Career Change

by Two Ladies of Quality

Career Change 1: New Boy

Summary: Dru left Spike a present after "Crush", and now Giles has to learn how to live his new life
Author Notes: First posted on Spike's Bitches on World Crossing
Warnings: het, violence
Disclaimer: They don't belong to me, but that doesn't stop me from messing with their fates
Author's Website: http://www.twoladiesofquality.com/

When Giles opened his eyes, he was laying on the floor of Spike's crypt, wrapped in chains, and Spike was on the other side of the room with a loaded crossbow aimed at him.

"So, you're awake," Spike said.

"I feel very odd. Why are you pointing that at me? You're can't use it on me."

"I will if you're not reasonable."

Giles looked at him curiously. "You act like you're worried about me. Good." He frowned. "My face feels odd."

"I'd show you a mirror, but it wouldn't help."

"What happened?"

"What happened is I have to have some very serious words with Dru about what she dumps into my crypt when I'm not home and she's in a pissy mood."

"I don't understand."

"You hungry?"

"Ravenous."

"What for?"

Giles paused, thinking about what he really wanted to eat. Steak came to mind, a very rare, juicy steak. He thought of burying his teeth into the meat, sucking up the juices, the taste of hot blood -- He started to lick his lips, and his tongue found fangs. "Oh, my god."

Spike relaxed slightly. "And the penny drops. Now we get to find out what the luck of the demon draw gave you."

"Oh, god. I'm--I've been--"

"Say the word, ex-Watcher."

"Vampire. I'm a vampire."

Horror, guilt, rage. Disgust that he was now one of the creatures he and his ancestors had pledged their lives to eradicate. He remembered now, hearing the swish of cloth in the Magic Box, turning to see the beautiful face of mad Drusilla, who was standing far too close to him. "Your soul burns," she whispered, gliding towards him. "Let me bathe in it." He'd been caught in the middle of the room, she closer to him than he was to any weapons. He knew the dangers of her eyes, tried to keep from looking, but she'd caught his wrist and he'd had some foolish idea that he could distract her with words. And maybe it was a little bit of arrogance. He was a Watcher, after all, and he'd been ganged up on and tortured before, when he fell for her.

Whatever, it had happened, he couldn't break her grip, he met her eyes, and something in him answered the wild chaos he saw in her. He hadn't even fought as she pulled him down.

Memories of his oaths told him to beg Spike to shoot, to finish this mockery of his existence. But. But. He realized he didn't hurt anywhere. A man who had taken as many injuries as he had did have a tendency to have aches and pains. And for the first time in years, his hands didn't hurt. The arthritis that had plagued him since Angelus had broken his fingers was gone. He flexed his hands and wrists--as well as he could with his arms bound so tightly--and the joints moved fluidly. He twisted his neck and didn't hear a single click in his spine. And he felt strong.

Spike put the crossbow--still cocked, still pointed in Giles' direction--carefully on the floor and reached for his cigarettes. "Starting to feel it, aren't you. The new you."

"I feel ..."

"Strong. Young. Powerful."

"Yes."

"I was younger than you when I was turned. I imagine it feels even better for you."

"I don't hurt."

"Feels good, doesn't it."

"I feel wonderful--no, this isn't right ..."

"Don't fight it, mate. The old you is gone." There was more than a little sympathy in his voice. "She at least asked me if I was willing, and she was there when I woke up, to help me out. Well, her and Angelus--"

"Don't mention him."

"Sure thing. Hey, we could do a road trip to LA later when you feel up to it." He laughed at the cunning look that went across Giles' face.

Giles shifted position uncomfortably, chains clinking. "Get these off me."

"Not yet, mate."

He glared at Spike. "I'm not your type."

The grin made him nervous. "You have no idea what my type is, new boy. There may be all sorts of rituals involved in becoming a vamp that you Watchers know nothing of. Establishing a pecking order and all that."

"You're not MY type."

"And you the product of the British public school system."

Giles stared at Spike, trying to read the amused look on the vampire--the other vampire's face. He sat there smoking peacefully, enjoying his captive's predicament. Nothing in any of the reports hinted at any really--exotic tastes on Spike's behalf, but Watchers could be a prudish bunch, and not many studies had been done on the sexual preferences of vampires--beyond knowing they tended toward the frequent. He shook himself, appalled that he was even thinking of such things. And he noticed that the appalled was more the knee-jerk of old thinking. Another part of his mind was just going "Hm ..."

"So what are the chains for?" he asked calmly. "Or is it just part of your normal technique for getting to know someone?"

The cigarette hit the wall in a shower of sparks. "Just what the hell did she tell you!"

"What? What are you talking about? What she?" he asked suspiciously.

"Never mind." Spike stood up to pace. "New vamps are unpredictable. Didn't know if you'd be nuts or violent or what. Might have tried for me."

"And so the crossbow."

"So the crossbow."

"Now you see I'm neither nuts nor violent. So get these off of me."

Spike lit another cigarette and smiled. "Now why would I want to do that? Got to figure out what to do about you, I do."

"YOU get to figure out? When did you get the right to do that?"

"Since Dru dropped your bled-out corpse at the foot of my bed, chum. How'd she get you to drink, anyway? Turn into Jenny again? Or did she use somebody else's face this time?"

Giles strained against his bonds. "When I'm loose from here ..."

"And you wonder why I've got you tied up. You get hungry enough, you'll listen to Big Brother Spike."

An hour later--maybe an hour, maybe an eternity--Giles felt the air molecules banging against his hypersensitive skin, he heard the microfaults in the earth below grumbling, he could identify by smell all the types of booze spilled in the place in the past month and taste them from the air. His eyes were tightly closed against the insane detail in the crumbling walls around him. And mad urges screamed in his brain, the urge to hunt, rend, feed, the heavy desire to see, taste, and feel his victim's fear. Part of him still wept in despair. Most of him wanted to bathe in red.

The sound of a ding echoed through the crypt. Giles whimpered at the sound, then at the thud of Spike's boots coming across the floor. Then the smell reached him, rich, savory. Spike carried a thick mug and crouched down in front of the chained man. Giles stared lustfully at the thick red liquid, too starved to think.

"Unchain me," he growled.

"You made me eat in chains, you get to eat in chains. At least you're not parked in a bathtub." Spike plopped a straw into the mug and held it closer.

Giles didn't hesitate. He put his lips around the straw and began to drink.

The feel of the liquid on his tongue was better than the feel of a woman. The screams in his head quieted, murmured in pleasure, and his incisors stopped throbbing quite so badly. The straw slurped finally in the empty mug.

"Tsk," Spike said, "such manners."

"Is there more?" Giles asked anxiously.

The dinging sound came again, less painful than before. Giles recognized it this time as the sound of a microwave. Spike got to his feet. "Be right back."

Giles felt the anxiety ebbing, and he licked a few stray drops from his lips. One escaped to roll down his chin and drip onto his pant leg. A red drop. A blood red drop.

Disgust and shame punched him in the gut. Blood. He was drinking blood. Eagerly, thankfully. And he could smell the new mug Spike was bringing over and all he wanted was more.

Spike paused to look at the figure crouched on the floor, rocking back and forth. "You gonna eat this, or would you rather wallow in disgust for a while?" He took a sip from the mug. "It won't go to waste either way."

"Give it to me."

Spike smirked and settled onto his heels in front of Giles again. "My pleasure." He replaced the straw and let the man drink. "Slowly, Rupert. Taste your food."

He managed not to slurp so hungrily this time. His head was clearing, though he wasn't sure if that was a good thing. "Not enough."

"It'll hold you for now. I'll bring back more."

"You're going somewhere? You can't leave me chained up here like this!"

"I can and I will."

Giles fought against the chains, to no avail. "Let me go, damn you. I want--"

Spike dropped in front of him, face in full vamp mode. Giles blinked, but the start of horror didn't come this time. Now, it looked--right.

"I know what you want," Spike snarled. "You want to go up there and wander through the crowds and be amazed at all the food there is walking around just waiting for you to reach out and take it. You want to grab somebody and laugh at them while they struggle. You want to stick your fangs in their throats and feel that scalding hot blood pour down your throat as they scream and try to fight and finally go limp in your hands and you feel the breath go out of them and their heart flutter to a stop under your lips. Don't you."

He swallowed hard against the lust and shame. "Yes," he whispered.

"I could undo those chains, unlock that door, let you go running out into the night to play. And you'd be dust within three days." He grabbed Giles' chin hard and forced him to meet his eyes. "Listen to me, Rupert. There is a very large fact of life about being a vampire in Sunnydale. Can we guess what that fact might be?"

He nodded. "Buf--" He couldn't bring himself to say her name.

Spike nodded solemnly. "The Slayer. Who's out there somewhere right now, in a very bad mood, looking for victims to take her frustrations out on. Until you can get your mind around the knowledge that you and her don't bat for the same team anymore, you're not going out there." He got to his feet. "Because you and I both know that she wouldn't hesitate a second if she saw you like this."

Giles wondered what he'd see on Buffy's face if she saw him now. Horror, pity, disgust? Or just sad resignation and determination to put an end to him? Maybe he could tell her it wasn't so bad, maybe she'd give him the same benefit of the doubt she gave Angel when she first realized what he was. He could get close to her, she'd hesitated when she'd realized that her Watcher lurked under that Fyarl demon's shell, he could get within reach

"Oh, god, no," he gasped when he realized where his thoughts were going, of his hands on her golden hair, of her throat "No, not her."

Spike gave a humorless laugh. "It's always easiest to go for the nearest and dearest first. They let us get close before they know they shouldn't."

"What do they think happened?"

"They're not sure. Not many signs of a struggle at the shop, you just disappeared. They've been scouring town. Slayer trashed Willy's place, Demon Girl's been calling in a lot of old favors from her demon buddies, Red and her squeeze have been running location spells."

"That would work," Giles frowned, distracted.

"They're looking for a person, they haven't had the nerve to look for a corpse. Might have to give 'em a fake body before long--unless you want them to know what's happened?"

"No! No. At least--not yet ..."

"You think she's going to go 'Oh, poor Giles, what can we do for you?' That she'll gaze up at you with those baby blues and promise to make it all better?"

"Angel's curse--"

"Oh, get your soul back, hm? Doesn't get rid of the demon, you know, just makes it even more schizophrenic. From what I hear, Angel was just a big handsome lunk running through his daddy's money on drink and women. Nothing too complicated, average guy, meaning no real harm. But you, Rupert, what kind of soul would you be getting back? Average likeable lout? Or a sorcerer who's made a study of darkness, something more than a little hard and ruthless. Something comfortable in the company of a guy named Ripper." He nodded at the look on Giles face. "Your soul and your demon might have more to chat about than you want to think of, mate."

Giles closed his eyes, trying to blame his memories on the influence of the demon crouched in his mind. But the dark whispers got as far as they did because they were things he'd thought of before, things he'd contemplated in the bad old days when a spot of demon raising sounded like just the thing for an evening's entertainment.

He looked at Spike suspiciously. "What do you care? Why are you sparing an iota of concern on whether I survive like this? I picture you sitting back with a beer and a smoke, laughing at all this like one of your stupid soap operas."

"First off, I care because Dru dumped you on me. I'd rather not have the Slayer putting two and two together and getting Spike-krispies in the sunshine. But most of all," he grinned, "I have a plan."

"Oh, wonderful. I've seen your plans, Spike, they wouldn't challenge the Three Stooges."

Spike curled a lip at him. "There at Watcher boot camp, they ever talk about the possibility of a Watcher getting turned?"

Giles shuddered. "Yes, they did."

"What'd they say?"

"That there were probably more horrible fates but not really."

"Why?"

"Why? Because such a thing is the perversion of everything we believe in, the corruption of principles that have guided us for generations." He hesitated. "Them. Not us. Damn."

"They weren't telling you the whole story, mate."

"What could you possibly know of it?"

Spike smirked. "They're terrified of the idea, and not just because it would be like Mother Teresa pimping the starving children out for crack. They're terrified of what a vampire Watcher could do."

Giles paused, and the thought curled enticingly around possibilities. "What do you mean?"

"A lot of you are mages, you all know your arcane lore, and you're used to leading and training."

"And then there's Wesley," Giles couldn't help but say.

"Well, yes, Wesley's a wanker. But then there's you. You were an intimidating bugger before you died, mate. We talked about turning you, there at the mansion. Dru's wanted to do you since she first laid eyes on you." Spike glared momentarily. "Pissed me off at the time, too, the way her eyes lit up at the thought of it. But Angelus always voted it down. And I knew why. He knew you'd take him, if you turned. I knew you would too, that's why I voted for it."

"You wanted me turned? Why?"

"If the Mayor had had you backing him up, Sunnydale would be ruled by a giant snake demon right now. Your plans work. If you wanted, you could take this town." He smiled. "And that is something I would love to be a part of."

Giles stared at him for several moments. "You're mad."

Spike patted his knee as he straightened. "You'll learn to love it. But I better get off, the night's not getting any younger. Don't wait up."

"At least give me a hand free! My nose itches."

"I'll scratch your nose, you scratch--"

"Oh, stop." He glared around the crypt. "And where's this infamous TV of yours?"

"You? Watching the telly? You got a very blue-collar demon."

"If you've got any books that aren't pornographic or all pictures, I'll take that."

Spike glared at him a moment, then went to the nightstand by his bed for the TV remote. "Be grateful, I've got cable. Somebody at Willy's got the bright idea of turning a cable installer who's doing a land office business in piracy."

He dropped the remote by Giles' knee and went behind him to get to the lock on the chains. Giles held very still, and at the instant his bonds loosened he jerked away, yanking his left arm free. Spike clamped onto Giles' wrist and twisted the arm hard around behind him, then he shoved the other man into the floor, pinning him down. Giles struggled until he realized it was useless.

"And if you think I didn't see that coming," Spike snarled into Giles' ear, "you must think I'm a complete idiot." He chuckled. "We'll have this dance, Rupert, but not yet. When you've got the last of the 'destroy me, I'm unclean' boggles out of your system, and you start settling into what you can be, then we'll see. Because here's a newsflash, Einstein--" He yanked on the arm, dragging a helpless gasp of pain out of Giles. "The chip doesn't give a good goddamn about you anymore."

He let go of the arm and wrapped the chains around Giles again, leaving him free to reach for the TV remote, but little else. They glared at each other for several moments, then Spike grinned. "Don't throw any wild parties while I'm gone."

Giles glared after him. "Bloody bastard," he muttered. "Oh, yes, we'll see, we'll see indeed."

It was hours before Spike came back, hours in which Giles re-discovered that he knew enough Chinese to follow the torrid soap opera on the International Channel and realized that Americans really did believe that you could cover bald spots with spray fuzz from an aerosol can. If his undead life was going to be an endless parade of bad television, he was going to track down Buffy and beg for a stake at the first opportunity.

The bastard was whistling--WHISTLING--as he came down the steps to the lower level of the crypt, where Giles was still chained up next to the wall, shuttling through the channels on the TV.

"'Ello, ducks, I'm home!" Spike called.

"Rotten bastard, where the hell have you been!"

"Now, pet, you know I hate these fights when I come home--" He dropped one of the duffle bags he carried to catch the remote that Giles flung at him. "Be nice or I won't fix you up that bedtime snack."

"What?"

"Still hungry?"

"Yes! God, yes, my head is pounding." He focused on the bags Spike had brought in. "What did you do, go shopping?"

"In a manner of speaking."

"Those look like--they are, they're MY duffle bags!"

"Stopped by your apartment, thought you might want a change of clothes and such."

"Damn, I never did uninvite you, did I? What did you bring?"

"Everything that wasn't tweed. You know, you're supposed to get rid of blue jeans when they start wearing out in the seat."

Giles suddenly imagined Spike rummaging through his dresser drawers--Lord God, had he found those pictures Olivia had asked him to take of her "to remember her by"? The other duffle bag, though, had corners, and he heard clinking noises. "What else did you bring?"

"Contents of your liquor cabinet, a cd player--mine always gets broken for some reason--and a bunch of cds. Do you have everything the Beatles did?"

"Yes, I do." He stared at Spike thoughtfully as the blond put the contents of another sack-- several bags of blood--into a small refrigerator.

"Oh, and that pile of books that was on your nightstand. They all had bookmarks, so I didn't know which one you'd left off on. By the way, someone's been picking up your mail and tucking it very neatly on the kitchen counter. Who has a key?"

"Buffy does--how did you get in?"

"Picked the lock."

Spike put two bags of blood into the microwave, set the timer, then walked over to Giles. "Now, if I undo those chains, are you going to try to break my head open?"

"Probably."

He grinned and pulled out the key. "Good, I wouldn't have believed you if you said no."

This time Giles didn't try to make a run for it as the lock was undone. Spike left him to untangle himself from the lengths of chain. Giles straightened gratefully, then looked around.

The microwave dinged, and Spike filled two mugs, never turning his back on Giles. He put one mug on a table halfway to Giles, then retreated back to the microwave. Hunger drove Giles over to drink.

"If I tried to leave, what would you do?" he said to Spike.

"Try to stop you. You're not ready. Besides, where would you go?"

"The apartment--"

"Isn't sunproofed. Besides, sun will be up in an hour, you'd be stuck there, and if Slayer's got a key she could wander in. And you're going to be asleep real soon."

"You've been up and about during daytime."

"I have a hundred years on you at this, it counts for something. When I was new, sun came up, bam, it was like someone took a board to my skull. If you were found there this soon, they'd probably try to drag you to a hospital, and wouldn't they be surprised when they pulled you into the sun."

Giles frowned. "I never knew age had anything to do with sleeping during the day."

"Really? It's rumored in vamp circles that the Council of Watchers has a little brood of vampires they keep around for testing purposes."

"If we do, I never heard of it." He caught himself. "I keep doing that, saying we. They." He blinked and felt the oddest impulse to yawn. "Lord, I'm tired."

"First night as a vamp, it's like being an infant, sleep a lot till you get used to it. You'll get over it soon enough." Spike drained his mug. "Stopped by your shop. Whole gang was there."

Giles went still. "And?"

"Very depressed bunch of Scoobies. Current thinking is that you've run off to do private research on the Glory problem."

"Oh, that. Simplest answer in the world for that, all we have to do is kill Dawn."

"What?"

Giles never noticed Spike's tone of voice. "Of course. Dawn is the Key, Glory needs Dawn, kill Dawn, the energy of the Key is dispersed and Glory can't open the portal. No apocalypse, happy ending. And it's not like Dawn is even a real person, after all, it's perfectly possible that if Dawn is dead it will be as if she was never here."

"That's your plan to deal with the hellgod? Kill Dawn?"

"One artificial girl vs. the whole world? I'm surprised there's any question."

Spike moved in slowly, but his hand around Giles' throat left no doubt about his opinion. "Nothing happens to the niblet, you understand?"

Giles glared at him, reaching for a grip on Spike's fingers. "Or what?"

"Is it time for that little dance, ex-Watcher? Where you try to find out if you can take me? If you think so, bring it on."

Giles pulled against the fingers wrapped around his throat, using all the considerable new strength at his command. But Spike didn't seem to notice. There was a look in the blond vampire's eyes Giles had never seen before, an implacable willingness to commit bloody mayhem, with none of the wariness the ex-Watcher was used to seeing. Now that Giles was no longer human, Spike wasn't walking so carefully around him.

"All this for Dawn?" Giles sneered. "I thought it was Buffy you were after. Or is this just a holdover of the Victorian taste for barely pubescent girls--"

Spike's hand squeezed. "You can heal from a broken neck, you know," he snarled.

"What about--your plan?" Giles managed through his half-crushed vocal chords.

"I've got time. Took me months to get over bashed legs. I could break your neck, wait for you to heal. Makes no never mind to me. But do you really want to be helpless with me?"

The Watcher in Giles' mind observed that this was likely just part of some brutal vampire dominance ritual establishing the parameters of power. But the vertebrae in his neck felt the twisting begin, felt the strength in Spike's fingers.

"Wait," he gasped.

"Why?"

It took an act of will to say the word to Spike of all people. "Please."

Spike eased his grip but didn't let go. "Kittens are tougher than you are right now, Rupert old dear. No fun beating the shit out of you just yet. Watch your mouth." He let go, then ostentatiously turned his back and walked away.

Giles thought about it, about grabbing the nearby chair and smashing it over Spike's head. But he could tell Spike was waiting for him to try something like that. And the older vampire was right, Giles did feel weak, even though the new strength ran through this body. He could feel the dawn approaching, with the weight of the sun pushing on his mind. Tomorrow night would be different.

"So do I get to sleep on the floor again?" he snapped.

Spike pulled out his cigarettes. "Nope, you can sleep on something softer." He nodded in the direction of the bed.

"If you think for one moment that I'm sharing--" He broke off, trying to read the glint in Spike's eyes. Snide amusement, yes, but maybe just a touch of offense. For thinking that Spike might want to share the bed with Giles--or for Giles being automatically upset at the idea?

Spike hid behind the smoke from the cigarette. "I'm going to be up for awhile yet. You're wrung out. Don't worry about it, get some sleep." He headed up the steps to the upper level, leaving Giles to make what arrangements he cared to.

Eventually, the grinding weariness made the final decision. Everything stank of cigarette smoke, and whatever Spike put on his hair tainted the pillows. Giles didn't care. An old set of sweats was part of the loot Spike had brought from his apartment, and he changed into them before collapsing on the bed.

His entire body ached. Fretfully he ran his tongue across the fangs--his fangs--still barely believing that he, Rupert Giles, Watcher to the third generation, could have fallen so. And not for the grand plan of some master vampire but from a madwoman's twisted revenge on her former lover. How ... tawdry. Now what the hell was he supposed to do with himself? Aside from rend and feed and bathe in hot blood and make his victims crawl and plead for mercy--

There was still human enough left to him to see the shortsightedness of that program, seductive though it was. Spike's plan came back to him, and he remembered how often he and his old comrades had reassured themselves that the world was safe because the vampires were so bloody disorganized and at odds with each other. If they should ever find a leader ...

Potential leaders were prime targets for Slayers. As he drifted into oblivion, he wondered if some dusty prophecy spoke of this.

Voices woke him many hours later from blissful dreams of wailing women and weeping men. Spike and a girl on the upper level of the crypt, the door closed at the top the stairs. Giles sat up, the blanket he knew he hadn't pulled over himself when he went to sleep falling from him. He looked at the other side of the bed. It had been slept in.

The girl's voice rose angrily. Some human remnant where his soul used to be caught painfully. Buffy came here to Spike sometimes, searching either for obscure comfort or an easy target. But this girl's voice was higher than the Slayer's, and Giles wasn't sure if he was relieved or disappointed.

"And I KNOW things are bad, what with Mom being sick and Giles missing, but God damn it--"

"Watch your language!"

"Huh?"

Giles got to his feet and moved towards the stairs. Dawn. Dawn was here.

"You're not too big to have your mouth washed out with soap, missy," Spike went on. Dawn snickered. "And what's so damned funny?"

"You. You sound like Grandpa. And as if you haven't said worse."

"Not where you could hear me. And you may be suffering from what is laughably called an education in this country, but you're going to learn something about being a lady if I have to beat it into you."

"Yes, Professor Higgins."

Spike snickered, and Dawn began singing--badly--"The Rain in Spain."

Giles put a foot on the stairs. Dawn was the Key, the central piece to the entire problem of Glory. Even in his changed state he knew that apocalypses were to be avoided, and the solution to this one was so simple. She'd be amazed to see him, might even run to him, putting herself in his hands. And a quick twist would see it all over. Rather like wringing the neck of a goose. Or even breakfast, he thought, seeing the foolishness of waste. He wondered how the blood of a magically created being would taste.

His foot on the next step nudged an empty whiskey bottle. He reached down to stop it before it rolled more than an inch, but was too late to keep it from making a small noise.

Spike's voice cut off in mid-plea for Dawn to stop singing. He'd heard. Dawn continued singing to the end of the verse, oblivious.

"Does the Slayer know you're here, niblet?" Spike asked before she could draw breath for another chorus.

"Um ..."

"Oh, lovely, then how long before I can expect my front door to get kicked down again? And you shouldn't be wandering around alone anyway, pet. You know as well as anyone what's out there. Let me get my coat and I'll take you home."

"But--"

"Enough."

There might still be time to finish it, Giles decided. If he could get his hands on Dawn, Spike would hesitate, and then it would be too late. Afterwards, they could see which of the two of them were tougher, but the hard part would be done. He gathered himself, then a new voice stopped him.

"Dawn, if you're in there, I am so going to lock you in your room and nail the windows shut--!"

"Bloody hell," Spike sighed, but his heart obviously wasn't in it this time. "Evenin', Slayer, don't kick, it's open."

"I ought to kick it to pieces anyway, maybe a splinter would land in a useful place. Dawn, how many times have I told you not to come here!"

As the argument commenced, Giles stared up at the closed door. The Slayer, his Slayer. The center of his life for years now, and the largest threat to his continued existence. He remembered spontaneous hugs and impish grins and passionate arguments and her unyielding courage. So much asked of her, and always she had more to give. Maybe Spike was wrong, maybe Buffy would forgive him for what had been forced upon him, her heart was surely large enough to see beyond the obvious.

Beyond the demon that even now thought of how easy it would be to lull her into turning her back on him. He could call out to her, claim Spike was holding him prisoner, beg her to free him. She would come to him, throw her arms around him and cry with joy that she had found him safe. And he would put his arms around her, bend his head over hers, close to her unprotected throat. With the Slayer gone and the Key destroyed, Sunnydale would be at his feet ...

He sat down heavily on the stairs, part of his mind intrigued to discover that vampires could weep.

"What was that?" Buffy asked above.

"Rats," Spike said easily. "Cheaper than a fridge, and I don't have to heat the blood."

"Euw!" Dawn protested. "That's gross!"

"At least you don't have to listen to them squeak and pick fur from between your teeth."

Buffy and Dawn gave identical noises of disgust and made their escape. After several moments, Spike opened the door. Giles didn't look up. Spike came down the steps past him and went to the refrigerator, pulled out breakfast and headed for the microwave.

"She might not hate me on sight," Giles said.

"Maybe." Spike lit a cigarette.

"She's let you and Angel live. She doesn't slay every vampire she sees."

"She'd say she was doing you a favor, mate, not letting you live like this. On some long night of patrolling you must have mentioned what you wanted done in this situation."

Giles smiled wryly. "We promised each other, if the death was at all suspicious, full cremation. And no hesitation if it was too late to stop one of us from coming back."

The microwave dinged, and Spike filled a mug and a tall glass, topping off the glass with whiskey. He brought the mug over to Giles, who took it without thinking. "And despite all that," Spike said, "you think she'd think twice because it was you."

"I can hope." He drank from the mug, savoring the warmth and flavor.

Spike tossed back a quarter of the glass. "Men who drink blood shouldn't expect mercy from Slayers."

Giles stared at the mug in his hands for several moments, at the thick red liquid. "No, I suppose not." He drained the mug.

"How do you feel tonight?" Spike asked.

"Better. Not quite so desperate. But I still want to go out."

"Course you do. Slayer's likely to be back in this neighborhood later, though. She generally comes by after Dawn's been here to take her frustrations out."

Giles glared at him. "If you're trying to make me think that involves anything more than bashing you, don't bother."

Spike drained his glass. "She can't bring herself to admit she wants more, so she smacks me around. Kick me or kiss me, she'll work it out eventually."

"That's disgusting."

"You trained her, mate. What she thinks of vampires she got from you."

Giles went to the refrigerator himself for a refill. Spike had a disturbing ability to read people and twist motivations, and Giles didn't want to get pulled into a debate on why Buffy behaved the way she did. Besides, she was none of his concern anymore.

Spike poured a shot of whiskey into his glass, swirled it around to catch the remnants of the blood, and drank it down. He put the glass in a niche cut into the wall where a trickle of water ran down, among other glassware and dishes. "Put your mug in here when you're done."

"Please tell me that doesn't come from the sewer."

"City water, leaky pipe. Rather clever dishwasher, I thought."

Giles shook his head. "I've never thought about the amenities. Didn't imagine you had any."

"Nope, live like rats, we do, huddled in corners, no taste for the comforts of living. Just ravening beasts wreaking havoc until the Slayer catches up with us. Least, that's how we're described."

"For most of you, the description fits."

Spike shrugged. "P'raps. Me, I like my comforts. You're a 21st century vampire, Rupert, you plan on living by firelight and sleeping on a pile of rags and bones?"

"Not hardly." Sleeping arrangements, more things he didn't want to talk about. Though Spike had a posh setup here, a nice split level with running water, as it were. Palatial for one, even two on intimate terms. Two who weren't on good terms, though ... "How long are you going to force me to stay here?"

"Force you? Oh, well, the chains, yeah, that was force. Convince me you're in what passes for a right mind, you can leave whenever. It's safest if you're with someone, though. Most vamps live in groups."

"You live alone."

"Not by choice. This god-damned chip ... Only thing keepin' me from being the whippin' boy for any vamp thinks he's tough is that I'm the most vicious son of a bitch out there. They're not going to welcome you with open arms, either, mate. The ones who don't see you as fair game will see you as a chance to get to the Slayer."

Giles busied himself with the microwave and blood as he thought. There were probably dozens of monsters out there who would love a spot of revenge on the Watcher who had helped hunt them. And the smart ones would see him as the ideal bait for a trap for Buffy.

"If I'm going to be such an outsider, how do you suppose I'm going to take over the city, as you think I'm going to?"

"Once you finish integrating the new parts with the old parts, you'll be ready to start kickin' ass. Vamps respect strength. Break some bones, lop some heads, you'll soon have a bunch of blokes willin' to say, 'Yes, sir, Mr. Giles, sir, how high, sir?'"

It made sense, and Giles' respect for Spike's intelligence went up another grudging notch. New vampires were so distracted by their hellish urges and powers that they didn't think. The so- called parental bond between sire and progeny was necessary to bring the offspring to what passed for maturity.

He laughed at himself. As fascinating as a study of vampiric maturation would be, he didn't think he'd find any journals willing to publish his findings. But reading the paper before the Council could be amusing.

"What's so funny?" Spike asked.

"Just imagining the Council of Watchers' reaction as they listened to my study of vampiric development from the inside. Incredibly useful information, but I doubt they'd be an appreciative audience."

"I don't know. I've always found that being in immediate fear for your life does wonders for the attention span. Could be fun to see."

Giles barely paid attention to his second helping of blood as he pictured the Council at his mercy. He rinsed out the mug and put it with the others, then thought of other things that needed washed.

"I want a shower. How do you work that, another leaky pipe?"

"20 gallon electric water heater just down the sewer. And it don't smell that bad, so don't make that face."

"It'll do, I suppose."

"You get yourself a shower, then we'll go out."

"Out? As in outside into the world?"

"For a little bit anyway. See how you handle it."

"I'll be fine."

"We'll see."

On seeing the shower, Giles once again missed his comfortable apartment. But it sufficed for his needs at the moment. He mused on the differences between the common minion vampires and the more socially adept ones he knew. Was it merely age, or were they different from the moment they were turned? Another article he'd never get the chance to publish.

Giles picked through his clothes thoughtfully. Really, how boring his wardrobe was. At least he had his leather jacket and some blue jeans that didn't look too horribly new. It would do for now.

He paused on the steps to make sure no one was waiting above, then opened the door and went upstairs to a new part of the world. Spike stood near the open outer door, observing the landscape outside.

"You ready?" he asked.

"Why wouldn't I be?"

Spike shrugged. "Stay alert, Slayer moves quiet." He led the way out into the dark and moving night.

After only two steps, Giles froze, overwhelmed. The wind in the trees and bushes shrieked messages at him, the city smells fought with the scent of growing things. He smelled the old blood from some dark ritual performed days ago several graves over. Who else was playing those kinds of games in Sunnydale?

Pounding footsteps and heavy breathing came into hearing on the road nearby. But not desperate sounds, an even rhythm. Someone running, but not for their life. Giles felt the urge to give chase burn in his brain.

"Easy, mate," Spike said. "Can't go hunting joggers, even if they are stupid enough to go through the cemeteries. They tend to scream, and that attracts Slayers."

"She can't be everywhere."

"Doesn't have to be, she only has to be where you are."

"If whoever that is is so stupid to come running here, they deserve to be hunted."

"Didn't figure you for a Darwinist. Trust me, I'd like a nice endorphin-charged drink myself, but it's not worth it. Besides, where would you dump the body?"

Giles started to shrug that off as not being anything to worry about, then remembered how hunting sloppy vampires was made easy by tracking where they left their victims. The jogger was going past just on the other side of some bushes. Male, deep into the trance of movement, not paying attention to his surroundings, confident that he was the match for any would-be muggers. Giles took a few steps after him despite himself.

"And why shouldn't I?" he mused. "What are humans other than herd creatures to be fed upon?"

Spike shook his head. "And this is how you think when you've eaten. You'd really be Mr. Responsible on an empty stomach, wouldn't you, Ripper." He grabbed Giles' arm and pulled him deeper into the cemetery. "First rule, don't hunt right outside your front door. Hunt outside somebody else's front door. And pick your prey, don't just grab the first thing that wanders by screaming 'Eat me, I'm stupid.'"

Giles nodded reluctantly. "All right, so there's a great deal I don't know about this. But I very much dislike being beholden to you for teaching me."

"Feeling's mutual. Makes me wonder if my princess wasn't being more subtle than I give her credit for, throwing the two of us together."

"Your 'princess' is a mad, sadistic killer."

Spike smiled fondly. "I know, bless her dear, dead heart. But there it is, I'm not going to throw you out into the night to get yourself staked, and you're not stupid enough to think that being quick with the fangs is enough to keep you alive. So we're stuck together."

"Damn it all."

"So are you going to be Felix or Oscar?"

"Felix, naturally."

"Figures."

They strolled for another hour before Giles finally admitted that the world was beginning to overwhelm him. The number of idiots in Sunnydale was truly astounding, lovers strolling along dark streets, people taking shortcuts through alleys.

"Don't they know we're out here?" Giles asked in amazement. He wanted to grab some of the idiots and just shake sense into them, never mind eating.

"Oh, something's out here, but they refuse to admit what it is. But it's like this everywhere. You want a city that's great for hunting in, go to New York. Subways and underground access to major buildings and millions of people not keeping track of each other. Decades Dru and I hunted there. But, you know, you get bored, time to see new things."

They headed back to the crypt. "I need more smokes," Spike said. "You want anything?"

"Thank you, no. What are you going to use for money?"

Spike grinned. "If I'm lucky, nothing. If Dead Bob's on duty, though, he's on to me. But don't worry, you've still got your credit cards."

Giles reached for his wallet to check. "You stole my money! Damn you. Why did you leave the credit cards?" he asked suspiciously.

"Red's keeping an eye on the computers, waiting for someone to access your bank accounts. Have to do something about that soon. Be back soon."

Spike wandered off into the night, and Giles retreated back into the crypt. He headed downstairs, as far from the night as he could get. So many distractions out in the world, his demon yammered at the walls of his mind, aching to go out and play. He was going to have to find some way to appease those urges without turning into a mindless monster. He was amazed, though, that he was able to impose any will onto the demon. All his training told him that the demon ruled the remnants of the human mind, that without the soul there was no willpower to control the dark urges. Apparently something else that Watcher training didn't quite cover. There were some theories that said there were as many types as vampiric demons as there were people, that the dark forces didn't waste garden variety ravening beasts on remarkable humans. If that were so, then the dark powers weren't going to pass by the opportunity to use a former Watcher to best effect.

Manipulated by the Council, manipulated by whatever powers lay behind the demons. He was getting bloody sick of it.

He wandered the crypt, looking for distractions. One by one he looked at the books Spike had brought from his apartment, discarding each of them. He missed the library at the Magic Box, he wanted to do some research on the underpinnings of vampiric lore. There was obviously more than was being said, and he should have realized by now that the Council was not above twisting matters to their own ends.

He looked at a pair of chests shoved against one wall, thought briefly on the ethics of snooping, and went to explore. One chest was unlocked and full of weapons. Spike tended towards axes, but Giles was surprised to find a shotgun in good working order with a box of shells. Two good swords, matched blades. And, wrapped in an old cloth near the bottom, several railroad spikes with dark, crusty stains. Mementos, perhaps.

The other chest was locked, but it took Giles longer to find a length of wire than it did to pick the thing. The chest was full of books, old books. He pulled one out at random and discovered a copy of "Leviathan" by Thomas Hobbes. On the flyleaf in front was the inscription in flowing copperplate handwriting, "William Seymour Bennett, Pembroke College." A Cambridge man, hm. He shook himself. More likely Bennett was some poor sod who had the bad luck to be killed by Spike. Except why would Spike steal a battered copy of a 17th century philosophical treatise? A copy of Rousseau's "The Social Contract", in French, also had Bennett's inscription. The other books as well were the kind someone reading Classics would study in the late 19th century.

In the bottom of the chest was a small wooden box, also locked. That lock proved no more challenging. Inside was another book, an old copy of "Oliver Twist." There was a bookplate on the inside front cover for a Sir Richard Foxleigh. On the flyleaf was an inscription in another hand:

"To my dearest Wills on his tenth birthday. This was my father's favorite book, and I know you'll love it too. And your father need never know. Mother."

Beneath the book was a heavy folder, the sort old photographs were displayed in. Giles opened it, careful of the worn leather binding. Half a photo was inside, a woman in Victorian garb standing next to someone in a chair, but the seated person had been carefully sliced away. The woman was no stunning beauty, but she had a good face, with a warm, patient smile. There was something of Spike in the chin, and Giles wondered what the person in the chair looked like

Long fingers wrapped around his wrist and squeezed. His fingers went numb, and Spike very carefully took the photograph away. Then, with a twist, he snapped one of the bones in Giles' arm.

"Do this again," Spike said softly, "and you're dust." He let go, and Giles sagged away.

Through the haze of pain, Giles saw Spike close the photograph's cover, put it back in the wood- en box with the book, and replace it in the chest of books. Everything was locked again and the chest shoved back against the wall. Spike headed up the stairs, never looking back.

He set his own arm, cursing himself for getting distracted and not realizing Spike had come back. Vampires healed quickly, but he'd really been hoping not to have empirical evidence quite so soon. At least it wasn't a head injury.

Spike disappeared for two days--or nights. Giles stayed in the crypt, nursing his arm, drinking the blood in the refrigerator, and watching TV. Spike had sprung for the full cable package, and there were a great many interesting things on the BBC channels. "Changing Rooms" and "Ground Force" were especially fun.

He only went outside once, very carefully. The cemetery was empty, but he twitched at every shifting leaf, every swaying branch. He heard voices once, voices that might have been familiar, and he ran back to the crypt. Once back inside, he scolded himself. He was a fearsome demon of the night, he should be terrorizing the frail mortals, not running from them. But the memories, at least, of his pride refused to give in to blind ravening. Plus there were all the other denizens of the night to be concerned about. He knew most of them by reputation, but Spike knew them on sight, knew which individuals were dangerous and which could be useful. And Spike knew the sanctuaries and how to gain entry. Giles knew he could simply embrace his vampireness and melt into the underworld, but if he wanted to keep his individuality he was going to need Spike's aid.

For a little while, anyway, whispered the demon.

On the third night, Spike came back. Giles actually heard him upstairs, tripping and swearing drunkenly. Giles went to put some blood in the microwave.

Spike stumbled down the stairs and stopped halfway. "You're still here," he muttered.

