frown deepened.  Her eyes followed the curve of the roof down to where it rested on the main structure, darted across the open space, and finally flicked back to the glass ceiling.  Then she smiled.

“Xander?” she queried, picking up the flowerpot and handing it to him.

“Yeah?”

“Think you can throw a few of these in that in that direction?”

He looked at where she pointed, his face creasing in confusion. “Why would I ..?”  She lifted her finger up and his eyes followed it, coming to rest on the same point of interest that hers had.  “Oh.  I see.  Yeah.  I think I can do that.”

“Good.”  She smiled with happy conspiracy, picking up a flower pot of her own.  “On three?”

He grinned.  “Three.”

Terracotta flew with pinpoint precision.  One pot landed against the switch box, sending a shower of sparks through the air.  The lights flickered, dimmed, and then began to blow up one by one.  The second pot flew further, smashing open against the curving strut of one of the main roof braces.  It was quickly followed by a third, then a fourth.  The pillar shivered, shuddered - then shifted, twisting away from its base, finally giving way to the damage that had been done to it months before.

“Buffygetunderabench,” Willow yelled, diving for the nearest such shelter herself.  Xander was less than a pace behind her and she caught hold of his hand as the world creaked and swayed above them.  “He’s gotta make it,” she muttered, squeezing her best friend’s hand as yet another of the lamps went off like a miniature supernova.  “He’s gonnamakeit, he’s gonnabeokay, oh god, he’s gotta be okay …”

Xander squeezed back, the anxious expression on his face echoing her fervent prayer.

“Hey,” the plant protested, swaying back from an exploding lamp and looking up towards the creaking roof. “What the F-!”

Its voice was brutally silenced; the twisting roof had finally released the sheets of glass which had bridged the gaps between its arching trusses.  Most of them plummeted down to smash with shattering force across the covered benches and the mass of vines that cloaked the floor.  All but the central piece, the one poised right above the monstrous plant, and already weakened by the earlier earthquake.  It split, tilting inwards as it fell, turning itself into two savage blades, both of which sliced deep into the fleshy part of the plant’s main pod, cutting it cleanly and clincally in two.

Every vine in the place quivered and shook, a death rattle that ripped tiles from the floor and fitments from the walls.

And then everything fell still again.

“Oh God,” Willow muttered, hunching down with terrified realisation of the mayhem she’d spawned. “Xander, I can’t look.  I can’t”.

“It’s okay,” he assured her, reaching to brush slivers of broken glass from her shoulders.  “I’ll ... do it.”

He turned and crawled into the night, carefully picking his way over shattered glass and shredded vines.  She closed her eyes and huddled down, fearing the worst.  He’d been hanging there, right out in the open …

“G-man?” she heard Xander query softly, just as Angel slipped into the now darkened room and hesitantly called Buffy’s name.  Willow held her breath.

“Don’t call me that,” she heard familiar tones protest, his words as weary as the world and heavy with pain.  “And for the love of God, get me down from here …”

Now they're startin' t'appreciate him

All because of that strange little plant

Over there …

Willow was out from under the bench in a flash, only to find herself standing by with helpless anxiety as Buffy moved to join Xander in staring up at the dangling Watcher.  The shift in the support beams had twisted the racking from which Giles was suspended and moved him a little closer to the floor, but not by much - and while the curve of the overhead mechanism had sheltered him from the worst of the glass storm, he was bleeding in what seemed to be a thousand places. In the silence which had replaced the rustle of the plant thing’s death throes, it was far too easy to hear the soft splat of dripping blood as it hit the floor.

“Just – give us a minute, will ya Giles?”  Buffy’s request was strained, her voice quivering with emotion.  Willow knew exactly how she was feeling; her own eyes were prickling with sympathetic tears, and there was a tight lump in her throat.  He looked so – helpess, dangling there.

And there didn’t seem to be anyway to get him down …

“Oh,” Giles murmered faintly, the effort in his voice marring the bite that lay behind his words, “do take two.  Or three.  As many as you bloody like.  I don’t think I’m going anywhere...”

“Stepladder?” Xander suggested, looking round a little desperately – as if he half expected one to magically appear.  Willow hadn’t seen one, but she found herself looking anyway, just in case.

“Slayer,” Buffy corrected with tight determination.  She beckoned Angel over with an imperious hand and he slunk across the glass-strewn floor to join them, clearing fighting his reaction to the siren scent of blood.  “I cut, you catch,” she ordered, tugging the vampire into place.  Angel looked up at bloodstained feet and swallowed convulsively.

“Make it quick,” he requested, his voice hoarse and his eyes flickering with hints of gold and red.  Willow mentally echoed the sentiment, although not for Angel’s sake.  She was sure he could keep control of himself for long enough – but every moment they delayed meant another moment of torment for the suspended Watcher.  She was surprised he hadn’t passed out from the pain.   

Or the blood loss.

Or both …

Buffy merely grunted an acknowledgement of the request, her eyes and her mind on the problem at hand.  Willow followed her gaze as it backtracked the tangled ropes that held the racking in place.  It looked as if the complex mechanism was well and truly jammed; cogs and wheels had been twisted away from their ratchets and some of the wooden fitments were smouldering, inevitable casualties of the exploding arc lamps.

