Paternity

AUTHOR: CindyET
E-MAIL ADDRESS: cindyet@tdstelme.net
DISTRIBUTION: Anywhere is fine -- I write 'em for you to read
'em.
SPOILERS: Up through Existence
RATING: R (Language)
CLASSIFICATION: S, Post-Ep for Existence

SUMMARY: Who is little Will's daddy?

"From the moment I became pregnant, I feared the
truth...about how...and why. And I know that you feared it, too."
"I think what we feared were the possibilities. The truth
we both know."
"Which is what?" -- Scully and Mulder in "Existence"

Disclaimer: Do these characters really belong to Chris Carter,
FOX and 1013 Productions? If so, no copyright infringement
intended. Entertainment, yes. Profit, no.

Author's notes: "Paternity" is for Suzanne, my Texas friend,
who asked, "When are you going to write a story about the last
episode and will you include your take on the paternity of
Scully's baby?" Trying to get into CC's head, I puzzled over
the possibilities. This may not be the story you hoped for,
Suzanne, but it's what came out.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-
SCULLY'S APARTMENT
8:16 PM

"Juice, milk, butter, eggs, um...um...."

With two grocery bags crushed to his chest, Mulder fumbled to
find Scully's key. He suspected he'd forgotten to pick up an
item at the store. Something essential.

"Bread, cereal, milk-- no, I already said milk."

The bags slipped an inch or two in his arms. He squeezed
tighter.

Finding his key at last, he slid it into the lock.

"Diapers...shhhhhit. Diapers!" he groaned, realizing his
oversight. The loaf of bread collapsed in the crook of his
arm. Didn't matter. Obviously he would need to return to the
store.

He crossed the threshold and kicked the door shut behind him,
relishing its big angry bang. The livingroom was dark. Scully
was out with the baby. Something about a playgroup and
learning to socialize. Did a two-month-old socialize? Maybe
the socializing was for the mothers.

Heading straight for the kitchen, Mulder let the light over
the stove guide him through the apartment, although it wasn't
necessary. For the last two months, he had spent most nights
at Scully's apartment. He'd become used to the place in the
dark. Midnight feedings and the return of his insomnia had
him pacing the floors more often than not.

Scully's grocery list mocked him from the kitchen counter,
right where he'd left it. "Diapers" -- first item, in large
block letters. He set down the bags. How was it he could
remember the smallest details of every single X-File he'd ever
investigated, but a short list of groceries stumped him?

"Shit," he said again.

"Domestic bliss isn't all it's cracked up to be, Agent
Mulder?"

Every hair on Mulder's neck rose at the sound of the familiar
voice. He spun to search the shadows in the livingroom.

"Or should I call you *Mister* Mulder now?" The man flicked on
a table lamp, showing himself.

Sitting in one of Scully's overstuffed chairs, the Smoking Man
smiled, apparently pleased to still be among the living. His
cheeks and lips had lost their deathly pallor. He glowed with
good health.

Mulder took a step closer. No longer with the FBI, he missed
the service weapon he used to carry and cursed himself for not
putting a bullet through the old devil's head when he'd had
the chance.

"How is it you're still alive, Spender?"

"I could ask the same thing of you. I guess we both have
friends in high places. They're great healers, aren't they?"

Mulder eyed the fireplace poker and considered how little
effort it would take to drive the point into this man's heart.
"What do you want?"

"A peek at the Blessed Child."

"Fuck you."

Spender's smile widened. "I have other reasons for coming,
too."

"Such as?"

How long would it be before Scully returned? The playgroup went
from 6:30 to 7:00, but Scully said she planned to stop at her
mother's afterward. Would she be here in half an hour? Fifteen
minutes?

"I'm here to offer you a singular opportunity." The Smoking
Man patted his breast pocket, as if searching for cigarettes,
but he didn't pull out a pack.

"The last time I heard those words, I wound up in a casket for
three months."

"True, but you also found the very thing for which you had
searched so long. Proof of extraterrestrials."

Mulder's head dropped back and he stared at the ceiling. "I
could have done without the space cruise. It was a little too
up-close-and-personal for my taste." His eyes returned to
Spender.

"Didn't you step on board that ship in Bellefleur of your own
free will?"

"Free will is a myth, at least in my case."

"That's about to change."

"Oh, really? How's that?" He moved to the sofa, intending to
sit, but he remained on his feet.

"You have a choice right now."

"What choice?"

"Status quo," -- the Smoking Man nodded at the bags of
groceries on the kitchen counter -- "or a place in history."

"I don't give a shit about history."

"No? What do you 'give a shit about,' Fox? Scully? Her baby?"

"Get the fuck out of here." Mulder pointed toward the door.

"If you wish. I wouldn't want to overstay my welcome."
The Smoking Man rose from the chair. He took a few steps
toward the door, but stopped when he stood within reach of
Mulder. "Oh, I almost forgot." He dug into his inside breast
pocket and withdrew a manila-colored envelope. "This is for
you." He held out the packet.

"What is it?"

"The truth." Spender smiled again and pushed the envelope at
Mulder. "Isn't that what you seek? Or have you given up that
old quest?" With a chuckle, Spender walked to the door. He
took one last look at Mulder, and quietly let himself out.

Mulder stood paralyzed for a moment, the envelope clasped over
his heart. Only when one of the grocery bags toppled in the
kitchen, spilling eggs and milk onto the tile floor, did he
begin to breath again.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

Mulder ignored the mess in the kitchen. Milk oozed around
little islands of broken egg yolks. He opened the envelope.

The packet contained two RFLP films and a report. The
uppermost film was labeled with his own name. The other was
William's. The report was printed on Bureau stationery from
the SCI-Crime Lab -- Bio. The words "DNA Paternity
Identification Results" stood out in bold print at the top of
the sheet.

Reading no further, Mulder stuffed the contents back in the
envelope. Whatever was on these films proved nothing. Spender
was a liar. A goddamn liar.

Mulder tossed the packet onto the counter and bent to pick up
the upended egg carton from the floor. Two more eggs fell out
when he lifted carton. They splattered across the tile and
onto his shoes. He blinked at the broken shells.

Rage rolled through him at the thought of the DNA tests and
Spender's presumption. He grabbed the half-empty carton of
eggs and flung it against the wall. Albumen and yolk streaked
the wallpaper. Shells stuck to the cupboards, the
refrigerator.

How dare that goddamn son-of-bitch--

Mulder hurled the milk jug and watched it explode against the
dishwasher. Tears burned his eyes. He struggled to control his
breathing.

With a shaky hand, he picked up the envelope once more. He
sucked in a deep lung-full of air and let the packet's
contents slip out onto the counter.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

When Scully arrived with William, fast asleep in his baby
carrier, Mulder was sitting in the same chair Spender had
occupied only a half hour earlier. The kitchen was spotless.
The groceries put away. Mulder massaged one fist in his palm
while he chewed on his lower lip.

"Mulder?" Scully set the baby's carrier on the coffee table.

He glanced at her, only to look away again. His lip trembled,
but he said nothing.

"What is it?" She shrugged out of her coat and sat opposite
him on the couch.

"Is...is he mine, Scully?" He tilted his head at the baby.

"William?"

"Yes, of course, William." He couldn't bring himself to look
at her or the baby. "Is he mine?"

"Yes, Mulder, William is yours. What is this about? Why are
you questioning this now?"

"Maybe...maybe because I didn't question it before." He pinned
her with a fearful stare. His voice dropped to a whisper.
"Maybe because I wanted it to be true. I wanted to believe."

His mantra. The words from his poster.

He worried he'd been duped again.

"Mulder, I don't know why--"

He tossed her the manila envelope, hidden in his lap. It
landed with a slap on the coffee table, causing the baby to
jump in his sleep.

Scully picked up the packet. "What's this?" she asked.

"The truth. Or a lie."

She opened the envelope and drew out the films and the report.
She studied all three for a long time, rereading the report
twice.

When she spoke, her voice was low and even.

"I don't know where these came from--"

"It came from the FBI."

"Not on my orders."

"Why didn't you order a DNA test, Scully?"

"Because I didn't need to." Anger hardened her tone. "I don't
need a lab report to tell me who my baby's father is."

"Maybe I do." He leaned forward to adjust the baby's drooping
blanket. Tucking it beneath William's small chin, he let his
fingers graze the baby's skin. The baby's cheek felt like a
sun-warmed nectarine. His tiny lashes fluttered, but his lids
remained closed.

"Where did you get this, Mulder? Did you order it?"

His head snapped up. He opened his mouth to speak, but nothing
came out. His anger thawed a little at the sight of her tears.

"No."

"Who then?"

Mulder pressed his forehead into his palms. "Smokey," he
mumbled into his hands.

"Then it's a lie."

"He was here, Scully."

"Here? But--"

"He's not dead. I saw him myself." Mulder sat upright. "He was
here not an hour ago. He gave me the RFLP, the report. The
son-of-a-bitch knows I'll double check the results."

"Then don't." She tucked the films and the report back into
their envelope. "Forget he ever came."

Mulder shook his head. "I can't do that."

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

GENELEX LABORATORIES
WASHINGTON, DC
THE NEXT DAY

The baby scowled when the technician swabbed the inside of his
cheek. Mulder had brought William to the lab over Scully's
objections.

"That's all I need, Mr. Mulder," the cheery technician said.
She didn't look old enough to be doing this kind of work.

Mulder lifted the fussing baby to his shoulder and rocked him,
humming in his ear to soothe him. After several minutes the
baby fell limp, his face hot against Mulder's neck.

"I'll give you a call, sir, when the results are in." She
smiled at him.

"How long will it take?"

"Ten working days."

"Ten?" He was used to the FBI's lab. A little pressure and he
could have PCRs in a day, RFLPs in two or three. Of course, he
didn't work at the FBI anymore.

"I could rush it, Mr. Mulder, but there'll be an additional
cost."

"Whatever. Rush it."

"Okey-doke. You'll get a call from us in four days."

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

SCULLY'S APARTMENT
1:23 AM

Mulder paced the dark rooms. Clad only in pajama bottoms, hair
standing on end, he walked barefoot from Scully's livingroom
to the kitchen and back again. Sleep eluded him the same way
it had all those years he searched for Samantha. He paused at
the livingroom window and looked out at the street. The
streetlamp cast an oval of bluish light onto the sidewalk. Only
an occasional car passed by. No pedestrians. Twin maple trees
released helicopter-shaped seeds into the night wind. He
watched them twirl until he felt seasick. Closing his eyes, he
resumed his midnight march.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

"Mulder?"

Her palm between his shoulder blades woke him from a dream. He
sat hunched over the kitchen table, cheek pressed against the
wood. Sitting up, he tried to hold on to his dream. Something
about William. But already it faded.

Scully carried the baby to the refrigerator. One handed, she
poured two glasses of OJ. William cooed and stared over his
mother's shoulder at Mulder, trying to focus his blinking
eyes.

Mulder wondered why the hell he would want to question this.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

"Did you hear anything yet?" The voice on the other end of the
phone was Spender's.

"Hear what?" Mulder marveled at Old Smokey's timing. Scully
had left for work not five minutes ago. Still in his pajama
bottoms, Mulder carried the phone to the window and stared
out. Scully's car was gone. Which vehicle surveilled him?

"The results of the paternity test, of course. I assume you
had doubts about the authenticity of my findings."

A sigh hissed from Mulder's nose. "What do you want?"

"Your cooperation. That's all I've ever wanted."

"Why?"

"Because I can't do this alone."

Mulder hated these games. Half spoken truths and hidden lies,
stringing him along year after year. He felt like a hamster
spinning in a wire wheel, running and running, only to end up
right where he began.

"Say what you mean, old man. I'm tired of this."

"The baby isn't what you think he is. You're not his father."

"Who then?"

"Why do you assume I have all the answers? After all, you're
in a better position than I to know who played paramour to our
Scully."

Fucking son-of-a-bitch.

"I trust Scully."

"How admirable. But hasn't it occurred to you, she might not
know what was done to her?"

"Say...what...you...mean," Mulder said through clenched teeth.

"Scully's doctor, during her first trimester...Dr. Parenti,
wasn't it?"

Shit. What the hell did Spender know?

"What about him?"

"He told you the IVF was unsuccessful, didn't he?"

"It was, if it's any of your damn business."

"It's very much my business. How careless of you, Fox."

What was he talking about? "I'm hanging up."

"I wouldn't do that. Unless you aren't interested in what
happened to all that genetic material you carelessly handed
over to a complete stranger."

Scully's ova. His spermatozoa. Hundreds of thousands of
nightmarish possibilities. It had been a mistake to trust
Parenti.

"What did he do?" The words scraped across Mulder's tongue.
His morning orange juice burned the back of his throat.

"When you think you're ready to hear the truth, I'll show
you." The Smoker hung up, leaving the dial tone buzzing in
Mulder's ear.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

MULDER'S APARTMENT
TWO DAYS LATER

The currier insisted on a signature. Mulder scrawled his name
across the bottom of the delivery slip.

"Have a good day," the man said and disappeared into the
corridor outside Mulder's door.

The address on the envelope identified GENELEX Labs as the
sender. Could he trust these results any more than the ones
from the FBI? Wasn't it possible these had been tampered with,
too? Jesus, where the hell do you go when you trust no one?

His slipped his thumb under the flap and tore open the packet.
He set the films aside for Scully. Not that she wanted to see
them. The report itself was what interested him. A simple yes
or no, printed in irrefutable black and white, telling him
whether or not William was his son.

He unfolded the report.

RFLP Inclusion Report
Tested Man: Fox William Mulder
Mother: Dana Katherine Scully
Child: William Mulder
Combined paternity index = 1576
Summary of findings: Fox Mulder is excluded as the biological
father of William Mulder.

Shit. Was this true, proving Spender right? Or was it just
another lie?

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

FBI HEADQUARTERS
WASHINGTON, DC

Mulder was given a visitor's badge when he arrived at the
Hoover Building. A fresh-faced escort led him to his old
basement office. He didn't recognize the young woman. It felt
as if a lifetime had passed since he'd last walked these halls.

Scully looked surprised to see him, her brows rising when he
appeared at her office door. The pretty escort left them alone.

"I could have walked you down, Mulder." Scully rose from his
desk...her desk.

The office looked stripped bare. No newspaper clippings of
Mars probes or Bigfoot taped to the walls. No "I Want To
Believe" poster. A brand new microscope replaced his antique
model. A photo of William graced the desk.

"Where's...?" He nodded toward Doggett's side of the room.

"Out."

"Scully--"

She crossed the room to where he stood at the door. Slipping
her arms around his waist, she laid her cheek against his
chest. A show of loyalty. He was reminded of the night their
office burned. She had tried to buoy him then, too. He didn't
think it was possible to feel more disappointment than he had
felt that night. Life constantly proved him wrong, it seemed.

Resting his chin on the crown of her head, he sighed into her
hair.

"What do the test results say, Mulder?" she asked into his
shirt.

"They say I'm not William's father."

She drew away from him. Gripping his arms, she stared into his
eyes. "Then they're wrong."

"Scully--"

"They're wrong, Mulder. You *are* William's father."

"Prove it to me, Scully. Run your own RFLP on William and then
match the baby's DNA against the FBI database. Find his
father. You're the only one I trust to do it. You're the only
one who won't lie to me." He turned to go.

Her palms slid from his arms.

"What will you be doing?"

"Finding out what's behind the smoke screen."

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

WATERGATE APARTMENTS, #2645
WASHINGTON, DC

"I knew you'd come around," the Smoker said, stepping back and
allowing Mulder to enter his apartment. "Care for coffee? Tea?
The truth?"

"Just get to it." Mulder paced into the room. He dropped into
a wing-backed chair.

The Smoker brought him a new manila-colored envelope.

"More 'evidence'?" Mulder asked, taking the packet.

Spender sat, too. He lit a cigarette.

Mulder dumped a dozen 5x7 photos out of the envelope into his
lap. They showed a large room, well lit, with dozens of
incubators set up in identical rows. "What is this place?"

"A lab. I can take you there, if you like."

Babies' faces stared back at Mulder from several of the
photos. They looked to be about the same age as William.

"Who...who are these children?"

The Smoker drew on his cigarette. His smile revealed tobacco-
stained teeth. "Your progeny."

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

SCULLY'S APARTMENT
THE NEXT DAY
5:52 PM

Scully still wore her coat. She looked tired.

"Where have you been, Mulder?"

"Washington state."

"Wash-- Why?"

"Looking for the truth." How many times had he said these
words to her?

He patted the baby's belly. William slept in his lap. Mulder
sat with legs stretched, stocking feet propped on the coffee
table, while Scully paced a half-circle around the couch. Two
RFLP films hung from her hand.

"The truth," she said, trying to hold her temper, "is not
here." She waggled the films. "I ran these twice, Mulder. They
don't match the results you got from GENELEX."

"Do they prove I'm William's father?"

She stopped her pacing. "No, but--"

"But *nothing,* Scully." His sharp tone caused the baby to
frown in his sleep.

"Mulder, I ran these results through the FBI database. They
came up with a match."

Mulder traced a tiny circle around the baby's bellybutton.
"William's father?"

"No."

"No?" Mulder's chin rose. "Then who?"

"A man who has been dead for more than fifteen years."

"How is that possible?"

"It's not. That's my point." She sat down next to him, careful
not to disturb the baby.

"Then what does it prove?"

"Mulder, there was a time when I would have argued on the side
of science. I would have insisted these RFLPs were
quantifiable proof that William is the product of a genetic
experiment, that his DNA came from a dead man's frozen sperm
or, or from cloned cells."

"What do you believe now?"

"I believe this proves only that someone is tampering with the
evidence."

"But you ran the tests yourself, Scully."

"Yes, Mulder, I ran the tests. But I couldn't be there every
single moment. There was opportunity for someone to exchange
the data."

Mulder shook his head, incredulous. "You sound like me,
Scully." An unhappy laugh chuffed from his nose. "So what are
you saying? This is an elaborate hoax? For what purpose?"

"To hide the truth."

Jesus, she did sound like him.

"I found out something else, Mulder."

He closed his eyes and leaned his head into the cushions.
"What?"

"I did a little checking into GENELEX. Did you know their lab
is owned by Zeus Genetics which is, in turn, owned by Transgen
Pharmaceuticals, which is owned by Roush? Is any of this
ringing a bell, Mulder?"

Fuck. Lies within lies within lies.

"I did a little checking of my own, Scully." He looked at her.
"In Washington. I saw a...a nursery, filled with babies.
Dozens. Maybe a hundred or more."

"So?"

"I think...I think they may be mine. Or ours."

"What are you saying?"

"Scully, we handed our genetic material to Parenti on a silver
petri dish. We don't know what he did with it. Or what he
might have done to you." Mulder cupped the baby's head in his
palm. He loved this boy. He loved Scully. "Those children were
brought into this world to serve an agenda. I have to find out
what that is, Scully. I have to find the truth."

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

2:13 PM

Mulder leaned over the baby's bassinet in the dark. Bending
low, he kissed William's smooth cheek.

"Mulder?" Scully stirred in the bed.

"Sorry. I didn't mean to wake you." He wore his leather
jacket. Jeans. Sneakers.

Scully squinted at the clock. "It's almost 2:30 in the
morning. What are you doing?"

"I couldn't sleep, so I went out. Did a little shopping."

"At 2:30?" She groaned and settled back against the pillows.

"Not everyone is asleep, Scully."

"Well, they should be," she mumbled. Already she drifted back
into sleep.

He bent over her and combed loose hair from her face, causing
her to lean into his palm. She was beautiful. She had always
been beautiful. He kissed her on the lips, softly, so as not
to wake her.

Grabbing his bag from the floor, he walked through the dark
apartment to the kitchen. A new box of diapers rested on the
counter beside his note. His message was short.

"I'll be back when I find the truth. Love, Mulder."

Without making a sound, he crossed to the door and slipped out
into the night.

THE END

Author's notes: Feedback, good or bad, is welcome on this or
any of my stories. Send comments to cindyet@tdstelme.net.

Visit my other fanfic at my Web site at
http://cindyet.xfilesfanfiction.com.

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Phoenix Burning

Yahtzee

Yahtzee63@aol.com

This story is inspired by and contains characters from "Buffy the Vampire Slayer," a series that is wholly the intellectual property of Mutant Enemy, Twentieth Century Fox and Joss Whedon. This story is written without permission, intent of infringement or expectation of profit. Readers can expect spoilers for anything that has happened through the episode "The Gift," but should be warned that the story goes AU after that.

Dramatically AU, in fact. So AU that I cannot quite believe I am writing this. Those who have read my earlier stories will notice *very* quickly that this is something of a departure for me. Those who have not will notice that this is something of a departure from most fanfic in general. But I ask all of you to take a chance and go on the journey with me; I don't think you'll be disappointed. All thanks to the encouragement and support of Rheanna, Amy and Tara, who provided invaluable assistance during beta reading. Thanks also to Lacy, Rodney and Jesse, who heard it first, and to Amparo, who provided translations. I greatly hunger for feedback, so send praise or flames or anything in between to Yahtzee63@aol.com.

CHAPTER ONE

Buffy turned away from her sister and ran. Ran as fast as she could into the swirl of light and heat and energy that would consume her at last.

At last.

She didn't think about what she was leaving behind. She thought about what she was running from.

The sight of Dawn, tearful and bleeding, and hearing Giles' words about her sister's death ring in her ears again --

Her mother's body, awkwardly sprawled on the couch, and the feeling of pain and sickness and confusion that had snaked its way through her like ice --

The knife she'd plunged into Faith, Faith the hated and hunted and lost, and the way Faith had looked at her with eyes that were not as cold and unfeeling as Buffy had hoped --



The look on Angel's face as he'd closed his eyes in complete ignorance of what he'd done, in complete trust of whatever she was going to do --



No more, she thought. No more. They need me to save the world again. I'm going to save the world again. But I can't go through this any more. I can't lose anyone again. I can't. I won't.



Death is my gift. It will save me from ever losing anyone ever again. I'll never have to do it again. Never have to do anything again --



Buffy jumped, and she fell, and she hit the portal. And then the world was on fire.



Her skin burned with pain like the tearing of hot claws. Her whole body shook, shook so hard she could hear her jaw snapping, her vertebrae breaking. The light was brighter than the sun, bright unto blindness; it was not darkness that overtook her, but the total absence of sight. Her internal organs cramped up with terror or shock or injury until it felt like she was filled with broken glass. She would have screamed without ceasing if she could have drawn a breath.



The only thing she could think was make it stop, make it stop, make it stop, make it stop --



And then everything was quiet for a very long time.



*****



The light hit Buffy like a blow, stunning her whole body, sending sensation prickling across her skin, into her gut. "What the --"



"Relax," a voice said. A woman's voice. "Relax. You're all right now."



Buffy blinked her eyes, trying to make out images in the sea of light blinding her. The walls were white -- oh, God, she'd lived.



The thought did not make her happy or relieved. The words clattered in her tired mind: I lived.



How the hell did that happen?



She shook her head; her jaw felt fine. So did her neck. She squinted as she looked at the white room she lay in. They must've had to take her to the hospital. Dawn would be freaking out --



"Let me up," she said, trying to push herself up from the table on which she lay.



But a hand pressed down on her shoulder; Buffy was still weak enough that this could hold her in place. "In just a moment. You need to get your bearings," the voice said. Buffy realized that the woman was speaking with a British accent.



"What are my bearings?" Buffy said, squinting at the woman. She was wearing loose white clothing, maybe scrubs, and had her frizzy black hair pulled back into a bun. She was smiling at Buffy -- sort of nervously, come to think of it. Then Buffy glanced down. "And why am I naked?"



"Oh. We can see to that," the woman said, quickly turning to get a sheet.



"Where is this?" another voice said. Another woman's voice -- more like a girl's -- this one accented in a far more exotic way. Buffy glanced over and saw who had spoken; she was a girl a bit younger than Buffy, as naked as Buffy was, with long, dark hair and coppery skin. She was looking around her in every direction, a bit wildly. "The vampire --"



"Is taken care of," said the white-garbed man at her side.



Buffy got her first good look at the room. It didn't look like a hospital. It looked -- strange, like a cross between a warehouse and a temple. The ceilings and walls were plain, the architecture very ordinary. But the candles along the perimeter, the hangings with various runes and symbols embroidered on them -- not from a warehouse. And not from a hospital.



She took in the other tables -- three of them -- with other young women waking up from whatever sleep had claimed them all. "What is this place?" Buffy said slowly.



"I suppose this is a bit disconcerting," the frizzy-haired woman said, as she draped the sheet over Buffy. "Can you tell me your name?"



"Buffy Anne Summers," Buffy said. "Didn't my friends say --"



"Yes, Miss Summers," the frizzy-haired woman said. "Called as Slayer in 1996. Very good. Yes, I've got the right one --"



"You know I'm the Slayer," Buffy said. "What's going on?"



"I realize this is all rather shocking,' the woman said. "But, you see, we've brought you back."



"Back?" Buffy said, hearing her own voice crack on the words. "Back from where?"



"You -- you really don't know, do you? You perceived nothing in that time?" The woman made a helpless gesture as she stood there for a moment, searching for words. Finally she said, "You've been gone a very long while."



Buffy felt her hands tighten on the sheet. "What do you mean? Was I -- in a coma, or something?"



"Buffy, you died."



"I -- I thought I would, but --" Buffy shook her head.. "You mean, I died, but they revived me. Like, with CPR, or, or, those paddle things --"



"No," the woman said, and for the first time her voice was soft, a little sad. "Buffy, you must understand. I'm afraid you died a very long time ago."



Buffy stared up at her, shocked almost beyond comprehension, as the woman continued, "You have been dead for 350 years."

**********

II: FROM THE ASHES

"You're lying," Buffy whispered.



"No," the frizzy-haired woman said. "I suppose this is all terribly strange --"



"What's strange is why you would tell me a story like this. Where am I? What are you trying to pull?" Buffy pulled away from the woman's outstretched hand, slid off the table and clutched the sheet more tightly around her. "What IS this?"



She looked wildly around the room -- other people were standing around, all of them in loose, simple clothing in white or gray. The room was large, antiseptic and blank. The other four girls were are staring at her now; she could see her own panic reflected in their eyes, but none of them rose to stand with her.



"Miss Summers -- do try to stay calm." Buffy wheeled toward the voice she heard and saw an older man in the corner of the room. He was wearing a white robe, slumping down in a high-backed chair, like an exhausted emperor collapsed upon his throne. He had thick black hair, silvery at the temples, and a rich, resonant voice. "You will understand everything soon --"



"I don't want to understand whatever story you've got," Buffy said. "I'm not listening to this any more."



She ran toward the doors -- elevator doors, they looked like, but she couldn't see a button to push. "Buffy! I mean -- Miss Summers! Please!" the frizzy-haired woman called.



Buffy ignored her. Okay, they thought this door could hold her in? They didn't know much about Slayers, then. She let the sheet drop -- what the hell, they'd seen her already -- put her shaking hands to the crack between the doors, and pulled open with all her might. Her strength hadn't returned fully, but she was close enough. Sparks flew, and she heard an odd rattling within the walls as the doors opened.



Footsteps were pounding up behind her now, but the deep-voiced man called, "No -- let her go. Let her see --"



And for some reason, that scared her worse than anything else.



Buffy grabbed up the sheet and began running blindly down the hallway -- a hallway as white and as blank as the room she had left. It smelled -- old. Like abandoned buildings she sometimes scouted for vampires. She looked around for anything: a window, a phone, a computer screen, a human being, oh, God, anything --



The only sounds were of her bare feet thumping along the hard, slick floor and of her ragged breathing. As soon as Buffy realized this, she started to cry out. "Hello? Is someone there? Is anyone there?"



At the end of the hallway was another door, and Buffy increased her speed. Surely, beyond that, would be a way out. She tucked the sheet around her, ready to pry that door open too -- but it slid apart easily as she came close. Buffy saw a window looking out on a dark city night. Thank God, thank God, she thought, I can yell for somebody through that, I can jump through it if I have to, it's just glass, I'll heal, and what gets more attention than a naked woman in the street?



She ran up to the glass, ready to begin hammering on it -- then froze.



Buffy was looking down on a city like no other she had ever seen. Wherever they were, they were high -- higher than any skyscraper she'd ever been in. And the city - the buildings were all linked together, with crosswalks and wings that were hundreds of feet above the ground. But most of the buildings were black -- no lights, nothing. She realized that some of the silver lines running through the city were tracks of some kind, but no trains or monorails were moving along them. It was a city not even half alive.



And when she looked down, way down, she could just make out this one old-timey vaguely familiar building with a clock tower --



Big Ben.



She staggered back from the window, let her hands drop. Buffy stood there for a long moment, trying to come up with an explanation, anything besides --



For a few long moments Buffy remained still, trying to catch her breath, gather what was left of her sense. She couldn't think about it -- couldn't think at all. She could only feel the sweat between her toes, see her reflection on the glass, hear the footsteps behind her --



Buffy whirled around to see the frizzy-haired woman, who was standing next to and half-supporting the black-haired man. "Don't come near me," Buffy said, her palm out.



They froze. After a moment, the black-haired man said, in his steely voice, "I cannot imagine what you must think of me at this moment. But, whatever else you may think, rest assured that I am at least not such a fool as to believe that I could keep a Slayer prisoner against her will."


Some of the tension knotting between Buffy's shoulders relaxed, but only very slightly. She pulled the sheet a little more securely around herself. "Who are you?"

The frizzy-haired woman brightened, with the air of someone who, after a long confusion, finally knows what to say. "I'm Frances Keeling," she said. "And this is Aaron Markwith."

"A pleasure, Buffy," Markwith said.

"Wish I could say the same," Buffy said. "You know, the names are nice, but that's not really what I was going for with the whole introduction thing."

"I am a senior member of the Council of Watchers," Markwith said. "And Frances is to be your new Watcher."

"I have a Watcher," Buffy said, her voice small. "Rupert Giles."

Frances' face clouded over again, and Markwith sighed gently. He turned to Frances. "I should check on the others. Speak to Buffy, and bring her back when she's ready."

"Of course, sir."

"That's gonna be a while," Buffy called after him with as much defiance as she could muster, but he seemed to pay her no further mind. Frances stepped a little closer, and Buffy jerked back.

"Oh -- I don't mean to frighten you. I'm sure this is so overwhelming."

"Yeah, you feel my pain," Buffy said. "Where's Giles?"

"Buffy, what I told you before is true," Frances said, with a schoolmarmish insistence. "You must believe me. This is the year 2353, and this is a very different world from the one you knew. You'll be happy to know, I've studied all the biographical information we had on you; it's a little sketchier than the other girls, but I think I've learned enough about your time to help you adjust."

The words clattered by Buffy, so much noise. Only the date stood out, stark and cold. 2353. She tried to speak, tried to think of words, but she could only repeat, in an even shakier voice, "But where's Giles?"

Frances drew herself up. "Everyone you knew in your former life is dead, Buffy. You must accept that."

Dead. She knew well how stark and unforgiving a word that was, had thought she knew the limits of how hard it could hit. But now --

Hope stirred deep within her for a moment, the faintest swirl of warmth in an ocean of cold. She whispered, "Wait -- everybody? Absolutely everybody?"

"Everybody," Frances said firmly.

And oh, God, how badly Buffy wanted to say, but not Angel. Angel is a vampire, and he could still be here, still be the same.
But Frances was standing there, all formal gravity and solemnness, with her biographical information and her Watcher's chill.

And Buffy knew she couldn't bear to here that cold voice recite the facts from her file. Whatever she said, it would mean that Angel was gone -- and she hadn't just said Angel, she'd said "everybody," and that meant once she'd finished telling her how Angel had ended, she'd tell Buffy about everyone else, too.

That Giles and Willow and Xander and everybody she ever knew, everybody she ever loved, were all gone, erased, like chalk marks on a blackboard --

Buffy quailed from that thought, from the others that were swelling within her, and tried to concentrate on Frances. "Why am I here?"

Frances smiled. "Now, that's a good question to be asking. Come along, then. Let's join the others. Markwith will explain everything."

***

As Buffy and Frances walked back into the white room, the other girls all wheeled around to face her. The coppery-skinned woman she'd heard before spoke first. "Is it true, what they say?"

"I think it must be," Buffy said, her voice faint even to her own ears.

The coppery-skinned woman said something that might have been a prayer or a curse in a language Buffy did not know. She
had her sheet pulled tightly around her, even covering her hair.

"Yes, it's true," Markwith said. "This is the year 2353. You are at the present home of the Council of Watchers. And you have all been brought here to help humanity in its latest, most dire time of crisis. The world is in danger. And we need the Slayers."

Another of the girls, a beautiful Asian woman with short hair who hadn't bothered to drape herself with the sheet, turned toward him then. "Don't you have a Slayer of your own? One dies, another is called?"

"We do have a Slayer, a fine warrior, and I hope you will all meet her soon," Markwith continued. He was walking slowly around the perimeter of the room, and all of them had to crane their heads to their eyes on him. "But, as the past century and a half has made clear, the situation has gone beyond the control of any one Slayer, no matter how skilled."

Control. When were we ever in control? Buffy thought numbly.

Markwith paused at a circle of burnt-down candles and exotic-smelling ashes, and he knelt to pick up a charred sphere -- no, an oddly-shaped skull, Buffy realized. "If we ever find a colony of Jenta demons, perhaps we could raise even more Slayers. God knows we need all the help we can get. But the Council only came upon one demon, and that supplied us with the materials we needed to raise five Slayers. And we chose the five of you."

He looked first at the beautiful Asian woman. "Xiaoting, who protected Beijing for eight years and survived two Ascensions in the late 22rd century." Xiaoting held her head a little higher as he spoke.

He then turned to the coppery-skinned woman, "Noor, who fought for five years and turned back an invasion of ancient demigods from Saudi Arabia in the early 22nd century." Noor frowned and tugged her sheet a little more tightly around her.
Markwith looked straight at Buffy then, startling her with the intensity of his pale blue eyes. "Buffy, who managed to control the hordes of vampires and demons that sought out a Hellmouth in California for five years in the late 20th century."

"And 21st," Buffy said, Everyone turned at her and stared, and she felt a little stupid for even saying it. But she continued, "It was the 21st century when I --"

After her pause had gone on long enough, Markwith went on as though she had said nothing. "Agatha, who defeated one of history's most fearsome master vampires during her seven years of service in Bath in the mid 19th century." A statuesque woman with white-blond hair and even paler skin, who had her sheet tugged around her almost as tightly as Noor did, simply nodded, confirming his words.

"And finally, Sumiko," Markwith said, looking at another Asian woman, this one tinier and more delicate, who was staring at him somewhat blankly, "who traveled within Japan during the late 18th century, defeating vampires and demons for an unprecedented -- and as yet unmatched -- fourteen years." Sumiko did not react to his words at all, but simply brushed her waist-length hair away from her face.

"You are, each of you, an exemplary Slayer. I say that as one who has studied all the millennia of Slayer lore; that is, I do not say it lightly. Together, I think there is no telling what you might become. I hope no less than that you will become humanity's salvation."

No pressure, Buffy thought in a daze.

"From what are we to save humanity?" said the blonde woman -- Agatha, Buffy reminded herself. Agatha was speaking very determinedly, as though trying to convince herself of the subject's reality and importance. "Has some dark god or hellbeast arisen --"

"Would that it were so simple," Markwith said. "Though the story is quite an involved one -- a tragic history I know you all must eventually learn -- the end result is easy enough to describe. Humanity's numbers are diminished, and the vampires' numbers have risen. They are --" he hesitated for a moment, then said, "They are winning."

Frances chimed in. "Throughout most of your lives, there might have been, oh, one vampire per every 50,000 humans."

"Not in Sunnydale," Buffy muttered.

Frances shot her a look, but went on. "Today, the number is closer to one vampire per 100 humans."

"Impossible," Xiaoting breathed. Agatha made the sign of the cross. Noor frowned even more, which would have seemed impossible just moments ago. Sumiko didn't react at all.

"You, of all people, must not despair," Markwith said, smiling slightly at them. "You are our warriors. You are our best hope. We will train you again, teach you modern weapons, modern methods. Teach you about this century. And then reveal you to a world that will be eager to believe in you. And, I pray, to a Council that will be ready to receive you."

"Reveal us to the world," Buffy said absently. "So everybody knows about Slayers now? Guess that makes sense, what with everybody knowing about vampires now --"

"That's exactly right, Buffy," Frances said, in a voice that could have been either encouraging or condescending. "When the struggle became too fierce to conceal, the Council thought it necessary to let people know that they did have a fighter on their side."

"You said, you prayed the Council would be ready to receive us," Noor said sharply. "What did you mean?"

Markwith hesitated -- and Buffy somehow already knew he was a man not used to hesitating. "Well. When the Jenta demon turned up, I raised the question before the Council of performing this spell. There was dissent, discussion, debate; they're still going on about it. Would still be going on about it 50 years from now, if I left matters at that."

"You disobeyed the Council?" Agatha asked, shocked.

"Let's say I simply didn't ask," Markwith said. Agatha looked at him disapprovingly, as did Xiaoting. Noor's frown didn't change. Sumiko didn't react. Buffy, on the other hand, felt a brief, unwilling flash of liking for Markwith.

"Enough discussion for one day," Markwith said. "You must all be overwhelmed and exhausted. We have quarters for you -- a bit cramped, as of yet, though after the Council at large has learned about you, I have no doubt we'll be able to find something more appropriate to your station. Something within the Council Keep itself."

One of the white-clad people in the room -- a slender man who looked to be in his 30s and stood next to Sumiko -- hesitantly raised his hand. "I think we may have one small problem," he said.

"And what's that?" Markwith said.

The man looked over at Sumiko. Sumiko said "Koko wa doko?"

Markwith and the slender man stared at each other for a moment, and then looked back at Sumiko. She said "Atashi wa dare?"

The slender man clasped his hands in front of him. "I've read her Watcher's letters to the Council through and through. He said her lessons in English were coming along spectacularly well."

Sumiko asked, "Dare ka, Nihongo ga dekimasu ka?"

"Affectionate Watchers have -- on occasion -- been known to exaggerate their Slayers' skills due to, ah, understandable pride --" Markwith said slowly.

Sumiko looked at them all, and Buffy realized that what she had taken for lack of reaction was, in fact, a very controlled kind of panic.

"Well, just get a translator," Buffy said. Everyone stared over at her. "Just find somebody who speaks Japanese. God, she's got to be freaking out."

Frances mouthed the words "freaking out?" in obvious puzzlement. One of the other Watchers shrugged.

"I should like that very much, Buffy," Markwith said. "But in this century, Japanese is all but a dead language. Perhaps there's a scholar somewhere -- well, we'll look."

"And in the meantime?" Sumiko's Watcher said.

"In the meantime, we do for her what we do for all the others," Markwith said. "Give them a chance to rest."

**********

They were all in one room, five little twin beds laid out as though they were in an army dormitory. Maybe they were, Buffy thought. Each of them was given some of the shapeless clothing, pillows and blankets, and reassurance that they'd be seen to in the morning. Agatha was a little confused as to how they were meant to dress without the assistance of maids, but otherwise, they were all fairly quiet until the Watchers left.

As soon as the doors slid shut, though, they all looked at each other blankly. Buffy knew she was in shock; from the looks of the others, she wasn't alone. "This is so very strange," Agatha said in a quavering voice. She was huddled on the foot of her bed, unwilling to drop her sheet in order to change into her new clothes.

"I do not trust this Markwith," Noor said. "He should not have kept this secret from the Council."

"True," Xiaoting said. Her sheet was already abandoned on the floor as she held up her new garments to examine them, one by one. "But he's raised me from the dead, and the more I think about it, the less I'm inclined to worry about the details."

"This can't be happening," Buffy said. She ran her hands through her hair, bunched them into fists as she pulled at her own scalp. "I mean, it can't. Death is my gift! I took the gift! So I get to be dead now! The First Slayer told me that."

"The who?" Agatha said.

"The First Slayer! You guys -- you've seen her too, right? The original Slayer of them all, the very first called and chosen and all that jazz? Kinda has this whole Rasta, no-woman-no-cry thing going on?"

"Do you understand anything she is saying?" Noor asked.

"Not much," Xiaoting said. "Are you saying you had a vision or something?"

"Yes, exactly," Buffy said, trying hard not to be exasperated with the only people in the world who could possibly understand her. "My Watcher and my friends and I, one time we did this spell to link their powers with mine, and that totally pissed the First Slayer off, and she tried to kill us all in our dreams --"

Buffy looked at her audience and realized that they all appeared to be appalled. "This not ringing any bells?"

"I do not disrespect the source of my powers," Noor said. Agatha and Xiaoting nodded. Sumiko was the only one who didn't look horrified, but as she just looked scared and confused, this was not much help.

"Forget it," Buffy said shortly.

They all sat in silence for a couple of moments. Then Xiaoting broke the silence."What do you think the world is like?" she said hesitantly. "With that many vampires?"

They were all quiet for a few minutes. "I'm certain it's nothing I ever wanted to see," Agatha finally said.

"It's something we were not meant to see," Noor said firmly. "I tell you now, this is wrong."

"Well, of course it's wrong," Xiaoting said, and for the first time her bright voice threatened to crack. "The last thing I remember -- my Watcher had died, and I was dying with her, and I thought that it was only right we go together. Side by side. As we had lived. And I am here without her --" Her voice trailed off for a moment. Then she cleared her throat and said, more steadily, "I know it's wrong. But what can we do about it now?"

"Nothing," Agatha said. "Nothing at all."

They were all quiet again. Sumiko, ironically, ended the conversation by tugging on one of the sleepshirts -- at least, Buffy thought it was a sleepshirt; hard to tell -- and getting into her bed. After a brief pause, the others did the same. As Buffy lay down, Xiaoting said, "Lights."

The lights went off, leaving them in darkness. "At least that's still the same," Xiaoting muttered.

Buffy clutched her pillow. Now, at last, with nothing happening around her, she was going to have to think about it --
Giles is dead, she thought. Angel is dead.

Either one of those facts ought to kill her, she thought. Impossible, that she could go on in a world without either of them, much less both of them -- the two men who had taken care of her, taught her, supported her. The man she thought of as her father. The only man she had ever truly loved. Both gone now. Dust and ashes.

Willow is dead, she thought. Xander is dead.

They weren't ever going to come to her house laughing and joking again. Weren't ever going to call her up for love advice, as though there were anybody else in the world less able to give it --

Dawn -- is Dawn dead? Could Dawn die? What happened to her? Buffy thought. Whatever happens to people like her has happened, I guess. I -- I hope she was happy --

Tears began to prick at her eyes, but Buffy couldn't stop herself from adding to the list.

Tara was dead. Anya was dead. Riley was dead. Oz. Cordelia.Wesley. Graham. Jonathan. God, the guy at Subway, the one who remembered she didn't like cheese on her turkey sandwich, that guy was dead. Her professors at school. Julia Roberts. The mailman. All gone, erased, like names on a blackboard.

I'm the one who's supposed to be dead, she thought. I let it happen. I was ready. I chose to go, but I'm still here, and they're all gone, all of them, even --

My mom. Mom's dead.

It was that last thought -- the one she'd had the most time to understand -- that finally got her. Buffy turned her face into her pillow and began to cry.

Through her own sobs she could hear the others weeping.

***************

III : Six Girls in All the World

Don't think about it, Buffy told herself.

Her burdens had seemed unbearable the past few months -- or those few months 350 years ago. To get through, Buffy had fashioned those words into a kind of mantra. Don't think about it. Don't look at the overwhelming mass of danger and terror and loss. You only have to deal with one thing at a time. This is just one more thing. Don't think about it too much, and you'll get through this.

In the tiny sliver of her brain that wasn't in profound shock, Buffy knew her mantra had never been the best coping mechanism and was completely, utterly unsuited to deal with a situation such as this one. But at the moment, her griefstricken spirit could come up with nothing else to sustain her.

And so she found herself sitting in a 24th-century training room -- almost unchanged from its 20th-century version -- listening to a Watcher lecture about battle techniques. Instead of screaming at him, or fainting, or slitting her wrists, she sat numbly, thinking, Just one more thing.

"You may think us presumptious, teaching the five of you -- the greatest warriors of your eras -- how to fight," Markwith said.
"Presumptious. That is a good word," Noor said, under her breath. Xiaoting and Agatha shot her disapproving looks. Sumiko was focused on Markwith as if transfixed.

For her part, Buffy sat, cross-legged on the floor, trying to concentrate on what Markwith was saying. On her fellow Slayers, her only peers in this strange new world. On anything besides the litany of the dead that kept running through her mind.
Riley isn't spending any more Christmases in Iowa.

Anya won't ring up any more sales at the Magic Box.

Spike has smoked his last cigarette.

Don't think about it --

"All of you fought in eras when Slayers battled their opponents in hand-to-hand combat," Markwith said.

"What do we do now?" Buffy asked tiredly. "Just flip 'em off?"

Frances frowned at her from the place where the Watchers stood nearby. But Markwith smiled a little. "We have other methods these days."

"What? Magic?" Buffy asked. "Always meant to learn a little of that Wicca mojo --"

The Watchers all froze, and a couple of them gasped. Markwith straightened up and stared at her. Buffy could feel her cheeks flaming. "What did I say?" she said.

Markwith gave her another smile, but this one was distant and forced. "We must remember -- all of us," he said, with a look over at the disapproving Watchers, "that our Slayers come from earlier eras. Their attitudes towards subjects such as magic may be as different as their methods of combat."

"Magic's -- a bad thing?" Buffy ventured.

"You felt free to use it to raise us from the dead," Noor pointed out. "Did you commit a sin?"

Buffy looked over quickly to see the expression on Markwith's face. But he simply nodded. "Some in the Council would say yes. But the truth is more complex. Over the years, there reached a point when far too many people were using magic -- far too many people who did not use it properly. Some devastating things happen. Today, the use of magic is tightly controlled.
Only those who have studied for many years are empowered to do so."

"Only sensible," Agatha said.

Suckup, Buffy thought. But in her mind was a vision of Willow looking over at her apologetically while Buffy tried to battle a conjured-up troll that was wrecking Giles' shop.

Only sensible.

Willow -- oh, God, she wanted to see Willow --

Don't think about it. Don't think.

"If not our hands, and not magic, then what?" Xiaoting asked. "And, I must tell you, not being able to use my hands takes all the fun right out of it for me."

Markwith smiled. "That's the spirit. Never fear; you'll be doing plenty of damage. You'll need to. The vampire master in these parts -- a creature called Kean -- has been causing more trouble than usual."

Kean, Buffy thought. She noted the name without emotion, almost as she might jot down something that sounded vaguely test-worthy in one of her classes. She didn't care, couldn't even pretend to, but knew down deep that this would be important soon.

"Kean. He is clever, cunning and deadly. He has found ways to convince humans to keep his secrets, perhaps even cooperate with his schemes -- though we know little of the particulars. We know little of him at all; nobody who knows will speak. But he commands more vampires than any of their other leaders, and he claims whatever lives he wishes, when he wishes. Even with all our resources, we have failed to stop him. This after 30 years he's spent practically on our doorstep."

Markwith shook his head. "You'll change that, I hope. You have the ability. And the weaponry shouldn't be too unfamiliar." He nodded to the Watchers, who rolled out a cart containing bows and arrows, crossbows and some things that looked a lot like guns. The Slayers got to their feet and crowded around the tray.

"Archery," Agatha said with something that sounded like relief. "I'm rather good at that, actually. One of the few things I could practice in public." Sumiko picked up a crossbow and tested its weight with her hands, obviously happy to be confronted with something familiar.

"This is your big new innovation?" Buffy said. "Bows and arrows? And this, what --" she picked up a gun-like item with distaste, "this Han Solo blaster? I mean, that's kinda sci-fi and cool, but it's not really thinking outside the box, you know? I figured you guys would be all kinds of high-tech by now."

Everyone stared at her for a long moment. One of the Watchers turned to Frances and whispered, "Do you have any idea what she's talking about?" Frances shook her head sadly.

"The innovation isn't in the weaponry, Buffy," Markwith finally said. "It's in the strategy and philosphy behind our fighting. In earlier eras, Slayers were, frankly, considered expendable."

That's because we are, Buffy thought but did not say.

"Most Slayers lived no longer than a year. Some lived considerably shorter periods of time; there have been hundreds of Slayers who did not survive their first week. The Council accepted this as an established fact of life, as though this were the way things had to be," Markwith said. "We don't think that way any more."

He stepped back from them a bit, looking at them all, as he continued. "Slayers are now regarded with the respect -- the reverence -- they deserve. Your lives are valued. Your lives are preserved."

"In other words, you keep us around long enough to learn our skills properly, so that we can do more harm," Noor said.

"That is another benefit, yes," Markwith said evenly. "And keeping you alive means keeping you at a distance. You can kill vampires very effectively without engaging in hand-to-hand combat. In days such as these, it's not worth the risk. Our extremely limited resources prevent us from developing new weapons, but used correctly, the traditional armaments are more than sufficient. I realize this runs counter to your instincts and to the majority of your experience. But your Watchers will begin retraining you. I suspect you'll see the value of our methods in short order."

Frances and the other Watchers began taking up weapons and leading their Slayers to various areas of the room. Buffy shot Xiaoting a quick sideways glance. "Guess the fun's gone out of it for both of us."

Xiaoting smiled ruefully. "True. But the last time I had that much fun, I got killed."

*********

Buffy would not have thought that you could get really tired just practicing your aim, but after a few hours, her arms were quivering with strain and her eyes felt as though they were going to cross for life.

Agatha's years of practice were paying off as she drilled target after target with the bow and arrow. Xiaoting had apparently mastered the crossbow on her second or third try. Noor worked with the energy blasters like a born gunslinger. And, of course, because the blasters just incapacitated vamps, Noor would actually get to go stake them when she was done. Meanwhile, Sumiko seemed able to perfect every one of the weapons without even breaking a sweat.

But, next to Buffy, Frances was actually wringing her hands together.

"You must have used a crossbow before," Frances said.

"I did," Buffy insisted. "Lots of times. Killed some big uglies that way. Just wasn't ever my specialty."

Frances and Buffy both looked across the room at a target, which had been hit a few times around the perimeter. "So I see," Frances said.

Buffy wanted to hang her head. She wanted to explain that she could aim better than this, but doing so would mean explaining why she was doing so badly. Explaining that her every moment, every movement, was ruled by memory. That she couldn't take the weapon in her hands without hearing their voices.

"You'll be allowed to take up the longbow only after you've mastered this. Now do turn off that infernal racket so you can concentrate."

"You know, Buff, there's only one thing I like more than working long hours with hammer and nail to build you targets. And that's watching you tear 'em up in ten seconds flat."

"These were more common 200 years ago. I was nearly on the wrong end of one a time or two. You can do some real damage this way, Buffy. It's worth the effort to learn."

This target practice was part of her Slaying. And until this moment, she had not realized how much the people she'd loved were a part of her Slaying too.

How could she do this without them? Especially when they were all that still mattered to her, the people she loved --

Don't think about it.

Buffy realized, with a start, that she'd drifted off into memory again. Frances was looking at her uncertainly. "Guess they didn't train you for special ed," Buffy said. "Today, it's like I rode in on the short bus, huh?"

Frances just looked more confused, and Buffy sighed. "Can we just quit for the day? I'm not getting anywhere right now. That's got to be obvious at this point."

"Perhaps you would do better with some rest," Frances said. "Come along then. We'll get you back to your quarters."

As they walked into the hallway, Markwith fell into step beside them. "Not discouraged, are we?"

"Don't know about you guys," Buffy said. "I'm not so thrilled."

"Takes time to adjust," Markwith said heartily.

Frances nodded. "Is there any way we might help?"

Buffy froze. "There -- there is one thing --"

"Yes?" Markwith prodded.

I want to find out what happened to my friends, Buffy wanted to say. I want to know if Willow got her doctorate, if Giles ever got married, if Xander had any kids. I want to know if Angel kept up the fight. I want to know who took care of Dawn.

But if she asked them, they might tell her, and then she'd have to hear it. And as soon as she heard it, it would all be real --

"Buffy?" Frances said.

God, she thought, they're going to think I'm going crazy. Maybe I am going crazy. How am I going to keep from getting completely insane?

"A journal," Buffy said.

"Beg pardon?" Markwith said.

"I used to keep a journal. It was a way for me to, you know, let off steam," Buffy said. "Get my head together. Might be a good idea."

"We can train you on the computers," Frances said. "The interfaces are very simple --"

Buffy shook her head. "No. I need to write it down. With my hands. You know."

Markwith nodded. "We do have paper and pens about. They're generally used for magical purposes only these days; some spells do call for handwritten notes or conjuring words. So some people might look a bit askance --"

"We won't tell them," Buffy said.

"If you think it will help," Markwith said. "I'll have them sent down to you tomorrow."

"For now, perhaps you should just get some rest," Frances said. "You'll do better after some rest."

Rest is the only thing I wanted, Buffy thought. And it's the one thing I'm never going to get.

***

Buffy looked around at the Bronze -- crowded as ever, but crowded with all the wrong people. Where UC Sunnydale freshman should have been milling around, eating onion blossoms and guzzling beer bought with fake IDs, the Watchers were standing, staring, disapproving. Smash Mouth was blaring from the speakers, but nobody was dancing. They were all wearing their drab, shapeless clothing; Buffy looked down at her sequined tank top and bright blue pants with embarrassment. "Nobody told me about the new dress code," she said.

"It was posted on the board," Xiaoting said from her place in the cast-iron swing. "If you don't keep up, it takes all the fun out of it."

"This isn't about fun," Agatha insisted, as she took her feather duster to the stair railing.

Sumiko leaned over the pool table, her cue at the ready. She remained still for a while, studying the table carefully, waiting to make her move..

Markwith and Frances were sitting at a table. Markwith was looking doubtfully at his beer, and Frances was holding up a chicken wing with unconcealed distaste.

"Contrary to popular opinion, there are some very fine American beers," Markwith said. "This is not one of them."

"Why do they call them spicy buffalo wings?" Frances said.

"It's not like they're wings from buffaloes," Buffy hastened to explain. "We all know buffaloes don't have wings. I think they're supposed to be from Buffalo, New York. You know, the city?"

"I meant, why do they call them spicy?" Frances said, dropping the wing back onto her plate. "I've had ketchup with more kick."

Sumiko's stick snapped into the cue ball with a sharp crack that echoed throughout the Bronze, instantly silencing Smash Mouth. Buffy looked down at the pool table as every single one of the balls sank into a pocket.

"You're making a mess, Buffy," Agatha scolded. "You're bleeding all over the floor."

"You should be more careful," Noor said.

Buffy looked down. Blood was pooling on the front of her shirt. She clutched the top in her hands.

Frances crossed her arms. "Blood closes the door," she said. "And blood opens the door."

Buffy could only stare as she saw the bloodstain blossoming out, wider and wider, she felt the pain lance through her heart --

Buffy awoke with a start. She clutched the covers to her chest and gasped in a couple of deep breaths.

She looked around her -- Noor, Agatha and Xiaoting were all asleep in their beds. Xiaoting was sprawled out across her mattress as though she'd melted there, Noor was huddled up into a protective little ball, and Agatha lay on her back with the covers tucked primly up to her shoulders. But Sumiko was nowhere to be seen.

Buffy sat up and ran her hands through her hair. She'd crashed early, thinking she needed the rest -- apparently all she'd bought herself was a long night alone with her thoughts, which were not such pleasant company.