"Yes, I am."

"My place. Oughta throw ya out."

"Up to you, of course."

The microwave dinged, making Spike wince. Giles filled a mug and handed it over silently. Spike drained it in two gulps and leaned against the wall as he looked around. The place smelled better, and some of the piles of junk had been tidied up.

"Felix," he muttered.

Giles smiled faintly. "Well, yes, sorry, couldn't help myself. I hope the pile of rat carcasses wasn't being saved for anything important. They were too far gone for any spellwork I know of."

"What carcasses?"

"Ah, never mind then. You want another?" he asked, gesturing at the mug.

"Yeah."

Spike wobbled down the rest of the stairs and into an overstuffed chair he didn't remember. There was a small table with a lamp, and on the table was a book, one of the books he'd brought from Giles' apartment. He watched Giles from bleary eyes.

"How's the arm?"

Giles wiggled his fingers but didn't turn around. "Sore but functional. Should be fine."

Spike grunted but didn't say more. He took the new mug without comment, but got out of what was obviously Giles' chair to flop onto the bed. Giles sat down, picked up his book and returned to reading.

Spike was sober the next night, and nothing more was said on the subject of Giles' arm or the things he'd found in the locked chest. Giles woke up alone again, but this time with a vague memory of a sharp elbow in the ribs and a slurred voice saying, "Shove over, and stop hoggin' the pillows, dammit." And he remembered a feeling of relief that he wasn't alone in this strange world anymore.

At the sounds of movement, Spike came down the stairs. "Don't fill up," he said when he saw Giles at the microwave.

"What do you mean?"

He grinned. "Be a shame to have a full stomach when you go out to celebrate your birthday."

"What? My birthday's not for months yet."

"It's been a week since Dru dumped you here. Yeah, a week's not much of a birthday, but hey, any excuse for a bash-up."

"A week. I've been a vampire for a week." He no longer noticed the blood as blood as he drank. "And a celebration, you say? What did you have in mind?"

"A little trip out in the world, find some people, see what happens. The Bronze is nice if you like them young and stupid."

Giles frowned. "Buffy and the others--"

"Don't go bar crawlin' very often anymore. And there are other bars in this town if you'd rather. There's a trucker's bar out near the highway that's always good for some laughs." Spike sighed. "Haven't been there since the chip, it's a good place for a brawl."

"Forgive me if sweaty truckers don't sound appealing. The Bronze, I think." He looked at Spike thoughtfully. "When you say 'see what happens', do you mean ..."

"I mean, bars are good places to hunt in, no one's surprised if two people are real close to each other in dark corners. There's a lot to be said for al fresco in an alley or in the bushes, but vampires are urban creatures, crowds make it easier."

Giles' demon stirred anxiously, murmuring in anticipation. He frowned, though, wondering if he could do this without losing control. It might be simpler to waylay someone in an alley, fewer chances of witnesses. He was mildly surprised to be able to consider this at all rationally, remembering how he felt the first night he awoke. Spike had been right, after all, to keep him confined until the first bloodlust was controlled. Not that he was going to admit that, of course.

"I'm not sure I'll be able to ..."

"Restrain yourself when you see the buffet? 'S'why I'm going with you, if it gets too much for you we'll just grab some take-out and have supper somewhere else."

Giles chuckled at the idea of take-out. "Well, let me get a shower, and we can go."

Clothes presented a brief concern. "Wear the worn-out jeans," Spike suggested. "You'll be scraping the birds off."

"There are some nearly indecent holes in those jeans, I can't go out in public in those."

"Like I said ..."

"As if you're any great guide to fashion. Do you own any other clothes than a couple of t-shirts and those jeans?"

"I won't embarrass you."

They changed on opposite ends of the crypt, though Spike smirked a bit at Giles' attempts at modesty. Giles glanced up once and saw Spike, stark naked, facing away and considering the contents of a curtained alcove full of clothes. He looked away very quickly, but not before he wondered how on earth Spike managed to stay in that kind of shape. He distracted himself by trying to remember if he'd ever seen a fat vampire and considering the metabolic changes of the vampiric state.

"You ready yet?" Spike asked.

Giles looked up carefully, then turned when he didn't see large expanses of skin. "Good lord. Are you trying for a career as a men's fetishware model?"

Spike finished tucking the red silk shirt into the waistband of the very tight black leather pants and grinned. "Seen a lot of 'em, have you?"

He blushed. "Anya gets some very odd catalogs. I think she's trying to downgrade Xander's wardrobe."

"And you just happen to flip through 'em on slow days at the shop?"

"She asks everyone's opinion of what she should get him."

"Hmph. She's never asked me."

"I'm sure she'll get around to it."

"Don't know what you're upset by, though, Slayer's got pants as tight as these."

"Trust me, I know."

"Yeah."

They both paused thoughtfully, then shook themselves. Spike considered Giles. "Jeans shrunk in the wash, did they?"

"It was a question of tight versus indecent holes. I'm sure I own clothes a bit less embarrassing, but you don't seem to have brought them back with you. An oversight, I'm sure."

"Of course." The green shirt passed muster, then Spike considered Giles' hair. "Ever thought of bleaching your hair?"

"No. Get some shoes on and let's go."

The sewer brought them up in an alley near the Bronze. Giles paused at the alley mouth.

The crowd filtering in and out of the bar was noisy, but the sound was more than just chattering. There was a strange throbbing, an almost mechanical thumping. A couple walked by, accompanied by two different rhythms. Heartbeats, he realized. He was hearing the crowd's heartbeats.

"How do you stand it?" he asked, amazed.

"You get used to it or you go mad. How you holdin' up?"

"I can smell them, but I think I'll be all right. Let's go in."

No one paid much attention to the pair--no one they needed to worry about at any rate. A woman paused to admire Giles' ass, then noticed her boyfriend doing the same. An argument soon broke out.

Beautiful girls in little clothing, all of them available to the right approach. A tipsy girl stumbled against Giles and giggled an apology. He caught her arms to help hold her up, felt the heat of her skin, the pulse of her blood. She sagged against him, grinning, and his groin stirred. The researcher in the back of his mind observed the phenomenon curiously, wondering how a being without a pulse could have an erection. The science could wait for later, the demon protested, all that mattered was this soft, warm bundle of dinner and a show in his arms.

"Stacey, stop throwing yourself at all the cute guys," a girl said, appearing at Giles' elbow. She tugged Stacey away.

"Oh, no problem," he smiled. The girl dithered and blushed, but she propelled Stacey to another part of the room.

Spike appeared with two glasses, handing one to Giles. "Got away, did she?"

"Her friend came to rescue her and they left."

"Too bad, twosomes are fun." Spike grimaced. "Damned chip."

Giles sipped the whiskey and looked over the crowd. "Up there," he said, nodding at the balcony.

"Scout the herd, good call." He followed Giles up the stairs. "Dru killed somebody up here for me, first chance to use my fangs properly in months. She can be such a sweetheart when she wants, why'd she have to go and wreck everything?"

"Because you're obsessed with Buffy, and don't you dare start in on that where I can hear you."

Giles went to the railing and looked over the young, oblivious crowd. All these people looking for action of one sort or another. The way some of them were dancing, they'd be willing to finish matters on the dance floor. His enhanced vision saw movement in a far dark corner, a man sitting with a woman on his lap, two people who'd obviously decided that even going to the car would take too long. He thought of going over and joining them. The librarian in him blinked. The demon urged yes, but Ripper looked for better meat.

"Oh, my," he said softly.

Spike glanced at him. "What?"

"At the bar."

"Oh, Nefertiti's sister there? Good eye, Rupert."

The woman was dark, tall, graceful, her black hair cornrowed tight around her perfect skull. The long neck and elegant carriage echoed the famous statue of Nefertiti. Her gold jewelry was perfect against her skin, and while the soft sweater covered far more than the clothes of most of the girls in the place, it hugged every curve fondly.

The demon approved, but then the demon yearned towards anything with a pulse. Giles tossed back the rest of his whiskey.

"I'll see you later," he told Spike as he headed downstairs.

Spike smiled. "I'm so proud. But let's not be stupid." He stayed on the balcony to observe.

Giles waited for a spot to open up at the bar next to the girl. He had to stare down an inbound football player to do it, but he managed to reach her side.

The bartender glanced up. "Single malt, if you have it, please."

"Be right up, sir."

Out of the corner of his eye he saw her glance at him. He looked over and smiled. "Your glass is empty. May I get you a refill?"

"Thank you," she said in a charming light voice.

"And another of what the lady is having."

The football player signaled over Giles' head. "Dude, another six Miller Lights."

"Be right there."

The girl leaned towards Giles. "Do you think they're all for him?"

"Light beer, you know, it's less filling."

She held out her hand. "I'm Bethany."

"Rupert." He took her hand, paused a fraction of a moment to enjoy the heat of her skin, then kissed her fingers. Her smile showed dimples, and he knew he had her.

They chatted over their drinks. Bethany was a senior at UC Sunnydale, studying political science. Giles told her he was on sabbatical from the British Museum. They discussed Clinton and Monica, Giles taking the position that world leaders throughout history have always had mistresses and Bethany pointing out that in terms of realpolitik one had to be a hypocrite in order to be elected.

"Democrats always have juicier scandals," she said. "Republicans only get in trouble over money. The Democrats ought to recruit candidates that way, 'Join our party, at least you'll get laid.'"

Giles laughed. "It makes as much sense as any other reason to go into politics."

The band took the stage to the cheers of the crowd.

Bethany frowned. "I finally find someone to have a decent conversation with, and now I can't hear myself think."

"Perhaps ..." Giles said carefully.

"We could go somewhere else?" She smiled. "That would be nice. Where do you live?"

He managed not to smirk. "I'm afraid I have a rather appalling roommate who appears at very inopportune moments."

"My roommate's out of town. I have an apartment a couple of blocks over."

"Bethany, you hardly know me. You don't even know my last name."

"Well, then?"

"Bennett."

"Rupert Bennett, how very Austin. I, unfortunately, am Bethany Krupowski."

"Oh, dear. Well, then, Ms. Krupowski, if you don't mind letting a near stranger into your home. I would be glad to come over." He could hear her excited heartbeat, feel the heightened body temperature. She intended to be in bed with him before the night was over, but she enjoyed the chase. So did he, for that matter.

He took her jacket from her and helped her put it on. The courtesy made her blush and distracted her further from the foolishness of what she was doing. After at least four years in Sunnydale, you'd think people would know better. Just as well they didn't, of course.

They strolled out of the Bronze and down the street. Giles took her arm and asked a question about the Electoral College. Bethany didn't notice the figure in the trench coat following them, but Giles did. He debated being annoyed, but if Spike only wanted to keep watch, they could argue about it later.

Bethany fumbled with her keys when they reached her door. Giles took them from her, unlocked the door, and opened it for her. She smiled at his courtliness and went in.

"Come in, please," she smiled.

What magic was there in a simple invitation that could break such a barrier? Something else to be investigated. For now, he stepped into her apartment and closed the door. "Thank you, Bethany."

She seemed a little flustered as she took off her coat. "Aren't you cold without a coat?"

"Not really. After England, California can never seem cold."

"All I have is some cheap beer, but would you like some?"

"No, thank you, more alcohol might make me do something foolish."

Her smile was faintly naughty. "Well, we can't have that." She sat on her couch. "Won't you join me?"

The demon tried to leap, but Giles took the long way towards the couch. Her book shelves were happily full, with political theory and biography and history. She had a new edition of "Leviathan." Giles wondered if Spike would like talking to her--but the thought was swiftly followed by the demon's snarl that the girl was his and he wasn't sharing.

He settled on the far end of the couch from Bethany. "It's so nice to see someone with books in their house, especially books that have been read."

"Do you have a lot of books?"

"Yes, but they're still in storage."

"The appalling roommate doesn't let you have room?"

"Well, I did just move in."

She curled her legs under her and faced him. "So what brought you from England to boring old Sunnydale?"

"Boring? Oh, I've never thought Sunnydale was boring." He caught her eyes and smiled, making sure she thought she was the reason the town wasn't boring.

She dropped her eyes and grinned. "But why did you come here?"

"There was the opportunity to do research in some obscure areas of history and mythology."

"In Sunnydale?"

"Surprisingly so. I've seen some amazing things since I got here."

She scooted a little close. "Like what?"

"Oh, what could I say that you'd believe? Demons and angels, a little heaven, more hell. Pain, courage, betrayal--" He shook himself. "Just the usual that makes life seem like a poorly plotted soap opera."

Bethany blinked, but said nothing. People in Sunnydale didn't talk about things like that much. She reached out carefully and touched his arm. "Life just sometimes sucks, doesn't it?"

"Yes, it does." Her hand was warm through his sleeve. Enough talk. He took her hand and raised it to his lips, keeping his eyes on hers. She blushed and tightened her fingers.

She bit her lip, hesitant, then scooted a little closer. He smiled and nibbled very lightly on a fingertip. The fangs itched, but he managed to restrain himself. For now. He reached over to touch her face, feeling the heat in her cheeks, then ran a finger down to her lips. Her breath caught; when he leaned in to kiss her, she met him more than halfway.

Sweet, soft fire. The thought of Olivia, the last woman to grace his bed, crossed his mind. The bitch. She couldn't handle his world, couldn't deal with the real him. Wait till she saw him now. But plans for her could wait, Bethany was the matter at hand.

He drew back and smiled at her look of disappointment. "Is there perhaps somewhere with a bit more room than this, Bethany?" he asked softly.

He expected her to blush and dither, but she only smiled. "If you mean the bedroom, that's over there." She stood up, and he followed.

Her tastes were surprisingly sophisticated, no posters of musicians, no frills, only one stuffed animal, a battered stuffed cat with pride of place on the pillow of the twin bed. More books, a computer on the desk next to a pile of papers.

"How hard you must work," Giles said, looking at the desk.

Bethany ran a tentative hand down the buttons of his shirt. "Which is why I deserve a chance to have some fun."

"Oh, indeed." He reached up to his face, then laughed faintly.

"What?"

"I'm used to wearing glasses. I was going to take them off."

She studied his face. "You'd look good with glasses, all studious and intent. But you look very nice without them."

"Thank you, my dear." He touched her chin and leaned down to kiss her again.

She rested her hands on his chest, then started on the buttons of his shirt so she could touch the skin underneath. "You did take a chill. You should wear a coat."

"I'm fine. It's being English, you know, we're all a little cold-blooded."

"I'll have to see what I can do to help." She pressed her body against his, kissing him again.

He wrapped his arms around her, holding her close, then slid his hands under her sweater. She jumped a little, then laughed against his lips.

"Cold hands, warm heart," she whispered.

"You'll have to be the judge of that."

One hand slid up her back while the other traced the lines of the cornrows of her hair, wrapping around her skull. Her lips opened to his, and her warm tongue explored his. Her busy fingers finished with his shirt buttons and slid the shirt off his shoulders. He had just discovered she didn't wear a bra when her hands slid down his back to his ass. The cloth of the jeans was so thin he could feel each finger. He tugged on her sweater, and she obligingly lifted her arms to let him pull it off.

He could only look at her for a moment, the perfection of the dark pink nipples and the proportion of her lightly muscled ribcage to her narrow waist. "Lord, you're beautiful."

"So are you," she smiled. She leaned against him and ran her hands down his ass. "These are some very tight jeans. And I don't feel anything under them but you. Aren't you afraid of something catching?"

"One just has to be very careful with the zipper."

"Let me."

He kept his hands on her smooth shoulders as she gently unfastened his jeans and slid down the zipper. But he couldn't help gasping as warm fingers slid in and around him. He felt his face start to shift but fought it down, wanting her warm and alive against his body before anything else.

When he had control of himself again he pulled her face up to kiss her again, more insistently this time. She gave a small moan of pleasure. The zipper of her pants slid down easily, and she helped him push them down her hips, then kicked free of them and her shoes. She smiled proudly as she leaned against him to slide her hands inside the tight jeans and help him get them off. His shoes followed, then he held her tight against him to feel her heat.

"Come on,"she whispered, and he followed her tug towards the bed more than willingly.

She stretched out for him, and he was very happy to look at her, but more willing to touch her. He felt the pulse on the inside of her leg, and she gasped softly as his fingers continued upwards. He wondered if the chill of his touch in the heat of her opening felt good or only different. Blast that researcher in his mind. She threw her head back as he moved up to fondle her clitoris. So very, very warm and wet and welcoming.

He continued to explore as he slid up to kiss her. Her arms slid around his shoulders eagerly, and she gasped as his fingers went inside.

Her pulse pounded at his mind, battering his control. She didn't seem to feel he was hurrying matters, though, when he nudged her legs apart and settled against her. She was every warm and welcoming thing he'd ever felt as his cock found its way in. He went slow because the alternative was to lose everything to the demon, and the memories of the man wanted the feel of a woman.

Bethany gasped in pleasure and moved against him till he was buried in her. He found her mouth and muffled her cries. She moaned as he thrust, a little surprised at the force but not at all disconcerted. She wrapped her legs around his waist in encouragement.

He pulled away to watch her face. "So close," she whimpered. "Just a little more." He leaned down to suck on a nipple. Her hands went to his ass, pulling him against her as she thrust up to meet him. With a long moan, she spasmed around him, the muscles of her vagina squeezing hard. His cry was as loud as hers as he came, and the man lost to the demon.

His fangs emerged, as hungry as his cock. Her head was back, the pulse in her throat visible. He had no thought beyond feeding, grabbed her hair to hold her still, and sank his fangs into her throat.

Her first gasp was of pleasure, the next was of pain, and he put a hand hard over her mouth to keep her quiet. And he eagerly drank.

Why hadn't those so-called experts said how GOOD this felt? Hot, live, full of lust and passion and fear. She struggled desperately against him, whimpering, which only fueled his pleasure. Her heartbeat fluttered, and he tasted despair. She went limp in his arms, her pulse faltered against his lips, then went still.

Panting, he rested against her for several moments, feeling complete and sated and utterly content. Finally he pushed himself up and stared down at the body beneath him.

His first kill. Well, his first kill as a vampire.

He closed his eyes at a sudden shriek where his memories lay, the memories of fighting vampires, of protecting the innocent, of preventing the very thing that had just happened. Until this moment, some secret part of him had hoped to find a way out of this. But now the blood of a living person swirled in him, warming him, caressing his mind. He had killed this beautiful girl, eagerly, passionately, ripping away her future, tearing her life from those of the people who loved her.

He opened his eyes to look at her again, seeing the ashen color that disfigured her face, the staring eyes, the gaping mouth. Her smile was gone, her mind was still.

Blood still ran sluggishly down from the punctures in her neck.

He leaned down to lick it off, not wanting to miss a drop.

He took a deep, decadent, blissful breath of the crisp night air as he stepped out of Bethany's building. Cigarette smoke heralded Spike stepping out of a nearby alley. Giles felt too good to be annoyed at the chaperonage.

Spike looked him up and down and grinned. "Bloody bastard."

Giles glanced down at himself, checking for stains. "I take it you mean that figuratively."

"I spend my evening beating up a Devinian demon while you're in bed with a beautiful girl. 'Tisn't fair."

"Why were you beating up Devinian demons?"

"Silly sod tried to mug me. Something about needing money for his Girl Scout cookie habit." He held out a cardboard box. "Trefoil?"

"Oh, thank you."

They munched cookies as they strolled. "Where'd you leave her?" Spike asked.

"Tucked into her own bed with her stuffed kitty. Her roomate's out of town."

"Any trouble?"

"None to speak of." Giles glanced at him. "Do you plan to keep chaperoning me?"

"Nah, you'll probably do all right by yourself from now on." He sighed angrily. "Dammit, I can smell her on you."

"I'll try to stand downwind. By the way, listen carefully because I'll likely say this only once, but thank you for keeping me from making an utter ass of myself while I got my head around all this."

Spike waved a hand graciously. "Glad to help. Did she have any good loot?"

"I'm not a thief, I didn't look."

"Oh, Rupert."

"Besides, I'm fairly sure my fingerprints are on file somewhere, I was very careful."

"Should've gone with you, my fingerprints aren't anywhere."

"I was tempted by her library, though, lots of history and political theory."

"Beautiful and smart. I do hate you. Fuckin' chip."

Giles was silent in thought for a bit. "I need my books. Especially my diaries."

"What for?"

"I think I can turn off that chip."

Spike spun on his heel. "What?"

"I was very intrigued by what they did to you, spoke with Riley--"

"Stupid wanker. Slayer's brains were in her knickers on him."

"I agree, but do you mind? As I was saying, I spoke with the stupid wanker at length about what he knew about the chip. Which wasn't that much. Perhaps I should have used dog biscuits as encouragement."

Spike snickered, but looked impatient. "Get to the point, Rupert."

"To wit, I wanted to know various ways the chip could be bypassed, in case we needed to counter them. The idea of you being a creditable threat again was not pleasant."

"Very intelligent of you."

Giles grabbed several cookies. "I came to the conclusion that the odds of getting it out were slim-- unless you want to have a flip top skull as you keep looking for a competent surgeon."

"Just fuckin' amusin', you are. So what did you come up with?"

"Magic. I know a lovely spell that disrupts cellular phones and other small electronics. Very useful in restaurants and theatres. I should be able to modify it for that chip."

Spike bit into another cookie. "I know it's popular to think of Spike as pathetic and stupid, but I know that the nervous system is based on electrical impulses. So you're looking for a spell to disrupt my brain's electrical fields."

"I have never thought of you as stupid. An obsessive homicidal maniac, yes, but not stupid. Magic deals with intent as much as anything, and it will be quite easy to target the spell against artificial electrical impulses as opposed to organic ones. The only problem is making it permanent. All my notes are in my diaries."

"Where are they?"

"The shop."

Spike pulled a pocket watch out of a pocket of his duster. "Pushing one. Will the dear little Scoobies still be there?"

"Worth a walkby to see." Giles took the last of the cookies and tossed the box into the gutter. "If you say anything about this being the start of a beautiful friendship, I shall stake you."

"Wouldn't dream of it, Rupert."

"Call me Ripper."

End

Career Change 2: Loose Ends

by Two Ladies of Quality

Summary: Giles has some things to take care of before he can start on his larger plans. Something really has to be done about that chip
Author Notes: Thanks to Spike's Bitches on World Crossing for liking this incarnation of Giles. http://www.twoladiesofquality.com/ Warnings: slash, violence http://www.twoladiesofquality.com/ Disclaimer: If they don't know by now that we're not threatening them, then one more disclaimer's not going to do it.

Mid-afternoon lull at the Magic Box. Anya stared disconsolately at the front door, wondering once again what people had to do that was better than putting money into her cash register. Or rather, Giles' cash register. But it was two weeks now since anyone had heard from him. Was there a statute of limitations on shopkeepers abandoning their stores?

It was so quiet in the store without Giles wandering around thoughtfully poking his nose where it didn't belong, as if he didn't trust her to run the store at peak efficiency. Or bustling back and forth among the books, muttering to himself in obscure languages.

All right, she missed him. It was very inconsiderate of him to disappear, worrying everyone, making Buffy destroy two punching bags in as many days as she took her frustrations out on inanimate objects when vampires and demons weren't cooperative. Tara and Willow were bickering over which magical approaches to take in regards to both locating Giles and resolving the Glory problem. Dawn and Xander hung back in the corners, trying not to attract attention. The Scoobies were slowly fracturing without Giles at the calm center.

Anya tried to distract herself by organizing the cash drawer again, orienting the bills in the same direction, alphabetizing by serial number, sorting the coins by date. They would manage. He'd threatened before to leave them, to force Buffy to stand on her own two Slayer feet. If he was--gone--then they'd just have to adapt a little quicker than expected.

The phone rang, and she wondered if it would be a legitimate customer or any of several cranks. "Thank you for calling the Magic Box, this is Anya, how can I help you?"

"Hello, Anya."

The phone nearly slipped from limp fingers. "Giles? Giles, is that you?"

"Yes, Anya, it's me."

"How dare you! How dare you disappear for two weeks and just call up like nothing's wrong! Where are you? What are you doing? You're worrying everyone sick, are you all right?" She angrily wiped her eyes, telling herself that it must be her allergies again.

There was a ghost of a laugh. "How comforting to know you never change, Anya."

"Why should I change? It's only been two weeks, how much could I change in two weeks?"

"Everything can change in an instant, my dear." His voice was odd, then became normal. "Is anyone else there?"

"No, it's the lull, everyone has other things to do than spend money, or they're at school. Where are you?"

"I can't tell you. Anya, I was hoping to catch you alone, you're the most reasonable one of the group. I don't know if you've noticed, but there are several books missing from the shop."

Anya glared around. "Missing? We've been robbed?"

"Not at all, I came by the other night to pick up some things I need for the project I'm working on. I didn't know if you'd noticed yet, and I didn't want you to worry."

She went to the bookshelves and re-examined the gaps that had been worrying her eye. "I knew someone had been here, but Buffy didn't believe me. What did you take?"

"The diaries, some of the more obscure texts. You shouldn't need them for anything you're working on, but I need them."

"What are you working on that you have to be in hiding?"

"I can't tell you. But believe me that it's safer if I work on this away from you and the others. Oh, and some casting supplies, I took those too."

"Hmph. Well, it is your store, but did you leave a receipt? I have to keep track of inventory, you know."

"I'm sorry, no."

"When are you coming back?" she asked, trying not to sound too wistful.

His silence was painful.

"Giles?"

His voice was different again, almost sad. "I don't know, Anya. It would probably be best if you prepared yourselves for ..."

"For you not ever coming back?"

"Yes."

"Well, then, to hell with you, too! Nearly everyone else that they depend on picks up and leaves without explanation, why the hell should you be any different?"

"Anya--"

"Buffy doesn't cry because she's Buffy and she's not going to let the others see how upset she is. Tara and Willow are picking each other apart, Xander sits and broods, Dawn hides in corners, and Spike wanders around like a ghost. But, please, don't let us distract you from whatever important work you're doing."

She slammed the phone down before he could hear the tears in her own voice.

On the east side of town was an unfinished subdivision with the cheery name of Sunrise Grove. Funding for the place had dried up when the developer disappeared one balmy summer night. The streets had been laid and utilities installed, as well as the all-important sewer connections. None of the houses had been finished, but the community center in the middle had been nearly completed when tools were laid down and workers left for good. The legal fight on the place's future was expected to go on for years, leaving the development stalled.

The community center contained a gym, a kitchen, meeting rooms, and, in the basement, a large room that had been intended for a small branch library. The shelves now contained ancient tomes of mystic lore and modern volumes, and there were several tables bearing arcane tools and vessels. At a desk on one side of the room, Rupert Giles turned off the cellular phone and stared off thoughtfully.

They still believed he was one of the breathing. This was a good thing. His demon gloated at how well his plan was working. But the memories of the man heard the buried tears in Anya's voice and fought regret. There was no going back for him. An old life, left behind. He should be used to it, he'd reinvented himself so many times in the past. This was just one time more.

"Come in," he called at a knock on his door.

"You are up," Spike said, strolling in. He looked at the cellular in Giles' hand. "Gonna call someone?"

"Already did. Anya at the shop, to explain why some things were missing."

"Did she buy it?"

"Apparently so. She was more interested in scolding me for abandoning everyone."

Spike settled into a chair at the desk and watched him carefully. "No going back, Ripper."

"No, I know that. I begin to understand the urge, though, to destroy the loved ones left behind. Fewer distractions." He shook himself. "Are we ready for tonight?"

"Picking up the truck at sundown. Meeting a couple of strong but stupids over there."

"Will they talk?"

"Maybe about me, but you're still a stranger. Anyway, everybody knows about The Watcher, but hardly anyone knows the face and the name that goes with the title. Especially with the wardrobe change," he grinned.

Giles glanced down at himself wryly. It was oddly comfortable to be wearing all black. It harkened back to the days of his youth, as well as appealing to his current self. Some sense of decorum, however, chose fine wool trousers over leather, with a simple cotton sport shirt. He still had his glasses, but he'd replaced the lenses with plain glass. The glasses helped his harmless image and gave him something to fidget with as he thought.

"So how's the dechipping going?" Spike asked, trying to sound casual.

Giles nodded at one of the tables. "I've refined it to blocking inorganic broadcast energy on the brain's frequency. I did some experiments with a spell to just overload the chip, but that has some fragmentary side effects you might not want to deal with."

"What do you mean?"

Giles put his fists together and flicked the fingers upwards. "Boom."

"Ah. No, thanks, mate, nothing flying to bits in the cerebral cortex, if you don't mind."

"Right." Over in a corner, an electric tea kettle began whistling. Giles went over. "Would you like a cuppa?"

Spike started to refuse, then shrugged. "Sure. If you have enough, that is."

"Parlour manners, Spike, I'm impressed. Milk?."

"If you have it."

"Of course."

Giles took a few minutes to savor his tea. His new senses found even more to enjoy in the aroma and taste. He watched Spike casually as the blond vampire sipped at his mug.

"Not bad," Spike said.

"Thank you."

"Must be a hundred years since I had a proper cuppa." He saw Giles being carefully uncurious and resisted the urge to explain. "You said the problem with the spell was making it permanent."

"I can base it on an object, but it would need to be on you to work. What are your thoughts on an earring?"

"Oh, fuck, you're kidding." He glared at the loop in Giles' left earlobe. "How big?"

"A gemstone would be best, higher quality the better. A half-carat good quality stone would work. A sapphire would go nicely with your eyes."

"Fighting the poof for his title, are you? If I lost it, the chip would kick in again, wouldn't it?"

"This is only a workaround. We can look for a complete fix at leisure."

"And the possibility of it short-circuiting my brain?"

"What's life without a little risk?" Giles smiled. He enjoyed the suspicion and distrust on Spike's face for a few moments. "We can test it on someone first. If it's going to cause damage it will be immediately apparent."

"Human experimentation, Dr. Mengele?"

"Who said anything about human?"

Spike laughed. "I only care if I'm the guinea pig. How soon?"

"I need a gem and I want to double check the spell text against the books we're getting tonight. He turned the tea cup in his hands thoughtfully. "Day after tomorrow I'll cast it, if I can get the gems."

"You got a source?"

"I should." He glanced at his watch. "Sunset. Shall we?"

To Giles' surprise, his convertible was parked safe and sound in his space at his apartment complex.

"It's not even scratched," he said in disbelief. "Xander must have driven it over, none of the others could have done it."

"Gotta say," Spike said, "I was surprised when you bought this nice a car, considering your last one."

"Which you wrecked."

"Leading the toy soldiers away from your demon ass."

"Hm." A U-Haul truck rolled into the parking lot. "Ah, are these yours?"

"Better be."

The truck stopped at Spike's signal and two vampires climbed out of the cab. "What's the job?" the tall broad one asked.

"Simple move."

The short thin one looked around. "Felony or misdemeanor?"

"Legit. My mate over here is changing digs. Keys, Ripper?"

Giles barely turned from fondling his car to toss a set of keys to Spike.

A man in a bathrobe came stomping up the sidewalk. "Mr. Giles, is that you?"

Giles muttered a pungent Sumerian oath. "Mr. Katakis, how nice to see you. My landlord," he added to Spike.

Mr. Katakis glared at Spike. "I remember you, you were here a lot last year. Not supposed to have roommates without permission." He glared at the U-Haul.

"I assure you, Mr. Katakis, far from having an unauthorized roommate, I am moving out."

"Hmph. Just going to sneak out, were you? Not surprised. You seem the sort. Always trouble, broken windows, carpets always need cleaning, people in and out. Bodies! And all the women! Young ones, too, that little blonde thing that hangs around all the time. Tisn't right."

Giles slowly pulled off his glasses. Spike tried not to smirk. "Mr. Katakis, I'm sorry I was not a model tenant. But as of tonight, you won't have to worry about me anymore."

"Gonna disappear without a moving inspection, huh? Must be a mess up there. And I bet you're expecting your cleaning deposit back, too."

Giles studied him for a moment. "Why don't you let my friends start with the heavy lifting and such while you and I go to your office and take care of any ... paperwork that's necessary."

Mr. Katakis glared at Spike and the two vampires, who were leaning against the U-Haul, looking like union workmen on a break. "Who are those two men, Mr. Giles?"

Giles looked at the pair who had come in the truck, oblivious to their game faces in the presence of a human. "Mr. Katakis, surely you would not be so gauche as to hold someone's appearance against them when it comes to hiring?"

"Oh. Of course not."

"Then let's go to your office and settle matters." Mr. Katakis headed off, muttering. Giles looked at Spike. "You know what we're after. This shouldn't take long."

"Bon appetit," Spike grinned. Giles blinked, then smiled and followed Mr. Katakis.

The short vampire licked his lips. "Was dinner part of the deal?"

"You were supposed to eat before you got here. What, you expect me to order you a delivery guy?"

"Well ..."

"First we work, then we eat."

Twenty minutes later, Giles came in to say farewell to his apartment. He found the tall vampire carrying out a box of books. "By the way, thank you for helping me with this. I didn't catch your name."

"Uh, I'm Fred." They shook hands around the box.

"Wonderful. I'm Ripper. And your friend?"

"Sammy. You know Spike long?"

"Oh, years now."

Fred looked at him oddly. Giles wondered if he could tell Giles was barely two weeks old as a vampire. If nothing else, vampires did not normally have apartments with sunny windows.

"So where is Spike?"

"Uh, up in the bedroom, trying to figure out how to get the bed apart."

"Dammit, that's an antique, he'll break it. Excuse me."

Nearly all the books were gone, which was the priority. Beyond his books, Giles wanted his desk, couch and bed. Not surprisingly, the TV and stereo and all his tapes and discs were already gone. Spike would have grabbed those first. Sammy, taping up the last box of books, nodded to Giles.

Upstairs, the mattress and box spring were leaning against the wall. Spike was staring at the bed frame, twirling a hammer in his hand.

"Don't you dare," Giles said firmly, taking the hammer away.

"Did you get the landlord squared away?" Spike asked with a grin.

"Yes, I did. And I got my cleaning deposit back."

"Rifled his wallet?"

"Desk drawer was open. And no one saw me with him." He smiled reminiscently. "He said he knew I was no good, foreigners are always trouble, he said."

"Good riddance to him, then. We should be out of here in an hour if you help carry. Oh, and help me get this thing apart."

"Fine. But no hammers."

Taking the furniture out was a lot easier with vampire strength than the struggle to get it all in. While Spike supervised the final loading, Giles did a last sweep of the place. He wasn't really going to miss the place. Not even his human part had that many happy memories. What there were of them were overwhelmed by the images of dead Jenny and long nights of too little sleep, too much alcohol, and too much stress. He should have moved out long ago.

He turned at a tap on the door. Spike stood in the doorway. "Truck's ready, boys are getting hungry. If you don't want your ex-neighbors to be entrees, we should go."

"No, Mr. Katakis will attract enough attention when the kids discover the apartment's empty."

"If they make the connection between him and the place being empty, they'll know a vampire was involved."

"But they won't know it was me." He looked around one more time and sighed.

"Feeling nostalgic?"

"Not really. How about you?"

"For the tub? For sitting in the corner with a Slayer in my lap getting gushy? Not bloody likely. Then we're ready?"

The last physical tie to his old life. "I'm ready. I'll drop the keys off in the office. You riding with the truck or me?"

"I'll go with the truck. Maybe help the boys get something to eat on the way." He saw Giles' grimace, but the former Watcher said nothing. Some habits of thought held over for a while.

"Then I'll meet you over there to help unload."

Spike started to go, then looked back. "I never did go back home. Easier that way, not to see where I came from." He settled his long coat around him and went off into the night.

Giles studied a wall absently, then nodded and left.

It was a dark and stormy night. Really. The community center at Sunrise Grove was dark, with heavy shutters and curtains on all the windows, but luckily the roof didn't leak.

Giles walked through the half-built subdivision, carrying an umbrella against the rain. The unfinished houses in their proto-lawns of mud continued to warp and deteriorate, and they looked wonderfully uninviting to the casual passer-by. Some of the shells, however, contained beer bottles and other remnants of parties.

"Rotten kids, get off my lawn," Giles murmured with a smile. It wouldn't be long, though, before the jungle telegraph put out the word that the ill-starred subdivision was not on the A party list anymore. He quite enjoyed when his dinner was delivered practically to his doorstep.

But he didn't need the distraction of teaching stupid youngsters to find somewhere else to play. Not when he was working magic again. It was easier than ever to reach out for the forces of manipulation, but the demon kept yearning to tug wildly on the strands, regardless of consequences. Half of everything he'd done since he'd changed involved meditation and exercises of the will to make sure the mage side controlled the casting, not the demon side.

Such meditation was why he was out walking before attempting the spell to block the effects of Spike's chip. The rain was soothing, reminding him of England. His urge to return home confused him, though. Was it the demon or the man who was so heartily sick of California? He was still working out exactly how far he should give in to the demon's demands while still maintaining his identity.

But this was all distraction again. The spell he was planning was simple. His only concerns were his lack of current practice with active spell-casting and the demon's propensity for sticking its nose in at the worst possible time. Granted, thinking of the demon as separate was sophistry. All theories of vampirism stated that the demon wore the shell of the old personality, holding up the mask of the body and performing according to old patterns recorded in the memories. That assumed, though, that personality resided only in the soul, and Giles really wanted to sit down with psychologists and experts on brain mapping to discuss where will and habits lived. Being a vampire had so many elements to fascinate a man of intelligence.

More wool-gathering, a very bad habit. He turned to head back towards the community center and heard footsteps approaching out of the dark. "There you are, Ripper," said Fred. He and Sammy had stayed on with Spike and Giles after the move, having no better ideas on what to do with themselves.

"Good evening, Fred. Let me guess, Spike's getting impatient."

"Yep. Something about you can gaze at your navel later, he wants his spell."

"Well, he has been waiting a while. Let's go."

Spike stood in an out of the way corner of Giles' library workroom, smoking nervously. Giles stood at a table on the far side of the room, going over components and words.

"That's going to have to be your last cigarette," Giles said. "Tobacco is not a required incense for this spell."

"Dammit." He sucked down the last inch and ground the butt out under his heel. Without nicotine to distract himself, he watched Giles work. Dru's spellwork had always been full of floaty gestures, mystic mutterings, and, more often than not, dolls in odd places. Giles was very focused and professional, looking more like a surgeon laying out his instruments then someone communing with the forces of the universe.

In the middle of the empty area in the center of the room was a waist-high round table with a brass bowl. Giles began transferring items from his work table to the round table. Spike was used to the genial, sometimes bumbling researcher, though he'd seen flashes of the man who had trained and honed the most effective Slayer in history. The new version had a collected way of moving across a room that was a pleasure to watch.

"Make yourself useful," Giles said over his shoulder. "Put these on the cardinal points marked on the floor." He tossed four white candles to Spike.

"Any particular one where?"

"No, just upright. Oh, and don't light them."

After the candles were placed, Giles picked up a bowl and began sprinkling a powder along a circle connecting the candles. When that was done, he looked everything over one more time. He looked up and saw Spike watching him carefully. "What's so fascinating?"

Spike grinned. "I just like watching professionals at work."

"Not quite professional, not anymore. Once I get back into practice, now, then we'll see." He touched each item on the round table in turn, naming them off mentally. "That should do it. Nothing dreadful should happen, but don't cross that circle if you can help it."

"Why the circle if this is simple?"

"Minimizes outside influences. I see more things out of the corner of my eyes than I used to, I'd like to keep them from interfering. All right, we begin."