“There,” Willow suggested, spotting a point of potential weakness in among the mess of rope and vines and buckled metal.  Buffy nodded and then turned and leaped onto the nearest bench. 

It took several determined hacks with the axe before the knots began to unravel, but once they did, everything unravelled – tensioned ropes snapped, the torn ends whipped through damaged pulleys, metal creaked, wood cracked, and one end of the rack from which the Watcher was suspended dropped with a heart-pounding jerk. 

Giles didn’t scream – although Willow felt he had every right to.  He caught back a somewhat gargled gasp as the support gave way and his own weight dragged him down the now-angled poles; barely a moment later he dropped off the end and straight into Angel’s waiting arms.

It wasn’t an elegant catch, but it didn’t need to be; it was good enough to prevent a threatened tumble to the glass-strewn floor, and gentle enough to avoid any further damage – although the Watcher did briefly pass out, which was probably just as well given the way he was being manhandled.

Angel went on trying to be gentle as he hefted the wounded man over his shoulder and carried him into the outer laboratory.  Buffy leapt off the benches and raced ahead of them, grabbing hold of vines to drag them off the workbenches so she could clear a suitable space for the vampire to lay his burden down.  Giles came round with a heartfelt groan, and Xander hastily shrugged out of his sweater and used it to blanket bleeding shoulders before they were carefully lowered onto the bench; Willow busied herself with a hasty search for supplies.

Once free of Giles’ weight, Angel shrugged out of his now bloodstained coat and draped it over the man’s shivering body.  His fight with his inner demon was getting desperate and the longing that burned in his eyes was frightening in its intensity.

 “You’d better …” he said, waving at the worst of the wounds and hastily stepping away to regain some of his self-control.  Buffy nodded, stepping in between the two of them, deliberately shielding one from the other. 

“God, Giles,” she said, tugging a knife from her belt and using it to gingerly cut at and peel away the bloodsoaked twine that still encircled her Watcher’s wrists.  “Don’t ever scare me like that again, you hear?  I thought … well, I thought you were going to be plant food for sure.  And then … Will,” she protested, glaring at the young woman in question as she reached to begin gently wrapping each of the man’s damaged wrists with a padding of cotton wool and strips of cotton sheeting.  There’d been plenty of both left in the laboratory supply cupboard, just as she’d expected.  Nobody ever bothered to scavenge things like that.

“What?” she queried, smiling up at her best friend with the most innocent smile she could muster.

“What were you thinking?  Were you trying to kill us both with that whole ‘sky is falling’ thing?  I mean – yay for doing the slice and dice on the vegetable, but I would have got it.  Eventually.  We were trying to rescue him, not serve him up as sushi!”

“And thank you for that particular image,” Giles murmured faintly, bringing the brief tug of a smile to everyone’s expression.  He didn’t see that, since his eyes were shut, but the soft squeeze that Willow gave his hand conveyed the thought just as well.  He squeezed back – painfully and with very little pressure, but enough to let her know he was on her side.

“It was his idea,” she defended, a little wounded that Buffy might think she hadn’t considered the risks involved.  She had – but really she’d had no choice.  Buffy hadn’t been getting any closer to the plant thing and it had been amusing itself playing with her while Giles was busy bleeding to death in front of them.  And besides, if Buffy had got close enough to be threatening, there would have been nothing stopping the thing from simply swallowing up its victim in a couple of bites.

Which was totally not an image she wanted in her head, and would be much easier to get out again if he wasn’t lying there, peppered with glass shards and oozing blood from all those nasty scratches across his stomach and chest.

And back and legs  …

“We should get him to a hospital,” she realised with anxious concern.  “I think some of these need stitches.”

“Some as in most,” Xander assessed, half under his breath.  “I’ll go call 911.”

You know the meek are gonna get what's comin' to 'em
By and by …

Things got a little chaotic after that.  Xander raced off to make the call and came back with Bob the deputy janitor in tow. He’d heard the crash of the greenhouse roof collapsing – and he took one look at the wounded librarian and jumped to any number of sensible and totally erroneous conclusions.  By the time the paramedics and the police arrived – one to ferry the by now semi-conscious Watcher to the hospital and the other to drag off the babbling and clearly insane Simon Kellman -- Buffy and Angel had slipped back into the ruins of the greenhouse and made absolutely certain there was nothing left of the plant creature but a whole load of glass slivers and mulch.  Bob had learned of Frank’s fate at Kellman’s hands, the police had taken note of how the young man had tried to cover his tracks by attacking the school librarian when he’d discovered the murder, they’d all been congratulated over their lucky escape when the greenhouse roof had collapsed, and Willow was feeling totally wrung out, for all sorts of reasons.

Nevertheless, it was she who’d insisted in climbing into the ambulance with Giles and going with him to the hospital.  Xander volunteered to get the weapons back to the library and make sure everything was locked safely away and Buffy and Angel left on patrol.  Reluctantly, since Buffy was still extremely worried about her Watcher, but Giles insisted she should attend to her duty and go – and Willow promised she’d keep an eye on him and make sure he got the best of care.

Part Four

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