Back to the training room, she decided. Maybe I can just wear myself down. Like I did before. Wear myself down until there's nothing left --

She slipped quietly out of bed and grabbed up her exercise clothes, which as far as she was concerned looked just like the sleep clothes, and padded down the hallway to the training room. As she understood it, Markwith had found this building -- which, though it was a skyscraper, seemed to be long-abandoned -- to keep them secret until they were in top form, when he would take them to the Watcher's Keep. If it's up to me, Buffy thought, that might be a while. And what the hell is the Watcher's Keep, anyway? Sounds all David Koresh to me.

When the training room doors slid open, Buffy opened her mouth to call for the lights -- but the lights were already on. In one corner of the room, holding a pole in quarterstaff position, was Sumiko.

Sumiko looked over quickly, first with alarm on her face, then calm as she recognized Buffy.

"Sorry," Buffy said. "I mean, I didn't think I was interrupting --"

Sumiko stared at her, and Buffy felt a little stupid for trying to have a conversation in English. "Don't guess you speak French," Buffy said. "Parlez vous Francais?"

No response. "Just as well," Buffy sighed. "I'd only be able to tell you that I am going to the market to buy eggs and milk, and that my new shirt is blue. Not really a conversation-starter."

Sumiko kept staring, but her expression was a little softer; Buffy wondered if she appreciated the effort of communication, even though it was futile. "Well, I came here to work out, just like you. So don't mind me. Do your thing."

Buffy changed clothes quickly and without embarrassment -- no point in getting modest in front of somebody you met in the nude -- and glanced around for the crossbows. It seemed they'd been put away --

A hand tapped her on her shoulder, and Buffy jumped. When she wheeled around, she saw Sumiko standing right next to her. "God, you scared me! You are one stealthy little minx, aren't you?"

Sumiko took a step back, then bent her knees, brought up her arms, into a fighting stance. Buffy tensed up for a moment, then realized that Sumiko was making no move to strike. "Oh! You want to spar? Am I right?" Buffy half-dropped into the stance herself, made a couple of feinted moves. "Spar?"

After a moment, Sumiko gave one brief nod. Buffy sighed. "Took all the fun out of it for you, too, I guess. Well, then, gimme your best shot."

Buffy took the stance and hesitated for one more second -- just long enough to realize that Sumiko's foot was zooming toward her face. She ducked just in time, came up fast with her forearm to block a low punch that seemed to be moving at just under the speed of light. Buffy swung her own leg out; Sumiko lept over it effortlessly, aiming another kick at Buffy as she did so. Buffy stumbled back and found her footing almost by luck.

They fought on, blow for blow, block for block, with such blinding speed that Buffy had almost no time to think; she fought by instinct, by reflex alone. In the few moments of clarity she had -- the few moments when Buffy could get a breath, remember herself -- a realization unlike any she had ever known was sinking in.

Sumiko was better than she was.

Buffy had fought creatures stronger than herself, but she'd won by cunning. She'd fought opponents smarter than herself, but won by determination. She'd even fought other Slayers before, but Kendra had precision without passion, Faith passion without precision, and those facts had given Buffy the edge.

But Sumiko gave nothing away -- not an inch, not a blow. Her eyes were alive now, the blank expression she'd worn replaced by something that was half fury, half joy. She had moves Buffy'd never seen before, responses faster than Buffy had imagined possible.

Buffy was giving her a workout; sweat was slick on Sumiko's skin, spraying from her long hair as she spun. But if push came to shove -- if this were a real fight, and not just sparring -- Buffy had no doubt she'd have been finished off a long time ago.

Sumiko whirled around in another of her roundhouse kicks, and Buffy didn't have time to truly duck, just to drop. As she hit the floor, she heard a horrified voice cry, "What are you doing?"

Buffy looked up to see Frances standing in the doorway. Sumiko's Watcher was at her side, hands folded across his chest. Sumiko glanced down at Buffy, then looked evenly at the Watchers.

"We were sparring," Buffy said, getting shakily to her feet. "You know. Practicing."

"This isn't practice," Sumiko's Watcher insisted. "This is exactly the kind of fighting you're menat to leave behind."

"Gee, hope you briefed all the vampires on the new routine," Buffy said. "If they drop right on top of us, I'll be able to say, you know the rules! Bad vampire! Get back to crossbow distance!. And they'll just leave. Is that how it works now?"

Frances gave her an uneven little smile. "Of course you still need all your skills, Buffy. But I'd say the two of you don't need any more help in this area. If you're going to run yourself ragged practicing all night, you ought at least to concentrate on the things you do need help with."

"You have no idea how much help I need," Buffy said. "The one thing I needed, you took away from me --"

"I beg your pardon?" Frances said. Sumiko's Watcher raised an eyebrow..

"Forget I said it," Buffy replied.

"You girls have another big day tomorrow," Frances said. "And you need your rest. Come along now."

She held out one hand; Sumiko apparently understood the gesture, because she half-turned to Buffy, made a quick bow, then went to the door. Buffy gathered up her sleep clothes with hands that trembled from exhaustion. Frances came to her side, and the smile on her face looked a little more real. "You simply have to give it time, Buffy. You'll see. I'm sure you were quite good at all the weapons before you were -- well, before."

"Don't you already know that?" Buffy said, looking sideways at Frances as they followed Sumiko and her Watcher out. "All your biographical information?"

"Well, your records aren't quite as complete as those of the other girls."

"You mentioned that before," Buffy said. "Why is that? Did my stuff get lost in the move, or something?"

Frances shook her head. "Your Watcher was apparently rather, ah, selective in the materials he sent to the Council. He didn't seem to feel that he should share the complete details of your activities."

"Giles was funny that way," Buffy said.

Was. The word hit her in the gut, stopped her in her tracks. She hadn't said that out loud before -- hadn't used the past tense.
Don't think about it.

Frances had stopped beside her; either she had a little more tact than Buffy realized or was eager to change the subject. "We chose you because you were one of the best, Buffy. That was our most important criterion, that the girls we would raise would be exceptionally gifted. We know that much about you, at least."

Buffy nodded, her spirits lifted from "abysmal" to merely "depressed." Slowly she began walking forward again. "That was just one of the reasons? What were the others?"

"Well, we meant to get Slayers who all spoke English, though that doesn't appear to have worked out precisely as we wished," Frances said with a quick nod forward at Sumiko. "We could only call back those Slayers from whom we had a -- for lack of a better word, a genetic sample. That's not difficult to obtain for recent centuries, though Sumiko and Agatha were a bit of a stretch. We also wanted Slayers who would work well within our society."

"What does that mean?"

"That we wanted Slayers with a strong sense of duty. An ability to follow rules. A dedication to their task above all other commitments in life. This is a time and place that needs people with a sense of duty, Buffy. And we thought those Slayers most focused on their work, their true purpose in life, would be better able to adjust to this century."

Buffy stopped again and stared at her. "That's what you wanted?"

"Of course." Frances looked at her curiously.

"I'm not any of those things!" Buffy said, gesturing with her hands as though she could grab a better explanation out of the air. "I mean, I do my job. I know it counts. But I always had my friends and my family and, and -- everybody. I did the slaying, but being the Slayer wasn't the be-all end-all for me. And I am SO not into following the rules."

"You're not serious," Frances said.

"No, this is my comedy routine. Of course I'm serious! Giles didn't tell you that? He was always on me about it --" And there was that past tense again. Buffy felt herself starting to tear up; she blinked it back and kept talking. "I'm not any of the stuff you wanted. None of it! So why am I here?"

Frances looked at her for a long moment, the uncertainty on her face shifting into cool disapproval. "I honestly have no idea."

****************

IV : The Undead

As the days dragged by, Buffy began realize exactly how and why people go mad.

She'd talked about going crazy before, but she'd never really known what that meant. Now, though, she was starting to get an idea.

Maybe she looked normal on the outside, she thought. The others didn't look strangely at her, save Frances when Buffy botched another target practice. They didn't mention the fact that she went to bed earlier than any of them, got up later than any of them, ate less. Her form improved slightly on the weapons, but Buffy didn't care. Sometimes it seemed as though every voice she heard was from a great distance, or that her limbs were heavy and slow, not worth lifting. She was caged, she thought -- within this century she was never meant to see, in this compound that seemed more like a jail every day, in her own tired, terrified mind.

Nobody in this world cares about me, Buffy thought. I'm not a person to them. I'm only here to be a Slayer, and I'm not even that anymore, apparently. What's the point?

She no longer thought of her lost friends and family and lovers as they had been, laughing and fighting and alive. She thought of them lying quiet in the ground, still and untroubled. Buffy envied them so much she almost hated them, then hated herself for the feeling.

The other Slayers didn't feel the way she did; Buffy never asked them, but she knew. They'd lived to be Slayers, and so long as they remained Slayers, they had a purpose. Buffy knew that Xiaoting still cried at night when she thought about her Watcher, heard Agatha praying for the soul of her fiancé during her morning devotions. Noor's pent-up anger had to come from someplace. But all of that apparently mattered less than being the Slayer. And to Buffy, being the Slayer had never mattered less.

Buffy only tried to talk about it once.

"I mean, why am I here? Without my friends or my family, it feels like there's just -- no reason."

Sumiko looked at her, confusion plain on her face. Buffy sat across from her in the training room, wiping tears from her cheeks with the back of her hand. She had come to the training room for solitude, to taste that silence and stillness she was craving. Instead, she had found Sumiko and, to her surprise and Sumiko's probable dismay, started venting.

"I mean, I jumped into that portal for a lot of reasons. I wanted to stop it all, I know that. I wanted to end it. But I wouldn't have just killed myself, no matter how hard it was, or how bad I wanted to. What I wanted was to save them all. I knew I could do it, and it would be okay, because after that I wouldn't have to lose anybody else, not ever again. So I jumped to save them. And instead -- it feels like I killed them."
Buffy was trembling, could feel her lips curling as she tried to stifle the sobs that threatened to overwhelm her. "And I woke up here in this place I hate. I mean, I HATE it. It's cold, and it's gray, and apparently there's vampires all over the place waiting to kill us. Who would ever want to be here? Who wants to live like this?"

She looked over as Sumiko, who was looking back with the same patient incomprehension as ever. Buffy started to cry in earnest. "Look at who I'm talking to. I m-mean, it's worse for you. You don't even speak the language, and, and, you lost your friends and family too, whoever they were. You're probably more weirded than I am. But at l-l-least you can fight. You're still a Slayer. You've got that. I, I don't even have that anymore. Oh, God. I wish I were still --"

Buffy's voiced choked off before she could say the final word. She leaned over, bending double with her sobs until her forehead touched the floor. For a few long minutes, she kept crying harder and harder, starting to run out of breath between sobs.

Then she felt a soft, hesitant touch atop her head. After a moment, Buffy felt Sumiko begin to comb her fingers through Buffy's hair. And then Sumiko started to sing.

The words were in Japanese, of course, and the melody didn't correspond to Buffy's general idea of music. But her voice was surprisingly light and sweet, and her intent was clear. It was the first kindness Buffy had known in this century.

She continued sobbing, but something deep within her was comforted.

For a little while.

Eventually she tried other ways of centering herself.

Journal Entry: March 20, 2353

Markwith says we go public soon. We get our big debut at the Council meeting -- apparently there's, like, 200 people on the Council now. Imagine the tweed. He's going to apologize for using dark magic to pull us out of our graves, which I would think would take a while, but he says will just take a few minutes. And once the Council gives us the go-ahead, we get to go out on patrol.

I get to fight vampires again, and that's the only thing I've felt good about in a long time. And that scares me.

Because I'm not thinking about winning.

I imagine it over and over. Fangs in my throat, or hands snapping my neck, or falling through one of these windows -- I missed the fall last time I died, though I must have fallen. I wonder how long it takes. Or even drowning -- it didn't take that first time, but it was quick enough --

Spike told me one time that Slayers were all a little bit in love with death. I thought he was full of shit. But now I wonder. I mean, the way I think about it all the time -- I'm daydreaming about it like I was obsessed. The only other time I acted this way? When I was dating Angel and I would imagine making love with him. It's that same kind of dreamy feeling, like there's these images in my brain that I play and rewind, play and rewind, again and again and again, and it's never enough.

I used to believe it's wrong to want to die. I remember yelling at Angel, that Christmas when it snowed -- I was so mad at him for being ready to give up. But if he felt as bad as I do now, maybe I was wrong to tell him to keep fighting. I've learned since then how terrible it feels, to truly want to die.

Buffy put down her pen and frowned at the paper. This isn't helping, she thought.

But it increasingly seemed as though nothing would.

*******

"We're going to the Council meeting in a tank?" Buffy said.

She and the other Slayers were all staring at their transportation -- a large, armored vehicle that, Buffy decided, looked less like a tank and more like Spike's Winnebago from hell, if he'd been able to afford cast-iron siding. It was black, windowless and altogether not the ideal family car. Already, she could feel herself losing the slight lift in her spirits she'd known when they'd finally left their few monotonous rooms.

"This looks very heavy," Agatha said. "How many horses do you need to pull it?" Sumiko was also staring at the vehicle in what was obviously utter bewilderment.

"We need something substantial. It's nighttime," Frances said, as though that explained everything.

"I apologize for moving you so late at night," Markwith said. "It might have been better if you could have seen the city during the day first."

"Besides, we ought to be the safest people out there," one of the other Watchers -- Noor's, a sad little man who already seemed to have given up on reaching his sullen charge. "Five Slayers along for the ride? We'll be fine."

"When did five Slayers become necessary protection to move through the streets of London?" Agatha murmured as they clambered into the vehicle.

"I don't like this," Noor said.

"You don't like anything," Xiaoting said. Noor turned as if to snap at her, then saw Xiaoting's pale, drawn face and remained silent.
Frances got in what must have been the driver's seat (though Buffy saw no steering wheel) and began pressing faintly lighted areas on the console before her. They started moving forward, and large doors slid open before them.

Buffy craned her head forward to see out of the only opening -- the windshield area. Almost as soon as she had done so, she wished she hadn't.

The streets looked like a war zone. Nobody was out -- at least, nobody who was willing to be seen. Windows were broken. Some buildings had torn-up or smashed-in walls. Now and again, they would drive by a building that had obviously burned down, perhaps long ago, and never been repaired. A few buildings were lit up, and in the windows Buffy could see what appeared to be crowds of people huddled together. A couple of abandoned vehicles -- bulkier than the cars Buffy remembered, but not so formidable as their own transport -- lay about, one of them with open doors and a dark smear along its side in the vague shape of a handprint.

Frances, Markwith and the other Watchers did not seem to think anything was wrong.

At first, Buffy was horrified; after a few minutes, though, she felt herself begin to ease into the idea. So this is what it looks like, she thought. The place where I'm going to die. For good, this time.

Finally they turned around one bend to reveal a building that stood apart from the dark and damaged ones around them -- a tall, imposing dome, built of some white stone that was almost unscarred by the warfare around them. Rings of light around its different levels shone out in every direction.

"Home at last," Frances said.

****

The Slayers were all in a small room a hallway down from the main Council Chamber. Earlier that day, they'd been instructed to put on their best clothes, which to Buffy looked just like the sleep clothes. For the occasion, Xiaoting had tied her tunic back to show off her curves, and Agatha had spent some time braiding some elaborate updo for her white-blonde hair. Noor, less enthused about the proceedings, had contented herself with creating a wrap that hid her hair to her satisfaction. Though Sumiko couldn't have understood the details, she seemed to have picked up on the new energy; after watching the others all afternoon, she had carefully folded a cloth to create a wide sash for her waist.

Buffy sat slightly apart from them, slumped against the wall. Her clothes were the same as ever, and she hadn't bothered washing her hair. It seemed like too much work.

Despite what they had seen earlier, Xiaoting seemed determined to be cheerful. "This is exciting, isn't it? Finally being known to the world?"

Noor seemed determined not to be cheerful. "I do not think this will be as simple as Markwith claims."

"Probably not," Agatha said. "But -- I do think it's rather a relief. I was so frustrated before; I spent my nights fighting every manner of demon, and in the morning I had to feign a swoon if a mouse ran across the floor. It will be nice, not pretending."

"That's not the best of it," Xiaoting said with determination. "We're finally going to get some payback. All those years of work and sacrifice, and we never got any reward."

"Saving the world is reward enough," Noor insisted.

"You'll need another audience for that line," Xiaoting said. "I did my work in obscurity and did it well, but I'll be twice as happy to do it for a world that knows and appreciates it. Come on! You know we're owed a debt. Don't tell me you're unhappy that a little of it is finally going to be paid back."

"I don't mean to be immodest, but Markwith did say we'd get a warm welcome," Agatha said with a little smile. "I shouldn't mind that at all."

"I bet we get stoned," Buffy said. "Not the Grateful Dead kind. The Biblical kind."

"The grateful dead," Noor said. "This is an unusual name -- is it a vampire cult?"

"Forget I mentioned it," Buffy sighed. "But I don't think it's gonna be all peaches and cream out there. If it were, they wouldn't have kept us secret to start with."

She'd said it mostly to shut Xiaoting up; Buffy was tired of thinking about how much better the others were at coping with all of this. Now, though, as they considered what she'd said for a few silent moments, Buffy started to think about it too. "They do not trust each other,"

Noor finally said. "They lock their doors, fear one another. My Watcher told me there are thefts even in the inner chambers of the compound. If senior members of the Council cannot trust the others even with their possessions, then whom will they trust with us?"

"I think we're being a bit melodramatic," Xiaoting said. "Besides, they don't look at us as their property, not anymore --"

"That is what Markwith said," Noor said. "But he has kept us locked in these few small rooms for two weeks."

"For our protection!" Agatha said.

"From what?" Buffy said.

They were all silent a few moments longer. Then Noor got to her feet. "Markwith has gone to prepare the Council. I think we should prepare ourselves."

"What do you mean?" Agatha said.

"We leave this room. We find their Chamber. If we cannot see what is happening, we can hear."

"Eavesdropping?" Agatha said, a faint blush in her pale cheeks.

"For somebody who used to behead people for a living, you can be really prissy sometimes," Buffy said. "Sounds like a plan to me."

Noor shot her a quick glance of approval. Great, Buffy thought, I'm on the same page with the hostile, paranoid one.

Xiaoting looked as though she might object, but instead got up and opened the door herself. "They're going to be furious," she said. "But I suppose it will be easier if the fury's spread among all five of us."

Sumiko hesitantly got to her feet, apparently willing to follow. Agatha sighed. "This is completely unnecessary," she insisted. But she came along too.

Xiaoting looked around and signaled that their way was clear. They hurried down the hallway with predators' silence; nobody was near.

In perfect, quiet accord, they would stop at each door -- Noor would lean forward and listen, then shake her head -- and they would continue on.

After a few minutes, though, they heard it for themselves -- a low rumble, as though dozens of people were arguing at once. "Bingo," Buffy said.

"They're near," Agatha said.

"I just said that," Buffy said.

"No," Noor said, her ill-temper apparently restored. "You said one of your strange, meaningless words."

"Have we come here to talk or listen?" Xiaoting snapped.

Buffy quit glaring at Noor as they came up to wider doors -- old-fashioned ones made of wood, a grand entrance. They could hear, even without pressing their ears to the doors; four of them leaned forward anyway. Sumiko just watched them, a little sadly.

"Why did you think this was necessary?" said a woman's voice, thick with an Australian accent.

"Any step we can take -- every step we can take -- to turn the tide of this war is necessary," Markwith said. His voice echoed slightly, and Buffy wondered just how big the Chamber was.

"Many steps were available to us that did not involve using dark magic," another voice said.

"But no other step that would so inspire the hope of the people," Markwith said. "They look to the Slayer as their savior."

"Not anymore," the Australian woman said. Wait, no, Buffy thought. Not a woman -- a girl. "I know I'm new at it. But if you think you need more than one Slayer to do the job --"

"That's not the case at all, Sky," Markwith said soothingly. "No one doubts your ability."

"Then why d'ya think you have to bring in other Slayers to do my work for me?"

"Don't be preposterous --" Frances began, but another voice cut her off.

"The Slayer's right to speak is sacrosanct," said a man -- old, even in his voice. "Let her speak."

The Australian girl -- Sky the Vampire Slayer -- continued on. "You've all been saying how it gets better once the people are done grieving for the old Slayer. Then they accept the new one. But how will they ever accept me now?"

"They will accept all of you," Markwith said.

"They'll have favorites," Sky said. "And I won't be one of them. Five legendary Slayers, you said. You mean, five Slayers better than me."

"A little perspective would be nice," Xiaoting muttered.

"If you don't think I'm good enough to take on Kean, good enough to do the job the Powers chose me for --"

Kean again, Buffy thought.

"Of course not, Sky," the old man said. His voice had an unmistakable ring of authority; Buffy wondered if perhaps this was the person in charge. The Quentin Travers of the 24th century. Oh, joy, she thought. "This was done without this Council's permission. The Council did not believe this necessary. But -- it is now done. It cannot be undone. We must make the best of it."

Another man's voice rang out. "Then let's be sure we have the whole truth in the record."

The crowd murmured for a long few moments; when the sound had stilled, the last voice spoke again. "I know that I don't often speak in this Chamber. But I still have the right to speak. And I want it in the record exactly what Markwith's done."

Frances' voice was shrill. "Brought back our fallen heroes from the dead? Helped turn the tide of this war?"

"Slayers fight our war for us, and they pay a terrible price. And we've brought these Slayers back from the dead so that, eventually, they can die for us again. How much do they have to sacrifice? How much do they have to suffer? The price is too high."

Buffy's heart was slamming against her chest. She felt numb, dizzy, utterly overwhelmed. She could feel her palms, hot and sweaty, against the door.

"Is there a price too high for saving humanity?" Markwith said. "I don't think so, though I suppose you might."

"This is no time for another of your endless arguments," the old man said tiredly. "And certainly not the place."

"This is exactly the time, and exactly the place. Markwith's making this Council his pawn, and if none of the rest of you will speak out about it, I will."

"I think, sir, you forget your place," a voice called, apparently from the back.

"I remember it as well as most of you remember yours. We're here to protect humanity, not to deceive it. We're meant to do our work for its own sake, not for public glory."

"Spoilsport," Xiaoting muttered. Buffy opened her mouth to try to speak, but no words would come out. She couldn't find the breath.

"Markwith tries to take people's mind off the fight with his bread and circuses. If people have figureheads to love and worship, they don't remember the trouble they're in. Is that really the best we have to offer? I don't think so."

"You insult me," Markwith said, almost gently.

It can't be true, she thought. It just can't be true.

But if it was -- oh, if it was --

Buffy jumped back as if shocked; certainly it seemed as though electric current was running through her body. The others stared at her, but she didn't care. It didn't matter.

Nothing mattered except getting into that room --

Buffy ran through the doors, slamming into the wood with a bang that echoed through the Chamber. As she looked around wildly, she saw that the room was larger than she had thought -- a circular ampitheater, filled with people in the same drab clothes. A very old man with skin the color of Noor's -- the man she'd decided was in charge? -- was sitting in an elevated chair at the inner rim of the circle.

Almost all of the 200 people or so in the room -- all of whom were staring at her or turning to their companions to join in the buzz of confused and excited reaction -- were seated. Markwith, however, was standing. So was Frances. So was a young girl, perhaps 15 years old, tree-tall and rail-thin, with coal-black skin and a wounded expression.

And so was the person she sought.

Buffy ran forward, taking him in at a glance. The same shapeless clothing as the other Watchers -- hair that was boot-camp short --
But the face was the same.

As she ran to him, she cried, "Angel!"

Angel looked at her, and the moment she saw his eyes, she felt the tears start.

Oh, thank God, she thought as she ran to Angel's side. Thank you thank you thank you.

She ran to him, almost leapt at him, clutching him close in a desperate embrace. Any moment now, she would finally feel his arms around her again --

But his body went tense, and she pulled back in shock.

Angel only stared at her, as though he had never seen her.

Or never wanted to.

************************

V : That Which Survives

"Angel?" Buffy repeated, her voice trembling. "Angel, don't you know me?"

After a long moment, Angel whispered, "Buffy? I -- It can't really be you --"

"It is, Angel it's me," she said. "Oh, God, how did you get here?"

The Council was total bedlam now; people were shouting, pointing, carrying on. The old man in the chair was holding up his hand, as though to call them to silence, but was being ignored.

Buffy heard one woman near them whisper, "You don't mean that's HER? That they brought back the one who --"

"Silence!" the old man finally cried, and the room hushed at his words. Buffy glanced back quickly; the other four Slayers had run in behind her and were staring up at her in undisguised shock. Frances' jaw had actually dropped.

Angel looked at her searchingly for a long moment, then shook his head as if to clear it. "Markwith, what have you done?" he called past her.

"Even now, you distrust me," Markwith said. "Even now, when I have given you the greatest gift I could ever offer. Is there no end to your paranoia?"

"You knew," Buffy said. Though she spoke in a low voice, her words carried throughout the amphitheater. "You knew about me and Angel all along, and you didn't tell me he was here. Why didn't you tell me?"

"You're together again," Markwith said. "And that's all that matters --"

"No, it's not," Buffy said. Her fists clenched at her sides. "That's the only reason I'm here, isn't it?"

Markwith hesitated, and Buffy felt her stomach twist. "That's it. You didn't pick me because I was good or smart or fast or anything. You just picked me because of Angel." She looked back at Angel and saw the drawn, tense expression on his face. She looked back at Markwith, and her eyes narrowed. "And not for a gift. I'm not a gift, dammit --"

"Buffy, that's enough!" Frances said. She looked as though she might shatter into pieces at one more shock, but she kept talking. "You owe Aaron Markwith your life."

"Yeah, he did me a big favor," Buffy said sarcastically.

"Angel, is this her?" the old man said. "This is the Slayer written of in your history?"

Angel slowly nodded. "If this is really her, really Buffy -- yes, Ishak, it is."

Buffy whirled back toward him. "What do you mean, really Buffy?" she shot back. "Of course it's really me! Angel, why don't you believe me? I mean, I believe you, and how do I know it's really you? You're the one with the funky weird new army hair and the Obi-Wan Kenobi getup."

"I think it's her," Angel said.

"And these are our other Slayers?" the old man said.

"Yes, Ishak," Markwith said, visibly relieved. "Our other warriors."

"We're not all completely mad," Agatha said helpfully.

Sky sank down into her seat, looking as though she wanted to disappear.

Everyone else was paying attention to the other Slayers now as Markwith introduced them, or was pretending to, anyway. Buffy searched Angel's face. He'd never been easy to read, but now his expression was unfathomable. He considered her in perfect silence, his face grave. At last, she whispered, "Angel, it's really me."

"I know that now," he replied in the same low voice.

"Then how can you just stand there? How can you not care --"

"I do care, Buffy," Angel said. "I'm sorry. It's been a long time, and this -- this is going to take some getting used to --"

"But God, Angel, I've been so -- so scared, and I never thought I'd see anyone I loved ever again, and here you are, and you won't even --"

"Buffy, listen to me," Angel said, his voice even quieter and more urgent. "There's a lot more going on here. You understood that right away. We have to be very careful right now. Both of us."

Buffy took a deep breath. "So we're playing it cool?"

"As soon as this is over, we'll talk," Angel said. After a pause, he hesitantly put one hand on her shoulder. "I promise."

The pressure of his hand was less comforting than she would have thought. Buffy nodded and turned away from him, back toward her fellow Slayers. But she remained at his side.

Markwith was going on about Xiaoting's accomplishments -- something about Velga demons and rings of fire -- and Xiaoting had her head held high. Agatha and Noor were both facing Ishak, Agatha standing almost at attention, Noor with her arms folded across her chest. But Sumiko was staring over at Buffy -- no, Buffy realized, at Angel. Her expression was shifting from confusion to something darker. Something dangerous.

Sumiko leapt forward, landing on the wooden rail of the Chamber's center circle. Her hand smashed down, shattering the rail, then came back up holding a makeshift stake. "No, don't!" Buffy cried, throwing her arms out to shield Angel.

Xiaoting ran forward and grabbed Sumiko's other arm. "Sumiko, no," she said. "It's all right."

Buffy said, "This is Angel. He's not like other vampires. He wouldn't hurt anyone." She knew Sumiko wouldn't understand the words, but hopefully she'd get something from the tone of her voice, the expression on her face. "He's safe. That's why he's here. Everyone knows that." She paused, then quickly looked back over her shoulder at Angel. "Everyone does know you're a vampire, right?"

"That's right, Sumiko," Markwith said, his voice resonating within the halls. "We have all read of Angel's goodness. We all feel perfectly safe having him within this Council. Don't we?"

"Angel's not the one you should be worried about," Buffy said.

"Buffy, no," Angel muttered. "Not here and not now."

Sumiko slowly climbed down from the railing and backed into her old place in the center of the circle. She never took her eyes off Angel.

Ishak held up his hand once more. "We will present the Slayers at the public meeting two nights from now. I do not approve of your methods, Markwith, but perhaps good will come of it."

Markwith straightened up, but the gleam went out of his eyes as Ishak continued, "Be warned, Markwith. We maintain an order within this Council for a reason. Do not step beyond it again."

Ishak lowered his hand, and his chair sank slowly until it was level with the ground. Angel moved toward him. "Where are you going?" Buffy said.

"I work with Ishak," Angel said. "Normally I'd go with him to discuss what's happened." Buffy bit her lip, and Angel quickly added, "But now I'm just going to tell him that I need to talk with you for a while. Wait here, okay?"

"Okay," Buffy said. She sank down into the nearby seat and looked around at the room. The crowds of Watchers around them were getting to their feet, heading toward the door, whispering, pointing, and glancing at all the new Slayers -- but particularly at her. She heard one elderly woman remark, "Well, that was less boring than usual."

Buffy would've liked to smile, but she realized suddenly how exhausted she was, how shaky. She felt this way after slaying, sometimes; adrenalin and emotion she'd needed a few moments before were wearing out their welcome, taking their toll.

Sky was brushing off people trying to talk to her and hurrying out the door. The other four Slayers were being gathered together by Markwith, though they seemed more guarded toward him than usual; Noor did not even pretend to disguise her hostility. Sumiko followed him obediently, but she kept looking over her shoulder at Angel. Her body was tense, still poised to strike.

Angel moved quickly to Ishak's side and spoke to him for a few moments. Despite the throngs of people, and the fact that many of them seemed to want to talk to Ishak immediately, none of them came very close to Angel. Buffy realized no one so much as brushed a sleeve against him, and very few even looked directly at him. He seemed far away from all of them, from everything. From her.

She dropped her head into her hands. By the time the hall had gone quiet, tears were in Buffy's eyes again. She heard Angel come back up the steps toward her and looked up to see him standing near her, seemingly impassive. "We're alone now," Buffy said. "No reason to hold off on that warm welcome."

"Buffy, please," Angel said, and his voice was little gentler -- a little more the way she remembered it. "I know this must be incredibly difficult for you. But this is hard for me to believe, even now."

"I know," she said. "I don't know what I'm doing here. I know I don't belong in this time. Everything's all wrong, and when I saw you, I had this moment when I thought you were going to make everything better. But instead you're all --" Buffy looked up at his face, and a little of the anger went out of her, replaced by fear. "Angel, do you even remember me? I mean, really remember?"

"It's been 350 years," Angel said slowly. "I never forgot you, Buffy. But sometimes you seemed so -- unreal -- to me. Like I dreamed you up. This golden girl who loved me and saved me and told me to carry on the fight. It sounds like a dream, doesn't it?"

"So I'm just this foggy vision from the past. Not even a real person to you any more."

"That's not true," Angel said as he sank into the seat next to her. "There are days you never forget, moments you remember. Even after three centuries."

That sounded a little more like the Angel she knew, and she looked up at him hopefully. But he was still remote -- in spirit, if not in body. His shoulders were hunched forward protectively, and he was half-turned from her. She hugged herself at the waist. "So why aren't you glad to see me?"

Angel was quiet for a moment, considering his answer. Buffy looked at him for a long time; the face was the same, of course, but for some reason he appeared different. Maybe it was the super-short hair, she thought. It managed to make him look both more severe and more vulnerable.

At last he said, "Buffy, when you came through that door and I saw you again --" He sighed and looked away. "I have to remember why you're here, and so do you."

"Markwith," Buffy said.

"He hates me, hates that I have rank here. He doesn't understand why the Council suffers a vampire in their midst, and he's not alone. A lot of people out there distrust the Council because I'm a part of it. Markwith brought you here to knock me off balance. People have done that to me before, and the results have been pretty terrible."

Buffy froze. "People have brought me back from the dead before?"

"No. That's not what I meant," Angel looked back at her. "We're not going to play Markwith's game, Buffy."

"So, that's it?" Buffy said, her voice trembling slightly. "Gee, nice to see you again, you're looking terrific, let's keep in touch? Or do we just pretend we never met at all?" Tears were welling in her eyes again, and she tried to blink them back, but it was no use. All her old despair was flooding back into her now, her heart lacerated by the excision of her brief hope.

"Everybody I know is gone, except for you, but I can't be with you, because this guy Markwith, who dragged me out of my grave, is trying to use me to mess you up. So I just go out in that war zone and fight the uglies until they kill me again. And they're gonna get me quick, Angel, because I don't even know how to fight anymore." She gave him a grief-twisted smile. "Do you think you'll forget me faster this time?"

Angel leaned forward. "Buffy, listen to me. I never forgot you. Never. But this isn't how I remembered you. I know that I never saw you like this before."

"Like what?"

"Defeated."

The word hit her like a physical slap. Buffy choked back her last sob. Angel continued: "Nothing ever beat you, Buffy. No matter how much you lost, or how much you were hurting, or how hard it was gonna be to keep going, you did it."

"Not at the end. You didn't see me at the end. That was different," she whispered.

"I know," Angel said. "But you're the same."

Buffy sucked in a quick breath and straightened her back. The flush of warmth she felt right now was only borrowed courage; she knew that much from experience. She also knew that sometimes that was enough to get through to tomorrow. But tomorrow -- "Can't we see each other at all?"

"I'm not going to let Markwith control me," Angel said. "That means we take responsibility for controlling ourselves. We'll -- talk. We'll work something out. Find our way."

"Yeah?" Buffy said, and when Angel nodded, she felt her first faint smile in what felt like eternity spread across her face. "That'd be good."
"I should go talk to Ishak," Angel said as he got to his feet. "And I imagine the others are waiting on you. Where on earth did Markwith have you guys stashed?"

Buffy stood up and began following him down the steps of the empty Chamber. "Some abandoned skyscraper. Many scary blocks from here."

"They'll move you into the Keep first thing tomorrow, assuming they don't move you tonight," Angel said. "Tomorrow night, come to my rooms. We'll have had some time to recover."

Angel looked so cool and unruffled that it was hard to imagine he had to recover from anything. But Buffy didn't feel like pressing the point. "You live here too?"

"Everyone on the Council lives here. It's probably the only truly safe place in London. Maybe anywhere."

"Lucky us," Buffy said, and the absurdity of the comment hit her all at once. She began laughing, a weak, punchy laugh that usually signaled the end of her rope.

Angel gave her the shadow of a smile. "Fortune favors the brave."

They went through the large wooden doors; Markwith and Frances stood there. Buffy could almost feel the chill of the glare that passed between Markwith and Angel. "The others are waiting, Buffy," Frances said hurriedly. "Come along."

"I got one more thing left to do," Buffy said. "This thing where I bitch-slap Aaron Markwith to a bloody pulp."

"So refreshingly direct," Markwith said, with what sounded like genuine good humor. "We'll talk about this later, Buffy."

"Give me one good reason I should go with you."

"Buffy," Angel said, his voice a warning. Buffy looked back at him, nodded quickly and started moving down the hall. Markwith and Frances needed a few steps to catch up with her.

"Angel is trying to tell you to pick your battles wisely, Buffy," Markwith said as they moved away. "He's right about that much. But I hope you'll be wiser at picking your enemies than he is."

"Angel's enemies are my enemies," Buffy said. "So I guess they're all picked out for me."

They got into the elevator and began their descent to the lower levels and the armored transport. "You are loyal," Markwith said. "And loving, I think. Your dedication to Angel speaks well of your heart, at least."

"So what does the fact that you hate him say about you?" Buffy shot back.

"A great many things," Markwith said. "And I think they speak well of me."

The elevator doors swooshed open to reveal the transport, four obviously horrified Watchers and four Slayers who were staring at Buffy and Markwith with mixed levels of suspicion and curiosity. Buffy took the opportunity to put some physical distance between her and Markwith; she was dangerously close to losing her temper. "Angel is not like other vampires. Don't you know that by now? Ishak trusts him. Why can't you?"

"Ishak is a sentimental old man who --" Markwith caught himself. "Buffy, be honest with me. Be honest with yourself. Was Angel always as trustworthy as you say? Was he always stable? Did he never once, in all the time you knew him, become a danger to you? To those around you?"

"If you have my records," Buffy said slowly, "then you know the answer. But that doesn't mean --"

"That it will happen again? I sincerely hope it doesn't. But I'm not content to hope. I act." Markwith got into the vehicle, forcing Buffy to get in as well in order to continue the discussion. After a moment's pause, the others followed suit but remained silent. "Angel's convinced that everyone who doesn't accept him wholeheartedly has a stake behind his back, waiting to strike. It would never occur to him that my intentions might be genuine."

"Genuine?" Buffy asked incredulously.

"As the story goes, you were the reason Angel joined our fight in the first place. His inspiration, perhaps you'd say. But he's been odd of late. Quiet, secretive, hostile -- I mean, more so than usual. His behavior has drawn attention. I'm far from the only one who thought he might have the potential to become a danger again. This project was in the planning stages, and I thought, why not bring you back to him? If there were anyone capable of stabilizing him, it would be you."

Buffy looked sideways at Markwith as the armored vehicle rumbled into motion. The explanation made sense. It was even flattering, in a way. But it didn't quite add up. "So why didn't you tell me?"

"Didn't want to get your hopes up," Markwith said easily. "After all, it's been three and a half centuries, hasn't it? I wasn't sure he'd welcome you back with open arms. Glad I was wrong on that score."

Buffy said nothing else on their way home.

**

Everyone was silent until the moment the last Watcher left the Slayers' communal room. The moment the doors slid shut --

"A vampire? You were in love with a vampire? How is this possible?"

"How terribly shocking! I mean, for you too, dear --"

"I can't believe you're the girl from Angel's past!"

Xiaoting said this last, and Buffy turned to face her. "What? You knew about us?"

"Well, I knew about Angel," Xiaoting said. "A vampire on the Council? That's a topic of conversation that never ends, I'm sure. I even met him once, when my Watcher brought me to London for a visit. It seemed so scandalously thrilling."

"My Watcher did not mention this," Noor said.

"Nor mine," Agatha said. Sumiko was ignoring them all and getting into her sleep clothes.

"He wasn't on our side of the fight in your time, Agatha," Buffy said. "For that matter, he wasn't a member of the Council of Watchers fan club in my time, either."

"But he joined up because of you," Xiaoting said. "It's such a great story. And I just can't believe you're the beautiful girl they always talked about!"

"I'm gonna assume that came out wrong," Buffy said. "What did you hear? Tell me."

Xiaoting bounced onto her bed and hugged the pillow tight; Noor and Agatha drew conspiratorally close to hear her. Buffy flopped across the foot of the bed and thought, this is like a sorority house on Bizarro World.

"Well, so the story went, Angel was cursed with a soul centuries ago."

"True so far," Buffy said.

"He has his soul, then?" Noor asked. When Buffy nodded, Noor visibly relaxed. Agatha had been smiling at Buffy before, but now the smile became more genuine. Noor said, "This is still very strange."

"I used to think that too," Buffy said. "Then I realized that everything about love is so strange, you really can't get hung up on the details." Noor and Agatha simultaneously sighed in resignation. Xiaoting rolled her eyes.

"Can I continue this story? Very well, then. At some point, Angel meets a Slayer." Xiaoting held her hands out toward Buffy as though presenting her to the audience after a play. "Despite the fact that he is a vampire and she is a Slayer, they fall madly in love. He swears to fight by her side. After her tragic death, he vows that he will carry on the work they began together. When her Watcher took over the Council --"

"Giles became head of the Council?" Buffy said in disbelief.

"I suppose so," Xiaoting said. "Anyway, Angel began helping the Watchers then. Over time, they grew to accept a vampire among their number."

"Markwith has not," Noor pointed out.

"Markwith's trying to help," Xiaoting said. "How bad can he be? He's brought you two together again, hasn't he?"

"Guess so," Buffy said. She still wasn't sure what to think of Markwith's explanation -- or his words of warning about Angel.

"If he's your beau, Buffy, then I trust your judgment," Agatha said. "But -- really -- a vampire?"

Buffy glared at Agatha, but her usually sharp tongue failed her, and she just flushed a deep red.

"Oh, no, no, please don't take offense!" Agatha pleaded. "I simply meant that it would be strange. And somewhat sad, I should think. To know that you could never marry."

"Marriage," Buffy said. "I didn't think ahead that far. Didn't seem to be much point."

"How could you not?" Agatha said, a blush pinking her pale cheeks. "I -- I don't wish to be immodest, but when I met Ronald -- well, I spent quite a bit of time thinking about being married."

Xiaoting raised an eyebrow. "You don't have to wait until you're married, you know." Agatha went scarlet.

"End of discussion," Buffy said. This particular conversation was headed back into a painful area. "We have to move tomorrow. We should get to bed."

"Yes, we have so much packing to do," Xiaoting said with a sarcastic laugh, but she good-naturedly started stripping her garments away.
"And I imagine you're in a hurry to be alone with your thoughts."

"I am in a hurry not to share my room with four other people," Noor said.

"How very surprising," Agatha said dryly as she went into the bathroom with her sleep clothes.

Buffy glanced over at Sumiko; she was already under the covers, her eyes shut too tightly.

Sumiko sees a dangerous situation. The others see a big love story, Buffy thought. Markwith sees an opportunity -- for good or for bad, I don't know. Angel sees some ghost from the back of beyond.

What do I see?

***

VI : London 2353

For the first time since her resurrection -- no, since long before that, back before her mom got sick -- Buffy awoke without the heaviness of depression weighing her down. She felt almost as much fear and amger as anticipation, but even the negative energy counted as energy, and it jolted her with the power she'd been lacking.

As she padded into the bathroom for her morning shower, she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. Buffy gasped, shocked by her own reflection; her hair was so dirty, her face so pale. Her anguish had left its mark on her, and even if her spirits had improved somewhat, her body hadn't quite caught up. "No wonder Angel got wigged," Buffy muttered as she began to soap up.

She knew, of course, that her appearance hadn't made one damn bit of difference in his reaction. But Buffy couldn't quite help wishing she'd made her first entrance in 350 years looking a little less scary.

Xiaoting and Agatha were both excited abou the upcoming change in scenery; Agatha had everything packed up in a neat little bundle before Buffy even woke up, and Xiaoting was humming as she flitted around, getting ready in a far more disorganized fashion. Noor seemed more resigned than anything else, and Sumiko was packing just to copy the others, which Buffy thought must get awfully tiresome after a while.

Buffy tried to give Sumiko a sympathetic smile or two, and once or twice made a move to help her fold up clothes. But Sumiko pulled away. Apparently Buffy's association with Angel was too great a betrayal to forgive.

If only I could explain, Buffy thought. Then again, would it really make a difference? There are gonna be a lot of people who can't handle it, even though they do know the full story. There always were.

When their Watchers arrived, Xiaoting practically bounded forward. "Are we ready to go?"

"Certainly," her Watcher said with a maternal chuckle. "We'll get you girls back down to the transport."

"I don't think so," Buffy said.

They all turned to stare at her; Frances, in particular, looked pained. After a moment, Frances said, "You don't mean to come to the Keep at all? You're refusing to help?"

"And the Olympic gold medalist for the high jump to conclusions is Frances Keeling," Buffy said. "I just meant -- I'd like to walk."

She hadn't known she was going to say that until it popped out. No sooner had she spoken, though, Buffy knew that was exactly what she needed. To be free, on her own, just for a few minutes. And to be able to look at this caved-in world on her own terms.

Frances gave her an awkward smile. "It's three miles, Buffy. And it's rather uncertain out there --"

"I thought I was supposed to be dealing with that," Buffy said. "Not avoiding it. I have to get to know this place, right? I don't want to live in an ivory tower." She remembered the Watchers' Keep and frowned. "Except, you know, in the literal sense."

Sumiko's Watcher, apparently desperate to speak to a Slayer who might understand him, broke in, "Well, we don't allow solo patrols anymore. Haven't for more than a century. You'll have to have someone with you."

"This isn't a patrol," Buffy said through clenched teeth. "This is a walk. Am I allowed to take walks? Because the whole distinction between doing my job and being a prisoner seems smaller all the time."

"Of course you're allowed to go for a walk, Buffy," Frances said. "The rest of you go on. I would like to speak with Buffy for a moment."

The others wandered out, Xiaoting making a face behind Frances' back as she went. Buffy bit her lip not to smile.

When they were alone, Frances took a deep breath and began speaking in a measured, rehearsed tone. "Buffy, I realize how shocking all of this has been for you. And the situation you are attempting to absorb is complex. But I do wish you would consider, for a moment, that perhaps not everyone is attempting to harm you. This project was begun for the highest motives and only after due consideration, and --"

"Can it," Buffy said. "You can talk all you want about high motives, but the fact is, you treated us like your dirty little secret until yesterday. You didn't tell them the truth, and you didn't tell me the truth."

"Buffy, I told you as much as I knew," Frances said, more honestly. "I've been given access to Rupert Giles' full records now. I've not had time to read them all, but -- ah, some of the peculiarities you mentioned do seem to show up."

"I knew Giles couldn't resist," Buffy said. "But hey, okay, let's say I'm cool with all this. You, Frances, did not lie to me, Buffy. But what about Markwith?"

"You heard him last night, Buffy --"

"That's just his reason for lying to me," Buffy said. "I thought about it a lot last night, and you know what I couldn't come up with? His reason for lying to you."

Frances straightened her back. Her lips compressed into a thin line. "That's quite enough," Frances said. "It's not your place to question Markwith's motives."

"Not your place either, I guess," Buffy said, slinging her slim pack across her shoulders. "Looks like the only guy who gets to do that is Angel."

When Frances stiffened yet further, Buffy sighed. "You want to give me directions or what?"

*******

Buffy had visited London once before. The summer after she'd graduated from high school -- the summer after she and Angel had broken up -- her mother had attempted to reward and comfort her with a three-week trip. Joyce had come along for the first week, and they'd shopped in Harrods and eaten out and had what her mother considered a very nice time. Buffy's face had hurt from forcing herself to smile.

The second two weeks had been Buffy's own. Joyce had claimed she couldn't leave Dawn or the gallery that long, but Buffy knew that Joyce was hoping her elder daughter would go out, go dancing, find exotic young men to drink and flirt with, maybe even have a vacation fling that would erase Angel from her mind.

Instead, Buffy had spent a lot of time sobbing in her hotel room, sending morose postcards to Willow and writing some extraordinarily bad poetry. All in all, the trip had left a lot to be desired.

But at least London looked better then than it does now, Buffy thought.

Now that she had light to see, and a full range of vision instead of the transport's thin window, she could see more evidence of the damage. Most buildings looked as though they had been abandoned long ago. Yet here and there, amid the damaged buildings, would be one in good condition, with lights and flickers of movement behind the windows, or laundry hanging out on the sill to dry. The curbs were still visible, but the roads had remained uncleaned for so long that they were reverting from pavement into dirt; a few plants had pushed their way through, and some of them had gotten pretty tall. She checked out the car she'd seen the night before with the bloody handprint. With her Sunnydale High education, Buffy quickly realized the blood had been there for a long time. Apparently nobody was in charge of crime-scene cleanup anymore. The whole city's a crime scene, she thought.

As she got closer to the Keep, though, the situation changed for the better.

She started to see people.

At first there were just one or two at a time, hurrying along back to their homes, wherever they'd staked their claim. They wore clothes even more drab and shapeless than the ones she'd seen so far, and they clutched cloth bags close to them, as though scared their belongings would be taken at any moment.

Every few blocks, though, Buffy would begin to see more and more people, and they were more relaxed -- talking to one another, greeting people who were obviously friends or neighbors. She was startled when she saw the first pushcart, trundled along by a man offering potatoes to apparently eager customers. By the time she was within sight of the Keep, though, there were literally dozens of these pushcarts around, trading cloth and produce and simple tools.

Xander would say I've truly come home, Buffy thought. I found the mall.

One cart caught Buffy's eyes, and she started. It was piled high with cloth -- most of it in the plain white and dark gray and olive green she'd become so used to in the past weeks. But her eyes were caught by a few things -- tucked almost out of sight -- in dark red and regal blue. She jogged up to the cart. "Can I see those?" she said.

The woman behind the cart, a stout, sweet-faced lady with hip-length dark hair, raised her eyebrows as she smiled. "You're not afraid, then."

"Not of primary colors, anyway," Buffy said. The fabric was light and surprisingly soft; though it was flimsier than the garb the Watchers had given her, it was also obviously a lot prettier.She was surprised how much something so simple could cheer her. "Oooh, nice. What do you want for this fabric?"

The woman smiled and, to Buffy's surprise, took the question literally. "What will you trade me?"

"Haven't got much," Buffy said. She pulled down her pack, realizing that money was probably as thing of the past too. And, with all her possessions easily lifted in one hand, she wasn't very well-prepared for bartering. "A lot of clothes, but you probably don't need fabric, seeing as how you sell fabric. Not really much else, except an apple I swiped at breakfast and a few sheets of paper --"

"Paper?" the woman's face lit up. "You have paper?"

"Yeah," Buffy said. "Only have about ten sheets left --"

"Ten sheets! Will you part with them?"

Buffy shrugged as she quirked her mouth. "You got it."

The woman took the paper with a trembling hand, then quickly handed over thick bundles of red and blue fabric, all the bright cloth she had. "You have no idea what this means. If you ever get any more, please do come back. I'll trade at any time. Or set up other trades for you, if you like. I'm Tam. I come here twice a week."

"Tam," Buffy repeated as she put out her hand to shake. She felt absurdly glad to know any person who wasn't a Watcher or Slayer. "I'm Buffy. Didn't realize paper was such a commodity in these parts. Makes sense, though. Not a whole lot of logging going on."

"We make our own, of course, but it's hard to make the quantities and grades we need," Tam said. "Where does your group get such fine quality? This is lovely."

Buffy frowned a little. Her group? She asked a different question aloud. "How come you don't make more cloth like this? I'd think people would be buying the red and blue like crazy."

"Most people don't like the extra attention," Tam said. "Most people can't protect themselves from it."

"You mean, the whole vamps-jam-on-bright-colors thing?" Buffy frowned. "It doesn't really make that big a difference. I mean, they like the flash, but they're not that much more likely to strike because of it."

Tam shrugged. "But every bit helps, doesn't it?"

"Guess it does," Buffy said. The more she thought about it, the more she realized that, in a desperate situation, people would clutch at any means of improving their chances of not being picked out for a vampire's lunch. She managed to compress her new acquisitions into her pack, then shouldered it again. "So, just curious on this point -- how did you know I'd be able to protect myself?"

Tam creased her forehead in puzzlement. "You had paper. You didn't think I'd know?"

Buffy thought about this for a second, then remembered what Markwith and Frances had told her. "Oh, witchcraft! You're a witch?"

Tam's round face went ghostly pale and looked around quickly. "Please! Your voice --"

"I'm sorry!" Buffy said, holding her palms out toward Tam. Too late, the rest of what Markwith and Frances had told her was sinking in -- the part about witchcraft being forbidden for all but a few, one of whom Tam apparently was not.

"It's all right," Tam said, breathing a little more easily. "Nobody unusual was about. My friends here, they know. But you can't ever say when somebody from the Council might be coming by."

Buffy raised an eyebrow. "Yeah. Never know when they'll turn up."

Tam repiled her things on her cart and prepared to push it away. "I'm moving on just in case anybody thinks of mentioning this. You won't, will you? Do you promise?"

"You kidding?" Buffy said weakly. "I'm the one with all the incriminating paper."

Tam hesitated a moment longer, then smiled at her unevenly. "Then return when you've got more."

With that Tam trundled off. Buffy watched her go until she was sure Tam wouldn't turn back. Then she headed toward the entrance to the Keep.

***********

Frances rushed Buffy through her introduction to her new home; apparently the others had gotten a nice lunch and a tour for their trouble.
Buffy got a few minutes to change clothes and get a glance at her new, private apartment -- which, though roomy, was still too bland and empty for Buffy's taste -- before she dumped her pack on the bed and hurried up to the new training room.

Buffy gave a low whistle as she walked into the room -- almost football-field long, with walls that displayed an array of weapons such as Buffy had never seen. The other Slayers, all five of them, were going through a kata Buffy vaguely remembered from her late-fall burst of slaying enthusiasm. "This is like Fort Knox for armaments," Buffy said. "Way cool."

"At last you have decided to come work," Noor said. She was sweating from exertion. "Did you enjoy your pleasant stroll?"

"As much as you enjoyed your pleasant lunch," Buffy shot back. But Noor only gave her a small smile in response, and Buffy wondered how much of Noor's bad humor was just for show, after all.

Buffy took a place in the back near Xiaoting and slipped easily into the moves of the kata. As she feigned a twist kick, she whispered,
"Got some gorgeous fabric. Actual colors and everything. We won't have to wear the Chairman Mao spring collection any more."

"Chairman Mao -- that sounds sort of familiar," Xiaoting mused quietly as they reached toward the sky, then brought their arms down in two sharp blocks.

As the kata ended, they each bowed quickly to the Watcher leading the kata. Xiaoting then turned to Buffy. "Thank goodness you've got something with some color in it," she said. "These things are boring me to tears."

"I rather like these clothes," Agatha said, holding one loose-trousered leg out for inspection. "You've no idea how wretched it was, trying to slay in a corset."

"Ugh," Buffy said. "Didn't you pass out?"

"Sometimes," Agatha said. "But most nights I simply used my bow and arrow. And I do have to admit, hoop skirts were excellent for concealing weapons."

"I remember thinking that," Buffy said, flashing back to a Halloween centuries past.

"Vanity," Noor sniffed. "We are here to do a job, not worry about our finery."

"Or lack thereof," Xiaoting said. "The clothes aren't a distraction, Noor. They're just for fun."

"This isn't about fun," Agatha said.

As they bickered, Buffy looked past them to see Sumiko and Sky. Both of them were sitting on the floor near the front, waiting for the Watcher to lead the next exercise. Sumiko's eyes were shut, her expression serene.

Sky looked as miserable as only a young teenage girl can look. Her arms were folded across her chest, her lanky legs tucked awkwardly up under her, and her face set in a sulk. Buffy had a sudden, piercing recollection of Dawn, and she had to close her eyes for a long moment.

Buffy stepped away from the others, who by now were too involved in their argument to notice, and went to Sky's side. "Hey," she said. Sky jumped at the sound, then half-turned toward her with a scowl. "How's it going?" Buffy offered. "I mean, how are you?"

"Useless, thanks."

"I know it's a drag," Buffy said. "Having other Slayers show up? Happened to me too, you know."

"You all showed up together," Sky said in the same grudging voice. "You're all a team, aren't you?"

"In a manner of speaking," Buffy said. "But that's not what I meant. Before -- way back in ye olden times of the 20th century -- I had another Slayer show up."

That caught Sky's interest, and she looked up at Buffy with ill-hidden curiosity. "You're telling me a story. There's only ever been one Slayer at a time. Didn't they ever tell you? One Slayer dies --"

"The next is called," Buffy said. "If I had a nickle for every time I heard that -- well, now that money's useless, I would actually not be any better off. So let's get back to the point, which is that I have had the pleasure of coming back from the dead before this. I'm getting pretty good at it."