He picked up a pinch of powder from the circle, closed his eyes a moment, then murmured "Fiat lux" and dropped the powder.

The circle flashed white and the candles took flame.

Spike blinked. "Does that work for cigarettes?" he asked to cover how impressed he was.

"Hush."

Giles went to the table and began work. Items were added to the bowl as he spoke quietly to himself. It sounded like Latin, but Spike only got a few words. Spike found himself watching Giles' hands, the sure way he manipulated the ingredients and the precision of the gestures. The man played guitar, if he remembered half-overheard conversations correctly.

Finally, Giles picked up a small narrow-bladed dagger and jabbed it into his thumb. Blood dripped into the bowl, where a brief flash of light went off.

Giles stepped back and relaxed. "Excellent. Apparently caster's blood is just caster's blood when it comes to bindings. I wasn't sure if vampirism would change that." He looked off thoughtfully. "Though that would have interesting ramifications on existing spell structures, if a caster was changed. Then again, I'm sure there are more advanced spells where the condition of the caster's blood is very important. I wonder--"

"Ripper," Spike said firmly.

"What? Oh, sorry."

"I see why you and the little witch get along, you both babble. Did it work?"

"I believe so. Let me finish everything up." He reached down to the circle, picked up another pinch of powder and said, "Fiat atra" as he dropped it. The candles went out and the circle went dark.

"Now that is neat," Spike grinned.

Giles brushed off his fingers. "Yes, that went well. And now the results." From out of the bowl he pulled two small items.

Spike came over, glowering. "Two? I agreed, reluctantly, to one."

"I believe in spares. You'll only need to wear one." He handed the two earstuds over.

Faceted amber, each about six millimeters across. Each had a tiny gnat embedded in them. "Where did you get these?" Spike asked. "I like the bugs."

"I have my sources." He took one of the studs back. "And now to test." He looked towards the door, then shrugged and pulled the loop out of his own ear.

"What are you doing?" Spike asked.

"I was going to call in Fred or Sammy, but I'm in a hurry."

"Ripper, you said this could be dangerous if it didn't work."

Giles grinned. "Why, Spike, I didn't know you cared. If my brain goes to jelly, you have my permission to stake me. Do make sure first, though." He slid the post into his ear.

Spike watched carefully. Giles stared off, hardly blinking. "Ripper?" Not even a blink. "Mate? Giles!"

"Hm? Oh, yes, everything seems fine." The faint smile made Spike smack him hard in the arm. "Now we try it for real." Giles picked up a thin metal spike. "Where would you like it?" he asked with a grin.

Spike raised an eyebrow. "You're the sorcerer. Where does it need to be?"

"Your choice. But close to the brain would be best."

"This better not look stupid." He ran his fingers around the curve of his left ear. "Up here at the top. A bit less poofy than the usual."

"It'll hurt more."

"I'm tough." He took the spike from Giles, found a spot in the upper part of the ear's cartilage, then shoved the sharp end through. The ear post went in next, and he snapped the back on. No change in his head, he felt exactly the same. "All right, I still have my mind. Now what?"

Giles went to the door and looked out. "Fred, would you bring in our guest?"

Spike blinked, then grinned as Fred dragged in a kicking, swearing young man. No one he knew. "I like a man who's prepared."

"No use running experiments if one can't run tests. Thank you, Fred."

"Um, can I watch?" Fred asked. "Just to see if it works?"

Giles looked at Spike, who shrugged. "What the hell? Not like the whole world doesn't know I had my fangs pulled anyway."

The young man looked around. "You can't do this. My father's a lawyer, he'll have you all up on charges--"

"I know you," Giles said. "Jeremy Jones. You were supposed to go to UCLA for football. I guess that fell through if you're still in Sunnydale."

"You're that faggy librarian from the high school! Oh, you're in trouble, I'll get you deported--"

"Is anyone else as tired of this stupid sod as I am?" Spike said. Dread of the pain was slowing him down, as well as dread that another hope would fall through. But he wasn't going to get back to his proper vicious self without trying this out. He waited till Jones was looking at him and walked towards him slowly. "I don't think anyone is very concerned about your daddy the lawyer, mate. Let him go, Fred."

Jones pulled away, saw his way to the door was blocked, and turned on Spike. He saw only a slender man, not that tall, in black jeans and t-shirt. "You don't look so tough, pretty boy. Bring it on."

"Points for balls, mate, but you don't know what you've fallen into here." Spike rode the building violence. For over a year now he'd preyed on his own kind, just to keep himself sane. There was a lot of built up tension to take care of. Poor kid.

The human swung, and Spike caught his fist. Jones tried to pull free, but Spike held on easily. Slowly he closed his hand around the fist. Jones yelled in pain and fell to his knees. Spike laughed.

"Excellent," Giles murmured as Fred grinned in delight.

Spike pulled on his game face and grinned down at the gibbering Jones. Beating the crap out of wimpy humans was no fun, though. Humans had other uses. He reached down, grabbed a handful of hair and yanked Jones up, tilting his head back to expose the neck. Spike hesitated just a fraction, then slammed his fangs into the jugular.

Exile's end, mind chains finally cut free, his true self finally uncurled. That gnawing, neverending hunger finally eased, tasting real food again. He growled as he fed deep and as Jones struggled helplessly. The boy's heart fluttered under his hands, the blood in his mouth became sharp with fear and despair.

Finally the human was drained and limp. Spike felt close to whole for the first time in months. He let the body drop to the floor and stretched ecstatically. "God, yes! I am back!"

Giles leaned a hip on his work table and grinned. Fred practically applauded.

It was like the first time he'd been drunk, the world had new colors, senses he'd forgotten the names for stretched wide. But unlike drunkenness, this was real, this was what he was truly meant to be. He flexed his hands, feeling his strength as something new. "Free."

He flung his arms wide and laughed his joy and anticipation to the world. Then he spun to stride over to Giles, grab his head and kiss him hard on the mouth. He shoved his tongue into the other man's mouth, and it took a couple of seconds to realize he was being kissed back. He broke the kiss slowly, pulled back and gave Giles a very intrigued look.

"You're welcome,"Giles said, still smiling. He licked his lips. "They always do taste better when they're afraid."

Spike smiled. "It's been a long time, though. I'm still hungry."

Fred piped up. "So what are you going to do now?"

Spike blinked. He'd all but forgotten the other person in the room. He winked at Giles before turning. "Oh, the usual, maim, torment, ravage, terrorize." He grinned in anticipation. "I believe I shall pay a call on the Slayer."

Giles cleared his throat pointedly.

"Oh, Ripper, please, no, don't go all reasonable on me now."

Giles glanced at Fred, who blinked. "Oh, yeah," he said, "right, sub-plots, higher plans that I don't need to know anything about, right. How about I just find something to do with our guest, here?"

"Thank you, Fred, I appreciate that."

Spike grinned as Fred hauled the mortal remains away. "Your first minion, congratulations. And one with a brain at that."

"Yes, he's very useful," said Giles. "Now, back to your plans for the evening ..."

"Ripper, don't lecture me, dammit. I have been laughed at and sneered at for too fuckin' long."

"I understand. All I'm asking is that you try to keep the Scoobies from finding out for as long as possible."

Spike sighed and went for his cigarettes. "I am so sick of walking into a room and having them look at me and shrug."

"Oh, yes, the 'oh, it's just him' look. I know it well."

"Don't you want to see the look on their faces when they realize how you've changed?"

Giles paused to think and smile, then shook himself. "I'll gloat later. But now that we've got you back on line, we need to focus on Glory. Once we have her out of the way, then we can focus on things a bit more ... personal."

Spike grinned. "Reassuring to know you have a personal agenda."

"Oh, I shan't let down the side when it comes to self-indulgence," he said with a grin. "And I have no complaints with you celebrating. Do keep in mind, though, that piles of bodies would be noticeable."

"I think I'll go to Willie's, maybe pick up some snacks on the way. Shall I bring you back anybody?"

"No, thank you, I've eaten." He began tidying up his work table. "Though I'll be interested to hear how it went when you get back."

"Right-o." Spike was halfway out the door before the invitation correlated with the earlier kiss. He paused and looked back, but Giles was busy with putting supplies and tools away. Hang around and find out what was meant by all that or go out and find some mayhem? Mayhem. He hadn't lied about being hungry--though there were many kinds of hungry.

The rain had eased up so he strolled through the lovely cool night, looking for opportunity and basking in the feel of being whole. The world cowered at his feet. Glorious. He reached up to fidget with the earstud. Did he have an earring back in the '80s? Sometimes it was hard to remember.

The sounds of battle came from the cemetery ahead. Sure, he'd promised--sort of--to avoid the Slayer, but he couldn't very well avoid her if she popped up in front of him, now could he? It would be suspicious.

Buffy was fighting three vampires but didn't look too worried. Spike lurked behind a tree to watch. One vamp went to dust, the second proved to be a tougher fight, and the third tried to slink away.

"Don't you dare!" the Slayer snapped as she blocked a kick from her current foe. "I'll be pissed if I have to track you down."

"Yeah," protested the third vamp, "but you're just going to kill me!"

"If you're lucky!"

She blocked a fist with her left arm, tossed the stake in her right hand into the air, punched the vampire hard with her right hand, dazing him,

then caught the stake and drove it home.

Spike applauded as the dust settled.

Buffy, already tracking the last vampire, whirled. "Oh, you." She continued after her last target.

He smiled faintly "Me. Lookin' less than perky tonight, Slayer."

"How I am looking is none of your business. Where are you, you--you vampire!"

Spike shrugged. "Fair enough. But if I can see it, odds are everybody else can too."

Buffy hesitated, then glanced at him. "What do you mean?"

"Three vamps of a distinctly lower class, and you've actually broken a sweat." He made sure she saw him observing how hard she was breathing.

"You're disgusting." She looked around. "He's gone! Dammit, you did that on purpose."

"If you let the smart ones get away, you get a better chase later."

"I don't want a better chase, I want them all to just go away!" She flopped down onto the ground and leaned against a headstone.

Spike walked slowly over and squatted down in front of her. "Seriously, Slayer, when's the last time you slept?"

"God, sleep, I've heard about that, somebody said they got some once. Is sleep nice?" She shook her head. "Never mind."

"No news on the Watcher?"

"Anya said he called the shop a couple of days ago, said he took some stuff from the shop, books and stuff. Some sort of research he can't do around us. And his apartment's been cleaned out and his car's gone. Anya said he said he probably won't be back." A tear fell from her eyes and down her cheek. "He just left without a word, and then he just calls to talk to Anya about his damned store, and he didn't even leave me a message." She turned her back on him so he couldn't see her cry.

If he'd been closer he might have touched her. Which was why he'd stopped out of reach. If she knew the chip was out of action she'd never have stopped to talk to him. His demon was urging him to jump now, complete his Slayer hat trick. But she trusted him enough, despite herself, to turn her back on him and let him see, reluctantly, the pain she was in.

A lot of him wanted to attack, to finally have that last fight to prove which of them was better. He'd make her admit she was beaten, that he was stronger and tougher than she, and then he'd ... The vision always broke down there, one side of his mind blissfully imagining draining her and dropping her corpse on the ground. The other part saw himself pulling her into his arms and kissing her senseless, right before dragging her to bed and inflicting a whole different set of bruises on her. Then there was the really vicious part that voted for both options.

"Your place is empty, too," Buffy suddenly said, still facing away.

"Came to visit, did you?"

"Dawn ran off again. Anymore I look for her with you first thing. I found her sitting in the middle of that lower room crying her eyes out." Buffy glared at him over her shoulder. "She figures you got tired of her dropping in on you and you pulled a Giles."

"I thought you didn't want her coming round," he snapped, trying to ignore the knot in his gut.

She looked away, hunching her shoulders. "At least I knew where she was," she muttered. "And that she was safe. Why'd you move? We thought you might have left town for good. Xander was going to order an ice cream cake to celebrate."

Spike couldn't help snickering at the image of Xander at Baskin Robbins telling them what to put on the cake. "I don't mind the Niblet showing up on my doorstep, but all the rest of you think you can just appear like the morning milk. A bloke likes his privacy."

"Where'd you go?"

"Gonna bring a bottle of wine for a housewarming present? Help me settle in?"

"Oh, you're horrible." She scrambled to her feet. "I guess I'll go break the bad news that while we still don't have Giles we are still stuck with you."

"Tell Niblet it wasn't her. And that it's not safe to come looking for me."

Buffy studied him. "Something's up, isn't it."

"Maybe."

She sighed, then looked at him closer. "What's with the earring? That's just so 90s."

"It's got a dead bug in it, thought it looked good."

"Ick. Sometimes you are just too Addams Family." She took a deep breath and got to her feet. "Back to work."

"Is something going on that you have to push this hard? I thought Glory was the crisis de jour."

She shrugged. "Everybody's at the shop doing research, they keep telling me I get in the way. Pacing and asking questions and all that. Willow's being research girl and trying to keep everything organized. So I come out and patrol and check back in and hear they haven't found anything and come out and patrol again."

"And kicking ass makes some of the pain go away."

Buffy stared at him in silence, then finally nodded. Spike almost told her that her Watcher thought of her every day, that he regretted the pain Buffy was in. But Ripper had made his plan plain, and Spike knew better than messing with master plans to make a little chit feel better. The unrepentant part of him wondered if he could get some advantage by providing comfort later. Being evil was fun.

As she wandered off, he felt suddenly disgusted with himself for reacting like the neutered lap dog he'd been the past several months. He was tempted a moment to run after her, show her his fangs and see the dismissal in her eyes change to sweet fear. Time to follow the Klingon way, revenge was a dish best served cold.

It was almost enough to know he could kill anyone at whim as Spike strolled the street near the Bronze. He'd fought the urge so long that his demon cringed each time he assessed opportunities. The blood of the boy from earlier took the edge off the hunger so that the urge to feed was as much psychological as physical. It was an act of will not to slide into game face and just start lashing out in a show of carnage not seen since he'd earned his nickname. Such a damned shame those Initiative shits weren't still around.

He paused on the corner across from the nightclub to imagine the screams he could wring from those toy soldiers. A shiver of delight went through him.

"Thinking of all the things you used to be able to do, old man?" sneered a voice from a nearby doorway.

"Still not dust, eh, Floyd?" Spike pulled out his cigarettes and lit up. "Slayer must keep throwing you back to grow."

A scrawny vampire barely twenty years turned stepped into the light. "She probably thinks we're all as harmless as you."

Spike managed not to grin too widely. "What brings you out on the streets? Run out of dogs at the pound?"

Floyd's fangs appeared as he snarled, then he shook himself and smirked. "You probably can't even touch dog. Baggie boy."

A squeal of drunken laughter from the Bronze distracted them both. A mixed group of boys and girls huddled in the doorway, deciding which way to go. Eventually a young man and woman headed up the street to the sound of catcalls from the rest of the group.

Floyd chuckled and started trailing the pair. Spike strolled after him, and the other vampire turned to glare.

"Gonna walk 'em home? Keep 'em safe to impress your Slayer?"

"Nope."

Floyd sneered. "Oh, gonna watch how it's done and reminisce? Don't get in my way, has-been." He turned and so didn't see Spike's eyes flash yellow.

The couple stumbled across the street, giggling together. They made the classic mistake of choosing to take a shortcut through the park.

Spike debated telling Floyd that the park was prime Slayer hunting territory, but decided to drop back a little. If the Slayer did show up, he still had the option of playing the great protector.

But tonight was not the lovebirds' lucky night. The Slayer was not on hand to stop Floyd, in full vamp mode, from charging out from behind a tree, bringing the boy to the ground. The girl fell, screaming, as the vampire yanked his victim's head back and dove into the jugular. She scrambled to her feet, looked around desperately, and saw a figure in the shadows, a slender man with pale hair and a long black coat.

"Help me! Please, help me!" She stumbled to him and clutched his arm. "Please, help."

He caught her and held her up, smiling kindly. "Havin' some trouble, pet?" He glanced over at the dying boy, and when he looked back at the girl his forehead was gnarled, his blue eyes were yellow, and fangs backed the smile. "Just not your night, love."

She got off one piercing shriek before fangs silenced her.

Floyd looked up in surprise from the dregs of his meal. "Huh?"

Spike held the girl close as he drained her, not sure if he loved the taste more or the way she struggled against him before going limp. He licked his lips and kissed her forehead before letting her fall. "Thanks for the welcome home, pretty."

Floyd, still crouched on the ground, stared. "What? But--you can't ..."

Spike pulled out another cigarette as he sauntered over. "'Has-been', I believe, was the phrase you used." Still with his demon face on, he smiled down at the other vampire as he pulled his lighter to fire up the cigarette.

"Oh, gosh ..."

"Baggie boy, now, that was a bit clever, you can't have thought it up yourself."

"Spike, you know--wow, you're better, who knew?"

He studied the flame on his lighter, watching the way the breeze played with the fire. "Old man, now, that's nothing but the truth, I was destroying villages before your grandparents were even born."

"You're right, yeah, when it comes to mayhem, there's nobody around to match you."

Few vamps groveled as well as Floyd. Spike changed his mind and flicked the lighter closed. "For creatures as old as us, it's a real pity how bad memories can be." He kicked Floyd, the toe of his boot catching the other vampire just under the chin and throwing him a good dozen feet before he hit the ground. "Might be time for some reminding." He hopped lightly over the body on the ground and strolled over to where Floyd was dragging himself up.

"God, Spike, please ..."

It was pleasant to hear God and Spike in the same pleading breath. He chuckled as he grabbed the front of Floyd's shirt and hauled him up. "I'm not going to kill you tonight, Floyd, and do you know why?"

"N--n--no, why?"

"Because it's something I'd want to take my time over, and it's going to be dawn in a couple of hours, and I want to get home and find out what someone was thinking when they kissed me earlier tonight. But if that doesn't go well, I might just come out tomorrow night and pick up where we left off. Does that sound like fun?"

Floyd gaped at him, obviously trying to decide what answer would continue his existence. "Uh, no--yeah--um, good luck?"

"You're such a little worm, Floyd. I like that about you."

Spike tossed Floyd into a nearby tree, half hoping that the Slayer would be by to find the vampire in the presence of two bled-out bodies. He was so looking forward to terrorizing the citizens of the night into having proper respect for William the Bloody again. But first, back to Sunrise Grove and an ex-Watcher who was waiting to hear how the night had gone.

He headed off, whistling, occasionally throwing in the words: "... each step along the highway. And more, much more than this, I did it my way!"

Sammy was hanging out near the door when Spike strolled up, looking very content with the world.

"Mornin', Spike," he grinned.

"Mornin', Sammy."

"Have a good night?"

"Lovely night. I've missed making people scream. See ya later."

"Later."

Spike felt a bit sleepy as he headed down to the basement. He hadn't fed so well in months. The demon was circling in his mind like a dog treading out a nest to setting into. But curling up alone wouldn't be nearly as pleasant as having a congenial companion to curl up with.

The library was empty, but the door to Giles' room, one of what had been destined to be a meeting room, was half open. The sound of Italian opera came out along with the smell of tea. Spike tapped lightly on the door before going in.

Most of Giles' old furniture had been set up in here. He sat in his favorite reading chair with his feet up on an ottoman as he flipped through ...

"A gardening catalog?" Spike said in disbelief.

"Yes, a gardening catalog. I always meant to take advantage of California's growing season, but never got the chance. With the children accepting I'm still about, I should be able to use my credit cards again." He put the catalog aside. "How did your walk go?"

Spike remembered Buffy arriving at her Watcher's apartment after patrols to report. "Went well, had a pretty girl for afters, put the fear of me into a particularly weaselly little specimen called Floyd." He saw Giles frown. "I agreed to keep the Scoobies from knowing I was better, but I am not going to take shit from bloody little fledglings anymore."

Giles nodded. "I don't blame you. By the time any gossip reaches Buffy, it might well be academic."

"And if she asks, I can put her off. If I can keep Angelus from knowing I could walk, I can keep the Slayer from knowing I can bite."

"Was this Floyd surprised?"

Spike went to stretch out on the couch. "Begged for his life, he did. Floyd always was one to know where his best interest lay. Might've dusted him anyway, but I wanted to get back."

"Why?"

"Because I wanted to talk to you about earlier."

"Earlier?"

"When I kissed you and you kissed me back."

"Oh, yes." Giles smiled. "It was an emotional moment."

"Not to say I never thought about sneaking up on you one of those mornings when you were wandering around your place half-asleep, but I didn't know you might be thinkin' the same."

Giles chuckled. "If it ever crossed my mind, I'd have denied it violently and written it off to the unnatural abilities of vampires. Don't smirk like that."

"And just how often did you think about the unnatural abilities of vampires?" Spike asked, cocking an eyebrow suggestively.

"All the time, and in no pleasant way, while Buffy was with Angel. I was almost relieved when Angelus appeared to show her his true nature." He sipped his tea and didn't look at Spike. "While I was ... in Angelus' care, I remember watching you, wondering why you kept distracting him. I assumed later that it was part of your ploy to gain Buffy's help in dealing with Angelus. But I will admit now that I felt--less desperate when you were in the room. And it seemed a pity that you were trapped in that chair. Having you at full strength and terrorizing the community was not of the good, as the children would say, but seeing you helpless was ... upsetting."

"I could think of much better things to do with you than beating you bloody myself. But the poof wasn't in the mood to share, and I talked him out of some plans of his own along those lines."

Giles winced. "Thank you. Angelus' ideas of creativity were disturbing."

"And you only got a few hours of him." Spike shook himself. The poof's kinks were not the subject he wanted to address. "I did enjoy watching you sneer at him. Made me think you might be worth some effort." He sighed melodramatically. "All that wasted time when I was chained up alone in the tub, tsk."

"Hardly. When you weren't being loudly obnoxious, you were sulking and brooding--"

"I was not!"

"It's not attractive in Angel, and it's not attractive in you."

"I. Do. Not. Brood."

"Will you concede sulking?"

He shrugged sullenly and looked away.

Giles managed not to smile too hard. "As often as I was tempted to stake you for being an ass, I wanted to stake you for being a caricature of your old self. It's kinder to kill the tiger than to put it in a cage where it can only pace back and forth."

Spike looked up, pleased at the analogy. "A tiger, huh?"

"It's not original to me. The girls have been known to chat amongst themselves when they thought I was out of earshot. No self-respecting male should be forced to listen to women speaking bluntly amongst themselves."

"Brutal?"

"Terrifying. Though I did learn that I could be presentable if I was kept out of tweed, and whoever did your laundry was to be thanked for shrinking your jeans. Oh, and Anya proposed a conspiracy to hide all your shirts."

"Anyone take her up on it?" Spike asked, preening.

"No, but there was a very thoughtful silence for several seconds."

Spike considered things for a bit. "So there may have been some ulterior motives in you turning off this chip."

"Beyond getting you to full strength for when we deal with Glory?" He smiled and made no bones about looking Spike over. "Yes, there were ulterior motives. I am ... quite pleased to see you back to your old self."

Spike smiled lazily. "I think you look best out of tweed myself. Then again, I imagine you look good out of anything."

Giles finished his tea and put the cup and saucer on the table next to his chair. "It's getting late. I think it's time for bed."

"I think you're right." Spike got to his feet and stretched. "Mine's bigger."

"I beg your pardon!"

He blinked, then laughed. "I was talking about beds."

"Oh." It was a very good thing that vampires could no longer blush. "Yes, of course."

"Thought if you were referring to something else ..."

The smile was pure Ripper. "You'll just have to find out."

End

Career Change 2: Loose Ends--What Happened Next

by Two Ladies of Quality

Spike's room looked very much like a late Victorian man's den, all rich carpets and too much furniture. Pride of place went to the elaborate stereo and TV system in the entertainment center at the far end of the room from the big wooden bed.

"Where did you get that?" Giles asked, staring at the TV.

"Fred and Sammy found a Circuit City delivery truck being hijacked near here. Fred had the hijacker, Sammy had the driver, they drove the truck back here. I think they kept a big screen for themselves, but I grabbed this stuff and they're selling the rest."

He pulled off his duster and hung it carefully on the hall tree next to the door. As he turned, he saw Giles raise his eyes quickly from where they'd been looking. Spike grinned. "How often did you check out my ass when I was at your place?"

"Never."

"And I know you copped feels when you were chaining me up."

"I did not!"

"Oh, no need to protest like that to me, mate, I could have mentioned it if it bothered me. But I was too busy enjoying your little morning rituals when you thought you had me parked out of the way."

"What do you mean?" Giles asked narrowly.

"I love mirrors. I could see you but you couldn't see me. If I stretched just right I could catch a view into your bathroom from your dresser mirror. Shouldn't leave the door open like that."

Giles crossed his arms and tried to glare. "You watched me in the bathroom."

"Um hm. We can work out a payment plan for me never telling a soul about your Robert Plant imitations in the shower. Mostly, though, I liked watching you shave. Especially when you worked on that section right here." He reached out and ran a finger lightly along Giles' neck where the jugular ran.

"I remember nicking myself there one morning," Giles said softly, "and being very glad that you weren't around to see."

Spike nodded. "If those chains had been any less tough, you'd have found out what I could see."

"You watched me all that time, but you never let on."

"Only time I ever heard you say a bloke's name in your sleep, you didn't sound happy. Who's Randall?" Spike blinked at the glare he got.

"Randall is not anyone with whom you need concern yourself." Giles sighed. "Poor, dear Randall." He saw Spike's curious look and smiled reluctantly. "Someone with whom I did my best to reject everything I was raised to believe, and that's all you're going to hear about this from me."

"School chum?" Spike asked brightly.

"I've only heard horror stories about what schools were like in your day--" He nodded at the flash of memories in the other vampire's eyes "--but my school was nothing like that. My father, having had his own experiences as a lad, for some reason did not think that what was good enough for him was good enough for me. So I had to wait till Oxford to sow my wild oats." He shook his head. "Lord, when Wesley walked in, oozing that sanctimonious public school aura, throwing his pathetic authority around, I could just picture him in a dormitory somewhere ..."

"Needn't stop for my tender ears, Ripper," Spike said when he paused. "Let me guess, you felt an urge to give him back a little of what he handed out? Do we need to be making that LA road trip earlier than I planned?"

Images flashed through Giles' mind, then he shook himself. "No, we don't have time for that."

"Yet."

Giles smiled crookedly at Spike. "Yet. But first there are plans to take care of."

"I've had enough of plans for tonight." Spike slid a hand under Giles sweater and discovered nothing but skin underneath. "No shirt?"

"I like the feel of silk and cashmere against the skin." He ran the edge of the red silk shirt's collar through his fingers. "So do you, apparently."

"Only when I can't have somebody else's skin against mine." Holding Giles' eyes with his, Spike ran both hands under the sweater and pushed it up. Giles took over and pulled it off. "And no one ever thought of stealing your shirts," Spike said thoughtfully, running his fingers along muscles.

"Apparently not." Giles started on the shirt buttons but didn't stop when he got to the end, continuing down to the zipper of Spike's tight jeans. Spike closed his eyes. The male hand reminded him of Angelus, but this touch, surprisingly experienced, was gentle. The potential for something rougher was there, but he knew he'd have to go looking for it if he wanted it. Maybe later.

While Giles' hands were busy, Spike slid his own into Giles' hair and pulled him close for a hard kiss, then he reached down for the buttons on Giles' slacks. They weren't as tight as the jeans and slithered obediently down and out of the way. Impatiently, Spike went to his knees to get closer to Giles' cock.

"Very nice," he murmured to himself, fondling the shaft and caressing the balls. Luckily there was a table nearby for Giles to lean on as he wobbled, especially when Spike's cold mouth slowly encircled and pulled him in.

Spike thought of a fantasy of his, of cornering the Watcher in his kitchen some morning, pushing him back against the refrigerator and making him moan helplessly. This was close enough. One hand cradled the testicles while the other slid around Giles' hip to his ass and played delicately with the opening.

Giles buried the hand that wasn't leaning on the table in Spike's hair and tried to quicken the motions. He felt the vampire laugh, then a finger slid inside him. His knees wobbled. Spike's cold tongue caressed his balls briefly, then his mouth went around Giles' cock again, just as another finger found its way in behind. Giles yelled something incoherent as he came, and he was no longer holding himself up. Finally Spike helped him slip to the soft rugs on the floor.

"I love it when the person I'm fucking screams when they come," Spike said, smiling proudly.

Giles forced himself to focus. "Do you scream?"

"You'll see."

Giles realized those insistent fingers were still at work in his ass. "If we're going to do it on the floor, why'd we leave my room?"

"Fair enough."

The big wooden bed was more than roomy enough. Spike hastily got rid of his clothes, snapping the lace on one boot when it knotted on him. Giles ran appreciative hands along the parts he could reach as Spike joined him in bed.

"I believe you said yours was bigger," Giles said thoughtfully.

Spike's eyes almost crossed at the feel of fingers weighing his balls. "Might take--some thorough investigation. Later." He tugged the hand carefully away, then leaned down to kiss his bedmate as he went exploring behind again. Giles kissed him back thoroughly, then grinned and shifted around for a better angle.

"God, I can't wait to see you in leather," Spike said, running his hands up Giles' legs to his butt. His eyes went up to Giles' back, and to the scars. At least he'd kept things from being worse. Once while Angelus had been out disemboweling minions in frustration, Spike had rolled his wheelchair to the door of the room Giles was kept in. Even in extreme pain, the Watcher had fought from letting his captors see how bad it was. British stiff upper lip or simple sheer cussedness? Regardless, seeing the man helpless had both upset and excited Spike. If he hadn't had Dru around to distract him ... He ran a light hand along one particularly bad scar, wishing it wasn't there.

"Don't," Giles said softly. "It doesn't matter now. Just ..."

"Right. It doesn't matter now." He had what Angelus could never get anyway, the Watcher willing and eager. Spike was petty enough to really enjoy that. Smiling smugly, he reached down to find the right angle to slide in.

"Dear god," Giles whispered. He couldn't do more than gasp until Spike was all the way in and tight against him.

"If I'd known you felt this good," Spike murmured into his ear, "I really would have sneaked up on you in your kitchen."

"I'd have staked you."

"Bet you wouldn't have." Spike begin to move and reached around to hold Giles' cock. Giles groaned and put his hand over Spike's as he pushed back. Drunk with the unexpectedness of Giles' welcome and the knowledge that he was whole again, Spike knew he wasn't going to last much longer. Holding on with a grip that would have broken human bones, he wrapped his arms around Giles and moved as hard as he good. They both yelled out at the end of it all.

They lay there together, content, for quite a while. Giles idly stroked Spike's leg as Spike rested his head on his shoulder. "We are going to tear this town apart," Spike finally muttered into Giles' ear.

"Yes, we are," Giles said in satisfaction. He nearly yawned. "After a nap."

"Right."

He looked over his shoulder and let Ripper out. "And then it's my turn."

"Good."

End

Career Change 3: Burdens

by Two Ladies of Quality

Angel had a soul, lived with the guilt of what he'd done over the centuries. The memory of what he'd done to Rupert Giles, who had been, if not a friend then a comrade, had been particulary sharp-edged. As sharp as the blades he'd used, whispered the demon reminiscently.

But Rupert Giles was no longer human, was a demon like Angel, and therefore well within the category of creature Angel could thrash with impunity.

"I don't enjoy remembering how I made you scream," Angel said with THAT smile, "but I have to admit that some part of me that I should really work harder on controlling wants to find out if you're still as stubborn now as you were then. And you're evil now. I'm supposed to do things to you. Let's play."

Giles sat upright in bed, still hearing that voice, that laugh. His eyes searched the shadows for the dark figure. Not trusting his sight, he jumped up and hurried to turn on the lights. He stood there, studying the empty room, old habits making his chest heave with panic.

Over in the bed, the covers rustled and Spike raised his head. "Same nightmare?"

"Yes," Giles said, not looking at him.

Spike sat up and rested his arms on his knees. "Most every day you have nightmares. You gonna tell me what it is or do I get to guess?"

"It's none of your business."

"Ah, the poof again. Most common star of your living nightmares, too."

"You have no idea what I have nightmares about. Do you dream?"

"Yeah. Was it Freud who said if we didn't dream we'd go mad?"

"I don't remember. But without a soul, who's dreaming? Why would the demon have nightmares using my memories?"

"Most recent stuff in your mind, maybe. Most of my dreams involve recent things." He pushed a pillow up to lean back against. "You'd have loved talking to a vamp I met in Memphis, Marianna. She loved wondering about the whys and wherefores of it all."

Giles barely listened, still hearing that taunting voice from the past. "As Drusilla's sire, does he have any hold on me?"

"If his demon were in charge and he made a point of it, he could put some pressure on you, but nothing somebody with your strength couldn't fight. I lived with him for decades, and he could have written books on manipulation and control, but he'd still have to be pretty direct with you." Spike brushed his hair out of his eyes. "Come back to bed, get some sleep."

"I--think I'd do best on my own for a bit. That was a hint, by the way," he added when Spike didn't move.

"Not throwin' me out of me own bed, Ripper. You wandered over my way tonight."

"Really?" Giles focused on his surroundings. "Oh, yes. How could I have missed the Victorian bordello effect? Not to mention the black satin sheets."

Spike made a show of settling in comfortably against his pillows. "You never complained about them before, Mr. Look, the Feel of Cotton."

"I'll leave you to your wallowing, then." Giles headed for the door.

"And get some sleep, dammit! If I find you've spent all day over those books--"

"Good night, mother."

Ignoring Spike on principle, Giles went to his library. He wasn't going to get any sleep for a couple of hours anyway, so he might as well do something productive. He found Leo di Modena's treatise on vampiric abilities and the notebook in which he jotted observations.

More hours later than he could be sure of, the phone on his desk rang, making him jump. He waited for the answering machine to pick up.

"This is Salvatore over at Mailboxes Etc., we got a package for an R. Bennett, C.O.D. I've got you marked down as one of our special delivery

customers, so I'll hold it till Friday. We'll be open till midnight, thanks."

The books from his London broker, excellent. Giles made a note to transfer more money from his credit cards to his cash account. Also best see to the access to his trust fund. He started to make other notes, then saw the time. Nearly noon, no wonder he was exhausted. Off to bed, before Spike got up and found him in the library.

Not long after sunset, he drove over to the mail drop store to pick up his package. The place was busy, and half the clientele were night folk. But this was neutral ground, where everyone minded their own business. This didn't stop Giles from staring longingly at the throats of the mortals going about their business as he waited his turn at the counter.

"Good evening," he said to the man at the counter. "You're holding a package for an R. Bennett?"

The man checked a list. "Yeah, we got it. C.O.D. eighty-two dollars." He glanced at Giles a touch nervously. "I'll be right back with the package."

"Thank you," Giles said with just enough edge to his smile to confirm the need for respect. The man scurried off.

Giles looked around as he waited. Over at the wall of mailboxes, someone whose lack of humanity was betrayed by the fact that his knees bent both ways was sorting through a collection of ads and magazines. A man who reeked of vampire was buying stamps at the machine.

He picked up the paper on the counter to scan the headlines. The words Pre-Columbian exhibit caught his eye just as the man returned with his box.

"There," he said, dropping it on the counter heavily.

"Careful, man, those are rare books. Have some care."

The man swallowed. "Eighty-two dollars, please."

Giles counted out the money, accepted his receipt, then lightly picked up the box to take it away. He took the paper too.

Once the box was stashed in the trunk of his car, he read the item about the exhibition. A selection of Pre-Columbian artifacts would be on display for viewing and purchase at the Summers Gallery for the next two weeks. Giles frowned in disappointment. Joyce's gallery. Buffy's mother would certainly know that Giles was supposed to be in some sort of seclusion. Odds were he'd have to forego the exhibit.

Another paragraph caught him. "Paula Murphy, assistant manager of the gallery, said the show would go forward despite the recent illness of Ms. Summers."

Giles hadn't heard that she'd been sick. Then again, he was out of the loop. Spike showed up at the Magic Box every few days to gather news, but the last time was two days ago. Perhaps it wasn't serious.

He got in his car and headed for the gallery, following some obscure thread of uneasiness.

Lights were on in the pueblo style building that housed the gallery, but the sign said closed. He knocked on the door until someone came to answer.

The woman looked harried. "I'm sorry, we're closed," she said through the partially open door. "The show opens the day after tomorrow."

He had his glasses on for greatest harmless effect. "Yes, I know, and I'm sorry. But I'm Rupert Giles, a friend of Joyce's, and I just heard she was ill. How is she?"

"Oh, a friend of Joyce? I'm Paula. It's terrible, isn't it? She was supposed to be better."

"Dear God," he whispered. "Not--the tumor again."

Paula nodded. "She was standing right here, then she just stared at me and fell down."

"How bad?"

"They're not sure. She's in the hospital while they do tests. They're hoping the paralysis will ease off with time."

"Paralysis? It was a stroke, then?"

Paula nodded, reaching for a kleenex. "I'm really sorry, Mr. Giles, but I have so much work to do for the exhibition, and they say she's worrying about it--"

"Of course, I'm sorry. But thank you for telling me. I'll go see her."

"Tell her we're going to pull this off and not to worry."

"I'll do that. Good night."

"Good night."

Giles hurried to his car, started for the hospital, then took a hard turn towards Sunrise Grove to tell Spike.

Sunnydale General was a good hospital, especially talented at dealing with trauma cases. Several of the staff, though, were relieved to be dealing with something as non-weird as a brain tumor. The young age of the patient, though, added that Sunnydale-esque note of tragedy to the situation, especially as Joyce Summers was supposed to be healed.

They managed to send her daughters home, with the help of that devoted coterie of friends. Many of the nurses knew them by name, having seen them in the hospital too often. The older girl, Buffy, looked particularly drawn, as if it would only take one more thing to crack whatever coping ability she had left.

The night nurse finished her rounds and headed back to the desk. After she passed, the door to the stairwell quickly opened and two men in dark clothes slipped through.

"Her room's down here," Spike said softly.

"I thought Buffy and the others would never leave," Giles complained.

This wasn't the floor for desperate cases, but the smell of misery lurked in the corners. Faint moans came from some of the rooms, nearly drowned out by the hiss of oxygen tubes.

Spike paused in the open doorway of one room. The man in the bed had multiple IVs and monitors. "This one's not going to make it."

Giles looked in. "How can you tell?"

"Sound of his heart, the smell. There's a feel. Dru taught me. We'd go down the street and she'd point out the ones who were going to die."

"How often did you make her prophecies come true?"

"Only once. The taste is wrong." He turned away. "And something about a bloke saying 'Thank you' just doesn't sit right."

"Let's find Joyce."

Her room was near the nurse's station but just out of sight around the corner. Giles paused, then nodded for Spike to go in first.

Her form lay still in the bed, oxygen hissing softly from the tube under her nose. Giles carefully closed the door as Spike went slowly to the bed.

Someone had brushed her hair and carefully arranged it around her face. Her features looked slack, and her breathing was so shallow it almost took vampire senses to hear it.

Spike pulled a chair to the bed and sat down. "Joyce?" he whispered.

Her eyes flickered open, but she didn't turn her head. "Who ..."

He took her hand. "It's me, Joyce. Spike."

She smiled as she tried to focus on him. "Spik ..."

"Yeah, love, me. Now, what do you mean by all this, then, hm?"

"Sor ... no hot chocolate ..."

Spike closed his eyes and swallowed hard. "It's all right, love. I'll treat you to some when you get out of here."

