Phoenix Burning

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