"You died and came back again -- again?" Sky said. Her curiosity was winning out over her attitude at last, and she got to her feet. Buffy tilted her head up as Sky slowly pulled herself up to her full height -- which appeared to be an inch or two more than Riley could have claimed.

"Uh, yeah," Buffy said. trying not to be disconcerted at talking to a giantess. "The first time, I got drowned by a vampire master. Fortunately two friends of mine -- one of them being Angel -- showed up to help. The other friend, Xander, was able to resuscitate me."

"And that called another Slayer?" Sky said.

"Her name was Kendra," Buffy said. She was beginning to feel a little misty, talking about Xander and now Kendra. She'd never thought to say any of their names again. "She was terrific. And she would have fit in here so much better than me."

After Kendra came Faith, Buffy remembered, and the mist cleared right up. Weird -- she hadn't thought about Faith being dead and lost too. And she still wasn't sure she cared.

I ought to care, Buffy thought. But her heart was unmoved.

"Two Slayers at one time," Sky said. A bit of the pout reappeared. "Now there's six. You can't tell me that's not a crowd."

Buffy turned her attention back to the young girl. "Listen, when Kendra first showed up and laid her whole we-are-the-chosen-two thing on me, I was not happy. I was all, hey, you, get off of my cloud, you know?"

From the perplexed expression on Sky's face, Buffy could tell she needed to get a bit more literal. "I hated it, at first. I thought it made me less important. But really it just made me less alone."

Sky sighed. "It's just -- the Slayer before me was so good. Inez lived for three years, and she was smart and talented and beautiful, too, a real stunner."

"She stood out," Buffy said. "That's okay. You'll stand out too. Find the thing you do best, and do it like crazy. Ask them if there's not something else you can do -- something new, something Inez didn't do. You can make them see that you're special."

Sky's young face was torn between hope and doubt. After a moment, she said, "The people loved her. I've been at it two months now, and I mean, they respect me, but -- they don't love me."

"They're gonna love you," Buffy said with assurance. "Give 'em time. We're not that cuddly a group, actually."

At that very moment, Noor said, "I am tired of your frivolity and your ridiculous concerns!"

"And I am sick and tired of being lectured at every turn by a sour, angry --"

Xiaoting was interrupted by the Watcher in charge. "Ah -- perhaps that's enough of a break, then?"

The others turned back to him; he was holding an armful of quarterstaffs. "I had thought we, ah, might try some quarterstaff work, if ever you need to get a vampire out of your immediate proximity --"

"Sounds great," Xiaoting said, stalking forward to grab her weapon. Noor followed suit, and the two of them were soon poised to square off.

The Watcher, attempting to exert some authority, said, "No, no. Let's, ah -- let's match up by height, shall we? Most even that way."

"It won't be even out there," Noor said, still glaring at Xiaoting.

"Come along now. Let's see -- that puts Sky and Agatha together --" The two tallest Slayers moved to their corner. "Then Noor and Buffy, and Xiaoting and Sumiko." Sumiko, understanding her name, looked up from her quiet meditation on the floor, got to her feet, and obediently took the quarterstaff Xiaoting offered.

"You are shorter than Xiaoting," Noor muttered as they faced off.

"About the same, I think," Buffy said uneasily. Noor looked furious, and Buffy had never really done a lot of serious quarterstaff fighting --

"Begin!" the Watcher shouted, and Noor swung her staff toward Buffy -- and Buffy parried it easily, twisted it around, disarmed Noor in a stroke. Noor somersaulted backwards to catch the staff before it hit the ground, but Buffy was on her in a moment. She let loose with strike after strike, never letting Noor get her bearings. After a minute she tried the twist again. It worked again, and Noor's staff spun off into the wall.

From her half-crouching position, Noor stared up at Buffy, amazed. "What is this? You come at me like a crazy person. And you have spent the last two weeks sleepwalking."

Sleepwalking. That was as good a term as any for the way she'd been dragging around. Today, though -- she was no less sad, no less bewildered about her surroundings. But everything had begun to change because of Angel. Not because he was here himself, she realized -- or, at any rate, not only because he was here. But because of what she could now know. What she could at last bear to hear.
Buffy took a deep breath and smiled. "I guess I woke up."

**********************

VII : What's Kept in the Keep

Buffy wiped sweat from her forehead and panted, exhausted. The target in front of her had been bulls-eyed so many times she didn't she'd be able to fit another arrow in the center.

Wouldn't mind trying, she thought with a grim smile.

"Well, Buffy, this is -- much better," Frances said, somewhat grudgingly. Her extreme chill toward Buffy earlier in the day was fading in light of actual evidence that her charge truly could slay.

"This is much more my style," Buffy said. "Really."

"We shall see," Frances said. She raised her voice and said, "That will be all for today. You're free to do as you please."

"A bath!" Xiaoting exulted.

"A nap," Agatha sighed.

"Privacy," Noor muttered.

"So, do I get my own version of the tour?" Buffy said.

Frances smiled a little stiffly, then looked around the room, perhaps seeking another guide -- any other guide. But the various Watchers were already headed out the door. "Ah. Certainly. What would you like to see?"

"The general lay of the land would be nice."

Buffy started braiding her sweaty hair back from her face as Frances led her out the door. "The Keep is far too vast a complex to be comprehensively toured in a day. Or even a week, I should say. But I can explain the basics for you. What little livestock we have is chambered in the basement areas. And you've already seen the heart of the Chamber, near ground level."

"Got that," Buffy said. "What else is down there?"

"Storage, mostly. Warehousing space. Workshops. The library and the reliquary." Frances' stern expression softened a little. "I used to work in the reliquary, when I was younger. Quiet, musty old place, but fascinating. You wouldn't believe the artifacts we have down there --" Her voice trailed off, as though she were lost in thought.

"Relics from days of yore, huh? Seems like I was one of them," Buffy said.

Frances was all business again in an instant. "Higher up we have the training rooms and the schoolrooms for the young ones."

"Kids?" Buffy said. That seemed an unexpectedly cheerful aspect to this place, but it made sense. "The Watchers' children live here too."

"Well, of course," Frances said. "Though we do try to keep them from running underfoot. What I was referring to, though, were the young women. The Slayers yet to be called."

"What -- they're here? You have a -- school for Slayers?"

"The world's far too risky a place to leave future Slayers to chance. The Council's always made an effort to find girls who may be called one day, to begin their training early. Now we also bring the girls here to live."

"Their parents okay with that?" Buffy frowned.

"Buffy -- no parent would want anything but the safety of the Keep for their child. Not in these times."

And if she could've sent Dawn to Thailand, to Jupiter, to Narnia, to keep her safe from Glory, wouldn't she have done it? Buffy said, "I understand."

"We bring them as soon as they're found," Frances said. "And they remain here until they are called or until they turn 18."

"18?" Buffy said, tensing slightly at the memory of that birthday, and the test that had accompanied it. Frances seemed unaware of any reason for discomfort.

"If a girl's not been called by her 18th birthday, she will never be. Very few are called even after 17, but we hang on that extra year to be sure."

Buffy's steps slowed as she considered what Frances had said. "Some of them -- they don't get called."

"Of course not," Frances said. "There are always twenty or thirty girls with the potential at any given time. But if the current Slayer lives long enough, then some of those girls will age beyond the point of being Called while she serves."

Weird, Buffy thought. To prepare your whole life for this, and just have it not happen. Maybe as weird as having it happen when you weren't prepared at all. "What do you do with them then? Just toss them out with the trash?"

"That's uncalled for," Frances said severely. "The girls are free to do as they wish. Some of them do become Watchers, you know. Ishak's mother Shireen was one of those."

And the others? Buffy thought. Were they free to just go out into the nightmare and make their way? The topic was too depressing to pursue. "So you have them all here. For school and training."

"That's right," Frances said. "Well, we have almost all of them. We try very hard to be comprehensive with our searches, but transportation and communication between nations -- that's tricky. Even between cities, sometimes. But we've not missed a Slayer for a few decades now."

"Bully for you," Buffy said. They got into a lift, which began rising. "And we are now headed up to the living areas, which look totally like a Marriott, only less joyful and unique."

"You don't like your quarters," Frances said. "Too plain for you? You'd rather have a corner in one of the few buildings beyond the Keep with power and security? They sleep six to a room in there, or so I'm told."

Buffy raised her eyebrows. "Okay, they look better to me now. But, jeez, hang some paintings or something --"

"Anyway, we aren't headed to the living areas," Frances said. "We're going to the very top."

"And what's up there?" Buffy said tiredly.

The doors swooshed open, and Buffy gasped. Frances couldn't resist a little smile. "Welcome to the gardens."

The entire ceiling of the Keep was domed in glass, the various panes and angles casting warm rays of light down into the tiers of gardens below. Buffy stepped out of the lift onto the lowest level -- an orchard of fruit trees, hung with peaches and pears and apples like the one Buffy had stolen at breakfast. The ground around the rim sloped up to form rings of ascending height up to the very top of the building, sort of like this weird art museum her mom had dragged her to once on a long-ago trip to New York.

Buffy breathed in deeply; she hadn't realized, until this moment, how antiseptic and artificial the Keep smelled. It was -- too clean. Blank. Devoid of feeling. But this place smelled like fruit and grass and dirt and fertilizer, and it was wonderful. Even the fertilizer.

"Amazing," she said.

"It's lovely, isn't it?" Frances said softly. "We're not totally self-sustaining, of course. There are granaries outside of town. But this supplies most of our daily diet."

"Granaries," Buffy said. "You mean, like, wheat fields and silos and stuff?" When Frances nodded, Buffy said, "How come the vamps don't trash them? Seems like it would be pretty easy to send them up in smoke --"

"Why would they?" Frances said. "If we don't eat, they don't eat."

"Your point is made," Buffy said. She looked down at the thick grass beneath her feet and stifled the urge to take off her shoes, to feel the cool blades between her toes.

"We'll get you a look at the schoolrooms, maybe a couple of the workshops," Frances said. "I expect you'll find the library soon enough. But I thought -- maybe -- you'd want to see this."

"You were right," Buffy said. "Thanks, Frances. I mean it."

Frances actually looked a little bashful as she led Buffy back into the lift.

**

When the tour was done, Buffy headed back to her room. She had only an hour or two before her -- what? Date? Appointment? Meeting, she decided. Her meeting with Angel. She was going to need that time to get her head together. It wasn't like she could put on anything special, not unless she just wanted to wrap a bolt of cloth around her for a toga.

Please, she thought. Let's not scare the man any more than necessary.

As she came down her hallway -- at least, she thought it was her hallway -- she heard Xiaoting's voice. "There you are!"

She turned around to see Xiaoting jogging toward her. "They've got us all on the same hallway. Can't imagine who they moved to pull that off."

"Cool," Buffy said with a very genuine smile that surprised her. Though she wasn't at all sorry to have some space to herself -- sleeping in the same room with four other people weirded her out -- she was glad her fellow Slayers would be close by. After all, she thought, this is about 50 percent of the people I know on the entire planet.

"Agatha's got the best view of all," Xiaoting said. "Come see."

Agatha did have a brilliant view, as it turned out; through the various skyscrapers and walkways, there was still a view of Big Ben, now about at eye level. "Wow," Buffy said. "Bet this looks amazing after dark. If any of the buildings light up, I mean."

"It's somewhat depressing, though," Agatha said. "I was always so fond of Hyde Park, and it's all gone for this beastly place."

"Looks a little plain to you, too," Buffy said.

"Terribly," Agatha sighed from her place on her sofa. She had propped up some pillows so that the effect was more like that of a chaise longue. "The walls and ceiling are this horrid blank white, and the woodwork's not carved, and there's no pictures or sculptures or crystals on the shelves. It's utterly barren."

"Westerners," Xiaoting scoffed. "This place is gorgeous. All creamy and light."

"Where are Sumiko and Noor?" Buffy asked.

"Noor said she'd be along in a second," Xiaoting answered. "Personally, I think she's putting off having to deal with us again for as long as she can."

"Don't be unkind," Agatha said. "She's not used to sharing her space. Perhaps she had no sisters."

"Like that would explain her attitude," Xiaoting said. "And Sumiko -- well, she's still in a bit of a snit about Angel, isn't she? Thought it might be better just to have you."

"She doesn't understand," Buffy said softly. "It's a hard thing to understand, without words."

"She'll catch on eventually," Xiaoting said cheerfully. "A month or two goes by and Angel hasn't eaten anyone, and she'll get the idea."

"Do you think they ever have musicales?" Agatha asked. "If not, our afternoons may prove rather dull --"

The door chimed, and Agatha said, "Come in!" Buffy grinned, realizing that Agatha must have already gotten the swing of the technology.
Noor walked in, somewhat awkwardly. "What is this view you spoke of?"

"Take a look," Xiaoting said, gesturing expansively toward the window. "Isn't that marvelous?"

"It is buildings," Noor said. "Why do we want to look at buildings?"

Xiaoting sighed. "You could find a lump of coal at the bottom of a diamond mine, couldn't you?"

"Have a seat," Agatha said politely. "I'd offer you tea, but there doesn't seem to be any in the cupboards or the big cool box."

"England without tea," Buffy said. "The times, they are a changin'."

"We should discuss tactics," Noor said. "Compare methods. We have much to learn from each other."

"Don't you think about anything besides work?" Xiaoting asked.

"Noor has a point," Agatha said quickly. She sat up on her sofa. "We could learn from one another, I'm sure."

"Xiaoting can share her fashion advice," Noor said acidly. Xiaoting bristled.

Buffy quickly said, "Oh, no, definitely! I mean, we're supposed to be the biggest, baddest Slayers of them all, right? So we can help each other get badder. Though preferably not bigger."

"You could stand to put on a few pounds, dearest," Agatha said conspiratorially.

"Fine, then," Xiaoting sighed. She plopped down on the floor, sitting Indian-style. "What Slayery tips can we share?"

Noor seemed pleased to have won the day. "I have found it is useful to treat one's stakes. Soak them in water consecrated to the Christian church, or sometimes in the venom of a Velga demon. Anything that can affect the vampire. The stake retains the properties for many hours, sometimes, and the holy water will burn from within the wound. This way, if you cannot get a clear blow to the heart, you can still strike and do considerable damage. More than the stake alone would do."

Buffy thought about that for a second. "That's actually pretty cool."

"Sure, if you plan on missing the heart," Xiaoting said. "I generally don't miss."

"Well, then, as you are so wise, what advice do you have?" Noor said, folding her arms across her chest.

"I used to have the most marvelous whip of razor wire," Xiaoting said wistfully. "I could behead a vamp at ten feet, in about two seconds.

We should ask if they still make razor wire because, let me tell you, that was the easiest way to do it."

"Rather gruesome, but effective," Agatha said, obviously still anxious to smooth over the conversation.

"You've heard of razor wire?" Buffy asked.

"Not before now, but the name is very descriptive," Agatha said. "For myself, I always found holy water very useful. And I discovered that it's possible to make more --"

"If you carry a priest along with you on patrols," Xiaoting said.

"Not at all. As it so happens, you can pour a small amount of holy water, a regular vial, into a larger amount of water and, in effect, consecrate the whole."

"Get real," Buffy scoffed. "I could pour a vial of holy water in the Atlantic Ocean and bless the whole thing?"

'Oh, no," Agatha said. "Not that much. Perhaps a bathtub full, no more. I -- I tried a thermal bath once. No effect. That's -- that's how I -- "

Her voice trailed off, and an awkward silence fell over the room. Finally, Noor asked, "What about you, Buffy?"

Buffy thought hard. "Well, if you're ever slaying in a nightclub, you should consider both pool cues and cymbals as potential slaying tools."
The other three were staring at her blankly. Buffy tried again. "Uh -- if you have, like, a carousel unicorn around, the horn works for staking?"

"This is not very likely," Noor said. Even Xiaoting and Agatha looked nonplussed.

"My innovations tended to be more on-the-spot type stuff," Buffy said. "I'm good at the improv. I swear."

"We believe you," Agatha said gently.

"Almost sundown," Xiaoting said, with a shrug at the window. The light behind Big Ben was going very warm and golden.

"Oh, jeez," Buffy said. "I have to get ready."

"Your big date with Angel," Xiaoting said, singsonging the name.

"It's not a date," Buffy said. "Emphatically not a date. It's -- a meeting."

"Of course it is," Agatha said with a little smile.

Even Noor looked amused.

**

March 23, 2353

Frances gave me another of her patented "Bad Naughty Evil Slayer" looks when I asked for more paper, but she handed it over. She probably thinks I'm in here trying some kind of voodoo to make her frizzy hair fall out. If I knew how to do it, believe me, she'd be ordering some Rogaine in a hurry.

Okay, she's not that bad. She was almost kind of friendly today for a little while, once she saw that I could slay for real. But she still gets on my last nerve. I'm going to learn to handle it, though.

I'm going to learn to handle all of this. I still don't like it here, and I still miss everybody so badly it hurts. Physically hurts, like I'd been hollowed out. But I don't want to end it anymore. I guess I want to see if I can deal.

Like, I'm so mad at Markwith I could scream, but I'm trying to cope. Trying not to let my heart rule my head, like Giles would tell me to do. Yeah, Markwith hates Angel. But so did Xander, and that didn't make him a terrible person. Xander was just a guy who saw things in black and white. Sometimes that was a good thing. Maybe Markwith's the same way.

Doesn't mean I don't feel like smacking him.

Anyway, even if he did bring me back here to mess with Angel's head, he's in for a big surprise. I mean, we're grown-ups. I'm 20 years old, and Angel's -- wow -- pushing 600. That's kinda just sinking in. Wow. Amend Angel to being VERY grown-up.

The point is, we've both changed a lot since we were those people so crazy in love. I've grown up a lot. Lost a lot. And Angel's changed way more than I have, I bet. I mean, 350 years. That's a long time. Way longer than I can even imagine. So I don't guess he feels the same about me anymore. It's weird, but I don't even know how to think about an Angel who -- just say it -- doesn't love me anymore. I don't even know who that guy is. But I shouldn't feel hurt because he moved on. After three centuries, you gotta move on, right?

I keep telling myself that. But it's hard. I mean, for me it was just weeks ago when we were holding each other at Lawndale Cemetary. I told him I wanted him to stay with me forever, and he wanted to stay so bad. I could see it in his eyes. And then we started kissing. God, kissing him after two whole years felt so good --

Okay. Bad line of thought. The point is, I've still got all these old emotions mixed up inside of me. Angel and I had been split up for a while at that point, and I'm still not sure how much of what happened after Mom's funeral was because of love and how much was just fear.

That sounds so bad to say, but I think it's true. What if I was just scared? What if I just didn't want to be alone? And, though I would not have thought this was possible, I'm even more scared now than I was then.

I know I do still love him. I mean, that's not something that's gonna change. But if love were enough, we'd have been okay in the first place. And we weren't. We were already mixed-up and confused, and this situation is pretty much guaranteed not to make things better.

So I'm not just gonna grab onto him like he was a life preserver or something. That's not going to fix anything. I just have to deal. I have to take what he can give me. Understanding. Friendship.

Answers.

*************

VIII : Shadows and Fog

I am not nervous, Buffy thought.

Sure, my palms are all sweaty, and I can't think straight, and my heart is beating about a jillion times a minute -- and I think he can actually HEAR that, which is so not cool --

She took a deep breath and forced herself to calm down. She had a bad case of ex-boyfriend jitters about seeing Angel, sure -- but she knew well enough that she was focusing on that for a reason.

Easier to be scared about Angel than to be scared about what he would tell her.

Buffy straightened out her clothes and smoothed her hair before pressing her palm to the pad beside Angel's door. It slid open immediately. "Hey," Angel said. He was standing in the door, shoulders slightly hunched, expression hesitant. "You found it."

"Frances told me where, after some major eye-rolling," Buffy said. The moment was every bit as awkward as she'd feared. Should she hug him? Offer to shake? Embarrassed, she glanced over his shoulder -- then lit up. "Look at your place!"

Buffy walked past Angel into a room that was the most welcoming and familiar she'd seen since her resurrection. Instead of being all white and gray, Angel's room had colors -- blankets in green and gold, with patterns woven in, and wooden chairs that had been stained rich brown or dark red. Candles and oil lamps provided light instead of the usual, severe overhead glare. Photographs and tiny holograms littered the shelves, and books covered almost every wall -- including a bricked-over one that, Buffy realized, would once have been a window. Where there weren't books, there were pictures -- sketches in oils or pencils of various people. A few old swords and daggers lay on the shelves as well. "Angel, this is great. Your room -- has -- stuff in it! Stuff you don't even need! I never realized how beautiful plain old stuff can be."

"These are pretty austere times," Angel said. "But I like to keep my things around me."

"I do too," Buffy said. She sank gratefully onto Angel's battered old sofa. "Right now, all my stuff fits in a shoulder pack. But I've already
started shopping, so I think I can turn that around."

"Have you eaten dinner?" Angel asked, sitting in one of the chairs opposite her. "I brought up some wine and fruit, but if you wanted more --"

"Wine and fruit will be fine. Had the regulation salad for dinner," Buffy said, then frowned. "Are we on some kind of enforced diet? Because the leafy greens have been heavily represented in our meals."

"Yours and everyone else's," Angel said. "Raising animals for food takes a lot of space and security, Buffy. Those are two things most people don't have any longer."

"So McDonald's is gone too," Buffy said. "Now I know it's the apocalypse."

"They sold hamburgers, right?" Angel said.

"You're scaring me," Buffy said. Then she gasped. "Oh, wait, you really are. Angel, what are you eating?"

"We have some animals here at the Keep," Angel said. "Not many. But I get by."

She looked at his drawn face and wondered how often he actually got to feed. He saw her gaze, dropped his eyes, then turned to pour some wine into two earthenware goblets. Buffy sighed and glanced around the room again. This is just gonna stay awkward, she told herself. Get used to it.

Her eyes fell on the two largest sketches in the room -- older ones, on paper that had yellowed with age. They were middle-aged people, a man and a woman --

Buffy sat upright as she realized that they were Wesley and Cordelia. Wesley had gray hair at his temples; Cordelia was a little rounder. But the faces were unmistakable.

"Buffy?" Angel said, puzzled by her reaction.

"I'm okay," she said, accepting the goblet of wine and slumping back in the sofa. "You're a good artist, Angel. I'd forgotten."

If Angel still remembered how she had learned of his drawing ability, he showed no sign of it. "Thanks. I made them sit for these before Wesley and I moved to England. I wanted two in the same style, of the same time. Cordelia wanted me to draw her young again, but she was more beautiful like this." Angel smiled gently. "I don't think she ever knew that."

Okay, Buffy thought, this is NOT how I am used to hearing Angel talk about Cordy. Or Wesley, for that matter. Time to get started. "I'm about out of small talk," she said.

"I never had much to start with."

"Angel, I need you to tell me -- God. Everything, I guess."

Angel leaned forward, holding his goblet in both hands. "Everything about what?"

"Everything. How the world got like this. How you ended up on the Council. What happened -- what happened to my friends." Buffy said the last in a rush, then breathed in deeply after she forced the words out.

"Wouldn't Markwith tell you?" Angel was slipping into his trademark glower. "Did he just keep you there for weeks without any answers?"

"Hey, Markwith's not on my Christmas-card list either, but I have to be fair. They didn't tell me because I didn't ask. I -- I couldn't."

"Why not?"

"I didn't want to hear it," Buffy admitted, hating the tightness in her throat as she spoke. "It was like -- if I didn't hear anybody say how they all died, then they wouldn't really be dead. You know?"

"Yes," Angel said gently. "I understand."

"And Frances and Markwith are so damn cold and official and everything. I didn't want to hear it from them. It would just be some fact they looked up in a book or something. It wouldn't mean anything. But I think I could hear it from you."

Buffy wasn't sure her reasoning made sense, but Angel didn't question her about it. Instead he looked at her calmly and said, "I don't remember it all, Buffy. It's been a long time. But whatever I know, I'll tell you. Where should I begin?"

For a moment, Buffy was unable to find words. Where should he begin? How did you decide whose death to hear first? After a moment, she hit on the one bit of information she did have. "Let's start -- let's start with Giles," she said. "How did he end up head of the Council?"

Angel frowned. "Giles was never head of the Council. Never really had much to do with them at all, after your death."

"That's not right," Buffy said, clinging to her information. "Xiaoting said you joined the Council when my Watcher was in charge."

"Is that how the story goes?" Angel said. "I can see why they'd say that. But they're talking about Wesley, not Giles."

"Wesley?"

"He was your Watcher for a while, wasn't he?"

"Yeah, I remember that." Buffy started to ask about Giles again, but that scared, twisted-up part of her quailed once more. Instead she said,. "How did Wesley end up head of the Council?"

"That's probably a good place for us to begin," Angel said. He sat back in his chair and took another sip of wine; he had the quiet, inward expression Buffy recognized as the prelude to a long story.

"Your death created a major crisis for the Council, Buffy. They'd always had a Slayer to control -- or, in your case, negotiate with. After you died, though, they only had Faith, who still had years left in her prison sentence. They didn't believe in her change of heart --"

Big shocker, Buffy thought.

"-- and they thought they'd be decades without a warrior for the fight."

"So what did they do? Hire a temp?"

"They killed her."

Buffy felt the floor shift beneath her. "What?"

"They sent assassins into the prison to kill her. Normally she could have fought them, but within the confines of jail -- Faith never had a chance."

Not like that, Buffy thought. I think I still hate her, but I wouldn't want her to die like that.

"Fortunately, that was the last decision the old guard in the Council ever made. That leader -- what was his name?"

"Quentin Travers," Buffy said automatically. Her mind was still flashing images of Faith pinned inside a cell, raging uselessly as her murderers closed in.

"Travers, right. He'd been abusing the Council's role for a long time, but Faith's assassination proved too much for the others to accept.
They threw out the old guard, invited in the new. That included Wesley. He helped them be more flexible, more understanding, more protective of their Slayers."

"Wesley. Flexible," Buffy said. "These words do not match."

Angel looked at her strangely. But he said only, "You remember him differently than I do."

"I guess he changed." Buffy felt suddenly embarrassed to have joked about Wesley at all.

"Anyway, once he'd become their leader, he invited me to join. He convinced them that I could be a help. And I wanted to help rebuild something that might help other Slayers. I thought it was the best way to honor you." Angel said this all very simply, but Buffy felt her breath catch for a moment.

He continued, "And we did help, Buffy. For a good 200 years, the Council was what it was supposed to be. We got rid of that barbaric test they used to put Slayers through at 18. Stopped withholding information for gain. Used our connections to simplify their lives. Brought their families into the fold."

"Sounds nice," Buffy said. "My life would've been a whole lot easier with that kind of Council."

"That was the idea."

"So what changed?"

Angel sighed and looked down at the floor. "It all happened pretty fast. There had been other biological wars, but they were always contained, somehow. Humanity got lucky too many times. Finally they set free a disease they couldn't stop."

"Vamps didn't do this?" Buffy said. "PEOPLE did this?"

"A soul's no guarantee of goodness," Angel said slowly. "Vampires didn't decimate humanity. They just survived where billions of people died. The few humans who were immune were left in a world with a lot of hungry vampires -- and a lot of demons who'd just been waiting for their chance to reclaim the land."

"Well, all those years I spent averting the apocalypse are starting to seem like they were not time well-spent," Buffy said brokenly.

"Don't feel like that; we're not through. Just down. Not out. We -- we have to believe that."

Buffy took a sniffly breath and exhaled slowly. "I'm gonna be really mad about that later. But keep going."

"Well, the situation became desperate in a hurry. People were traumatized enough after the plagues; then they found out about the supernatural world. Found out that, for a big percentage of the world's remaining population, they were food. There was -- panic. Despair. The Council went public with the Slayer not long after that. It was meant to provide hope. Instead, it turned the Council into a bunch of politicians."

"Just when I thought they could get no worse," Buffy muttered.

"So things have been strange ever since," Angel said. "I think most of us on the Council are doing the best they can. But there are always people like Markwith. People who act like this is a game for an individual to win. Not a war we all have to win together."

He said no more, but simply studied her face.

After a few moments, Buffy sighed. "Can't put it off any longer, can I?"

"I was wondering when you'd realize that."

"Knew it all along," she said. She was silent for a while longer, half-hoping Angel would say something -- something trivial, maybe. Ask her if she wanted some wine. Tell her more about the Council. Swear at Markwith.

But he remained quiet, and she knew it was finally time to hear the whole truth. "Okay, then," she said softly. "What did happen to Giles?"
Angel looked at her steadily. "Buffy, Giles didn't do too well after your death."

"What do you mean?" Buffy said, sitting up in alarm, as though she could jump up and fix whatever was wrong.

"Losing you took something out of him," Angel said. "Took something out of all of us, but Giles was the one who couldn't seem to go on."

"But he did, eventually. He -- he got married, maybe to Olivia, and he kept on with his store, and he had the Scoobs there to help him --"

"I don't think he ever married," Angel said. "I can't remember for sure. But I know that he died just a few years later."

Buffy felt her skin go cold. "Something -- killed Giles?"

"No. Natural causes. He didn't take such good care of himself after -- well, after."

Buffy closed her eyes against the tears. No further explanations were needed; how many times had she seen him after some great trauma or crisis, holed up in his apartment, drinking from the bottles he thought he hid so well from their view. Giles, she thought, when I get done crying, I am going to be so mad at you. But she said only, "And Dawn?"

"Dawn managed better. I don't know much about the first few years after you died, but she went to college in LA. Eventually she looked me up. We didn't have a whole lot to talk about besides you, though, and after a while that -- that just hurt too much. But we kept in touch."
"Did -- did she have a good life?"

Angel looked at her gently. "I don't know that I can say for sure. I remember her very sad. But I think that had more to do with the fact that we always talked about you -- how much we missed you. I know she didn't ever get married or have kids. I used to wish she would."

"Why?"

"I guess I wondered what a Summers baby would look like," Angel said. Then, hurriedly, "Anyway, she had a long life. I know she traveled a lot. And she wrote a book."

Buffy smiled through her tears. "Really? Dawnie wrote a book? That's -- that's great."

All those diaries were good for something, Buffy thought. No kids, though. No hubby. Is that what she wanted? She tried to envision Dawn as some intrepid writer, independent and courageous, maybe with a great penthouse apartment in New York and a string of devoted lovers. Eww, she thought, scratch "lovers." Make that boyfriends, and it's a picture I can live with.

"Do you have it? The book, I mean."

Angel shook his head. "I'm sorry. I've had some things destroyed and stolen over the years, and that was one of them."

"Okay, then." Buffy took a deep breath. "What about Willow?"

"I don't know."

Buffy waited. "That's it? You don't know? Didn't you ever see her again?"

"She was the one who came and told me --" His voice trailed off, and his gaze dropped. After a moment, he continued. "I saw her at the wake, I'm sure. But after that -- I don't remember anything. I know we didn't see each other much, if at all. I've been racking my brain all day, and there's nothing else."

"You forgot," Buffy said. "You just up and forgot Willow. She didn't matter."

"That's not it. Buffy, please," Angel said, leaning forward slightly. "350 years is a really long time, even to me."

"There aren't any records? Or, or, computer lists, or something?"

"Nothing beyond Giles' Watcher diaries, and those end at your death. Buffy, I'm really sorry."

"Dammit," Buffy said. The tears threatened again, but she kept blinking them back. Willow stopped right there, she thought. Buffy pictured her as she had been the night of that final battle, running off into a swirling fog, never to be seen again.

She breathed in and out, slowly and deliberately. When she spoke again, her voice was scratchy. "Don't guess you saw much of Xander, either."

"Not much, but I do remember him." Angel sounded relieved to have something to offer. "He was very close to Dawn, and sometimes I saw him when he was visiting her in L.A."

"Was he happy, do you know? Did -- did he marry Anya? He told me he was thinking about asking her."

"Oh, God, I'd forgotton that Anya and Xander used to be married." Angel shook his head. "Can't believe I forgot that."

"So they split up." To Buffy's surprise, that actually bothered her. "How did you know Anya, if not through Xander?"

"That must be how I met her. But her second marriage was to a friend of mine in L.A., a billionaire named David Nabbit. Odd sort of guy, but he had money, and did she ever love money. For his part, he had, uh, I guess you'd call it a demon fetish."

"Match made in the netherworld," Buffy said as she laughed a little. "Were they happy?"

"They were very wealthy together," Angel said.

"Way to go, Anya," Buffy said. "And Xander?"

"Last I remember he had his business -- construction or something? -- in Sunnydale. And he was remarried -- don't remember her name, but I'm pretty sure she knew you --" Angel frowned, opened his mouth to speak, shut it again. After a moment, he finally said,

"Okay, this might sound crazy. But -- did you ever have a friend who spent a lot of time -- this is going to sound so weird -- a lot of time as a rat?"

"Amy!" Buffy lit up. "Amy Madison! She got unratted! Thank God. Xander and Amy, huh?"

Angel shook his head. "I'd forgotten what it was like, living on a Hellmouth."

Buffy leaned back into the sofa, trying to digest the information she'd been given. She could just see Xander and Amy now, in a nice, cozy house in Sunnydale, maybe one Xander had built with his own hands. He would have liked that. Amy would probably be overjoyed to live in anything that wasn't a Habitrail. Buffy liked her picture of them, and she decided to keep it firm in her memory, along with the image of Dawn in her Manhattan penthouse.

It kept her from having to picture Willow vanishing in that fog. Or Giles, alone in his apartment, looking old and tired as he clutched a half-empty glass.

After a little while, she looked up; Angel was watching her patiently, waiting to see what else she might need. She had forgotten how quiet he could be. How still.

She still needed so much -- so many answers he could not give her. If Angel remembered nothing further of Willow, then he would probably never even have met Tara or learned anything more about Oz. It seemed more than unlikely that he would ever have known, or cared, what became of Riley. And asking him about Spike would mean asking herself why she wanted to know about Spike in the first place.

"What about you?" she finally said. "How -- how has it been for you?"

Angel raised his eyebrows, pursed his lips. "There's no one answer to that. I've had good years, good decades. And I've had bad times, too. Seen things I never wanted to see." He looked at her, a curious expression on his face. "I suppose you're wondering why I'm not human. Or dead."

Buffy sat still for a moment, trying to think about what she was missing. "Uh, no, not really. I mean, you're not human because you got vamped, and you're not dead because you didn't get staked. Right?"

"You didn't know about the shanshu prophecy?" Angel said. He shook his head. "Could've sworn I found out while you were alive." Then his expression changed. "Oh. I didn't tell you --"

"Didn't tell me what? About shanshu?" Buffy wrinkled her nose. "Is that a style of sushi or something?"

"At some point -- it must have been not long after you died, though I could've sworn -- never mind. Anyway, I got my hands on an ancient scroll of prophecy. Wesley translated it and found some prophesies about me."

"I hate it when that happens."

Angel half-smiled. "The prophecy said that I would achieve something called shanshu. Wesley translated that to mean that I would someday become human."

Buffy could've sworn she felt that last word -- human -- slamming into her, force and heat and hope all at once. She put her hand to her mouth, felt her lips curving into a wide, crazy grin against her palm. "Oh, my God," she whispered. "Angel -- why didn't you tell me?"

"You had your own life. I didn't want you to spend it waiting for me."

"I would be a whole lot more pissed off at you if I weren't so --" Buffy shook her head, unable to put words to her emotions. "Angel, you're going to live again --"

He shook his head quickly, and her smile faded as he spoke. "Buffy, it wasn't true. The Council finally broke it to me a couple decades after the plagues. Wesley was -- well, he was wrong. Only mistranslation he ever made in his life." Angel smiled, but the smile didn't reach his eyes. "It was a good mistake, though. It gave me hope in the years when I needed it most. By the time I found out differently, I could bear it."

"I'm sorry," Buffy said. "I can't even say how sorry."

"It's okay," Angel said. "I can't pretend it wasn't a blow. But it was a long time ago now."

Buffy swallowed hard. "So what is this shanshu you're going to get?"

"Near as the Council could figure, it means something like 'peace of mind.'"

"Are you there yet?" Buffy said, forcing a little smile.

Angel returned it. "Not quite. But I think I'm a lot closer than I used to be."

"Out of all this time, what were the best years?"

"You should know the answer to that."

Buffy's cheeks flushed with warmth. "I mean, after."

"Probably those next few decades, with Wes and Cordy. They were the best friends I ever had, in any era. And we did a lot of good work. I knew their spouses and their children, loved them throughout their lives. That was the one time -- since I was alive, I mean -- when I had a family." Angel's face had taken on a softness she'd almost never seen, and for a moment, Buffy had to fight off a wave of unreasonable jealousy. "I still miss them. Every day."

"What were the worst years?"

"The plagues," Angel said, softness gone in an instant. "You can't imagine what it was like, Buffy. People died so quickly, in such numbers, that there was no one to bury them, and after that --"

"Okay, saw 'The Stand,' know the drill," Buffy said hurriedly.

Angel seemed to ignore her. "I'm grateful you didn't have to see that. It would have made you crazy. We're alike in that way -- we see people in trouble, and we want to rush in and help right that second. If we can't, we lose it. I remember that much about you."

"What else do you remember about me?" Buffy said, and then felt a little stupid for asking. Then, when she thought about it for a moment, she decided it was actually a pretty good question. She looked up at him to see his expression; he was deep in thought, considering carefully before he answered.

Finally, he said, "I remember your fighting spirit. Your sense of humor. And I'm not sure those two aren't really the same thing."

Buffy felt a reluctant smile tugging at her lips. "Fair enough."

"I remember that you made friends as quickly and as deeply as anyone I ever knew. I remember that you were the first person who loved me and trusted me even after knowing what I was, what I was capable of. I remember how I felt when Willow told me -- oh, God, Buffy, when she told me you were dead --"

He stopped then, caught short by the pain of memory; Buffy knew the look on his face, knew it mirrored so much of what she had been feeling these past several months. On impulse, she reached out and took his hand. "Hey," she said softly. "I'm all better now."

Angel smiled a little as he looked into her eyes again. "I meant what I said in the Council chambers, Buffy. What Markwith did was wrong. But I'm still glad you're back."

"No arguments either way," Buffy said. Angel's hand was warming in her own; she loved that, the way his skin would take on her body heat where they touched --

At the same moment, they pulled their hands apart. Angel's gaze dropped from hers, and Buffy quickly swallowed the last of her wine.
"It's late," she said.

"You should go," Angel nodded. The awkwardness, which had eased so gently throughout the evening, tightened around them again.

Buffy could feel the tightness in her chest, her throat. She expected him to apologize -- for what, she wasn't sure, but it was Angel's stock reaction to any blush-worthy situation.

Instead he said, "Tomorrow's going to be strange, Buffy. They're going to make a show of it. Don't let it get to you."

"Of course not," Buffy scoffed, though she was still uncertain exactly what Angel meant by "a show." She smiled as she went to the door.

"Why would I let it get to me?"

"You'd be surprised," Angel said.

IX : Unveiling

"We -- are -- Slayers. Slay -- Ers," Agatha repeated, still more slowly. Sumiko looked at her a little sadly, but made no effort to repeat the words.

"She's not having any of it," Xiaoting said. "Give up already."

"Well, it's maddening, isn't it?" Agatha grumbled as the smoothed her braided hair. "I mean, how can one not wish to learn the language?"

"Maybe she does not wish to hear people lecturing her day and night," Noor suggested. "I understand this wish very well."

Buffy sighed and tried once again to meet Sumiko's gaze; Sumiko dropped her head to avoid eye contact. Apparently Sumiko wasn't going to forgive Angel's presence without an explanation -- and she wasn't likely to understand an explanation anytime soon. To her surprise, Buffy felt a quick sting of loss. Silent though Sumiko was, she was the closest thing to a friend Buffy had among her fellow Slayers. Operative word, Buffy thought: Was.

The door to their waiting room slid open, and Sky walked through. To judge by the swagger in her step and the way she looked down her nose at them, she seemed to have substituted her old sulk with fresh attitude. "S'pose you lot are ready, then? Or still primping with your hair?"

Agatha bristled. Xiaoting folded her arms. Buffy, who understood young teenage girls very well after studying Dawn 101, smiled broadly at this sign of good spirits. "I think we're all done with our hairstyles, thanks," she said. "Except Noor, maybe."

Beneath her head wrap, Noor gave Buffy one of her half-amused scowls.

"Right, then. Let's get into the Chamber," Sky said. "They'll be getting ready to show you off any second now, so let's put on our parade."

"How are they going to do this in the Chamber?" Noor asked as they all got to their feet. "This seems a strange place."

Xiaoting added, "I was wondering that myself. What are they going to do? Show in the populace 200 at a time?"

Sky laughed. "Didn't they tell ya? Oh, you girls are in for quite a treat."

Agatha glanced over at Buffy, who shrugged.

As they entered the swinging wooden doors to the Chamber, Buffy's confusion increased; to her, it looked like the same collection of Watchers that she'd seen two days previously, complete with Ishak in his elevated chair. She quickly cast her eyes up to the place where she'd seen Angel before. He was there, and when their eyes met, she gave him a quick smile. His face didn't even move: he just looked worried and tense. Buffy felt her spirits take a sudden dip.

Ishak smiled down at them as the lights around them brightened to a startling degree. "At last we are ready," he said. "Let the ceremony begin."

"Ceremony?" Agatha said -- then cried, "Dear Lord!" Beside her, Sumiko jumped and uttered a wordless yelp.

The ceiling had split apart.

Buffy, veteran of Southern California's seismic instability, automatically started looking for the best doorway to stand in. But in another instant, she realized that the domed ceiling was intended to split. It was sliding apart to reveal --

Oh, God, Buffy thought.

Thousands. Thousands upon thousands of people.

The Council Chamber was, in fact, only the center of an even vaster amphitheater -- one now filled by thousands of the drab-garbed people she'd seen in her trek through London.

Once, years ago, back when he was still married to her mother and took some interest in her life, Buffy's father had done some legal work for the Los Angeles Rams; he'd made friends with his clients, as a savvy lawyer should, and had received some special passes. Though Buffy's interest in football was approximately as vast as her interest in the migratory habits of the giant auk, she had leaped at the chance to go to the game and spend time alone with her dad. He had been able to take her onto the sidelines, right there in the center of the stadium. Buffy hadn't really been impressed by her proximity to players she didn't know and a game she didn't understand; however, she could still remember that feeling of awe at looking up and seeing tens of thousands of people, all packed together in one living, swirling, screaming mass.

This, Buffy decided, was much the same thing. Except that the people weren't looking at the Rams; they were looking at her. And instead of screaming, they were eerily quiet.

"Goodness gracious," Agatha whispered.

"Allah akbar," Noor breathed.

"Damn," Buffy said.

"People of London!" Ishak said, his voice suddenly ringing out, magisterial, echoing within the enormous theater. "We have good news for you today. Perhaps the best news we have ever been able to offer you. You have long benefited from the protection of a Slayer." He gestured grandly at Sky, who held herself even taller. "Now, you will benefit from the protection of five more Slayers -- five of the greatest Slayers in all history!"

As if cued, the people began to cheer. And scream. And leap. This is nothing like the Rams, Buffy thought; this is WAY better than the Rams ever got. This -- is -- amazing.

Something inside her swelled at those cheers; that dark, frightened place inside her, the place even Angel couldn't fill, seemed to be bathed in warm, golden light. Buffy lifted her chin, felt the rush of hope and welcome raise her up.

Ishak began going through his spiel, glossing over the messy explanation about how they got there by listing their various noble deeds. Buffy heard, as though in a daze, her own name, her own acts. The Master -- Drusilla -- the Ascension -- the Gentlemen --

"She alone kept the peace in the most dangerous place on earth," Ishak said, his hand raised up as if holding a weapon. "She alone defeated the mightiest vampires of her day. She alone prevented the demons from conquering all humanity --"

Wait, Buffy thought. That's not right. I did it, but I didn't do any of it alone.

And with that the spell broke. The warm light flickered out, and once again she was just a lonely person in the middle of a large, scary cacophony. Buffy felt the blissed-out grin leave her face and tried to fight back the rage she knew threatened to replace it.

What about Giles? she thought. I couldn't have done any of it without Giles. Or Willow -- she's the one who got the info we needed about the Mayor and kept Glory back. And what if Xander hadn't given me CPR? The Master would've walked. Ishak is forgetting my friends, all the ones who helped, even Angel, who's standing right here. Ishak ought to tell them about my friends --

But that, she realized, would break the spell for those people. They needed to believe in something larger than life. And she had been just moments from believing it herself.

She glanced up at Angel again. His expression could only be described as one of profound relief. This time, when she gave him a weak little smile, he smiled back.

Ishak was finishing his spiel about Xiaoting now, raising his arms as his chair rose just a little higher. "Tonight, they will walk among you! Tonight, they will all work to protect you! Tonight, we will begin to win this war!"

The cheering went from loud to deafening, and Buffy wanted to run through those wooden doors back to safety. Instead, she forced herself to look at the other Slayers. Sky, Xiaoting and Agatha looked the way she must have looked herself, just a few moments before -- grinning, triumphant. Sumiko, too, was smiling, although she understandably looked a little more dazed. But Noor was scowling more deeply than ever.

Buffy forced herself to stand straight as the lights dimmed and the ceiling began to swing shut once more.

********

"You've two hours until patrol," Frances fussed as the Slayers were ushered back toward the living areas of the Keep. "You should eat and get partnered up."

"Partners?" Xiaoting said. Her voice was still slightly dreamy.

"You don't expect to patrol alone, do you?" Frances asked. "Far too risky. Normally, we will accompany you as your Watchers. But the Council thought it would be good for you girls to partner one another tonight. Early on, before the sun's entirely set, you won't get much slaying done anyway. People will be so eager to meet you."

"Perhaps we should have arranged a reception line," Agatha said in the same dazed tone.

"If all this publicity makes it harder for us to slay, what's the point?" Buffy said. Nobody seemed to hear.

"Keeling, a moment, please?" Frances wheeled around from them and lit up upon seeing Ishak approaching, splendid in his robes despite his age and small size.

"Ishak. Of course, sir. What did you want to speak about?"

"Not you, Keeling," he said, kindly enough. "Buffy. If she's got a moment."

"Nothing but time," Buffy shrugged. When Ishak and Frances kept looking at her blankly, she sighed. "Yes, I have a moment. Many moments."

"The -- the Slayers do need to eat," Frances said uncertainly.

"Then I'll have her supper brought to my Hall. How's that?"

"Fine by me," Buffy said. She went to Ishak's side and walked with him slowly down the corridor. People who passed them were staring openly, some vaguely awestruck; if Buffy hadn't just been through the ceremony in the Chamber, she would have been flattered. Instead, she muttered to Ishak, "I didn't do it alone."

"What's that?"

"All that slaying and protecting I did. You kept saying I did it alone. But I had a lot of help. My Watcher, and Angel, and all my friends."

"I don't doubt that," Ishak said, gesturing as they came to a door. She thought he was pointing at it grandly, but then she realized he was holding his palm to a lock. The door slid open to reveal a room with a long table and big chairs, a cross between a boardroom and a dining hall. He motioned to one of the chairs -- not the head -- and Buffy took her seat. He placed himself at the head of the table, though it appeared they would be dining alone.

"If you didn't doubt it, why didn't you say it?" Buffy persisted.

"The explanations are complex," Ishak said. "And it is difficult to communicate a complexity to thousands of screaming people."

"They manage just fine on the Lilith Tour," Buffy said. "I mean, when Sarah McLachlan sings 'Full of Grace,' my mind goes some amazing places --" At Ishak's puzzled expression, she sighed. "I just think we should tell the truth."

"You're a wonderful Slayer, Buffy. That's the main truth we wanted to tell about you and your friends."

Buffy was confused until she realized that, by "friends," he meant the other Slayers. "So, what's with the dinner invite? Is this a date?" she quipped. Then she felt a little queasy. "Is it?" Buffy repeated weakly.

To her vast relief, Ishak laughed as a woman came in, bearing their suppers on a tray. "Good heavens, no. You could be my granddaughter. Also, I rather had the idea that you were, shall we say, spoken for."

"Spoken for?" Buffy raised her eyebrows. "Not exactly."

"Then there is no relationship between you and Angel?"

Buffy hesitated, then took a couple bites of salad to buy time. Ishak watched her carefully, his bushy eyebrows not concealing a sharp, penetrating gaze. She said, "That's what this is about, then. Angel. You guys are -- what? Coworkers? Friends?"

"Friends?" Ishak said. He sounded surprised. "I do not think I can claim such. He has known me all my life -- knew my mother all her life as well. Angel held me in his hands on the day of my birth. I do not pretend to understand him -- he is a difficult man to truly know -- but I value his judgment. His perspective is one worth
having on the Council I think we need to hear the things Angel has to say."

"So far we're on the same page," Buffy said. "Except for the whole day-of-my-birth thing, which now that I think about it was technically possible, so I won't think about it again. But why the relationship chat?"

Ishak looked at her carefully. "You realize that Angel has few friends in this Keep."

"That was starting to sink in."

"Did you not wonder why?"

"He never was Mr. Sociability," Buffy said. "But, yeah, the situation seems a little extreme. I thought -- I thought maybe Markwith had something to do with that."

"No, no. Markwith is an intelligent man -- resourceful, if perhaps too brash. His animosity toward Angel is a sickness he caught from others on the Council.
Angel's isolation goes back before Markwith was born. Before I was born."

"But you're, like, 80!" Buffy said. Ishak looked a little wounded, but Buffy hurried on. "Angel's been an outcast all that time? I thought he helped the Council --"

"He does. He has for more than three centuries," Ishak said. "That is all that protects him now."

"Why do people hate him so much?" Buffy whispered. She was remembering the warmth in Angel's eyes when he'd spoken of Wesley and Cordelia. She'd never seen him like that -- happy and relaxed in the memory of friendship -- and it stung her to think that he'd spent a century cut off from it. Again.

"Angel is a vampire," Ishak said. "For most people, in this day and age -- when our entire lives are dominated by the terror of his kind -- that is all that need be said. They do not care to hear about his soul. They remember what he has done. They think he could do it again."

"Can't you change that?" Buffy said. "You're the Big Kahuna in these parts."

"Such colorful expressions you use. No, I cannot force others to see Angel as I see him. I continue to give him a place here. But it appears that is not enough. I sometimes fear that my position is not enough to protect him."

The concern on his face was genuine, and Buffy felt her stomach lurch. "They wouldn't hurt him?"

"Directly? I think not. But always, there is talk of casting him out of the Council. Some people out there distrust us all just because he is among us."

Buffy shook her head. "They're not casting him out while I'm around. Unless they cast me out too --"

"So," Ishak said. "You are not spoken for." When Buffy scowled at him, he looked at her with a shade of the authority he had displayed in the Chamber. "You care for Angel. I understand this. But I asked you here to warn you about his situation, how uncertain it is."

"I can help him," Buffy said. "If -- if everyone's jamming on the Slayer-Hall-of-Fame idea, then maybe they'll cut him some slack because of me."

"The other Council members are more likely to suspect him of corrupting you," Ishak said. "Your story has been told in many ways, though the years. Some people no doubt still see it as a romantic story. But most now hear it as a cautionary tale. You are the Slayer Angel seduced, betrayed and abandoned. They think he is here from guilt about your death. And now that this guilt has been removed --"

"That is not true," Buffy said, surprised at the chill in her own voice. "I cannot even start counting the ways in which that is not true. And if anybody wants to say differently, I dare them to come say it to my face." She realized that her fingers were tightening around her fork.

"Perhaps you can change their minds," Ishak said slowly. "You are clearly a -- determined young woman. But I wished only to warn you. Your association with Angel may do him more harm than good. I have already warned him to stay away from you --"

"Hey!" Buffy protested.

"-- but, of course, Angel would not listen. He said that you were all alone in the world, and that he would not deny you any help or comfort he could offer." Buffy was surprised how much that simple promise touched her. "You would do him the most good by not needing his help or his comfort. If you wish to protect Angel, you will have better luck doing so as a friend than a lover. His situation is unstable enough without anything so -- volatile -- as resuming your past romance."

Buffy looked down at the few remaining leaves of her salad. Everything Ishak had said made sense. Hadn't Xander thrown it in her face often enough, when she argued on Angel's behalf? "You just want your boyfriend back." No matter how many times she told him he was wrong, he never believed her. And she was never sure she believed it herself.

Besides, she told herself, it's not like me and Angel were exactly picking up where we left off. No, scratch that. We picked up exactly where we left off -- broken up for good. So I can have a normal life, here in the 24th century with the plagues and the vamps and the Slayer Superdome.

Buffy finished her meal and carefully placed her fork beside the bowl. When she looked back up at Ishak, he was smiling at her with a gentle, paternal expression that she didn't doubt for a moment. "It's not something you have to worry about," Buffy said. "Not anymore."

"Very good," Ishak said.

*******

"I told them I wanted you for my partner," Noor said.

Xiaoting and Agatha gave Buffy sympathetic glances across the training room. Buffy quickly turned to Sky and said, "So, how does this work?"

"I take the chatterbox here toward the north of town," Sky said, with a half-nod toward Sumiko. Xiaoting and Agatha head east. You and Noor go west. Be nice to all your screaming fans."

"Jealousy is so unattractive," Xiaoting said, with a quick flip of her hair.

Sky pretended not to hear. "Try and get yourself away from the crowds to do some Slaying. Prob'ly you won't get much chance the early part of the evening, before the sun's down. But maybe you can at least get the lay of the land."

"Good advice," Buffy said, and Sky actually smiled a little.

Frances poked her head through the door. "All right, then. Let's get you ladies armed."

A few minutes later, Buffy looked down at her body and sighed. "You have got to be kidding me."

She had a longbow in her arms, a blaster strapped to one hip, a flask of holy water strapped to the other and a quiverful of arrows slung across her back. She was allowed a stake, though she was warned severely that it was for emergencies only. For timekeeping, they had inexplicably been given pocketwatches; Buffy was fairly sure hers was older than she was. Her body felt weighed down beyond the point of slaying. "Are we getting kaiser helmets too?"

"We could see about helmets if you'd like," Frances said.

"Joking!" Buffy said.

The Slayers split up into their separate groups and headed for the various exits. Once Noor and Buffy were alone, Noor murmured, "I do not wish to meet my screaming fans."

"Me either," Buffy admitted.

They glanced sideways at each other, but kept moving down the hall. After another moment, Buffy said, "No offense, but it's gonna be weird, patrolling with a partner."

"I do not intend to patrol with a partner," Noor said. "Nor do you. Why do you think I picked you?"

"Tact is not your strong suit, is it?"

"I do not need tact. I need peace and quiet and this longbow."

"I knew I liked you," Buffy said.

"The south exit, then?"

"Race ya."

********

The crowds clustered at the west exit were no doubt disappointed, but Buffy didn't care. She and Noor were able to get into the thick of the city undetected. As soon as they reached a secluded corner, Noor glanced over at her and said, "We should meet here when we are through."

"Four hours gonna do it?"

Noor nodded and, with startling speed and silence, disappeared into the twilight. Buffy sighed deeply, taking in the cool night air. It was clear and crisp. Like being in the mountains instead of a city. "This is not how I thought we'd take care of pollution," she muttered as she began her patrol.

The sun was setting, and by the time Buffy finally saw some people, they weren't clamoring for the attention of a Slayer -- they were hurrying to their homes. They moved faster as it got darker.