"If ..."

"No. No, Joyce, when."

"Can't feel my legs, Spike."

Giles moved to the end of the bed, reached down to one of her feet, and squeezed. Joyce didn't seem to notice.

Spike leaned closer. "Joyce, I had an organ and half a building fall on me. Damn near severed my spinal cord. I came back. Months in a wheelchair, but I came back. You'll come back from this."

" ... m'not a vampire ... just human. Cripple." Tears ran from her eyes. "Burden."

He reached up to wipe the tears away. "No burden, love. We'll take care of you."

She shook her head very slightly. "Too much for my girls. Dawn, Glor ..." She swallowed. "Can't even talk ..." She met Spike's eyes. "Don't want to live like this."

Spike shook his head mutely.

"Please ... kill me. Make it quick."

"God." He jumped out of the chair and to the far end of the room. Giles put a hand on his shoulder, then took the chair.

Joyce peered at him. "Giles? But ..."

"I'm supposed to have left, yes, I know. Never mind that now. What did the doctors say, do you recall?"

She frowned. "Not real ..."

"It's all right, never mind."

"Where have you been? Buffy so worried ..."

"I know, and I'm sorry. But it's for the best." He put his hand on hers.

She glanced down at his hand. "Cold." She studied his face a moment. "Oh." Tears escaped again. "Oh, no. Oh, Giles."

Spike snorted in the corner. "Always knew Slayer's brains didn't come from her old man."

Giles hesitated but left his hand where it was. "It's all right, Joyce. Really."

"No ... poor Buff ..."

"She doesn't know, Joyce. She thinks I've just gone away. Don't tell her."

"Won't." Her eyes sharpened. "No chip."

Giles tensed. He knew what she was about to ask.

"You could kill me."

"Yes, I could."

Spike turned quickly.

Giles studied Joyce, remembering her ferocious defense of her daughter, her initial refusal to accept the dangers Buffy lived with. Buffy would not be nearly the Slayer she was without this woman behind her, inspiring her. And for all he said that night was only a blur, he remembered the band candy episode very well.

He took her hand in both of his. "I will make you a promise, Joyce. In six months, if you're no better, if you have no hope, I'll come to you and you can ask me then. And I'll do whatever you say."

"You will not," Spike growled.

"Spike, is this really any of your decision?"

Joyce smiled fondly at Spike, then at Giles. "Thank you."

They stayed for another ten minutes, until Joyce became too tired to talk.

Spike kissed her on the cheek. "We'll get you through this, Joyce. You'll be swingin' an axe again in no time."

She smiled wearily and squeezed his hand, then looked at Giles.

"He's right," he said. "We'll do our damnedest for you. But I won't forget my promise."

"Thank you, Ripper," she whispered.

He couldn't help smiling and wondering how much she remembered herself from band candy night. He kissed her very briefly on the lips.

She frowned. "Be caref ... Buff ..."

"I'll try to avoid her. Don't worry about it." He saw she was still concerned. "Get some sleep. We'll try to see you later, all right?"

"All right. Bye bye."

"Good-bye."

Spike smiled from the door. "G'night, love."

"G'night, Spike."

The men slipped out and made their way to the stairs. They took a detour to the blood bank for take-out, then went on to the car.

Giles paused with his hand on the door handle. "I want to go hurt something. How about you?"

"Sounds a treat."

"Willie's, I think."

Spike raised an eyebrow. "You might be recognized."

Giles took off his glasses and carefully put them away. "I don't really care."

"You're driving, Ripper."

A busy night as usual at Willie's. A group of vampires were playing pool in the corner while several gnarled demons in biker gear sat in booths near the bar with succubus hookers in their laps. Willie stood behind the bar and wondered if he should hire some help or just keep all the profits for himself and work himself to death. Of course, with his clientele, if he worked himself to death that just meant he'd be taking a couple of days off before getting back to work.

He looked up as the front door opened. Spike strolled in and gave the barkeep a nod. Willie nodded back, then noticed the man who came in after. Vampire, from the way he moved, but fairly young from the faint touch of color still in the skin. The new guy scanned the room quickly, placing everyone and their threat potential. He lacked the swaggering bravado of a new vamp, and he and Spike had obviously worked together for a long time. Maybe an out of towner.

The pair took seats at the counter. The new guy smiled faintly. "Hello, Willie," he said in a tone of some familiarity.

"Hello, stranger."

Spike nodded at his friend. "This 'ere's Ripper. Give us a brace of B&Bs."

"Any particular flavor?"

"Fresh."

Willie turned away and Giles leaned towards Spike. "B&B?"

"Blood 'n' bourbon."

"I don't like mixed drinks."

"Yeah, you're a straight whiskey man. You don't like it, I'll drink it."

Willie came back with the drinks. The new guy didn't look the blood and bourbon type, too collected and neatly dressed, even if it was basic vampire black. There was tension in the way he held his shoulders, though, and an angry glare in the eyes that told Willie he should put the expensive bottles of booze in a safe place.

Giles sipped his drink, then handed it to Spike, who grinned and drained it, then grabbed one of the olives on frilly toothpicks from a nearby bowl. "The salt makes a good chaser," he explained.

"Thank you so much, Martha Stewart."

The biker demons to the side had been nudging each other and muttering. Finally the biggest one shoved the succubus in its lap onto its neighbor and got to its feet. "Hey, Spike!"

"Fuck," muttered Spike, looking over his shoulder. "Grettor," he said, turning around.

"Where were you last night, Spike?"

"If you mean at 3 AM, I was at the Simpkins mausoleum in the Southside Memorial Park. Where were you?"

Grettor looked uncertain. "Uh, Simpkins mausoleum, Westside Memorial Gardens."

Spike pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket and handed it to Willie. "What's that say?"

The barkeep turned the paper a couple of times. "Well, it's not your writing, Spike, I can read yours. Simpkins Mausoleum, Southside Memorial, 3 AM."

Grettor took the note, peered at it, then handed it to one of the succubi. "Izzat what it says?"

"Southside Memorial, honey horns."

The demon snarled and turned on Spike. "I paid you in advance!"

"And I was there. You blew it, and now you're going to have to wait eight months for another alignment."

Giles frowned at him. "What is this all about?"

"Later."

Grettor snarled in its own language with its mates for a moment, then turned back. "I paid you, I want my stuff."

Spike eased to his feet. "Look, Grettor, it's no good to you now. You can throw all the herbs and amulets you want into that diagram, but without that configuration of the moon and Saturn, all you're going to get is a mess on the floor." He saw Giles looking at him suspiciously and grinned.

"I want my stuff!"

"OK, you paid for it, you should get it. When and where?"

"Now!"

"Do I look like I have a bag of magic junk on me? I'd have to go get it and bring it to you."

Giles accepted a beer from Willie. "And I wonder whose stock he'd be looting to get those supplies," he commented.

Spike glared at him but talked to Grettor. "Where do you want to meet?"

The demon growled with its comrades a moment. "Tonight. Here. We'll wait. And if you don't show up we'll kill you."

"Fair enough."

Giles turned on his stool to face the argument. "Of course, if you were wanting components for a spell incorporating an alignment of the moon and Saturn at this time of year, they won't do you a bit of good eight months from now. The change in the position of Jupiter alone will require a completely different formulary."

"Huh?" the demon blinked.

"The herbs and amulets you bought are useless to you. You'll need a different set. Which I imagine will cost more." He smiled at Spike.

Grettor had to think for several moments, but it eventually made a sort of sense out of it all. "Spike, you're a cheat!"

All traces of amusement washed out of the blond vampire's eyes. "Think real hard about this, Grettor," he growled.

"You're a cheat and a liar and a neutered bastard who's no good for anything more than being the Slayer's bitch!"

Spike's eyes flickered yellow very briefly, then he calmly turned, picked up his bourbon and blood and drained it. He reached for two more olives from the bowl, plucked them from their frilly toothpicks with his teeth and chewed. Then he spun on his toes and plunged the toothpicks into Grettor's eyes.

The demon roared and clutched its face. "Knife!" Spike demanded, holding his hand towards Giles. Giles blinked, then reached over the bar for the heavy knife Willie had been cutting onions with. He slapped the handle into Spike's hand.

Spike slammed a booted foot into Grettor's belly, dropping the demon to its knees. He raised the blade and stabbed it into the back of the demon's neck, severing the spine. Grettor fell, and Spike kicked the body over. The toothpicks stuck out of the eyes like grotesque hors d'oeuvres.

The vampire grinned at the rest of the demons, the knife in his hand dripping blue ichor. "Anybody else wanna make character assessments?"

The biker demons looked at each other, then roared and charged. Giles jumped to his feet, picked up his stool and waded in to meet them.

Two more dead demons--one each for Spike and Giles--and the rest severely damaged later, the two vampires found new seats at the counter.

"That was a bit of all right," Spike sighed contentedly. He fingered a rip in the leather duster and tsked. Another visit to the gnome tailor. "How's the knee, mate?"

Giles flexed his leg carefully. "It'll be fine in a few more minutes. I just hope I can salvage this shirt."

"Demon blood's a good look for you."

Willie slowly rose from behind the bar. "All done, guys?"

Giles finished the beer that was still on the counter. "I believe so,

yes."

The barkeep looked at the battlefield, where the succubi were looting the bodies and the beaten demons were crawling for the door. The vampires playing pool had barely glanced up. "So, about the bodies ..."

"We just knock 'em down," Spike said. "Not our job to pick 'em up."

"They're oozing into my floor."

"Not our fault they're not as inherently tidy as vamps."

Willie sighed. "And that was one of my favorite knives."

"Huh?"

"The knife your buddy snitched and gave to you. The one currently sitting in Bokto's throat over there. One of my best Henckels."

"Oh, dear," Giles winced. "I am sorry."

Spike shrugged. "I'll go get it, then."

Giles stopped him. "I'm sure it's corroded beyond repair by now." He handed Willie a pair of fifties. "For your new knife."

Willie took the money and grinned. "Very kind of you, Ripper. 'Nother beer?"

"Yes, thank you."

As Willie went over to argue with the succubi about whether he got a cut of the loot from the bodies, Spike looked at Giles. "Feel any better?"

"A little." Giles stared into his beer. "There's not a great deal we can do for her, is there."

"Nope, not really."

"Even turning wouldn't help."

"Turn Joyce! Oh, yes, let's just give the Slayer all kinds of happies this year. Lose her boy-toy, lose you, lose her mum, oh, yeah, she'd be such a pleasure to have about." He sipped at the whiskey he'd been given. "'Sides, if there's physical damage, it would carry over. Yours and my scars, any damage to her brain. And I like having her about to make hot chocolate."

"I've heard a great deal about that hot chocolate, I don't want to hear more."

"Fine. As much as I hate to say it, mate, I think we have to wait for nature and modern medicine to do their thing. But we can at least keep an eye on her. Slayer doesn't need all this grief on top of the whole Glory problem and figuring out what happened to you."

"No, she doesn't."

They sat in silence for a bit longer, and Giles was pleased to see Spike was lost in his own thoughts and was ignoring him.

He completely agreed that Buffy did not need the burden of caring for a possibly crippled mother on top of dealing with a hellgod who wanted to use her little artificial sister as a key to open a world-destroying dimensional portal. The Slayer shouldn't have to have a personal crisis on top of a mystic one, and he still believed enough in his personal oaths to want to take a hand in making things right. It looked like it was time for Plan A again, the best thing to simplify all their lives. He thoughtfully drank his beer as he mulled over various plans for killing Dawn.

The gymnasium at the Sunrise Grove community center boasted several large skylights for natural lighting. All but two of them had been boarded over. The remaining ones were in a corner far from the entrance, and the area of direct sunlight had been marked on the floor with paint. Inside that line were several tubs of dirt, with budding plants.

No one was gardening at the moment. In another part of the room several chairs clustered in front of a big screen TV. Tonight the chairs were turned to face the open center of the room. Sammy and Fred, both with young female vampires on their laps, watched the two masters of the house fence.

The two matched blades in Spike's weapon chest were old Toledo longswords, narrow-bladed, double-edged. They only came out when Spike got tired of Giles bragging about how good a swordsman he was.

"Foils, toys for people who've seen too many Three Musketeers movies," he'd said. "All swishy poke, no cut. Give me an axe for real work, but if it's swordplay you're after, it ought to be something with an edge."

Being vampires, neither pulled their blows. Spike wore only his jeans and boots while Giles wore sweats and training shoes. Any bare skin was a valid target and both of them bore cuts. Spike was coming out slightly ahead, but only because Giles wasn't completely acclimated to the agility and strength of his new body.

They faced each other, ten feet apart, swords leveled, eyes locked on each other.

"Where'd you learn your swordwork, Spike?" Giles asked.

"Angelus believed in a classical education. Did you learn in that interesting little academy you attended, or were you the precocious sort?"

"I knew what I was going to be doing, so I started young."

Before he finished speaking, Spike charged with a yell. Giles parried and stepped to one side, turning to face Spike, but not before he collected a slice in the arm. Sammy winced as blood hit the floor. Odds were he was going to have to clean this up later.

The girl on Fred's lap watched Giles curiously. "What did Ripper do before he was turned? He's got a lot of scars."

"He's a wizard, Angie," Fred said. "Maybe something he summoned got away from him."

"I didn't know wizards used swords."

Giles kicked Spike in the hip, then swung one-handed. Spike barely knocked the blow out of the way, but he was laughing the whole time. Giles spun and got the blade around fast enough to cut Spike across the chest.

"Damn it!" Spike laughed.

Giles backed away and lowered his sword. "I assume you're swearing for effect."

"Oh, yeah, I'm fine. My turn."

Giles put a hand up. "Take you turn later, please, I'm tired."

"You can't be tired, you're a vampire."

"Well, my brain's tired. It wants a drink."

"I like your brain."

They went to a table near the chairs, put down the swords, and pulled beers from the cooler. Giles glanced at the wound on Spike's chest. The cut had already closed, but a thin line of red still trickled down. He regretted Sammy and Fred and the bimbos' presence.

Spike saw his interest. "You can clean me up later," he said with a grin.

The girl on Sammy's lap looked like she wanted to volunteer. "So, um, Spike?"

"Yeah?"

"I heard you can hunt again."

Only then did Spike bother to look at her. "And where did you hear that?"

She suddenly looked less comfortable. "Uh--there was a guy at Willie's, said he saw you at the park, you were hunting together."

Spike sneered. "Together. Right."

"I wonder how long Floyd will be dining out on that story," Giles mused as he cleaned his sword.

"Isn't it true?" Angie on Fred's lap blinked.

Spike drained his beer. "It's true. But I wasn't hunting with Floyd, he just happened to be around."

"So what happened?" Angie asked. "Did you get that chip out?"

Spike shrugged, and Fred tugged the girl around. "It was really cool. Ripper here--"

"Fred," Giles said quietly.

"--I told you he's a wizard, and --"

"Be quiet, Fred."

The room went still as Fred realized that Ripper's tone of voice was angry, not modest. "Yes ... sir?"

"I will thank you not to tell tales out of school," Giles said calmly. But his eyes were not calm.

Fred glanced at Spike, but the blond vampire was cleaning his own sword and only paying marginal attention. This was Ripper's play, and Fred had been a vampire long enough to know that one master wasn't going to get in the way of another master's discipline.

But wait, Ripper was new, barely a month if anything. Why the hell should Fred acknowledge him as a master?

He started to bristle, then met Ripper's eyes. The man wasn't even in game face, but Fred saw cold ruthlessness and just a hint of anticipation. Ripper and Spike had been short-tempered since the night of the brawl at Willie's, and Fred wondered if Ripper had just decided on a way to work off some frustration. Fred thought a couple of moments more, then dropped his eyes. "Sorry."

Ripper smiled very faintly. "Meet me downstairs, I have some spells I need to test." He raised an eyebrow as Fred began to protest, then Fred subsided.

Sammy shifted the girl on his lap. "But--"

"Sammy," Spike said, not looking up from his sword, "best to keep your mouth shut if you don't want to be used for spell testing too."

"I just wanted to know what we can talk about," he said meekly.

Spike looked for Giles' opinion before explaining. "Don't care if you tell people I've got my bite back. The hows and whys, though, are nobody's business." He caught Sammy's girl's eyes, and she stared back, properly cowed. Angie, though, looked unconvinced. "There a problem, luv?"

"I just wanted to know," she sulked. But Fred was keeping his eyes down and his mouth shut.

Spike took Giles' sword and put it with his own. "Oh, I don't mind telling you what you need to know, pet. Fred's going to be busy anyway for the next few hours. Aren't you, Fred?"

Fred looked up anxiously, then pushed Angie off his lap. "Go on, Ang. I'll--see you later." He glanced hopefully at Ripper for some sign that he would be seeing anyone later, but got no answer.

"I'll be down in just a few minutes," Giles said, sounding very reasonable and not at all as frightening as he should. Fred nodded and hurried off. "You'll take care of everything up here?" Giles said to Spike, who was watching Angie thoughtfully.

"We're fine. Go have fun. Don't blow yourself up or summon anything you can't kill by yourself."

"I'll yell if I need anything."

"Tah." Spike's smile at Angie made sure she didn't go anywhere. "Sammy, you and--what's your name, luv?"

"Pamela," she smiled, though not without a glare at Angie.

"Pamela. You and Sammy clean up in here, then go amuse yourselves. I'm sure Angie's got all sorts of things she wants to know about. C'mon, pet."

Angie looked like she wanted to smirk, but something in Spike's smile said there might be a bit more of "How to learn to mind your own business" and less of "Let me show you something interesting" ahead.

Sammy waited till he and Pamela were alone. "Well, remind me not to open my mouth when I shouldn't."

Pamela went with him to find some rags to clean up the blood while it was still wet. "What's Ripper going to do?"

"You want to go down there and find out?"

"Nope."

"I knew you were the smart one."

Down in the workroom, Fred looked around anxiously. Nobody had told him he wasn't supposed to talk about Ripper turning off the chip. Wasn't like he was going to run after the Slayer and babble everything.

He wondered what kind of spell Ripper planned on testing. Keeping an eye on the door, he crept towards the work table. The papers there were covered with diagrams and lettering he couldn't read. A few words in English referred to portal keys and the binding of energy.

Vampire hearing or simple self-preservation made him step away from the table just as Ripper came through the door. Fred tried not to fidget.

"You never said we couldn't talk about it," he said.

"True," Ripper agreed. "But I didn't think I needed to."

"It's only Angie."

"Angie and whomever Angie babbles to, and so on and so on. If people don't know how, they can't figure out ways around it."

"Who's going to care?"

Giles gave him a disappointed look. "Oh, anyone who doesn't want Spike to be an effective threat? The Slayer, perhaps?"

Fred swallowed nervously. Ripper didn't like talking about the Slayer. He started to defend himself, then decided that being quiet was a good idea.

"Stand over there, please," Giles said, nodding to a section of the floor among some lines.

"Uh ... what are you going to do?"

Ripper hadn't bothered with the glasses tonight. There was no one around to fall for the air of harmlessness the glasses bestowed. Without them, though, there was no shield for the calculating menace in the eyes.

"I could tell you," he said softly, "but what would you do if you didn't like it?"

And that was as blatant a tug on the leash as Fred had ever felt. Ripper was offering him a chance to make a challenge. Fred hadn't been much of a fighter before he was turned, and he'd only picked up basic brawling since. Spike and Ripper had sparred several times, with a variety of weapons and empty handed. Spike had a brutal reputation as a fighter, and Ripper made him work. Fred only had nearly ten years as a vampire to his credit, and that wasn't enough.

He dropped his eyes and sighed. "Over there, you said?"

"Yes."

Fred went. Maybe it wouldn't hurt too much.

Once Fred was in position, Giles drew a final line into the diagram with a piece of chalk. He went to his table for his dagger, sliced his arm, then let his blood drip onto the line he'd just drawn. Fred licked his lips, eyes flickering yellow.

As the blood seeped into the chalk line, Giles stared at the middle of the pattern of lines.

"By blood and bonds, I conjure thee. By fire quenched and passions spent, I summon thee. Master of the underways, come forth and hear me."

Fred tensed, but except for a tremble in the floor, nothing happened.

"That's it?" he couldn't help saying.

Giles licked his lips. "I need to talk to you."

"About what?"

A deep rumbling voice laughed behind Fred. "I don't think he was talking to you, youngster."

Fred looked over his shoulder, and his lungs froze before he could scream.

Hooved feet, two sets of knees that bent in opposite directions, skin the color of leather, four arms, heavy boned face with horns curling from the forehead and nearly brushing the ceiling. And it stood inside the same set of lines that Fred did.

Orange eyes regarded Giles. "Bless me, Ripper, but this is an interesting look for you. Quite the surprise. Who did the honors?"

"Never mind that," Giles said firmly. "I have a proposition for you."

The creature chuckled, showing long fangs. Fred debated whimpering. "Just like that, Ripper? Without even the offer of payment? I know you're good for it, but trading on past relationships is bad business." It looked at Fred. "Or would this little morsel be the payment?"

Fred looked anxiously at his boss. "Sir ..."

Giles studied him for several moments. "Yes, he is the payment, but not a large one. I need him."

A claw fell on Fred's shoulder. "Don't worry, boy. Some people like it." The claw tightened until skin broke.

Giles stood and watched.

Two hours later, Spike wandered downstairs. The door to the workroom was open and he peeked in.

Fred sat hunched over in a chair in the corner while Giles swept the floor in the open area. Must be one of those ritual things mages were supposed to do for themselves.

"How'd it go?" Spike asked, lounging in the doorway.

"Well enough," Giles said. He didn't look up from his work. "Fred was very helpful."

Spike walked over to the dazed looking vampire. "Oi, Fred. How ya feeling?"

"Um ..." Fred blinked and had trouble focusing. "I'm not sure. I don't remember a lot. It smelled weird."

He didn't look damaged. "You look you should be in bed. If Ripper's done with you, that is."

Giles came over. "Oh, yes, we're done. Thank you, Fred. Here, let me take that." He took a mug with a wash of red in the bottom from Fred's uncertain hands.

"Thanks." He thought for several moments, then levered himself out of the chair. "Good night, Ripper, Spike."

"Night, Fred."

"Good night, Fred."

Spike waited till he was out of earshot. "Did you break him or just ding him?"

"He's just dinged," Giles said. "He'll be fine after a day's sleep. And Angie?"

"She'll behave. Was perfectly willing to be told what she should and shouldn't talk about, and anxious to show me how much she appreciated me taking the time out to tell her. Girl's not slow about seeing where the wind blows. She's in Fred's room, waiting for him." He wandered over to the work table to look over the objects. "What did you do to him?"

"Just a minor summoning, something to impress him."

Spike sniffed at the air in the room. It had tickled his memory when he came in. "Sulfur, brimstone. Some sort of imp, was it?"

"Yes."

The curt answer made Spike curious. "Imps like to get paid. Was that what you needed Fred for?"

"It was a useful side effect. I've found imps to be impressive."

"Have to agree with you on that." He took a deeper sniff. Other things--hot metal, old blood. Cherries, oddly enough. "The lesser fiends are even more impressive."

"True enough."

"You summoned one of them, didn't you. With everybody in the place, blissfully unaware of what you were doing, you summoned a fiend."

Giles finished cleaning his dagger and put it away, ignoring Spike.

"You don't summon a fiend just to scare the uppitiness out of a minion." Spike had heard some of the tales of Eyghon and a not-so-immortal Ripper. "Giles, what are you doing?"

Giles gave him an unfriendly look. "Please don't call me that, William."

"The look you gave the Scoobies doesn't mean anything to me, Rupert You making deals with fiends does. What are you dickering with when you don't have a soul of your own to make deals with?"

"Not every demon yearns to get its claws into a human soul. There are other things."

"How much of Fred did you feed it?"

"Not as much as I could have."

Spike studied him closely. "Handy you having a minion that needed impressing when you went to chat with one of the lower beings. Or that there were all the tools you needed for a summoning handy when you wanted something for Fred. How long were you planning this little At Home evening for your demonic acquaintances?"

"I believe I have, despite your age, a bit more experience than you in handling such creatures."

"Oh, yeah, throw a party, lend your body to a demon, have a gay old time. Forgive me if I'm not reassured."

Giles glared at him. "I'm not that stupid. It's a simple deal, and I know better than to promise anything that I can't deliver."

"Which is?"

"Don't worry, I'm not going to ask anything of you."

"Gonna feed it the rest of Fred?"

"Not at all. Fred was just the refreshments one should always offer guests who drop by."

"And what if Fred hadn't pissed you off?"

Giles smiled slightly. "I'd simply have convinced him that I needed him to perform a very important service for me."

Spike was simultaneously impressed and chilled by the ex-Watcher's matter-of-factness. He found himself checking his own and Giles' stances and checking to see if any spellcasting materials were particularly close to Giles' hands. "If not what, then why? Why did you call whatever it was? Just to see if you could?"

"Good lord, no." Giles seemed honestly affronted. "That at least I got out of my system when I was young and stupid. I was thinking of Glory, actually."

"Asking for advice, huh? Not a stupid idea. Scoobies have practically exhausted all the mortal resources that won't suck out your soul, makes sense to consult with sources that would know a hellgod best. Learn anything?"

"A few things. It will need some research to see how we can implement it."

Spike heard reticence in the other vampire's voice, but just because they were somewhat-partners and lovers did not mean they were going to reveal all their secrets to each other. He made a note to keep an eye on Fred, though. He may be one of the low men on the totem pole, but sidekicks with useful brains were too rare to just splurge as hors d'oeuvres for visiting hell beasts. "How are we doing on a time frame?"

"We should have something definite in a couple of days." Giles pointedly turned to his work table and re-organized items.

Spike nodded to himself. "Right-o, then. I'm for bed. See you later."

"Good night, Spike."

"Tah."

Giles waited till he heard the door to Spike's room close, then he went to the door to make sure Spike wasn't lurking about anyway. When he saw the coast was clear, he went to his desk, unlocked a drawer, and pulled out a pile of papers. He began making notes on a chart, checking an ephemeris for the positions of the planets on the night of the full moon, two days hence. He would have to time it carefully, catching the point where the moon passed full and began its waning cycle. It was a good time for spells that involved closure, pulling in, dying away. A good time for a spell to pull something from one dimension to another, pulling it along with the fading brightness of the moon.

The fiend had argued strenuously, finally agreeing that the potential prize was worth the possibility that the entire scheme could fall through. Giles had learned long ago not to make megalomaniacal ironclad promises to beings that could devour one's very identity.

The morsel on the table was worth the possibility of failure. The Key, a being created of potent mystic energy. Killing Dawn might only release that energy into a form Glory could acquire. The best bet was to put the Key out of Glory's reach. The guardians of the various hell dimensions were jealous creatures, and there were those who were no more anxious to allow Glory to return to her place of power than the soldiers of good were to allow her to rip open a portal and destroy the world. The only problem had been to find a dimension that Giles could count on making sure of the job. Killing Dawn near Glory was fraught with unacceptable risks. Killing her in another dimension, though, should work fine.

Giles went over his notes and figures. He would need time to work before the moment came. There were only two problems, that he would not be able to get his hands on Dawn and whether a girl formed of energy had a soul, never mind one of sufficient sweetness to feed a lesser fiend.

He pondered that a moment, whether Dawn had a soul or not, if the monks who had created her had had sufficient power to form that essential of humanity into the mortal form of the Key. Finally he shrugged. A minor point, he'd know for sure soon enough. He went back to work, pausing only to track down a new pen when his old one ran out of ink.

The night of the full moon, though the exact time of the full moon wouldn't be for hours yet. Giles wandered towards the garage of the community center, doing his best to look like a man with no plans for the evening. The sound of a revving engine caught his attention.

"I don't know, Sammy," Spike said, "It still sounds awful rough."

"It's supposed to sound rough, dude, it's wanting to sound like a Harley."

Spike made a rude noise. "Best bike I ever rode was an Indian. 'Course, it only had a top speed of about 30 miles an hour, but in 1902 that was saying something."

Giles found the two wrestling with the guts of the big Honda motorcycle Spike had acquired off last night's meal. Sammy was bent over the engine with tools while Spike straddled the bike and worked the throttle and gears at command.

Giles shook his head. "You do know that smoking while working on a gasoline engine is generally considered a foolish thing."

"Yep," Sammy muttered around the cigarette clenched between his teeth. Spike merely grinned.

Giles waited till the two were busy with some detail of the engine before he walked to his car and dropped the small leather satchel he carried onto the passenger seat. He walked around the car, ostensibly checking its condition.

"It's fine, Ripper," Sammy said, not looking up from the motorcycle's engine. "Nobody's driven it but you."

"Glad to get my own transport again," Spike said.

"Whatever happened to the DeSoto?" Giles asked.

Spike snarled. "Towed away whilst I was the guest of the Initiative. Sold at auction to some car collector."

"What's stopping you getting her back?" Sammy asked.

"Well, there's the damned chip ..." Spike paused, then grinned. "Oh, right. I keep forgetting that."

Giles leaned against the fender of his car. "An enclosed car does make more sense for someone in our situation."

"Big talk, Mr. Convertible."

"At least mine has a roof, as opposed to the lack of cover on a motorcycle."

Spike saluted him with two fingers. "Dru adored motorcycles. You blokes who grew up with the internal combustion engine have no idea what it was like to suddenly be able to go that fast. Horses have nothing on it."

"Drusilla on a motorcycle," Giles mused. "Not a reassuring thought."

"It was a screaming advertisement for disaster. Silly bit kept trying to take off and fly. Still, some nights it was the only thing that would help, put her up behind me on the bike and ride as fast as we could. Outrun the voices for a few hours."

Giles contemplated the woman who was his Sire for a few moments. In the part of his mind where the demon dwelled, there was always a sense of abandonment when he thought of Drusilla. Vampires were pack creatures. She should have been there when he awoke, to welcome him and teach him. Instead she'd left it to Spike, and Giles didn't know if she'd meant he and Spike to bond or if she'd only meant to leave her former lover with a very awkward mess to deal with. Giles very much resented being saddled with parental abandonment issues at this stage of his life.

Suddenly the motorcycle's engine roared smoothly. "That's got it, Sammy," Spike yelled over the noise. He revved the engine and laughed at the blast of sound.

Sammy stood and wiped his hands on a rag. "Only way to be sure is to take it on a test ride."

"Sounds lovely." Spike left it idling while he went to get his duster from the corner.

Giles kept his smile muted as he watched. "Do try not to smash your head open on anything. I don't fancy scooping your brains back into your cranium and taking bets on how long it takes you to blink under your own power."

Spike grinned and flipped him off again. "I've been riding motorbikes since they were invented, mate. Needn't wait up to see if I've taken a header." He straddled the machine, flipped the tails of his duster out comfortably, then gunned the motor and peeled rubber out of the garage.

Sammy put away the tools. "Maybe he'll let me ride it later."

"You could get your own, you know."

"You'd let me?" Sammy blinked.

"Why not?"

The other vampire looked nervous. "Don't take this wrong, OK? We can tell you're still a bit new to this, even though you've got the power. You don't know all the ways things are done. Masters tend to keep the fun toys for themselves."

Giles looked at him thoughtfully. "And I'm considered a master?"

"A master is the one who acts like a master and gets away with it and defends his right to do it." Sammy shrugged and said no more.

"I've always thought that a leader who allowed himself to be guided by petty whims was a very poor leader. I have far more pressing matters to concern myself with than who has a motorcycle or not." He reminded himself that, his own personal power notwithstanding, Spike had the age and experience on everyone here. "I have no idea what Spike's opinion might be."

Sammy smiled. "At least I can mention it to him without being afraid he'd take my throat out just for being uppity. I'm glad I fell in with you guys."

Giles took a moment to enjoy the feeling of power, to contemplate the growing web of influence. It was a small start, but it was a start.

"I have some errands to run. I may not be back till quite late."

"K."

As Giles drove away from Sunrise Grove, he glanced through the satchel to make sure he had everything: herbs, chalk, a length of rope, his dagger. Perhaps he should have brought something to use as a gag as well. He knew how piercing Dawn's voice could be. Well, he'd dealt with worse in his day.

The house on Revello Drive was dark. If Dawn were home, the place would be lit up and noisy. Buffy would more than likely have left her sister with the rest of the Scoobies. Giles wondered if he should check the hospital to see if the girls were with Joyce, but at this hour, with their mother stable and even improving, they would most likely have left Joyce to rest.

He drove to the Magic Box and parked in the alley a block away. He approached from the street and saw both Xander's and Buffy's cars out front. Vampiric hearing let him pause out of range of the light coming out of the front window and scout the situation.

Willow was talking about something she'd found in the books about when Glory would make her move. Only Tara made any comments in return, but by the sound of breathing and heartbeats, all the Scoobies were present. Giles moved enough to see in.

Buffy paced at the back of the shop, eyes on Willow as she listened. Xander sat near Dawn in a corner, not looking very interested but keeping an eye on everyone. He seemed to be taking his job as Man of the House seriously. Anya was in her position behind the counter, part of the group yet isolated.

"What about all the crazy people?" Buffy asked.

"The books do say that Glory's presence can cause mental instability rates to rise," Willow answered.

Tara smiled slightly. "Though it's usually phrased, 'And the winds and imps of madness did oppress the people, causing them to fall into fits and curse the heavens.'"

"Full points for the colorful writing," Xander commented. He poked at a nearby doughnut box, then offered it to Dawn, who smiled tiredly and refused.

Buffy barely noticed. "So the more crazy people around, the more power Glory has? And how the heck do we find her?"

Willow shuffled some papers. "The books all say she'll be imprisoned until she can open the portal and go home, but we've seen her out and about. Quite the weekend furlough plan on this prison."

Anya shrugged. "Iron bars do not a prison make. What?" she added as the others blinked at her.

"I think I read that in school," Dawn said. "English lit or something."

"A millennium and a half of existence, you're going to crack a book sometime. TV wasn't around for the longest time."

Buffy waved a dismissing hand. "Doesn't matter. We have a specific time frame. Glory knows as well as we do that if she doesn't get the Key she doesn't get home." She tried to smile at Dawn. "And she's not getting the Key, so no biggie there. How much longer do we have to hold on, do we know yet?"

Willow and Tara looked at each other, then shook their heads apologetically. Buffy muttered something and kept pacing.

Dawn cleared her throat. "Maybe Giles has found something."

"It doesn't matter if he has," Buffy snapped, "because he's not here, is he?"

Dawn dropped her eyes and shook her head.

Buffy looked very tired, Giles saw. He knew she didn't need as much sleep as most people, but he wondered if she got any rest these days. And he saw that Anya's evaluation of the situation was correct, the children were not nearly as comfortable around each other as they used to be. Too much to deal with all at once. He had no control over Joyce's illness or his own changed condition, but be damned if he was going to let the Glory situation go on any longer.

Inside the shop, Buffy looked at her watch. "I'd better get out and patrol. Willow, will you and Tara take Dawnie home?"

Dawn started to object automatically but didn't even need her sister's glare to stay quiet. The witches agreed, and the group broke up. Xander stayed behind to help Anya close up the store.

Giles faded back into the shadows as the foursome came out the front door. Tara and Dawn headed for the car, but Willow stayed with Buffy on the sidewalk for a moment. "Are you going to be out very late?" Willow asked.

"Probably not. The fanged set have been laying low. I just need ..."

"Something to distract you, I know. Be careful."

Buffy shrugged, looking off into the night, scanning for Slayer business. She frowned suddenly and looked down the street.

"What is it?" Willow asked, looking around herself.

"Vampire close by. It's probably just Spike doing his stalker thing."

"Buffy, he'll hear you."

"He can just hear me, the little hiding-out weasel. I'd better get going. See you later."

"Night."

Buffy glared once more towards where the vampire lurked, then jogged off towards the park. Willow looked around cautiously, then headed for the car.

Giles waited till everyone was out of sight, then left his cover to go back to his car. Both witches with Dawn put a small crimp in his plan, but no plan on the Hellmouth ever went as designed. He could deal, as they said, and in a very few hours everything would be settled.

Buffy found herself almost whistling for vampires to appear out of the darkness. She longed for the old days, when a fanged menace popped up behind every tree and tombstone and when quiet nights just meant that some hot vampiric party was going on somewhere, not that there was a new apocalypse gathering strength.

Up ahead, a motorcycle engine revved and coughed. The attendant British cursing made Buffy debate taking another route. Instead she sighed and continued on.

"You made good time," she said to Spike, who straddled a motorcycle parked on the roadside.

He barely glanced up from where he was bent over trying to adjust something in the engine. "I have no idea what you're talking about, Slayer."

Buffy watched him a while. "Maybe it's out of gas?"

"It is bloody well not out of gas. It's just this damned wire keeps slipping off--there!" He revved the engine and grinned at the smooth noise.

"When did you learn about automotive mechanics?"

"You get stranded ten miles from shelter and dawn's less than an hour away, you learn pretty fast to take care of your motor." He revved it one more time, then shut it down. "Park patrol tonight, is it?"

"Yeah. It's quiet, though. Don't suppose there are any hot creature of the night shindigs going on that everyone's attending?"

"Why, you wanting an invitation? Want to stroll in on the Big Bad's arm and get friendly with your prey?"

The snappy comeback was more trouble than it was worth. "No, I was just hoping there was a nice normal reason for everything to be quiet instead of what I know is going on."

Spike nodded. "Everybody's waiting for the glory day. How's your mum, by the way?"

Buffy glared at him, annoyed all over again that Spike and her Mom had managed to bond. "She's doing better. Her speech is almost all the way back, but she's still having trouble getting her legs to work right. They did an MRI on her head and found where the aneurysm blew out. But it doesn't look like there's any danger of another one."

Spike's grin looked sincere. "Good news, then. I'm glad. You've got enough to worry about."

"Is that why you came by the shop earlier, to ask about Mom?"

He gave her a perplexed look. "Wasn't by the shop tonight. Been playing with my new toy. Fancy a ride?"

She actually thought about it for a moment that surprised both of them. Then she shook her head. "Slayer's work is never done. Best get back to the patrolling."

"Hang about a sec, pet. Why'd you ask if I was around earlier?"

"I felt a vampire around at the store. Somebody spying on me, I guess."

"You got the Niblet under lock and key?"

"Of course." Buffy frowned at him. "Why?"

Spike gave her a disappointed look. "Everybody's looking for the Key, whoever brings her in will make the hellbitch happy. And I know there's blokes out there who have their own ideas of how to handle matters."

For the first time in a long time, Buffy actually felt Spike could be dangerous. He seemed a lot more comfortable inside his own skin as he lounged on his motorcycle, one leg curled over the gas tank. He wasn't keeping a wary eye out on the night, like he used to. Instead, he looked more like the confident William the Bloody she'd first met, certain that he was master of the night and anything he might meet therein.

"If you had the chance to get in good with Glory ..." She broke off at the disgusted look Spike gave her.

"Nothing's laying unfriendly hands on Niblet while I'm around. Thought you believed that."

She shrugged uncomfortably. "Lots of people would think it was stupid, trusting a dangerous creature with Dawn."

"Best kind of guardian you could hope for, your own personal dangerous creature."

The undertones in his voice reminded her of that wretched time in his crypt, when he'd tried to convince her he loved her. "I'll trust you with her, but not with anything else."

There was a flicker of hurt in his eyes, but it was followed with acceptance. "She home alone?"

"Willow and Tara took her home."

"Are they staying?"

"I don't know. But they've put all sorts of wards on the house."