And Buffy began to sense other things moving in the dark -- things that weren't people. Her pulse quickened, and she felt a not-unwelcome jolt of adrenaline.
Finally, something that felt familiar --

A furry shape bounded by, hunched in an alleyway. Its greenish eyes reflecting the moonlight back at her, and she heard a faint growl. Buffy longed to rush forward, but forced herself to remember the longbow. With one fluid move, she pulled it into position, aiming by instinct. The demon leaped toward her -- and into her arrow. Buffy smiled as the demon's body flopped to the ground. Then she frowned. "Note to self: ask about cleanup crew."

She considered for a long moment, then took up her blaster and fired. The demon burst into satisfying flames. "Cancel note to self."

Three hours and five dead baddies later, Buffy decided she had the hang of the new slaying style. The longbow was significantly less fun than the classic kick-and-punch, and the blaster was a lot more useful after the slaying than during, but she could still function. And, regardless of the methods, it was always satisfying to see a demon go limp or a vampire go poof. She allowed herself a moment of satisfaction as she strolled past the crumbling remains of the Victoria and Albert Museum. See, she said to herself, I can still slay with the best of 'em. Just took me a while to get my groove back, that's all.

A rustling behind her sent a cold thrill up her spine. "Groove later," she murmured. "Slay now."

She whirled around to see a gray-cloaked figure emerging from the dark. As fast as she could think, Buffy had the longbow aimed and fired.

A slim hand caught the arrow in midair, the point just inches from his chest. "Quick," said a cultured voice. "But I am quicker."

"Kean," Buffy said. It was not a question.

"Bravo!" he said, and as he drew his hood back from his face, she could see him smiling -- almost beaming. He was tall -- not so tall as Sky, but not far off -- and his body was so thin and angular that he appeared to have been stretched. His reddish hair began at a line that had receded back somewhat from his face, creating a sharp widow's peak in the process. He had angular cheekbones, a weak chin and a rather long nose. Buffy absently decided that he looked like a cross between a handsome man and a stork.

"So, my reputation precedes me," Kean said. "Am I so feared within the mighty Council Keep?"

"Sorry to disappoint you," Buffy said. "You just came up in passing."

Kean's face fell, and for one absurd moment Buffy almost felt bad. But he regained his aplomb quickly. "A likely story. I know well what they make of me there. They didn't bring five Slayers back from the dead because they felt safe."

"They didn't bring them back to worry about a costume-party reject," Buffy said. "What's with the cape, Superman?"

"Nietzche," Kean murmured. "An educated foe. This will be thrilling." He held his cloak out, and Buffy realized, with a start, that it was actually a shroud. "This is far more than it appears, dear Slayer. Some enchantments were worked on it centuries ago, and now it allows me to move through sunlight. To wade in holy water. A garment of death protects my undeath. Isn't the irony delicious?"

"My diet's pretty rich in irony as it is," Buffy said. She let the longbow drop, took her stake in her hand. "So we're gonna do this the old-fashioned way?"

"Don't be vulgar. I didn't come here to fight you," Kean said.

"Then why are you introducing yourself to a Slayer in the dead of night?"

"To observe you," Kean said. "To see how you walk, how you move. To hear how you speak. I'd thought you were the Victorian, but you're not, are you?"
"Not hardly," she said. Then she thought, yeah, great, give the guy more information.

"Then you're Buffy," Kean said with a delighted laugh. "Angelus' Slayer! Oh, this is brilliant. People will eat this up."

"Does nobody in this century have anything else to worry about besides my love life?" Buffy snapped.

"Sorry to disappoint you," Kean said. "You just came up in passing." He pulled back a few steps and smiled once more. "I think I've got the picture now. I don't plan on meeting you again anytime soon, Slayer."

"I have different plans," Buffy said.

"I thought you might," Kean said.

He had vanished before the last words stopped echoing.

******************

X : The Tower

"You saw this master vampire, and you did not even attempt to kill him?" Noor muttered.

"Hello, did I not mention firing the longbow at him? Master vamps are faster than your average projectile," Buffy replied in the same low tone.

"This is true," Noor said. "We will say we were separated for a few moments -- during a fight -- and this is when you saw him."

"That sounds plausible," Buffy agreed. "How many did you get?"

"Four," Noor said, lifting her chin.

"Five," Buffy said with a little smile.

Noor's look of envy kept that smile on Buffy's face until they all reported in to Frances and a sulky Sky revealed that Sumiko had slain a total of eight. Frances was still happy enough with Noor and Buffy's combined total to assign them as permanent partners.

"That's very troubling about Kean," Frances said. "You must take great pains not to be separated again. Or perhaps I could accompany you as well --"

"No," Buffy said. "We're good."

**

Buffy awoke slowly, drifting slowly up through layers of consciousness. She felt rested, relaxed -- weird.

She doubled over her pillow to prop up her head a bit and tried to analyze why the situation felt so odd. After all, she'd gone out, she'd slayed vamps and demons, she'd gone to bed. That was it.

Then Buffy thought, That's what's strange. I didn't get woken up by my alarm clock or my kid sister's Backstreet Boys CD. I don't have dishes to wash or homework to do. I came, I slew, I napped. That's all anyone expects of me. I don't know if I like it or not.

Except the sleeping late, she decided. I know I like that.

She kept lounging around, wishing vaguely that they still had cable in the 24th century, until a loud ringing sound made her sit upright in her bed and look around her apartment. The ring sounded again -- funny, it sounded just like a telephone --

Buffy got up and went into the front room of her quarters to find what was ringing -- and then started to laugh. There, on the plain white desk, was an old-fashioned telephone, dial and all. Giggling, she picked up the receiver. "Edna Mae, get me Floyd's barbershop," she said.

"Beg pardon?" Frances said. "Is this Buffy?"

"Yeah, sorry," Buffy said. "I didn't realize you had a sense of humor, Frances. This is pretty good."

"What do you mean?" Frances sounded almost glad to hear Buffy's approval.

"The telephone!" Buffy said. "I mean, you had to do some research to dig up something from my time like this. How did you get a phone line hooked up, though?"

"Buffy -- the telephone isn't a joke. It's how we speak to one another. We installed one for you last night. They did use telephones in your time, you said --"

"Well, yeah," Buffy said, bemused. "But even by my time, we had cellular and digital and stuff. Don't you guys have, like, Star Trek communicators by now?"

"Technology became less of a priority 150 years ago," Frances said, a little more coolly. "We don't really have the resources to develop anything new. We use what's simplest to repair and maintain from what went before. Telephone technology can be built. But most wireless technology -- we still know how it works, but we don't have the resources."

"You're still using the old stuff. Makes sense." Buffy said. "Now I am slightly less scared that the computers still use Windows."

"The computer parts are the most difficult to replace," Frances said. "We still have parts in storage. When those run out -- well, we'll think of something. I wanted to tell you that the Council have decided to hold a trial today. The people are in high spirits after yesterday's announcement; they need to let off a little steam."

"A trial?" Buffy said. "How's that going to be fun for the whole family? Are talking about some O.J.-style craziness? Because that's just going to get people even more wacky."

Frances was quiet for a moment, then continued on as if Buffy had not spoken. "This is a vampire trial, Buffy. The people very much rely upon them. And our Slayer frequently officiates. Markwith suggested that you girls should get used to sharing in the duties."

"Vampire trial? Officiate?" Buffy had a vague image of herself yelling, Hear ye, hear ye. "Do I get a gavel?"

"We'll give you what you need. The trial begins in two hours, so, be there on time."

"Okey-doke," Buffy said. "Where do you keep these vamps locked up, anyway?"

**

The Tower of London looked every bit as imposing as it had 350 years ago, Buffy decided, and no doubt as imposing as it had looked for the centuries beforehand. The last time she'd been here, she'd been pretending to be really excited about queueing up with her mother to see the Crown Jewels.

"Wonder who made off with the Star of India," Buffy muttered as she walked through the throng of Watchers crowding inside.

"Wouldn't much matter." Buffy whirled about, then relaxed as she saw Angel at her side. He continued, "In a society where people struggle for food and survival, jewels are just rocks."

"You have lost none of your sneakiness," Buffy said. "How did you get inside? Sunny day out there. Did you take the Tube?"

Angel's face actually looked more pale, which for him was remarkable. "Buffy, vampires have been swarming to London for 150 years, all looking for nests with no threat of sunlight. The Underground isn't exactly open for business anymore."

"Good point," Buffy frowned. "So how did you get here?"

"Came here last night," he said simply. "I figured they'd bring you here to watch."

"What's with the idea of a vampire trial?" she said, falling into step by his side. "Is this more of same stuff as yesterday? Just, you know, showing off so people can cheer?"

"That's not how I'd put it, but you're exactly right. You've caught onto the game pretty quickly, Buffy. Most people here never do. But you're smarter than that."

"Does the word 'duh' come to mind?" She gave him a sideways smile. "You really thought all that show would get to me, yesterday."

"It's heady," Angel said. "I've seen it get to people before."

"Not me." Buffy tossed her hair as they walked into a larger common area, one filled with regular people. "I don't get caught up in --"

"Slayer!" a man cried, pointing to her. "Another of the Slayers who has returned!"

A woman nearby cried out. Within moments, she was surrounded by smiling people who kept calling, "Slayer!" "Buffy!" "Slayer!" Buffy looked around wildly, trying to get a glmpse of Angel amid the throng; she caught sight of him slowly moving away through a crowd that parted to avoid him.

"Slayer, will you hold this child?" a woman said, holding out her infant.

"You want me to babysit?" Buffy said with a worried frown.

The people all laughed. "I want her to be able to say that she was held by a Slayer," the mother said. "One of the great Slayers of all time."

"She's probably going to be able to say she was dropped on her head by a Slayer," Buffy muttered as she took the infant in her hands. The baby, perhaps sensing Buffy's profound unease, began screeching the moment her mother let go. This prompted the woman to fetch her back after only a moment, to the vast relief of everyone involved.

An older man held out an arthritic, twisted hand. "Can you not pray for my healing, Slayer?"

"I -- I can pray," Buffy said. "But I don't heal anything. Honestly. I so don't."

He didn't seem to believe her, just kept holding out his hand. After a moment, Buffy reached out and touched it, feeling creepier than she ever had in her life. "My prayer's no better than yours," she warned him.

"You are the Slayer," he said, content.

Buffy pushed her way out of the crowd and toward the center of the common area. A few hundred people were circling an area marked off by low wooden benches. One corner, instead of being closed, opened onto a path that led to a heavy door in one of the walls. The energy in the room was -- strange, Buffy thought. Half exhilaration, half -- something darker. At the edge created by the benches were the other Slayers. Xiaoting and Agatha seemed delighted by the attention they were getting. Sky seemed as though she would be happier with her attention if she didn't have to share. Sumiko looked more confused than ever.
"This place is a madhouse," Buffy said. "How come we're not back in the Chamber?"

"If they've got a real bastard, one it took 'em a while to catch, they'll do the trials there," Sky said. "That's only when they know they can draw the full crowd. Small fry like these three? Scarcely even worth the Tower. Wouldn't even be this crowded if we weren't here."

A voice called out, "Silence!" Buffy looked to see Markwith standing atop one of the wooden benches. The hundreds of people gathered there fell quiet at his word, and Buffy shivered again. "Bring forth the first prisoner."

Two guards dragged forth a female vampire, in full vamp face; she was struggling against the manacles that bound her wrists together. But from her slow step and reflexes, Buffy realized that the female vamp was either exhausted, injured or drugged.

"The vampire Moreen has, for three hundred years, savaged the people of Ireland and Great Britain," Markwith began. "Her murders have included the young, the innocent, the elderly --"

As he droned on, Sky stepped forward slightly. Buffy realized that Sky had a good old-fashioned stake in her hand. "Watch and learn, girls," Sky whispered.
When Markwith had finished his spiel, he drew himself up to his full height. Sky pulled her arm back. "The vampire is guilty of crimes beyond number. But this court has witnesses and proof of the following seven crimes: the death of Michael Campbell --"

Sky plunged the stake into Moreen's gut. The vampire shrieked in pain, and the crowd began to cheer.

"The death of Jane Campbell --"

Sky stabbed Moreen with the stake again, this time in the shoulder. More screaming. More cheering. People were yelling themselves hoarse, their eyes lit up with a feverish glare. And Buffy -- who had once beheaded a vampire with an Exacto knife -- felt her stomach turn.

"The maiming of Arthur Corby --"

The stake slammed into the vampire's thigh. Moreen shrieked, the sound coming out of her mouth inhuman in more ways than one. Vamps bled slowly, but blood was pooling on the ground now. Buffy looked away, caught a glimpse of Agatha, who was beginning to seem green.

This isn't slaying, Buffy thought. This is torture.

A little voice inside her head said, Don't get so proud. You've beaten the truth out of vamps before. You held a crucifix inside a vampire's mouth one time and listened to her scream, didn't you?

I did that to save Willow and Giles and Cordy, Buffy thought. I did what I had to do.

This -- this is for people to enjoy.

"And last -- for the murder of Catherine Baker -- this court sentences you to death."

As Markwith said the word "death," Sky finally staked Moreen the vampire through the heart. She cried out one last time and exploded into dust. The crowd cheered its loudest yet. Sky sauntered back to the Slayers and held out the stake. "So, who wants to go next?"

To Buffy's surprise, Sumiko took the stake and stepped forward. The guards were already bringing out the next vamp.

Sumiko apparently didn't get the whole "wound for each crime" idea, and so Sky forcibly took the stake from her after the second victim was too speedily
dispatched. Sumiko didn't look at all happy about Noor taking her place in the center. "Bloodthirsty creature, isn't she?" Xiaoting whispered.

Buffy wanted to agree. But she couldn't quite ignore the memory of Sumiko stroking Buffy's hair and singing while Buffy wept.

Maybe, Buffy thought desperately, maybe she's just like me. She -- she just hated it, and wanted to end it --

But Sumiko's placid face showed no sign of the nauseated disgust Buffy knew showed on her own.

When the third victim was dust -- after a ghastly eleven strikes -- the crowds, apparently sated, began filtering outside, laughing and talking as though they'd been to a play. Markwith came to the Slayers, smiling benevolently. "Well done. You've caught on quickly. Perhaps next time we can get the other three involved too, hmm?"

"I'll pass," Buffy said quickly.

"I -- I think I need to lie down," Agatha said. Xiaoting quickly took her arm for support.

Markwith said nothing about their reluctance, but he patted Sumiko approvingly on the shoulder. She seemed to understand the gesture and actually gave him a small smile. "You've got another few hours before sundown," he said. "Training? Or would you prefer to rest for a bit in the gardens?"

"Gardens," Agatha said faintly. "Yes."

"I'm -- I'm gonna stay here for a bit," Buffy said.

"Of course you are," Markwith said. "Come."

With that, he drew the other Slayers outside with him. Buffy was now all alone in the execution block, save for one other.

"You hated it," Angel said from his place across the room.

"You thought I wouldn't?" Buffy asked. She lowered herself to sit on the floor; she felt as though she'd been slaying for hours, or running -- worn out and miserable.

"I hoped you would," Angel said. He walked toward her. "They started these up about a century ago. To improve morale, they said. I don't think teaching people to applaud torture improves anything."

"Why didn't you stop them?" Buffy said. "You're on the Council --"

"I'm one man," Angel said. "Back then, I had more influence than I do now. But not enough to override an impassioned majority. I actually lost a lot of ground arguing that we should show mercy to vampires. Strangely enough, they saw it as self-interest."

"I kept asking myself why I cared," Buffy said. "I mean, I've killed hundreds of vamps. Thousands, probably. I'm just making the dead act their age, you know? But this isn't the same."

"No, it's not." Angel knelt by her side. "It frightens me, that we do this. At first, I thought it might lead to mistreatment of human prisoners, eventually. That once it became all right to torture anyone, it might be all right to torture anyone."

"Has that happened?"

"Not yet," Angel said. He was studying her face, and Buffy wondered what he was trying to see. Then he said, carefully, "This is how Spike died."

Strange, that it could hurt. That it could hurt that much. "Spike? They did this -- to Spike?"

"Only about forty or fifty years ago," Angel said.

Spike. Arrogant, obnoxious, funny Spike, dragged into this room drugged and humble. Denied a chance to do the one thing she knew he wanted most -- go out fighting. "You didn't save him?"

Angel didn't ask her why he should want to do such a thing. Instead, he shrugged and sighed. "How? They captured him and charged him with the murders of two Slayers; he was guilty. Hell, he was proud of it. That thing in his head that kept him from hurting people -- that had shorted out about two centuries before. He was a killer again. I couldn't have helped him, and it would have been wrong to try." More softly, he said, "But I wanted to."

"Why? Why didn't you want him dead?"

"He was -- a part of my history," Angel said. After a pause, he added, "He was the last person who remembered you."

Buffy hesitated, then said, "He loved me."

"I know. He told me."

"You guys talked about this?" She laughed, a broken sound that rang hollow in her own ears. "That could not have gone well."

"Not the first time. We were both sick with grief, and furious with each other. We had some battles royal about you. But as time went on -- sometimes he just
wanted to talk about you. Sometimes I did too. We'd call truce, meet up, get drunk and sentimental about your smile. We were pathetic, and we knew it. Didn't stop us." Angel laughed ruefully. "Of course, after he became a danger again, there was no more of that. Until the night before he died. They wouldn't let me in to see him, but they let us speak."

"Over the phone," Buffy said quietly.

"Right. And we talked about you then. I don't know what else was in Spike's twisted heart, Buffy, but you were still a part of him, all that time later. We talked about you that one last time. We argued about the color of your eyes."

"Who was right?"

"Neither of us, actually," Angel said. "Sorry."

"That's okay," Buffy said automatically. She sat there for a moment longer, trying to take it in. "I hate that they did this to him. I hate it so much. And I don't know why."

"I hate it too," Angel said. "And your guess is as good as mine."

**

"We kill vampires," Noor said that evening as she and Buffy, again armed to the nines, walked down a long corridor toward the exits. "We kill them however we can. Why do you think this one way is a bad way?"

"It's different," Buffy insisted as she tightened the drawstring of the pouch containing her holy water. "You know it's different."

"Yes," Noor said. "It is different in that I can kill the vampire, and the vampire cannot kill me. I like this difference."

"Killing them is one thing," Buffy said. "Torturing them so other people can have fun? That's another. And I don't like it."

"I do not care for that part of it," Noor said. "But after I have sworn to kill a creature, what does the method matter?"

"I think it does matter," Buffy said quietly. The exit doors slid open before them; patrol had begun later tonight, so the people who had thronged outside last time had long since fled to home and safety. "We get the west this time. Same drill as last night?"

Noor nodded, and the two of them walked on together in silence until they were a few blocks from the Keep. Buffy glanced up and noted an old, crumbling sign.

"Okay. We meet up back here at Grosvenor Square in four hours. Got it?"

"Four hours," Noor said, before running off eagerly into the night.

Buffy strolled down the street more slowly, considering what Noor had said before.

Vampire Slayers slay vampires, she thought. Hence the job description. I'm not called Buffy the Vampire Rehabilitator. Though maybe, what with Angel and Spike going all mushy, I could be.

Spike. Her stomach still clenched with disgust every time she thought about him dying like that -- humiliated and broken and captive. It was the last thing he would ever have wanted.

Like any of us get what we want, Buffy thought with a piercing pang of bitterness. Giles didn't want to end up wasting away because his irresponsible Slayer went off and got herself killed. Dawn didn't want to be a Key some creepy bitch goddess needed to unleash Hell Mom didn't want to fight so hard for her life -- just to -- to die there on the sofa --

Buffy dropped her head as her eyes began to fill with tears.

WHOMP!

The pain smacked her hard across her whole back, knocking her breath out and her balance off. Buffy turned her fall into a roll and managed to come up on her feet in a fighting stance. An orangey, scaly demon hissed at her, the ridges around his neck bristling. The claws on his hands were glistening with blood, and she realized she could feel stripes of bright heat across her back.

The demon pounced forward, and Buffy somersaulted back, putting some power into it. A couple of good handsprings and she was 15 feet out, in firing range. She shouldered her longbow and fired; the arrow struck Orangey Demon in the side. He hissed again, but kept slowly moving toward her.

Buffy fired once more; this time the arrow hit him squarely in the forehead. Orangey Demon stumbled back -- then righted himself and jumped forward again.

Skittering away from him, Buffy frowned. "Okay," she said. "Guess that's not where you keep your brain. Assuming you have one."

She tried the blaster, firing off a couple of quick rounds. The bolts hit him, singing his orangey scales black and making him roar with outrage, but he just leapt toward her again. Buffy jumped over him, far enough to get some distance.

This has got to work sooner or later, Buffy told herself. Just keep at it --

Then she gasped as she saw the shape of a woman coming around the corner -- and saw Orangey Demon see her too.
Orangey Demon sprang toward the woman in the shadows, and Buffy ran after him. New methods be damned, she thought; she needed to kill that thing now and to do it the way she knew best.
As Orangey Demon tackled the now-screaming woman, Buffy tackled him; she could only have weighed a fraction of what he did, but she managed to knock him off his intended victim. The demon slashed at her, and Buffy put up her hands to block him. As his claws made contact with her palms, she cried out -- and grabbed on.
With one swift jerk, she snapped off one of his claws.
Ornagey Demon shrieked with outrage. Buffy stuck out her lip. "Ooooh, bummer," she said. "You broke a nail."
She tightened her grip around the claw -- and stabbed the demon in the eye.
Howling piteously, the demon stumbled backward, clutching feebly at the claw in its face until it fell over backwards, either dead or unconscious. Buffy took her blaster and fired at him several times until finally he caught on fire.

"That thing would not die," she said. "That was like a Rasputin demon or something."

"For your information, it was a Gryra demon," said the woman behind her.

Buffy recognized the voice, winced and turned around.

Standing behind her, uninjured but furious, was Frances.

I am so busted, Buffy thought.

***************************

XI : A Matter of Trust

"What do you think you're doing?" Frances said. "Fighting a demon with your hands? And where is Noor?"

"Way to thank me for saving your life," Buffy snapped. Her clawed palms hurt, and she looked down at them to see how deep the cuts were.

"I only came out here to observe your progress, and if I'd been able to track you and Noor together, I'd not have been forced to get out of the transport and endanger myself in the first place," Frances said. "And I need to have a look at those cuts -- and at the Gryra --"

"The cuts aren't deep," Buffy said with a shrug.

"Well, every now and then you find a Gryra demon with poison in their claws," Frances said as she leaned over to look at the demon's smoldering remains.

Buffy stared down at her hands. The cuts weren't that deep at all.

"Hmm," Frances said. "As I thought. No white stripes on the limbs. Should be fine, then --"

Just little cuts. Nothing major. Nothing to worry about.

"-- but you really could have been in trouble, you know --"

"Was it poisonous?" Buffy said.

Frances blinked. "Was I not clear? No, this isn't one of the poisonous ones."

"Are you sure?" Buffy was still staring down at her hands. They were shaking violently. "Are you sure this one wasn't poisonous? My back! It got my back too -- are you sure?"

"I'm sure," Frances said coolly. "We need to find Noor this instant --"

"Because if we need to get an antidote or do a spell or something we should do it really fast, like, right now, Frances. We have to really hurry because there might not be time if we don't hurry. So we have to be fast and we have to go right now and make sure that there's no poison --"

"Buffy!" Frances crisp voice seemed to cut off Buffy's broken jabbering. The last words choked in her throat. She didn't stop shaking. "Get some control over of yourself."

"Okay," Buffy said, speaking more to herself than Frances. "Okay. I'll be okay."

More gently, Frances said, "Let me see those cuts."

Buffy held out her hands, then turned so Frances could see her back. "Not poisonous?" Buffy asked through chattering teeth.

"No," Frances said, taking Buffy's elbow to steer her toward the transport. "You're very lucky, Buffy. You could have had much worse."

"I know," Buffy whispered.

**

"You came back without Noor?" Ishak said, his forehead furrowed with concern.

"They're looking for her now," Frances said, her voice raised slightly to carry the length of Ishak's Hall. A handful of Watchers, all but one apparently roused from sleep, had been gathered together there.

Angel, of course, would have been wide awake. Buffy could almost feel him watching her from his place at the far end of the room. But she couldn't bring herself to meet his eyes, or anyone else's; she sat trembling in her chair, unable to collect her thoughts or her strength.

Markwith was seated next to Ishak, and though nobody in the room appeared to be very happy, he looked angrier than anyone else. "Buffy, what were you thinking? Since your arrival we have stressed, over and over, how dangerous it is for you to patrol on your own --"

"It felt weird," Buffy said in a voice that sounded small and pathetic, even to her own ears.

"I beg your pardon? Did you just attempt to excuse an egregious breach of all Council protocol by saying that looking to your own safety 'felt weird'? Is that what we're to understand?" Markwith demanded.

"Markwith --" Angel said, his tone a warning.

Markwith cut him off with an impatient gesture of his hand. "I'd prefer to hear an explanation from someone who was there and might know. Can you shed any light on this, Buffy? On why you would do something so irresponsible?"

"It -- felt -- weird," Buffy said, putting a little more strength behind her words. "I felt like I wanted to see the city for myself. And I never patrolled with anybody I didn't really know. And really trust."

"You don't trust Noor?" Frances said.

"It's not that! I just mean that -- that --" Buffy gestured with her still-aching hands, trying to grab at the words she hadn't found, even for herself. "Slaying's not about rules. It's about instinct. Whatever it is that makes me the Slayer -- it's deep inside me. It's a part of me. And I have to listen to that first. That's what makes me good at this. That's what keeps me alive."

A brief pause followed her words. Buffy could tell that some of the Watchers were carefully considering what she'd said.

Markwith was not. "Forgive me for saying it, Buffy, but your records suggest that, many times, this was what almost got you killed." Buffy felt her body go cold; the stripes of pain across her back throbbed with fresh pain. "I have no doubt that your Watcher was a good man, but my review of his records suggests he was rather -- lax -- in your discipline. You may have enjoyed that freedom at the time, Buffy, but his failure to --"

"Giles was not a failure!" she cried. "Giles understood this! He wasn't some -- some -- pointy-headed pencil-pusher who tried to run my life like, like, I don't know -- Dilbert's boss or something."

Frances sighed and said, to no one in particular, "Do you understand anything she's saying?"

"Yes," Angel said. The others all turned to look at him, and to Buffy's surprise, Angel actually smiled. "I understood every word. It's weird, the things you remember -- Dilbert was -- it was a cartoon, right, Buffy?"

Buffy felt the sob that had been welling in her throat suddenly turn into a short little laugh. "Yeah."

"Right!" Angel said. "Well, Dilbert was this little guy who worked in an office, and he had a necktie that went like this --" Angel made a swooshy motion with his hand in front of his chest, and Buffy laughed again. Nobody else at the table did. Angel dropped his hand and looked somewhat abashed. "What Buffy's saying is that you can't let the form of the rules be more important than their intent. The most important thing is letting the Slayer do her job to the best of her ability."

"Our rules are designed for that purpose --" Frances began, but Angel cut her off.

"Our rules work well for the Slayers who were trained to work with them," he said. "But maybe they don't work so well for Buffy."

"So what are you suggesting?" Markwith said. "That we simply send Buffy out without backup every night? I should have thought you'd be more concerned for her safety."

"I am concerned," Angel said. "I just think Buffy should have a say in this."

"The Slayers don't make the rules," Frances insisted. "And we're not going to break them because of her former Watcher's bad habits."

"A word of warning," Buffy said. "I'm injured right now. But if you guys ever start badmouthing Giles when I've got my full strength, you're gonna learn a lot about MY bad habits."

"Buffy, please refrain from threatening members of the Council," Ishak said, calmly enough. "You're upset. Understandably so. Is there perhaps some middle ground here? Can you think of a compromise?"

"I should come on patrols with you instead," Frances offered, "That's standard procedure, after all. Or we could try one of the other Slayers --"

"No. I don't want that -- I don't know what I -- " Buffy sighed and put her hand to her forehead, then winced with renewed pain. She looked at her injured hands -- and the answer came to her in a rush. "Angel," Buffy said. "I'll patrol with Angel."

Nobody seemed delighted that this simple solution had presented itself. The Watchers all shifted uneasily in their seats. Angel himself looked more surprised than anything else. Ishak was the first to speak. "Buffy -- we've not permitted Angel to patrol for decades now."

"What? Are you crazy?" Buffy said. "You need to kill as many vampires and demons as you can, right? Take it from someone who's fought him: Angel can kick some serious ass."

"Something happened," Angel said. "About forty years ago. I was flushing some demons out of nest, and I let a Brachen demon go."

"Oh, wait, I know this one," Buffy said. "The ones with the green faces with little pointy things. They're peaceful, right? No harm, no foul?"

"Peaceful, yes. They'd never hurt anyone. But most humans don't understand that. And when some people saw me let the demon go -- well, they weren't happy."

"Well, who cares?" Buffy shrugged. "So they got their panties in a wad. Since when did you start worrying what people think?"

Angel said nothing. It was Ishak who said, gently, "People have a great deal of difficulty with the idea of a vampire on the Council. When they saw him letting a demon go free, they interpreted it wrongly. The end result was something of a mob scene, I'm afraid."

The room was deathly quiet. Buffy finally said, "They hurt you?"

"I made it through," Angel said. "If you want me to patrol with you, Buffy, then I think we should do it."

"Angel, no," Ishak said. "We all want to assist Buffy. But you must not take such risks again. You were six years getting your strength back --"

"Nothing's gonna happen to Angel," Buffy said, with more confidence than she felt. How badly did a vampire have to be hurt for healing to take six years? But the thought of Angel so badly wounded when he had only been trying to help filled her with an anger fueled her determination. "I -- I won't let it. I'll watch his back, and he'll watch mine."

"You're meant to be operating as the Slayer, not as Angel's bodyguard," Frances said. "It's counterproductive."

"No, it isn't," Angel said. "Buffy and I were a good team. We fought well together. And I'm not going to let her take any risks on my behalf."

"Any more risks, I think you mean," Frances said, with the cold assurance of someone who had, undoubtedly, finished reading Giles' diaries.

Angel was unfazed. "Yes. That's what I mean."

"I don't like this," Ishak said. "It's dangerous for you." He meant Angel, Buffy realized.

"Patrolling is always dangerous," Angel said. He was leaning forward now, gesturing as he spoke. For the first time since her return, Buffy realized she was seeing Angel behaving naturally; that mask of hard, severe control had slipped away. "It's always a risk. I've obeyed your restrictions for all this time for your comfort, not mine. If we're asking Buffy to take her chances out there, then we should help her any way we can."

"I think it's an excellent idea," Markwith said.

Buffy's raised an eyebrow. She could see Angel tensing up again, leaning back in his chair.

"Angel's priorities are clear," Markwith said. "He wants to help Buffy. And that's understandable, isn't it? Why not give it a try?"

Buffy tried desperately to think of why not. Anything Markwith approved of seemed somewhat suspect.

But with her back still throbbing with pain on every heartbeat, and the memory of the smell of her own blood fresh, Buffy could not bear to let the chance go. "Is it settled, then? Can we go?"


Ishak still looked unhappy, but he nodded. "Angel will accompany Buffy on her patrols. But there is one other thing -- no, not about you, Buffy -- I understand there were vampire trials today."

Markwith's smile suddenly seemed a little forced. "Yes, there were. All the authorizations were carried out."

"And those authorizations do not specifically require you to get my approval," Ishak said. "I'm warning you now, that is likely to change. Very soon."

"Ishak, your personal distaste for the procedure doesn't change what it means to the people --"

"No, I don't suppose it does," Ishak said, rising from the table. "But I don't think it means as much to them as you believe. You know my feelings on this. You agreed to slowly phase them out of existence; that's the only reason I haven't stopped them entirely before now. Don't call them for anything so trivial again. Any other business?"

"The recent theft from my room has never been solved," Angel said. "I'd like my things back. Barring that, I'd like an explanation."

"We'll look into it," Ishak said tiredly, and Buffy got the impression this conversation had happened before.

Markwith rose from his seat, half-bowed, and quickly exited the room. Frances hesitated for a moment at Buffy's side. "We will have to discuss this."

"Whatever," Buffy said tiredly. Frances shook her head and hurried after Markwith. The other Watchers filed out behind Ishak. murmuring among themselves.

Angel remained in his seat and looked at her for a long moment. She expected him to say something about the patrols -- "thanks" or "what were you thinking?" or something. But he finally said, "It shook you."


"What? The Watchers? No way --"

"I mean earlier. The attack. You're still afraid."

Buffy wanted to lie, then remembered that Angel could literally smell fear. She took a deep breath and nodded. "The demon clawed me. Frances thought it might be poisonous, and when I thought I might die again --"

The last words caught in her throat. As she sat there silently, Angel said, "Will you be all right?"

"Yeah," she said. "Just -- walk me home, okay?"

"Of course," he said, gesturing to the door.

She got tiredly to her feet. "This coming back from the dead is no picnic."

"Tell me about it," Angel said. Buffy couldn't help laughing a little as they left the Hall.

After they had walked through the Keep for a while, Angel said, "Thank you for asking for my help with patrols. It means a lot."

"Bet you've missed it," Buffy said. "Kicking ass, taking names. Trust me, it's like riding a bike. You never forget."

"I never learned how to ride a bike," Angel said. "But I know what you mean. That's not what I was talking about, though. I meant -- thank you for trusting me. Wanting me by your side for this. It's -- been a while."

Buffy looked up at him. His expression was relaxed again, more gentle and natural than she'd seen it in a long time. "I always trust you," she said. "You know that. I know things got kinda weird with us sometimes, but -- I trust you. Don't you remember?"

"I do now," he said. "I'd almost forgotten how it feels."

His eyes were soft, and his body was close, and Buffy felt a very different sort of adrenalin rush. Disconcerted and surprised, she cast around for another topic. "Okay, how can you forget Willow and remember Dilbert?"

Angel shrugged. "There's not much rhyme or reason to memory, Buffy. A couple months back, I tried to remember what I was doing in the late 22nd century. Came up completely blank. There's a period of about thirty years that's just empty. But I can still remember every word of a lecture my father gave me once when I didn't rub down one of his horses after a long ride."

Buffy remembered her 20th-century history final, the one where she'd spent fifteen minutes trying to remember exactly what the Bolsheviks wanted, anyway. The whole time she'd been racking her brains, she could picture the relevant page of her textbook right in front of her, complete with the little flying pig Willow had doodled in the margins. The pig had blue-ink wings. The Bolsheviks were a mystery. "Okay," she said, "Point taken."

"Is this your room?" Angel said.

"Uh, yeah. I think so." Buffy squinted at the door, which looked like every other door in the whole compound. "How could you tell?"

"Smells like you," Angel said.

"In future, feel free to make up another answer," Buffy said. Angel smiled and opened his mouth, no doubt to bid her farewell. Buffy quickly added, "Angel? That attack tonight? I -- I think it was probably a good thing."

"Why is that?"

"When I first got here -- I mean, here as in now -- you know what I mean. Anyway, I was so depressed and scared. I told myself I just wanted to die again. I really did want to die."

"Buffy --"

"But tonight, when I actually thought I might die, it freaked me out. I knew I wanted to be alive again." Buffy looked up at him. "I knew I wanted to be here, no matter how weird or scary or strange it might be. I don't think I could've found that out any other way. Though I wouldn't have minded trying."

"I'm glad," Angel said.

"That's I'm better? Or that I'm here?"

"Both."

**

"And that was it? No good-night kiss? No hug?" Xiaoting's arms were crossed in front of her, and she looked as indignant as if she had been the one left unkissed at her door.

"It's not like that," Buffy said. "Didn't these stories you heard include the information that Angel and I broke up, like, two years before I died? We weren't a couple then, and we're not going to be again." She was forcing down the muesli-like cereal that apparently would have to serve for most breakfasts. Xiaoting had joined her for a picnic on the floor.

The bolts of red and blue fabric were stretched out over her sofa; Agatha, who had insisted on eating at the table, was studying them. "I've never attempted to sew without a pattern," Agatha said doubtfully.

"You'll think of something," Xiaoting said with an airy wave of her hand. "And don't give me that, Buffy. You and Angel are quite obviously drawn to each other. Imagine him still wanting you after so long!"

"I'm not sure he does," Buffy said. "And I'm not sure if I do. Even if we were -- we kinda have a curse problem."
"Ohhh, yes," Xiaoting said. "I'd heard about that. I thought that part of the story just had to be made up. But it's real?"

"Unfortunately," Buffy said.

"I thought Angel's curse was his soul," Agatha said. "Isn't that a good thing?"

"There's more to it," Xiaoting said. "And we'll tell you if you want, but I'm warning you now, it's about all those subjects you keep begging me not to mention."

Agatha's pale skin flushed. "You mean -- matrimonial relations?"

"Without the matrimony," Xiaoting said.

"Then perhaps you two should simply tell me what sort of clothes you want," Agatha said hurriedly.

"Anything that doesn't make me look like the Shmoo," Buffy suggested.

The door chimed, and Buffy called, "Come in!" She was hoping it would be Angel -- then looked with some panic at her wide-open window --

Instead, Noor stalked in the room. Her eyes were blazing. "You have ruined this for both of us!"

Buffy held up her hands, the spoon in one of them dripping milk on her arm. "Whoa, whoa. Chill out. I got busted. We knew it could happen --"

"It did not happen to me," Noor insisted. "It happened to you. Because you let your Watcher catch you, now we have to patrol on leashes. Like little dogs."

"Is Angel going to have you on a leash, Buffy?" Xiaoting laughed. "That's a bit kinky --"

"Oh, so you are patrolling with your boyfriend now," Noor said. She was glowering at Buffy with real fury -- something entirely different, and far scarier, than her usual bluster. "Is this why you let yourself be caught? So that you could have your lover for a chaperone?"

"I did not let myself be caught," Buffy said, feeling her own anger begin. "They were looking for both of us, and they just happened to find me."

"Very likely. Meanwhile, you are with your Angel every night now, and I must patrol with my nagging, weakling Watcher. He does not let me use my hands or my feet. He makes me fight in the ways I cannot fight." Noor was pacing now, her anger shifting from Buffy to her Watcher. "Why do they do this? It is stupid. It is worse than stupid."

"Noor, do try to be reasonable," Agatha said. "The new rules are only for our protection --"

"We are not to be protected," Noor said. "We are to fight. Am I the only one who sees this?"

Without waiting for an answer, Noor stormed out of the room. Buffy dropped her spoon back in her bowl. "Okay, that was in the dictionary next to Overreacting."

Xiaoting sighed and ran her hand beneath the blue material. "That girl has got to learn to relax."

"Her Watcher is rather a bore," Agatha said. "Certainly he's not so dashing as your new patrolling partner, Buffy."

"Can you guys stop with the boyfriend talk already?" Buffy tried to relax. "Sorry. I'm kinda edgy. But maybe Noor isn't just feral.I guess if I had to patrol with Frances from now on, I'd be all kinds of hacked off today."

"Exactly," Agatha said. "I think. If I understood what you said."

"Speaking of Slayers barging in," Buffy said, "where's Sumiko?"

"Oh, Markwith came for her first thing this morning," Agatha said. "I saw them going to the training area while I was taking my morning constitutional."

"Sumiko and Markwith?" Buffy said.

"He's spending a little extra time with her," Xiaoting said. "Helping her adjust, as much as she can, poor thing."

"It's kind of him," Agatha added.

Buffy frowned. But she said only, "Very kind."

**********************

XII : The Librarian, the Thespian and the Locksmith

Buffy sipped her O'Doul's and meandered through the crowd at the Bronze. Only medium-crowded tonight, she mused; weird, seeing as how Macy Gray's on stage, which is a totally good get for the Bronze.

Macy Gray was wailing out "I Try" as Buffy continued on her way. She didn't bother heading to the dance floor -- he wouldn't be out there, in the center of things. He was always in the shadows, at the sides.

I told him I would probably show up, she thought. How long has this guy been dating anyway? 580 years or something? He should know what a girl means when she says she'll probably show up.

And this time, she wasn't all tired and dirty, with straw sticking out of her hair. Buffy looked down with pride at her shapeless, pale-gray garments. "See, I checked the dress code," she said happily.

"What does that matter?" Buffy looked over, startled. Noor was next to her, hovering, her feet several inches from the ground. She didn't seem to notice that she was floating, and it seemed only mildly odd to Buffy. For once, Noor's hair was not covered; it hung long and shining and free down her back. However, her expression was as grumpy as ever. "What does it matter, what you are wearing?"

"I want to look right," Buffy said.

"Do you think it matters?"

Buffy considered it for a minute, then smiled. "Don't guess it does. Angel's seen me looking pretty scary. He won't care."

"Angel, Angel, Angel," Noor mocked, tilting her head from side to side. "Why are you looking for your boyfriend? You should be looking for the door."

"The door? Excuse me, I've spent about half of my life in this place. I know where the doors are."

Noor gestured around the room. "Then find one."

Buffy sighed, put her fake beer on the table, next to the monkey, and looked around. "I don't think you get out a whole lot, so here's a helpful clubbing tip: Wherever you see one of those glowing exit signs, there's a door --"

She stopped and frowned. No glowing exit signs.

"I told you," Noor said.

Buffy ignored her and pushed her way to the main entrance -- at least, what was usually the main entrance. Now it was just a wall. She kept going, moving around to the side entrance; that, too, was sealed over as though it had never been.

"Weird," she said. "But no big. I don't need to leave, so I don't need the doors."

"Yes, you do." Buffy turned around and saw Frances standing there. She was holding a large, ornate key. "If you haven't got a door, how will you use this?"

"Uh, paperweight?" Buffy ventured.

Frances rolled her eyes. "Well, then, we just won't let you out."

"You have to," Buffy said. She didn't want to go out, but it was important that she could, if she wanted -- "You have to!"

Frances turned away. Buffy started to run after her. "Frances!"

Buffy awoke suddenly, almost certain she had actually called her Watcher's name aloud. The word seemed to be echoing in her ears.

She shook her head and sat up. The view from her window showed that the sun was low in the sky, but an hour or two of light remained. Her pre-slayage nap hadn't gone on too long, then.

Angel had called her earlier; chatty as ever, he had simply told her to meet him in the library at sundown. Other than that, another thrilling bout of archery practice and her Slayer brunch-and-fashion-emergency-meeting, the day had been fairly empty.

Strange, to have so much time on her hands. Just a few weeks ago, it seemed as though the pressure on her would never cease. Getting up early to get Dawn's breakfast and drive her to school -- trying to pay the bills and balance the checkbook on her own (but usually calling Giles or Anya for advice once or twice an hour) -- cleaning the house -- running to class late, all the while denying that dropping out was becoming inevitable -- and at the end of it, she knew she would pick up her stake and head out into the cemetaries.

It had seemed so hard, then. And now she'd give anything to have just one day of it back.

Buffy closed her eyes hard. She was getting better at dealing, but every time she thought about them all -- about how she took for granted the miracle of being able to just pick up the phone and hear Giles' voice --

She shook her head and got up from the sofa. Buffy picked up the telephone before thinking that she didn't actually know anyone's number -- but there was a buzz and a click, and then a woman's voice, asking primly, "Your connection?"

Edna May, Buffy thought. "Uh, Frances Keeling, please."

A moment later, Frances picked up; she sounded surprised to hear from Buffy, as well she might. "Is there anything the matter?"

"No. I mean, yes, but not like, come-running-to-save-me the matter. You know?" There was a brief pause, and Buffy said, "Don't answer that. Anyway, I wanted to talk to you about something."

"And what's that?"

"I need a job."

"Buffy -- your duties are the most important --"

"My duties fill about four or five hours a night, tops. I need something to do during the day. I mean, maybe not full-time or anything, but there has to be some way I can help out."

"Well, that's a very laudable impulse, Buffy," Frances said with what sounded like genuine approval. "But we want you to conserve your time and strength and attention. Devote them to what's most important. And that's Slaying."

"I'm gonna go nuts just staring at the walls all day," Buffy said. "I was thinking maybe I could help train the little maybe-Slayers. I don't have much in the way of resume-worthy skills, but I could help them go through their paces --"

"Buffy, no," Frances said, and by now she sounded a little shocked. "Your free time is a mark of honor. Of respect. And it's important that you not be burdened by the cares of the world. You should just enjoy that. I'm sure you'll get used to it after a time."

Much later, long after Frances had hung up, Buffy was still standing there, thinking about the cares of the world.

**

Buffy came bounding into the library, taking a good look around as she did so. To her surprise, it was fairly familiar -- wooden bookshelves, old musty books with old musty book smell, chairs and desks to sit and study in. The lighting was the same flat, bright glare as the rest of the Keep (save Angel's rooms). Except for that, she decided, the place was fairly cozy. "Angel?" she called.

"You know, some people whisper in libraries." Buffy whirled around to see Angel behind her, shelving a few volumes.

"You are way too stealthy," she said, more quietly. "Sorry about yelling -- I'm not used to a library other people actually use. Like, for its actual intended book purposes."

"Then you should feel right at home here," Angel said. "I'm afraid the standard of scholarship in the Council isn't what it used to be."

"So you're the only one still cracking the books?" Buffy asked. "Where's the librarian?"

Angel smiled. "You're looking at him."

"You're kidding." When Angel shook his head, Buffy laughed out loud. "Following in Giles' footsteps all the way, huh?"

"I'm sure he'd appreciate the irony," Angel said. "After -- after what happened forty years ago, I needed something else to do to earn my place here. I was familiar with the collection; about half of these books were mine, originally. So they put me here."

"Alone with the books."

"Most days. I don't mind it."

Buffy grinned and stepped into the narrow aisle with him. "I tried to get a job myself today."

"Besides slaying? I bet they didn't go for that."

"Too bad nobody gave you odds on that one, because you would've won. I was hoping they'd let me help train the young girls. The Slayer wannabes." Angel's face fell, and Buffy furrowed her forehead. "Angel? What's the matter?"

"Nothing," he said. "It's just -- I used to do that. Fifty or sixty years ago, now."

"Why did you stop? Didn't you like it?"

"I loved it. But I'm not exactly the role model the Council wanted for them," Angel said. He slid the last book into place with a thud, then turned to her, disappointment wiped from his face. "Ready to get started?"

Buffy opened her mouth to go back to the earlier subject, but she stopped when she heard the door open. Angel seemed surprised. "Of course, today's the day I get a guest who proves me a liar," he said. "Can I help you --"

His voice trailed off as he looked past Buffy; she turned around to see Sumiko standing there. Sumiko was looking at Buffy and Angel with no small degree of suspicion, but -- Buffy was relieved to see -- she had no weapons with her. So apparently she hadn't come to hunt them down.

Buffy gasped. "Oh, wait a minute! Angel, do you speak Japanese?"

As soon as they'd begun, her hopes died when Angel shook his head. "I used to know a handful of phrases. No more. And I don't think I recall any of it now."

"I thought you spent all this time in the Far East."

Sumiko shifted uneasily from foot to foot. She was still watching Buffy and Angel carefully.

"If you want me to speak in Cantonese, Mandarin or Korean, I can help you. But I only spent a few weeks in Japan. Sorry -- oh, wait. Hold on."

Angel pushed his way past Buffy and hurried into the back. After just a moment, he came out, bearing a few aged books in his hands. "Never thought we'd have any call for these again --"

Buffy realized that the bindings bore lettering in Japanese. She saw the realization reflected in Sumiko's eyes as she eagerly reached out for them. "Angel, that's great," Buffy said as he handed the books to Sumiko. "What are they about?"

"God only knows. Probably Slayer history, but they could be anything -- herb lore, prophecy --" Angel stopped again, then looked at Sumiko. "Why did you come here?" he said, making a circular motion with his hand to encompass the place, then pointing to her, then looking at her questioningly. "What do you want?"

The makeshift sign language apparently worked. Sumiko patted her chest with her hand. Buffy was mystified, but Angel seemed to get it right away. He jogged over to a far corner of the library. "Okay, for those of us who were never won at charades, what's going on?"

"I figured she came here for these," Angel called, his voice muffled by the shelves of books between them. "Her own records. Her Watcher's diaries."

"Doesn't her new Watcher have those?"

"Probably has computer access to the electronic versions," Angel said. "But I have the originals."

He came out bearing several slim volumes bound in faded red cloth. Sumiko's face altered as soon as she saw them; Buffy could see recognition, sadness, excitement --

Sumiko stepped forward and quickly lay the Japanese books down. She held out her hands and accepted the diaries almost reverently. Placing them on a long table, she pulled out a chair and untied the fragile ribbon holding one of them shut.

Buffy stepped closer, standing with Angel to look over Sumiko's shoulder.

The writing was fine and spidery, the elegant script of another age. Almost all the writing was in English, but Buffy could see the odd notation in Japanese here or there. She read the signature aloud: "Tobias Earnshaw."

Sumiko started at the name -- at the few words in English she understood, Buffy realized -- and looked back at Buffy. Her eyes were filled with tears.

Buffy took Sumiko's shoulder in her hand. "Hey. I'm sorry. I -- I miss my Watcher too."

Sumiko looked at her for a moment more, then turned to look at Angel. After a moment, she half-bowed her head.

Angel returned the bow. "Take them if you want," he said, gesturing at the books and then at the door. "For as long as you need."

Sumiko made no move to leave; she remained in her chair, tracing her fingers gently across the writing on the page. Buffy touched Angel's arm. "Let's go."

**

Angel hopped out of the transport first, doublechecking the horizon before he stepped aside to let Buffy out. "Fairly quiet. Strange. The West End has a reputation for being particularly rough."

"Maybe when the bad guys heard this big armored tank coming, they ran," Buffy pointed out.

Angel was unamused. "Buffy, I don't ever want you trying to travel more than a mile or so on foot after dark. I'd rather have a few of them put on their guard than have you caught off yours."

"I'd forgotten how protective you are," Buffy said, doublechecking her array of weaponry. Angel was more simply armed with a single crossbow. "And you've forgotten that I don't need it."

He looked at her darkly as he sealed up the door, and she sighed, relenting. "Okay. We take the transport for the scenic country drives. But Frances was right. We're not here to watch out for each other. We're here to kill stuff. So let's find stuff to kill."

"Got it," Angel said.

"And don't tell Frances I said she was right about something."

"Never."

Though Buffy would've died before admitting it, she could see the effects of his years of inaction during her and Angel's first kill. His reflexes were too slow; his instincts not as sharp as they ought to have been. She polished the first demon off largely on her own. But by their third kill of the night, she could see it coming back to him already; he had a vamp spotted, in his sights and dusted in a matter of moments. "You enjoyed that, didn't you?" she said.

"Not as much as I'd enjoy a real battle," Angel said. "Do you think the Council's new fighting rules apply to me, too?"

Buffy scowled. "If I don't get to play, neither do you. Keep looking. We can bring in a higher head count than this."

"Yes, ma'am," he said, not unhappily.

Within a few minutes, Buffy sensed a vampire close by and motioned to Angel. The two of them moved quickly down a side alley to get a look at the next street.

Buffy peered around the corner and saw a vamp, a skinny little guy in a green jacket, sauntering down the street. In one hand he had a big, nasty-looking hammer. In the other, he had a big, nasty-looking nail.

"Don't like to think what he's using those for," Angel whispered.

"He ain't Bob Vila," Buffy replied.

The vampire walked to a boarded-up window on an abandoned building. He used two fingers to take something out of his jacket -- Buffy tensed up, ready for anything --

And the vampire put a poster on the board, put the nail to the poster and pounded it in with one quick stroke. He looked at it for a moment, then, apparently satisfied, continued on his way. Buffy could see the edges of several posters sticking out of the jacket's pocket.

She looked down at Angel, who shrugged. They waited in silence for a few minutes, then ran to the poster.

Angel got there first and ripped it off the wall. Buffy panted, "What does it say?"

Angel recited: "Presenting the latest tragical and comedical shows by the esteemed theater company of Mr. Kean. Beginning next Saturday, our featured performance: William Shakespeare's renowned spectacular 'The Tempest.' See the rains fall! Feel the winds blow! Marvel at the hideous and strange beast Caliban, and wonder at the beautiful creature Ariel. Skits and japes to begin the evening and ease the price of admission. All should attend this wondrous event. Escorts home provided. Coming next month: 'Charley's Aunt.'"

"You're telling me this guy -- puts on plays?"

"Of course," Angel said, a slow smile appearing on his face. "Of course he does. I'd heard that this sort of thing was going on -- I should have realized."

"Why would anybody go see vampire actors? I mean, who's going to be alive at intermission? Or is this for vampire entertainment only?"

"Vampires wouldn't need escorts home," Angel pointed out. "I don't know why humans would go. But he must set them free at the end."

"And why would he do that?" Buffy said, staring at the elaborate, hand-lettered poster.

"To be seen."

Buffy opened her mouth to argue with this reasoning, then asked herself: Would Spike do this? Yeah, he would, she thought. Hell, Cordelia would do this. "Okay, so he's not just a creepy master vampire, he's also an egomaniac," she said.

"These qualities often go together," Angel said.

"The poster doesn't say where the theater is."

"I have a good idea," Angel said. "We can get the exact address back at the library, check it out on opening night. If Kean's set up shop where I think he has, we can gather all the Slayers together. Maybe get rid of this guy once and for all."

"How do you know where he is?"

"Helps to have been around for 600 years."

"Still with the cryptic," Buffy said.

*******************

Part II -----------------------------25753462263912 Content-Disposition: form-data; name="userfile"; filename="Phoenix2.html" Content-Type: text/html

PHOENIX BURNING

BACK TO PART I

XIII: HOPE CHEST

"Do you want to come by for a while?" Angel said.

Buffy looked sideways at him. They'd just finished their night of patrolling; morning was coming on, and she knew he had to be as ready for sleep as she was. They'd gotten well into the teens on their demon slayage, and they'd talked shop about good and bad neighborhoods, vamp tactics and so on.

In other words, their business for the night was definitely at an end. There was absolutely no reason for him to ask her to his rooms, and there was no reason for her to accept.

"Sure," she said. "I'd love to."

They got off the lift on his floor -- a few levels lower than her own -- and went down the hallway. "Who are your neighbors?" she whispered.

"I don't really have neighbors," Angel said. "There are people who live near me."

"Gotcha," Buffy said, a little more loudly. "So it's okay for me to start singing at the top of my lungs, then."

That got her a smile. "They'd never suspect it had anything to do with me. That much I can promise."

"Oooh, I could yodel," she said as his door slid open.

"Wait until we're patrolling. Should scare the demons," Angel said. He did something that seemed very complicated with the oil lamp, which flickered into soft light. "Would you like some wine?"

"Sounds great," she said. "I'm, what, 370 years old now? That's legal in any jurisdiction."

Angel chuckled as he went into the kitchen, and Buffy made herself comfortable on Angel's cozy sofa. For a moment she enjoyed the wavering light in the room; it was soft and forgiving, and it made everything look golden and welcoming.

As Angel came back in, carrying their goblets of wine, he paused for a moment. His eyes were dark in the dim light, and he seemed to be studying her face, her mouth. Then he deftly handed her one goblet, put the other on a table and began lighting another couple of lamps.

Buffy felt suddenly awkward, and she cast around for any possible topic of conversation. Her eyes fell on the large, carved box in the corner. "Hey, is that new?"

Angel half-turned, then stared at the box. "I don't believe it."

"Angel, what is it?"

"They brought it back," Angel said, kneeling on the floor by the box. "I keep some of my most precious things in this box. "This -- this is what was stolen from me a couple months ago --"

He opened the lid slowly, carefully. Then he breathed out a sigh of relief. "And everything's inside. At least, it looks like everything --"

Buffy sat down on the floor beside him. "What all have you got in here?"

"Lots of things." Angel frowned and lifted a carved-stone bottle from the box. "Including at least one thing that isn't mine." He uncorked the bottle and looked inside, then was quiet for a moment.

"Angel? What is that?"

"Something that belongs to whomever took this box from me in the first place," he said. He recorked it and handed it to Buffy. "Keep this. Hide it."

"Why? Don't you want to, I don't know, fingerprint it or something?" Buffy looked at the bottle curiously.

"I doubt that would do any good. But whoever put that in there will come looking for it, eventually. The longer they have to look, the better chance I'll have of finding them."

"Good point," Buffy said. "Why would anyone take your personal things? You said yourself, valuables aren't as valuable anymore --"

"Depends on what they are, what you want them for," Angel said. His voice was grim. "And I think I know what they wanted."

He held up a sweater, too small to be his own. Perhaps it had once been white, but now the front was thready and yellow with age; the back was stained dark -- with blood, Buffy realized.

Then her heart dropped as she remembered -- that was her sweater. The sweater she was wearing in the battle against Glory, the one she wore as she jumped to her death. And that was her own blood.

Buffy felt a little weak, and she took a deep, steadying breath. "Oh, my God."

"They would've needed a part of you for the spell," Angel said quietly.

"So that's the blood that was so important," Buffy whispered. "How -- how did you get this?"

"I asked for it," Angel said. He looked at her carefully. "I know that must seem strange. I think it seemed strange to them, too --"

"Lots of other keepsakes," Buffy said. She was still reeling from the sight of that sweater, from the vivid recollection of her own death. "Why this? I -- I'm not -- I just want to understand, Angel."

He was silent for a while, then spoke slowly, haltingly. "Vampires can -- we can tell a lot, from blood. The scent of it communicates -- individuality. Emotion. When I had this, I could know what you were feeling, those last few moments. It -- it made me feel like I was with you then --" Angel hung his head. "This is when you tell me that this is just too strange."

"It's not," she said softly. "I mean, I have a high threshold of strange, but -- no, Angel, it's not."

Angel lifted his head to look at her for a long moment, then folded the fragile garment and placed it back inside the box. Then he began sifting through the box's contents. "Now, here's one thing I know you'll want to see." After fishing around for a bit, he held up a book.

"The Keeper of the Key, by Dawn Summers!" Buffy grabbed the book and gripped it tightly. Her uneasiness was fading; in its place was a sense of discovery, of joy. "Oh, Angel, this is -- I don't have words for what this is."

"Take it," Angel said. "You should have it."

Buffy didn't argue; she blinked away a couple of happy tears as she ran her hands over the cover. "Wish this still had the dust jacket," she said. "Would've been nice to see what Dawn looked like --"

"I don't have any photos of Dawn," he said apologetically. "I do have these --" After a couple more moments, he pulled out a couple of framed images. Buffy reluctantly set the book down next to her and accepted them.

One of the pictures -- they were both faded, now, brownish with time but still clear -- showed Wesley, perhaps the same age he had been in the sketch on Angel's wall. He was still rail-thin, but he had gray hair at his temples and his glasses looked a little thicker. A pretty, plump, fair-haired woman was standing next to him; two little girls, who appeared to have gotten the best of both parents' genes, were beaming in front.

The other photo showed a large family gathering -- a wizened grandmother, middle-aged parents and almost a dozen children, all laughing at once, maybe at the photographer's joke. Buffy squinted at the photo for a minute, then realized with a start that the grandmother was Cordelia. Wrinkles and gray hair aside, there was no mistaking that smile.

Buffy looked up and saw Angel staring down at the photos soon, that same nostalgic softness in his eyes. "They look happy," she said, surprised at the tremor in her voice. She didn't know if it was the expression on his face that was so moving, or whether she was just so homesick that even Wes and Cordy could get to her.

"They were, I think," Angel said. "That's how I remember them, anyway." He was quiet for a moment, then cleared his throat and said, "I forget -- did you know Charles? Charles Gunn?" He held out another photo, this one of a slender black man with gray in his beard and a teenage boy who looked just like him. When she looked at the photo blankly, Angel regretfully said, "I guess not."

"He was your friend?" Buffy asked. When he nodded, she said, "So tell me about him."

Angel looked surprised, but he smiled, sat down, leaned his back against the wall. "Where to start --"

"How did you meet? Do you remember?"

"Couldn't forget that," Angel said. "He tried to stake me. Got pretty close, too."

"Doesn't sound like that went well."

"It's actually how I met a lot of people." Angel looked at her with no small measure of amusement. Buffy blushed, recalling a long-ago alleyway and a handsome stranger who insisted he didn't bite.

"So, how did you and Gunn get past this whole staking thing?"

Angel began talking -- about Gunn, about a cop named Kate, about an Irishman named Doyle. He kept going through his box, pulling out various pictures or letters or keepsakes to illustrate his stories -- tales of alien dimensions and world wars and magic spells gone awry.

As Angel spoke, Buffy realized that she'd never heard him talk this much before. She'd never realized that, given the chance, Angel was a good storyteller. Or perhaps he had simply become one in the past few centuries. She could see the places he described, imagine the Keep rising up out of the rubble of post-plague London, envision the technological wonders of the not-so-distant past.

And the people he described -- the friends he described -- he made them seem real. Gunn's courage, Lorne's humor, Shireen Ishak's maternal warmth were all so vivid to her that Buffy felt almost as if she had truly met them, and wished she had. He talked about them with insight. Compassion. Humor. Slowly she realized, no matter how dark and forbidding things were right now -- "Angel?"

"Yeah?" he said, putting down a small hologram of a happy 22nd-century family.

"Most of these years -- these were good years," Buffy said. "You were happy."

"As happy as I could be," Angel said. "And sometimes, I even knew it."

"I'm glad. I'm glad you found these people. I'm glad they found you."

"I'm glad I got to tell you about them," Angel said. "I hadn't looked at these things in a long time. I -- I think I didn't want to let myself remember how much I missed them. But it's better, remembering." He smiled down at one of the photos.

Buffy looked at the picture and saw a girl with long, dark hair and glasses. Pretty. Fred, he'd called her. And his voice when he said that name -- "This girl -- did you -- were you -- in love with her?"

"I don't know," Angel said. Buffy was surprised how hard her gut twisted at something that slight. "She was intelligent, understanding, funny. In other circumstances, maybe -- I don't know."

"What were the circumstances?" Buffy said. She could hear the coolness in her voice, hated it, wished she could banish it away. 350 years, she reminded herself fiercely. 350 years, and you were dead and gone. Try to understand.

"This curse, for one," Angel said. "And I met her -- I met her only a short time before you died. And then I was in mourning. I couldn't even think of anyone else in a -- romantic sense -- for a long time. A very long time."

After a pause, Buffy said, "But you did. Eventually."

"Yes," Angel said simply.

He didn't seem guilty about it -- but then, Buffy thought, he shouldn't have to be guilty. But again -- "I'm trying to be glad about that. I mean, I had Riley, and 350 years is a long time to be alone. I -- I wouldn't want that for you -- " She sighed and let her face fall into the scowl she'd been fighting. "Can I just tell ya that I kinda want to kill somebody?"

Angel looked as acutely uncomfortable as only he could look. "Buffy -- don't feel like that. I mean, there were people I cared about very deeply. There were -- sometimes there were people who shared my bed." And oh, that burned, that burned like acid, like fire. Buffy bit her lip as Angel continued, "But there hasn't been anyone like you. Anyone who could compare to you."

"Even when you made love to them?" Buffy said, hating herself for the words.

Angel said, "I've had sex over the years. But I haven't made love since that night in L.A."

Another cut, another slice out of her heart. Buffy raised her eyebrows, determined to see this through. "And who was the lucky girl?"

Angel hesitated and looked at her questioningly. "Buffy -- that night in L.A. Our night. When I was human."

"You were human?" Buffy sat up straight. "How did you turn human? Why did you turn back?"

"You -- you don't remember?" Angel said. He looked bewildered -- no, worse than that, bereft. "Buffy, you came to Los Angeles to see me, and -- I became human. Just for a day. And we were together --"

"Angel, that never happened," Buffy protested. She knew she was telling the truth, but he looked so sure of his words, so confused at her reaction, that she half-doubted herself. "I mean -- I wish it had, but --"

"It did. I know it did," Angel protested. He leaned forward, searching her expression. "I've treasured those memories for centuries, Buffy. I was able to see you in the sunlight. To let you hear my heart beat. To make love to you."

"We made love again?" she said, in a small voice. "And you weren't -- you didn't --"

"No. It was -- Buffy, we were -- God, how can you not remember this?" Angel slumped back against the wall. "Not even -- you don't remember the kitchen table?"

"You and me -- we were on a -- oh." Buffy felt her cheeks flush as she imagined it. But that was all she was doing -- imagining. "Angel, I would SO remember that."

"But you don't?"

"I'm sorry," she said. "But -- think about it. Why would you just be human for a day?"

"I asked to be changed back --"

"Why would you do such a thing?"

"-- because you were in danger." Angel frowned. "There was something about a prophecy -- this part is fuzzy -- but there was something about my needing to fend off some danger, so that you could live."

"You gave that up for me," Buffy said softly. Then she shook her head. "I mean, you thought you did. Angel, that can't have been true. I mean, if the prophecy had been true, I wouldn't have died like that, would I?"

"I guess not," Angel said. "I -- maybe some spell made me think that -- or maybe I dreamed it, or --" His voice broke, and he took a deep, unnecessary breath. "Not real?"

"Not real," Buffy confirmed. Then she paused. "Wait --"

Angel's face lit up with hope. Buffy held her hand to her face. "The false memories -- the ones about my life with Dawn. I told you about that, remember?" When he nodded, she continued, "Do you think -- maybe -- when they changed our memories, they made that one up for you?"

"Maybe," Angel said. "That would explain it, perhaps. You -- you really don't remember it? Not at all?"

He looked so lost that Buffy almost wanted to lie, to say she did remember this perfect, beautiful day. But it seemed so -- sacred -- to him that it would be wrong to lie.

"No," she said. "I wish I did. You don't know how much I wish." She felt vaguely that she had said too much, but the overwhelming sense of confusion and loss drowned out anything as trivial as embarrassment.

After a few moments, he simply said, "I wish too."

Damn monks, Buffy thought. Damn damn damn damn. So you had to make up your memories, but you didn't have to manipulate him like this. Or you could at least have let me remember it too. "I wish you'd had something real to remember me by."

"I did," Angel said. His voice was steadier now. "Come see."

From the very bottom of the box, he pulled out a packet. Papers, old and yellowing and fragile, were tied together with ribbon as frayed and fragile as the one she'd seen in the library the day before. Buffy took them in her hands, untied the ribbon, lifted the first letter.

Her letter. In her handwriting. On this ancient paper --

Buffy felt it hit her all over again, the weight of all the years she hadn't seen. This was an antique. This was something centuries old. And this was hers.

She looked down at the note, made out the words, faint against the aged paper:

"I know you're nervous about my birthday present, but don't be, because whatever you get me I will love. Don't you have a birthday, Angel? Because we could have a party for you, too -- whoops! I'm not supposed to know I have a party! Don't tell, OK?"

"Oh, God," she laughed weakly. "I was such a kid."

"Sometimes," Angel said. "But there was always more to you than that."

Buffy kept flipping through the notes -- he seemed to have every one she remembered writing, from that last letter of gratitude she'd sent, after he comforted her following her mom's funeral, to the very first, a scrawled, tearful missive that was all about the way he'd saved her from Darla and everything, and how she would never forget him, even if he was a vampire.

She realized that the ribbon was looped through her old claddagh ring; she slid it off, held it in the palm of her hand. For a moment, she wanted to slide it back on her finger, an impulse that surprised her. Instead she smiled gently at Angel and gave it back to him. He accepted it wordlessly. He, too, was staring down at the letters, caught up in memory.

Finally she reached the bottom of the packet; there was her photo, the only one he apparently had. It was one of her senior portraits -- baby fat still in her cheeks -- and it was in black-and-white. "Well, this explains it."

"Explains what?" His voice was low.

"How you could get the color of my eyes wrong." She looked at him sideways. "Just out of curiosity, what color did you think they were? And what about Spike?"

"He thought your eyes were blue, like his," Angel said. "I thought they were dark, like mine."

Buffy laughed softly. "Men."

"Yes," Angel said. "We both forgot. Your eyes are your own."

He looked at her intently then, as if trying to commit her to memory beyond any forgetting. She felt shy under his gaze for a moment -- then not shy at all. The letters, the ring, his face so near to her own --

When Buffy and Dawn were little, their mother would read to them -- "The Trumpet of the Swan," "Bambi," "Harriet the Spy." And Buffy's favorite of them all had been "A Wrinkle In Time." She remembered how she had been enchanted by the way Meg and Charles and Calvin could travel through time and space -- they used something called a tesseract. The way they described it in the book, two points in time and space could be far apart, like at opposite ends of a sheet of paper. Going between the two could take forever -- but in a tesseract, you just folded up the paper, and the two points would touch. Time and space were gone, folded up in an instant.

Right this moment, Buffy decided, she knew just what a tesseract would feel like. She felt as though all those years -- two years for her, 350 for Angel -- had just been folded up into nothing. When she untied those letters, she had somehow loosed the memories within them, set them free to flow back into her heart all over again.

And, maybe, into Angel's too -- the way he was still looking at her --

He dropped his eyes, leaned back. "It's almost sunrise," he said slowly. "You should probably get some sleep."

Buffy breathed out, trying to push some of the tension and disappointment out of her chest. "Yeah," she said, getting awkwardly to her feet. "Naptime sounds good right about now. So, um, see you tomorrow?"

"Right," Angel said, sounding distant and strange to her ears. "Tomorrow."

Buffy felt as though she should say something else -- but what? She turned and went quickly to the door, but just as it slid open, she heard Angel's voice. "Buffy?"

She stopped, but didn't turn around. "Yeah?"

"Wait --"

Buffy's heart was pounding, but she slowly turned around. Angel was standing right behind her -- holding out Dawn's book and the bottle. "Don't forget these."

"Oh," Buffy said. "Of course not."

**

"Isn't there some sort of vampire aphrodisiac?" Xiaoting said, spearing her salad with gusto.

"Aphrodisiacs are not what we need," Buffy said. "The one time me and Angel had sex, we broke his curse and set free Angelus, an individual you do not want meet. So no on the undead Viagra."

"So what are you going to do?" Xiaoting said. She and Buffy were eating together in a common room not far from their quarters. A few Watchers milled around, pretending not to watch; Agatha was eating her own salad at a nearby table and pretending not to listen. Sumiko's Watcher was trying to pantomime the use of some kind of equipment, but was either having no luck making himself clear or winning Sumiko's interest. Noor was lecturing Sky about some point of technique or other. Sky was at least putting on a show of listening.

Buffy shrugged. "What else can I do? Go patrolling. Be friends."

"That's not what you want," Xiaoting said. "Not what he wants either, I don't think."

"Angel and I don't get what we want," Buffy said, surprised at the sudden bitterness within her. "We learned that a long time ago."

Xiaoting held up her hands. "Touchy," she said. "Just trying to be helpful --"

"I know. I'm sorry. Lotsa baggage there, and you didn't pack any of it." Buffy sighed.

"What was in that bottle, anyway?"

Buffy shrugged. "I checked it out. No vintage wine or anything. Some silvery kind of liquid -- ink, maybe?"

"Something to do with magic?" Xiaoting said. "You told me that paper and ink were really just for magicians now."

"I hadn't thought of that," Buffy said. She started considering the implications -- but was interrupted by the sound of Sumiko's Watcher raising his voice.

"Just press this panel," he said impatiently. "This panel means play. I've done it for you several times now. Just try it. Just press it."

Sumiko looked at him passively, then devoted her full attention to her salad once more.

"Damn it, stop that!" the Watcher shouted, slamming his hand down onto the table. Everyone in the room jumped -- except Sumiko, who raised her head slowly, almost tiredly. "Stop ignoring me! You must learn English eventually, and if you refuse to work with any of the teachers, you'll have to practice on your own. And you'll need this machine to do it. It's so simple an infant can use it. How can you not understand how to use this?"

"Hey!" Buffy said. The Watcher jerked his head over at her; his face was red and his eyes wide. "Back off, okay?"

"I most certainly shall not," the Watcher said. "She must learn. This continued ignorance is -- insolent wilfulness."

"You want wilful?" Buffy said. She got to her feet and walked over to the table. "'Cause I'm not sure you really want to deal with that."

"This is insanity!" the Watcher said, gesturing at Sumiko and the tiny machine on the table. "How can she not want to learn English? How can she not understand how to use the recorder?"

"She's never even seen a machine before!" Xiaoting said. Buffy half turned to see that she was close behind -- and Agatha, Noor and Sky were all by her side. To a woman, they looked furious.

Flush with her new backup, Buffy turned back and said, "Yeah, what about that? I mean, Sumiko doesn't know jack about technology. She probably thinks the lights and doors and water are all magic."

"They aren't?" Agatha said faintly. "But -- but -- you just say 'lights' and the lights come on --"

"I'll explain later," Xiaoting muttered.

"How hard can it be?" the Watcher said, his fury unabated. "To play the recordings, you press play. To record your own voice, you press record. I've shown this to her a dozen times, and if she hasn't learned it, it's because she doesn't want to."

"Maybe she just doesn't want to learn it from you," Buffy said.

"That's entirely uncalled-for," the Watcher said.

"On the contrary." Buffy and the other Slayers all turned to see Markwith coming into the room. "It seems an apt observation."

The Watcher rose from his seat, somewhat abashed. "Sir -- this Slayer refuses to learn even the rudiments of English --"

"She is not just any Slayer," Markwith said. "Sumiko was the longest-lived Slayer of them all."

"So far," Sky whispered.

"She was a master of swordfighting, martial arts, tactics," Markwith continued. "Imagine how difficult it would be, for a master of so many things, to be forced to start all over again."

Sumiko was watching this entire conversation with little more interest than she had given her Watcher at first. But Buffy felt something in the truth of Markwith's words; whether through insight or pure luck, she sensed, he was onto something.

"So she wants to concentrate on her strongest skills," Markwith said. "Well and good. She'll talk to us when she's ready. She'll fight for us now."

The Watcher's chest puffed up. "As her Watcher, sir, I have to protest. Nothing good can come of letting her remain in silence and ignorance --"

"You're wrong," Markwith said.

"You think silence and ignorance are good for her?"

"No," Markwith said. "I meant that you were wrong about being her Watcher. It's clearly not working out for either of you. I'll take over from here. Thank you for your help."

The Watcher opened his mouth, closed it, then stalked out of the room. Buffy bit back a smile.

Noor half-raised her hand. "I want a new Watcher also."

"Not until you've shown you can stop sneaking away from this one," Markwith said. "He said he lost you after only twenty minutes in the field last night."

"He is slow and stupid," Noor said.

"Foolish to patrol alone, Noor," Markwith said. "Give your Watcher a fair try, and if you still want to work something else out after a month or so, we'll see. Now, maybe Sumiko and I can try this recorder."

Sumiko was eating her salad again, and Markwith sat patiently by her side. The others returned to Buffy and Xiaoting's table -- in a unit, as they had not been before. "Perhaps Markwith is not as bad as I thought him," Noor said in a low voice.

"Perhaps Markwith is not as blind as I thought him," Xiaoting said.

"Do you ever stop matchmaking?" Agatha said.

Sky made a face. "C'mon. Aaron Markwith's 40 years old if he's a day."

"Wouldn't be anything new for her," Xiaoting said, gesturing with her fork. "I heard that Sumiko was married to her Watcher, back in the day."

"Really?" Agatha said.

Buffy glanced over her shoulder at the table, at Sumiko's delicate face. She thought the name to herself, remembered the tears in Sumiko's eyes as Buffy had said it.

Tobias Earnshaw.

Markwith was smiling down at Sumiko with the first genuine expression Buffy thought she'd ever seen on his face. He looked -- gentle.

Will wonders never cease, she thought.

XIV : CONSUMED IN FIRE

As she hopped back into the transport, Buffy took a moment to look back at the delapidated, long-abandoned theatre in London's West End she and Angel had just checked out. "That was weird," she said.

"You thought so?" Angel asked. He touched the transport's panel and put the vehicle into motion. The transport's low rumble vibrated through the seats. "Looked pretty ordinary to me."

"That's what I mean," Buffy said. "If that's Kean's big hideout, then where are the vamps? The victims? The general accoutrements of mayhem?"

"It's not his big hideout," Angel said. "It's his theater. And my guess is he's not going to be spending that much time there until his opening."

"Places to go, people to kill," Buffy said. "And he's all done with the setup. I have to admit, they've pulled together cool some storm effects." Her hair was still tousled from the wind machine. Considering that she'd just finished recon on a vamp lair, she was in a ridiculously lighthearted mood. "Still, all the CGI in the world wouldn't get me to a vampire play. Are we sure actual human people are even going to this?"

"We'll see for ourselves in a couple nights," Angel said. He set about turning the clunky transport around a corner.

"I have to say, the cars of the future are unexpectedly lame," Buffy said. "I was expecting some cool Jetsons stuff. Instead it's like the world belongs to the Ford Aerostar."

"They get the job done," Angel said, patting the panel much as he might a horse's side. "But right before the plagues, we had some stuff you would have loved."

"All shiny? Glass domes?" Buffy put her arms up behind the headrest of her seat.

Angel chuckled. "Very shiny. And a little before that --" His face looked unexpectedly boyish for a moment. "We had flying cars."

"Oooh, way cool!" Buffy said. He actually grinned at her enthusiasm. "Why they don't still have those? Could come in handy, outrunning vamps. Can't afford to make 'em any more?"

"Actually, they were outlawed after just a few years."

"Outlawed? Why?"

"Think about how badly people drive in just two dimensions."

Buffy made a face. "Ugh. Good point."

Angel's smile was warm. It seemed to soften his entire face; he actually looked younger for a moment. For someone who'd been the same age for six centuries, Buffy figured, that was saying a lot.

How come I never saw him smile that much before? she thought. I mean, besides all the angst and misery and not being able to have sex -- well, I guess that's enough.

She looked over at him again, and saw that he was watching her with that same sleepy smile. Buffy was suddenly very aware of her disheveled appeareance, the tousled hair half-falling over her face, the curve of her body her upraised arms created. She didn't move, just studied him in turn and waited for the words, the move, that seemed inevitable.

Angel dedicated his attention to the road again.

Buffy let her arms drop and sighed.

This is going to make me crazy, she thought. I know he shouldn't kiss me. I want him to kiss me. We shouldn't, I know. It can't go anywhere, and we would just end up splitting again. And I don't think I could stand that, being stranded here without him. I need him more than I did before, and this is the only way it can work. So it's for the best.

And which one of us was actually on the kitchen table?

She glanced over at him again, now frustrated beyond belief. How can he be so freaking calm? Buffy fumed. Sure, he can stop himself from jumping me, but can't he, you know, fight it? How can he act like this? Like it doesn't matter? Oh, wait, no, for him something else matters. He's got a reputation to protect, people to please. And me, I'm just some bizarre complication from a scifi novel --

Buffy's inner rant quieted as she thought about what she'd said.

We're back where we started, she realized. Except we've traded places. I used to be the one who had to balance everything so carefully -- mom and school and slaying. He was one more element, one more thing I had to balance. I needed him so much, but he made it harder. And that's what I am for him, now. The lover from beyond the grave, the one nobody understands.

We have to be careful. That's all he's doing, being careful. I should tell him I understand that much, at least --

"Burnout," Angel said.

"Wha?"

He pointed to a dim, orangey light in the distance. "They're doing a burnout. Burning an inhabited building to drive victims out onto the streets."

"Oh, my God," Buffy said, leaning forward in her seat.

She could perceive the glimmering outline of a building, perhaps 15 stories high. It flickered ominously in the darkness, and as they drew closer, she began to hear the screaming. "How many vamps do this?"

"They'll have a gang," Angel said. His face was set as he motioned toward the transport's control panel. "Contact the Keep. We'll want as many Slayers here as we can get."

"Oh, tell me this is not a CB," Buffy muttered. "So Smokey and the Bandit."

"There's a lot of smoke," Angel said. "Bandits, I don't know --"

"Skip it!" Buffy said. "Uh, breaker, breaker, this is Buffy?"

A crisp Watcher's voice sounded over the speaker. "Is there trouble?"

"A burnout. At, uh," she peered at a battered old sign. "Wardour Street. Angel and I are on it, but send the others. And get some Watchers out here; they can carry crossbows too, right?"

"Watchers do not patrol --"

"Go past the lecture portion, okay? Get some help here, pronto!" Buffy snapped off the speaker and began re-arming herself. "We get out, start kicking ass, hang on til the others get here?"

"Sounds like a plan," Angel said, with that look on his face he always got before battle -- half-grim, half-glad.

They stopped a block short of the melee and jumped out; Buffy had her crossbow at the ready, as did Angel. He leaned forward, sniffing the air in a manner that would have been funny if it weren't so useful. "Strange --" he said.

"What?"

"Not so many as I would've thought. Come on," he whispered, "we can take them."

Buffy ran forward, saw a vamp tackling a man to the ground. The arrow was away almost before she thought about it. FOOMP, went the vampire, and the man who had been screaming found himself coughing from a cloud of dust. She heard another vamp shriek behind her, knew Angel had just speared one himself.

Where are they, where are they, she thought to herself. She spied another vampire and scuttled toward him sideways, keeping her bow tight against her shoulder. Wait for the shot -- wait for the shot --

A woman came running around the corner, clutching a bundle to her chest. The vamp attempted to tackle her, and Buffy fired. He had time to look over at her accusingly before dissolving into powder.

The woman was looking at her suspiciously. "You," she said, her voice wary. "It's you."

Buffy blinked and squinted through the darkness. In the shifting firelight, the round face did sort of look familiar -- what was the name -- "Tam?"

As Buffy took a step toward her, Tam took a step back. "Why did you lie to me? Why did you pretend you were one of us?" Tam said.

"Hey, come on," Buffy said gently. Of course the poor woman was freaked out, with her home burning to the ground right behind them. "I didn't lie." She paused, turned sideways and fired at another vamp, which made a satisfying cloud of dust. Without missing a beat, she turned back to Tam. "I'm not used to just telling people I'm the Slayer."

Tam was shaking, her eyes filled with tears. "You didn't tell?"

"What? The witchcraft?" Buffy shook her head. "No way. My best friend was a witch, you know -- oh, dammit, get down!" Another vamp went FOOMP, and Buffy began peering about in the darkness. "Is that it? Any idea how many there were?"

"No -- I don't know --" Tam looked bewildered, shook her head. Her long hair swung behind her. "This is -- this is the work of vampires?"

"No, they just came to huddle around the fire, maybe make smores. Of course this is vamps."

"I -- I should have realized," Tam said. "It's just so terrible -- and we have so many things to protect --" Her arms were still clamped tightly about her bundle, which Buffy realized included a few sheets of the precious paper.

"It's cool," Buffy said. "And you don't have to -- UNHF!"

She landed hard on the ground almost before she had time to register that something had tackled her. The vampire grinned down at her, his face feral in the flickering light. His hands were clamped down hard on her forearms, forcing them to her chest; Buffy twisted in a desperate attempt to get herself free --

The vamp's face went blank, and then he looked down. Buffy followed his gaze to the arrow tip that was protruding from his chest. Their eyes locked again just as he turned to dust.

As the cloud cleared, Buffy could make out a dark form standing in front of her.

"A bit sloppy for a legend," Sky said, letting her crossbow drop.

"Rub it in," Buffy muttered, springing to her feet. She looked around; Tam was nowhere to be seen. "What's the story?"

"Just got here, but it looks about cleared out to me," Sky said easily. "Angel's doing the last one, I think."

A growl of anger and a howl of pain behind her told Buffy that Sky had reported accurately. She looked at the still-blazing building. "Do we still have a fire department?"

"There's fellas who come to take care of these things," Sky said. "So long as they happen by day."

Buffy made a face. "At least it's almost sunrise. They might be able to save it --"

"Doubtful," Sky said. "Maybe they can salvage the solar reflectors, though. Be able to set up another home for these people faster that way."

"Each building powers itself," Buffy said absently. Her attention was shifting to the people she could see in the shadows. Some were crying quietly; some were motionless with shock. "Who looks after them?"

"The Council will send people out in a couple hours," Sky said easily, putting her long arm around Buffy's shoulders. "Bring 'em food, blankets, the like. Isn't that so, McGregor?"

Sky's Watcher nodded as he came around another corner. "They'll be all right."

"It just sucks," Buffy said. "Losing your home --"

"You there -- get back until you can control yourself!" Buffy was shocked at the roughness in McGregor's voice; she was even more shocked when she turned around and saw he was speaking to Angel, who had indeed turned away.

"What is your damage?" Buffy snapped. She turned to follow Angel, called after him. "Are you all right?"

"Fine," Angel said distantly. He wouldn't turn to face her. "Just give me a second --"

"Are you hurt?" Buffy pulled him around. He looked fine, albeit vamped out. Though, now that she looked at him -- "Angel, your game face -- it's changed!"

"Huh?" Angel looked dazed. "Oh, right. I mean, you add ridges with years --"

"Like tree rings or something?" Buffy laughed, a little punchy. She put her hands up to his face; he started as her palms made contact with his skin, but didn't pull away. "So you're showing your age after all. Getting way crinkly here."

Angel was quiet until she dropped her hands. Then he said, softly, "I forgot."

"What's that?"

"I forgot you didn't mind."

Buffy smiled up at him. As he smiled back, his face shifted back into its human form. "There ya go," she said. "Let's go be rude to Sky's prick Watcher."

"Let's make nice," Angel said, more firmly. Buffy mock-scowled at him.

"Is all the fun already over?" Xiaoting came bounding toward them, by all appearances genuinely disappointed. "We scarcely saw a thing all night, and I was really hoping for a little action -- speaking of which, how are you two?"

Buffy made a face at her, but the joke seemed to sail right over Angel's head. "Fine. We took care of it."

"Don't forget me!" Sky protested.

"Where are the others?" Angel said.

McGregor, who seemed to consider a human-like Angel acceptable to speak to -- just barely -- answered. "Agatha and her Watcher were far south of here. Haven't heard a report from Sumiko and Markwith. And Noor's Watcher appears to have lost Noor again."

Xiaoting snickered. "Noor's so eager to be rid of that poor Watcher But she'll never get a transfer at this rate."

"Don't suppose she will at that," Sky said.

"She's making her own rules, isn't she?" Buffy sighed, a bit wistfully. Angel caught her tone of voice and smiled.

"Getting a bit close to morning for me," Angel said. "Let's head back."

Buffy collapsed into the passenger seat of the transport gratefully. Angel began steering them toward home, and they traveled most of the way in companionable silence. Normally, after a bout of slaying, Buffy's hormones would have been cranked up to a very inconvenient level. But the crossbow method didn't seem to get her worked up the same way. Now she could just relax and let her exhaustion and the transport's humming soothe her halfway to sleep.

Almost to himself, Angel said, "Strange."

"Hmm? What?"

"Normally, they'd have at least thirty to forty vamps for something like this. A group of people that large could have overpowered them -- might have, if they'd had some time to get organized. So the vampires usually work in numbers. But I don't think you and I killed ten altogether."

"Maybe this time was different," Buffy mused. "This lady I talked to, Tam -- she's a witch, and she lived there. I think maybe some others did too. Do you think they might have been after her? Or some magic stuff she had?"

Angel raised an eyebrow. "Could be. We should try to track your friend down, talk to her about."

Buffy snuggled back into the seat. "Why is magic forbidden anyway?"

"It's restricted, more than forbidden," Angel said. "Right after the plagues, people were desperate. A lot of people who should never have dabbled in the black arts did so. The results were almost as bad as the plagues themselves."

"But there's no problem with people who know what they're doing, right?"

"Most people who know what they're doing are regarded with suspicion, if not actual hostility," Angel said. "As far as I'm concerned, we could use more of them."

"I'd think you'd be teaching everybody magic," Buffy said through a yawn. "Or, you know, everybody that could learn. You could set up, like, magical barriers and stuff. You'd only need a few good witches to really start making a difference."

"You're right," Angel said. "I never thought of it quite like that before. But maybe we could talk to Ishak --" Angel's voice trailed off.

"Whatsamatta?" Buffy mumbled. "Cat got your --" She caught a glimpse of Angel's face and felt her heart drop. "Oh, no --"

She sat up straight and looked in the direction he was pointing.

In the courtyard of the Keep was a pole. Atop the pole was a sign. Hanging from it was a dead body.

Angel stopped the transport, and they both jumped out. It was close enough to dawn that the sky was turning a lighter shade of blue. There was enough light for Buffy to make out the writing on the sign.

DO YOU FEEL SAFE?

"Buffy --" Angel's tone was a warning, and she didn't understand why until she got another look at the dead person's face.

Buffy's body went cold. She choked out, stupid with shock, "I -- I didn't recognize her with her hair down --"

Noor was swinging slightly from the rope, her feet a few inches from the ground.

**

Two hours later, Buffy and Angel were part of the group crowded into Ishak's Hall. She huddled in her chair, arms wrapped around herself; Angel stood behind her, not touching her, yet somehow giving her the sense that he was standing watch. They were probably the only two people in the room not talking at once.

"This could only have been Kean; only a master vampire could kill one of the legendary --"

"-- defiance of the Council, an attack upon the people's trust in us and in our Slayers --"

"I tried to keep up with her! She wouldn't have it, and I could only stay on her trail so long --"

Ishak finally held his hand up for silence, and the volume in the room fell to a low rumbling. Xiaoting was still crying quietly in one corner. "Let us begin with what we know," Ishak said. "Frances?"

"Noor died very early in the night," Frances said. "Perhaps within the hour of leaving her Watcher's side. Her neck was broken, though not by hanging, we don't think. More likely a combat injury, to judge from some cuts and scrapes on her arms and face."

"And we believe Kean to be responsible," Ishak said heavily. "He has haunted us a very long time, but never before has he actually destroyed one of our Slayers."

"Only Kean would be strong enough to destroy one of these Slayers," McGregor said, making a gesture that included all of them besides Sky.

"That's not true," Agatha said. "I didn't meet my death at the hands of a master. Virtually any opponent can have the combination of strength and fortune to defeat a Slayer. Even a very good Slayer. I learnt that in very unpleasant fashion."

"Someone besides Kean?" Markwith said. He appeared slightly dazed.

"No," Buffy said. "It was Kean. I'd bet anything."

"Why do you say that, Buffy?" Ishak asked.

"The whole big setup," she said, trying to keep her voice from shaking. "The sign -- Kean said something to me about the Council knowing they weren't safe. And besides, it's such a big, stupid melodramatic thing -- total theater club, you know?"

"If I understand you, what you're saying makes sense," Markwith said. 'It is the sort of gesture Kean might appreciate, if this talk of his running a theater is actually true."

"It is true," Angel said firmly.

"A poster scarcely counts as proof," Markwith replied with a disdainful lift of his eyebrows.

"We told you what we saw tonight --" Angel said.

"That might have been there forever --"

"Hey!" Buffy said. "You two can go pee on all the bushes later. Are we all agreeing that Kean killed Noor?"

"That seems most likely," Ishak said. "Continue your investigation. If the location you described proves to be Kean's lair, then this Council will spare no expense or manpower to see that justice is done."

"Until then, I want one thing to be clear," Markwith said. He was addressing the whole room, but Buffy could feel the words aimed at her like physical blows. "This tragedy should make it clear how very much our Slayers do still need our help and protection. And how vital it is that our rules for their safety are obeyed. Kean might have done darker work tonight if he'd been able to find more than one of our Slayers alone."

Buffy felt Angel's hand brush against her shoulder, so quickly she almost missed it.

"We shall be careful," Agatha promised.

The room was quiet for a few moments. "Very well, then," Ishak said heavily. "The service for Noor will be this afternoon. Announce a day of mourning for the city."

**

Noor's body lay on a funeral pyre in the courtyard outside the Keep. .

Buffy stood between a sobbing Xiaoting and a silent Agatha. In their group of Watchers and Slayers, Sumiko and Sky stood on the other side of Ishak, with Markwith hovering slightly behind Sumiko. Buffy couldn't make out their expressions for the tears that kept welling in her eyes.

That's what we're here for, she told herself. That's the first thing I heard Angel say, and I didn't pay any attention to it. They brought us back to life just to die again.

Throngs of people surrounded the courtyard, keeping a respectful distance. They swayed together, half-chanting, half-singing, some dirge that Buffy guessed was all too familiar by now.

Ishak stepped forward and held up a gleaming knife. Buffy had only a moment to wonder what he intended before he lifted up one lock of Noor's hair -- uncovered as it had been in death, as it had never been in life -- and cut it free. Then he stepped away and let the Watchers light the pyre.

As the flames surged up, filling the air with smoke and heat and smell, Buffy felt herself go cold.

They took her hair, she thought. They took a part of her. In case they want to get her back again --

What if they never stop? What if I never finally die? What if I just come back, over and over and over, losing everyone until I finally lose myself?

Buffy hugged herself tightly, wishing stupidly, uselessly for Angel to appear, somehow immune from the blazing afternoon sun. He would know how it felt, to never be able to really die --

Xiaoting choked out, "I can't seem to get ahold of myself. It's -- it's almost as if I liked her." She was so sincere that Buffy couldn't bring herself to take offense on Noor's behalf.

Besides, Buffy decided, if Noor appreciated anything, it was honesty.

"I fear for her soul," Agatha said.

Buffy looked over at her, alarmed. "You -- you think Kean could have cursed her or something?"

Agatha seemed bewildered. "Curses? No, dearest. I meant -- Noor was a Mohammedean. I attempted to speak with her about the Church of England once, but she had very little patience for it."

"Oh," Buffy said. "God stuff."

"I am certain it would be no sin to pray for her soul," Agatha said.

"Yeah," Buffy agreed. "Besides, think about all we do. Gotta be some celestial reward for it all, right?"

"I used to think so too," Xiaoting said, her voice uncharacteristically harsh. "But then I ought to have spent quite a bit of time in heaven, and I don't seem to remember any of it. Do you?"

"No," Buffy said. "Not a thing."

*************************

XV : OPENING NIGHT

April 3, 2353

Things I never expected to hear myself say, #872 -- I thought I'd gotten over dying.

When I woke up, I was so scared and sad and freaked out. I was able to face dying -- as long as I thought it was permanent. But being in this strange city, this strange time -- I thought I'd never be home again, never feel anything but empty again. So I wanted to die again, and maybe get it right this time. Third try's the charm.

But then I found Angel here. And I got to know the other Slayers. And I started to get used to this weird place. Remembered what my job was about. Once I got started again, it all seemed okay. Not better. Never better. But something I could handle.

Then Noor died, and everything changed.

I don't guess I could say we were friends, exactly, but I did like her. I mean, she gave it to you straight, something almost nobody does around here. Not even Angel, who means well but has never been the master of the complete answer. And she was a Slayer, like me -- trying to do her job her way, like me -- and she got killed.

Just like I'm going to.

What was the good of wanting my life again when it's just going to be taken away again?

I'm a wreck on patrols. Angel hasn't said much about it, but he's obviously covering for me now -- protecting me. He's freaked out too, I think, though I can't talk about it with him. To do that, I'd have to say it out loud. And when I did, what would happen? If I told him I was afraid I was going to die, what could he say besides, "You will"?

Dying isn't really the thing that scares me so much. It's the fact that I probably don't get to stay dead. I've been down this road, and now I know where it ends. My life seems so stupid, so futile. Fight and die. Fight and die. How many times will I have to do this? Will they wake me up again in 100 years? 1000?

I can't seem to focus or keep my head straight. Every single fight, every single enemy, I ask, is that it? Is that the one that gets me? Is this the one that cycles me through to some other world I won't understand? I want to hang on to this place, not because I love it, but because it might beat the hell out of whatever comes next.

I can't slay like this. I have to snap out of it. That's what I keep telling myself.

But it doesn't seem to do any good.

I want to kill Kean; I know that much. Noor deserves that much.

If I'm gonna do that, I have to pull myself together. I have to learn to play by the rules. I never was careful before -- I just ran around and trusted myself to figure it all out as I went along.

And now I know where that leads.

**

"This is recon only," Angel said sternly.

"Recon only," Buffy repeated quietly, rechecking her crossbow.

"Don't make any aggressive moves, no matter what happens. If my guess is correct, Kean's going to have a lot of vampires in there tonight. We're not going up against those odds, not unless we have to."

"Why do you think I would?" Buffy said, rechecking her flask of holy water. "I'm not stupid. I'm not reckless."

"You're not stupid. But you are reckless."

"Maybe I used to be," Buffy said. She undid her blaster holster and refastened it. "But not now. Not ever again."

That was getting too close to the subject. Angel's face darkened, and she could see that he was about to ask questions she didn't want him to ask. Quickly, she said, "Let's go."

They got out of the transport, parked (hopefully innocuously) on a deserted side street. Without a word, Angel boosted her up onto the low rooftop of an abandoned building; this area had relatively few of the skyscrapers that dominated the rest of the London's skyline. She heard him land beside her, a soft thud lighter than a cat's.

Together they began making their way to the Drury Lane Theater.

The area they'd scouted out days before was now buzzing with activity. It was powered up, marquee lights flashing incongruously on the dark street. She could see enough of the theater's lobby to tell that dozens of individuals were milling about as the inner lights flashed off, then on again couple of times. A few forms hurried toward the entrance, apparently running late. Buffy frowned as she looked down at them, then glanced back at Angel for verification.

"Human," he whispered.

They waited until the lights had flickered again and the last people had entered the theater. Then she and Angel made their way to the theater's rooftop. A repair grate they'd found nights before was still unblocked; Angel, working as silently as only he could, removed the grate and let her climb within. Buffy crawled forward inside the vent, hoping the catwalk she and Angel used previously would also be vacant. Behind her, she could hear Angel somehow getting through the skinny passage as well.

The room exploded with sound, and Buffy jumped -- then relaxed as she recognized the noise.

Applause.

She poked her head out of the opening; sure enough, this particular catwalk was abandoned. Buffy eased herself down as quietly as she could and half-turned to help Angel do the same.

Beneath her, she could hear Kean's voice echoing throughout the theater.

"Ladies and gentlemen, you are welcome once again to the theater company of Edmund Kean," he said. "We have some delights in store for you this season -- Hedda Gabler! Plaza Suite! But, as those historians in the crowd well know, my true love is Shakespeare, and tonight we present one of his greatest works, The Tempest. The last thing he did before he died. Doesn't seem to have done anything after he died. So lazy."

Angel whispered, so quietly that even though his lips brushed her ear, she could barely hear, "The audience is completely human."

She pulled him near and, in the same low voice, said, "So how come they're alive?"

He shrugged. She let herself lean forward enouugh to actually see Kean; she knew from her limited, talent-show experience that he would be too blinded by stage lights to see her in return. He was wearing a pale-blue doublet and tights; his shroud was slung across his shoulders like a cape.

"However, before we can present our show tonight, you must of course pay for your tickets." The audience shifted -- uneasily, Buffy thought -- but remained in their seats. "And, of course, nobody can concentrate on the higher meanings of Shakespeare while that's going on, now, can they? So, as our ushers move through the aisles, we invite you to watch our latest skit, Whose Unlife Is It Anyway?"

Another smattering of applause, this somewhat muted, as Kean moved offstage. Angel nudged Buffy in the side and gestured over to a corner of the room.

Vampires were moving from the wings, coming toward the audience. They moved quickly, but purposefully, and the people did not flinch.

"Ishak! Ishak! I've found a way to get more teenage girls for you!" The audience started laughing. Buffy jerked her head back around to see two vampires in heavy stage makeup. Though the resemblance was slight, she realized they were meant to be Ishak and Markwith. She tried -- and failed -- to fight back a smile.

"More young girls?" Faux Ishak rubbed his hands lasciviously. "Tell me how!"

"Why stop at the living when we can get you the dead?"

"If I wanted to sleep with the dead, my wife would do nicely."

"These jokes are old even for me," Angel said. He was scowling down at the laughing audience, then his eyes widened. "Buffy, look --"

Buffy turned her attention back to the crowd and gasped.

The vampires were cutting people. Cutting their arms, drawing blood --

And the people let them. They held their arms out over the vampires' buckets, laughing with the giddiness of blood loss and release as the fake Ishak and Markwith went through their parody.

"The price of admission," Buffy whispered.

"They only take what they need," Angel replied. "They don't kill. They can't kill -- there aren't enough humans to keep killing them. And Kean's found a way to get humans to give him freely more than he could take by force."

A tall, slender girl in bad blackface, with a worse Australian accent, was clinging to Faux Ishak's robe and pretending to sob. "I thought I was your only underage lover!"

"It's no good anymore," Faux Ishak said. "You've hit puberty."

The people laughed and laughed. Their faces were pale in the darkness. Their laughter was shrill and desperate -- but real, all the same. "And this is why they come."

"For a play?" Angel seemed doubtful. "More likely they come to buy themselves some safety."

"How's that?"

"Vampires can sense if a person's lost blood -- through surgery, an accident, whatever. You wouldn't attack one of those people, not if you could get anything else. Anything more filling."

Buffy tried very hard not to be grossed out by Angel's choice of words. "So these people get themselves a few weeks of safety. It makes sense, in the weirdest, sickest way imaginable. But I don't think that's all."

When Angel looked at her curiously, she continued, "Everything's so damn stiff here, Angel. You have to obey all the rules. Be all reverent about the Council. Except here. Here they can laugh and make fun. Not take it all so seriously."

"While they spill out their blood for vampires," Angel said. "That's not worth taking seriously?"

"They're used to it. These people think vampires are just -- part of the world."

A female vamp who was really far too busty to be Xiaoting was rubbing against Faux Markwith in an extremely rude manner. The laughter grew louder. Buffy saw Angel's mouth twist in something like contempt. "And this is what they'll bleed for. This is what they applaud."

"Try to understand. If you never got a chance to lighten up, not ever, you would -- well, you'd actually know a lot about -- hey!"

A petite blonde with a serious underbite had just come twirling onto the stage. Buffy had the sinking feeling that this was not meant to be Agatha. Next to her, she heard Angel make a noise that might have been disgust, amusement or both.

Faux Ishak let his tongue loll out of his mouth. "You! Buffy! You're the one for me!"

Faux Buffy shook her head regretfully. "I'll never be yours, Ishak --"

"What? You think I'm too old for you?" The voice rang out in the theater.

"No -- you're not old enough!" The audience laughed again as a vampire in full game face, his hair shorter than short, came out to clutch Faux Buffy to him.

"Besides," Faux Angel said, groping at Faux Buffy in a way that made Buffy start to blush, "she's the one who's too old for you. She's 20 if she's a day!"

"20!" Faux Ishak shuddered.

"You didn't give up on me when I hit puberty, did you, darling?" Faux Buffy crooned.

"I can pretend you didn't, as long as you don't have breasts."

Buffy's jaw dropped. She didn't even bother muffling her outraged cry; the audience was guffawing too loudly for it to be heard.

Angel looked furious. "You have great breasts," he muttered. "I remember that very clearly."

"You forget my best friend, you remember my breasts," she answered, rolling her eyes. "An undead man is still a man."

Faux Ishak put his hands on Faux Buffy's shoulders, tugging her close. "Come, come, my dear," he crooned. "We all know there are certain services Angel can't provide for you." Faux Ishak punctuated the word "services" with a pelvic thrust.

"Oh, he can," Faux Buffy said, spinning back over to her pretend lover and cupping her hands between his legs. Buffy could feel her face beginning to blaze with a flush of embarrassment and anger. "So what if he gets a little nasty afterwards? Aren't all men beasts the morning after?"

Angel's head was slightly bowed now, and Buffy knew that beneath their shared anger he was also feeling the sting of shame. Her memories of that terrible day after -- and of that beautiful night before -- were rushing through her mind, complex and painful and even joyful in parts; Buffy had never pretended to really understand what had happened in those agonizing days, but she knew they were more than this stupid, bitter cartoon playing out before their eyes.

"Angel," she said through clenched teeth, drawing his attention back to her. "Listen to me! Don't let this hurt you. This -- this is not the truth."

On the last word, she smacked her hand on the catwalk rail for emphasis. The aged railing, unfortunately, had apparently been hanging on by a thread -- a thread that Buffy's smack broke. As the rail broke off and tumbled into the crowd -- which began to scream -- the catwalk lurched from the sudden shift in balance. Angel seemed able to compensate, but Buffy felt herself beginning to tumble --

She turned it into a jump, landed smack in the middle of one of the aisles. A second later, she heard Angel drop to the ground behind her. The crowd was staring at her in paralyzed silence -- were they ashamed of being caught? Terrified of what would happen? No way to know. Buffy began sauntering up toward the stage with her best I-meant-to-do-that swagger. "Real cute, Kean," she said.

Kean had emerged from the wings when the screaming started; he was smiling down at them unpleasantly. "Trespassers. How nasty. You realize you'll have to pay full price like everyone else."

"Some blood may be shed here," Buffy agreed as she reached the front row. "But I don't think it's gonna be mine."

"And this must be Angelus," Kean said. "Edmund Kean. A pleasure to finally make your acquaintance. I didn't think they freed you from your pen any longer."

"They let me out on good behavior," Angel said, with a bravado in his voice Buffy hadn't heard in far too long. "And you're not Edmund Kean."

The vampire actors all stared at Kean, who suddenly seemed a little smaller. After a moment, he sputtered, "I -- beg -- your -- pardon --"

"I saw Edmund Kean," Angel said, "On several occasions, including his turn as Shylock right here in this theater. Edmund Kean was shorter than you. He was hairier than you. And, frankly, he was a lot more talented than you."

The vampire who called himself Kean looked around the stage nervously. The Faux Xiaoting whispered encouragingly, "I'm not actually Sarah Bernhardt, either."

"Ready to work off some of that sexual tension?" Buffy muttered, tensing her body for the jump.

"Hell, yes," Angel said, crouching down.

Kean took the offensive and pointed down at Buffy and Angel. "Seize them!"

Buffy sprang onstage, just clearing the floodlights to land at Kean's feet. She let the force of her jump carry her through, propel her leg as she kicked him hard in the knee. He fell back with a shout of pain. Over his head flew Faux Ishak, apparently tossed bodily by Angel.

The other vamps were rushing her now, not being considerate and taking turns. darn it. Buffy let loose -- punch here, jab there, flying kick. It was terrible and wonderful all at once -- she was in battle, a battle she couldn't possibly win, but she was herself again, flying free. She didn't have to think or fear -- just fight.

She heard a vampire's roar nearby, recognized it as Angel's. He was hitting one vamp's head as fast and furiously as though it were a punching bag, driving him downstage. Glad we're both having fun here, she thought.

Even the vamp ushers were on stage now, and Buffy knew she'd only be able to keep them at bay for a few moments longer. The audience members were crying out in dismay, but their terror of the vampires appeared to be enough to keep them from helping her and Angel out.

Kean reappeared onstage with a few minions -- now carrying swords. "Dead for a ducat, dead!" he cried, leaping toward her with his blade.

Never rains but it pours, Buffy thought.

She ducked the sword, punched Kean hard in the same knee she'd nailed earlier. As he howled, she rolled beneath him to get to one small patch of space.

"Think, dammit, think --" she gasped.

"Buffy!" Angel cried. She spun around just in time to see Faux Angel thrusting his sword down at her. She clapped her hands together, seized the blade, shoved it back at him to send him flying.

"Knew that trick would come in handy again sometime," she said.

Buffy clasped her fists together and rammed them hard into the head of Faux Xiaoting, the only one between her and Kean. She grabbed his shoulders and pulled him forward to butt heads, hard.

"My profile!" Kean shrieked. His face was vamped and his nose was definitely broken. As blood oozed down his face, he yelled, "Damnable woman!"

Buffy pulled her arms over his head -- and his shroud with it. Quickly, she tossed it to Angel. "Put this on!" she yelled. Angel, who now only had one hand free to fend off Faux Markwith, looked bewildered. "Do it!" she urged.

She jumped up as high as she could, caught the rigging in her hands. Buffy swung her legs up over her head and suspended herself there for a moment in one straight line. She could really see the stage now, see the two dozen vamps, half of which were trying to see her through the glare of the stage lights, the other half of which were getting pretty close to taking down a shrouded Angel. She fumbled desperately with her equipment, seeking what she needed --

What is the point of having all these weapons strapped on me if it takes so damn long to get any of it loose? Buffy thought. Gotta get down there and finish this.

When she dropped at last, Kean lunged toward her again. "This one is mine!" he yelled. "I've always wanted to kill a Slayer."

Buffy stared at him. His smile as he came toward her was grim, terrifying -- but real.

He didn't do it, she thought. He didn't kill Noor.

She somersaulted to the edge of the stage, back to the wall. Kean advanced on her. Behind her, she saw three of the vamps finally grab Angel's arms through the shroud, force him to his knees, push his face to the ground. He cried out, half-muffled by the shroud's hood, "Buffy, get out of here!"

Buffy ignored him and concentrated on Kean. His sword's point was now hovering just inches from her throat. "I had thought to enjoy our adversarial relationship for quite some time to come, my dear," he said. "But it appears we have already reached our last act. As all students of Shakespeare know, the last act is often very bloody."

"I studied some Shakepeare," Buffy said. "Hamlet's big question is 'to be or not to be,' right? What say I answer that one for you?"

She grabbed the lever behind her -- the lever for storm effects -- and pulled.

The wind machine began ruffling their hair. A light flashed behind a gray screen for lightning. Tin sheets created thunder that echoed in the eerily silent theater. Rain began to fall.

As the first drop hit Kean's face, his expression turned to horror. He just had time to scream before bursting into flame.

The holy water kept showering down on the vampires, all of them shrieking in agony and collapsing into fire or powder -- except Angel, who was huddled beneath Kean's protective shroud. Buffy patted the empty flask at her hip. "Props to Agatha," she said, laughing as she turned her face up to the cool, artificial rain.

As the water ran out, the rain stopped. The last vamp was already dust. Nothing was left of Kean but the sword at her feet. Angel slowly stood up, pulled the hood back from his face. "Buffy?" he said, half in wonder.

She slicked her wet hair back from her face as thunder rumbled. "Always meant to try acting."

In the back of the theater, one man started to clap. Then another. And another. In moments, the entire crowd were on their feet, applauding, cheering, screaming. It wasn't anything like the approval they'd given to Kean -- no desperation, no fear. Just pure joy.

Buffy laughed as she looked over at a dazed Angel. "See?" she said. "They'll clap a lot louder for the right things. You just can't let the bad guys put on the better show. Should we take a bow?"

Angel smiled at her, a warm, open, utterly unguarded smile she'd never thought to see again. "No wonder I thought I'd dreamed you."

************************

XVI : ENCORE

"We should totally wake them up," Buffy insisted, towelling her hair with the shroud. "We toasted Kean. The big bad in these parts for thirty years, and the firm of Buffy & Angel toasted him after one week in action."

"You toasted him," Angel said as they went through his doors. "I mostly huddled."

"You're the one who found him in the first place," Buffy pointed out. "And that whole you're-not-Kean thing? He completely lost face. And then again later, but literally."

Angel laughed at that, and she laughed with him, feeling freer and more giddy than she had in years. Since dying? No, before that, she decided. God, she hadn't felt this good since before she turned 17.

"Markwith and company will be just as impressed in the morning," Angel said. "And it's not like Kean's going to be causing any more problems, much less before dawn."

"Oooh, can't wait to see Frances' face get all squinchy when she learns we got in there ourselves, did it down and dirty," Buffy said. She started to flop down on the sofa, then stopped herself. "Maybe I shouldn't drip holy water all over your furniture."