"Still ..."

Buffy stared at him, undecided. She couldn't bring herself to ask him outright, put herself in his debt. Evil creature of the night, sworn enemy etc. Depending on him was nine hundred kinds of stupid.

He smiled suddenly, making her stomach hurt. "Won't hurt if I take a swing down Revello Drive, annoy your neighbors by revving the engine in front of your house, make 'em think you've got a wicked boyfriend."

"Thanks," she said very quietly.

"Did it hurt that much to say it?" he grimaced. "Never mind." He swung his leg over the bike and turned on the engine.

"I had a boyfriend once who had a motorcycle," she said thoughtfully.

Spike glanced at her. "Did you like it?"

"Uh ... yeah."

He only looked at her a few moments more, then rode away. Buffy told herself she only watched the way his duster flapped in the wind to make sure it didn't catch in the rear wheel, snap his head right off, and deprive her of a useful tool.

Tara pulled the car into the Summers driveway and turned off the engine.

"Are you guys staying?" Dawn asked as she got out.

Willow glanced at her lover. "Just till Buffy gets back. She said she wouldn't be out long."

"K."

They headed for the house, where Willow unlocked the front door as Dawn sorted the mail.

"Bill, bill, ad--hey, Buffy's Vogue, and I get it first!"

Tara followed Willow into the house. "Come on, Dawnie, you can look at it inside."

"Yeah, and you'll peek over my shoulder and say all the models look like skinny boys again."

"Well, they do."

Dawn looked towards the street as a car pulled up at the curb. A red convertible, with a familiar figure climbing out from behind the wheel. "Oh, my god. Giles?"

"Willow!" Tara yelled. "Honey, come here, it's Giles!"

Dawn walked slowly down the steps. "Giles, is that you?" It sure didn't look like the dork guy Buffy had started hanging out with so much when they'd moved to Sunnydale and who had given Dawn barely-disguised looks of impatience and uncertainty. This man in the all-black looked--almost--cool.

The smile only touched Giles' lips. "Hello, Dawn, yes, it's me." He walked towards her, glancing towards Tara on the porch and frowning slightly. "Dawn, I have to ask you to trust me. You have to come with me, you're in terrible danger." He reached out to take her arm.

Unconsciously Dawn moved out of reach. "What kind of danger?"

"We don't have time to discuss it." The smile was gone, and his eyes were hard.

Tara came down the walk towards them. "Mr. Giles, we've been so worried ..." She slowed and stopped, the smile fading. "Mr. Giles? Dawnie, come here."

Dawn turned to stare at her quizzically, and Giles reached out again.

A horn blared and light flashed as Spike roared the motorcycle over the curb and through the hedge. Dawn jumped back, away from Giles. The motorcycle went between them, then Spike yanked it around, ripping a long swatch of grass and flowers.

"Get in the house, Dawn!" he snapped.

Willow ran down the steps to Tara's side. "What's going on--Giles?"

Giles spared only a glance for the two witches. "Prohibeo", he murmured, gesturing.

Willow tried to move forward but found she couldn't.

"Silentium," he added for good measure.

Dawn gaped at the two women, then turned to Giles, "What did you do to them?"

Giles started towards her, but Spike jumped the bike towards him a few feet. "Dawn, do as I say, get in the house. He can't get to you there." She backed up to Tara and Willow, who were staring at each other, mouths moving but no sound coming out.

Giles glared at him. "Stay out of this, Spike."

"You know I won't do that, Ripper."

Dawn clutched Tara's arm. "What's going on?" Tara could only look at her helplessly, all her movements slowed.

Giles glanced thoughtfully at Dawn, then at Spike. "Over my incapacitated and quite possibly gone to dust body," the blond vampire said. "You finally decided it's time to dance, Rupert?"

"There's no need for that."

As he raised his hand to cast a spell, Spike throttled the bike wide open and headed forward. Giles had to break off and dive out of the way. Spike leaped from the seat as he went past, grappling with Giles. The former Watcher took a breath for another spell, and Spike backhanded him as hard as he could, knocking Giles to the ground.

"Can't cast if you can't talk."

Giles put a hand briefly to his jaw, which looked broken, then charged into Spike.

"But--the chip," Dawn gasped. "And that should have broken Giles' neck ..."

Willow and Tara looked at each other, then stared into each other's eyes and began silently chanting.

Spike went down on top of his bike, laying on its side on the lawn. Giles pulled back and kicked him full force in the ribs. Spike howled, and the demon's face appeared. He twisted around and grabbed Giles' foot as it came in for another kick. The snap of the bone was audible. Giles landed hard on the grass, and when he came up his own eyes were yellow and the demon grinned.

"That's it, Ripper!" Spike yelled. "Bring it on!"

"No, no," Dawn whimpered, hugging tight to Tara's back.

The two demons grappled with each other. Giles twisted around for a hard punch to Spike's groin, which Spike didn't quite dodge. Snarling, Spike grabbed a fistful of Giles' shirt and threw him face first into the frame of the motorcycle. Blood ran down the sharp angles of Giles' changed face, and his grin was horrible as he got hold of the motorcycle and started to lift.

"The hell you say!" Spike yelled. "Not my new bike!" He high-kicked Giles in the side of the head, knocking him down. Spike jumped over the bike, grabbed Giles and slammed his head into the sidewalk twice. Giles still tried to get up, but a kick to the ribs convinced him to stay down. Spike went to one knee beside him, swearing in pain.

"God, I hope we don't have to do that again," he muttered.

Dawn took a cautious step away from the witches. "Spike?"

"Get in the fucking house, Dawn! He's not going to stay down forever!"

She backed up a little. "He's--he's been--"

With an effort, Spike forced his human face back on. "Yeah, Niblet," he said with a painful sigh, "he's a vamp." He looked at the witches. "You two just about got that figured out?"

Willow was moving a little faster, and she nodded at Spike. She looked almost ready to cry as she glanced at Giles.

"Yeah." He got to his feet, wincing, then he reached down to pull Giles up and over his shoulders. "I'll take care of him." He carried Giles to the convertible and dumped him in the backseat. He gave the three humans a sympathetic look. "Tell Slayer I'll be in touch. We need to talk." He climbed painfully behind the wheel of the car and drove away.

End

Career Change 4: Desperate Times

by Two Ladies of Quality

The bartender at the Bronze didn't recognize Buffy, but he didn't ask for ID when she bought a beer. She must be looking old these days. Not hard to imagine, what with everything that had happened. Her baby sister who wasn't really her baby sister, Riley leaving, her mom being so sick . . .

She took her beer to a corner table before anyone could see the tears that got away from her again.

Giles. Gone. Turned. Evil.

Trying to kill Dawn.

Only stopped because Spike was a weird kind of vampire.

No more teasing Giles about his clothes, no more making references to American culture that he always said he didn't get but which she figured he knew more of than he let on.

No more knowing he was backing her up, with sword or ax or chainsaw or weird languages or dirty tricks or magic or just a shoulder when she got tired.

She blinked as a glass was put on the table in front of her. "Looks like you could use something a little stronger than beer," Spike said, putting his own glass of whiskey on the table as he sat down across from her. "And, yeah, I know it's a felony to buy intoxicating spirits for underaged people, but, hey, I'm evil."

Buffy couldn't meet his eyes. She poked at one of the ice cubes in the glass. "You knew."

"Knew what?"

"About Giles."

"Well, yes, considering he was with me when he woke up."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"Oh, right. 'Lovely evening, Slayer, by the way, your Watcher's been drained and turned into a vampire.'"

"It'd be better than finding out by him . . ."

"Trying to kill your sister. I agree. It's a classic, though, most people only find out their loved one's changed when he comes to kill them." He took a drink. "Don't think there is an easy way to find out."

"How did it happen? Who did it?"

"Dru. Lovely parting gift from her last visit."

Buffy glared at him. "Would that be the last visit where you threatened to kill her to prove your love for me?" She looked away. "I knew it was your fault."

"Right, it's my fault, everything's my fault. Get it out of your system now, Slayer, because we don't have time for the sturm und drang. Dramatics," he added at her puzzled look.

She drained half her whiskey in one shot, then coughed for a few seconds. She glared at Spike, expecting him to be laughing, but there was only a tired smile in his eyes. "What did you mean, he was with you when he . . . woke up?"

"I came back to the crypt one morning and found him lying on the floor, Dru's smell all over him. Saw what she'd done."

"Why didn't you stake him?" She winced at the following image: her Giles, being staked.

"I liked the idea of him as a vamp, pet. I'm evil, remember?"

"Then I'm going to have to."

"Yeah, he told me about your deal. He talked about you a lot the first few days."

"He did?" And she actually smiled.

"Well, when he wasn't going on about hunting and such like." Spike could have kicked himself for the way her smile faded away. "I don't know what he would have done if he'd been left to his own devices, either run completely amuck or stayed up to meet the sunrise."

"Fledglings will do that?" She was fascinated in spite of herself. "I thought they were all just jump up, grr, kill."

"You don't become a Watcher without being strong willed. No common fledgling, he. There's still quite a lot of Rupert Giles in there."

Buffy played with the glass. "Then why did he go after Dawn?"

"No soul, pet, and no chip. He is the ultimate practical man, and he was doing it to help you."

"Help me?"

Spike shrugged. "No Niblet, no Key, Glory takes her toys and goes somewhere else, you're free to take care of Joyce and yourself."

"He said that?"

"Well," he said with a smirk, "he didn't really say it, as he's currently got some healing from a broken jaw and fractured skull to do. But he's said similar before--and I understand wanting to make things easier for you." He stared at his own glass rather than meet her eyes.

"Am I supposed to be flattered by that?"

"You're supposed to deal with it as a reality and move on."

"Great, now I've got two psychopaths trying to prove their--affection by doing horrible things. I should have staked you a long time ago."

"Yes, you should have," he snapped, leaning closer. "Never leave functioning enemies behind you."

"So what's your excuse?"

"You know my excuse." He shook himself. "But you can't stake me now, Slayer."

"And why not?"

"Because I'm the only thing holding Ripper back. He wasn't going to kill her right there on the front lawn, he had a plan. He was going to give her to a lesser fiend from a hell dimension to take away and dispose of out of Glory's reach, just in case killing her here released the Key in a way Glory could use. I found his notes. He's doing magic, Slayer, black, dark magic that would condemn a mortal sorcerer's soul, and he's making arrangements with devils."

"He was going to . . ."

"He is possibly the most practical, ruthless creature I've ever met. Probably the best Watcher to ever come along, though you'd never get the Council of Wankers to admit to that."

Buffy barely heard. "Black magic."

"Don't get much darker than summoning fiends and offering deals. Well, there's the sacrifice of a sentient creature, but I don't think he'd rule it out if he thought it was the way to go."

"Giles isn't like that--" She broke off, eyes horrified as the reality sank in. "But Giles is dead."

Spike cursed the indoor smoking rules and the bouncer who would stop him lighting up, the human bouncer he couldn't fight, not and keep his cover. Vampires as a rule didn't hang out with the families of their victims; this kind of thing was what Angel should be sitting through, he was all redemption boy these days. Spike wanted to take Buffy's hand, comfort her, try to ease her pain. And the demon alternately howled in disgust at his weakness and chortled at the Slayer's grief.

Buffy stiffened her spine. "So, I've got a dark wizard vampire out there who is trying to kill my sister. Battle plan looks obvious to me." And the cost of that battle plan was equally obvious--if she killed what was left of her Watcher, Spike didn't put good odds on what that would do to her mind.

When a vampire sighed, you knew he meant it, since he had to work for it. "You can't stake him either, pet."

It was still the Slayer looking at him, not the girl. "Why not?"

"It was a bad plan, but it was a workable plan. If we're going to stop Glory, we're going to need the Watcher's brain, and that's still all there."

She sagged, resolve drained away. "I know," she whispered. "Everyone was kind of hoping he was off working on some super secret weapon or something, and he'd show up at the last minute to save the day. But he's not. He's just gone, and we're all that's left."

This time he did take her hand. "Buffy, he may be gone, but he's still working. The vampire Ripper"--Spike paused, wondering what Anne Rice would make of that as a title-- "has as little intention of letting Glory drop us all into hell as Rupert Giles the Watcher did. That's why we need to talk. We've got to come up with a plan that works, something that keeps Ripper from casting any more black mojo and keeps you from . . ."

"Keeps me from what?" She debated pulling her hand away, but left it be and didn't ask why.

"Burning yourself out trying to carry all your heavy loads by yourself."

"You're a weird vampire, Spike."

He raised his scarred eyebrow at her. "And you're just working this out now? No wonder they give the Slayers Watchers."

She did pull her hand away, so she could cover her eyes. "Yeah, well, I don't seem to have one anymore, do I?"

"Don't see him, if you'd rather not. I can do the go-between thing."

"No . . . no, I think I'm going to have to. So I can make my gut believe . . ."

"It's going to be a couple of days before he's up to sociability."

"Willow and the others said it was a nasty fight." She didn't sound upset, more like a fellow professional asking about something work-related.

"Yeah, it was, and it was due. He may have the brains and the magic on me, but I've still got the age and experience on him. I'm not his Sire, so I've got to be a bit more hands-on in teaching him respect. And I'll do it every time he forgets."

"Until he beats you."

Spike grinned. "If he beats me, it'll be because he's finally better than me. But that'll be a bit, yet."

"You must really love having someone around you can beat up that won't trigger the chip." She was studying the last ice cubes in her whiskey glass and didn't see the fleeting smile on his face.

"Oh, yeah, it's not bad. And don't think he doesn't enjoy finally being able to get some good licks in on me."

Something lewd in his tone made Buffy look at him suspiciously, but she shook her head. She let her mind go blank for several moments, letting all her grief and confusion drift away. Then she pulled the Slayer back over her mind. "Call me when he's better. We've got Glory to settle before anything else."

He took her hand before she could stop him and raised it to her lips. "Universe has got a grudge against you, love. Everything else can wait till we've got Glory settled and your Mum on her way back."

She only let herself enjoy the comfort for a moment, then pulled away. "Later." She blinked as he stood when she did.

"Later, Slayer."

Spike watched her walk away, and he saw her nod at a couch near the stage. He hadn't even seen Red and Harris when he'd come in, too focused on the Slayer, but she'd brought back-up. Smart girl.

Red looked nearly as grief stricken as Buffy, but Harris only had eyes for Spike, dark, angry, hating eyes. Spike stared back, telling his demon that there was work still to do but, yes, there were certain names that were high on the list of People who Needed to Find Out The Chip Didn't Work Anymore. Harris didn't back down, only breaking the gaze when Willow nudged him. And he didn't look back as he escorted the witch out after Buffy.

"Should we be doing this here?" Xander asked Buffy.

"The Magic Box is a public place," she answered, keeping watch on both entrances.

Xander traced a pattern on the top of the counter. "I don't know if I can do this, Buff. My brain is yelling 'Evil vampire,' but my--my gut is going 'Except-- it's Giles.'"

"I know."

After a moment, he put his arms around Buffy, who rested her head for just a moment on his shoulder. "You're nice to lean on," she said. "You've got good shoulders."

Xander blushed, and Anya, behind the counter, fidgeted unhappily. "My shoulders," she muttered. "Mine to lean on." But she didn't say it loud enough for anyone to make a fuss over.

At the table in the corner, Willow and Tara were holding hands. "We've got protection spells up," Willow said. "He won't catch us again."

"Thanks, Will."

"Though he is good," Willow mused further. "I mean, if he's doing summonings and negotiating with dark powers and expecting them to listen to him--" She broke off as Tara nudged her arm and shook her head.

Buffy wasn't listening anymore. Straightening from Xander's hold, she stared at the door. "Vampires. Two of them." She glanced at Xander, who drew back into a corner, where two loaded crossbows waited. Buffy pulled Mr. Pointy out of her pocket.

The knock on the door startled everyone. "Uh, come in!" Buffy called.

The door opened slowly. Spike scanned the whole room, marking everyone's location before stepping in. "Evening, folks."

"Spike, you knocked."

"Formal occasion, pet." He glanced around once more, then gave Buffy a questioning look. She stared at the doorway behind him, then nodded. Spike nodded to someone outside, then stepped in and to one side.

Giles appeared in the doorway and paused, likewise scanning the room. He wore blue jeans and a pullover under his leather jacket; behind the glasses, his expression was slightly apprehensive. Tara and Willow only met his eyes briefly, Tara looking nervous and Willow uncertain. Xander looked back for a moment, then divided his attention between the two vampires, his hands resting pointedly near the two crossbows.

Then he looked at the Slayer. She stared at him, her jaw muscles tight. "Hullo, Buffy," he said softly. Buffy blinked rapidly, then turned away.

Giles nodded to himself before looking at Anya. "Hello, Anya. I do apologize for abandoning you and the store like this."

The ex-demon stood back against the shelves behind the counter, out of the easy reach of vampires. "The distributors keep asking where you are. And then there's the bank. Life does go on, you know--well, at least for some of us."

Giles couldn't help laughing. "I've always admired your work ethic." He reached under his jacket. "This should make things easier." Out of the corner of his eye he saw Xander put a hand on a crossbow and the two witches raise their hands. He pretended not to notice and pulled out a legal-sized envelope. As he handed it across the counter, he noticed the cash register--and the cross leaning against the cash drawer. Anya saw his gaze and raised her chin unrepentantly, then took the envelope.

"I've already sent copies to all the distributors and I called the bank," he went on. "You should be able to take care of anyone I missed."

"What is it, Anya?" Xander asked tensely.

She stared at the document she'd pulled out of the envelope. "Formal transfer of ownership and the lease of the Magic Box to me," she whispered. Then she frowned. "For the price agreed upon." She glared at Giles. "What price? I've negotiated with vampires before, what am I agreeing on?"

Giles blinked, then smiled again. "That was just a bit of legal misdirection. No price needed between us, Anya."

"I don't think so." She grabbed her purse and pulled out her wallet. "I have fifty dollars. Xander- -"

Willow cleared her throat. "Um, in situations like this, one dollar is traditional, just to show that a transfer of something of value took place."

Anya held out a dollar bill. Giles hesitated, then accepted. She picked up a pen and added the words "the sum of one dollar" to the transfer statement. "There, everything legal and aboveboard. Except that dead men can't sign contracts. Stupid mortal laws. Thank you, Giles." She smiled brightly and almost leaned forward to hug Giles, catching herself partway.

"You're welcome," Giles said. "One less thing to worry about. I'm sure you'll do well. And thank you, Willow." The witch went pink with pleasure.

Xander didn't take his hand off the crossbow. "I'm sure you're glad to be rid of the place. Running a store would probably get in the way of the carnage and the whole plotting world destruction thing. Isn't that what all the unsouled, unchipped vampires want these days?"

Giles glared at him, and Xander flinched, but he didn't look away. After a moment, Giles took breath to speak. "I have no interest in the destruction of the world. That's why I'm here."

"So the whole screaming, mayhem, blood in the streets thing doesn't get you off, unlike some undead people we could mention." Xander glared at the smirking Spike and missed the expression that flickered across Giles' face. The Ripper look, they'd come to call it, a flash of viciousness and unholy glee.

"Personal proclivities aside, I don't particularly want to see the world overrun by hellbeasts and demons as Glory rips open the dimensional walls and saunters home."

Buffy turned slowly. "And to stop that you were willing to kill my sister."

Giles met her eyes without flinching. "Yes, I was. It would have solved everything."

"Everything except for the fact of you killing my sister." He nodded in resigned acceptance. Buffy clenched her fists. "You're not even sorry, are you."

"I did regret the grief you would feel, but I felt it was necessary."

Now she believed he was a vampire. "Were you always this ruthless?"

The look he gave her was calm. "Yes, actually, I was." He glanced around the room. "Where is Dawn?"

"As if I'd tell you!" Her heart ached at the familiar scolding glance he gave her.

"There are other beings looking for her. The whole point of this is to make sure Glory does not get her hands on the girl."

"She's somewhere safe."

Giles glanced around the room, obviously wondering who was doing guard duty if everyone was here. His eyes fell on Spike, who leaned against a bookcase.

"I would take the Slayer's word for it, Rupert," Spike said quietly. "Don't worry yourself about Dawn."

"I most certainly shall worry myself about the location of the magical crux of this upcoming apocalypse--"

"Leave it."

The humans in the room shivered as the vampires glared at each other. Buffy took a cautious step back, feeling rage and violence rolling off her former mentor. Spike never shifted from his casual pose, but his eyes were not something anyone who might be considered prey wanted to see. She heard a very faint growl from one of them, refusing to admit that it could be Giles who was acting the part of the wild, vicious demon.

There was no Sire-Childe dynamic between the pair of them to force Giles to submit to Spike. The memory of the fight on the lawn, though, still twinged in his mended bones. He could gain the upper hand any time he wished, just by setting off a binding spell before he made his move. If he went that route, though, he'd best be prepared to go the whole way and finish Spike.

He fondled that thought a moment, staking Spike, being free of him and his assumptions that he was the dominant one. Free of the companionship, the guidance in this strange new world, the respect from the others that having Spike behind him brought. Yes, he had power, and those vampires who knew him walked carefully around him. But he had no illusions that he would be perceived by anyone else as anything but a fledgling that was getting above himself.

For a while, at least, he still needed Spike around. Knowledge and magic were one thing, a century of experience was something else. For now, they were stronger as a partnership than apart.

He remembered the night before, when Spike had appeared in his bedroom and Giles hadn't thrown him out. The partnership had its perks.

He glared at Spike a moment longer, then carefully shifted his gaze just enough to show he was conceding the point. The notetaker in his mind jotted a memo to investigate wolf psychology.

Spike did nothing more than smile very faintly in acknowledgement of his victory. Giles turned away from the other vampire and looked at Buffy. "How is Joyce?"

Buffy blinked for several seconds, catching up with the change. "Um, OK." Giles gave her a painfully familiar look that said 'I know you speak English, could there be a few more words to that explanation, please?' She would have smiled at the familiarity if she hadn't been so close to crying. "They're going to let her try walking in a couple of days. The speech therapist says she's doing really well."

Giles closed his eyes and nodded. "Good, that's very good."

"See? Told you it would mend itself," Spike said quietly. Giles glared at him, but he just smirked.

Buffy looked back and forth at the two of them. There were sub-texty things going on, things that made her think of stuff she'd read in the books about how vampires related to each other. The two--the two vampires looked at each other the way two people who knew each other pretty darned well would look.

Giles muttered something too low for any but vampire ears to hear, Spike snickered, and Giles turned back to the Scoobies. "We have work to do. What do we have on Glory?"

There was little new information. Giles let it be cautiously known that denizens of other dimensions were interested in the outcome of the situation. Both Buffy and Spike twitched at that, but Willow leaned forward in fascination.

"So there are creatures in other worlds who keep an eye on things here? Do they keep watch? How do people find out the stuff about other dimensions, anyway?"

"Travellers, mostly," Giles told her. "Though few of them are willing travellers. Creatures come through as the victims of spells gone wrong, and scholars quiz them on the conditions of the places they come from."

"But you could go there willingly, right? They're not all icky nasty hell places, are they?"

Tara looked at her lover's eager face and frowned slightly. She took one of Willow's hands and held it in both of hers.

Giles smiled at her eagerness for knowledge. "I've never been to any myself, but from what I hear there are dimensions that are not inherently inimical to human life."

Spike pulled out a cigarette and toyed with it. "Still not nice places to be," he muttered. "And the trip is never fun."

Willow turned to him. "You've been to another dimension?"

"Yep."

"What was it like?"

The cigarette went to paper shreds and tobacco leaves in his fingers. "It's not in the tour guides, Red. Leave it at that."

Willow tried not to pout too obviously as she turned away.

"Most dimensions are smelly, nasty places," Anya spoke up. "Most of them don't even have chocolate."

"The horror," Xander murmured.

Giles glanced over to give him a smile at the quip, but the familiar easy tone was not matched by what was in the young man's eyes. Xander stared back at Giles with profound distrust and disillusionment. Xander couldn't hold the look long, and he shifted his gaze to Spike. Hatred was all that burned in the human's eyes then. Giles noted the way he leaned against the wall, his arms relaxed against his sides, hands less than four inches from the two loaded crossbows on tables on either side of him. His hands flexed occasionally, staying limber.

Gary Cooper, wasn't it, in "High Noon"?

"What else do we have on Glory?" he said, turning to the room. "For what it's worth, I believe we only have a few more days before the alignment occurs. If we can hang on till then, we should be home free."

"If," Anya murmured.

"Are we going purely defensive?" Buffy said, "or do we go after the bitch?"

"In her own form, she is fairly invulnerable. If we could find her human disguise . . . She was bound to a human form so that when it died she would likewise be destroyed."

Willow played with her hair. "I suppose it's too much to hope for that her human form's lying in the terminal ward at Sunnydale General."

Giles snorted. "No, I believe those who bound her thought that being human might teach her lessons in humility and compassion." Perhaps he should have tried to make that sound a little less cynical, he told himself as the children shared looks of dismay. But Spike was smirking knowingly, and Willow, interestingly enough, looked more thoughtful than outraged.

"So, um, we're looking for someone young?" she volunteered.

"Adult, though perhaps not much older than you folk."

"Even if she is invulnerable," Buffy said impatiently, "do we even know where she is? She must have minions and all that, and they have to sleep somewhere."

"Some sort of rallying point, yes," Giles mused. He glanced at Spike. "Perhaps a job best suited for you or myself."

Spike shrugged. "Send the lads out, let them have a look around."

"Good idea."

"The lads?" Buffy repeated suspiciously.

Spike grinned at her. "Just a few minions we've got sitting about."

"Setting yourself up as the new master of the area, are you?"

"There's probably things going on that you don't want to know about, Slayer."

"I see your lads out bothering people, and they're going to get staked. You tell them that."

Spike shrugged. "Fact of life on the Hellmouth, you could run foul of the Slayer. Cleans out the stupid ones."

"Vampiric Darwinism," Willow mused.

Buffy glared at her. "Can we save the thirst for knowledge thing for later, Will?"

"So where do we stand?" Xander asked quietly from his corner.

Giles glanced at Buffy before answering. "Spike and I shall begin inquiries into the location of Glory's headquarters. It would be very useful if we could get more information on the alignment we're waiting for, as well. Was there any reference to what specific form Glory was placed in?"

Willow shook her head. "The chronicles only refer to an infant. Kind of hard to track an infant."

"It seem so irresponsible of them," Tara said quietly. She blinked at the looks she got. "To create these human lives as the vessels for all this power. Couldn't they have turned Glory into a--a rat or something? And turning the key into a girl--poor Dawn."

Buffy leaned against a counter. "I don't think I'd care so much if the key were just a coat rack or something."

"Which is precisely the point," Giles commented. "Still, it would be nice to know where we could find Glory when she was in her vulnerable human form." The silence that greeted him reminded him that squeamish humans were in the room. Though Anya only looked thoughtful and Xander--Xander had the disturbed expression of someone who sees the absolute logic of a proposition and hates himself for it.

Spike straightened from his post at the wall. "Is that it for now?"

Buffy shrugged in frustration. "I guess so." She stared at Giles for several moments, then grabbed her jacket and headed for the door. "Wills, I'll be home in a couple of hours."

As the door closed behind the Slayer, Anya smiled at everyone in the room. "If that's the end of the meeting, then I have to close up the shop. My shop."

"I take it that's a hint," Giles said, amused.

"Yep," Xander said, "time for all the living and the dead to go home."

Spike smirked at him. "What, not going to invite us to stay for the milk and cookies?"

"Nope."

"I am not feeling the love here."

Xander rested his hand on a crossbow. "We can fix that," he said with a smile.

Giles put a hand on Spike's shoulder. "Spike, don't annoy men who are very good shots when they have crossbows to hand."

"Good point."

Xander blinked at Giles with a surprised, flattered look on his face, but he turned away before Giles could ask what he was thinking. He heard the young man's quiet mutter, though: "And it takes being the evil undead to let me know these things?"

Anya watched them all, her arms crossed. "Why are none of you going home yet?"

Tara smiled at her. "Because we hate to leave you, Anya."

"That all very nice, but I want to go home and play with Xander. Don't you want to go home and play with Willow?" The two witches blushed but didn't deny it.

Spike grinned at Giles. "So, Ripper, shall we go home and--"

"Do be quiet, Spike." He turned so his glare and muted smile would not be seen by the children. "Good night, everyone."

"Good night, Giles," Willow said with a smile. Tara nodded, not quite meeting Giles' eyes.

Anya ran her hand over the deed to the store. "Good night, Giles. And thank you for the store."

"You're welcome. I'm sure it's in good hands." Giles looked at Xander again. The young man seemed about to say anything, but he looked down at the floor. Giles waited a moment, then nodded to himself and headed out the door. Spike followed without acknowledging any of the Scoobies.

Out on the street, Giles took off his glasses and returned them to their case in his pocket. "That went better than I expected."

"Harris is not a happy boy," Spike observed, lighting a cigarette.

"No." Giles spared a moment for nostalgic sympathy. All Xander's male companions and role models disappointed him in one way or another. Though all men learned that eventually. "Willow was a pleasant surprise. She's a dear girl."

"That she is."

Giles heard the thoughtful tone of voice and glared at his fellow vampire. "Leave Willow alone."

"Why?" Spike asked pointedly. "I've had my eye on Red for quite a while. Exercising a prior claim, are you?"

"If you will. And we don't have time for those kinds of games just now. Besides, Tara would not give up easily, and I honestly have no idea of how much she's capable of."

Spike shrugged. "Wouldn't mind a matched set of pretty young witches around the place. Stupid hellgod," he muttered. "Why couldn't she bugger off to LA or something and bother somebody else? There's so much fun to be had, and we've got to save the bloody world again. Didn't you ever get tired of it?"

"Well, I must admit, the responsibilities can be daunting, but we have a sworn duty to protect the world . . ." He trailed off as he contemplated the inherent illogic of that statement coming from the mouth of a vampire.

Spike looked up at the night sky. "Oi, if you're readyin' a lightning bolt up there, it was him what said it!"

"Oh, yes, thank you, Mr. Save the World for Manchester United and all the rest."

The blond shrugged and grinned. "So, we're off to set the minions on the trail of the hellbitch, are we?"

"It seems the logical step." Giles looked around the empty street. "But not just yet. I'm hungry." He checked his watch. "Early, yet. Where would be the best hunting, the park or the college?"

"Park. Too many people out and about on campus just yet. Somebody's bound to scream, and then there's the Slayer tappin' us on the shoulder and going 'Wot's all this, then?'"

Giles chuckled as they strolled down the street. "And how many bobbies did you run afoul of?"

"Well, there was that poor sod who was sure he'd found Jack the Lad when he interrupted me having dinner on a whore in Whitechapel. But Dru convinced him of the error of his ways."

"Jack the--oh, the Ripper."

Spike glanced at him with a raised eyebrow. "Always wondered about your choice of nom de guerre, mate. Role model?"

"Not in the slightest." Giles picked up the pace, trying to leave behind the memories that both thrilled and repelled him. Demon summoning, along with the drug- and music-crazed sex, was one thing, but there was more than one memory of uncomplicated happiness that he didn't want to have cluttering up his mind just at the moment.

The park was quiet to mortal senses, but the vampires heard the movement of large creatures among the trees and bushes. Spike changed to his vampiric face and tested the wind. "A couple of necking couples over by the band stand, there's a drunk under the hedge over there, and --" He took a deep breath, tasting the air. "Horses? Who the fuck is riding horses around here, at this time of night?"

"Cordelia mentioned there used to be a bridle path through here, though it's not used much anymore."

"Hate horses," Spike muttered. "God damned things stepping on you and flicking their tails at you."

"Not one of the horsey set, were you?" Giles observed. "Not enough money or not enough social standing?" He smiled faintly at the glare he got. "Perhaps we can agree that if you don't bring up my youth I shan't bring up yours." He nodded at the hand gesture he got. "Agreed."

They walked through the park, ostensibly two men out for a walk, though they paid more attention to other people than was typical. Spike caught sight of a middle-aged woman in a waitress' uniform walking slowly along the path ahead of them. "How's that, then, Ripper? Chock full of home cooked goodness."

Giles' eyes were already flickering towards gold. "She'll do. I'll be picky some time when I'm not so hungry." He started forward, then turned his head quickly. "Slayer."

"Fuck." Spike locked on the location of Buffy's scent. "You go ahead, I'll distract the Slayer."

"Are you sure? You haven't eaten yet either." But the ridges were already shaping out of the human flesh.

Spike frowned at the way the demon was so quickly overriding Giles' control. He kept forgetting how young a vampire the ex-Watcher was. "I can wait. Go on. And mind the drips, you don't want the Slayer seeing what you've been up to."

Giles nodded, his attention more on his chosen victim than on his reluctant mentor's words. But little of the predator showed as he followed the woman around a curve of the path, perhaps just an extra spring in the step or the way he held his head.

Spike headed in the direction of the Slayer, fortunately the opposite direction Ripper had taken. He found her a hundred yards off, looking thoughtful but aware enough of her surroundings to feel a vampire approaching.

Buffy scanned the area before focusing on Spike. "So what brings you to the park, Spike?"

"Memories of meals past." He fell into step next to her. "Find anything interesting tonight?"

"Nope, nobody stupid enough to come within reach when I'm in a bad mood." She smiled at him brightly. "Till now."

He settled on his feet more evenly and smiled back. "I've got no objection to a bit of rough and tumble, if you're in the mood."

"Nah, beating you up is starting to be fun, and that's just a little too euw."

"Oh, but you'd make a great dom, love. Fit you up with some nice tight black leather, braid your hair back, give you a riding crop." He shivered happily. "There's an image that's going to keep me happy for hours."

Buffy shuddered in disgust. "Leave me out of your fantasies, Spike."

"Too late," he murmured.

She glanced at him and took a step away. "So . . . where's Giles?"

"Oh, he's off somewhere. I am not my brother's keeper."

Buffy blinked at a sudden thought. "So, is he really like your brother, since Dru, um . . ."

"You might want to go a little easy on the family metaphors, love. Considering how Dru and I got along."

"Oh, yeah, euw, never mind."

Though why Spike was sparing her the brutal truth about how vampire clan members related to each other, he wasn't sure. The look on her face if she figured out just how close Spike and her ex-watcher had gotten would be such a treasure.

They heard it at the same time, someone coming along the path.

"Vampire," Buffy muttered. She stepped out of easy reach of Spike and pulled a stake. Spike said nothing, his sense of smell already identifying the person approaching. He got ready to conduct a getaway, just in case.

Buffy went still when she saw Giles coming around a thicket of bushes. He didn't seem surprised to see her. "Hello, Buffy," he said easily. "Have you ever thought of changing your shampoo? It's really quite identifiable. That should have occurred to me before, you do hunt creatures who rely a great deal on their sense of smell."

Spike kept himself from smirking. Clever Ripper, put the Slayer off guard with a bit of the old-fashioned amiable babble. And maybe she won't smell that faint whiff of blood coming off you. No obvious spots, but you should have dumped that handkerchief you've got in your pocket. Not that discretion and tidiness were a normal concern of vampires after a meal.

Buffy stared at Giles, trying to force her mind away from memories of sharing patrols in this very park, making herself remember what vampires strolling through the park were normally up to.

"Having a pleasant evening stroll?" she asked, still clutching her stake.

"Yes, thank you, and yourself?"

"Nice quiet night, then I ran across people acting suspiciously in the park."

Giles glanced at Spike. "I didn't do anything," Spike protested.

"Somehow I doubt that."

Buffy glared at both of them, shifting her stance to keep watch equally. "Me, too."

Giles looked thoughtfully at Buffy a moment. "Spike, would you mind letting me speak to her alone?"

"I mind if she stakes you."

"I shall endeavour not to give her cause."

Buffy tapped her stake impatiently against her leg. "Isn't that kind of up to me, guys?"

Giles smiled at her. "Yes, it is."

Spike shrugged. "Whatever. If you're dust I get your car." He headed off into the darkness, lighting up a cigarette.

Buffy watched him go. "He listens to you."

"When it suits him. Little has changed in that regard."

"But in all the other regards . . ."

He shrugged.

They looked at each other for several moments, Giles standing at ease with his hands in his pockets, Buffy fidgeting with her stake.

"We had a deal, Giles," she said softly.

"Yes, we did."

"We'd make sure that when we died we stayed dead, and if it was too late we'd make sure . . ."

"I know."

She raised the stake, still watching him. He didn't move. "You're not even going to try and stop me?" She was poised to strike, breaths away from doing her job.

"No, I will try to stop you. I don't want to be destroyed," he added in an almost academic tone of voice.

"No, you wouldn't. My Giles, though . . ."

He nodded. "When I woke up . . . it was a near thing. I rather resent being grateful to Spike, but if I'd been alone . . ."

He wasn't looking at her anymore, but off into that other world only vampires saw.

"I've met the newbies," Buffy said softly. "Not known for their self-sacrificing tendencies. Not likely to decide they don't want to be vampires after all."

"But I remembered, you see." He glanced at her, then away again. "I remembered my calling, my oaths. I remembered you. But that's all they were, memories. The drives, the urges -- they came from somewhere else. The first week was painful."

Buffy clenched her jaw. "But you managed to get over it well enough to decide to sacrifice Dawn to some hellbeast."

He met her eyes again, and he became a different man, a being she'd seen traces of over the years. She realized why Spike called him Ripper. "I don't want to see the world destroyed. I will do my best to stop it."

"No matter what?"

"No matter what. We do what we have to. That's why we're here." His smile was the one he'd given her before, the one of shared sacrifice and weary understanding. She remembered Acathla and a choice that had come close to killing her.

"You're--you're a vampire. Vampires like blood and death and carnage."

He looked away from her. How much of this uncompromising face was demon and how much was an old self she'd never wanted to think too closely on? "Your point?"

"If you want to save the world, it must be for some nefer--nafer--"

That smile was back. The patient, amused smile that had gotten her through the SATs. "Nefarious?"

"Yeah. Some twisted purpose of your own."

"Spike didn't."

"Spike's weird."

"Yes, granted. I will confess that elements of my current psyche find Glory's plans--appealing. But the greater part sees the error of that view."

Buffy shook her head. "This isn't--how can you sound so you?"

"As opposed to the typical mindless fledge that crawls out of the ground? I'm not quite sure yet. It's a fascinating study."

"Is that all this is to you?" she snapped. "A fascinating intellectual experiment?"

"This is what I am now, Buffy. I can crouch in the corner and wail to the heavens or I can try to understand my new condition."

"Your new condition." She stepped away, and the Slayer lived in her eyes. "What did you have for dinner, Giles?"

His return gaze was calm. "Ask me again and I'll tell you."

She took a deep breath, but before she could ask Spike came around a bush at a run. He studied the two suspiciously, then shook it off. "Come here, you two, quick."

"Spike," Buffy frowned, "I'm not--" But Giles had already gone, and she wasn't going to be left out.

They followed Spike through a small grove of trees--Buffy hyper-alert for any possibility this was a trap.

"Up here," Spike whispered, crouching behind a bush.

Giles sniffed the air. "Horses, again."

Voices from the clearing ahead. Buffy peeked through the shrubbery. Three men, two horses. Two of the men wore metal armor with tabards, and chainmail veils over their faces. The third man wore the rags of the street.

"What's with the medieval recreationists?" Spike said.

"I've seen these guys before," Buffy whispered. "They attacked me, said something about me being the enemy."