Angel frowned. "Good point. I have some things you could probably wear, at least to get back to your quarters." He slipped back into his bedroom.

"Great. Even baggier clothes. My dreams have come true." Buffy caught the dark-gray garments he tossed through the doorway. "Pour me some wine while I change, okay?"

Alone in Angel's bathroom, Buffy stripped off her wet things, folded them into a pile, and finished drying her hair with a proper towel. After one brief, doubtful look at her body -- "Do so have breasts," she muttered -- she pulled his tunic over her head. It would be long, even on him; it fell to her knees. "Hey, it's a dress," she said.

She came out of the bathroom and spun around, mock-modeling the tunic. "It's the Versace spring collection. What do you think?"

Angel smiled at her from his place on the sofa. "Much better on you," he said. He held out a goblet of wine for her.

Buffy accepted it and sat by his side, tucking her knees up beneath her. "I should feel bad about this."

"Bad about what?"

"About -- feeling so good," Buffy said. "When Noor's only just died. And we still don't know who killed her."

"New master in town," Angel murmured.

"Guess so," Buffy said. "Though, if he's as big a wuss as the last one, I'm not gonna do a whole lot of shaking in terror. But I can't help how I feel. I just feel so -- so right. Like this is exactly what I'm supposed to be doing, and exactly how I'm supposed to do it. I lost that feeling a long time ago." She sipped her wine. "I didn't think I'd ever get it back."

"I know what you mean," Angel said. "It slips away from you, slowly, and you don't notice it going." His voice was softer, his expression distant. "And then suddenly you wake up one day, so lost you think you'll never find your way home."

"Yeah. That's it exactly." Buffy smiled gently and held her glass up for a toast. "Here's to helping me find the way home."

"To helping each other," Angel said, clinking his cup lightly against hers.

She drank deeply, enjoying the sweet warmth flowing into her, spreading through her body. She wasn't sure whether it was the wine or the way he was looking at her over the rim of his goblet --

Buffy knew she ought to say something, anything, to break the silence. But she didn't, and Angel didn't, and the stillness lay there between them. All Buffy's confusion and longing and hope were swirling up inside her again, and she could feel her pulse quicken inside her chest.

Angel could probably hear it too --

He half-turned away, and she breathed out with what was becoming all-too-familiar disappointment. But Angel simply put down his cup and turned back to her.

Angel brought one hand to her face, traced lightly along the line of her cheekbone. His skin was cool and soft against her own. He looked at her, questioning.

Buffy covered his hand with her own. And he pulled her close and kissed her.

His lips were hard against hers, at first; he was stiff, uncertain. Buffy spread her hands against his chest and kissed him again, more softly. Angel relaxed into her touch, opened his mouth slightly against hers. His arms slid around her, pulled her close. She could feel his body begin to take on her warmth, feel her heartbeat pounding so hard that he had to feel the thumping against his chest. Buffy dazededly thought that it was as though he were coming alive just from her touch.

She wound her arms around his neck so that she could pull herself into his lap. As their bodies touched, Angel seemed to remember -- everything. Just how to kiss her, tracing her lips with his tongue. Just how to tilt her back, hold her just enough off-balance to make her giddy. Her memory was serving as well -- the way he liked to feel her hands run down the length of his back, the way he began breathing deeply, quickly, as if he needed to, as if his body needed air and light and heat just like her own.

And her memory was also telling her -- you have to stop.

Buffy pushed the thought away, pulled Angel even closer to her. Angel would know when it was time to stop. He always knew when they should stop. Until then --

She felt his fingers brush along her bare leg, skin on skin, his hands now warm from touching her. Buffy couldn't stop herself from shivering. Angel responded by kissing her more deeply, more fiercely than before. He let his touch wander the length of her body, tracing the curve of her hips, the small of her back, until he cupped her breasts softly in his hands. His touch was gentle through the thin tunic, more tantalizing than fulfilling.

Angel will know when it's time to stop --

Buffy twisted within his embrace, slid one leg over so that she was straddling him. Angel's uttered a small, desperate sound that she cut off by leaning down and kissing him again. She put her hands on either side of his face, holding him in place, though he made no move to resist. Two years, she thought, two years and I feel like I'm starving for him. How must he feel?

Angel responded by bringing his hands up her back -- beneath her tunic, against her bare body this time; she shuddered, pulled away to gasp in a breath. He nuzzled her jaw, pressed his lips against her throat. He had to feel the humming of her pulse beneath her skin. And then he kissed her softly just at the scar from his bite.

Angel will stop, she thought. Angel will stop us in time --

He dropped his head back and tugged the tunic up; almost without thinking, Buffy lifted her arms to help him. It fell to the floor, leaving her all but naked in his lap. Angel gazed at her for a long moment, as though drinking in the sight of her. Buffy was suddenly very aware of how long it had been since she'd let him see her without even a bra on, and she could feel herself blushing, though she didn't know whether that was from embarrassment or arousal. God, she thought, the look in his eyes --

She kissed him again, tilting her head forward so that there was room between their bodies for his hands to touch her. After a few hungry kisses, he leaned her backwards so his lips could move down her throat to her breasts. Buffy arched her back, let her head drop so that her hair fell down behind her, out of the way of his mouth against her skin.

Angel will stop us, he's always the one who stops us, I don't want him to stop but he'll stop and we'll be safe but I don't want him to --

At that moment Angel pulled away from her; he was breathing hard, looking up into her face as though trying to find words. Buffy didn't know whether to feel more loss or relief --

And then he pulled her closer and stood up. Almost by reflex, Buffy gripped him around his waist with her legs. He held her there for one moment while he kissed her tenderly on her forehead, then carried her into his bedroom.

Angel's bedroom was as comfortably cluttered as the rest of his home, at least so far as Buffy could tell in the darkness. The faint light from the front room glinted off swords on the wall, candlesticks on the shelves. He had a large, wooden bed that creaked softly as he lowered her onto the mattress.

He knows when to stop. He knows we have to stop. Doesn't he? Did he forget? Has it been so long that he forgot? He couldn't forget that, not ever --

Angel moved his hands down the length of her body; even the soft brush of his palm against her stomach felt so good. He slipped his fingertips beneath the waist of her panties, then slowly, deliberately, pulled them down her legs, past her feet, let them drop.

Buffy lay there naked, wanting and frightened all at once, and she didn't know which emotion made her tremble as Angel lowered himself over her. The only barrier between them now was his clothes, and once he took those off, she didn't know how long she would be in control of herself. She almost couldn't remember what that felt like, their bodies so close together, but oh, God, she wanted to remember.

Angel kissed her passionately, and she could feel herself beginning go dizzy and weak --

Buffy pulled her mouth away. "Angel --"

"Mmm?" He kissed the corner of her jaw.

It killed her to say it, to put out the soft light in his eyes, but she had to. "Angel, we can't."

"No, we can't," he murmured. Angel kissed the hollow of her throat, the fragile skin between her breasts, the smoothness of her belly, as he slid down to kneel at the foot of the bed. "But you can."

**

"Normally, I am opposed to cover bands as a matter of principle," Buffy said. "But these guys kinda rock."

Angel tightened his arms around her as they swayed on the dance floor of the Bronze. "They sound good to me. Of course, I didn't even know this was another band's song."

Buffy smiled up at him gently. "You're so out of touch you don't even know Lenny Kravitz?"

"Is he a friend of yours from school?"

Buffy laughed and snuggled against him again. "That would be too weird even for Sunnydale." She watched the band for a moment longer, then frowned. "I didn't know Sumiko could play the guitar."

"I think she took lessons from Oz," Angel said seriously.

"Anyway, it's about time you got here," Buffy said. "I've been looking for you forever."

"You're not looking for me," Angel replied. "You were looking for the exit."

Buffy shook her head as the song ended and the audience began to clap. "I wouldn't go without you."

"You might have to," Angel said. "I think there might be an exit backstage."

The audience just kept on clapping. Sumiko and the band took another set of bows.

Buffy stepped forward to check; sure enough, she could see the faint orange glow of an exit sign backstage. "Come on," she said, tugging at Angel's hand. "Let's go."

"I can't," Angel said from behind her. "It's sunny outside."

"Then we'll wait until nighttime --"

"No," Angel said, pulling his hand from Buffy's. "You should go. I want you to be safe."

"I am safe," Buffy insisted. "I'm safe if I'm with you --"

She turned around, but Angel was gone, swallowed up in the crowds still cheering for Sumiko's band. Frustrated, she went toward the stage -- surely she could get around to the exit if she stayed on the edges --

No sooner had Buffy stepped up to the stage, though, than a spotlight suddenly swung down to shine on her. As she blinked in the light, the crowd began cheering anew and chanting, "Solo! Solo! Solo! Solo!"

"Oh, my God, no," Buffy muttered. Sumiko gestured toward the microphone. "Wha -- what am I supposed to sing?"

"Do you really think the tune matters?" Kean said. He tapped his drumsticks against the cymbals; she heard the faint, metallic shimmer even through the noise of the crowd. "Any song will do."

"No," Buffy insisted. "That's not right. I need the right song. And anyway, I don't sing." She leaned over the drum kit and whispered, "This one time, when I had to be in the school talent show? I just did a dramatic scene."

"That's the spirit," Kean said enthusiastically. "The play's the thing, wherein you'll catch the conscience of the king."

"Is that The Tempest?" Buffy said.

Kean sprang at her --

Buffy gapsed as she awoke, then breathed out, slowly and evenly. She let her head loll over to one side. Angel lay on his stomach next to her, still sound asleep. Buffy turned over to look at his still face.

Peaceful, she decided. He looks peaceful. And, confused and overwhelmed and excited as she still was, Buffy realized she felt peaceful too. Angel had always had that effect on her. No matter the weirdness that surrounded them or their relationship, when she could be with him, just be -- no beasties to fight, no disapproval to endure -- she was always filled with this same sense of deep contentment.

Like I'm right where I'm supposed to be, Buffy thought. Like I'm doing exactly what I'm supposed to do.

She pulled the covers around her a little more tightly; Angel's room temperature was not ideal for a naked human being. This had the effect of tugging the blanket down slightly from his back. Buffy leaned forward to treat herself to a glimpse; she'd always loved Angel's back. She had managed, during the night, to get his shirt off, though Angel had let her attentions to his body go no further.

As she squinted in the darkness, she saw that Angel's tattoo was gone. Wait, she realized, not gone. Just -- faded. The once-dark lines of the gryphon were now the faintest tracings against his pale skin. At least not everything fades, she thought, and leaned forward to brush her lips gently against the place where the tattoo had been.

Angel's eyes fluttered open, and he smiled drowsily at her. He threw one of his arms around her and pulled her close. "Warm," he murmured.

"Mmm-hmm," Buffy agreed. At the moment, Angel's body was cool against her -- but in a few moments, she knew, he would capture her body heat for her better than any blanket. She kissed his chest, rested her cheek against him.

Just when she thought she would fall asleep again, Angel whispered, "How do you feel?"

"Tingly all the way down to my toes," Buffy said. "Cozy. Wonderful. But what about you?"

"The same."

"No," she said softly. "Not the same." Buffy pushed herself back from Angel just enough to look into his eyes. "Angel -- aren't you -- you know -- frustrated?"

"Only as much as I need to be," Angel said. "Mostly I'm happy just to be so close to you."

Buffy smiled and touched his face with her hand. "I didn't quite get around to saying this last night, but I love you."

Angel kissed her palm. "I love you too."

"You love me again?" Buffy said, only half-teasing. "Or you love me still?"

"Both," Angel said, before pulling her back to him and kissing her soundly.

After a long few moments, Buffy tugged away. "Need to breathe --"

"I keep forgetting," Angel said, stroking her hair. "I let myself forget how alive you are."

Buffy laughed. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Everything," Angel said. His face was serious as he looked into her eyes. "Buffy, I -- hated -- humanity for so many years. Both before I had my soul and after -- I saw nothing in mankind but stupidity, venality, self-interest. But that all changed when I met you and saw that goodness right at the core of you." He smiled at her then. "I believed in you because nothing else was even possible. And once I believed in you, I started seeing the goodness in other people, too. That's what I'd lost. That's what you brought back to me."

Buffy touched her hand to his cheek. "I didn't realize,' she said softly. "I never understood that, before."

"It was true then," Angel said. "But I meant here, now. Ever since the plagues -- ever since the Council changed -- I've been pulling in. Letting myself not care."

"Angel, the Watchers shut you out," Buffy said. "I see it every day. I don't blame you if you don't care about those guys."

"There's a lot of truth to that. But it's also true that I stopped trying a long time ago. And it's not even the Watchers I'm talking about, really. I mean those people, out there, trying to make their way in this city. I fought for them as long as the Council would let me fight, but it mattered less and less."

"Why?" Buffy said, studying his expression. He met her eyes steadily.

"It was easier," Angel said simply. "Seeing what was going on -- it hurt less if I didn't care. But you made me care again. I knew I couldn't fall in love with you without falling in love with all of it again. Humanity. Life. This fight. I wanted to keep it all shut out," he said with a small, rueful laugh. "I had forgotten you enough to think that might be possible."

Buffy quirked her mouth at him. "Glad I jogged your memory. Is this how we're gonna be, then? Together like this?"

Angel looked serious again. "If that's what you really want. But you know the essential problem for us hasn't changed --"

"Don't you start," Buffy said. "If you start up with the whole Buffy-needs-a-normal-life thing, about the picket fence and the chocolate lab and the 2.5 kids, I swear to God I will slam a stake into your chest myself. This century is the total opposite of 'normal life.' So that stuff doesn't matter now."

"It might someday," Angel said. "Once you're used to this life."

"I'm a Slayer who's already died twice," Buffy said. "I don't put a lot of stock in someday."

Angel hugged her to him tightly. After a few moments, he said, "Then this is how it's going to be. More or less."

"What's the less?"

Angel rolled onto his back, pulling her on top of him. He traced the edge of her face with one fingertip. "Tonight was amazing, Buffy. I want us to have a lot of nights like this. But -- we couldn't --" His expression went distant, and suddenly he looked rather tense. "My willpower's a lot stronger now than when I was younger. But if you were in my bed every night --"

"I understand," Buffy said. "Special occasions, birthdays, our anniversary. Hey, you never did tell me your birthday."

"You're smiling. You don't mind?"

"I do mind. But I mean it; I understand. It's frustrating for me, too -- not being able to touch you, or make you feel as good as you do for me. Don't get me wrong, though. It is not so frustrating that I don't want you to do this a whole, whole, whole lot. I'm just happy with whatever we can have."

"Really?" He looked so surprised, so grateful, that Buffy found herself unable to keep back her grin.

"We can deal with it. After all, that's why God gave us hands, right?"

"Buffy!" Angel's shocked laughter warmed her, and she snuggled against him again.

"Okay, that's probably not why God gave us hands. But I won't tell Him if you won't."

"June 30th," Angel said, tracing his fingers along her back.

"What? Oh, your birthday," Buffy murmured. She laughed a little. "Okay, that's a couple months away. Do Wednesdays count as special occasions?"

Angel smiled and pulled her close for a kiss. Then another, and another --

A phone rang, so close to her ear that Buffy actually jumped. Angel sighed, then rolled to one side and picked up the receiver. "Hello?"

Buffy watched his face change from soft happiness into harshness. "Yes, that's right. And this is a problem?" A pause. "It's not even dawn yet, Markwith. Isn't it just possible that we hadn't gotten to it yet?"

She made a questioning face at Angel and mouthed, Is this about Kean? He nodded and rolled his eyes. "When do you want to do this? Good God, Ishak's an old man. He needs his rest --"

"Fine, then. Fine." Another pause. Angel looked over at her, then said, more quietly, "Buffy's here with me."

A very long pause this time. "You can ask her yourself," Angel said. "What? Fine, we'll be right there." He slammed the phone into its cradle with a crash.

Buffy said, "So, should we keep this a secret?"

**

XVII : QUESTIONS AND ANSWERS

Buffy ran her hands through her hair again. "I look scary, don't I? You cannot sleep on wet hair and not wake up looking scary."

"You look fine," Angel said absently. His lips were set in a line, and his stride as they went toward Ishak's hall was so swift and determined that Buffy found herself hurrying to keep up.

"These clothes are not of the good, either," Buffy said. Her things were dry, by now, but they were wrinkled and still bloodstained from the fight with Kean. She winced slightly as she remembered taking one particularly embarrassing stroll from Riley's fraternity house at 7 am while wearing a tube dress and 4-inch heels. "All in all, I definitely show the signs of an early-morning walk of shame."

"You don't have to be ashamed," Angel said. His voice was low.

"What?" Buffy said. She laughed out loud. "Of course not! I just want you to invest in a mirror sometime. We can put it in the closet or something if it bothers you."

He looked over at her curiously; she beamed back at him. "You're really all right," he said.

"Way better than all right," Buffy said. As they reached the doors to Ishak's hall, she pulled them open with one big sweep of her arms. "Hail, hail, the gang's all here."

Ishak was in his place, his feathery white hair somewhat mussed. Markwith, Frances and the other Watchers all looked as formal as ever, though substantially less pleasant, if such a thing were possible. "What, no parade?" Buffy said.

Angel was looking at her though she had sprouted wings or started to glow, but there was a faint smile on his face.

"We should first say thank you," Ishak said. "To know that Kean is finally gone is a great relief to this Council and to the people of London --"

"But your methods are a relief to no one," Markwith interjected.

"Bite me," Buffy said. Angel raised his eyebrows, and she waved him off. "Not literally. It's an old 21st-century expression that means that if you don't like it, you just have to deal with it."

Ishak sighed heavily. "Buffy, please don't misunderstand Markwith. We all realize that you -- no doubt -- did only what was necessary in the situation --"

"True. But you know what else?" Buffy said. "I did what I wanted to do, the way I wanted to do it. And it turns out my way works a whole hell of a lot better than your way."

"It's risky," Markwith said. Strangely, he sounded sincere. "We don't want to lose you as we did Noor. I'm sure Angel would agree with us."

"No, I don't want to lose her," Angel said. "But I think Buffy's in more danger if she ignores her instincts than if she obeys them."

"Instincts?" Frances said incredulously. "This Council does not operate on instinct. We have rules, and those rules exist for good reason --"

"Maybe you don't operate on instinct," Buffy said. "But I do. And my instincts get results, which is more than I can say for your stupid rules."

Even Ishak looked as though he might object to the Council's rules being written off as "stupid." Angel quickly cut in, "How did you hear about Kean? Runners?"

"Yes, runners," Markwith said tiredly. At Buffy's puzzled expression, he added, "We have various scouts throughout the city who can travel to the Keep with urgent information, so on, so forth. We began getting reports in from all over; I don't know how they get about at night, but it turns out they do. Kean was a figure of some renown, and your killing him -- well, it's news."

"The stories have already grown positively fantastical," Frances sniffed. "There's one version that has you working miracles. Creating holy rain to dissolve them all."

"That's actually pretty much how it went down," Buffy said. "And why are you so pissed off at the rainmaker? Kean is dead! Let's see some confetti and streamers in here. Maybe some goofy party hats."

"Will you for one moment think of your responsibilities!?" Ishak cried, slamming his hand on the table. The outburst was so fierce, and so unexpected from Ishak, that even Buffy was shocked into silence. "Think about what would have happened tonight if you'd lost. More than your own life is at stake here, Buffy. Angel would no doubt have died with you. And what of those people in the audience? Do you think Kean would have let them live after they had seen him kill a Slayer? And after that -- how do you think the people of this city would feel when they heard that we'd lost our second Slayer in one week? You girls are meant to provide more than strength. You're meant to provide hope. Little enough chance of that, if you'd squandered your life on this stunt. And all the good you might yet do in the future, all the vampires and demons you might yet kill to make this city safer -- all of that would have been negated. Look at all of that and tell me, honestly, that you think this was worth it."

"I think this was worth it," Buffy said, lifting her jaw. "I can't duck out of fights because I might be needed for another fight later. What if the important fight is the one I'm running from? A Slayer slays, Ishak. You guys talk it up about wanting to protect us, but we're not shiny trophies you can put on the shelf to make people feel better. If I'm doing anything besides killing as many bad guys as I can, as best I can, I'm wasting all our time."

Ishak sighed. "Fight as you must, then," he said. "But I warn you: If others come to harm through your behavior, you will be responsible."

"Through all your behavior," Frances said. She was looking at Angel, clearly caught between astonishment and dismay.

'Hey," Buffy said. "I expect we're going to be fighting about my Slaying for a long time. But we are never, ever fighting about me and Angel. Not once. He's still got his soul. He's going to keep his soul. After that point, it's none of your business." She glanced sideways at Angel. "Jump in anytime here."

"You're the talker," Angel said with a quick smile. "And I couldn't say it better."

Markwith leaned forward slightly, his eyes narrowing as he looked at Angel. "You've protested your loyalty to this Council many times, Angel. Are you really only loyal to Buffy, after all?"

"I am loyal to this Council," Angel said smoothly. "This Council is loyal to the Slayer. I don't see a contradiction. After all, we exist to help them -- not the other way around."

Unexpectedly, Markwith smiled. "Well said."

"If you're done bitching us out for a job well done, we do have a big news flash for you guys," Buffy said. "Kean didn't kill Noor."

"What?" This caught Frances up short. "How do you know?"

"He said so. Well, he said he hadn't killed a Slayer. And it wasn't a situation where he was gonna lie," Buffy said.

"Someone else killed one of the great Slayers?" Markwith said. "It's almost inconceivable."

"Start conceiving," Buffy said. "It's true. Besides, like Agatha told you -- it doesn't necessarily take some big thing. Even your run-of-the-mill vamp can have a good day."

"This guy wasn't run-of-the-mill," Angel said. "Not the way the body was displayed. Somebody was making an announcement."

"The question is who," Ishak said. He looked grim. "We shall have to investigate this further --"

"We're on it," Buffy said. "I have some other ideas, too."

"Buffy --" Frances' voice was a warning.

"You'll get the 411 this time," Buffy said. "But seriously, you people have to start readjusting your thinking. Sending me out there with a bow and arrow? That's kid stuff. We need to bring some grown-up action to the fight." With that she turned on her heel and walked out.

Angel followed her, and somebody slammed the doors behind them. He looked over at her questioningly, "What other ideas?"

"I don't have ideas so much as a plan to have ideas in future," Buffy said. "Because the way the Council goes about things is all wrong, Angel. You know that."

"Yes," Angel said. "I'm just not sure how we're going to do any better, with odds like these."

"I'm on it," Buffy said. "Like I keep saying, improv is my specialty."

When they got in the lift, she put her arms back around his waist; Angel returned the hug and kissed her hair. "We still have a little while to sleep," Buffy said. "Want to come up to my room and crash while I take a shower? I could snuggle up with you after --"

"The sun's coming up," Angel said with a sad smile. "And if your rooms are as nice as I think they are, you have large, open windows."

"Remind me to pick up some curtains," Buffy said. She wanted to invite herself back down to Angel's room, but she could sense already that they needed to separate. They would still have to live apart, be able to work apart, to carry on much as they had before. Otherwise, it couldn't work -- and it had to work. She stood on her tiptoes and kissed him quickly on the mouth. "Then I'll see you later on today in the library."

"You now have an interest in literature?" Angel said with a raised eyebrow.

"Nope," Buffy said. "History."

**

"All I can say is, Thank the Powers," Xiaoting laughed, stretching out on her back in the gardens. The sunlight filtered down onto them as they lay in the bright patches of the orchard. "The frustration was about to kill ME, and I'm just an interested observer."

"I still don't understand," Agatha said, glancing up shyly from her sewing. "You -- did not have, ah, relations?"

"Well, we got close," Buffy said. "I mean, I got there. And went back there. Oughta have frequent-flyer miles for the trips I made there. But he just kinda -- stopped short. Do you see what I mean?"

"No," Agatha said. Her pale brows were knitted together as she tried to puzzle this out.

"Angel has a problem with pure happiness," Xiaoting said. "Having relations, as you persist in calling it, with Buffy leads to his pure happiness, which is really rather sweet. But he can still allow Buffy her pleasure, so long as he doesn't feel it himself. Do you understand now?"

"I understand what you said," Agatha said carefully. "But how could Angel -- how could he give her pleasure without doing the same for himself?"

Sky, leaning against a tree trunk nearby, rolled her eyes as she munched on a pear. Xiaoting laughed. "Honestly, didn't they teach you Victorians anything about sex?"

Agatha blanched and quickly looked back down at the blue cloth in her lap. "You said that word. You promised you would not say that word any longer."

"Sorry," Xiaoting said, unrepentantly.

"He's a good-looking fella, I'll give you that," Sky said through a mouthful of pear. Unlike Xiaoting's knowing humor, Sky's attitude was one of giddy curiosity. "But, Pete's sake, he's dead. Doesn't that feel a bit strange?"

Buffy shrugged. "It feels different. But to me it feels good. Angel was my first lover, so I guess I'm used to it."

"There have been OTHERS?" Agatha said.

"Have a pear," Xiaoting said helpfully. "How's Sumiko doing over there?"

Buffy looked over and saw that Sumiko was apparently asleep in the soft grass. "Conked out," she said. "Guess she had a long night too."

"Prob'ly not as much fun," Sky giggled. She ducked her wide grin beneath her hand, and for a moment, Buffy was again reminded of Dawn so powerfully it hurt. She felt her smile fade, and she rolled over again to look at the sky.

"Oh, I don't know," Xiaoting said. "Markwith's a lot less tense these days, don't you think?"

"This is a most indelicate conversation," Agatha said.

**

After a much-needed afternoon nap, Buffy headed down to the library. She had only the most slender ideas about what she was looking for, but, she reasoned, she would know it when she found it.

And if she needed help, there was always the librarian.

When she walked in, Angel was up on his shelving ladder. His face lit up when he caught sight of her. "Finally," Angel said. "A reader." He crossed the room and caught her up in his embrace for an enthusiastic kiss.

When their lips parted, Buffy smiled. "Your dedication to the written word is impressive."

"I'll do anything to encourage scholarship," he said solemnly. "So, you said something about history?"

"The history of magic," Buffy said. "Recent history. Like, right after the plagues."

"That's not what I expected you to say," Angel said, even as he began leading her through the stacks. "What are you looking for?"

"Exactly why they banned it," Buffy said. "Remember what we talked about the other day? Magic's too good a tool not to use these days. Whatever it is that spooked them so bad they outlawed it -- I want to know what that is. And see how we can get around it."

"Good question," Angel said. "I don't remember any one big thing -- but those were chaotic times. I think I fought demons all night, every night, for fifteen years. I didn't have a whole lot of energy left over to think about magic laws."

"Maybe it isn't one big thing," Buffy said. "Maybe it's just one of those rules that got made when people were scared, and just got set in stone with time."

Angel finally found the alcove he was seeking. "There are a few things here. We might want to start with this," he said, pulling down a slightly less-dusty volume from a high shelf. "Thibodeaux's history is fairly detailed, I think."

"Hey!" Buffy said, pulling a slim black book from the opposite shelf. "The author of this one is Tobias Earnshaw. That's Sumiko's Watcher, right?"

"The same," Angel said. "Earnshaw was a major scholar. He wrote about magic, languages, swordfighting. There's something by him in almost every area of this library."

"I should read some of his stuff sometime," Buffy said. "Maybe he talks about Sumiko in there. We could get to know her that way. But, hey, first things first --"

"Thibodeaux comes first. After that, we'll try the Quilenn," he patted some green books, then pointed at some blue ones, "and the Andrews. That's as good an overview as you can get."

"Okey-doke," Buffy said, trying to hide her dismay. She was flashing back to just how good she had been at getting out of Giles' research parties --

God, she thought, if I could have just one of those research sessions back, I'd let Giles go on and on about his boring theories all he wanted, just to hear him talk. Just to hear his voice.

"Buffy?" Angel looked concerned.

"I'm good," she said. She kissed him quickly on the cheek. "I'll call."

"You don't want help?"

"It's not that," Buffy said. "I'm just not 100 percent sure what I'm looking for. So I can't really tell you."

"Well, if there are specific names or details you want to hunt down, bring them to me."

"Trust me. I'll be back with you as soon as I think of a good excuse." She smiled slyly at him, and he ran one hand through her hair.

"Just let me know." He vanished, as quickly and silently as ever, and she set herself up on a small table to start reading.

Fortunately, it appeared that Watchers were going through a less-annoying phase 150 years ago; Thibodeaux turned out to be fairly easy reading. Easy in terms of using normal words and laying stuff out right, she thought; not so easy in terms of subject matter. Angel had warned her about the plagues, but reading about them in detail was something else. Buffy found herself sighing with relief every time Thibodeaux's attention would turn back to magic.

However, Thibodeaux's references to magic were almost all positive. Sure, he mentioned some desperate people playing amateur witches and being very sorry -- but most of the passages talked about helpful witches or warlocks who came to the Council's aid. It even turned out that one Slayer of the era -- a Senegalese girl named Penda -- had been a witch herself, apparently a powerful one. "Would not have wanted to mess with her," Buffy muttered.

After a couple hours, Buffy turned her attention to the other books Angel had suggested. A cursory check soon revealed that the general tone of these histories was the same: Magic was described as a helpful force, time and again.

"So what is the problem?" Buffy said, exasperated.

She shelved the volumes and considered calling for Angel -- then smiled and decided to find him in the stacks herself. If nobody else was in the library, then a few minutes of quality smooching between the books would fulfill a few of her old high-school fantasies.

Buffy made her way through the library, which was larger than she'd realized at first. Staircases in the far corners led to an upper level, and she went up to explore. This level was more sparse than the other; instead of having every square inch covered with books, many of these walls were bare, save for old, age-dark paintings of Watchers in days gone by. The books on the shelves were even older -- not Slayer records, or Council business, or Watcher histories. These were works of literature such as Jane Eyre, Beloved, A Remembrance of Things Past. Other things, too -- books about ballroom dancing and fashion and home decorating, all of them published for happier, sillier eras.

Strange, that all that stuff seemed irrelevant to her by now.

Buffy turned one corner and jumped. She stared for a long moment, took a deep breath, and walked forward to the portrait that had unnerved her.

The brass plate on the frame read "WESLEY WYNDHAM-PRYCE, 1970 - 2049."

She'd recognized his face not from memory, but from Angel's portrait. This man was older and thinner, his hair almost entirely gray, his glasses thicker. He held himself up straight with pride -- but not the overweening, puffed-up pride she remembered. This was a man who knew who he was, what he was on earth for. A happy man, too, she thought, remembering the pretty wife and beaming daughters.

"Angel says you got cool later on," Buffy said to the picture. "So I'm taking this as a good sign."

On impulse, she knelt at the small shelf beneath his portrait and grabbed the first book her hand touched. Buffy lifted it up to see -- Mind The Gap: A History Of The London Underground. Complete Maps Included.

"Great," she muttered. Then she looked down at it again, and she grinned. "Oh, great."

Buffy bounded down the stairs. "Angel?" she called. "Angel, come take a look at this."

No reply. She hurried toward the main area. "Angel?" she said again. "Are you --oh!"

Buffy skidded to a halt just before she slammed into Frances. Frances looked at her as though she'd never seen Buffy -- or, perhaps, any other human being -- ever before. "Frances," Buffy said, unable to keep her disappointment out of her tone. "What brings you here?"

"I -- I was hoping to have a word with --" Frances was ill-at-ease, as well she might be.

"With Angel?" Buffy said.

"No. I mean, yes, but you would do --" Frances and Buffy both jumped as the door opened. Sumiko came in, looking as placid as ever. She raised her eyebrows at the sight of Frances and Buffy, but quickly walked past them to her Watcher's diaries.

Buffy smiled a little as she saw Sumiko gently take one of the old volumes from the shelf. "Looks like Angel's going to have a lot more company these days."

Frances didn't answer. When Buffy looked back for her, she realized Frances had gone. "That was of the weirdness," she said.

"What was?"

Buffy jumped again, then turned back to Angel. "Apparently I will never learn to hear you coming," she said. "Frances was just here. Wanted to talk to one of us, but apparently not enough to stick around and actually do it."

Angel frowned at the door, as though he could see Frances' departing form through it. "If it's important, she'll come back," Angel said. "What's that?"

Buffy held up the Underground book and grinned. "My first big idea."

**

"Where are we going to get explosives?" Xiaoting said, squinting down at the spaghetti of green and blue and yellow lines that made up the Underground map. The other Slayers and Angel were all gathered around Buffy in the common room.

"Oh, we've got explosives," Sky said easily. "Not all that much call for them, but sometimes an abandoned building gets a mite too ramshackle, and they've got to blow her up. They're the easiest things in the world to make, turns out."

"We might not even need that many," Buffy said. "It's been centuries. Some of those tunnels have probably collapsed anyway, and it won't take much to make some of the others go."

"I still think it would make more sense to do this during the daytime," Agatha said.

"If we could be sure of destroying all the tunnels completely, we would do that," Buffy said. "Then we could be sure they'd be crushed or be roasted. But in reality, as long as there's even one square foot of tunnel left during the daytime, we won't get all the vampires and demons out."

"But if we do it at night," Angel said, "They'll come out in force, angry as hell."

"And out is where we want them," Buffy said. "Because that's where we can get them. It's our own version of a burnout. We drive them out of their homes so we can have our own killfest."

"What if they all come out?" Sky said. "I mean, at once? Because we may be some feisty shelias, but even we've got a limit."

"That's the other benefit of collapsing the tunnels," Angel said. "Most of the vampires will be cut off from the group we're after. They're not going to knock themselves out to run to the others' aid. And that will keep them from seeing what's really happening."

"Eventually, the vamps will catch on," Buffy said. "But there's no reason we can't keep this up until the day they do. I think we can rack up some serious damage before then."

"If we do this at night," Xiaoting said, "then who's to say they'll even be inside the tunnels? They'll probably be out seeking prey, don't you think?"

"I figure we strike right at sunset," Buffy said. "I mean, on the stroke. The very first instant they could all be up and out. Most of them will just be waking up -- groggy and stupid and ready to get dusted."

"Sounds brilliant to me," Agatha said.

Sky seemed uncertain. "The Watchers won't like this. Markwith's going to rip his hair out."

"I could live with that," Buffy said. "I might pay to watch."

Xiaoting waved it off. "We'll explain the plan to him in glorious detail. And then we'll explain that his cooperation is necessary for Sumiko's safety. That should do the trick."

Sumiko sat at Buffy's side, tracing her fingers over one railway line after another. She was smiling happily at the map as though it were simply a very pretty picture. Buffy sighed. "I don't know if we should bring her. I mean, this plan's pretty complicated, and if she can't understand the details --"

"We can do the complicated things ourselves," Agatha said. "After that, it's simply a matter of slaying vampires, and that she should understand without any explanation, don't you think?"

"True," Buffy said. "So, we're all in?" Nods all around. "We'll break the bad news to the Council tomorrow. And then, as soon as we get the explosives -- we're going Underground."

***********

XVIII : AT THE CIRCUS

"It looks like the sun's down to me." Xiaoting's voice was tinny over the transport's CB.

Buffy glanced back from the driver's seat to look at Angel, who was huddled in the back, away from the faint light still coming in through the windshield. He shook his head. "I told you," he said. "Another four minutes or so. I'll give the signal."

"Angel says no," Buffy said into the speaker. "We'll have our cue on the mark, okay? Tell the Watchers to hold their horses. That means to tell them to wait."

Sumiko, seated across from Angel, looked over at Buffy curiously. She had her crossbow, holy water and blaster -- but Buffy had seen to it that she also had a sword. "You're gonna watch out for her, right?" Buffy asked Angel.

"I will," Angel said. "When I'm not watching out for you."

Buffy rechecked her own weapons and opened the door. "You tell the Watchers to roll the first second they can. Then come on out with your face on."

"Be careful," Angel said quietly.

"Pot, meet kettle," Buffy said. "You watch yourself too, okay?"

Angel nodded. Buffy gave him a smile. "See you after the party."

She stepped out of the transport and took a good look around at Piccadilly Circus. Once, this area had glittered with electronic signs and hologram billboards. The remnants of these glitzy marvels were dark now, torn with the ravages of age and disuse. Buffy looked up at the statue Angel had told her was of Eros, the god of love. His iron-dark wings were spread against the vivid blue of twilight.

One building near the area was occupied. The dim lights shone in the windows, and Buffy could see the shadows of the many people crammed within moving about as they tried to get comfortable for yet another long seige night. Across the way, she could see Agatha and Sky; Agatha was pacing, grim, already in battle mode. Sky stood on tiptoe and waved wildly at Buffy, who grinned and waved back.

Sky's such a kid, Buffy thought. Wonder how she fights? Guess I'll find out.

The transport's door clanged open. Buffy whirled to see Angel coming out. Behind her she could hear Xiaoting jumping out of her transport across the way as well.

And then she heard it.

Deep, low shuddering, just at the point between vibration and noise. Rumbling closer, and closer -- the remnants of explosions at Oxford Circus, Leicester Square, Charing Cross and Green Park. The tunnels were collapsing, tumbling in, just as they'd hoped --

"Here they come," she whispered.

From the depths below came vampires -- one after another after another -- pouring out of the broken-down remains of the subway station. They were dusty, cut-up, furious, already in vamp face just from the rush to escape. As they ran into the open, they began to halt in their tracks and look around wildly.

Apparently none of them had expected to come up and find five Slayers -- and one Angel -- waiting for them.

For one moment, they were all quiet, almost motionless. Buffy took a deep breath as the wind ruffled her hair. Not quite three dozen, she thought. Gonna be quite a show.

Sumiko cried out, her wordless shriek breaking the silence and the stillness as she vaulted toward the vamps and swung her blade. The first vamp was beheaded before the others could even react.

Then all hell broke loose. Vamps rushed at them, insane with rage or fear or just being vamps. Buffy stopped thinking and started fighting.

Buffy grabbed her crossbow first and started shooting; the up-close-and-personal method was definitely more fun, but there was something to be said for conserving your strength when you were dealing with these kind of numbers. She managed to dust a couple like that -- and, out of the corner of her eye, saw another few go up in smoke thanks to some of the other Slayers' arrows. But then they got too close for the crossbow, and Buffy smiled as she threw her weapon down and clenched her fists.

Uppercut, jab, jab, left roundhouse, jab, she's down! Get the stake -- gone. And right side kick, right crescent, left hook, stake and gone! UNH -- turn it into a roll, get on your feet, block left, left front kick, left front kick, DAMMIT, swallow the blood and left hook, right jab, left hook, stake and gone --

Buffy sucked in a breath through her cut lips and took one desperate glance around. Agatha was walloping on a vampire twice her height with a gusto Buffy never dreamed her proper friend had in her. Another vamp seemed to have Xiaoting pinned down -- until Angel, with a roar Buffy could hear through the din, tackled him. Sky's fists were flying with a speed and accuracy any of them might have envied; she was smiling as she fought, her grin one of feral bliss. And farther away, she could see Sumiko moving so fast that she was almost a blur, her sword spinning like a helicopter's blades as she slashed her way through.

Another vampire sprang at her, and Buffy had to somersault backwards to avoid the metal bar he had clenched in his hand. The force of her leap took her all the way back to what had once been a fountain; four metal statues of horses pranced overhead. As the vampire came at her, Buffy jumped up and locked her hands over one of the horses' forelegs. She swung her legs out to kick the vampire viciously in the gut. Even as he cried out in pain, Buffy brought her feet up to catch him under the chin. He fell to the ground, and Buffy dropped to her knees and staked him in one fluid motion.

She stood up again and grinned. Sky was knocking the unliving daylights out of a vamp on his knees, and Sumiko beheaded yet another vampire. Xiaoting was looking around for another one to kill -- and coming up blank.

People were hanging out of the windows of the occupied building, pointing at the melee, grinning and cheering. Buffy beamed as she wondered how many runners would carry the good tidings around tonight.

As Angel staked his last, and Sky finally finished off her hapless victim, Buffy whispered, "We won." Then she yelled it again, "We won!"

"What did you expect?" Xiaoting said.

"Five Slayers!" Sky crowed. "And -- and Angel too! They never had a chance, did they?"

Sumiko laughed jubliantly and tossed her sword into the air. It spun around, a silver crescent in the night sky, before it flew back to her, handle dropping neatly into Sumiko's hand as though she'd summoned it there.

"In 10 minutes, we killed as many vamps as we could all expect to do in a night. And we destroyed a big chunk of their lairs," Buffy said. "Let's see the Council complain about this."

**

The Council, after endless bickering and dissent about supplying the explosives and risking the Slayers for the Underground assault, was only too happy to take the credit for the mission's success. The Watchers who had dropped the explosives -- including, to Buffy's dismay, that toad McGregor -- were lionized as heroes.

But that was nothing compared to the reception the Slayers got.

"This is so very exciting," Agatha said, squeezing Buffy's arm as they got into the lift. Agatha's hair had been set in a style she referred to as pincurls; though the overall effect was a little Nellie Olson for Buffy's taste, it was actually rather flattering. "I had so hoped there would be a musicale."

"I don't know," Buffy said doubtfully. "I'm not sure the Council's idea of a party is going to match up with mine real well."

"Well, you look stunning, if I do say so myself," Agatha said. "The dress is the way you wanted it?"

"You're a genius," Buffy said.

"You're quite certain that's -- that's meant to be worn alone? That's truly all there is to it?"

Buffy took a glance down at the dress Agatha had, despite some hesitation, made for her. It was necessarily very simple -- dark red, sleeveless, with a deep V in the front that showed a little cleavage and a hem that showed a lot of leg. To her, it seemed ordinary enough, but Buffy figured that it looked pretty racy to somebody who'd never showed her ankles in public."Trust me, Agatha. This is exactly how it's supposed to be. You look really nice yourself, too."

Agatha smoothed out her wide blue skirts and white bodice. "Oh, this. If I had a corset and some hoops, then I could make something truly grand."

"Tell me honestly," Buffy laughed, "do you really miss that corset?"

"Not a bit," Agatha said, joining in Buffy's laughter.

The lift doors opened, and Buffy grinned. "Oh, this is perfect!"

The Council had originally wanted to set up the public celebration outside, as they generally did for such events. But Buffy had protested that Angel deserved to attend too, and couldn't well be part of festivities held outdoors in the afternoon. To her happy surprise, the other Slayers had vigorously backed her up, and Ishak had commanded it. Frances had been heard grumbling about the impossibilities of doing such a thing in the warehouses.

But Frances had pulled it off. A number of the Gardens' planters had been moved down just for the event, so dark green leaves ran along the sides of the vast area cleared for the festivities. A band with instruments that looked handmade was playing merrily in one corner. Buffy couldn't have identified the music -- it sounded celtic one minute, bluegrass the next, and then something undefinable altogether. A large number of people were dancing what appeared to be very complicated dances -- long rows of men and women were criss-crossing, joining hands and trading partners with speed. "Guess we can't just get out there and shake our groove things," Buffy said.

Agatha was delighted. "Oh, it's like a reel! We can learn the steps easily if we only watch."

"You watch," Buffy said with a smile. "I need to find my date."

She kept winding her way through the party, enjoying the surprised and even shocked expressions her dress was inspiring. In the land of pyjamas, Buffy decided, it does not take much to stop traffic. People did not throng to her the way they did outside; she sensed that, within the Keep, a greater level of deference was due. But they still lit up at the sight of her, smiled or even waved. The frisson of interest, even celebrity, that surrounded her still bothered Buffy -- even now, when she done something to deserve a little of it, Buffy thought.

At last she caught sight of Angel. He was not actually standing in the corner, but he was hovering near the side, obviously uneasy in the group. Buffy wondered how long it had been since he'd attended something like this -- years, she thought. Decades, maybe.

Buffy came up behind him, and he didn't hear her until the very last minute. He turned around, and his eyes grew wide.

"I heard this rumor that vampires are drawn to bright colors," Buffy said with a slow smile. "Tell me, is it true?"

"It's true," he said, returning the grin. "You look beautiful."

She went on tiptoe to kiss him. "Come on," she said. "Let's mingle."

Angel looked distressed. "I don't mingle. Mingling is not one of my skills."

"No, really?" Buffy said, pursing her lips. "I know this. I'm going to help you."

"Wouldn't you rather stay over here, just the two of us?" Angel was running his fingertips down her arm.

Buffy ignored the little shivers going up her back. "Good try. But this party is for stuff you did, too. You deserve the credit. You deserve to be out there in the middle of it. And you deserve to enjoy yourself."

"Those last two are mutually exclusive."

"Angel," Buffy said, more serious. "These people need to start seeing you as something besides the monster in the attic. This is about making the Council see what you really are. About everybody seeing that. Once they see you, maybe they'll start to hear you. Are you with me?"

Angel sighed. Without much hope, he said, "All right, then."

Buffy looped her arm through his and drew him toward the busiest area of the room -- the tables of food. She took a moment to marvel as the behavior of the people who were thronging in and out -- though they were all desperately poor by her standards, struggling to live day to day, none of them even looked twice at the stores of material and tools piled on the shelves pushed against the walls. They did not snatch at the fruit and cheese and bread laid out for them on the table -- they politely took their shares in their turns.

Out on the dance floor, she could see Sky merrily bouncing her way through the dance. She'd only asked for the same kind of garments she usually wore, but her tunic was blue and her pants red, rendering her one long, leaping streak of color amid all the gray. On the end of another row was Xiaoting, in a blue dress that covered her neck to wrists to ankles, but was so formfitting as to rival Buffy's dress in shock value. She was stumbling through the steps, messing up at every turn and laughing so hard that the other dancers couldn't help but laugh with her.

Ishak caught sight of them and happily motioned them over. Buffy and Angel walked up to the main group of Watchers; Markwith and Frances were there, looking more cheerful than Buffy had ever seen either of them. Sumiko was standing next to Markwith. Buffy smiled as she took in Sumiko's outfit; Agatha, she decided, was a genius. With the help of some sketches from the library, she'd actually made a white kimono -- maybe not perfect, but passable -- with a dark-red obi around the waist. Sumiko had actually done something with her hair for the first time ever; it was swept up in a complicated series of buns that made her look like a geisha.

"Splendid, isn't it?" Ishak said. "This is a fine day. A very fine day."

"This is how we wanted people to feel," Markwith said. "This is what I hoped the Slayers could bring back to our city."

Buffy felt a sting of annoyance; why did Markwith use every chance for PR for his own big plans? Apparently some of what she felt had showed on Angel's face, too. Markwith looked at him and said, "Come, come, Angel. You can't still have objections, not now." He punctuated his comment with a sideways glance at Buffy's skimpy dress.

Angel's face showed a mixture of emotions -- jealousy, protectiveness, and distrust -- but then, to Buffy's surprise, relaxed into a rueful smile. "You know how I feel on this matter. But I would be lying if I said I was sorry you'd brought Buffy back. I'm very -- grateful -- to have her here again." He looked down at her gently, and Buffy felt her own grin going all gooey.

"That was brilliant, that was," Sky said, panting as she ran up to them. Xiaoting was trialing behind. "Next one's a calenada, Buffy. D'ya wanna have a go?"

"No thanks," Buffy said. "Angel doesn't dance -- or has that changed in the last couple centuries?"

"That will never change," Angel said solemnly. "But you should dance. I think I remember that you loved it."

"There's that memory kicking in," Buffy said. "Maybe later. I want to figure out what I'm doing first."

"Knowing what you're doing is completely unncessary," Xiaoting said, ruffling her short hair to cool off. She held a glass of wine in her free hand. "In fact, I would say it interferes with the fun."

Agatha also wandered up, nibbling daintily on a thin slice of cheese. Ishak stepped onto a nearby chair and held his hands up for attention. Almost immediately, the room quieted -- the hundreds of people, the band, even the other Watchers. "Good citizens!" Ishak called. Even without the acoustics of the Chamber, Ishak's voice rang out and commanded the room. "We enjoy this time of success and promise as a result of the work of these five women. They returned from the dead to save this world in its hour of greatest need, and we cannot fail to honor their courage!"

Applause rang out. Buffy tried not to roll her eyes. Returned from the dead, Buffy thought. Like I had a choice.

Ishak opened his mouth to speak again, but Markwith suddenly interrupted him. "And we must also not forget the hard work and loyalty of our very own Slayer!" He held his hands out to indicate Sky, and the room broke into applause yet again. Buffy joined in the applause enthusiastically, as did Angel and the other Slayers. Sky actually ducked her head and grinned. Great, Buffy thought, now I'm gonna have to like Markwith.

At the next pause, Ishak once more tried to speak -- when a voice called out, "Begging your pardon, sirs?"

Everyone wheeled around to face a bearded man in the crowd. Buffy squinted, then realized she'd seen him before -- he was one of the people who'd been saved from the first burnout she and Angel had seen. The man looked as though he couldn't believe he'd spoken out of turn, but he hesitantly took a step forward and said, "These Slayers have helped me and my family, and I thank them from the bottom of my heart. But we -- we were also helped by Angel there, and I thank him too."

For one moment there was silence -- and then the applause began again, just as warm and welcoming as it had been for the others. Buffy beamed over at the man so widely her face almost hurt. Angel looked more uncomfortable than anything else, but he managed to smile and nod his head quickly at the man. "Been a while since that happened," he whispered to Buffy.

"I'm good for your image," Buffy said. She glanced over at the others. Markwith was clapping with all the rest.

**

The celebration went on until about an hour before sunset. Buffy enjoyed herself thoroughly -- dancing when the mood took her, but mostly talking with Angel and her friends. Agatha actually loosened up after a couple glasses of wine, it turned out. Sumiko, after placidly watching the dances for most of the evening, took to the floor at the very end and danced as beautifully and expertly as anyone else. Markwith had watched her with a wide, unguarded smile. Later on, it seemed to Buffy that the two of them left the party around the same time -- though she couldn't be sure.

After the celebration's end, nobody seemed to expect the Slayers to be involved with cleanup. So they all sat around and talked some more. Angel, as it turned out, knew a few of the youthful peccadillos of Xiaoting's Watcher and was able to amuse her with several tales. Sky shyly asked him whether he was stronger than plain old ordinary vampires. And Xiaoting made ridiculous kissy faces at Buffy whenever Angel wasn't looking, which invariably reduced a tipsy Agatha to giggles.

So, after night fell, Buffy didn't see any point in just going to bed early on their night off --

"I should come here more often," Angel murmured into her hair.

"Better not let me catch you here with some other girl." She stretched out languidly in the grass and ran one hand down his chest. The leaves above their head showed little glints of starlight in the night sky.

"I promise not to kiss other girls in the gardens," Angel promised. "Unless -- maybe Xiaoting's available --" Buffy swatted him playfully on the shoulder, and he grinned.

"I can see I need to remind you of my feminine charms," Buffy said. She kissed him again, mouth open, arms pulling him down on top of her. He returned the kiss for a very, very long time. When their lips finally parted, she whispered, "Why don't I finish reminding you back at your place?"

"Better not."

Buffy frowned. "Why not?"

Angel pulled her close and kissed her again. The kiss was hard and hungry, and he caressed her possessively, desperately. When he ended the kiss, he said hoarsely, "Not tonight, Buffy."

"Right," Buffy said. "Not tonight."

"But soon -- I promise, soon --"

Angel looked as broken-up as she felt. Of course, she thought. The nights when we want each other the most are the nights we can be together the least. I hate gypsies, and I hate curses, and I hate having to wish that the man who loves me didn't love me so much.

She half-rolled over to hide the disappointment in her eyes, and Angel hugged her from behind. "I mean it, Buffy. I -- I waited a while, because it just came out of nowhere -- and I wanted to be sure -- but now -- "

"Shhh," she soothed. Buffy stroked his hand. "You don't have to apologize for what you are."

He breathed out, almost a laugh, and shook his head. "I think maybe I do --"

"No," Buffy insisted. She rolled over to face him, cupped his chin in her hand. "I want to tell you something. From the first day I found out what you were, I kept asking myself, Why? Why does the love of my life have to be a vampire? Strange things and miracles happen all around us, all the time, but never the miracle that would let you be human. Let you live again. There were times I thought I'd sacrifice my own life to give yours back to you."

Angel's face was alight as he looked down at her. "Buffy --"

She cut him off. "But now I understand why. It all makes sense. Coming back from the dead, living forever -- it wasn't just your destiny. It was ours."

He was quiet, studying her face. She propped up on her elbows and kept talking. "When they took that lock of Noor's hair -- and I knew that they could bring any of us back, again and again and again -- I felt so terrible. Am I just going to have to keep coming back, over and over? Keep dying, over and over? Until the end of time? I -- I still don't like that idea. At all. But at least I know, no matter how many times it happens -- you'll always be here for me. You'll always love me. Maybe that's what we were meant to be. And as unfair as it is, it's so much better than having to go on without you. I love you. And I think I can face coming back, as long as I know you'll be here."

Angel hugged her close, burying his face in the curve of her neck. She returned the embrace, let him lower her to the ground. When he lifted his head up again, his eyes were bright, and she touched his cheek. "Angel --"

"I'm sorry," he said. "I hadn't thought of it that way."

"Doesn't it help, though?" she murmured. "Thinking of it like that? Knowing we'll always be able to come back to each other?"

"Yes," he whispered. But there was still something sad in his eyes.

She drew him close again, and they lay quietly together for a long time.

*****************

XIX : THE KEEPER OF THE KEY

The next month was filled with as many exhausting work, death-defying battles and difficult situations as any other in Buffy's life -- or, as she sometimes thought of it now, lives. Six nights a week, she and Angel patrolled and fought their hardest. They carried out another four Underground raids, never failing to dust at least 25 vamps at a go and permanently destroying most of the Underground lairs in central London. Already, more above-ground nests were being reported, and Buffy was hatching plans for some daytime burnouts that she figured ought to take a real toll.

A few afternoons and evenings a week, she and Angel would be together -- listening to the music he owned, kissing on the sofa, even just curling up next to each other and reading. Buffy was now about two-thirds of the way through "The Keeper of the Key," and she felt that Dawn had written a very good book, even if she wasn't quite sure she understood it.

"Why is there always a mirror?" Buffy had said, frowning down at the page. "Every time Anna's searching for her daughter, there's something with a mirror."

"It's a motif," Angel had said. He had been sitting on the floor, leaning back against the sofa on which Buffy lay. He reached back and patted her sock-clad feet. "It's symbolic. The answers she hopes to gain from her daughter are really there inside her, all the time."

"That's what that means?" Buffy had said. "I mean, of course that's what that means. I just thought she could, you know, vary it up."

Angel had smiled at her, and she had leaned forward to kiss him, and the resulting make-out session had led them back into the bedroom for the first and, so far, only time since that original, wonderful night.

Most times, of course, they got to kiss a little and then part, unsatisfied. Buffy remembered how difficult that had been back during her senior year, but it was exponentially worse now. Back then she had been a teenager with one night of experience; most of her longings toward Angel were still formless and mysterious. Now, though, she knew exactly what they were missing, knew so many more things that she wanted to give Angel, to share with him --

But Buffy forced down her discontentment. Now that she understood, she told herself, it was different. Now that Angel's nature had a purpose in their relationship, it was easier to accept.

And even the boundaries on her slaying were becoming less burdensome. Frances generally objected to every innovation Buffy tried to make, and Ishak often backed her up. But Buffy was beginning to get enough flexibility to start making a difference.

Her next step, though, would be the most challenging of all.

**

Buffy unfolded the map. "The British Museum," she said. "I should give some spiel about its history and culture and everything, but for us, it's just a big old stone building with tons of rooms without windows, and therefore the Happiness Hotel for vampires. Has been for decades. Is that right?"

The people in the room nodded. Buffy looked around a bit uneasily. She'd never been inside one of the residence buildings before, and she felt she wasn't disguising her shock or dismay very well. People slept four to a mattress, or in hammocks that hung in layers in every corner. People's clothing was drab because there was little room or water for washing. At least a dozen thin, wide-eyed children were watching her from the doorway. She wished for a moment that she could have brought Angel with her -- but no scrap of fabric had been wasted on curtains, and the morning sun provided the only light. Besides, in the interest of trust, it was probably better to come alone --

She took a deep breath and continued. "Any conventional attack is pretty much doomed. There's only a few entrances -- thousands of square feet with no windows at all. Conservative estimates put the number of vampires in there in the hundreds. Those are odds we can't beat, even with all the Slayers and Angel working together. That's where you come in."

Tam's arms were folded across her chest. "And what is it you want us to do?"

"Well, first I'm looking for suggestions," Buffy said carefully. "What would you do?"

"I -- suppose -- we might think about setting up barriers," Tam said. She shifted uneasily in her seat.

Buffy beamed. "Great idea. Exactly what my friend Willow would have done. What she did do, one time. Totally saved me." Remembering Willow brought a lump to her throat, and she cleared it quickly before continuing. "Barriers would be great. If you and your fellow witches could set up some barriers, cut the vamps off from each other so we could take them out, group by group -- that would really help."

A man near the back spoke up. "There's sleep spells too." Tam half-turned to glare at him, but he continued, unrepentant. "They work better on groups than on individuals. During the daytime, I expect the vampires will be asleep anyways, but it would be handy if they couldn't wake up for a while."

"They'll snap out of it eventually," Tam warned. "As you kill more sleeping vampires, the strength of the spell will diminish with their numbers."

"Totally okay," Buffy said. "Being able to stake any of them in their sleep is a big help."

A brief pause followed, and Buffy folded her hands together as she leaned over the table. "So -- are you guys in?"

Tam rose quickly from the table, running her hands through her long, dark hair. "The Council's disapproved of us for so long. We've had to practice in secret, hide our whole lives. And now you want us to just come out in the open --"

"It's scary," Buffy said. "I spent a lot of my life carrying around some heavy-duty secrets myself. I know what it's like to think the whole world's gonna come crumbling down if you tell the truth."

"You are a Slayer," Tam scoffed.

"In my day, being a Slayer was not the VIP scene it is today," Buffy said. "I wasn't able to tell anybody. Not even my mom, until I'd been at it almost three years. We didn't get fancy accommodations or a free ride or anything. You just went about your business, like everybody else, all day. School or work or whatever. At night, you stayed up and fought for your life. Nobody knew. They said horrible things would happen if anybody knew."

"The Council said that?"asked one of the women nearby.

"Said it over, and over, and over, in classic Watcher style." This actually got some smiles from the group; even Tam's worried face started to soften. "I know it's a risk. But think about the benefits. Not only do we kill a whole load of vampires, but we also get to prove how valuable you are. The Council won't know anything about it until it's all done with. And by then, you guys will have helped win the biggest fight in Slayer history, near about."

"You really think this might make them lift the ban?" Tam said.

"Maybe," Buffy said. "I hope so. They might not let you teach other people yet -- but they'd at least have to let you guys start helping out. And once we win that battle, we can work on winning the war."

Tam looked around the room, studying the expressions of those around her. Finally she nodded. "Then we shall join you."

Buffy grinned. "Spectacular."

"When do you plan on doing this?"

"I didn't put it on the calendar without you guys aboard," Buffy said. "But let me run it by everyone. Soon -- a week, maybe? Does that give you time to prepare?"

"Certainly," Tam said. "Those who will be helping all know the necessary enchantments very well. And the few herbs and supplies that are necessary are at hand."

"Okay, then," Buffy said. "Take a head count, and let me know exactly how many we've got on board."

"I think we will all participate," Tam said. "But we move frequently, and we try not to remain in a group. There are others besides the Council who distrust us, and we must be vigilant. So you will need to know how to find us --"

"Put together some forwarding addresses, then, because there is no way we're trying this without you. And once we pull this off -- maybe you guys won't have to run anymore."

Tam gave her a warm, unguarded smile Buffy hadn't seen since the first day we met. "I'm glad you traded for my wares, Buffy."

'Me too. I mean, you should see the dress."

**

Agatha seemed to like Angel's room quite a bit, particularly when she found some Dickens on a bookshelf. Xiaoting and Sky were obviously trying hard to understand why anyone would live surrounded by so many odds and ends. Sumiko was very taken by the pictures on the walls, particularly Wesley's.

Sky shrugged one shoulder in Sumiko's direction. "Tell me again why we invite her to the meetings."

"I think she feels better knowing we include her," Buffy said. "Just a hunch."

"And at least she doesn't whisper to her neighbors throughout the entire strategy meeting," Agatha scolded. Sky looked faintly abashed and made a show of studying the papers on Angel's table very closely.

"You really think the Council will go for this?" Angel said.

"They've been cutting us a lot more slack lately," Buffy said. "And you know we've got the results to back it up. Maybe they're starting to see the light."

Angel laughed a little. "I've known the Council a lot longer than you have. We're still working within boundaries, Buffy. They may be a little wider now, but you're kidding yourself if you think they're not still there."

"I think they'll pitch a fit," Buffy admitted. "But I think they'll end up giving us the go-ahead. And if we can pull off something on this scale --"

"Then there's no stopping us." Xiaoting's face was lit up with excitement. "Do you realize, if we keep it up at this rate, the city of London might be a fairly safe place to live in a year or so?"

"Safe?" Sky said. Her face was confused, as if she couldn't even wrap her mind around the concept.

"Perhaps we'll all be taking moonlight strolls by next spring," Agatha said. "I do so worry about the Museum, though. I suppose the vampires have been very destructive towards the artwork."

"I dunno," Buffy said. "Some vamps are into the finer things, aren't they?" She squeezed Angel's arm.

"So Buffy uses her famous diplomacy and tact to win over the Council," Xiaoting said, straight-faced. "We make one nighttime run by the Museum -- we can't count on them all being out, but at least from the outside, we can make sure they haven't boarded up any windows or doors that we might want to try to use tactically. Then, on a bright and sunny morning shortly thereafter -- we sweep in there and make the Museum's dusty relics a great deal dustier."

"How do we get Angel in, if it's all sunny outside?" Sky said.

"I can avoid the sun in the transport," Angel said. "And Kean's shroud should get me from the transport to the doors."

"That sounds like a plan," Buffy said.

**

"That sounds like suicide," Frances said. She was frowning at Buffy across the table of Ishak's Hall. "What can you possibly hope to accomplish against the hundreds -- possibly thousands -- of vampires who dwell in the Museum?"

"We've warned people against living anywhere near the Museum -- well, for as long as I can remember," Ishak said. "It would be a blessing to have that wretched nest dealt with. But how can you possibly think to guarantee your safety once you are inside?"

Buffy took a deep breath. "I can't tell you."

Markwith leaned back and raised his eyebrows. "Oh, now this is rich."

"We have a plan," Buffy said. "As plans go, it is an A-plus, biggie-size, first-class plan. But it is also a secret plan."

"Secret from us?" Ishak said incredulously.

"Yeah," Buffy said. "Even secret from you. I promise that you'll hear all the details after."

"Let me guess," Ishak said. "You're not telling us the details now because we would say no."

"Oh, I dunno. I mean, you're an open-minded, forward-thinking group of people," Buffy said. "You'd probably be totally on board with it."

"I don't understand any of your behavior recently," Frances said. She looked upset -- really upset, Buffy thought, like she might cry. "Yours or Angel's. This -- suicidal wilfulness -- it's maddening. And incomprehensible."

Ishak shook his head. "Buffy, you've proved yourself a resourceful, bright girl in your two months here. But you cannot expect us to send all of our greatest fighters on an impossible mission only on your say-so."

"I think we should consider it," Markwith said.

Even Ishak stared. Buffy finally said, "Aren't you the safety-first methods guy?"

"I know success when I see it," Markwith replied. At Frances' disbelieving stare, he sighed. "I'm not saying we should approve it outright. Just -- talk it over. Think about it for a few days."

Buffy shifted impatiently in her chair. A few days' delay would mean rescheduling, and by that time, the witches might have scattered again.

Of course, she'd intended all along to go ahead with the plan -- with or without Council approval. But it would be a lot easier to get the transports out of the Keep with it.

"Very well then," Ishak said heavily. "We will discuss this amongst ourselves. But I warn you, Buffy, approval is far from certain."

"Just so long as you're thinking it over," she said cheerfully.

The meeting broke up, and Buffy started heading back upstairs. To her surprise, Frances fell into step beside her -- but said nothing.

However, when the lift doors closed, Frances turned to face her. "Why wasn't Angel here today?"

"The man keeps as many daylight hours as he can," Buffy said. "But he patrols all night, and eventually he's got to sleep. I think he trusts me to handle myself with you guys by now. Why do you ask, Frannie? Worried that I boinked him evil during the night?"

"Yes!" Frances said. "I don't understand it at all -- I don't understand you at all --"

The lift doors opened on Frances's floor, and Buffy grabbed Frances' elbow and pulled her down the hall. "Where is your room? This way? Come on, then. Frances, if you still have a problem with me and Angel, let's just work it out now, okay?" Buffy said through clenched teeth as they went through the door. "Because I've been dealing with crap about this for three lives now, and I mean it, I am done."

"You should be done," Frances said. "But you're not, and I don't understand why --"

"What are you blabbing on about?"

Frances cried out, "Why isn't Angel human?"

Buffy stared at her for a moment. "Because he is a vampire."

"He doesn't have to be! Not any longer! I gave you the means -- though it might have cost me everything, I gave you the means, and instead of using it, you inexplicably go on risking us all --"

"Back up," Buffy said. "Repeat that. You gave us what?"

Frances collapsed onto a chair. "I gave you the blood," she said. "The greatest treasure of the reliquary for a century now. The essence of eternity. Capable of restoring a vampire's humanity."

Buffy's rising hopes were fighting with her disbelief. "Okay, Frances," she said carefully. "I think we would remember if you had given us that --"

"When I returned Angel's belongings after the spell --"

"It was you! You were the one who stole Angel's stuff!" Buffy pointed a finger at her. "Thief."

"When I returned Angel's belongings after the spell, Frances repeated, "I put the bottle in there. I knew that he would find it, and I assumed he would use it. Why hasn't he?"

"That's what that is?" Buffy said. "That little bottle? I thought that was ink -- but it's blood? Blood that makes Angel human?"

"You mean you didn't know?" Frances said incredulously.

"I don't remember any instructions on the bottle!" Buffy said. "I didn't know. And Angel didn't know. Oh, my God, when he hears this, he is just going to -- wait a minute."

Buffy stared at Frances, and her eyes narrowed. "Wait one minute. You said the Council has had this for a hundred years. They've -- they've had the ability to make Angel human for a century, and they never did it?"

Frances nodded, and now she looked shamefaced. "It was in the period just following the plagues. The Council was, well, still trying to create its authority in the eyes of the world. And perhaps the internal politics of the time were a bit Byzantine."

"Does that mean lying, sneaking dogs?" Buffy felt sick with outrage. Literally sick. If she didn't scream in a moment, she thought, she might end up vomiting. Or fainting. It was so unspeakably cruel --

"Close enough," Frances said miserably. "The records say that a Mohra demon appeared at the Keep -- they'd only just built the Keep, then -- in the dead of night. Angel must have been out patrolling. The Council had thought Mohra demons extinct; this was the very last one. The demon said the Powers had commanded him to come here and be the source of Angel's shanshu. Do you know what that word means?"

"I do now," Buffy said. "So what happened?"

"They bled the demon and it died, as the Powers had decreed. But the Council members disagreed on whether the blood should actually be given to Angel. The essence of eternity is a powerful thing, Buffy -- it heals wounds, aids in prophecy, empowers magic --"

"So they said, Hey, we can use Angel's celestial reward for ourselves," Buffy said. "And they kept it." Frances nodded. Buffy fought the urge to put her fist through a wall. "Did they use it up? Is there even enough to make him alive now? And it's a hundred years old -- what if it's gone bad or something?"

"Of course it's not gone bad," Frances snapped. "It's the essence of eternity! It's not going to spoil like some fruit. And they have used a quantity of the blood over the years, but that shouldn't matter. Only the very smallest amount is necessary to effect change."

Buffy looked down at Frances. "And you went along with this. When you were in the reliquary, working just across the hall from Angel, all alone with his books, you found out this dirty little secret and decided to keep it."

Frances lifted her chin. "I don't question the Council's wisdom on a daily basis, as some do."

"The Council's wisdom --"

"But," Frances continued resolutely, "the Council, in its wisdom, made me your Watcher. That means I look out for your welfare first, above all things, no matter how reckless you may choose to be with it. When you took up again with Angel, I knew the disastrous results that were possible. I wanted to spare you that possibility. Not to mention the rest of us --"

Buffy took a deep breath and forced herself to focus. "Angel can turn human."

Frances grabbed at her arm. "No one can know what I've done. They'll suspect eventually, but they must never know. Markwith has no idea I did this, nor Ishak --"

"Ishak was in on the secret?" Buffy said weakly.

"After he was made leader, he found out," Frances said. "He considered Angel's viewpoint too valuable to lose."

"Yeah, you can't go wasting good people's talents by making their dreams come true. That's going to hurt Angel so much --"

"Perhaps it won't matter in the end," Frances said. "Surely, after he's become human, he will be too happy not to forgive the past."

"I wouldn't count on it," Buffy said. She took another deep breath. "But -- but he will be happy. And so will I. Frances -- thank you. I mean it."

"It's a matter of safety," Frances said. "Though I shall be glad to see you both content at last."

Buffy's rage still simmered, but it was losing heat and energy to the joy that was beginning to spring up inside her. Angel can turn human, she thought. When I tell him that he can finally be human --

"Thank you," Buffy repeated, and ran out the door. She thumped the controls for the lift several dozen times before the doors opened some forty-five seconds later. She punched the control for her floor -- then lost patience for even that brief trip and punched the controls for Angel's floor.

As the lift rose, maddeningly slow, Buffy bounced on her heels and thought back to that night in Angel's quarters. To think, he'd just handed that bottle over to her, with no idea --

She thought about his face, grave and determined, as he made her take the bottle.

He had made her take it away from him.

The lift opened, and Buffy hurried down the hall. Angel had cued his lock to her thumbprint weeks ago, and so she just ran through the door and into the bedroom where Angel slept. She jumped onto the bed and started shaking him. "Angel! Angel, wake up.."

"Uhf," Angel said. He rolled over and stared up at her with sleepy eyes. "Nothing is this important before noon."

"Wanna bet?" Buffy said. "Angel, wake up. Seriously. We have to talk. Right now."

Angel propped himself up on one elbow. "Buffy, what is it?"

"Do you remember that bottle you found in your box?" Angel's expression was remote as he nodded. Buffy took a deep breath and said, "Did you know what was in that bottle? What it could do?"

After a moment, he simply said, "I knew."

*********************

XX : LOST IN TRANSLATION

Buffy stared down at Angel for a moment before repeating slowly, "You knew."

"Right."

"From the department of obvious questions comes this message -- Why didn't you take it?" Buffy was gesturing wildly at Angel, the door, at some vague area that symbolized the world outside. "How could you do this? How could you refuse to be human -- God, Angel, human! -- without even asking me about it?"

"I did what I had to do."

"You had to do -- what? Did you just decide that my opinion wouldn't matter?" Hurt and outrage were making her shake now. "Angel, don't you want to be with me? Or does that just not matter to you?"

"Buffy, no. It's not that. Don't you see?" Angel said tiredly. "It's a test. Another stupid test for my disloyalty or weakness or whatever they want to find. If I'd used the blood, they'd have thrown me out the next day --"

"First of all, nobody's throwing you out while I'm around," Buffy said, angrily ticking off her points on her fingers. "Second, it's not a test. It was -- you can't tell anybody this -- it was Frances. She was worried that you and I were going to -- well, you know. She figured it would be better to give you the blood, so we'd be safe. Which I thought was a pretty damn nice idea. Sorry you don't agree."

"She could be lying --"

"What is WITH you?" Buffy cried, undone. "This is it, Angel. This miracle I've wished for about a billion times -- we have it. Our big chance, and you can't accept it --"

"Buffy, you do not know what the Council is capable of," Angel said. He threw his legs to the side of the bed, paced the length of the room twice before stalking into the front room. Buffy stared at him as she followed; he was as agitated as she'd ever seen him, his body tense and his voice harsh. "The things they've done over the years to try and get me to screw up, to take one little step out of line so they can throw me to the wolves. They caught Spike in Paris, Buffy. There was no reason in hell to bring him back here to die except to see if I'd try to break him out. Dru -- Dru they caught here, but they couldn't just kill her outright. They wanted to try something -- some magic, they said. An experiment, just to see if it works. The experiment failed, of course -- any spell that takes two months to kill a vampire is worthless, no matter how satisfying it is to watch her suffer --"

His voice was breaking, but the words kept spilling out. "They'll hurt people, too, Buffy. Naomi -- a woman I -- they exiled her. Trumped-up charges, and they couldn't have had anything against her -- just to see if I'd break -- I would have, too, except that she made me swear --"

"Angel," Buffy said soothingly, controlling her own reactions. Her anger was breaking down at the sight of Angel's fear and distrust; she hadn't realized, until this moment, how deep the scars of a century of isolation truly went. She got up slowly, put her hands on his chest. "It's okay. I understand, all right? Just calm down --"

Angel shook his head. "You don't understand. Remember why you're here, Buffy. They want to destroy me, and they'll destroy you just to get it done."

"Listen to me," Buffy said. "I know why they brought me here. But things have changed since I arrived. Haven't they? You're patrolling again. Watchers besides Ishak are listening to you again. The people out there care about you. You have friends in this building now, and so do I. I happen to believe Frances, but even if she were lying -- it wouldn't matter, Angel. The situation's not the same anymore."

"You really think two months is enough to change all that?" Angel smiled a grim, bitter smile. "They tolerate me now because of you."

"And I'm not going anywhere," Buffy insisted. "Angel, you're power-freaking here, and if you've been keeping all this bottled up, then I see why. But stop and think for a second, will you? Why wouldn't they want you to --"

Buffy's voice trailed off. Ishak, she thought. Ishak likes him better than anybody, and he doesn't want him human. He knew, and he didn't say. Or did he? "Angel, how did you know about the blood? Did -- did somebody tell you about it?"

"No, I found out when it turned me human the first time. That day you keep saying never happened? It must have been real after all," Angel sat down heavily on the sofa. Buffy sat beside him. "The way I remember it, I got into a fight with a Mohra demon, and some of his blood got into a wound I had from the battle. Just this small trace of blood, so little I barely noticed it. So little it took hours to turn me human. But it did. Came to find you in the park -- you were standing in the sunshine, and when you turned around and saw me there --"

"Okay," Buffy said. "You win, the day happened, the monks erased it or something. But stay focused, all right?" Her mind was spinning as she tried to calculate how much of Angel's fear was paranoia -- and how much was not. Hating the necessity of her words, she spoke slowly, "Angel -- did you know that Ishak knew about this?"

He raised his eyebrows, bit down on his lip. "No," he said shortly. Then he shook his head. "That surprises me, and I thought I was past being surprised."

"Frances said it was because he thought you were too valuable to lose," Buffy offered, the words sounding even lamer to her now than they had before.

Angel started to laugh, a broken, jagged sound that almost scared her. "Do you know what he always says to me, Buffy? He says -- he says I keep him honest."

"That bastard. And I thought he was okay." Buffy looked at the still-shaky Angel. "You had to at least want to use it --"

Angel pulled himself together, looked at her. "It wasn't hard to resist, at first. I knew it was just another of their tests, a way to get rid of me. The ultimate test, really -- any other time before this, I would have used it. Used it and run away however I could. But there was no way I was going to let them throw me out with you here. You were so scared, Buffy, so lost --"

"I remember," she said, taking one of his hands in her own.

"Later on it was difficult," he said. "Especially after we were together again, and I wanted you so much. That night after the big festival, I almost broke down. But then you helped me make sense of it all."

"I don't remember consulting on this decision."

"That's not what I meant.You told me you understood, finally, why I was a vampire -- that we were both condemned to go on forever, but at least we'd have each other --"

"Oh, that! Screw that," Buffy said. At his wounded expression, she shook her head. "Angel, don't get me wrong. That thought comforted me a whole lot. But for both of us, that is just the consolation prize. I don't want to hope that maybe, someday, in the 92nd century, we get to see each other again. I want a real life, like anybody else. And I want that life to be with you. We have our chance, Angel."

He looked at her, and for the first time she saw a glimmer of hope. But Angel's tone was still serious as he said, "You wouldn't have me to patrol with you or protect you."

"First of all, you can patrol and help me just fine as a human," Buffy said. "Xander and Wil and Giles always did, didn't they? And you've got centuries of training and experience they didn't have. Second, we're not exactly short of muscle around here. You can't swing the proverbial dead cat without hitting a Slayer."

Angel considered that for a moment. Hesitantly he said, "And -- you really think Frances was telling the truth?"

"I'm sure of it."

Angel opened his mouth, then closed it again, and she saw the light in his eyes dim. Finally he said, "Did she steal the blood?"

"Yeah, she did," Buffy's own spirits dropped as she realized the implications of what Angel had said. If they really were still out to get Angel -- and, after learning about Ishak, Buffy thought Angel's assessment might be right -- then the theft could ruin everything. They could frame Angel, throw him out of the Keep, perhaps out of London -- "They wouldn't put you in jail, would they?"

"There are some humans in the Tower, too," Angel said. "Very few crimes will land you there. Betraying the Council is one of them."

"There has to be some way to work around this. We need -- leverage," Buffy said. She thought for a few moments, then began to smile. "The Museum raid."

"We offer them the Elgin Marbles in trade for the blood?"

"Excuse me, I make the inappropriate jokes around here. I mean, the British Museum -- that's big stuff, Angel. If we pull this off, we're going to have killed hundreds of vamps. Wiped out the biggest lair in all of London. And maybe we'll have convinced them to have magic on our side. If we pull that off, Angel -- they'd have to take notice."

Angel sat back, considering this. "Something on that scale might make a difference. Though that could only be temporary --"

"We only need temporary. Right after we polish it off -- make a big splash, get everybody charged up and happy -- we'll go to Ishak together. We'll just tell him that we know about the blood and we want his permission to use it. We can kinda skim over that little detail where we already have it."

"I hope he has the decency to be ashamed of himself," Angel said.

"I hope so too. Because if he is ashamed, then he'll just be dying to make himself feel a little less guilty. And he'll say yes."

"And if he doesn't?"

"We cross that bridge when we come to it," Buffy said. "Maybe you and I take that transport out one night and don't come back. Where else could we go?"

"There's -- there's a colony in Manchester -- they might stand against the Council to get a Slayer of their very own --"

"Okay then," Buffy said. "We have a plan A and a plan B." She sighed deeply, and then felt her old joy bubble back up inside her. "Angel -- just think -- this time next week, we could be together. I mean --"

The slow smile spreading across his face told Buffy that Angel knew exactly what she meant. "At last," he said shakily.

Buffy kissed him passionately; he returned her fervor, holding her so tightly she feared for her breath. When their lips parted, she gasped in some oxygen. "About time that shanshu got here --"

To her surprise, Angel shook his head. "You shouldn't use that word, Buffy. That's not what it actually means."

"Yes it is," Buffy said. "Frances told me. The Mohra demon came to them and said the Powers commanded him to supply the blood for your shanshu. It means turning human after all."

"What?" Angel's mouth hung open slightly, and he stood up as if in a daze. "This -- this is shanshu?"

"Now in family-size bottles," Buffy said. "Angel?"

He didn't answer. He was pacing around the apartment, as if trying to take it all in. Buffy might have been worried if it weren't for the shadow of a smile on his face. Then she saw that he was blinking back tears.

Angel caught sight of the portrait of Wesley, and he looked up at it. "They made me doubt you," he said to Wesley's image. "They told me you were wrong, and I believed them. Forgive me."

"Angel, are you okay?"

He came to her, knelt at her feet. When he spoke, his voice was rough with emotion. "Buffy -- shanshu means more than just turning human. It means -- I'm forgiven. I never thought I could be --"

Buffy let him rest his head in her lap, held him as his shoulders started to shake. "You can be forgiven," she whispered. "I could have told you that a long time ago."

**

"Hey, Big Aggie, this is Mrs. Gordo, do you copy?"

Agatha's voice came over the transport's CB. "Yes, Buffy, I hear you. Why do you persist in using those nicknames?"

Instead of steering them carefully through the London streets, Angel was looking at Buffy a little strangely. She sighed. "I guess I'm the only one who grew up watching 'Convoy' in endless reruns on the Superstation. How are you guys doing for the night?"

"Xiaoting's been splendid; she took down seven all on her own. I'm afraid my own aim seems to be suffering a bit. Only got three."

"That's still three fewer vamps than we had before," Buffy said. "We've still got a while before sunrise. I was thinking this might be a good time to take that recon run by the Museum."

Xiaoting spoke over the speaker this time. "I thought we scheduled that for two nights from now."

"Well, yeah, but I'm just -- really anxious for this to go well." She glanced at Angel. "Really, really anxious."

Agatha had the CB once more. "We shall still need to go back with Sky and Sumiko later, but I suppose it could do no harm to get our first look at the place."

"Cool. We can be there in -- what, Angel?"

"Maybe ten minutes," he said.

"We, ah, copy that," Agatha said. "We are only a few blocks away, and we shall wait for you one block to the north."

"Gotcha. Buffy out." She snapped off the speaker and looked back over at Angel, who was once again concentrating on the road. "Any new thoughts on the big night?"

He began speaking very quickly. "Of course -- I mean, I'd be lying if I said I wasn't thinking about it a lot -- all the time -- but I don't want to, you know, plan anything. We've waited a long time for this, and we're both bound to be a little nervous, but I think once we have some wine and relax, we're going to -- what?"

Buffy made herself stop laughing. "Angel, I meant the attack on the Museum."

"Oh. That big night." He looked at her sheepishly as she collapsed into giggles again. "When I'm human again, you'll be able to see me blush."

"Yet more to look forward to," Buffy said.

When they arrived near the Museum, Angel parked them a few meters from Xiaoting and Agatha's vehicle. The other two Slayers stepped out at the same time Buffy and Angel did. "You know the only place free of vampires in London?" Xiaoting said. "Right here. We haven't seen a vamp go in or out."

"Most of them are probably on the town," Buffy said with a frown. "And the only ones left will be the guards, right?"

"Right," Angel agreed, but his voice was distant as he stared down the street at the silent Museum. "You wouldn't leave a nest of this size or quality unguarded. But -- this is weird."

"What do you mean?" Buffy said.

"Let's get closer," he said.

They separated from each other slightly, quietly moved toward the Museum. Buffy began heading toward the south entrance -- she'd check out the windows and doors in back -- when suddenly Angel deviated from the plan. Instead of moving westward, as they'd agreed, he began heading for the main entrance. Agatha motioned over at Buffy, bewildered; Buffy could only shrug.

Angel paused at the doors, listening, watching. Then he opened them. What the hell is he doing? Buffy thought. She began hurrying up the steps toward him, to pull him back.

Just as she got to the top step, Angel turned back toward her. "They're not here," he said in a normal tone of voice.

"Can you please keep it down?" Buffy whispered. "Of course most of them are gone --"

"I mean, they're all gone," Angel said. "And they have been for days. There's no smell of fresh blood, or alcohol, or sex. Nothing. They've abandoned it."

"What?" Buffy said, her voice at full volume now. And then, a little louder, "You have got to be kidding!"

"Are you both fit for Bedlam?" Agatha said, hurrying up behind them, crossbow at the ready. Xiaoting was bounding up the steps right behind her.

"They've run away," Buffy said dully. "Angel, are you sure? It's a big building --"

"Yeah, but this is the entryway. Any scent that comes into this building comes through here." Angel looked grim. "They're gone."

"You mean hundreds of vampires, after spending decades holed up in this place, just decided to leave overnight?" Xiaoting said. "And now they're scattered throughout the city."

"No big kill for us," Buffy said. Her disappointment was so great, so overwhelming, that she had to duck her head so the others couldn't see her face. Angel touched her arm, no doubt intending to comfort her, but it only created another pang of loss.

"Take heart, Buffy," Agatha said. Though she could have had no inkling as to why Buffy was so disappointed, her motherly nature made her grasp at any means of comfort. "Why -- perhaps they did all go to the same place. A new lair we can find."

"Where else would hundreds of vampires go?" Xiaoting snapped.

"I can think of places," Angel said. "The Royal Albert Hall, maybe --"

"We should investigate," Agatha said. "They may have left clues of some sort."

Buffy managed to smile. "I can work with that," she said, pushing the doors open and striding inside. "Follow me --"

She felt something pull taut against her ankles, then heard the whoosh of motion and threw her arms up instinctively, protectively. Then she heard screaming, but she didn't know if it was Agatha or Xiaoting or herself --

After a couple of black, quiet moments, pain lashed its way up her left arm, shocking her back to her senses. Buffy was lying in the entryway to the Museum; Angel knelt beside her, and behind him Xiaoting and Agatha were staring down. "What the -- ow --"

"Buffy, lie still," Angel said. His voice was grave. "Your arm's torn open, and I think you hit your head pretty hard."

"What happened?" she said weakly as Angel finished bandaging up her wound with what had been the sleeve of Xiaoting's tunic.

"They set a trap," Agatha said. She leaned over, inspecting the remains of the trap. "They designed it to drop this big rock on whoever opened it --"

"The big rock in question used to be the Rosetta Stone," Xiaoting said. "Now it's in pieces. I just love vampires. No offense."

"None taken," Angel said. "It didn't hit you head-on, Buffy. If it had, it would have killed you. As it is -- can you move your arm?"

She managed to lift it slightly. "It's not broken," she assured him. "But, as an experienced victim of wounds, I can tell you this one's pretty bad. I'll need two or three days to heal."

"How's your head?"

"Dizzy, but I think I'm concussion-free. I'm only seeing one of each of you."

"You're probably weak from blood loss," Angel said. "Can you sit up?"

He helped her, and despite an aching in her ribs and a new twinge from her arm, Buffy felt reasonably stable. "Sitting is a go."

"Good," Angel said. "I'm getting you back to the Keep. A doctor should look at that arm."

"No," Buffy said. "We have to investigate this."

"You're in no shape to investigate anything," Angel insisted.

"Not arguing that. But think about what we found here. The vampires abandoned their lair overnight. They booby-trapped it before they left. All this just days before we were gonna crash their party. Do you really think that's coincidence?"

"Probably not," Xiaoting said. "What do you think it is?"

"I hadn't had a whole lot of time to think about it, what with being nearly crushed by falling museum exhibits," Buffy said. "But it looks like somebody warned them. Told them we were coming."

The others considered this, their expressions dark. "How well do you know this witch you spoke of?" Agatha said. "Are you certain she is trustworthy?"

"I'm sure," Buffy protested, but the deep doubt in the others' faces and the lancing pain in her own arm undercut her belief. "I thought I was sure," she amended.

"We'll go with you to talk to them tomorrow," Xiaoting said. "But we can see if there's any evidence here."

"And I'll get back to the Keep," Buffy said. "I've watched you steer the transport a lot, Angel. I can do it on my own."

Angel shook his head. "You're in no shape for that. Besides, I thought I remembered that you were a terrible driver. Didn't you fail the licensing test?"

Buffy thought fast for a moment, then looked innocent. "There goes that memory of yours, playing tricks on you again. No idea where you got that one."

Angel stared at her suspiciously. She continued, "I promise not to hold it against you, forgetting what a great driver I am. I mean, 350 years -- it's a long time."

"You really shouldn't be alone, hurt like this."

"No doubt," Buffy said. "But it's just for a few minutes. I'll take the short way back, off the main road. It's not like I have to worry about traffic. And I really, really want you guys to figure out what happened here."

"We will," Angel said. He shifted to her other side, put her good arm around his neck, then lifted her. As he carried her to the transport, he said, "If you get at all confused about how to work the controls, or you start feeling bad, call the Council. Don't wait until it's desperate, all right?" Buffy nodded. "The minute you get inside the Keep, I want you to call Frances to come take a look at that arm."

"I will," Buffy said. "What about you, Mr. Protective? There could be other traps. Do you promise to be very, very careful?"

He half-smiled at her. "Yes."

Once Angel had gotten her into the driver's seat, kissed her and gone on his way, Buffy gingerly started up the transport. Sure enough, the simple steps she remembered got the vehicle moving right away. "And they never gave me a driver's license in California," she said. "Fools."

She steered quickly toward the Keep. Buffy grimaced as she realized that her path would take her right by the building Tam was living in; it would take all her willpower not to jump out and start screaming bloody murder. In her heart of hearts, Buffy felt that Tam herself hadn't revealed their secret. Something about the woman's gentle, fearful face just didn't match up with the idea of conspiring with vampires. But Tam had claimed that all her friends were trustworthy, and that obviously wasn't the case.

Time to start yelling about betrayal in the morning, Buffy thought. And how come they don't mount some flamethrowers on these transports? That would be terrific.

As she rounded a slight bend in the road near Tam's building, Buffy gasped. "Oh, God," she whispered. "Not another burnout."

But there was no denying what she saw. People were running, screaming, carrying what few belongings they owned in their arms. They ran about wildly, obviously seeking any place that might offer shelter from the dangerous night. Yet none of them ran toward the transport.

No, no, no, Buffy thought. Whoever betrayed us -- they turned in Tam and her friends, too. The vampires are after all of us --

At that moment, Tam staggered into the street. She was bleeding from a wound to her head, but she kept moving. She was only a few feet away --

"Dammit," Buffy said. She stopped the transport and jumped out, ignoring the rush of dizziness brought on by moving so quickly. "Tam!" she called. "Tam! Quick! Get in!"

Tam stared at her as if from a great distance. Then her face twisted in rage. "You convinced me to trust you," Tam said, her voice shaking. "I should have known better."

"Tam?" Buffy said, disbelieving. She fumbled at her belt for her blaster, in case any vampires attacked. The blaster fell from her clumsy, numb hand, and Buffy instead pulled a stake from her belt. Tam took two steps back, her face a mask of terror. "Tam, please!" Buffy pleaded. "What's going on?"

Tam opened her mouth to answer, then cried out and clutched her chest. Buffy stared, aghast, at the arrow that was pointing through Tam's flesh, at the spray of blood flowing down her body.

Tam's eyes looked at her accusingly, then went dim. Her body fell, face forward, into the ground.

Behind her, crossbow at the ready, was Sky.

**************************

XXI : IN THE FORM OF A SISTER

Sky stared at her for a long moment, her expression confused, dismayed -- but not guilty. "What the hell are you doing here?" she finally said. Her crossbow remained aimed.

"I think that's my question," Buffy said. Between the physical and emotional shock, Buffy felt as though she might pass out any second. But she also knew she couldn't afford to do that. She had to stay focused. "You -- you killed Tam --"

Sky's youthful face set into a determined glare. "This is Council business," she said, her words sounding rehearsed, careful. "You're not to interfere."

"You're murdering people!" Buffy said. "That's not Council business. Sky, these are the witches who were going to help us with the Museum raid --"

She held out her good hand as she spoke. Sky skittered back, aimed the crossbow right at Buffy's chest. "Don't come any closer!"

Sky sounded like she meant it -- Sky sounded so young --

"You're not going to shoot me," Buffy said, making her voice soothing. It was easy; she believed it wholeheartedly. "I know you don't want to do that, Sky. I don't understand what's going on here. There's -- there's been some big mistake, or something --"

"No, you don't understand," Sky said. In the darkness, Buffy could see the glint of tears welling in the young Slayer's eyes. "No mistake."

"The Council sent you here to kill these people?" Buffy was beginning to shake in earnest now. Tam lay dead only a few feet away -- Tam, who had believed in Buffy and had died for it. "Why?"

Sky lifted her chin. "They trust me," she said. "I may not be some big famous Slayer or something, but the Council knows they can trust me."

"I wasn't asking why you're special!" Buffy snapped, then thought better of yelling at the person who had a crossbow aimed at her heart. "Sky, why does the Council want to kill human beings? People who want to help us?"

"I never asked why," Sky said. She shrugged, but her shaky, high-pitched voice gave away her emotion. "Council's got its reasons. Not ours to question."

"The hell it's not --" The rush of anger Buffy turned into a rush of something else; her physical and emotional overexertion hit her all at once, and her knees buckled. She stumbled back, sat down hard on the ground to keep from falling down. The stake tumbled from her trembling hand.

"Get up," Sky said.

"I can't," Buffy said, knowing it was true.

"You have to," Sky said. "You have to get up. You have to fight me -- I can't do this unless you fight me --"

Buffy remembered Noor's body hanging from its pole, remembered the deep cuts and fighting gashes on her face and arms. "Does that make it easier?" Buffy said. "When somebody fights you? Did Noor fight you?"

"Noor went off on her own," Sky said. Her voice was very small, very young. "We're not meant to do that, y'see? And when she saw what we were doing --

For a minute Sky looked younger and more vulnerable than Buffy had ever seen her. Then she squared her shoulders and repeated, "Get up."

"I can't," Buffy said. "I'm hurt. You don't mind cutting people down in cold blood, Sky. You've done it before --"

"Don't say I don't mind! I -- I --" Sky was shaking again. "They need me! The Council needs me. Because I understand, and none of you do --" She let out a thin, keening wail. "I'm sorry -- I wish I didn't have to -- I -- I like you."

Buffy's face was twisting up with her own tears. "I used to like you too, Sky. But I can't help you out now. If you want to kill me, you're going to have to do it with me here on the ground. I can't fight you. I don't think I can even walk. And what difference does it make? You're murdering me all the same. My pretending to fight you means nothing. You're the Council's good soldier? Then come on and do your duty. I've seen something I wasn't supposed to see. You have to kill me. You have to do it."

Sky stared at her for a long moment. Then she stepped forward and put the crossbow to Buffy's head. "G'bye, then --"

Oh, shit, Buffy thought.

Lightning fast, she locked her good hand around Sky's elbow and twisted. Sky cried out in pain and fired -- but the arrow only grazed the side of Buffy's head. Buffy pulled Sky down hard, knocking their heads together with as much force as she could muster. The resulting wave of pain and dizziness nearly made Buffy pass out, but she held on. Sky fell to her knees with a cry, but she viciously tugged her arm free of Buffy's desperate grip so that she could aim again --

Buffy grabbed her stake in her hand and struck.

Sky screamed -- or tried to scream. Buffy had hit her in the neck. Blood was spraying out, flowing down her chest, and she stared at Buffy for one long, shocked moment before she fell back.

Oh, God, no, Buffy thought. I -- I didn't mean to -- did I mean to --

She leaned over Sky, who was now convulsing in the dirt. "I'm sorry!" Buffy pleaded. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry --"

Sky spat blood in her face. Buffy looked away.

It took Sky another few minutes to die. Buffy sat beside her, feeling her own blood oozing from her reopened wound. Her clothing was wet through with blood, whether Sky's or Tam's or her own, and the night air was chilling it, turning it cold and damp and congealed.

The fire consuming the building continued to blaze. Buffy watched it burn.

After Sky had been dead for a few minutes, Buffy heard a rustling not too far away. Vampire, she thought dully.

Then something in her brain switched on again, and she thought, Oh, vampire.

Buffy tried to stand, but her legs were still too weak. Instead, she scooted back, pushing herself through the dirt until she could tip her body into the transport. She got to her knees to push the panel that closed the door -- just in time, apparently, to judge by the thump that sounded against the transport right after it clanged shut.

She dragged herself back to the driver's seat, managed to climb in. The transport was still running.

Beside her, she could hear the sound of vampires in feeding frenzy. Maybe the blood of a Slayer was too good to pass up, even cold.

So cold --

Numbly, Buffy touched the controls that would take her back to the Keep.

**

At one hour until sunrise, the Keep was silent. Buffy brought the transport into the Keep's bay, saw that the vehicle Angel, Xiaoting and Agatha had been using was already back.

She tested her legs and found that she could walk again, albeit shakily. She made her way through the stillness of the Keep to the lift, then punched in Angel's floor.

No sooner had she put her palm to his door than it slid open. Angel looked at her, his expression one of both relief and dismay. "Buffy, what happened to you? I went to your rooms when I got in, and when you weren't there -- I thought you might be here, but --"

Buffy swayed on her feet, and Angel held her, careful of her wounded arm as he eased her into the apartment and onto the sofa. He knelt by her side; the bloodstains on his tunic were the mirror image of those on her own. "You passed out, didn't you? I knew I should have ridden with you --"

"Sky's dead," Buffy said.

Angel breathed in -- in surprise, Buffy thought, but then he said, "I should have known -- the blood -- oh, God. You -- you found her?"

Buffy couldn't answer for a long minute, and Angel's fear began to settle into determination. "You can tell me later. You need help now. I was just about to call Frances --"

"Wait!" Whatever had been damming up the tide of emotion inside her broke, and Buffy began to sob. "You have to tell them the whole thing. You have to tell them why I killed Sky."

Angel looked at her in shock, and Buffy began crying even harder. "Angel, she was doing a burnout. Sky was. It was the witches, the ones that were gonna help us. Sky was killing them. Just cutting them down like it was nothing. She killed Tam right in front of me, and she was going to kill me too --"

"Shhh," Angel said. He looked at her for a long moment, then got to his feet. He began unbandaging the wound on her arm. "We'll do this up again later."

Once he had removed her bandages, Angel gingerly set about taking off her tunic. Buffy didn't help him, didn't resist, just kept sobbing.

"She said it was because they needed her, Angel. The Council. Why would the Council do this? Why would they want to hurt people?"

"I stopped asking why a long time ago," Angel said. "Can you stand up? Lean on me."

He knelt beside her again, and Buffy used his shoulder to brace herself as she got to her feet. While he stripped off her shoes and pants, she choked out, "She was just a kid. She wanted them to need her so bad. Nobody ever told her not to trust them."

"I know," Angel said. He stood up again and began guiding Buffy, now naked, into the bathroom. He punched the controls on the shower; water began pouring out, and Angel put his arm beneath it and frowned. "This feels all right to me, but I don't know what humans need. Is this okay, Buffy? Is it going to burn you?" When she didn't move, he held her hand under the water. "Concentrate, Buffy. Is this too hot? Too cold?"

"I can't tell," she sobbed. "I'm so cold, Angel."

He ran one hand over her smoothed-back hair, then released it from its tight bun in the back. Angel guided Buffy into the shower. She leaned against the wall, let the water flow down her body. Blood mixed with it, swirled beneath her as it went down the drain.

Angel went away for a moment, then returned to kneel by the open shower door with a tiny metal pick in his hand. Buffy continued to cry as he lifted her hands, one after the other, and carefully cleaned beneath each fingernail.

"I said I wasn't going to lose anybody else," Buffy said through chattering teeth. "I said I wasn't going to make that choice ever again. I had to do that to you. I didn't ever want to do it again. I didn't ever want to have to pick who lives and who dies ever again. I didn't want to kill my little sister -- it was better to kill the whole world, every world, than to kill somebody I cared about even one more time --"

"I know," Angel said gently. He finished with her nails, got a washcloth and began roughly scrubbing her body down. Water spattered onto his face, his arms; the bloodstains on his tunic blossomed as they grew damp. "Buffy, were there Watchers there?"

"I -- I don't think so -- if they were, I didn't see them --"

"If they'd seen you with Sky, they would have done something," he said. "So they didn't see you. Did you leave anything there? Anything at all?"

Buffy tried hard to concentrate. "My blaster," she whispered. "I dropped my blaster."

Angel's expression grew even more intense. "You said Tam's people were about five blocks from here, right? Is that the location?"

"Yeah --"

"All right," Angel said. "It's about forty-five minutes to sunrise. I can get there and back in that time." He shut off the water, took a couple of deep breaths as Buffy stood there, wet and trembling. "I can't smell any more blood on you," Angel said. "You're clean."

He pulled her out, wrapped her up in a thick towel, used another to dry her hair. Buffy's sobs were beginning to wane from pure exhaustion -- the aftermath of adrenalin overload and injury was dragging her down, lulling her into unnatural calm. "I didn't want to kill her," Buffy said. "We have to tell them that --"

"Buffy, NO." Angel grabbed her by the shoulders and looked her intently in the eye. "We're not telling anyone anything about this. A human killed a Slayer once, years ago, and he's still in the Tower. Buffy, you can never tell anyone. Ever. No matter what. You never breathe one word of what happened outside of this room, okay? Promise me. Promise me on -- your mother's memory, or Dawn's. Whatever's sacred to you. Promise."

"I promise."

"Good," Angel said. He quickly rebandaged her arm, then slipped one of his tunics over her head. "Go back to your room. Try to rest. I'll call you later on."

"My stuff --" Buffy gestured weakly toward her bloodied clothing, which lay on the floor.

"It's going in the incinerator," Angel said as he knelt down to bundle it up. "Come on."

They went out the door together; Angel summoned lifts that would take her up to her rooms and him back down to the transport bay. He clutched the bundle of clothing tightly, and Buffy swayed on her feet. "I can't ever do it again," she whispered.

Angel looked over at her, his eyes gentle, and she desperately wanted him to say, You won't have to. Nothing like this will ever happen again. Because he was standing there, so strong and sure about what to do, if Angel said it, she could believe it.

Instead he said, "I wish it were different."

"Me too," Buffy said. "I wish too."

**

When Buffy awoke, the first thing she was aware of was pain -- her arm still ached terribly, and her head was sore --

Memory flowed in next, and Buffy took in a deep breath as she lay there in her bed. She pulled the covers close around her as the events of the night before flickered through her mind. Uncertain, grainy images like the late night horror show --

Buffy squeezed her eyes shut.

Don't think about it.

After a few minutes, she could damp the memories down enough to control herself. She sat up and pulled off Angel's tunic -- a reminder that was easily stuffed into a drawer. Then she took the bandages off her arm; though a nasty, livid welt still throbbed from elbow to shoulder, the wound would stay closed from now on. She threw the bandage away, stared at in the basket for a moment, then got some sheets of paper from her reserves, crumpled them up and threw them in on top so she couldn't see the blood anymore.

The morning sunshine was streaming into her clean, white apartment. Her home looked pure, like something made out of light. She slipped into a tunic and pants that were just as white, so that she could disappear into it.

A faint wave of dizziness reminded Buffy that she was still weak -- which in turn reminded her why she was weak. She went into the kitchen to eat; unfortunately, with the busy day she'd had yesterday, she'd forgotten to go pick up her ration of food. Nothing was there except a few cups of muesli. Buffy disliked the stuff at the best of times; right now, she didn't think she could even stomach a mouthful.

The only alternative was to go out and get something.

Buffy considered her options. The ration area would be crowded, and the last thing she wanted to do right now was look anyone in the eye.

But the common room would still be fairly quiet at this hour, she thought. Even if others were there, they probably wouldn't attempt to socialize. And she could get some food that would tide her over -- maybe Angel could get more for her later --

Decision made, Buffy hurried on her way. She passed no one in the hallway. As she stepped into the common room, she was breathing a sigh of relief --

"Buffy!" Agatha came hurrying toward her, and Buffy's heart dropped. Against her will, against every self-protective instinct she had, Buffy began to cry.

Agatha looked at her tenderly, and Buffy realized that she was crying too. "You've heard, then," Agatha whispered. "You heard about Sky."

Buffy didn't answer. Agatha apparently took her silence as misery, and gently embraced Buffy. "So very young," she said. "Do you know she hadn't been a Slayer for four months? So unfair --"

"Unfair," Buffy repeated quietly.

Xiaoting walked up. Her eyes were dry, but she was biting her lip so hard blood was welling up. "Where the hell was her Watcher? That's what I want to know. I thought she was supposed to patrol with Sumiko last night, but I must have been wrong. No way in hell Sumiko would've let vamps get her. Just Sky's stupid idiot Watcher."

"And to think we nearly lost you too!" Agatha looked at Buffy, apparently remembering the incident at the Museum. "Dearest, are you all right?"

"I'll heal," Buffy said shortly. She wiped her tears away with the back of her good hand. If she let herself break down in front of Agatha and Xiaoting, she wouldn't ever be able to put herself together again.

And, worse yet, she wanted to tell them. Wanted to confess everything, ask them what Sky could have been up to, hear their shock and rage. Something terrible was behind all this, and they deserved to know.

But if I tell them, I put them in danger, Buffy realized. If they're willing to kill one Slayer, they'll kill others.

Markwith stepped into the room, Sumiko at his side, her expression so grave that Buffy knew they'd somehow made her understand. "Buffy," he said, his voice even. "How are you?"

"Been better."

"I'm afraid I have bad news."

"We already know," Xiaoting said. "Frances told us. Vampires murdered Sky." Agatha closed her eyes, perhaps praying as she heard the words spoken aloud again.

"There's more," Markwith said. "We have since discovered which vampire it was."

It took a minute to hit Buffy. The floor lurched beneath her, and her eyes went wide. "No --"

"Angel was caught as he returned to the transport bay," Markwith said. Buffy couldn't look away, couldn't stop listening, couldn't even pay attention to Agatha and Xiaoting's shocked cries of dismay. "He had Sky's blood all over his clothing. Little enough wonder, given the condition in which we found her body --"

"That's not right," Buffy said. She remembered the promise she'd made Angel, cast it off, let it go. "That's not what happened."

"I understand your reluctance to believe it," Markwith said. "Angel hasn't confessed. But he will not deny it, either. The evidence is rather clear."

"It's not clear at all," Buffy said desperately. "Angel didn't do it. I -- I can explain --"

"I trusted him," Xiaoting said, livid. "I thought he was some pretty storybook character, but he was just a vampire after all --"

"Xiaoting, no," Agatha pleaded. "Buffy is as shocked as we are --"

"No, God, please, listen to me --" Buffy put her hands out. Markwith took one of her hands in one of his -- then, with his free hand, jabbed something in her arm. "What the --"

"Better this than hysterics," Markwith said. Buffy knew he wasn't talking to her, because he wasn't looking at her --

His face went black-and-white, then black, as the world faded away.

*******************

XXII : PERCHANCE TO DREAM

Buffy awoke, her head no longer hurting, but thick and fuzzy, as though she'd been --

Drugged. She had been drugged.

She forced herself to sit up; she was on her bed, albeit dumped unceremoniously atop the covers. Pain snaked its way up her arm again, but Buffy ignored it. It was already dark outside -- Angel would already be in the Tower --

Buffy went to the phone, then hesitated before picking it up. Whom could she call? Whom did she trust?

Hell, she thought, I don't need someone I trust. I need someone who'll want to get Sky's real killer. That's just about anybody.

Settling on Frances, Buffy picked up the receiver. "Hello? Hello, um, operator?

No answer, and the dull hiss on the other end told her the line was inactive. She hung up and went to the door, but when it slid open, two burly Watchers stood guard. They glared at her, and Buffy put her hands on her hips. "Oh, yeah, like you can stop me --"

She went to shove her way through, but one of the Watchers pushed her back into her room -- easily. Buffy hardly had time to react before the door slid shut again. "What the --"

Memories of her 18th birthday surfaced, and Buffy groaned. Damn Council, she thought. Okay. No phone. No powers. But sooner or later, someone's got to talk to me. I only need a minute --

Buffy cursed her stupid hesitation before. It had just been so hard to get out the words, to confront the wave of guilt and grief and betrayal that welled up inside her every time she so much as pictured Sky's young face. When she got another chance, she wouldn't hesitate again --

The door slid open once more, and Markwith stepped inside -- shadowed by Sumiko, who was wearing her sword at her waist. "They told me you were up," he said congenially, as though they'd run into each other at the continental breakfast.

"I killed Sky," Buffy said. "Angel didn't do it. I did."

"I thought you'd say that," Markwith said without missing a beat. "Mind if I sit down?"

Buffy stared at him, then gestured toward the couch. "Have at it. I guess that's why you drugged me? Thought I'd haul off and kill you?"

"It seemed a distinct possibility, given the day you've been having," Markwith replied. Sumiko trailed after him, not sitting down, but remaining tightly by his side. "Though my vigilant bodyguard here is probably the best assurance of safety I could have."

Sumiko's eyes never left Buffy.

"So, fine, take me to the Tower. Or get me in front of Ishak. Just set Angel free."

"No," Markwith said. "I don't think I will."

She couldn't speak for a long minute. Finally, she choked out, "You -- you're the one behind all this -- "

"Buffy, you're behaving in a very paranoid fashion," Markwith said. "And I can understand why, considering the shocking behavior of your erstwhile lover."

"He hasn't done anything shocking," Buffy repeated. "I'm not trying to cover for him. I'm telling you the truth. My -- my fingerprints would be on the stake --"

"Stake?" Markwith raised an eyebrow. "I don't remember our team finding a stake. Poor Sky's body was in a condition no stake could ever have created."

Buffy shook her head. "That -- that was after --"

"Oh, that's right. You just happened to kill Sky, your friend, for no good reason --"

"I had good reason! She was killing people! Like you don't know that --"

"-- and, as fate would have it, vampires came along the body immediately afterward and destroyed the evidence of what you'd done. And Angel, a vampire whose murderous tendencies are written throughout our histories, just happened to go out at a few minutes to sunrise to stumble upon the body."

"He didn't just happen to go out," Buffy said. "He was trying to cover up what I'd done."

"Well, if that were true, Buffy, I'd say he'd made rather a good job of it."

Buffy ran her good hand through her hair. "This is unbelievable. You have to at least find out if what I'm saying is true -- but -- but you don't want to know, do you?"

Markwith shrugged. "Think about what the Council will think. What all those people out there will think. Your friends, Xiaoting and Agatha. Do they really want to hear that one Slayer murdered another? That doesn't make any sense. But a vampire, long-suspected by virtually all, finally breaking down and killing a Slayer? That makes more sense to me, certainly."

"You know the truth," Buffy said. "You know I'm telling you the truth. You just don't care."

"I know what I believe. Angel's a danger to this Council, to the work that we do here. That danger is finally believed by all."

"The work that we do here?" Buffy snapped. "Are you the one who sent Sky out after the witches? Did you fuck up the Museum raid?" She stepped forward, getting in his face; Sumiko responded by moving closer to Markwith.

"Watch the language, please. Sumiko's bound to start picking up words sooner or later." Markwith looked at her carefully, dropped a bit of his facade. "Yes, I sent Sky out that night. She was a good solider, the executor of the Council's most secret purposes. And she did her job well. I wonder if she knew how much we appreciated her --"

"Why?" Buffy cried. "Will you tell me that much? Why would you want the Museum raid to fail? Why would you want the witches dead? Why? Did -- did you just hate Angel so much that you wanted to screw him over --"

"You've caught this disease from Angel of taking everything so personally."

"Oh, yeah. No idea where he came up with that."

"I was very happy when you began, shall we say, revamping Angel's image," Markwith continued. "Honestly. At first I thought to leave it at that. People's attitude toward the entire Council changed, once the vampire among us started proving himself again. And the Underground burnouts -- those were pushing the limits. But they encouraged the populace so much. It seemed little harm to let you continue. But the Museum raid -- that I could not have allowed."

"You still haven't told me why," Buffy said.

Markwith shook his head. "That was the best thing about Sky," he said. "She didn't ask such questions. Neither does our Sumiko here, who will soon take up the duties Sky has abandoned. Without language, she may take some persuading. The actions required are often not the traditional work of a Slayer. But she is -- so -- perfect." His voice was getting dreamy. "The perfect warrior, uncomplicated, unquestioning. Efficient and deadly. Ours to command."