Giles glared at the men. "These are the ones who attacked you?"

"Well, it was three last time, but they're dressed like it."

"How interesting." The voice was more parts Ripper than Giles.

Spike smirked. "Think a chat's in order, mate?"

"Quite likely."

"Um, guys . . . maybe we should find out what they're up to first?"

Giles began to straighten. "Oh, I intend to."

"Wait," Spike said, as one of the men in armor pulled out a sword.

Words became clearer. "So bright, so bright," muttered the ragged man. "Going home, not long now, going home."

"Do you agree, brother?" said the man with the sword.

The other nodded. "Yes, this one is lost."

The sword moved, and cut the ragged man's throat.

Two cold hands clamped down on Buffy's shoulders, and another went over her mouth to stifle her yell. She struggled but couldn't break free of the grip of two vampires.

"He's dead, Buffy," Giles said into her ear. "It's too late, he's dead."

Spike leaned in. "And these guys accused you of being the enemy?" If he sounded slightly admiring, no one commented.

The men in armor knelt beside the body, obviously in prayer. One gestured over the body, then they stood.

"May your soul know peace," said the one with the sword as he cleaned his weapon, then sheathed it.

Buffy started to climb to her feet, Spike not far behind her.

"Humans, Buffy," Giles said. "What do you plan to do to them?" Behind her back he glared at Spike and tapped his head. Spike grimaced and mouthed a foul word, but he settled back.

"We can't just let them wander around killing people!"

"I understand. I just wanted you to think about your options."

She gave the standard Buffy-accepts-something-obvious pout. "Can I at least ask them what the heck they think they're doing?"

"Oh, I think questioning is quite within the parameters." Giles straightened easily, attracting the armored men's attention. They drew their swords as he approached.

He stopped out of range and looked down at the body. "And what did this poor gentleman do to offend you so?"

"He was a lost one. We released him from his torment."

Buffy appeared at Giles' side. "By murdering him? And how do you know he was in torment, anyway?"

"His mind had been taken by the beast, we gave him mercy." The soldiers began circling. "You consort with the Slayer," the spokesman said to Giles. "Are you protecting the Key as well?"

Giles couldn't help glancing at Buffy, who glared back at him. "I'm doing my best to keep the Key from Glory."

"The Key must be destroyed. The Slayer stands in our way."

"Well, yes, that's her job. And I understand her reasons."

"I beat three of you guys all by myself," Buffy added. "There's only two of you now."

The soldiers glanced at each other, chain mail masks swinging, then they firmed their shoulders. "No matter. Our duty is clear."

Buffy heard a disturbing noise from Giles. Part chuckle, part growl. A quick glance over her shoulder showed Spike had vanished. She didn't know what he could do with the chip, but she didn't trust him. "Look, guys, Knights, as for me, I don't want to hurt you. But I'm not going to let you get to the Key. Can't we just focus on stopping Glory?"

"Our mission is to prevent the beast from ripping open the portal. Destroying the Key will fulfill our mission. We will offer any sacrifice for the cause." His partner straightened purposefully.

"Pretty big talk for someone who's outnumbered," said a mocking voice behind the soldiers. Spike stepped out of the bushes, hands in pockets but looking no less dangerous for it.

The soldiers glanced at each other and moved back to back, obviously ready to fight to the end.

"OK, time out!" Buffy yelled. "All you testosterone junkies just relax." Giles gave her a hurt look. "Deal, Giles." She took a careful step towards the soldiers. "I don't want to hurt you. I just want you to stay out of my way." The body on the ground caught her eye. "And I want you to stop killing innocent people."

The soldier's sigh sounded sincerely grieved. "We granted him a merciful release. The beast had stolen his mind and made her will his. We freed him from her slavery."

Giles studied them. "There was no option but killing him?"

"It is rumored there are ways to steal a lost one's mind back from the beast, but that is sorcerer's work."

His companion moved uneasily. "We should not be speaking with these. The Slayer is our enemy."

Buffy made a frustrated noise. "No, I am not! Unless you start swinging a sword at me again! We're after the same thing here, guys."

"Can't we all just get along?" Spike said plaintively.

"Shut up, Spike."

"Yes, do," Giles added. Spike smirked and flipped Giles off.

The first soldier let the point of his sword drop an inch. "Our mission is to destroy the Key. You protect the Key. There are no options."

Buffy loosened her shoulders and took a step away from Giles for maneuvering room. She saw him flex his hands casually and almost ordered him out of the battlefield. The knot in her gut tightened a half second later as she remembered why she shouldn't worry about her Watcher anymore.

She focused on the soldier. "We're not going to attack you. If you want a fight, you're going to have to start it."

The second soldier readied himself, but the first soldier lowered his blade completely. "We are out-numbered, Brother Ferdinand."

"Brother John! Our holy duty--"

"Is to fight the beast, not throw our lives away in impossible battle. Against the Slayer, perhaps, but not against her teacher and her vampire as well."

"Oi! What do you mean, her vampire!"

"Shut UP, Spike!" Buffy glanced automatically towards Giles, then forced her mind out of old habits. "You can't keep killing off the poor crazy homeless people. That's got to stop."

"It is more merciful to release them."

"Yeah, well, maybe he had some family somewhere that wouldn't agree."

Giles frowned. "They may be right, Buffy," he said softly.

"I don't care. They're people, if they're sick they need to be in the hospital! If you don't stop," she said to the soldiers, "you'll find out that it's not just the Key I'm protecting."

The soldier stiffened. "Is that a threat?"

Buffy cocked her head in surprise. "Well, duh. I've got people who keep an eye out for these kinds of things, and if I find out about a bunch of homeless guys showing up with their throats cut or something, I'm going to know who to come looking for. Call it good and go home and tell your boss."

"You have no right to give us orders."

"Yeah, I do. I'm the Slayer, and this is my town. Get the hell out of here."

The two soldiers hesitated, then backed towards their horses. They mounted and galloped away.

Spike sauntered over, grinning. "You're hot when you're threatening dire physical harm, Slayer." He put a hand to stop both Buffy's and Giles' reply. "I know, 'shut up, Spike.' Not original." He met Giles' annoyed look and only grinned harder.

Giles turned his glare in the direction of the soldiers' departure. "I found very little on the Knights of Byzantium, other than what we already know. Their sole purpose is the discovery and the destruction of the Key."

Buffy stepped closer to the corpse of the ragged man. "Poor guy. Just 'cause he was a little nuts . . ." Spike joined her and began going through the dead man's pockets. "Hey, stop that."

He ignored her. "What was that about the hellbitch taking his mind?" he said.

"It's one of her powers," Giles said. "She draws strength from devouring the minds and intellects of others. Apparently the mindless ones become her servants."

Spike settled back on his heels, a wallet in his hands. "This guy wasn't homeless before Glory got to him." He flipped it open to show several credit cards, pictures, and a wad of cash.

"Give it here," Buffy ordered. "And don't you dare take that money."

"He doesn't need it anymore, pet."

"I don't care, that needs to go to his family, give it here."

Spike sighed hugely and handed her the wallet. She was too busy looking through the various cards to notice him pulling off the corpse's watch and wedding ring. Buffy paused on one card. "He worked at Sunnydale General, he was a therapist over there."

"He's been wandering around like this for quite some time, given the state of his clothes," Giles observed. "I imagine his family has given up on him by now, this being Sunnydale."

"So I can have his wallet back," Spike said. He mostly dodged the kick Buffy sent his way.

"No," she said firmly. "I'll give it to the police, say I found it in the park."

"And if you think the cops won't take their share . . ." Spike muttered.

"Jerk." She started to walk away, then paused to give Giles an uncertain look.

"We'll be in touch," he told her. "We'll leave messages with Anya on what we find regarding Glory's location."

"OK," she said. She let herself look sadly at her mentor for a moment, then firmed her shoulders and headed off.

"Buffy, one thing," he called after her. She looked back over her shoulder. "I took the Orb of Thesulah from the shop. I'm using it as a paperweight again. I wouldn't waste time trying to find another one."

Buffy stared at him, licking her lips. Willow had torn the shop apart, looking for the Orb and accusing Anya of selling the thing. Anya had sworn she hadn't, though she admitted it was because no one had asked. It wasn't like there had been a pressing need to worry about vampires and their souls.

"If you were to find one," he went on, "don't bother using it. It would be far kinder of you to simply kill me. I doubt I'd survive long if you gave me Angel's curse."

"We weren't . . ." she started, but she knew she'd never mastered the art of lying. "It was just a thought."

He smiled ruefully. "I understand. But not a good one. Your Giles is gone. There's only me left."

She let her grief show for just a moment, then tucked away again everything that distracted her from her job. Without a word she turned and walked away.

"Make a lovely cricket ball, that Orb would," Spike said as he joined Giles. He was counting a thick wad of cash.

"Where did you get that?"

Spike nodded over his shoulder. "Didn't show the wallet till I'd taken my cut. Figured the Slayer would go noble on us, and I left enough for her to find so she could feel superior."

Giles shrugged. "It's getting late, I'm tired." They went on their way, leaving the body for whatever scavengers or city clean-up crew happened to come along first.

Hector Stevenson, the man killed in the park, had last been seen at the hospital several weeks before. Sunnydale being what it was, it was difficult to get a comprehensive list of missing people to compare to the growing list of mentally damaged folk who were appearing. When the available information was correlated, no one area showed a higher number of missing people being discovered crazy.

Spike sent Sammy, Fred and the girls out to look for centers of demonic activity. He himself took Willy's, looking for both information and more opportunities to re-establish his reputation as the vampire most likely to rip out your hipbones and use them as a planter.

Giles debated going with him, but he knew that was the bloodthirstiness talking. He made a promise to himself that if he checked four volumes of dark lore for mentions of Glory, then he could go out and find something to beat up. It was the technique that had gotten him through Oxford.

He was halfway through the third volume, which described Glory's influence over the mentally ill and brain damaged, when he remembered something from before Joyce's surgery. She had seen Dawn's dual nature, had known the girl wasn't her daughter. But as opposed to the other people who had seen Dawn for what she was, Joyce had recovered her wits. Perhaps she remembered that time, perhaps she remembered something of the influence Glory wielded over those whose minds were in altered states.

He hadn't seen her since the one visit anyway, and he did want to find out how she was doing. It was research, so he wasn't violating his personal bargain. Such sophistry had also gotten him through Oxford.

Once he determined that Buffy wasn't visiting her mother, Giles didn't bother sneaking down the hospital corridor to Joyce's room. He paused in pleased surprise in the doorway.

"Joyce, you're up."

Joyce looked up, startled, from where she sat in a chair near the bed. The magazine she'd been reading slipped from her fingers. Giles crouched swiftly to pick it up and return it to her.

"'Art & Auction,'" he read. "Keeping up with the business, are you?"

"Giles," she said, blinking at him. She looked at the doorway uncertainly.

"Are you expecting someone?"

"Oh, no, I'm just . . . hello."

He smiled back at her but remained crouched at her side, trying not to appear too intimidating. "I was wondering how you were doing."

She looked uncertain, then nodded slowly. "No, I don't suppose . . . that Buffy tells you." Her voice was much clearer, but she was obviously searching for the right word or making sure of how to pronounce it. "I'm . . . doing better."

"That's wonderful." He patted her hand and pretended not to notice the way she almost pulled away. He wondered if Buffy had spoken to her about him. "Buffy told Spike that you were going to be working on walking."

Her smile was tired. "I can stand by myself, but I'm still a little wobbly. I'm going to need a--a--oh, what is it, what the old ladies use." She held her hands out in front of her.

"I think you call them walkers here."

"Yes, a walker." She frowned as she said it. "Just like my grandmother."

"We call them Zimmer frames in England. I had an old aunt who said she was going out for a Zimmer race when she went out with her friends."

Joyce chuckled. "If I keep up with my exercises and physical therapy, I should be able to graduate to a cane in a few weeks. I may not even need that by summer."

"That's very good. And I shall dare your wrath and say 'I told you so.' Have they said when you'll be released?"

The frown reappeared. "Not very long. A day or so. Xander's been building a ramp on the front steps."

"You don't seem pleased."

"Buffy's been talking about leaving school to stay home and take care of me. I don't think she's been going to class, she's taking care of the house and Dawn and checking things at the gallery. She shouldn't have to do all that, she should be in school."

"I'm sure it won't be for long, only till you're reliably on your feet again. And it's better than planning your funeral."

Joyce blinked at him. "You used to be more tactful."

"Oh, um--yes, I suppose I was. But it's true." He saw her glance at the door again, as if afraid of--or hoping for-- an interruption. "I was wondering something, though, Joyce."

"Yes?"

"Before your surgery, you were able to perceive that Dawn was . . . different. Do you remember?"

"I don't--" She frowned in thought. "It's very blurry. I wasn't sure what was real. Why?"

Giles had long ago stopped underestimating this woman, so he told her the truth. "One of Glory's abilities is to steal the higher functions of people's minds. We've seen more and more damaged people. Most of them seem able to see Dawn's true nature, and they also seem to share an awareness of Glory. I was wondering if you remembered a connection to Glory, or at least an awareness of something of power."

Joyce folded her hands and stared off into her memories. "I remember . . . frustration. Impatience. Horrible longing. But it could so easily have been my own."

"No awareness of another being?"

She shook her head. "You say other people have seen Dawn and . . . reacted?"

"Yes, Glory has power over people with lessened mental abilities, and they seem to be aware of her search for the Key. They perceive Dawn's difference, but they are unable to do anything with the information."

"I don't care about Dawn's difference. She's my daughter, no matter if monks gave her to me or if I gave birth to her. I just hope I can help protect her."

For a moment, there was no sign of weakness in Joyce Summers. Giles dearly hoped she'd never find out about his plan to give Dawn to the hell beasts--or if she did, that he'd have a great deal of warning. Mexico was said to be a nice place for vampires.

"I'll not bother you any longer," he said, getting to his feet. "I'm glad you're doing so well."

She smiled faintly. "Check back with me in six months, though."

"I will. If only to say hello." As he turned to go, he saw a shelf of plants and cards. Among them was a small stuffed green monster, with horns and claws and as fearsome a snarl as something plush could manage. "Someone has interesting tastes in stuffed animals," he observed.

Joyce chuckled. "He's supposed to protect me."

He could picture Dawn presenting her mother with a fierce creature to protect her when no one else was about. When he took a step closer, though, he smelled Spike.

"I'll be keeping in touch with Anya," he said after the briefest of hesitations. "I hope to get even more good news about you in the future.'

Joyce smiled sincerely. "I'll make sure she has all the latest news. Good night, Giles."

"Good night, Joyce."

As he walked away, he wondered why he felt so annoyed. Was it that Spike had been visiting Joyce without Giles' knowledge? The two of them had spent time together over coffee and hot chocolate before now, so there was no reason why Spike shouldn't come to visit her in the hospital.

Perhaps it was because Joyce was obviously uncomfortable alone with Giles. He paused a moment to be honest with himself. Joyce had only ever known Spike as a vampire, she knew what he was like. Even before the chip, he'd been oddly respectful of her. Joyce had to be wondering about all the ways Giles had changed. Giles himself had to admit to conflicting impulses. The voice in the back of his mind whispered of helpless prey, of pain to the Slayer if her mother was killed.

He hadn't eaten yet, perhaps that explained his bad mood. He glanced around the hospital corridor, assessing opportunities. All the staff were going busily about their rounds, it was too early in the evening to sneak into a patient's room. Perhaps he could go down to the parking lot and wait for a solitary visitor to wander into a dark shadow.

He strolled towards the elevators. As he passed the staff elevator, the doors opened and a man came out pushing a cart of clean laundry. With barely a thought, Giles slipped into the elevator. The morgue was in the basement, surrounded by badly lit corridors and infrequently occupied departments. Dozens of places to stash a drained body.

The darkness was blissful to sensitive eyes, though the smells jangled on his nerves. Chemicals from the laundry, the scent of decomposing bodies drifting from that side corridor. The humans probably didn't notice the smell of decay, at least consciously. Which meant anyone down here would be nicely uneasy already. Less effort to bring the proper level of fear to the blood.

No heartbeats nearby. Giles debated, then headed towards the morgue. If nothing else, he could see if there were any proto-vampires in the coolers.

Two corners from the morgue, he heard voices. " . . . and stop coming to the hospital, damn it," said a man. "I don't want your kind here."

"Well, if you'd bother to speak to us when you're at home--" The voice was not quite human.

"I don't want to speak to you at all! Now go away! You have no business here."

"Her most sparkling sublimity was quite clear, we're to look everywhere."

"There's nothing for you here, there's no reason you need to speak to me. Now leave me alone."

The non-human voice sighed. "Very well, sir."

Giles heard a non-human heartbeat approaching. He paused at the corner and waited.

A gnarled demon with bad skin and wearing a hooded robe crept around the corner. It saw Giles and squeaked as it jumped. "Excuse me," it gasped. "I did not see you--" It frowned. "Or hear you. Or smell you. Ah. My apologies, Master Vampire, I'll just be on my way."

Demons in the vicinity of the morgue were so rarely up to any good. Giles moved to block the creature's way and looked down the corridor. He heard a rapid heartbeat in that direction and smelled anxiety. "What were you doing down there?"

"Nothing, most puissant one, nothing at all that need bother your most undeadness."

Giles glared at him. "That makes less sense than anything Xander or Willow have ever babbled." The demon started to slink off, and he grabbed the creature by the front of its robe. "Who are you, what are you doing down here, and who is that lurking down there?"

The demon actually straightened a little from its obsequious crouch. "Down there? There's no one down there. No one you need to worry about."

Giles smiled slightly and slipped on his fangs. "No one worth worrying about? Generally the best sort to invite to dinner. If they're not worth worrying about."

"Oh, you don't want to eat him, your most frightening pointiness. He is not at all tasty. You should eat me instead."

"That's very generous of you. What did you say your name was?"

"Smirg, my lord."

"Smirg. Nothing personal, Smirg, but I'm afraid I don't find you that appetizing."

Giles started down the corridor, Smirg on his heels. "I understand, my lord," the demon said. "I am unworthy of the notice of such a fearsome creature of the night. Especially such a clever vampire, who's thought of hunting in the hospital."

Giles turned to glare at it. "What are you doing? I don't need a herald going before me announcing my presence." He paused, then looked from the demon down the corridor. The heartbeat he'd heard earlier was retreating. "You were giving a warning. Who were you talking to?"

Smirg blinked innocently. "Talking to, my lord? Who would I be talking to?"

Growling, Giles grabbed its robe again. "Who was it?"

"I don't know what you're talking about, most scary snarling one. You'll probably just have to kill me."

"I distrust people who want me to kill them."

"Completely up to you, your illustrious bloodthirstiness."

"Why on earth are you talking like that?"

"Like what, most--"

He shook the demon firmly. "Stop that." The demon nodded. "Now, what are you doing down here?" The demon stared at him. "You can talk to answer the question. What are you doing down here?"

"I was visiting the corpses, my lord. I like corpses."

"I think you're lying."

"Most likely, my lord."

"I could hurt you a great deal, you know."

"Oh, yes, I know, my lord."

"And the longer I spend with you, the farther away whomever you were talking to gets."

The demon smiled. "Yes, my lord."

Kill him just on principle? Giles debated for several moments, then let the creature go. "If I see you again, I'll most likely kill you just for the hell of it."

Smirg straightened his robe. "Quite all right, my lord. Good hunting to you." It strolled away.

Giles went down to the morgue to make sure nothing out of the ordinary was going on, but all was quiet. He smelled traces of the man that Smirg had been speaking to, but everything indicated average human.

Annoyed, Giles waylaid a janitor and left his drained body in a laundry hamper.

Elsewhere in the Sunnydale night, Xander Harris mused with ironic fondness on the good old days of plain, unsophisticated vampires. How pleasant it would be to go back to those days. But only if he could go back as the person he was now. No way in hell would he do high school over again. Sure, bezoars in the basement and hyenas in the hall, but there weren't any gods wandering around.

His musings didn't distract him from watching for things that go bump in the night as he did his share of the patrol through the Riverview Cemetery. Nice place, Riverview. When it was his turn and if there was enough left to bother with, he wanted to be buried here, with a view of the water.

"Excuse me, young man," said a female voice from the shadows. A middled-aged woman carrying a dog leash stepped out from behind a bush. "Could you help me find my dog?"

Xander stared at her. "That's a new line."

"Excuse me?" She blinked harmless brown eyes at him, her expression a mix of confusion and worry. "Have you seen a dog? A lhasa apso? He just slipped the leash and ran off after something."

"Well, no, haven't seen any dogs. I might smell a rat, though."

"There's no need to be rude." She glowered at him and turned to walk away.

Xander took a step after her, but at least it was a suspicious step. "Where'd you last see your dog, ma'am?"

"He was over by that mausoleum." She turned quickly, the dog leash looped in both hands and fangs showing through her grin.

Xander ducked as she tried to throw the loop over his head. "Yeah, Harris, tell the universe you miss vampires." He scrambled away, yanking the stake out of his back pocket.

The vampire hesitated. "Who are you? The Slayer's a girl."

"Yeah, well, I'm a close personal friend of the Slayer, so there. Gotta say, nice routine with the lost dog bit."

She grinned. "It's not a bit."

Barking broke out behind him. Out of the corner of his eye, Xander saw a small, white, shaggy dog running towards him, little canine fangs bared.

"Oh, now, come on!"

He barely dodged the teeth trying to latch onto his ankle, avoiding the vampire's claws by inches. Reaching down, he snagged the scruff of the dog's neck and threw himself back against a tree. "Back off, fangface, or the mutt gets it!" He held his stake against the dog's heart.

"No!" the vampire yelled. "Don't hurt Maxi!"

The dog snarled and wriggled, trying to get free. "Knock it off, dog," Xander said, giving the thing a shake.

"Maxi, stop it!" the vampire ordered. The dog went limp.

"OK, then," Xander said, catching his breath. "Here's where we stand. You're a vampire, and you want to kill me. I don't want you to kill me, and I've got your dog. Where do we go from here?"

"Give me my dog and I won't hurt you."

"Eeenh, try again. I give you your dog, and you jump me."

"Well, you don't think I'm going to let you stake me, do you?"

Xander smiled. "What a happy world that would be, if the vampires let you stake them." There was something inherently wrong with negotiating with vampires. "Alternate deal. You disappear and I let the dog go and I go in the other direction." He saw the way the vampire grinned. "And if you think I won't be watching my back, you're wrong. There's a Slayer around here somewhere, and I don't think she'd fall for the poor doggie routine."

The negotiations were madly interrupted by the arrival of a horse crashing through some bushes and galloping towards them. The vampire jumped towards Xander. Just as he brought his stake up in self-defense, she grabbed the dog from his hold and ran away. Xander ducked behind the tree as the horse ran past. It stopped not far away, tossing its head and pawing nervously. It wore a saddle and bridle, but the reins hung loose.

Xander crept towards it. "Easy, big fella," he said, flashing on memories of old western movies and cowboys. The horse turned its head and looked at him. "That's it, it's your old buddy Xander. Damn, you guys don't look so big on TV. Where'd you come from, huh?"

He reached out very carefully to touch the sweaty black flank. Snorting loudly, the horse jumped away, then reared, lashing out with heavy front hooves. Xander yelped and dove out of the way, scrambling for the cover of the bushes. The horse shook its head violently, then ran off into the darkness.

"Hi-yo, Silver, away." Xander headed back the direction the horse had come from. Not too far along, he heard the sound of heavy breathing and snarls--and laughter? Vaguely familiar laughter, that made his spine crawl. He ducked back into the bushes and crept along till he found the source of the sound. "Oh, god, no."

It was one of those Knights of Byzantium guys, in full armor with his sword out and swinging--at Spike. A Spike who danced with the blade, spinning just out of reach, ducking under the point, circling around to force the soldier to follow him. He was in full game face, and he was having the time of his unlife.

Xander had forgotten how elegantly Spike could move. When he fought demons, more often than not the fight was something close to balanced. This was Spike at play, utterly confident, completely in control of the movements. He used the skirts of his duster almost like a matador used his cloak, flicking a corner into his opponent's face and letting the leather sweep around his legs as he turned. At one point he got behind the soldier, and he kicked the man in the back, just hard enough to knock him stumbling off balance.

"Come on, mate," Spike grinned, "don't tell me you're all done. I haven't had a dance like this in years!"

There was not the slightest flicker of discomfort on his face as he hit the man. Maybe, Xander thought, the Knight wasn't human. But his gut knew better. His gut recognized a personal apocalypse when it stood up and flashed unchipped vampire fangs at him.

Spike, free, unleashed, the Big Bad in name only no longer. Xander only wondered why he was starting with some hapless dude in chainmail.

The soldier got his feet under him and his sword pointed towards the vampire. Spike strode towards him easily. "So your whole raison d'etre is to find and destroy the Key, is that right, mate?"

"We shall find and destroy the Key and save the world from the Beast," came the voice from behind the chainmail veil.

"Well, you might want to go a little easy on the word 'we', there, mate. I think your brothers in arms are going to have to go on without you."

The soldier firmed his shoulders. "When one falls, a hundred shall rise."

Spike grinned, showing all his fangs. "Bring 'em on, I love it when I get my meals delivered."

He dove in, playing no longer. He backhanded the sword blade out of his way and wrenched the weapon out of his victim's hands. The solider screamed as bones broke. Spike laughed again as he yanked the veil from the man's face and pulled him back against his chest.

"Well, you're serious about all this, aren't you," Spike said, looking at the tatoo on the man's forehead. "How about this, I won't let you die with your life's work unfinished."

"What?"

"I'll tell you where the Key is."

The man stared at him, and Xander got ready to charge.

Spike looked around carefully. "The Key that everyone's looking for is . . ." He leaned down and whispered in the man's ear. The soldier struggled wildly to escape. Spike chuckled, yanked the man's head back and sank his fangs into the neck.

Xander froze, staring. He kept remembering things--Spike wrapped up in a blanket and shivering that Thanksgiving, the vampire tied up in his ratty easy chair in the Basement of Doom, the Scoobies sneering with various degrees of cruelty over how low the Big Bad had fallen. His mortal sub-brain was now suspecting that they were all in a great deal of trouble.

Spike finished and pulled away from his victim with a satisfied sigh. "Blessed are the pure in heart," he said, "for they shall see God. Give Him my regards, mate." He dropped the body on the ground.

He stretched happily, then searched his pockets till he found his cigarettes and lighter. He was just lighting up when he paused, then looked around. He sniffed audibly, his search closing on the bushes where Xander hid. He smiled cruelly and sauntered over. "Are we playing hide and seek, then? I thought white hats disapproved of hiding."

The terrified primate in the back of Xander's head screamed at him to flee. Instead, he stood up and stepped out of cover. "Yeah, hiding's kind of girly."

Spike pouted. "What, aren't you even going to run?"

Xander met his eyes. "Not from you."

Spike chuckled with a full-fanged grin. "Oh, this is going to be fun."

Xander moved out into the open, moving away as Spike walked closer. "So, how long have we been among the fanged set again?" he asked.

Spike shrugged. "A few days now."

"I'm hurt. You said I was high up on your list of people against the wall come the revolution. And here you are eating somebody you just met. You're fickle, Spike."

"Well, it's not something you want to hurry over. We've been so close, you and I. You deserve my best effort."

Spike gave no appearance of hurrying, strolling along with his hands in his pockets. Xander kept moving, trying not to have any trees or mausoleums behind him. The plan had been to meet up with Buffy and Willow half an hour after entering Riverview. The girls should be looking for him by now. Then Xander could step back and watch Ultimate Slayer SmackDown and he could take home a little box of Spike ashes, just so he'd know for sure that, ding dong, the Big Bad Vamp was dead.

"You're going to wear yourself out, pet," Spike observed. "I thought you said you weren't going to run."

"I'm not running, I'm maneuvering."

Spike stopped and just looked at him. The fangs and ridges disappeared. "This isn't any fun."

"Well, gosh, Spike, I'm just so sorry that I'm not making killing me more of a blast for you."

"Kill you? What makes you think I'm going to kill you?"

"Hm, let me think. 'When I get this chip out, I'm going to suck your eyeballs out with a straw, whelp.' Or, everyone's favorite, 'When I get this chip out, I'm going to kill you all.' It's kind of been a trend in our relationship, the death threats and all."

"Oh, but if I kill you, then it's all over."

"Yeah, death is kind of like that."

Spike smiled again. "Not always."

A whole new horrible realm of possibilities opened up to Xander. Before he could say anything, he heard voices in the distance. Buffy and Willow.

He took a breath to yell, then a cold hand was over his mouth and a hard arm held him tight.

"We're not done with our chat yet, pet," Spike purred into his ear.

Xander tried to dig in his feet, but Spike had little trouble dragging him into a convenient mausoleum. The little nattering voice in the back of his head wondered why these places were always nearby and always unlocked. Maybe it was one of those super secret vamp-powers, find and unlock mausoleums.

Spike pushed Xander up against the wall, hand still across his mouth. Xander glared and debated biting that hand. Smirking, Spike leaned against him, resting his chin on the hand over Xander's mouth.

"My, what big brown eyes you have, grandma," he said softly. He felt the lips under his palm try to twitch into a sneer. "All the better to hate me with."

Voices came from outside, the Slayer and the witch. The two men went still, listening.

"I don't know, Buffy," Willow said pensively. "What if we mess it up?"

"Oh, come on, Wills. I think you'd look cute as a blonde. We could try a strawberry blonde first, just to see."

Xander closed his eyes in dismay as Spike shook his head. "The fabled Slayer," he said softly, "on the hunt for evil and the right color rinse. The night trembles in fear."

Xander snorted in amusement, though he tried to look disapproving right afterwards. The girls moved off, still discussing colorful things.

Spike removed his hand, but kept his weight on his arms resting on Xander's chest. "I don't fancy Red as a blonde. Too bland. What do you think?"

"She'd be too pale--and I'm not discussing Willow's hair color with you."

They stared at each other, Xander trying to lean as far away as he could, even with the stone wall behind him. Spike smiled genially. He leaned completely against Xander, resting his body against the other man.

"You're warm," he observed. "Comfier than that easy chair you tied me into, too."

"Get off me, Spike."

"I think someone isn't quite understanding the power dynamics here." He snuggled in closer.

Xander tried his damnedest not to twitch. There was not enough cloth between his skin and Spike's. He felt the cold of Spike's body leaching the heat out of his. Then there was the whole casual way the bleached wonder had turned him into his own personal lounge chair. Spike must have been on tiptoe, because their bodies matched all the way from shoulder to thigh. And the blue eyes watched him with lazy hunger, like he was the last doughnut in the box and Spike was deciding if eating him was just being greedy or not.

"Make up your mind already, blondie. I had plans tonight."

Spike grinned. "You're going to mouth off to Saint Peter at the Pearly Gates, aren't you, boy."

"Depends on how soon I get there." He flinched, though, as Spike leaned in towards his neck.

"White knight's not as calm as he wants to think," Spike whispered. He ran the tip of his tongue slowly along Xander's jugular, chuckling at the shiver. "You're afraid of me again. It tastes wonderful." He pulled back to study Xander's face, but he looked less pleased. "Damned hellbitch."

"Huh?"

"If I have fun with you, Slayer comes gunning for me, Glory has an open field on grabbing Dawn and strolling home. Tisn't fair."

"Poor baby. So does this mean you're not going to kill me?"

"Sorry, I know it's a disappointment."

"So I'm just supposed to forget you shoving me around and threatening me and--and licking me."

Spike grinned. "I won't be hurt if you don't want to forget."

"You do know I'm just going to go out there and tell everybody that the chip is gone, don't you?" Xander knew there was some plot going on, but be damned if he could see it.

Spike sighed. "True. Which means it'll be open season on Spike after all." He leaned closer, till his nose almost touched Xander's. "Guess I've got no reason not to play with you after all," he purred.

Xander couldn't help swallowing hard. Especially when Spike ran a lazy finger down his throat to his collarbone. The cold touch burned. "Let me go, Spike."

"Why?"

And nothing came to mind. No reason whatsoever why the unchipped vampire with nearly two years of grudges should let him live. Xander laughed briefly. "I've got nothing. Damn," he sighed. "I would have liked to say good-bye to Anya."

Spike stared at him. "That's it? That's all the fight I'm going to get out of you? You may be a pathetic loser, but I thought there was more spunk in you than that." He threw his hands up and stepped away. "I don't think I want you any more."

Xander didn't think for a moment that Spike meant it. He wasn't about to ignore the opening, though. "Then I guess I'll go home."

He actually got to the door before a leather-clad arm reached over his shoulder to hold the mausoleum doors closed. "I don't remember saying you could leave," said the soft voice in his ear.

Xander turned, and this time he didn't care that he was nose to nose with a smiling vampire who liked to play with his victims. "You're either going to let me go or you're going to kill me. I can't beat you, not in a serious fight, and me trying just gives you a happy. So let's just cut to the chase here, Spike. Make up your mind and stop fucking with me."

The smile was lewd. "I have not yet begun to fuck with you, Xander. Though I'd like to."

"No. Way. Kill me or walk away. Decide, right now."

Spike ran a connoisseur's eye along Xander's neck, then shrugged and took a step back. "Killing you fast would just be no fun. So I guess you win."

Xander didn't believe a word of it, but his escape route was clear. Spike held his hands up and took another step away. Xander put a hand on the latch of the door.

"I always did like the way Red screams."

Xander went still.

"The way she struggled and squirmed when I found her in the dorm that night . . ." Spike chuckled. "Her girlfriend's rather nibblesome, too. Be easy to lure Red in if the lovely Tara was help--"

Xander grabbed the lapels of Spike's duster and slammed the vampire against the wall. "You take one step towards Willow, and I'll--"

Spike grinned at him. "You'll what?" He took hold of Xander's wrist and began to squeeze. Xander tried to pull away, and Spike easily tugged him in close. "That's what I like to see. Thinking of me and Red, that gets your blood going, gets that fire burning in your eyes. I don't want you all accepting of your fate, I want you snarling at me."

"You have no idea," Xander growled, staring him in the eyes. "No more shit, Spike. What's going to happen here?"

Spike relaxed and eased his grip on Xander's wrist. Xander tried to yank free, but Spike didn't let him get away. "I'm not going to kill you, Xander, but it's got nothing to do with being worried about the Slayer. It's got everything to do with not causing any distractions while the hellbitch is out there."

"So if Glory weren't around . . ."

The fangs appeared in a gnarled grin. Cat-yellow eyes gleamed in anticipation. "If Glory weren't around, Demon Girl would be calling around in the morning to find out why you didn't come home."

If anything, Xander felt calmer having it stated flat out. "And when we finish Glory?"

Spike ran his tongue along his fangs. "Watch your back."

Xander nodded. "I'm not surprised. But what's stopping you, really? If I hadn't seen you tonight, I'd have no idea you'd gotten the chip out--and how did you do that, anyway?"

"Oh, please, as if I'd tell you. I told you the truth. Glory comes first. We finish her first. And you can't tell the Slayer about the chip."

"Why the hell not? I'm not going to let you wander around everyone with no leash on." He saw Spike's grin. "That night at the shop. Were you . . ."

"Amusing myself with picturing the looks on everybody's faces if I grabbed someone for a late night snack? Yep."

"My god, you and--and Giles together could . . ."

"Call him Ripper, it's easier on the psyche." His expression became serious. "But we didn't try anything, did we? I've got Ripper convinced--for now anyway--to work with your bunch to settle this. But if you go tell the Slayer about the chip, she's going to get distracted at the wrong time. You're going to need me helping keep an eye on Joyce and the Niblet. You think that's going to happen if Slayer knows I'm back in the game?"

"Not in the slightest." Xander looked at the hand wrapped around his wrist. The long fingers didn't go completely around, but Spike wasn't even trying hard to hold on. "Let me go."

Spike thought a moment, then let go. Xander took a step back and rubbed his wrist, trying to erase the sensory memory of those cold, strong fingers. "So what we're looking at here is a deal. I don't tell anybody about the chip and you don't kill me--right now. Until we get Glory settled."

"That about sums it up. And I keep an eye on Joyce and Dawn while making sure Ripper doesn't get creative again."

"Deals with the devil."

"Better the devil you know than the devil who wants to rip the world a new one."

Xander thought for several moments, weighing honor and practicality. "Could Giles really have done it? Given Dawn to some creature in another dimension?"

"Yes. He's never told you the half of what he can do. He's not learning new things, he's just getting back into practice. Him and that chaos mate of his must have gotten up to a lot of mischief together."

"I'm not used to being nervous about Giles."

"Don't you worry about him, I've got him under my eye. I don't work the mojo, but I know what I'm seeing."

"So you watch Joyce and Dawn and Giles, and I don't sic Buffy on you."

"That's it. You watch everybody else. We get Glory tidied out of the way, then we can pick up where we left off."

Xander didn't flinch from Spike's leer. "Right, we pick up at the point that says there are no good vampires, and the Slayer's job is to kill them."

"Just like the good old days. You try to kill me, and I don't have to pretend to be part of your little gang."

Xander smiled. "Try to kill each other whenever we see each other, just like God intended. That'll be nice."

Suddenly Spike was behind him again, arm around his shoulders holding him tight against the chilly body. "And you'll have time to work on those reflexes," he whispered in Xander's ear. "You don't want to make it easy for me." A fang nicked his ear and cold lips nibbled on the wound. "You do taste good, Xander Harris. You'll give me a good run when it's time."

Then Xander was alone, with the bronze doors of the mausoleum clicking closed. Shaking, Xander reached up to his ear, then looked at the blood on his fingers. He sat down on the sarcophagus near the wall, apologizing absently to the occupant. He was going to need a few minutes before he could risk seeing anyone.

"Xander Harris, idiot or brave man?" he muttered. "Find out on the next episode of All My Vampires."

Three days after her visit from Giles, Joyce Summers went home. Xander drove the Land Rover, as Buffy was bouncing a little too much for reliable command of a vehicle.

She hung over the back of her seat to talk to her mother in the rear. "And we've moved your bed down to the dining room for now, until you can handle the stairs. Don't worry, we packed everything up real careful. And there are nice heavy curtains on all the windows, so you'll have privacy."

Joyce only blinked at her daughter. "That's very nice, dear."

Xander glanced at her in the rearview mirror. "That's what happens when you've got a Slayer for a daughter. She sees a problem, she slays it."

"Obviously." Joyce looked over at Dawn, who sat next to her mother clutching the bags of personal effects and prescription drugs. "How are you, sweetie?"

"I'm fine," she shrugged.

Joyce raised her arm carefully and put it around Dawn. "I know you are. My brave baby." Dawn burrowed in tight, hiding her face from the others. Buffy blinked several times, then took the hand Joyce held out to her.

Xander kept his eyes on the road, letting the Summers women have some privacy. Weird, though, his allergies didn't usually show up till high summer, but here he was all sniffley in the spring.

"Here we are," he announced, turning onto Revello. "La Casa Grande de La Senora y Las Senoritas Summers."

Joyce looked out nervously, remembering the modifications. "Xander, I thought you were putting in a ramp."

He beamed with pardonable pride. "Yep, from the front walk up to the porch."

"But I don't see it."

Buffy bounced out of the car and ran to the back to get the wheelchair. "He did such a great job, Mom! He moved some of the bushes, put the ramp in at a 90-degree angle, then it turns to go up to the porch. You can hardly tell there wasn't a gap in the railing before."