"Yours, you mean," Buffy said. "And that's about the only person you could get to love you. Somebody who couldn't understand one word that comes out of your mouth."

His eyes flashed at that. "I'll put my taste in companions up against yours at any time."

"You thought you'd make Angel break, when you brought me back," Buffy said. "But he was stronger than you thought he was --"

"I never for a moment meant to break Angel," Markwith said. "Other, better men than I have tried that, to no avail. He's a cautious, secretive creature, and he hadn't put a foot wrong in a century. But you -- reading your history, your many mishaps, your endless rebellions -- you were bound to revert to your old patterns eventually."

Buffy sat down in a chair, her knees weak. "You knew I'd screw up," she said in a tiny voice. "And you knew Angel wouldn't let me go down alone."

"It seemed likely," Markwith said. "Of course, from all appearances, things have turned out quite differently. His demonic instincts got the better of him after all."

"Appearances don't have anything to do with this," Buffy said. Tears were welling in her eyes now. Markwith shimmered and blurred. "People are going to learn the truth. People are going to learn that you sent Sky out to kill innocent --"

"Witches? The people who matter already know. The people who don't -- they'll believe the worst of witches easily enough. And they'll believe what they want to believe about Angel. They already do. And no protestations from a tearful, lovestruck girl are going to make any difference."

"Ishak," Buffy said, grasping at any hope now. "He may have lied to Angel, but I know he does care -- at least some --"

"A sentimental old man," he said. "He did like to hear Angel's song about the Council's true duties -- as Angel saw them. He always made Ishak feel very noble and good. But Angel's ideas were those of another age. I always thought it very appropriate that those ideas existed only in the heart of a dead man." Markwith put his hands on his knees and leaned forward. "Angel's a lost cause, Buffy. His trial is scheduled for tomorrow afternoon --"

Trial. The word made Buffy's stomach spin and her head reel; if she'd eaten in the past day, she knew she would have thrown up. Instead she clutched her gut, doubling over as if struck.

Markwith was watching her, a flinty spark in his eyes, but he continued on. "Rather a long list of crimes, I'm afraid. Promises to be a messy business. We'll get half the city crowding in here to see that."

"Oh, God --"

"Buffy, listen to me. Angel is beyond your help now. Even if we did accept your version of events, he'd still be an accomplice -- which would condemn him just the same. You can only save yourself. You can continue making accusations nobody will believe and marginalize yourself. A dangerous move," Markwith said smoothly. "Or you can get back to work. Go back to slaying by the Council's rules. Frances will patrol with you. You'd never be asked to perform, shall we say, special duties. You could continue to do a great deal of good, enjoy your years here in the safety and comfort of the Keep. After all -- isn't that what Angel would want you to do?"

Buffy slapped him as hard as she could. Her Slayer strength may have been damped down, but she knew she hit Markwith hard enough to hurt. He pulled back and glared at her, and for one moment Buffy thought he would hit back. Sumiko put her hand to her sword.

Markwith held up a hand toward Sumiko. "We're all right here," he said distantly. He got to his feet. "The people adore you, Buffy," he said. "They'll adore you even after this, maybe more. A young girl betrayed by love -- very sympathetic. So you're still of value to this Council. So far."

He turned to go, Sumiko trailing behind. Just as the doors swished open, Buffy said desperately, "Can I visit him? Talk to him?"

"I don't see what purpose that would serve," Markwith said. "If you want to see Angel, come to his trial."

The door slid shut, sealing Buffy alone in her room.

She got slowly to her feet and shuffled to her bedroom. Buffy opened one of her drawers and pulled out Angel's tunic, held it close to her face. No good -- it was fresh and clean, and nothing of his scent lingered there. Only her own.

Buffy let herself fall onto the bed.

Don't think -- don't think about it --

But that wouldn't work this time. There was no running from the fact that Angel going to die, and she had gotten him killed, and it was all useless. Worse than useless.

Why? Why would the Council want to stop the Museum raid? Wasn't there anything she could do? She looked at her window, wondered about the drop to the ground. Thought about the stakes and arrows in her supplies. Wondered about knotting Angel's tunic up into a rope that could go around her neck.

If she left a note, maybe --

Who was to say anybody beyond Markwith would get the note? Or believe it if they did?

She began to cry in earnest. Oh, God, she thought, I wish I just understood why.

Buffy sobbed until all the strength was gone from her body, until her mind was blank with misery, and finally she fell asleep.

**

"I do not care for nightclubs."

Buffy lifted her head from the pillow, looked around. Her bed was in the middle of the Bronze dance floor, which seemed an odd place to put it, but, whatever. The Propellerheads, with Shirley Bassey's voice as lead, were booming from the speakers. Watchers were milling about, mingled with the dancing teenagers and the panda bears. Noor was at the foot of the bed, complaining as usual. "They are noisy, and the food is expensive and tasteless, and these displays of dancing are very vulgar."

"If you want to leave, why don't you go?" Buffy said.

"I tried to go," Noor said. "They would not let me leave. But you, you could leave."

"You should leave, Buffy." Buffy turned around; Angel was at the head of the bed. "You should get out while you can."

"I'm not leaving without you," Buffy said. "You're in danger, Angel."

"It's sunny outside," Angel said.

"The -- the shroud. Don't you have the shroud?"

Angel thought about that for a moment. "I left it in the Council Chamber."

"I'll go get it," Buffy promised. "Just hang on, okay?" She climbed out of her bed to go, then turned back and touched his face. "Okay?"

"I told you," Angel said. "You might have to go without me."

"I'll be back." Buffy ran up the steps to the stage, went to the exit sign. The door was there, finally. She tugged and tugged, but it was locked. "Frances gave me the key. Oh, God, where did I put that key?"

Noor was suddenly beside her again, the ornate key in her hands. "I gave you this long ago," Noor said. "I thought you would remember."

Buffy shook her head. "Frances gave the key to me."

"We both did." Noor motioned toward the door. "Go to the Chamber. You will find what you are seeking in the Chamber. But you must watch carefully. And you must listen."

Buffy slid the key into the lock; as she turned it, the door simply vanished. The Bronze's back alley was brightly sunlit, and Buffy took a moment to realize she'd never seen it like that before. But at the end of it, right where the Dumpster was supposed to be, were the doors to the Chamber.

"Hurry," Noor said. "Find what you seek. And tell Xiaoting she is still a frivolous cow."

"Gotcha," Buffy said. She took off running, moving as fast as her feet would carry her. The alleyway seemed to stretch out, getting longer and longer as the sun got hotter and brighter, almost blinding. Eventually she could see nothing but light, but she kept on -

Her hands slammed into the doors, pushing them open, and she stumbled into what seemed to be total darkness. Buffy took a deep breath, grateful for the cool air, and blinked as she tried to adjust to the dimmer light. She was in the Council Chamber, all right -- and she wasn't alone. A dark form came up to her, and she strained to make out the features.

"Buffy? Good heavens, what's been keeping you?"

Buffy gasped, recognizing the voice even as the features became clear. "Giles?"

"We've been waiting," Giles said. He quirked his mouth at her. "You weren't off shopping again, were you?"

"Oh, God, Giles!" She flung her arms around his neck; he smelled like aftershave and the incense at the Magic Box, and his old tweed coat was rough against her hands. He hugged her in return, patting her on the shoulder.

"I'm glad to see you too," he said. "But we have business to discuss."

"Yeah, Buf, get with the program," Xander said. He was sitting at the Sunnydale High library table, now in the middle of the Chamber. His hair was mussed, and he had spackle all over his work jeans and Minnie Mouse t-shirt. "If you run late for meetings, you miss out on the good stuff. For instance, we are already out of jelly doughnuts."

"My fault," Willow said, raising her hand sheepishly. "They were just, you know, more yummy than usual."

"Guys --" Buffy reluctantly let go of Giles and ran over to her friends. "I missed you --"

"We missed you too," Xander said, giving her a quick hug around the shoulders. "We didn't want you to go."

"I mean, we know you had to leave Dawnie with us," Willow said, embracing Buffy in turn. Her oversized black sweater was fuzzy against Buffy's hands. "But it felt like -- like you wanted to go."

"I did," Buffy confessed. "It wasn't because I didn't love you. You know that, right?"

"Yeah," Xander said. "We know. We always knew. So stop worrying about that, 'cause you have got way bigger stuff on your plate."

"And stop imagining me disappearing in the fog," Willow said. "Because, you know, morbid."

"Excuse me!" Anya folded her arms and looked stern. "It's meeting time. All the successful-business books say that meetings should be short and productive."

"Yes, yes, Anya," Giles said. "Do get on with it."

Anya motioned at a large pile of cash that was in the center of the table. "This," she said, doing her best Vanna-White hands for display, "is our money. We want to keep this money. We don't give money to other people. Why? Because it's ours."

"You might consider moving the money elsewhere," a voice called from the higher levels. Buffy craned her head up to see Wesley standing there in a suit, shovel in hand. Next to him was Cordelia, in Sunnydale High cheerleading wear, rolling her eyes as she balanced an unpotted fern in her hands. "It's going to get in the way of the landscaping."

"Landscaping. Very important aspect of home building and remodeling," Xander said sagely.

"I just had this place looking the way I wanted it," Wesley said, sounding very put out. "Then they went and ripped up all the foliage. Of all the cheek."

"Excuse me, Shovel Man, but do you mind getting back to the digging?" Cordelia said. "I'm stuck here holding a fern."

"Oooh, check it out!" Buffy turned again to see Dawn playing with Ishak's chair. She was in her pyjamas, her hair in two braids on either side of her head, and she looked like the little kid she'd never been. "It goes up and down, see? Like the dentist, only without that creepy fluoride smell."

Buffy went to hug her sister, who tugged her into the chair with her. "Look, see -- going up!"

As Ishak's chair rose, Buffy got a better look at the room. Giles, Willow, Anya and Xander were all standing around the money, debating over where to move it. Cordelia put her fern down, and Wesley tapped the ground with his shovel. Tara was there, too, she realized, napping in a chair; she briefly opened her eyes, waved lazily, then drifted off again. And there, in the outskirts -- "Spike?"

He finished lighting his cigarette, stepped out of the shadows. "Been trying to think of what to say," he said. "Turns out I'm not much for this fruity dream-metaphor crap."

"Here, Spike," Dawn called, tossing him a gray mass of fabric that Buffy recognized as Kean's shroud. "Take that to Angel."

"Why would I do a thing like that?" Spike held the shroud up appraisingly. "Could come in handy, this."

"He's in the Bronze," Buffy said. "Along with the guys who killed you. Take it there, and you get your chance to kick their butts."

"Now you're talking," Spike said with a feral grin. "Angel will get his rag in a jif." He slipped it on, ran out the doors into the light.

"Going down," Dawn said, lowering the chair. She scooted against her sister, pushing for more sitting room; Buffy pushed back playfully and heard Dawn's giggle.

"Now, you may be thinking, why not give away some of the money?" Anya said as Buffy got back on her feet. "We could still keep some for ourselves, right? To that I can only say, what kind of lousy capitalists are you?"

"I could've gotten you in that Museum, Buffy," Willow said. "Easy as pie. Well, okay, the last time I tried to make a pie, the crust did this Playdoh thing, and there was a lack-of-sugar factor. So the Museum would actually have been easier than pie."

"Oh, no," Giles said, holding up his hand. "The Council doesn't like pie."

"In my day, the Council loved pie," Wesley called as he carefully planted a philodendron. "We couldn't get enough."

"I believe it's gone out of favor," Giles said. "Too common."

The doors swung open again, and a shrouded figure came through. Angel pulled back his hood and smiled at Buffy. "Made it," he said. "I shouldn't have doubted you."

"Duh," Buffy said with a grin. "C'mon. We're talking about --" she frowned. "We're talking about pie."

"The Council doesn't like pie," Angel said.

"We covered that," Xander said, crossing his arms.

"Where's Spike?" Dawn asked.

Angel smiled grimly. "Let's just say the Bronze is going to be shut down for repairs for a while."

"Last one!" Cordelia cried happily as Wesley finished patting down the earth near the philodendrom. Suddenly, the Chamber seemed to come alive with plants -- vines curled their way up the walls. Trees sprouted from the seats, grew leaves and bore fruit in moments. The floor went soft with grass.

"Good show, Wesley," Giles said with a smile. The others were beaming too -- including Tara, who was suddenly wide awake and bounding down the steps to join them.

"It's just like the gardens," Buffy said.

"Not just like," Wesley warned. "We have to let the sun in."

Dawn punched a knob on Ishak's chair. The ceiling split in two -- but instead of revealing the rest of the amphitheater, it was parting to reveal a sunny sky. "Angel, quick!" Buffy cried. "Your shroud!"

A band of sunlight cut the Chamber in half. Angel shook his head. "No more shrouds, Buffy. You have to let the light come in."

"Angel, please!" she pleaded, pulling at his tunic and looking around desperately for the shroud, which seemed to have disappeared.

She heard a small crash behind her, like something breaking. Buffy spun around, then put her hand to her mouth. Tremulously, she said, "Mom?"

Joyce knelt on the ground, picking up a cup. "Well, would you look at that," Joyce said. "I thought this was broken, but turns out it's good as new."

The light was streaming in now, filling the room, coming closer and closer to Angel. Buffy tried to push him back without stepping away from her mother. "Mommy, I love you."

"I love you too, dear," she said, smiling. She stood up and held out her hand to touch her daughter's face. Just as the blinding sunlight overtook them, Joyce said, "You have to know what to see --"

Buffy woke up. She opened her eyes slowly. Her bedroom was pale with dawn light.

Good, she thought, I have time.

She knew once again that she was just where she needed to be. And doing exactly what she needed to do.

**********************

XXIII : THE CONSCIENCE OF THE KING

Buffy held the old pocketwatch Frances had given her in front of her face and let it swing back and forth, like a hypnotist in an old movie. The hands slowly spun; the seconds ticked away in a rhythm like a faint heartbeat. She could see the light through her window becoming more golden as the sun began slipping lower in the sky. People began to gather around the Keep, began clamoring to come inside.

Her arm still ached. Her stomach was empty and her head was light.

But she was ready.

Buffy spun the gold chain so that the pocketwatch was snapped back into her hand. She lay it carefully on the bed beside Angel's tunic. She took what she needed and went to the door. When it swished open, the two guards tensed. Fortunately, they were the same two as the evening before. Each man tensed, but Buffy made no move to fight them.

"I'm ready to go," she said. They stared at her blankly. She said, "I'm ready for the trial."

One of the guards looked over at the other, questioning. Buffy continued, "Markwith said that I could attend. You heard him. I don't have my strength, and I can't overpower you. Just take me there."

"If Markwith says you're to come back, you will," one guard said as he took her injured arm in a painfully tight grip.

Buffy didn't wince. "He won't," she said.

**

They took her to Ishak's Hall. When Buffy came through the doors, everyone in the room reacted -- some gasped, some stared, and a few looked angry enough to kill. Xiaoting was in this last number, but Agatha unobtrusively moved between them. Sumiko quickly walked to within arm's reach of Buffy, but took no further action.

Markwith raised an eyebrow. "Well, this should be good."

"I need to be here," Buffy said. "You have my absolute word that I won't try and break Angel out. I'm going to follow the rules. I just -- need to be here."

Ishak looked guilty -- as well he might -- but genuinely upset and fretful. "Buffy, you have witnessed one of these trials, have you not? Then you know what this will be."

"I know," Buffy said evenly. "That's why I have to be here."

Ishak shook his head, "I don't think that --"

"No," Markwith said. "Reconsider, Ishak. The people will no doubt have questions about Buffy's loyalty, given her association with Angel. What better way to demonstrate that she truly does stand with us? Could save us months of repairing the people's trust in her."

"If the people see her weeping or fainting, they won't be much convinced," Ishak said.

"I'm not gonna break down," Buffy promised. "I'm ready. I can get through this. I have to."

Markwith stepped up to her. "This show of discipline is very welcome, Buffy, if somewhat belated. But you don't mind if I just -- check --"

He quickly patted her down to see if she were carrying anything concealed. She wasn't. But when he came to her arms, she held out her hands so that he could see the stake she held.

Markwith looked at her in surprise. Buffy said, "Nobody does it but me. That's all I ask."

"Out of the question!" Frances came hurrying up, actually tearful. "Buffy, the strain's too much for you. You can't want to do this --"

"I did it before, Frances. You read that in Giles' diaries, didn't you?" When Frances nodded, confirming it for everyone in the room, Buffy continued, "It had to be done. And now it has to be done again."

"Of course she wants to do it," Markwith said. "She'd give him a quick death at the first stroke."

"I won't do that," Buffy said. "I'll hit for every crime you call out. Every one. I swear it."

"And I think I actually believe you," Markwith said.

"You guys are still going to want me to patrol after all this is over," Buffy said. "I'm telling you right now, I'll never do anything you ask, ever again, unless you let me do this. I know the consequences. I'm gonna follow the rules."

"Ishak?" Frances said.

Ishak looked at her for a long time. Finally, he said, "If you deviate for any reason, you'll be replaced."

"And I'll replace you," Xiaoting said in a low voice.

"If you finish Angel before we call the final stroke, you'll lose your liberty," Ishak said.

"Didn't much care for the Tower the last time I was there," Buffy said. "No big hurry to go back."

"Very well," Ishak said with a shake of his head. "The people have gathered. We will enter the Hall."

Ishak went to the door. Markwith hesitated by Buffy for a moment, then leaned forward and whispered, "Watch your step, Buffy. Remember -- we do have the blaster."

Buffy forced herself not to flinch. Markwith moved on to stand by Ishak's side. Xiaoting and Agatha got behind them, and Sumiko and Buffy took their places next. The Watchers began lining up in back. Frances, standing directly behind Buffy, whispered, "Are you quite all right? They wouldn't let me in to see you last night."

"I'm okay," Buffy said. "But thanks for trying. I mean it." When she half-turned her head, she could see that Frances was trying to smile at her.

Buffy smiled back as best she could, then faced forward once more. As they began walking toward the Chamber doors, she thought, well, the easy part's done. But if the hard part doesn't work --

She blinked her eyes hard. Today she'd spent more than enough time envisioning Plan B, which ended with Angel turning into dust even as she pulled the stake out of him and plunged it into her own heart.

Instead, she took a deep breath and cleared her mind as they walked into the Chamber.

The roof was already open, and the crowds were loud -- not cheering, not exactly, but shouting. Throughout the amphitheater roiled the same angry, demanding sound Buffy had heard at the last trial, amplified a thousandfold. Buffy stumbled a bit as she took it in -- it felt as though the people's fury and bloodlust had been made physical, could actually strike her in her gut. But she kept walking.

As the Watchers began moving up into their seats near the center, Ishak headed for his chair. Desperately, Buffy whispered, "What do I do?"

"Stand near Ishak's chair," Markwith said without turning around. "And move forward when it is time."

Buffy tried to follow Markwith's orders, but Sumiko grabbed her arm. Buffy pulled free, but Sumiko tried to push past her. "No, dammit," Buffy said. "I'm doing this. I am," she repeated, patting her chest. Sumiko stared at her, then tried to push her toward the stands. "No!" Buffy repeated, her voice trembling. "I don't care how much you hate him. I don't care if you want to do it. I have to do this! I have to! Don't make me fight you --"

She shoved Sumiko away again. Sumiko stood still for a moment, then tentatively raised a hand to Buffy's cheek and held her face. When Buffy met her eyes, she could see that Sumiko was crying. Buffy took a sobbing breath and covered Sumiko's hand with her own. "It's okay," Buffy whispered. "It really is. Just let me do this."

Sumiko either understood her or gave up, and turned away to go into the stands beside Xiaoting and Agatha.

Ishak could not quite look into her eyes as he seated himself. "Buffy, I truly did not want matters to come to such a pass," he said.

"I believe you," Buffy said. "And that's the worst thing I could say about you. You don't want any of this, but you'll let it happen anyway."

Ishak flinched from her words, but he moved his chair into position and held up his hands. The amphitheater fell silent instantly; the quiet was more ominous than the shouting had been. Buffy shivered.

"People of London!" Ishak called. "We have lost one of our beloved Slayers. And though that tragedy alone would be great enough to break our hearts, we have another to bear. Sky Kahurangi died at the hands of one of our own. At the hands of the vampire Angel, long trusted by this Council. His betrayal has cost us one of the city's protectors, and has made clear to us all that his past crimes were unwisely ignored. And for these crimes, we bring Angel to trial."

On Ishak's motion, one of the side doors opened. Two heavyset Watchers pushed their way through, Angel between them.

The crowd began screaming -- truly screaming, shrieks of rage unlike anything Buffy had ever heard before. All her self-control nearly broke at the sight of Angel; he was dirty and his wrists were manacled together. They'd taken the bloodstained tunic, and on his face and body she could see cuts and bruises that hadn't been there when she'd seen him last.

His head was bowed, but as they pulled him to the center of the circle, he lifted it slowly, looking directly at her. Angel's expression betrayed surprise at first, and then a kind of sad gratitude that made tears spring to Buffy's eyes.

She blinked them back again and tried to smile for him. "I love you," he mouthed.

"I love you too," she whispered.

The crowd continued to jeer. Ishak let them go on for a very long time.

Finally, Ishak held up his hand again. As the crowd settled down -- it took them a few seconds, this time -- he said in a low voice, "Go forward now. Obey your promise."

The guards pulled away from Angel as Buffy walked up to him, stake in hand. Angel wavered slightly on his feet, but his eyes were clear.

"The vampire Angel, for one hundred and fifty years, savaged the people of Europe, Asia and the Americas," Markwith began. "What he has done in the three and one-half centuries since feigning his virtue is largely unknown. His murders have included the young, the innocent, the elderly. Angel is guilty of crimes beyond number --"

"Hold," Buffy said loudly. The crowd buzzed. Angel stared.

Markwith cut in, "Remember your word!"

"I said I would follow the rules!" Buffy said, letting her voice carry. "And the rules say that the Slayer's right to speak in the Chamber is sacrosanct. That means it can't be taken away, no matter what." Then she paused, doubting, and glanced quickly over at Frances. "That is what sacrosanct means, right?" Frances nodded quickly, her eyes wide with disbelief.

Ishak looked at her, his face grim. Behind him, Markwith was glowering. Ishak said, "Speak, then."

"I'll carry out the Council's sentence," Buffy said. "I'll do what they ask me to do. But after today, I'm not going to follow their orders anymore. They -- they'll try to tell you," she motioned up at the crowds above the Watchers, "that it's because they did this to Angel. Because I believe he's innocent -- and I do. But the real reason I'm quitting is that I refuse to keep fighting a war they won't let me win."

The crowd rumbled slightly at this -- this wasn't what they were expecting. But they were listening, which was almost more than she had dared hope.

Markwith was staring at her now. His old veneer of superiority was gone; his gaze was intense, even fearful. Buffy took courage from that and continued. "Ask yourselves why the Council forbids magic as evil when the Council uses magic themselves. Ask yourselves why the Council won't let anyone else learn or practice the spells they have for protection."

Ishak said, "This is enough --"

The heavyset Watchers moved forward to get her, and Buffy tensed, but the people began to yell. Buffy could only make out a few words here and there, but over and over again, she heard, "Let her speak!" A few people got to their feet as the Watchers headed toward Buffy -- they looked as though they might begin to climb down into the center. Ishak quickly motioned the Watchers back, looking daggers at Buffy.

She held up her hand for silence, and the people were quiet immediately. Buffy looked back up into the crowd. "Human beings can kill demons and vampires too. It doesn't take a Slayer. And the Council has about a zillion weapons. Ask yourselves why they don't arm you and teach you. Ask yourselves why the Watchers don't pick up some crossbows themselves and help patrol this city to keep it safe."

Buffy gulped in a quick breath and kept on. "Ask yourselves why some of you -- some of you right here, today -- have seen the Council or a Slayer participating in burnouts. You have to have known. Word gets around this city overnight; I bet you all know. But you're too scared to ask why."

She motioned wide with her arms, taking in the whole room. "Look around you. You live in crowded rooms in buildings that aren't safe. You don't have enough to eat. And the Watchers live in a palace. They have everything they could ever want -- everything you could ever want -- and they keep it for themselves. And why do you let them?" Buffy laughed. "Because the Council keeps telling you we're fighting the war. And they're gonna keep fighting it. But they're never gonna win, because the day they win is the day you don't need them anymore. And the power and the wealth go away. The day they win the war for you is the day they lose."

Frances was staring at her in pure horror; Buffy realized that Frances truly hadn't realized this. About half of the Watchers wore the same expression of stunned realization. The other half -- Ishak and Markwith among them -- were looking at her with cold fury.

Above them, the people were murmuring louder and louder. Ishak held up his hand. It took the crowd a very long time to be quiet this time. "We have heard enough of a young girl's fantasies. Perhaps someone else should take this role --"

"No," Buffy said. "I've said what I wanted to say. And I'll do what you command. Call out the crimes."

Angel had been watching her with a mixture of amazement and pride. He managed a smile for Buffy as she turned back to him. "You got them," he said. "I can go, knowing you've won."

Buffy dropped her gaze from his eyes. "Don't look at me," she whispered desperately. "If you do, I can't get through it."

After a moment, Angel said, "I -- I'll need to look at you at the end --"

Buffy did not trust herself to answer out loud. She just nodded and tightened her fist around her stake.

The crowd was restless now, visibly and audibly unhappy, and those Watchers who hadn't been in the know were openly whispering among themselves, moving around. Ishak turned quickly and said, "This court has historical documents and proof of the following twenty-three crimes: the murder of Gregory Abbott --"

Buffy forced herself to plunge the stake into Angel's shoulder. He stifled his cry of pain, and she choked back her own sob. The crowd roared, but they were not cheering.

"The torture and murder of eighteen nuns of the Lady of Perpetual Sorrow convent --"

Buffy struck Angel's arm this time, and he couldn't stop himself from a quick shout of pain.

Oh, God, she thought, oh, God, please get me through this, please get us through this --

"The murder of Corinne Debevais --"

In his thigh this time. Blood on her hand. Blood on the floor now.

"The murder of Anthony Crenshaw --"

In the side. Angel staggered back. Buffy forced herself to step forward, to stay close.

The crowd was louder now. She could hear them calling for the Council to stop.

But Buffy now knew the Council would not stop. Ishak's voice was only growing more assured. Name after name, he called out. Time after time, Buffy struck. Her heart was pounding, and the combination of horror and physical weakness were catching up with her. She had to go on. Angel fell to his knees and she had to go on, she had to do it, she couldn't run away from it this time --

It didn't work, she thought despairingly. It didn't work.

"The murder of Jennifer Calendar."

Buffy's eyes widened. She'd lost count during all the horror, but she knew Jenny's death would be one of the last crimes they called out. This is the end, Buffy thought. This is the end.

She struck again in the shoulder, near the first wound, and Angel cried out. She was sobbing now. He managed to whisper, "Almost over -- just two more --" He finally lifted his head to look at her face, so she would be the last thing he saw. Blood had spattered on his cheeks and forehead. Buffy wondered how much blood was on her now.

"The torture of Watcher Rupert Giles --"

Buffy struck in the shoulder again. Just two more, she thought. One for Angel, one for me.

Ishak said, "And finally, for the murder of Sky Kahurangi the Vampire Slayer, this court sentences you to --"

Brilliant white light flashed around Angel, flashed from within him, and Buffy gasped in surprise. The cries from the crowd changed to shouts of panic and shock. Angel went rigid, his back arching as though he had been electrocuted. For a moment, he remained frozen in the light -- mouth open, eyes shut. Buffy was too stunned even to reach out to help him. Then the light faded, and he slumped to the ground.

Dimly, Buffy was aware of Frances hurrying to join her. Angel's eyes were still shut. He wasn't moving.

Unbelieving, Buffy stared at his bloodied, broken form. Too late, she thought. It worked -- it worked too late -- I hurt him too much --

Angel opened his eyes. He took a deep breath, then exhaled slowly. Then again. And again. He looked up at her in dazed wonder. She stumbled back, stared at the stake in her hand. It glamed red with Angel's blood -- and, deep within the grain, with traces of silvery-white from the Mohra demon blood it had soaked in all day.

Frances stooped at Angel's side, touched him gingerly. Then she put her hand on his chest and began to smile. She stood up and announced, "Angel has been transformed into a human."

"It's a miracle!" someone in the crowd yelled, and the people took up the chant. They were happy now, better than happy, ecstatic with the proof of Angel's innocence and the further proof of Buffy's semidivnity. Buffy fell to her knees, cradled Angel close.

"Oh, God, Angel, I'm sorry I had to hurt you --"

Angel shook his head. "You never give up, do you?"

"Not anymore," Buffy whispered. She looked up at Frances. "He needs a doctor --"

Markwith was staring, horrified, at the bedlam in the amphitheater. Ishak was watching too, but his expression was resigned, even sad. Frances called out, "Angel's guilt or innocence must still be determined -"

The crowd didn't want to hear this and began to boo, but Buffy held up her hand to silence them again. Frances continued, "As a human, Angel is entitled to the protections of law. And to a full investigation into the death of the Slayer Sky. Rest assured that we will not stop until the truth is revealed. We must now begin these investigations and see to Angel's medical care. Go back to your homes!"

People cheered again. Ishak lowered his chair as the dome began to close.

Buffy kissed Angel's forehead. "Hang on, Angel. We'll get you a transfusion or something -- I could donate blood --"

"You've done that enough," Angel said. He was weak, but his expression was actually more focused than it had been moments ago. "I'll be all right. The Mohra demon blood --"

"Yes," Frances said. The dome was finally sliding shut now. "Yes, that's right. It should heal these wounds quickly. But you'll still need a doctor --"

The dome slid shut, and Markwith shouted, "You mean to destroy this Council!"

Buffy glared up at him. "I just told the truth. Finally."

A Watcher Buffy had never met stood up. "If what she says is true, maybe it's time this Council was destroyed. Or at least made to do what it's meant to do --"

Frances said, "I've followed these procedures so long I never asked what they were for. I think we all know now."

Ishak's head was bowed, but he looked up at them again. "This Council must run as it has always been run. You know how much good we have done in the past. Don't question us now because an upset girl wants to help her lover. You all want to believe her words are false. Believe that."

"You're the real vampires here," Buffy said. "More than Angel was. More than Kean, even. At least his audience knew the price of admission to his show."

The Watchers were arguing among themselves now, moving around. Two small groups -- the corrupt and the outraged -- were already clear. But the largest number of Watchers were still uncertain, confused, upset. Buffy could feel the situation getting even more tense. Angel whispered, "They don't patrol, Buffy, but they do know how to fight --"

"Understood," she said, reaching back to grip the stake she had dropped.

Markwith was staring at her. "I do not know how you did this," he said. "But this was no miracle worked by the Powers."

"Wasn't it?" Buffy said. "I think the Powers had a lot to do with this. And you'll never convince the people of London that they didn't."

"The people of London believe what we tell them to believe," Markwith said.

"She just raised the dead in front of thirty thousand people," Frances said. "You're not going to have much luck discrediting her after that."

"Even when we explain the full truth behind Sky's death?" Markwith said. "Angel was certainly involved, but I think we all know the full blame lies elsewhere."

"Yes," Buffy said. "I killed Sky. She was killing witches -- human beings. I saw her and she tried to kill me. So I killed her."

The Watchers reacted to this, but in different ways. Some were glaring at her, others at Markwith. Agatha clapped her hands to her mouth, and Xiaoting's face was twisted in confusion and rage.

Ishak said, "We have a confession. An investigation can follow. For now, Buffy must go to the Tower."

Buffy lowered Angel to the ground, got to her feet. "I'm not going without a fight."

Frances said, "If Buffy goes into the Tower, she's not coming out again. And -- you can't take her. I won't let you." She squared her shoulders, and Buffy hoped Frances was a whole lot better in combat than she generally looked in the practice room.

Ishak said, "Xiaoting? Agatha? Please see to Buffy."

Xiaoting went quickly to do it. Agatha was crying, but she followed Xiaoting. Frances began to look a little pale. Buffy took a deep breath. This was the last thing she wanted, but she'd do what she had to do --

She heard the rustle of clothing next to her and turned to see Sumiko standing by her side, sword at the ready. Buffy bit her lip before whispering, "Well, that's one more on our side."

"I'm all you need," Sumiko said. Buffy stared. Beside her, she heard Frances gasp.

"Buffy is speaking the truth," Sumiko announced. At the sound of her voice -- speaking perfect, crisp English -- the entire Council was apparently shocked into silence. Markwith stepped forward, his mouth agape, but could say nothing. Sumiko continued, "I have proof of her words about the Council's acts against those who use magic outside the Keep. I have taken the documents and records from Markwith's rooms and placed them in my own. And if anyone doubts Buffy's words about Sky, they may hear Aaron Markwith confirm them himself."

She took one hand from her sword and put it into her pocket to pull out the small recorder. Buffy, unable to put together a more cogent statement, said, "I thought you didn't know how to use that."

"To play, you press play," Sumiko muttered. "To record, you press record. The principle is fairly elementary, wouldn't you say?"

Ishak said, "You -- you speak English."

"Your powers of observation are awe-inspiring," Sumiko said.

Markwith was staring at her with what looked like real pain in his eyes. "You lied to me," he said. "You lied to us -- why didn't you tell us?"

"All warfare is based on deception," Sumiko said. "Hence, when able to attack, we must seem unable. When using our forces, we must seem inactive. Sun Tzu, The Art of War. The first thing I saw when I woke up were the instruments of dark magic. The darkest magic, a spell no one could use for any good purpose. I knew I could not trust those around me. And I pretended ignorance so that others would disregard me. Apparently people will say almost anything to a person they think will not understand."

Markwith flushed. Frances collected herself enough to say, "You realized the same things Buffy realized. And you set about proving it."

"I did not understand the Council's motivations, as Buffy did," Sumiko said. "I did not know why they committed murder, but I knew that they had. So I kept my silence until I had proof and opportunity. He will win who, prepared himself, waits to take the enemy unprepared. Sun Tzu again. My Watcher taught me that. He was a true warrior, and a scholar, and he knew his work in life. He did not play at being a monarch. Though, if he had seen the lot of you at it, he would have told you that both war and scholarship could prepare you better."

The mood in the room had changed now -- the group near Markwith and Ishak was smaller, and the other substantially bigger. Agatha had relaxed entirely and was crying openly now, but apparently from relief. Xiaoting folded her arms uncertainly, both shielding herself from Buffy and demonstrating that she would not strike.

Buffy went to her knees again beside Angel. "I don't believe it," he said wonderingly.

"Me either," she said. "But we made it, Angel. We made it."

Sumiko bent down near them. "Are you all right?"

"You rock," Buffy said. "That's a compliment, by the way."

Sumiko smiled. "I lived for fourteen years as a Slayer," she said. "Did you think that was luck?"

****************************

XXIV : PHOENIX RISING

The Council Chamber remained in chaos for long time. Everyone was arguing over who was implicated, who was not, what was to be done. However, the consensus had definitely shifted against the Watchers who were allied with Ishak and Markwith's plans. Frances seemed to have taken over the attack, and Buffy had never been happier to hear her voice so shrill with anger. Ishak defended his actions, but Markwith was just slumped in his seat, looking over at Sumiko.

For her part, Sumiko stayed near Angel and Buffy.

"There we go," said the doctor, a fairly young Watcher Buffy vaguely remembered from meetings. "All bandaged up. How quickly should the Mohra blood take to heal him completely?"

"If I remember correctly, perhaps ten hours," Sumiko said. "Tobias wrote about its properties once, but that was one of the subjects I never attempted to look up in the library."

"So that's what you were doing down there all the time," Angel said. His voice was still weak, but better than it had been. "I wondered why you kept rereading your Watcher's diaries."

"Mostly I sought information on this century. I only read the diaries when you were close by," Sumiko said. "And you were, very often. You are too conscientious in your duties."

"You're sure he's okay," Buffy said. She couldn't stop looking at the many bloodstained bandages now on Angel's body. "He doesn't need, like, antibiotics or something?"

"Most of the wounds have already closed," the doctor said. "He needs rest more than anything else, I should think."

"Thanks," Angel said. He was shaking slightly, and Buffy realized the Chamber was probably too cold for any half-clothed human, much less one in physical shock. But just then, a hand stretched out, offering a robe. Buffy took it and glanced back to see Agatha.

"We wouldn't have hurt you, truly we wouldn't," Agatha said. "It's just -- I never thought to doubt the Council --"

"I understand, Agatha," Buffy said. "You didn't know. They tried to keep you from knowing."

"They did the same to you," Agatha said. "And yet you knew."

"Yeah, but I'm paranoid and deceitful that way," Buffy said. She craned her head around to get a look at Xiaoting, who was seated in the highest, farthest section of the Chamber, arms still hugged tightly around herself. "What's up with Xiaoting?"

"She is -- what is that word you use? -- freaking," Agatha said, and Buffy tried very hard not to laugh. "Xiaoting feels very deeply betrayed by the Council, and very ashamed of her own willingness to believe them."

"Tell her it's all right," Angel said. "They got me too, and God knows I've been here long enough to know better."

"Sometimes it takes a fresh perspective," Buffy said. As the doctor pushed Angel into a sitting position, Buffy quickly draped the robe around his shoulders. "Maybe Sumiko and I can carry you out -- or is there a stretcher around here?"

"I think I can walk," Angel said. "And I'd like to. Never thought I'd walk out of here again."

"I will help you as far as the lift," Sumiko said. "But I will return to the Chamber in case Frances needs to be more persuasive."

"I'll help be persuasive," Agatha said eagerly.

"You do that," Buffy said with a smile.

Buffy and Sumiko took places on either side of Angel and helped him get to his feet. The crowd stopped its arguing and fell silent at the sight. Buffy suddenly felt a little awkward and said, "I think Angel and I are done for the day. And somebody else is going to have take my patrol tonight."

"I'll take it," Agatha offered.

"We know you're sorry already," Buffy said. "Relax."

Ishak did not reply, and after a moment Buffy realized there was no one person to admit or dismiss her anymore -- nobody with authority. At least, not yet. "So, we'll see you tomorrow, right, Frances?"

Frances straightened herself up and smiled. "Why, yes. I look forward to talking with you then. Both of you," she said, with a nod toward Angel.

He half-raised one arm in a wave of acknowledgement; Buffy saw him grimace, but he covered quickly. "Until tomorrow, Frances."

The three of them began to move toward the doors as the Council began arguing again. "You can walk like this, right?" Buffy said, still fretful as she watched his slow, halting steps. "You're sure?"

"I'm sure --" His words trailed off. Buffy looked up to see that someone now stood in front of them. When Angel spoke again, his voice was as cold as she had ever heard it. "Markwith."

Markwith shrugged, as though Buffy and Angel were mere annoyances. "You'll have your leisure to mock me, I'm sure," he said. His voice was hoarse. "I -- I wanted to talk to Sumiko --"

Sumiko's face was untroubled. "You were little enough interested in speaking to me before," she said. "But say what you will."

"You and I --" Markwith looked acutely uncomfortable, and for all her loathing of the man, Buffy couldn't help pitying him just a little. Whatever it was that had driven him down here -- that much at least was genuine. "I cared for you. I thought that you cared for me. Were you entirely deceiving me, all that time?"

Sumiko's eyes narrowed. "It was you who set out to deceive me. To deceive all of us about your goals and motivations. I did what was necessary for the truth, no more."

Markwith took it hard, Buffy saw; his jaw clenched, and his hands trembled. But he kept his voice steady as he said, "And that was all there ever was to it. For you."

"You knew that I was married to my Watcher. If you had bothered to learn anything about him, you would have learned that he was, above all, a man of honor," Sumiko said. For her late husband, her voice betrayed the emotion Markwith had sought. "If you thought to erase his memory with your lies, your crimes committed for your own gain --" She shrugged. "More fool you."

Markwith stepped away from them, his head bent. As the three of them went past him into the hall, Buffy muttered, "Ouch. What a burn."

Angel apparently did not share in the scraps of sympathy Buffy felt. "Had it coming."

Sumiko guided them to the lift, then waved farewell quickly before returning to the Chamber. Buffy took Angel's weight on her good shoulder as she pressed the panel for her floor. Angel looked at her. "Your place this time?"

"Your windows are all bricked over," Buffy said. "I want you to see the sun."

Angel's whole face lit up, and the bruises and blood were almost invisible for a minute; Buffy was blinded to anything but that smile. "I'd like that a lot." Then the smile dimmed a little, and all the pain showed again. "Buffy, I spent last night so angry at myself -- I thought, we had the chance, I had the chance, and I let it go because I didn't want to let myself hope --"

"It's okay," Buffy said, brushing against his cheek with her fingertips. "We got one more chance after all."

"Because of you," Angel said. He shook his head a little. "You know, this is how I remembered you."

"As a bloodstained crazy woman with a stake in her hand?" Buffy laughed. "Sadly, this would not surprise me."

"No," he said. "That's not what I meant at all." Buffy felt a sudden flush of understanding and pride, and she beamed up at him.

They got to her floor, made their way down the hall, got inside her room. Buffy breathed out a little sigh of disappointment when the sky outside the window was already dark. "The sun set," Angel said.

"I'm sorry," Buffy said. "But, hey, there's a sunrise scheduled tomorrow."

Angel shook his head, and she realized he was smiling again. "It set, and I didn't feel it. Nothing. It -- it doesn't matter anymore."

Buffy hugged him gingerly, then moved him over to her bed. His tunic was still stretched across it, as was the pocketwatch. She hurriedly put them away as Angel sank gratefully onto the mattress. Once again, she saw the bloodstained bandages, the spatters of dried blood on his skin and clothing. "Be right back," she promised, then turned and ran into the bathroom.

She spared one second to glance at herself in the mirror, wondered if it was worth getting Angel up again to see his reflection, decided it could wait. Quickly she scrubbed Angel's blood off her face and hands, then rinsed out a cloth she took to his side. "Here," she said. "Let's get this stuff off you."

As she patted the cloth gently on his brow, Angel glimpsed the reddish streaks she'd soaked up. "Human blood," he said. "I can smell it, but it doesn't tell me anything. Doesn't make me hungry. It's just -- blood."

Buffy continued cleaning him up, wiping down his chest, marveling even as she did so at the warmth of his skin beneath her fingers. She reached his waist, hesitated, then began tugging off his pants. "Gotta tell you," she said, "I figured the next time I got your clothes off, it would go a whole lot different than this."

"This wasn't quite how I saw it either," Angel admitted. Buffy carefully tended to the blood from the blow she'd dealt to his thigh.

Not until she was done, and she stepped away from him for a moment to make sure everything was done, did it really hit her. Angel was lying in her bed, naked, looking up at her, fully human now, no curse to stop them --

"Buffy --" Angel said, gazing at her hungrily. She took in a deep breath, feeling a familiar rush of passion, an unfamiliar rush of possibility --

Quickly she stripped off her clothes, standing naked before him for a moment. The heat in his eyes matched the blaze of emotion and wanting that was building within her. Just seeing him, being seen by him, created a kind of hunger that would only be satisfied when they were finally, truly together, body and soul.

She climbed into bed with Angel, pulled him close, and at that moment he looked over at her and said -- "Ow! Oh, oh, no."

"Ahhgh," Buffy groaned as she tried to balance on her own wounded arm, then flopped down beside him. "Oh, bad idea."

"Good idea," Angel corrected her. "Bad time. Dammit."

"It's always something," Buffy said. "Why couldn't the Mohra demon blood work on the first strike?"

"Because the other charges were true," Angel said. "The Powers let me take the punishment for the crimes I had committed. They saved me before I died for the one crime I hadn't." He sighed, then looked over at her with a wistful smile. "I waited 350 years; I can make it one more night. Especially knowing you'll be here in the morning."

"I only waited two and a half years," Buffy said. "But I don't think I can wait anymore." She used her good arm to push herself up this time; although she was still tired and sore, those feelings were quickly fading to the background. All that remained was something that was partly desire but more a deep, overwhelming tenderness.

Buffy shifted herself so that she could put her legs on either side of his, then bent over and kissed him gently on the lips, careful not to put her weight on his body as she did so. He returned the kiss for a moment, then pulled away. "Buffy -- are you sure --"

"I'm sure." She put her hand on the center of his chest, just above his heart. Angel's skin was warm. His heart thumped against her palm. His chest rose and fell with his breathing. She remembered the cool stillness of his vampire body. Strange, that she should feel a pang of loss for that. One more part of her past -- their past -- erased by time. "We'll figure this out. You'll see."

Angel put one of his hands over hers, and she realized he was trembling slightly. "I know we don't have to be scared anymore," he said. "I know that, and still --"

"Shhhh," Buffy whispered, leaning over him for another kiss. "I'm gonna take good care of you."

**

Buffy looked through the glass dome of the gardens, taking in the pink dawn light. Angel would see all this, in just a few moments, when she woke him up with his first real breakfast in centuries --

She quickly started going through the orchard, looking for the good pears she'd had a few weeks ago. The grass was soft beneath her bare feet, and the air was cool and fresh. Buffy felt as though she could float in it, soar to what she needed, then fly back down to Angel again. But as she ran up to the right tree, Buffy paused for a minute; she remembered Sky sitting there, a big grin on her young face.

That's going to be with me a while, she thought. Probably forever. Like stabbing Faith, or sending Angel to hell. I keep wishing those things would go away, but I don't think they ever will. I wanted to put all those burdens down, but it doesn't work that way. You just keep carrying them around until they become a part of you, and you don't feel the weight anymore.

Once this line of thought would have depressed her. Now, though, it seemed simple and true, something not to be regretted, just to be known.

Buffy stepped up to the tree to pluck some pears for Angel's breakfast, but one whiff of the fruit reminded her that she'd had precious little to eat in far too long. The first one she grabbed from the branch went straight to her mouth. The sweetness of it was pure, physical delight, and she wolfed it down greedily, occasionally even licking the juice from her fingers.

Just as she finished, Buffy caught sight of another figure in the gardens. This one was seated in what appeared to be meditation, but when Buffy took a few steps closer, she looked up. "Hey, there, English-speakin' lady," Buffy said.

"Good morning, Buffy," Sumiko said. "How is Angel?"

"He's great," Buffy said. "Way better. He woke up for a while a couple hours ago, and we checked him out -- he can, you know, move around now, and he has all his feeling back in his extremities, and he's all flexible again, and he can support his weight on his arms or -- uh --" Buffy cleared her throat. Sumiko was smiling at her knowingly. "He's good. He's very, very good. And we need another topic. So what ended up going down in the Council Chamber? I mean, what happened?"

"Most of your slang is fairly comprehensible from context," Sumiko said. "The Council has sent to the Tower most of those Watchers who were complicit in undermining the fight against vampires. Ishak was excused due to his age, but he is confined to his rooms for now, and likely for some time to come. Frances is standing in as temporary leader until they can elect another, but I suspect she will be chosen then, as well."

"Way to go, Frances," Buffy said with a grin. "She's pretty stiff, but she's good people, really."

"I realize that now," Sumiko said as Buffy came to her side and sat down on the grass with her. "I thought as much, and even considered taking her into my confidence at one point. With her help, I would have gotten the proof I needed far sooner. In time, perhaps, to spare Sky. And to spare you the pain of having to stop her." Sumiko's eyes were sad. "But I was reluctant to trust her, and my doubt has led us here."

"Your doubt totally saved the day," Buffy said. "Don't knock it." She looked over at Sumiko and started to smile as she shook her head. "How did you keep yourself from talking?"

"It wasn't very hard at first," Sumiko said. "I was like the rest of you -- in shock. This place was extraordinarily strange to me. And I knew I would never see Tobias again; there were nights I thought I would die from the pain of that alone. I did not want to talk. The only time I was tempted was when you were having such difficulty, early on." Sumiko's expression was kind. "Before you found Angel again, I was afraid for you. Another few days, and I would have spoken, to find out how desperate your circumstances truly were."

Buffy ducked her head. "You did a pretty good job taking care of me anyway," she said. "By the way, thanks for that."

"It helped me, too," Sumiko said. "The others focused so much better on being Slayers. But I could only think of what I had lost."

She was quiet for a minute, and Buffy smiled at her. "Tell me about Tobias sometime."

"I'd like that," Sumiko said.

"And I'm still in awe that you got all that info, and got into Markwith's, um, head, and did all that stuff without saying a word."

"Honestly, that part was fairly simple. When nobody suspects you know anything, you can do everything. And if I needed to learn more, I could always do the wrong thing -- people would quickly explain, even though I supposedly could not understand. For instance, at first I pretended to attack Angel in the Chamber, and you told me the whole story. The one difficulty --"

"What?"

"-- was not laughing." Sumiko began to chuckle as she put an exaggerated expression on her face and patted her chest with her hand. "We -- are -- Slayers. Slay. Ers."

Buffy made a face as Sumiko fell back, laughing, into the grass. "Yuk it up over there," she said. "We were trying to help."

"I know," Sumiko choked out. "But the great big eyes you'd all make --"

While Sumiko attempted to collect herself, Buffy began laughing too. "How did you know they wouldn't find someone who spoke Japanese?"

"I didn't," Sumiko said, wiping her cheeks. "At first I was actually pretending to have amnesia. Would've worked just as well."

Buffy then grinned and waved as she saw somebody else. "We're all up at dawn today, huh?"

Frances came over looking more frazzled and frizzy than Buffy'd ever seen her before. "Oh. Having trouble sleeping. There's so very much to think about --"

"The burdens of power," Buffy said. "Bummer."

"But you will have Buffy to help you," Sumiko said. "She is the one with all the plans for fighting the war."

"Hey!" Buffy protested. "I started the revolution yesterday. I'll wage the war tomorrow. But I want to spend today responsibility free, hangin' with my guy, okay?"

"Take as long as you need," Frances said. "But I do need someone -- perhaps one of you -- to undertake a project for us very soon."

"What project?" Sumiko said.

"We missed a Slayer," Frances said. "The girl called after Sky's death is not one of our students here in the Keep."

"Do you know where she is?" Buffy asked.

"Fortunately, yes. We received word late last night from one of our contacts in northern Ireland. A 15-year-old named Ruth seems to be the next chosen one. We'd looked at her when she was small, but thought the potential wasn't actually there. Obviously, we need to work on the system some more."

Buffy thought about that for a minute. "I don't know whether to be glad for her or pity her."

"She will have help," Sumiko said. "And this time, she will have a Council that is on her side."

"Precisely," Frances said brightly. "We're lucky that this one has been called so close to London, but it will still be dangerous, getting her here for training. And she must have training."

Sumiko raised an eyebrow. "And you want one of us to undertake the journey."

"Cool," Buffy said. "Road trip."

**

When Buffy came back to her apartment, Angel was already awake, sitting on her sofa and wolfing down a bowl of muesli as though it were the greatest stuff on earth. She could still see the marks of yesterday's trial on his skin, but the welts were already pale. He looked away from the sunlit streets reluctantly, but when he met her eyes again, he beamed. "Good morning."

"Brought you some apples and pears," she said, dropping them onto the sofa. "I so didn't want that birdseed to be your first human breakfast in umpteen years."

"Are you kidding?" Angel said. "This is wonderful."

"You think so, huh?" Buffy held one of the pears up to his mouth. "Take a taste."

He bit down, and she laughed out loud as she saw the surprised delight in his eyes. As Angel chewed, slowly, obviously treasuring every moment, Buffy carefully took the bowl of muesli away from him and set it on the table nearby. "Oh, my God," he mumbled. "That's beautiful."

"Glad you like." She leaned forward and kissed him quickly; their lips were sticky-sweet. Then she let him get back to devouring the pear. As she took up an apple for herself, she said, "Frances is the big boss woman now."

"Where's Ishak?" Angel said, and though he attempted to be cool about it, Buffy could hear the hurt in his voice.

"He's still here," she said. "They've kinda got him under house arrest. You could go talk to him, if you wanted."

Angel thought about that for a minute. "I think I do," he said. "Not now. Not soon. But sometime."

"So," Buffy said. "We have to ask ourselves whether it would be easier to move your stuff up here, or to move my stuff down there and get rid of the bricks over your window."

"I think I like your apartment," Angel said. "It's closer to the other Slayers, the view is great, and I seem to remember a table in the kitchen."

She grinned. "Many, many attractions here at Chez Buffy."

"I'm just glad we're finally here." Angel looked at her and took a deep -- and wonderfully, terrifically needed -- breath. He leaned forward and kissed her again, slower and more gently this time. "I never thought I'd be this happy, ever again."

"I didn't either," she said, running one hand through his not-as-short hair. "But we need to settle a couple things, okay?"

"Anything," Angel said.

"Stop with the keeping secrets. Somebody else hands you destiny in a bottle, or any similarly important, might-wanna-mention-it thing like that? You tell me this time."

"Promise," Angel said. When she looked at him dubiously, he sighed. "I mean it."

"We'll see," Buffy said, scrunching up her face in a playful scowl. But then she got more serious.

"And, not to put a downer on the day, but I just want it taken care of from the start." She took a deep breath. "When I die --"

"Buffy --" His face was pained.

"Don't stop me. You may be human now, but I'm still the Slayer, and we both know the way it works, okay? When I die, don't let them take a lock of my hair. Put that old sweater on the pyre with me.

Make sure they don't bring me back again." She looked at him tenderly. "This is my last life. The one I'm going to have here with you. That's all I ever want or need, and when it ends, I'm just going to be grateful for what I've had. Promise me."

He kissed her hard for a long time. When Angel finally released her, he said, "I promise." And this time she had no doubts.

"What about you?" she said. "Any terms you want in the prenup?"

Angel shook his head. "I have everything I ever wanted, right now." She kissed him this time, put her hands against his chest, felt his heart beating against her palm again. When she pulled away, he said, "But please cut down on the number of times you have to stake, stab or impale me."

"I'll do what I can." She snuggled up with him on the sofa, and they sat in silence, watching the city and eating their breakfast, for quite a while. Buffy felt almost dazed with happiness, and a kind of gratitude -- not to Angel, or at any rate not only to him, but to everyone and everything that had gotten her to this place, at this moment. That had shaped her into the person who could walk in this world, no matter what it cost.

Death is my gift, she realized, because it should make me appreciate my life. Even the hard stuff, the terrible things I tried so hard to push away. Those moments make me who I am, just the same as all the fun and happiness and love. The First Slayer wasn't telling me that death is the gift of a Slayer. It's the gift of being human.

Thinking of the First Slayer reminded her. "Oh, Frances has a mission for us, should we choose to accept it." When Angel looked at her questioningly, she explained, "We'd go to northern Ireland to pick up the new Slayer, who somehow just slipped right through the screening process."

"That's quite a trip," Angel said. "Dangerous."

"Yeah, and London is so safe this time of NEVER."

Angel looked at her curiously. "You really want to go, don't you?"

"Yeah," Buffy said, surprising herself. "I really do. I felt good the first time I got to take a look at the city on my own terms. As bad as it was -- at least I knew for myself. I could see. And there were still signs of life all over. I think I'd like to know if that's true when I start seeing a little more of the world.

Besides, hey, we can go check for the Statue of Liberty, all buried in the sand, and do our best Charlton Heston impersonations."

"Would I have gotten this joke 350 years ago?"

"Probably not. You up for the trip, cowboy?"

"I'll go wherever you go," Angel said. "I just worry, that's all." His face was more serious as he reached out to brush a strand of hair from her face.

"Don't worry," Buffy said with a smile. "You're safe if you're with me."

************************

THE END
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