"But--I was expecting . . ."

Xander held Dawn's door for her as she hopped out. "Some plywood nailed any old how to the front steps? Not from the Xander Harris Construction Company."

Joyce looked at him sternly. "It must have cost a fortune."

"A fortune? A fortune? You have no idea how sloppy construction accounting can be. A few dozen yards of concrete, hardly enough lumber to qualify as scrap . . ."

"Xander . . ."

"Honestly, Mrs. Summers, the foreman at the site happened to mention that lost and damaged materials made a great tax write-off, and if said damaged materials disappeared instead of taking up space in the dumpster, he saved money. And he was very helpful with the design when I said I was working on a wheelchair ramp."

"I'm fairly sure that comes under the heading of kickbacks or bribes."

"Probably," he grinned.

Buffy appeared at her mother's side with the wheelchair. Joyce glared at it. "I know the walker's back there. I can manage that."

"You can manage that on level floors . Ramps, by definition, are not level.." She shook the chair pointedly. "Come on, hop on out." A fleeting look of panic went over her face. "Um, if you're up to it, of course--"

"It's all right, honey." In no way did Joyce regret being home mostly under her own power, but her daughters looked older than their years. Even without the Slayer complications, having to take care of an invalid mother was something they shouldn't have to deal with so young. "The chair will be fine." She climbed carefully out of the car and sat in the chair.

"And it's not like you're going to need it that long, right?" Dawn said. "You're going to be walking in no time."

Joyce took Dawn's hand as Buffy pushed her up the walk. "If I keep up with my physical therapy, probably so."

"Can I help?"

Buffy concentrated on turning the chair onto the ramp without jarring Joyce. "She might need someone who can catch her if she loses her balance. I don't think you're that strong, Dawnie."

"I will need someone to help me keep my balance, someone to lean on," Joyce added quickly, seeing Dawn's face close up. "And someone to be stern when I don't want to do the exercises."

"I can be stern," Buffy protested.

"Yeah, right," Dawn muttered. She pouted dramatically. "Dawn, do the dishes, Dawn, do the laundry. I think I need a fairy godmother to get me out of the cinders."

Buffy stopped pushing to glare. "I am not an ugly stepsister!"

"Well, it's not like you're my real--"

Xander, who had been bringing up the rear and pretending not to listen, reached around to put a finger on Dawn's lips. "Ixnay on the e-kay, OK?"

She stared at him. "Huh?"

"Oh, come on, Buff, you never taught the Dawnster pig Latin? Neglecting your sister's education, here."

Dawn pouted. "Considering my education came from--"

"The California Public School System," Xander cut in, "I'm not surprised you've got big gaps in your knowledge." He raised an eyebrow at her, waiting for her to catch up.

She stared at him for several moments longer, then her eyes went big. "Oh. Oh, yeah, education in the public schools, severely lacking." She looked around the empty street and all the innocent houses. "But why make a big deal of it?" she whispered. "There's nobody here."

Buffy looked grim as she likewise scanned the street. "Nobody we can see, anyway. Good catch, Xander."

He shrugged and tugged at an imaginary hat. "Just doing my job, ma'am."

Buffy resumed pushing the wheelchair. "I'm sorry, Mom. I was hoping not to worry you about all that."

"Too late." She looked at the break in the rail where the ramp met the porch. There were decorative posts on the corners and the paint matched perfectly on the railing that came down the edges of the ramp. "Xander, this is lovely. It looks like it's always been here." Bushes to either side of the ramp disguised it from the street.

Xander blushed. "Not much else I can do, but I can build things." He slipped past the wheelchair and went to the front door. "And I can open doors."

Joyce reached out to squeeze his hand. "Thank you. Buffy, wait a moment. I want to look around." She didn't say anything out loud, but she'd doubted if she'd ever see her home again. The grass had been cut, but the girls had let the edging go. Something to look forward to, getting the lawn back into shape. "Buffy, what happened to the hedge over there?"

"Um, over where, Mom?"

"Over there, it looks like something went through it. And there's a hole in the grass."

Buffy stared at Xander, who looked utterly at a loss. "Um, well . . ."

"There was a wreck a couple of weeks ago," Dawn said. "This guy on a motorcycle came through the hedge and ended up over there."

"Oh, my word, was anyone hurt?" Joyce gasped.

"I don't know, Willow said I was a ghoul for trying to see."

"We couldn't decide if we should fix it ourselves or wait for you," Buffy added.

"Well, I didn't like that border anyway."

As Buffy maneuvered the chair to go through the door, she leaned towards Dawn. "Nice save," she whispered.

"It's those mystic Key powers, you know."

"For fibs?"

Dawn smiled innocently.

Joyce gasped when they entered the living room. A banner reading "Welcome Home, Mom" hung on the wall, with Willow and Tara waiting beneath. There were even balloons.

"Oh, girls--and Xander--you shouldn't have."

Buffy leaned down to hug her. "Sorry, we're really glad to have you home."

Pizza was ordered and ice cream was eaten, all the food that hospitals frowned upon. Joyce wandered around the rooms, reassuring herself that all was well. She smiled at a poster board schedule in the kitchen for things like laundry and dishes and bathroom cleaning. A side section was labeled "Number of Times Dawn's Done Buffy's Work."

She reached for the ballpoint pen hanging from a piece of twine tied to a thumb tack next to the schedule, but she couldn't get her fingers coordinated enough to hold the pen properly. "Damn," she muttered.

Tara brought in a pile of plates from the living room. "Is there something I can get for you, Mrs. Summers?"

"No, no, dear, I was just trying to write something, but . . ." She sighed and gestured with her useless hand.

"My great grandpa had a stroke. He used to ride horses, but they said he'd only be able to get around with a cane."

Joyce frowned. "How old was he?"

"72. Six months after he was out of the hospital, he was back on horseback and he rode to the doctor's house so he could laugh at him."

"That's good to know. What happened to him?"

Tara looked at the floor. "Well, um, he fell off a horse a few weeks later, broke his hip, and died of pneumonia in the hospital."

Joyce stared at her for several moments, then began to laugh. "I'll remember to be careful," she said once she wiped her eyes.

Buffy poked her head in. "Hey, Mom, movie choice time, 'Singin' in the Rain' or 'Sleepless in Seattle'?"

"'Singin' in the Rain', I think. I love Donald O'Connor."

"Cool." They followed Buffy back to the living room. Willow sat by the VCR with a video cassette in either hand. "'Sleepless,'" Buffy said with a grin.

Joyce blinked. "But--"

On the couch, Xander clutched a pillow closer to him. "'Sleepless in Seattle,'" he said, forcing a grin. "Great movie. Uh, this is the director's cut version where they all get captured by terrorists and Bruce Willis and Arnold swoop in to save the day, right?" He ducked as Dawn swung another pillow at him.

"Nah, it's neither," Buffy said. "Mom picked that old Gene Kelly one. We'll save the uber-chick flick for a time when there's less testosterone in the room."

Willow ejected the tape she'd just put in. "Mean Buffy. But 'Singin' in the Rain' is cool. Debbie Reynolds is cute."

"Is that Princess Leia's mom?" Xander asked, smacking Dawn back with his pillow.

Joyce shook her head as she carefully sat down. "Among other things, yes. This also has Donald O'Connor doing 'Make 'Em Laugh.'"

"Oh, yeah! Plus that whole 'Moses supposes his toses are roses--'" Xander broke off. "Not that I have that big a knowledge of musicals or anything. It might have been on the late show one night." He huddled back in the corner and made a mental note to hang out with more male type people.

The cheery opening of the classic movie began playing, just as a knock came on the door. Buffy started to her feet, then paused, looking around the room. "Everyone who should be here is here. Anya's coming over after closing the shop, right?"

Xander checked his watch. "Which isn't for another half hour, yet, then she'll need to do the books."

Buffy pulled a cross out of an endtable drawer as she went to the door. She went up on tiptoe to get a look through the windows, then settled back on her feet with a thump. "It's only Spike."

She reached for the doorknob. "Buffy, wait--" Xander started.

Buffy paid no attention. She opened the door and stared at the vampire on the porch. "And what brings you by, Spike?"

Spike tried to look harmless. "Came by to pay my respects. And the respects of someone who might not be quite so welcome."

"Less welcome than you? That's kind of hard to believe."

Joyce tapped Xander on the shoulder. "Would you help me up, please?"

He quickly turned from his tense observation of the action at the door. "Oh, sure." When she was on her feet, though, she headed towards the door. Xander followed anxiously.

"Hello, Spike," she said when she reached the door.

Spike grinned. "There you are, all safe and sound and on your own two feet." Then he frowned. "Should you be up?"

She chuckled. "No, not really. Come in, Spike."

"Mom!" Buffy protested, as Xander squeaked.

Joyce gave her daughter the "who pays the mortgage here?" look and stepped back to let Spike enter. She swayed faintly, and Spike leaped forward to catch her elbow. He beat Xander by a hair, and the two men glared at each other..

"Thank you, gentlemen," Joyce said. She headed back to the couch and let those follow her who would. Spike stayed at her elbow, his hand an inch from her arm.

Xander helped her balance as she sat down. Buffy grabbed Spike's arm and yanked him to one side. "Don't be getting ideas, you. Just because she invited you in doesn't mean you're welcome here."

He bit back his first remark. "What's it going to take for you to believe I am no threat to Joyce or the Niblet?"

"Honestly?" She made sure to meet his eyes. "Seeing you dust. How else could I be sure?"

He nodded grudgingly. "You're right. But until that day, I'm on your side on this."

"I don't like having you in my house. I don't like having you anywhere near my mother or my sister."

He glanced over at the others, who were watching the movie while pretending to ignore the tense conversation in the corner. He smiled faintly, though, when he saw that Xander had taken the chair that faced him, and the human was making no bones about keeping an eye on the proceedings.

"I see you haven't fixed the damage my bike made to your front lawn," he finally said. "Sorry about the flowers, I didn't have time to go around them."

Buffy looked away. "You said you were here for him, too. Where is he?"

"Home with his books. He didn't think he'd be welcome near the fam."

She didn't deny it. "Thank you for stopping him," she muttered. "I still don't trust you. If you didn't have the chip, you'd be just like all the other mad killers. You just don't want the world to end and cut off your soccer games."

He took several moments to get his voice under control. "If all I cared about was stopping Glory, the easiest thing to do would have been to let Ripper play out his hand. You think the chip is the only reason I stopped him?"

She didn't look at him. "You want to stay on my good side . . ."

He stared at her a moment longer, then turned on his heel and walked to the couch. He knelt next to Joyce. "You ever need anything from me, you've got it, right, love?"

Joyce patted his knee. "Right. And thank you. For everything."

He paused, wondering what she knew about things he'd done. But if Joyce knew about Ripper's play for Dawn, Spike was certain she'd already have dusted the ex-Watcher. He kissed her on the cheek and stood.

"You're not staying?" she asked.

"Sorry, love, places to go, atrocities to organize."

Joyce glanced at Buffy and didn't say anything else. "Thank you for coming over, Spike."

"Get better soon." He squeezed her hand and headed for the door.

"Good night, Spike!" Willow called around her handful of popcorn. He waved as he let himself out.

Xander let his breath out. "Yay, he's gone."

"What's with you?" Willow asked. "It's just Spike."

"Yeah, Spike, the bleached blunder, the evil dead."

"The chipped evil dead," Tara added.

Xander took his nerve in hand. "Yeah, about that--" He looked at Joyce, who was looking after Spike with a faintly sad expression. A mom-type expression. Spike had laid his figurative sword at her feet, then walked away in the classic fashion. "I've always wondered if there was a battery we were supposed to change in the thing."

Dawn giggled from where she was guarding the pizza box. "I think it's more like the Energizer bunny. He keeps--"

Xander raised a finger. "Don't finish that, I beg you."

Willow shook her head solemnly. "I don't think he's the big bass drum sort, anyway."

Buffy perched on the arm of the sofa next to Joyce. "Mom, what's with you and Spike?" She kept her voice down so that the others could watch the movie.

"He's a nice young man, I enjoy talking to him."

"But he's a--"

"A vampire, I know. I remember Parent-Teacher night. Even if I didn't understand it at the time. And I remember when you brought him to the house and told me he was in a band. He sat in that chair and acted exactly like an uncomfortable guest. We made small talk, Buffy. He didn't seem anything like--" She paused and gave Buffy an apologetic look.

Buffy sighed. "Like Angel, that night he came over and told you . . . Yeah. But that was because he wanted my help, so he behaved himself. He knows I can kick his butt."

"And you still can, can't you?"

"Oh, yeah, I can lay a major ass-whupping on him anytime I want."

Joyce stared at her. "Where did you learn to talk like that, young lady?"

"Um--Willow's a bad influence."

Joyce shook her head. "And then he came over, so broken hearted over Drusilla. He wanted someone to talk to."

"Yeah, after he kidnapped Willow and Xander, which nearly got Cordelia killed. And, Mom, I told you how he was getting all freaky stalkerish over me."

"Yes, that's true," Joyce admitted. "I keep forgetting that. But it was very kind of him to visit me in the hospital."

Buffy nearly fell off the couch. "He did what? Why didn't you tell me?"

"Because I didn't want you to get upset. You have so much to worry about just now."

"Yeah, like the fact that vampires are visiting my mom in the hospital when I'm not there to protect her."

"They never bothered--" Joyce bit her lip.

Buffy's stomach tightened. "They?" She'd been torturing herself with trying to think of a way to break the news to her mother. She didn't know if Joyce and Giles had ever become friends, band candy night very much notwithstanding, but there was a bond. "Was--was Giles with him?"

Joyce nodded slowly, and she put a hand on Buffy's leg. "I'm sorry, dear. I know how much he means to you, how much you've depended on him."

Buffy stared at the weave of the upholstery until she was sure she wasn't going to burst into tears. "That's--gone now. That's not Giles, that's just something wearing his face." She looked up quickly. "If he shows up here, don't let him in."

"No, I won't," she said after a moment. "He's very close to what he was, but--he frightens me a little. Do the others know?"

"Yeah, they know. It's been hard." She watched the TV screen, where Gene Kelly and Debbie Reynolds sniped at each other in Debbie's cute little roadster. "You know what I like about this movie?"

Joyce pulled her down to sit next to her. "What's that, sweetie?"

"Everything." She put her head on her mother's shoulder, her warm, recovering, home-at-last mother.

It was late when everyone finally went home. Joyce made it to the end of the movie before exhaustion took its toll. Buffy and Dawn helped her get settled for the night, ignoring her complaints about how she should be able to manage simple things by herself. Buffy reminded her that Slayer hearing meant that any calls for assistance would be heard and that Joyce was not to worry about a thing. Joyce tried to give instructions for getting up in the morning and getting ready for school, but sleep silenced her mid-sentence.

Dawn paused at the doorway to watch for a few moments. Carefully she counted the ins and outs of the breath, making sure everything was even and wishing she had super hearing too so she could listen to the heartbeat.

Buffy squeezed her shoulders. "Come on, let's let her rest," she whispered. "You need to get up in the morning."

"I know. I just . . ."

"The hospital wouldn't have let her leave if she wasn't ready. She's going to be here in the morning."

Dawn looked at her. "Promise?"

The two stared at each other, seeing the fear in the other's eyes. Then Buffy nodded firmly. "Promise."

Knowing promises were lies, Dawn accepted it anyway. She silently warned the universe that she was the Key, darn it, and the universe better not mess around with her if it knew what was good for it.

They got ready for bed, but Dawn sat up and stared out her window long after she heard the noises from Buffy's room that were not, nor ever would be, in any way related to snores. Out there in the dark, the undead hunted and an evil goddess searched for her missing Key. An ailing mother had no bearing on that world. What was important was making it through to the morning side of the dark.

She'd changed her clothes before she really thought of it, and the window frame slid up easily. Out in the night she was no longer scared Dawn Summers, counting her mother's breath. Out in the dark she could run, and maybe this time she could get away.

She shimmied over to the convenient tree branch, then down to the ground. Freedom, stupid, risky freedom. Time to see what the night thought of freedom.

She hit the ground and only stumbled a little. Fortunately, no one was around to see her lessthan -Slayeresque performance. She thought.

"And what are we up to this bright and shiny hour of the night?" the familiar voice said as she reached the sidewalk.

"I don't need a babysitter, Spike."

"Beg to differ, pet." He fell into step next to her and lit a cigarette. "So where are we off to?"

"I am out for a walk. You are apparently out for a midnight lurk."

He didn't deny it. "You get Joyce settled in all right?"

"Yeah. She's asleep. At home. In her own bed." To her relief he didn't comment on the way her voice quivered.

They strolled along in silence for quite a while. Twice Spike smelled vampires nearby, but only one dared show its face. Dawn didn't notice when Spike saw the fledgling lurking in the alley mouth. He gave the newbie a flash of yellow eyes and fangs, and it ran instead of challenging the oldest vampire on the Hellmouth. He allowed himself a happy smirk. How lovely to be respected again.

"Spike?" Dawn asked abruptly.

"Yes, pet?"

"Do you remember the first time you saw me?"

"Yep. It was that night Slayer and I made a deal to stop Angelus and Acathla. I was sitting there next to your mum and I saw this scrawny little bint peeking down the stairs, all big eyes and braces on her teeth. Ow!" He rubbed his arm where she punched him. "I felt that, you're getting better."

"I remember that night. I heard the voices and I wondered who that was doing such a bad fake accent." She danced out of the way as he swung in return. "It's as clear a memory as sitting in class or going to ballet class when I was five." She stopped walking. "But the thing is, it never happened. You didn't see me that night and I never took ballet, because I was never five and I never wore braces, because before a few months ago, I didn't exist and you all lived in a completely Dawn-free world, and it's only because of that damned Key that I . . ."

Spike wrapped her in his arms and let her cry against him. "If you got me in a court of law and asked me, I would have to say that you've always been around. I've got too many memories otherwise. Everybody knew the Slayer was different, that she had a mum and a little baby sister to home. You believed in vampires and boogeymen before your mum did. More than once I'd catch you sneaking around and watching me, and you were never scared." He stepped back from her and made her look at him. "Pretty damned depressing, it was, too, that a little bit like you wasn't afraid of the big bad me."

"But you know it's not true," she whispered. "It never happened like that. All that was put in your head by the monks. They rewrote the world. There are papers at school that show my grades from elementary school. The dentist has records of fillings I've never gotten. This world's not real." She pulled away to pace. "Maybe it's still not real. Maybe it's all something I've made up. Maybe I really did go to ballet and wear braces. But maybe if I went home Mom wouldn't be asleep in her own bed, maybe she didn't come home from the hospital, maybe my mommy is really dead and I'm alone--"

He pulled her close again. "Hush, love, hush. Your mum is going to be fine. You just got scared. Happens all the time. It's been rough, but it's over."

She buried her face against the rough t-shirt and breathed the smoke-and-leather scent that had always said protector to her. Buffy had given her lectures on being stupid for trusting Spike, but she had never, ever feared him. Maybe the monks had written that in, too, that here was a safe place, someone to run to if she ever had to.

There was another note to the flagrance now. She thought for several moments and finally recognized it as blood, but stronger than she'd ever smelled it on him before. Maybe he'd gotten a little sloppy over his last meal. She started to lean back so she could tease him on bad table manners, then realized the arms around her were tense and he was staring down the street.

"What?" she whispered. She flinched, just a little, when the ridges and fangs appeared on his face.

Spike growled at the appearance of a hooded figure with a scarred, bumpy face. "Glorificus be praised, is it true?" the creature said breathlessly. "Did I hear right? I heard you say monks, miss, and how they rewrote the world to fit you in. You're it, aren't you. You're the Key."

Spike shoved her behind him. "No, she's not, idiot. It's the Slayer's kid sister, she's fourteen years old, she's no bloody Key."

"Oh, but if the monks changed it so everyone THOUGHT she was fourteen--" The creature suddenly realized that an angry vampire was stalking towards him. "And you're Spike, the Slayer's vampire, and the Key was given to the Slayer to protect, so of course you'd be trying to protect it as well and--oh, dear." He lifted the skirts of his robe and ran like hell.

Dawn followed as best she could. The creature was running towards the fancy apartment building next to the park where Buffy said she'd finally caught that snake demon thing.

"Help! Help!" yelled the creature in the robes. More robed figures appeared. "He's going to kill me! The Key, it's h--"

Roaring, Spike jumped, claws reaching for the throat to pull out the betraying voice. The rest of the news disappeared in a gurgle as the creature fell. Spike landed on top of him and punched his fist through the ribcage to crush the heart between his fingers. When he looked up, the rest of the demony mob was almost on him.

"Run, girl!" he yelled at Dawn, who was still coming.

"Take him to Glory," one of the demons shouted, just before Spike ripped his throat out as well. The rest dogpiled onto Spike, dragging him down slashing and swearing.

Dawn froze, watching the fight, watching the blood.

Spike yanked half free and saw her. "God damn it, Dawn! Run!" One of the creatures looked in her direction and died for his interest. The others focused on containing Spike.

She took a step towards him, wanting to help. He managed one more glare at her before a demon smacked his head against the pavement, knocking him out.

Crying, she spun and ran, remembering grade-school races she never ran in and days that never happened when she was happy and safe.

Buffy was in the middle of a lovely dream involving Chow Yun Fat and James Spader fighting a duel over her. Poor James was getting his butt kicked. Then her sister's piercing voice broke the happy spell.

"Buffy! Wake up, Buffy, please!"

"Huh, what--Dawn, shut up, you'll wake up Mom. What is it?" She blinked and saw that Dawn was fully dressed and that she was crying. "What's happened? Is it Mom?"

"No, no, it's not Mom." Dawn swallowed hard, knowing she was about to get yelled at. "It's Spike."

Buffy slumped. "You woke me up for something about Spike? Why are you dressed? You're supposed to be in bed."

"I couldn't sleep, OK? I went out and ran into Spike. We were walking along and talking, and-- and this scary guy in a robe and a hood heard us and figured out I was the Key, and he ran off to tell--tell Glory, but Spike caught him and--and stopped him, but then all these other scary guys showed up and knocked him out and he told me to run, and I think they're taking him to Glory! We have to help him!"

Buffy stared at her, letting her brain catch up with the super-fast words that had just pored in. "You were out with Spike."

"Get past that! He's in trouble!"

"OK, OK. Scary guy in robes overheard you talking. How do you know he was with Glory?"

"He said Praise Glorificus and knew all about the Key. The other guys were yelling stuff about taking Spike to Glory."

"You're sure the first guy didn't tell them you're the Key?"

Dawn swallowed hard. "Uh huh. Spike made sure."

"How?" Buffy winced as Dawn mutely ran clawed fingers across her throat. "Yeah, that would do it. Why'd they grab him?"

"I think he was keeping them off of me until I could get away. Buffy, Glory's going to figure he knows where the Key is, she's going to try and get him to tell."

Buffy climbed out of bed to get dressed. "We've got to stop him before he can."

"But--he wouldn't!"

"To save his own neck?" She saw Dawn's face and went to hug her. "Dawnie, I know you like him, even though it's stupid, but do you really think he's going to risk getting dusted after a hundred and twenty-some years just to keep your secret?"

"He told me to run," Dawn whispered. "He stopped the first guy from telling."

Buffy put her hands on her sister's shoulders. "One thing about Spike, he's brave, and he's not going to give up at the first sign of trouble. But if it comes right down to it, and it's him or us, you have to remember he's a demon, and demons are real big on the self-interest thing."

"You think he's going to tell."

"I think there's a good chance."

"What do we do?"

Buffy went back to gathering clothes and weapons. "Where were you?"

"Near that park where you killed the big snake thingy."

"The snake thingy that was going off to tell Glory about you." Dawn nodded. "There's that fancy apartment house near there. Yeah, as much effort as she goes to on that look, she'd be in a place like that. How many of them were there?"

"I don't know. Enough to take down Spike."

"Yeah." Buffy looked at the knife in her hand. "I'm going to need some help. And I need somebody to stay here with you and Mom."

"I want to come with you!"

"Oh, Dawn, think. She's looking for you. You can't go anywhere near her. Even Spike knew that."

Dawn plopped onto the bed, fighting tears of frustration and fear. "All I am is a reason for people getting hurt."

"Dawnie, no." Buffy crouched next to her and took her hands. "You're my sister. I love you."

"Only because the monks told you to."

She shrugged. "Maybe so. Doesn't make it less real. You're not Pinocchio, you're a real girl. I admit, I've imagined what it might have been like if it were just me and Mom here. And then I think of all the times she must have sat here alone while I was out Slaying, how lonely and worried she must have been. And I am so grateful those monks gave her you."

"But it's not real."

"What's real? There's probably a dimension somewhere where you never showed up and I'm currently fighting some mutant aardvark or something. Or Riley didn't leave, or I was never the Slayer and I'm writing you letters from Northwestern." She managed a convincing shrug. "But we're here, and in this dimension I have to either go save a stupid bleached vampire's butt or stop him from talking. It's what we've got."

She ducked her head and grinned. "Did that sound as pretentious to you as it did to me?"

"Probably more." Dawn hugged her hard. "Be careful."

"I will. So, who should I wake up first?" She played eenie meenie minie moe in her head and came up with Xander and Anya.

Xander sounded remarkably awake but annoyed. Buffy winced as she imagined what she'd interrupted. "Xander, it's me."

"What's wrong?"

"It's Spike." She winced again, waiting for the standard Xander-dismissal of Spike. But Xander's voice was tense when he replied.

"What's he done?"

"Been taken by Glory's goons."

"Huh?"

A summary later, Buffy asked for Anya. "Anya, do you know how to get hold of Giles?"

"Giles? Well, yes, I do--Xander!"

The phone was yanked to a new voice. "And what do you need Giles for?" Xander demanded.

"I'm going to need help," Buffy admitted. "He's the toughest person we've got on tap. And . . . I know he'll go all the way when it comes to keeping Dawn out of Glory's hands."

He was quiet for a few moments. "The Parkeview, right?"

"Yeah."

"I'll meet you there."

"Xander, no! You can't."

"No, what I can't is I can't let you go out there with just an unchipped, unsouled vampire backing you up."

"He wants to stop Glory as much as we do, I'll be fine."

"That's good to know. I'll meet you there. Here's Anya." He handed the phone over.

"I have Giles' cell phone number," Anya said.

"Thanks. Can't you make him stay home?"

"You are joking, right? The testosterone is running." She sighed. "At least I got a few orgasms before you called."

Buffy decided not to let that thought get too far into her cerebral cortex and asked for Giles' phone number.

She had finished getting dressed before she got the nerve to dial the number. "Hello?" answered the so-very-familiar, slightly baffled voice.

"It--it's me, Giles."

"Buffy? How did you get this number?"

The snap in his voice made her flinch. "From Anya. It's an emergency. It's Spike."

"What's happened?"

She told the story once more. The other end of the line was silent. "Giles?"

"I don't suppose you'll let me deal with this myself."

"Uh, duh."

"Of course not. Damn, none of my people has the least idea of fighting intelligently. Do you need a ride? You're on my way."

"Thanks. I'll be ready."

"Who's looking after Dawn?"

"Anya's calling Willow and Tara, they should be here soon."

"And your mother?"

"Is hopefully still asleep. I'll meet you outside."

"All right."

Dawn had observed the entire conversation. "Do you think you can trust him?"

"I guess we'll find out." She opened her window. "Can you get downstairs without waking Mom?"

"Oh, sure, I'll go out my--Yeah, I can do it."

Buffy heard the fates singing a variant on that old maternal stand-by, "I Hope You Have A Kid Who's Just Like You." But arguing about sneaking out the window would have to wait. "I need you inside, Dawn. Go down the stairs, wait for Willow and Tara."

Not being quite dumb enough to look a gift avoided fight in the mouth, Dawn just nodded and went.

Buffy herself went out the window, bag of weapons over her shoulder. A few minutes later, Willow and Tara ran up. "Glory has Spike?" Willow gasped. "She thinks he's the Key?"

"Her wrinkly guys think he knows who the Key is."

"Which he does," Tara said. "Gosh. But he wouldn't tell."

"He may not have to. If she eats his mind . . ."

The two witches looked at each other. "What are you going to do?" Willow asked.

"Whatever I have to to keep her from finding out."

"But how?"

Tires squealed as a car came around the corner down the street. Willow and Tara grabbed hands when they recognized the red BMW.

Buffy shrugged. "I'm taking help."

Tara frowned. "But he's--"

"Super strong, super fast, and I don't have to worry about something happening to him anymore." Buffy didn't mention Xander. "Hold the fort here, guys."

She ran to the street. The car braked hard but didn't come to a complete stop. Buffy vaulted over the passenger side and landed in the seat next to Giles. They sped off. Willow and Tara watched a moment, then headed towards the house.

"Shouldn't the lights be on?" Buffy said to Giles.

"Yes, I suppose so." He made no move to turn the headlights on, steering smoothly around another corner. The car actually seemed able to keep up with vampire reflexes. "You should have your seat belt on."

"Uh huh. The Parkeview."

"Right."

Spike blinked back to consciousness, saw the tousled blonde hair and perfect face, and he knew he was dead. "Oh, my god, Harmony, what are you doing here?"

The woman blinked at him. "No, 'oh, my god, Glory.' Totally different noun. But you're right on the god part."

He finally cleared his vision, but the situation didn't improve. He was in a chair, tied up and held tight by two of the ugly demons in robes. The woman in front of him looked like any of a hundred daft females who spent more time on fashion than anything requiring any sort of intelligence, and the room was furnished on the wealthy line between tacky and gaudy. And Spike would rather be back in that wheelchair dealing with a bored Angelus than where he was now.

"Oh," he said intelligently. "So you're her. Glory. The hellgod."

The demon to his left smacked him hard upside of the head. "You will address her most wonderful amazingness with more respect, vampire." Spike snarled at him and collected another smack.

Glory raised a perfectly manicured finger. "OK, that raises an interesting little point. You're that Nail, Stake, Tentpeg--"

"Spike!"

"Whatever. You're the Slayer's pet vampire--"

"I am not!"

She put her finger over his lips. "Mother's talking. Dreg, why is he here?"

The demon on Spike's left straightened proudly. "Smirg said that he's the Key, most creamy smoothness."

"Uh huh. Dreg, what do we know about the Key?"

"Um, glowing green swirl of power--"

"Other than that. Like its current form."

"I'm most terribly sorry, your dark chocolate truffleness."

Glory blinked. "You've been saving that one, haven't you."

"Yes, most rich delectableness."

She looked at a demon standing nearby. "Go get me some."

The demon bowed. "At once, your mocha almond swirliness."

"And some of that, too." Glory turned to Spike. "What?"

Spike quickly wiped the look of disbelief off his face. "Uh, nothing ..." He saw the expectant looks. "... most bloody goodness."

"Euw. But you're a vampire. Still, euw." She turned back to Dreg. "Its current form, Dreg."

"The Key is in the form of an innocent, most holy wonderfulness."

"An innocent. And what is this, then?" She pointed to Spike.

"Um, he's a vampire, glorious one."

"And are vampires really known for being innocent?"

Spike opened his eyes real big, like one of those wretched Precious Moments figurines Dru liked to steal and poke the eyes out of.

Glory stared at him. "What are you doing?"

"Trying to look innocent?"

"Well, stop it. It's disturbing. You see, Dreg? Innocent and vampires? Don't mix. So what can we conclude from this?"

Dreg hunched down into his robes. "What, pretty shiny sparkling one?"

Glory backhanded him across the room. "A vampire is not the Key, idiot!" She tucked a curl back behind her ear and turned back to Spike. "So, why the heck did Smirg think you were my Key? Were you and the Slayer's baby sister talking about it? And what is up with that, anyway, you playing babysitter to a Slayer's bratty kid sister?"

"Not hardly," Spike smirked.

"Stocking the larder? You fattening her up or something?"

One of the other demons leaned forward. "This is the vampire with the chip, splendiferous one." Spike sneered at him.

"Oh, you're him." Glory poked a finger around in Spike's hair. "Gee, blond envy much?" Spike glanced at her hair. "Hey, this is natural, buddy. So there's a chip in your head, huh?"

"Uh, yeah."

"A chip in your brain," she said thoughtfully, digging her fingernail against his scalp. "That's gotta hurt."

Spike gasped as the skin was sliced open. Blood trickled through his hair. He heard a grating sound as Glory kept digging. She was chipping at his skull.

"So, you and--oh, yeah, Dawn, you were strolling along chatting about the Key, hm? You know who it is?"

"N--no, I don't."

Glory drew back her hand to look at her bloody finger, tsked, and flicked something out from under the nail. "Does she?" She reached back to his head.

"She's a kid, what does she know?"

"That's why I'm asking you." He couldn't help the wince as she went back to work. "You've got a thick skull. You and little Dawnie, chatting about the Key. What did you say?"

"Just--wondering." He saw a few small flecks of something fly from his head. Blood ran past his ear and down his neck.

"About what?" Glory cleaned her fingernail again. She peered at his head and turned her hand to get a better angle.

"About--about where it was, what to do about it, how to keep it away from you."

"Oh, now, is that nice? That's my Key, my very own special glowy Key, and I need it to get home." She twisted her wrist, and there was an audible pop. Spike bit his tongue to keep from yelling as he felt his skull break and something sink through. "No ideas on where the Key is?" Glory asked. He didn't answer, and she frowned at him. "Oh, sorry." She pulled her fingertip free. "There you go."

Spike shook his head, unable to speak just yet.

"Well, poo. Oh, dammit, I broke a nail." She peered closely at her fingertip. "Is that brain? So much for the piano lessons, huh?" She held her hand out imperiously, and one of the demons dashed forward to wipe her finger.

"Why'd anybody tell me or the kid where the Key is, anyway?" Spike said. It had been a long time since he'd been tortured for a reason instead of just for fun, but the techniques of misdirection were coming back to him. "I didn't think anybody knew."

Glory patted his cheek. "Somebody knows, pookie. My guys have talked to somebody who knows."

"So why isn't he tied to the chair getting a trepanning?"

She slapped him, knocking the chair over and bouncing his head off the carpet. "Because you are." She grabbed him by the collar and pulled him back up. "So if you don't know, who in that little bunch would?" She poked through his hair until she found the hole she'd made. "How far in is that chip, anyway?"

"It's not in there anymore!"

"Excuse me?"

"I've got my bite back." He jerked his head at the demons. "Ask them, they must have heard. I thought everybody knew by now."

Glory looked at her minions. "Well?"

Dreg consulted with the others. "Most awe-inspiring impressiveness, there have been some rumors that this Spike creature has been feeding on humans again."

"And you still thought he was innocent enough to be the Key? Why can't minions be fanatically loyal and smart, huh?" she said to Spike, who thought better of answering. "Any other little tidbits you've heard?"

"He lusts after the Slayer," one of the demons offered.

Glory frowned at Spike. "That scrawny thing?" He shrugged. "Go on, guys."

"He's been seen with the Slayer's Watcher," Dreg said. "The Watcher is a vampire now."

After a moment's thought, Glory walked over to Dreg. "The Slayer's Watcher has been turned into a vampire."

"Yes, most--"

A wave of her hand cut him off. "And when did this little event happen?"

"Several weeks ago, Glorificus."

Slowly she wrapped her hand around the front of his robe and lifted him up so she could look him in the eye. "The Slayer's Watcher, her greatest ally and a threat to me all by himself, was turned into a demon-possessed killer, and you didn't think I'd want to know?"

Dreg bowed his head. "I am a worm, most profound arbiter of my fate. Flay me alive and wrap my beating heart in my skin."

"Not in this dress I'm not, it's Versace." She pulled her arm back, preparatory to throwing him through the wall, then hesitated. "He'd know."

"Most holy?"

Glory dropped Dreg on the floor and went back to Spike. "The Watcher. He knows where the Key is, doesn't he."

"The Watcher?" Spike shrugged as well as he was able. "I wouldn't know, me and him, mostly we talk about killin' and--" He barely muffled the shout as she grabbed his face to hold his head still as she poked at the hole in his skull. His left cheekbone cracked under the pressure.

She hesitated, though, before she got much further into his brain than she'd already gone. "If I stick my finger too far in there, your voice could go all woobly along with your memories. So no more brain surgery." She let him go and smiled at his mingled gasp of relief and pain. "Heart surgery, now . . ." The smile never changed as she punched two fingers into his chest and snapped off a piece of rib. "Just got to make room to work."

Giles coasted the BMW to a stop just outside the parking lot of the Parkeview Apartments. He jumped over the car door instead of opening it. Buffy stared in surprise but opened her door normally.

"Guess that knee's not bothering you anymore, huh?" she said.

"No, it's not." Giles was more concerned with studying the area than with conversation. He turned his head to scan in all directions, the rest of him still as--as a very still thing. Suddenly he turned as a faint footstep crunched on the asphalt.

Xander stopped well out of reach. "Nice to see you guys."

"Go home, Xander," Giles snapped.

"I don't take orders from vampires." He turned back to Buffy. "I snuck in and took a quick look around, chatted up a janitor. Glory's on the sixth floor. Jorge figures they're a weird cult, cause of the robed people."

"Did he see Spike?"

"Jorge's like the guys at the construction site, he doesn't see anything he's not explicitly told to see. So how are we going to do this?"

Giles went to the back of his car and opened the trunk. "Buffy and I will go inside and see if we can get Spike out of there. You are going to go home."

Xander looked pointedly at Buffy. "How are we going to do this, Buffy?"

Buffy studied the building and the number of lighted windows. "Any people moving around?"

"Middle of the night for normal people, only people moving are the maintenance crew."

"Good. We can go up the fire stairs, sneak up on them."

Xander shrugged and went to peer into Giles' trunk. "Well, three people isn't what I'd normally call a crack hostage extraction squad, but whatever works." He pulled out an ax and tested the swing.

Buffy pulled out a crossbow. "Rescue's not my first priority," she said softly. "Keeping him from telling Glory about Dawn is."

Xander stopped the swing and stared at her. "You're just going to go in and shoot him?"

"He's a threat to Dawn. I can't risk him telling."

Giles pulled out a sword and another crossbow. "I hope you don't mind if I try to get him out of there first. I've rather gotten used to the rotten bastard." He saw Xander watching him with a very thoughtful look, and he wondered just how much reading the young man had been doing in the restricted books on inter-vampire relations.

Buffy studied her crossbow. "I'd rather you two just stayed back and covered me. If Glory grabbed either of you--"

"Thanks for the vote of confidence there, Buff," Xander snapped.

"You know who Dawn is as well as we do," Giles added softly. "But you're not worried about the danger you're in?"

"I'm not in any--"

"You told me yourself, when Glory raised the snake, that you couldn't stop her. You couldn't even slow her down. She's not sure if Spike knows about the Key, but she is sure you do. She knows you're protecting it. By rights you shouldn't be going in there at all."

"Which means none of us should be going."

Xander grinned. "Which means, I think, that all of us are going." He went over and squeezed her shoulders. "Come on, Buff, it'll be like old times, we go in there, we make it up as we go along, we kick some butt, and we get out of there alive--no offense," he added to Giles.

"None taken," Giles said. "I see you've entered into your usual pre-battle inane chatter."

The grin never faltered. "Hey, it's kept me alive so far."

Giles wondered if he'd really heard that slight emphasis on "me".

All the Slayers in the back of Buffy's head screamed at her that people going with her would only get hurt. Those voices had screamed at her for years now. And still Xander kept popping up with the babble and the cocky grin and Giles was there with the determination, and she knew they'd only follow her if she said "No" and tried to mean it.

"OK, then," she sighed. "Let's go."

Glory reclined on the couch and nibbled on one of her dark chocolate truffles. "So is he awake yet?"

Dreg peered at the slumped vampire tied to the chair. "I don't know, most holy. How would I tell?"

She sighed and got to her feet. "Like this, dumdum." She grabbed a handful of Spike's hair and yanked.

"Ow!" Spike yelled. "Leave off, you stupid bint!"

Glory crouched down in front of him. "Excuse me?" she asked sweetly, tapping her fingernails on his left kneecap.

"Um--oh. Sorry. Thought you were someone else."

"Like who? You have a lot of people knocking you around?"

He snickered. "More than you could ever believe, pet. Slayer's got a tendency to come around and do the threatening thing."

She jumped to her feet. "You thought I was the Slayer?"

"Don't know what I was thinking." He studied her for a moment, making no effort to disguise his interest. "Must be the concussion. Slayer's got nothing on you."

"Vampires don't get concussions. And, um ..." She smoothed her dress and made an effort to tidy her hair, then shook herself. "Anyway, before you distracted me with the passing out thing, I was asking you who knew where the Key is."

"As if anyone would let me know anything--"

She backhanded him. "I don't care if anyone would tell you, bleach head, do you know who does know where the Key is?" She smiled as his shoulders began to quiver. "So you ready to talk now?" Then she heard him laughing. "What are you laughing at!"

He raised his head and sneered at her, blood running down from his split lip. "Bleach head? You call yourself a god? Come on, Xander Harris comes up with better lines than that."

Glory grabbed him by the throat and lifted him, chair and all. "Don't you know who I am!"

"Yeah," he coughed. "Glory, god of used to be scary."

She raised a clawed hand up to his face. "I could rip your eyeballs out and smush them under my foot."

He laughed again and shook his head. "No, no, don't go for the eyeballs now, you haven't even broken all my fingers yet. Come on, where's the classic progression of pain? And where's the psychological torture? All you've given me is bad diction and B-movie villain ranting."

She shook him. "Who the hell do you think you are?"

He sneered. "Somebody who was raised by Angelus, Scourge of Europe. Now there's a bloke who knew the potential of common household implements. You're kindergarten class compared to him."

With a shriek, she threw him and the chair against the wall. The chair exploded, and Spike hit the floor in a tangle of ropes, chains, and potential stakes.

"Full marks for freedom, lad," he muttered to himself, "zero points for sense." He scrambled to his feet, tried not to count how many ribs were broken and stabbing into useless-but-painful internal organs, and crashed through the door.

Giles took point going up the stairs. Rather, he headed up, leaving Buffy and Xander to follow as they would. Buffy hurried to stay on Giles' heels. Xander was grateful for the construction work that kept him in shape.

"Just a poor human here, folks," he muttered as he jogged up the stairs, only occasionally using the handle of his axe as a climbing staff. "Pay no never mind to me. Stupid Slayers and vampires." Once upon a time he'd taken petty comfort in being younger and stronger than Giles. See where such youthful arrogance got you?

On the fifth floor landing, Buffy shifted her crossbow and grabbed Giles' arm before he could yank open the door. "We can't just go busting in there," she whispered to him. "And since when am I giving discretion lectures to you, Mr. Plan Your Strategy Before You Attack?"

Giles glared at her, and she flinched at the way the angles of his face were shifting. "I understand that your solution to this problem is to dash in and shoot him, but it seems only fair to at least attempt a rescue."

Vampire, Buffy reminded herself. Angry, impatient vampire.

Xander caught up with them, panting. "So what's the plan?"

"We take a peek out the door," Buffy said quickly. "Then we see what happens." Giles muttered unhappily but accepted it. He checked the position of the bolt in his crossbow.

They cracked open the door and peered out. The hallway was dimly lit and seemed quiet.

"I hear shouting," Giles whispered.

"So do I," Buffy said. "Xander, did Jorge say which apartment is Glory's?"

The question of which apartment was answered by Spike crashing through a door halfway down the hall. Bloody and stumbling, he scrambled to his feet and started towards the elevators at the far end of the hall.

"Spike!" Giles yelled.

Before Spike could do more than look around, Glory's demons poured out of the apartment. Spike kept moving down the hall, followed by a good half-dozen of the gnarled demons.

Flinging his crossbow at Xander, Giles snarled and charged down the hall, shifting into full game face.

"Shit," Xander breathed, trying to reconcile the sharp-pointed demon face with the reassuring man he'd known nearly a third of his life.

"Uh huh," Buffy said. She shook herself. "Come on! And stay back!"

"Make up your mind!"

"Be careful!"

They followed Giles.

Giles ripped into the trailing pair of demons, grabbing their robes and slamming their heads together. Spike fell against the elevator doors and checked the floor indicator. The lift was down at the lobby floor. Despite Ripper's help, the rest of Glory's mob would be on him in seconds. Ignoring the pain in his broken fingers, Spike pulled on the elevator doors, levering them apart.

He was just reaching for the greasy cables when one of Glory's demons shrieked and jumped for him. Spike missed his grab for the cables and fell, the demon clinging to him.

Giles cursed and ripped the throat out of the nearest demon. "He's in the lift shaft!" he yelled to Buffy and Xander.

A crossbow bolt suddenly whistled past his ear. He snarled at Xander, who was just lowering his crossbow, when he heard the thump of a body hitting the floor behind him. He turned and saw one of the demons, who had been holding an axe. The crossbow bolt had taken it square in the forehead. He looked at Xander again, but the young man didn't meet his eyes.

Buffy grabbed Xander. "Downstairs."

Most of the demons were headed down another set of stairs. Giles reached for one.

"What is taking so long out there?" came a petulant female voice from inside the apartment.

Giles looked up and saw the pretty young lady he'd seen in the Magic Box buying materials to raise a snake demon.

Glory stood in her broken doorway and cocked her head at Giles. "What is it with the vampires in this town? I'm trying to bring hell on earth, here, fella. You know, vampire party time? Why the heck are you breaking up my minions?"

Giles looked down at the broken-necked body in his hands. "I am sorry, but I rather like the world the way it is. Hell really sounds quite boring."

"I know you," Glory said, pointing a thoughtful finger at Giles. "That cheesy little magic shop." She gasped. "You're the Watcher!"

Giles flung the demon's body as hard as he could at her, then sprinted for the stairs.

The lobby was empty of anyone non-demonic when Buffy burst through the door at the bottom of the stairs. Xander was only moments behind her. Across the ornate lobby, the demons were struggling with Spike, who looked even more bashed up but was still fighting as well he could.

"Sorry," Buffy called as she ran over, "but that's our vampire you're demon-handling, and we want him back."

"Probably," Xander added.

"I am not your vampire," came a weak protest.

The demons turned to fight. Buffy knocked two out of the way, working her way towards the elevator. Xander laid one out with the flat of his axe, then another jumped on his back, dropping its own axe handle over his head and yanking against his throat. He reached back, got a handful of robe and pulled. The wiry little creature tried to hang on, but Xander got a good grip on the shoulders and threw the demon into a group of its friends.

Buffy made it to Spike's side, kicking aside the crumpled body of the demon that had fallen down the elevator shaft with him. She grabbed his arm to shake him, though not as hard as she might, seeing up close just how bloody he was.

"What did you tell her?" she demanded.

"I've had better days, Slayer, how are you?"

A demon came charging in, axe upraised. A kick to the stomach sent it flying away. "Damn you, Spike--"

Spike coughed, then spit blood. "Didn't tell her anything."

"I don't believe you."

"Then why the fuck are you asking?" He tried to get to his feet, but his leg bent in new places, and he fell back with a groan. He nodded over Buffy's shoulder. "Demon."

She spun and punched; Xander caught the rebound and smacked the demon in the head.

Spike grabbed Buffy's arm. "Dawn OK?"

"Uh, yeah," she managed to answer as she stared at Spike's hand, with the smashed and twisted fingers. "You didn't tell Glory?"

"Said I didn't."

A sudden roar caught their attention. Out in the lobby, Giles appeared, still in gameface, and pulled two demons off of Xander.

Spike laughed briefly before it turned into another gasp of pain. "Well, this should be over soon."

Buffy touched his shoulder. "Spike, why?"

"Why what?"

"Didn't you tell her?"

Different pain flickered through his eyes before a more battered version of his usual sneer appeared. "Gotta stay in good with you, now, don't I."

She almost touched the still wet wound in his chest. A lot of blood had already dried on his shirt and in his hair. His eyes were almost swollen shut, and the familiar angles of his face were blurred. "Why did you let her do all this to you?" she whispered.

"Been though enough, you have," he said softly. "I'm not going to be any part of making it worse."

She looked in his eyes and saw, of all things, honesty. There were other things as well, but she couldn't think of those just now. She found one small unbruised portion of his face to touch. "Thank you."

A small body impacted against the wall above them. Buffy knocked it aside before it could fall on them.

"And that one wraps up the game," Xander announced. "The ex-Watcher knocks it out of the ballpark for the winning run, and the rest of the opposing team scampers away for their lives."

"Do be quiet, Xander," Giles said. Human-faced again, he leaned into the elevator. "We should go--my god, Spike, can you move?"

"Depends on what you want me to move, mate. But I want out of here more."

Buffy moved to one side to give room for Giles to get under Spike's other shoulder. Vampire and Slayer strength got Spike off the floor, but not without muffled curses from the injured.

Xander watched all the approaches for the return of Glory's demons, but he froze when he saw Spike. "Oh, my god," he whispered.

"No god of yours did this, whelp," Spike said, hobbling along on his one good leg. "Least I hope--" He barely bit off a scream as his broken leg bumped against the floor.

Buffy tried to hold him up, but her lack of height was against her. "I'm sorry."

"Here." Xander handed her his axe. "Puny human strength will do for this." He took her place under Spike's shoulder and helped hold him clear of the floor.

"Not puny," Spike said very softly.

"Shut up, Spike."

"Indeed," Giles added, though not without a thoughtful look at Xander. "Let's please wait till we get you to the car before you amaze us with what passes for your wit."

No one tried to stop them as they made their escape to Giles' convertible. Giles passed the burden of Spike's weight to Xander and went to the trunk.

"I'm not riding in there," Spike said firmly.

"I'm getting a blanket so you don't bleed all over the upholstery. I just got all the blood out from the last time." Giles glared at Spike, who managed a passable snicker.

"At least you weren't awake to bitch about my driving."

Buffy watched the night and their surroundings. "Guys, not to say I'm not enjoying the yuckfest, but could we get a move on here?"

"Yes, you're right," Giles said. He handed her a very large axe. "Hold this, please, I would have sworn there was a blanket in here somewhere."

Xander saw Spike was beginning to sag and adjusted his hold. Grimacing, Spike took hold of Xander's other arm, leaning against him.

"If this is an excuse for you to get grabby," Xander said softly, "I'm going to finish killing you myself."

"I wish," Spike said, eyes closed. "Not that I haven't dreamed of being held in your manly arms-- "

"I will drop--" he broke off, finally getting a good look at the bloody mess at the top of Spike's head. "Spike, there's a hole in your head." He tried not to think about how deep that hole looked.

Spike tried to pull away. "Yeah, yeah. Keep it down, or everyone's gonna want one."

"Shut up and hold still. You're bleeding."

"Why, Xander Harris, I didn't know you cared."

"Shut up. God, it's like when I pulled Giles out of the mansion."

Spike managed a snort of disdain. "Not hardly. Glory's strictly amateur hour. Doesn't have anything near Angelus' patience."

Xander swallowed hard. "Not helping with the me keeping dinner down, here."

"Sorry." And if Spike leaned a little more into Xander's hold, neither commented.

Giles finally came up with a blanket from the trunk, and they settled Spike into the back seat. Buffy turned her attention to the apartment house, her thoughts obvious.

"Leave her alone, Buffy," Giles ordered.

"I don't think I have to do what you say anymore, Giles."

"You're not ready yet."

She turned to glare at the creature who looked and sounded like the man she used to trust most. "And when will I be? She's getting desperate, Giles. Who else is she going to grab and chew up trying to find what she wants?"

Giles' grim look was unrelenting. "As long as she doesn't find Dawn, it doesn't matter."

Buffy looked at Spike's injuries. "I don't think anybody else could stand up to what she did to Spike. I'm not saying they're weak, but--could anyone human go through that and not give up?"

"I did."

She turned away, not wanting to go there at all. "So what do we do?"

"Find out when the conjunction is, find out where the portal needs to be opened, avoid that time and place at all costs."

"I should get Dawn out of town."

Giles moved so he could see her face. "And if Glory took one of your friends, someone you'd be less willing to sacrifice than Spike? If she threatened them to make you turn over Dawn?"

Buffy looked at Xander, who was leaning against the convertible, splitting his attention between watching the night and watching Spike. "I won't let Dawn be hurt," she said softly. "No matter what."

Giles smiled faintly. "Good girl. Now, I'd best get Spike home so I can get him cleaned up." He started to reach out to pat her shoulder, but pulled his hand back. "We'll get through this, we always do."

"Paying a hell of a price the whole way."

"That's our job." He shook his head. "Or, rather--"

She smiled tiredly at him. "Good night, Giles."

"Good night, Buffy."

Xander joined Buffy as Giles drove away. "We go home now?" he asked.

"We go home now."

She watched Xander as they walked towards his car. No special talents except his courage and his willingness to put it all on the line night after night. For years now he'd been watching her back, risking everything just on her say-so. And if it came down to a choice between him or Dawn, she'd save Dawn every time.

"Thanks for being here tonight," she said finally. "It helped."

He grinned at her, then toned it down to something apparently more suave. "That's what I'm here for, to help."

He held the passenger door open for her, then went around to get in. Buffy tried not to cry as she thought of him helping her by dying.

Giles wasn't wearing the usual padding as he and Buffy sparred in the training room behind the Magic Box, but neither was worried. He neatly dodged most of her blows, and he shook off the ones that landed with no more than a passing wince. Buffy noticed he moved faster without the padding, making her move faster as well. It was good to face her mentor as an equal.

His eyes were colder and more focused without the glasses, and he managed to hold a conversation as they worked. "You and Dawn should get out of town, get as far away as you can. Glory won't wait."

"I can't leave Mom."

"Well, you can't take her with you, she'd only slow you down. Willow and the others would look after her."

She ducked away from his kick. "Not leaving her." She nearly swept his feet out from under him, but he dodged at the last moment.

"And what will you do if Glory's next move is against Joyce? You said you were prepared to sacrifice the others. Are you prepared to sacrifice your mother?"

Buffy stepped out of the fight and lowered her hands. "Glory could do that anyway, grab Mom. Grab anyone to try and get me to bring Dawn back. And I couldn't do that, Giles. She's my baby sister, I got to hold her when Mom and Dad brought her home from the hospital, I got to take care of her. We'd play with each other's hair, and I helped her get back at Sally Ann Consecko, who was mean to her in the third grade--"

Giles moved closer. "And you know it never happened. The memories might seem real, but they never happened. You can't lose yourself in worry and memories now, you need to make plans. What will you do if Glory moves against Joyce in an effort to get to Dawn? Will you trade your sister for your mother or your mother for your sister?"

"I could--send Mom away, send her someplace where they could take care of her but is too far away for Glory to worry about. If we scatter she won't have time to use everybody against me."

"Very good," Giles nodded. He moved around the room picking up discarded weapons. "I know it's difficult to think of these things, but once one has a plan one knows how to react in any circumstance. You can't hesitate."

Then he was behind her, with an arm around her throat and her hands pinned. "Your enemies won't," he snarled. Fangs drove into her throat as she screamed.

Buffy woke, and her hand was checking her neck even as her mind said "Dream."

The clock said nearly five. The sky outside was grey fading to pink. Slayer Happy Hour, the vampires would be scampering for cover and the demons would be retreating into their lairs to avoid being spotted by the innocent humans who felt safe in daylight. Might as well just get up.

Her mind was more on her dream than on morning routines. It wasn't bizarre enough to be a true prophetic dream. No shadows of the First Slayer with her bones and war paint, no guys with cheese. Just her fears finding words and images.

She was going to have to choose. This thing was going to end in blood one way or another, and she'd better have her acceptable losses laid out.

As she got dressed, she found Mr Pointy and carried it downstairs with her for comfort. Her job description was to save the world, but her job title said Vampires first. Her dream had shown her the dangers of forgetting about vampires. She was pretty sure the Slayer's Handbook had a few words to say about calling on the aid of one vampire to go save the butt of another vampire. Stupid Handbook, just as well she never got one. Like that TV show from when she was a kid, about the guy who received a superhero suit from a bunch of aliens who forgot to give him the manual that went along with it. Maybe that show was on cable somewhere, she could relate to that about now.

As Buffy entered the kitchen, she heard sounds from the laundry room. "Dawn? You'll wake Mom."

Joyce came out of the laundry room, wearing her robe and leaning on her hated walker. "It's me, Buffy."

"Mom?" Buffy went to help her into a chair. "Oh, Mom, you've only been home for two days, you're supposed to be still resting, not worrying about the laundry."

"Well, from the size of the piles in there, someone should be." She looked down uncomfortably. "Actually, I was hoping to get a few things done before either of you woke up. I--had a little accident--spilled ..."

Buffy noticed her mother wasn't wearing anything under her robe, and she suddenly realized just what kind of accident Joyce meant. She called on every ounce of Slayer stoicism not to react to her mother's embarrassment. "You could have called. I'd have heard. I'd have been glad to help."

Pride replaced embarrassment. "I'm never going to get better if I don't do things for myself. But I will let you move things from the washer to the dryer."

"OK. And while we're waiting for the washer to finish, I'll make some breakfast."

"Thank you, dear."

Buffy took a few extra moments looking at the contents of the fridge, trying not to cry. It was just one of those bobbles on the road to recovery. Compared to how she was just a few weeks ago, Joyce was practically ready to run a marathon. They'd had the hospital's resources to depend on, though, before. Now, while Joyce might not still need extensive care, it was up to Buffy and Dawn to see to the needs of an invalid. And that on top of trying to make sure the world didn't end. Again.

She got a grip and pulled out the eggs and ham. Lesser mortals did this sort of thing every day. A Slayer could take care of her recuperating mother and protect the Key. All before breakfast. Which she could cook too.

She took the eggs and a bowl to Joyce. "Here, crack the eggs into this. I keep smooshing them in my fingers, stupid fragile things. Don't worry about any little bits of shell or anything like that. Dawn and I are used to that. I'm going to go get the paper." She hurried out before Joyce could finish her disbelieving look and move on to Lecture on Proper Breakfast Preparation.

Joyce allowed Buffy to do most of the work for breakfast. Dawn appeared with her backpack, kissed her mother, and began eating quickly.

"Slow down, honey," Joyce said. "No one's going to take it away from you."

"Janice is going to stop by and we're walking to school. She'll be here any minute."

Buffy looked up from putting away the milk and frowned. "Willow and Tara walked you yesterday."

"Duh, they have class this morning, they don't have time to come down here and still make their class."

Buffy started to say something, then glanced at Joyce and frowned again.

"When are your classes, Buffy?" Joyce asked.

"Uh, well ..."

A loud knocking on the door distracted them all. Dawn snatched up an apple as she grabbed her backpack. "That'll be Janice. Bye, Mom, Buffy."

Buffy followed her to the door, making sure that it was indeed Janice at the door. A group of three girls waited for Dawn, all girls that Buffy had seen before. She waved Dawn on her way, reassured at least that the sneaky guys who worked for Glory probably weren't going to bother that many people in broad daylight.

Once Dawn and her friends were out of sight, Buffy went back to the kitchen. "So, Mom, you want anything else for breakfast?"

"No, that's OK. Don't you have class today?"

"Nope, I'm class-free." Buffy picked up Dawn's dishes and dumped the half-eaten eggs into the trash.

"But you didn't go to class yesterday, either. Won't your professors get angry?" Joyce saw the way Buffy wasn't looking at her. "Buffy?"

"I, um--I don't have any classes. I stopped going."

Joyce started to get to her feet, but her body wouldn't cooperate. "Buffy, you dropped out? Tell me you didn't drop out."

Buffy shrugged helplessly. "I didn't have time, I've had too many other things to do."

"Nothing is more important than your education."

Buffy turned and looked at her mother. "You're more important, Mom. Dawn's more important." She sighed. "And keeping the world from ending is more important. Kind of hard to concentrate on Cultural Trends in the Modern Novel when I'm trying to figure out what Glory's going to do next."

"But I thought that's what Giles--oh. That's right."

"Yeah. My support system kind of got gutted. It's--not been a good year."

Joyce took a deep breath. "Well, when we get everything straightened out, we'll get you signed back up and you can pick up where you left off. And the doctors said there were home nurses who could come in, you might be able to keep up with a couple of your classes--"

"I am not leaving you alone with some stranger! I can take care of you."

"I don't want to be a burden to you, Buffy." Joyce looked away, blinking quickly. "That's the last thing I want, to be a burden."

Buffy went to her side, crouching down to look her mother in the face. "I can take care of you. I want to take care of you."

Joyce saw lines on her daughter's face, lines of worry and fear and woe. With all the horrors in a Slayer's life, Joyce despised being yet another thing for Buffy to be troubled over.

Buffy took Joyce's hands. "I'm going to take care of you. It's not going to be some stranger, it's going to be me. I'm going to take care of you, and you're going to get better and stronger, and everything's going to be all right, and--"

Joyce leaned over to hug Buffy as hard as she could, cutting off her daughter's tears. "Yes. Everything's going to be all right.

Sammy headed downstairs to the lower level of the Sunrise Grove recreation center. It had been a long night, and he was anxious to get to bed. He and Fred and Angie and Pamela had been scrounging for nights for this information, and maybe now they could get back to the killing and screwing and lazing around that made vampiric life worth living. Vampires weren't supposed to have causes and quests, they were just supposed to have fun.

Whistling a Cindy Lauper tune, he knocked on the half-open door of Ripper's workroom. "Come in," came the answer.

"Morning, Ripper," he said as he went in. He checked the floor, just to make sure nothing had been drawn on it that he might accidentally step in. "Oh, hey, Spike. Man, you still look like shit."

Spike, laid out on the couch on the other side of the room, lifted a single finger in mute reply. A bandage still covered the hole in his skull, and the bruises on his face were just past the most colorful stage. He lifted a bottle to his lips and took a long drink.

"Good morning, Sammy," Giles said, looking up from the books and papers on his desk. "You have news?"

"We've got the location," Sammy grinned. "Me and Pam scouted it out tonight. There's a bunch of those hooded geeks and crazy guys building a big-assed tower in the junkyard."

"Yes, finally," Giles said in satisfaction.

"About bloody time something goes our way," Spike muttered. "You got that time frame locked down yet, Ripper?"

"Just about. A few more calculations, I should have it pinpointed."

Sammy shifted uncertainly. "Uh, Ripper? About the whole Glory thing ..."

Giles looked up again. "Yes?"

"Well, we stopped at Willie's, and there were a bunch of guys there talking about all this and how it's going to be a demon free-for-all when Glory goes home. Why are you trying to stop it?"

Spike and Giles glanced at each other. "Sammy," Spike said, "what do vampires eat?"

"Blood."

"Whose blood?"

"Human blood. Well, except for Louie the Freak, he likes dogs."

Giles frowned. "How in the world does he survive on dog?"

"Don't ask," Spike said. "Sammy, Glory opens the portal, romps on home, unleashes demon Mardi Gras on earth."

Sammy grinned. "Yeah."

"What happens to the humans?"

He grinned harder. "All sorts of stuff."

"They likely to survive all this stuff?"

"Probably not."

"And what do we eat when all the humans are dead?"

Sammy started to speak, hesitated, started to speak again, then frowned. "Oh."

"I've bitten into some of the demons out there. Let's just say, acquired taste does not begin to describe it."

Giles gave Spike a queasy look. "Do I want to know why you decided to see what demon tasted like? What kind of demon?"

"Chaos. I was drunk. Never mind." He frowned at the knowing look that went across Giles' face.

Sammy was still pouting. "So if we want to keep eating, we have to stop the party. Shit. I was looking forward to some balls out mayhem."

"Hey, if nothing else, we might go invade Glory's building site, do a bit of smashing up."

"Yeah," Sammy sighed, "but it's not the same as torching the town and chasing people through the streets."

Spike paused in nostalgic thought. "Yeah, good times. But sometimes you have to take the long view." A noise from Giles caught his attention. The ex-Watcher was scribbling rapidly and muttering to himself excitedly. "I think he's got it. What's up, Ripper?"

"Leave me alone, Spike," Giles said, waving a hand at him. "I've almost--yes, apply that value to d'Grevit's Variant of Planck's Constant, divide by the Section of Ka'aarb, carry the six--yes! Dawn, three days from now, that's the time when the Key must be used to open the portal or lose the chance forever." He sat back and rested his chin on his fist. "Dawn. I wonder if that's why she's named--"

"Ripper!" Spike interrupted.

"What? Oh." Giles blinked at Sammy, then shook his head. "Oh, yes, sorry. I've found the time."

"We guessed," Sammy grinned.

Spike pulled out his pocket watch. "Less than 72 hours to go. Glory must know this too, right?"

Giles nodded grimly. "Yes, she must. So she'll be getting desperate." He looked at Sammy again. "Thank you for finding the location, Sammy, that's a great help."

Sammy nodded. "And on that, I'm out of here. We got anything in the larder for a before bed snack?"

"Check with Fred," Spike said. "I think he went shopping."

"Right. Morning, guys."

"Tah."

"Good morning, Sammy." Giles stared at his figures, running recalculations for accuracy. "Three days," he said once the door was closed. "I'm tempted to say we can do this easily, but Glory will be going on the offensive."

"We'd best tell the others."

"Right." He found his cell phone to call Anya at the Magic Box.

Tara didn't think Willow had had any caffeine when she wasn't looking. It was theoretically possible that the bounciness came purely from the gorgeous spring day.

"We ought to just peek into the Magic Box," Willow said, "it's on the way to the Cultural Fair. Maybe pick up some business cards to give to folks, since Anya won't let us run a tab, like Giles did. Then maybe she'd give us some store credit."

Tara smiled fondly. "I don't think the word credit exists in Anya's vocabulary. Unless it's credit card."

"Probably not. Here we are!"

Willow bounced into the shop. At the counter, Anya turned with a bright smile, which immediately faded into the familiar "Oh, people we like who hang out here but who probably won't buy anything" look. A customer was perusing one of the magic books for sale, comparing the text with something on a Palm Pilot. In the back part of the shop, Xander was on a ladder changing a light bulb in the ceiling fixture.

"Hello, lovely ladies," he called. "What brings you to our fine establishment today?"

"Hi, Xander!" Willow called. "And hi, Anya. We're on our way to the Cultural Festival down by the river. Why aren't you at work, Xander?" She gave him a scolding glare. "Are you playing hookie?"

"Au contraire, mon amie," he said, climbing down the ladder. "My team is ahead of schedule and they let us off early. So I came down to give my favorite girl a hand."

"It's a wonderful system," Anya said. "He works for free, and I get someone strong and decorative to do the boring heavy lifting."

Xander bowed. "We bloom where we are planted. So, Cultural Festival?"

Willow began rapidly explaining all the things on display at the Festival. Tara put in the occasional comment, but most of her attention was on Anya, who had gone to answer the phone. Anya was whispering to whomever had called, and she kept glancing at Xander. She looked very thoughtful when she hung up.

Xander saw her and frowned. "Who was that, Ahn?"

"Someone who you said just this morning that you didn't care if you never heard from again because you didn't give a damn what vampires were up to, so I don't think you want to know."

Willow blinked. "Giles?" Xander muttered and turned away.

Anya lowered her voice. "He says he found out when Glory needs to open the portal, dawn three days from now. And his minions have found where, there's a tower being built in the junkyard by Glory's demons and those crazy people she's making."

"Well, that's wonderful," Willow said. "Now we know when and where we have to avoid." She blinked. "Giles has minions?"

Anya waved her hand. "His minions, Spike's minions, somebody's minions."

"How is Spike?" Tara asked.

"Healing, apparently. I heard him in the background, yelling at Giles and telling him what to say." She turned to watch happily as Xander folded up the ladder and carried it back to the training room.

"We should tell Buffy," Willow said decisively.

"Probably so." Tara swallowed her disappointment at losing a day she'd hoped to spend solely with her lover. After all, this was important.

Willow looked at her closely, then frowned. "Oh, I'm sorry, baby. We'll call Buffy, then go on to the festival, it won't take very long. I wonder how he figured it out," she added. "I wonder if he used magic or the books or--ooh, maybe he called up one of those demon informants of his and asked."

"Honey," Tara frowned, "I don't think you should sound so excited at the idea of calling up demons."

"I don't see why not. How is it any different than going to Willy's and asking about stuff there?"

Tara stared at her, but Willow seemed completely serious. "I'm pretty sure the kinds of demons that hang out at Willy's are different from the demons you have to summon. You generally have to promise them things, and they're a lot nastier."

Willow shrugged. "OK, I know that lending your body to something like Eyghon is pretty stupid, but just summoning one into a circle strong enough to hold it doesn't seem that risky. And you could learn so much."

"But that means consorting with creatures from the lower planes, from the hell dimensions themselves. Those kinds of creatures are truly evil, they offer bargains that you don't want to keep."

"So you don't accept them. We've dealt with evil, nasty things before. The Mayor, he was spooky."

"Yes, I remember you telling me about him, how he wanted to turn into a true demon. Those kinds of forces, they're not the sorts of things you should just play around with."

Willow hugged her. "Honey, it's not like I'm asking you to summon one yourself. I don't blame you if you're scared of them--

Tara pulled away. "I'm not scared of them, I'm scared for you! The powers of evil are a whole different level than the scaly things at Willy's."

Willow blinked, hurt. "You don't think I could handle something like that."

"That's not it at all." Tara put her hands on Willow's face. "You're strong, so very strong. But someday something's going to be stronger. That's what I'm afraid of. And if it's something evil and horrible, it could do--terrible things to you."

"I'm not stupid, I wouldn't try anything I didn't think I could handle."

"Like that My Will Be Done charm?" Tara said very softly.

Willow jerked away. "That was an accident, Tara. And I've apologized for that, over and over. If you and Giles had your way, I wouldn't do anything more involved than--than charm warts off of people or bless the pigs or something. I'm stronger than that."

"I know," Tara nodded sadly. "And I'm not. I never meant to hold you back--"

"Oh, honey, no, that's not what I meant--" Willow tried to take her hands, but Tara stepped back.

"It's all right, I've never tried to kid myself about how much power I have. I--I just want you to be careful."

"I am! I do, I always am. Tara, it's just ..." She shrugged helplessly. "There's so much I want to learn."

Tara nodded again. "I know." She took a deep breath. "You said you needed to call Buffy. I'll-- meet you at the fair, if you have a chance to make it later." She slipped away.

"Tara!"

Willow saw the customer with the Palm Pilot glance up with carefully disguised curiosity, then look back at the book. Muttering nasty words under her breath, Willow went to the table in the rear of the shop and plopped unhappily into a chair. After a moment, Xander took the chair next to her.

"Sorry about that," she said softly. "Shouldn't have done that in public."

Xander chuckled and glanced at Anya. "I don't think you get to choose when you have a fight."

"But we shouldn't have fights! I love her, she loves me, we shouldn't have anything to fight about! We even agree on toothpaste!"

Xander took her hand in both of his. "Willow, loving someone does not mean you'll always agree. You and I don't always agree on everything, but you know I love you. Um, but not that way, you know."

Anya waved from the counter. "I'm not worried. She's gay now, and it's a purely male fantasy that lesbians are anxious to have threesomes with a man."

Willow gave Xander a sympathetic grin. Once he stopped blushing quite so hard and was able to meet Willow's eyes again, Xander scooted closer. "I wasn't trying to eavesdrop, but I heard a little of what she said. You're, uh, not planning on going into the demon raising biz, are you?"

"Of course not!" She blinked a few moments. "I mean, not anytime soon--and I wouldn't do something stupid, like Giles did with Eyghon. But don't you want to know what other dimensions are like?"

He pointed over his shoulder at Anya. "You want to know about other dimensions, there's a lady over there who would be happy to give you the blood-soaked travelogue of several. Willow, hell dimensions, not of the good here. That's why they call them hell." He took her hand. "I don't like the idea of you anywhere near that kind of stuff."

Willow made herself look away from the concern and love in her oldest friend's eyes. "Someday we may not have a choice, Xander. The bad guys don't care what kind of stuff they throw at us. There's going to come a point where we can't care either. And I'd better know what could happen before I have to learn in the middle of a fight. We don't have Giles for the not-so-nice magic anymore."

Xander bit back an obscenity. He looked around the store, at the lollygagging customer, at everything but Willow. Finally he took a deep breath and just said it. "I'd rather deal with him than have anything happen to you, Will. I'd rather do anything than that."

She leaned over to kiss him on the cheek, fighting silly sniffles. "Sometimes I wish you were a girl, Xander Harris." She bounced up from her chair before he finished processing that.

"What? What's that supposed to mean?"

She beamed at him as she picked up the phone and dialed Buffy's number. "Because I like the girls now."

"Hey!" Anya protested. "You just leave his male bits alone, missy! Go play with your own kind!"

Xander buried his head in his arms on the table.

Dawn cut her last class, even though she knew quite well that she wasn't supposed to leave campus without having someone to walk with. But she just could not sit in Geometry, working on acute angles and right triangles with that feeling on the back of her neck.

Someone was watching her. Someone had been watching her all day. And this wasn't like that nice-but-squicky feeling she got when she caught Todd Burke watching her during gym class. This was calculating, curious, not really human. Hellmouthy. The monks had given her years of memories on what Hellmouthyness felt like.

More than that, this was her own personal brand of wiggins, this was the Glory brand. There was nothing stopping the hellgod from coming to school. Dawn really didn't want anything like what happened to Spike happening to any of her classmates.

So she snuck out. If she kept moving and stayed on crowded streets, she could get to the Magic Box, and then she could call Buffy while hiding behind Xander and Willow and the others.

She caught a glimpse of it, once, skulking behind some garbage cans in an alley as she hurried down the street towards Main Street. Not very big, but it wore one of those robes the little demons wore that night. It ducked down when she stopped to look, then it peeked very carefully around the garbage can, and she met its eyes. It smiled at her.

She was running when she hit the door of the Magic Box.

Willow jumped up from her chair at the table. "Dawnie, what is it?"

"It's following me!" She ran into Willow's arms, trying not to cry.

Xander grabbed an axe. "What's following you? Where?"

"One of Glory's thingies! Little men or something. It was at school, and I left, and it followed me, and I saw it in the alley, and it grinned at me!"

"I'll go look." Xander gave Dawn a quick squeeze before going to the front door. He leaned out, keeping the axe hidden inside as he looked carefully up and down the street.

Willow brushed back Dawn's hair. "It was at school? Are you sure?"

Dawn nodded, sniffling. "I knew something was watching me. I really did!"

"It's OK, honey, I believe you."

Xander closed the door and locked it, then flipped the Open sign to Closed. Anya started to protest but subsided. "There's nothing out there now," he said.

"It was there!" Dawn started.

"I believe you, too, Dawn, don't worry."

Anya reached for the phone. "I'll tell Buffy."

"The alley, you said?" Xander asked Dawn.

She nodded. "Over on Third, coming down from school. I ran the rest of the way."

Willow smiled and kissed her hair. "Long-legged beastie, you always could run fast." Dawn gave her a confused look, then just leaned against Willow.

Xander stared at the back of the store. "I'll check out back."

He opened the door to the training room, and a short, wizened creature in a long robe peered up at him from where it had been crouching.

Xander grabbed it by the front of the robe, dragged it from hiding and shoved it up against the wall. "Did somebody order a Jawa?"

"That's him!" Dawn yelled. "It!"

"I serve--Glorificus," the creature wheezed. "She will be most wroth at my mistreatment."

"Mistreatment?" Xander pulled it forward, then slammed it back against the wall. "We haven't gotten to mistreatment yet." He held the axe edge against the creature's face. "But we'll get there. You scared a friend of mine. Nice people don't do that. And we don't like people who aren't nice. Why were you following her?"

"I shall not speak! Do your worst!"

Xander stared at the creature. "Anya? Remember when you told me how you pulled that guy's small intestine out through his belly button? What kind of knife did you use again?"

"A knife with a hooked point," she answered brightly. "I think Giles has one in the training room, unless he took it with him when he left to become a vampire. I'll go look."

"Thanks, hon."

The demon shivered and looked over at Willow and Dawn. "I--I will not speak ..."

"Why were you following me?" Dawn demanded.

Anya came back from the training room. "He took it with him, sorry. But I found a fork!" She held one up. "We can bend one of the pointy bits over, that should work."

"That's my little problem solver," Xander grinned. He turned back to the creature, losing the smile. "So, do I let my ex-vengeance-demon girlfriend turn that fork into an implement of torture, or are you going to talk?"

"I--I--" The creature looked over Xander's shoulder to where Anya had pulled a pair of pliers from Xander's toolbox to bend a fork tine over. She frowned at the angle and bent a little more.

"Got it!" she called.

Xander raised an eyebrow at the creature, who stayed silent. "Honey, you're the expert. I'll hold, you eviscerate."

"I was sent to watch the Slayer's minions!" the creature yelled. "Only to watch!"

"Hey!" Dawn protested. "I'm not a minion, I'm her sister!"

Anya pouted. "You're not going to let me pull out his intestines, now, are you," she said to Xander.

"Sorry, Ahn." He shook the demon. "Watch? Why?"

"To--to--"

"She's still got that fork, buddy. Talk."

"I--we were sent out to watch all of you, to make sure you didn't interfere when Her Gloriousness collects her key."

Willow pulled Dawn closer. "Collects the key? Glory knows where it's at?"

"Yes. Even now Glorificus is on her way."

"Call Buffy," Xander told Anya, who nodded and ran for the phone. He looked around the shop, wondering if they had anything to hold off a god.

"You needn't hurry so," the creature said. "You won't reach the witch in time."

Willow jumped forward and grabbed a handful of robe. "What do you mean, witch!"

The creature blinked. "The witch with you, of course. She is the only new one. All know Anyanka, she could not be the Key. And we know it is not a vampire. All the rest of you have lived in this town for years. That leaves only the witch."

"Willow, don't!" Dawn yelled as Willow ran towards the door.

"She's at the fair!" Willow yelled back. "Send Buffy!" She fumbled with the door lock. "Foris! she finally commanded, slapping the lock. The door burst open, and she ran.

There were mendi artists and jugglers and tin whistle players and African woodcarvers and hosts of other things that she'd never even heard of back in that small country town. Things that made her rejoice that she'd taken to her heels and run towards the sun, following it until she'd found the eternal ocean, and peace, and truth, and love. Tara raised her face to the sun, hoping the warmth would ease the tears.

Someone was supposed to be seeing these wonders with her. Someone strong and beautiful. Tara wanted to hurry back to the shop, beg forgiveness and reassurance. But the larger part knew she was right to worry. Willow knew no fear, knew no reason why she should ever imagine there were things in the universe that she should beware of. When you've defeated monsters and demons with your wits and your magic, you start to feel just a little indestructible.

Willow had learned magic the way she'd learned computers, as a set of rules and commands that, when put together in the right order, would give a predictable result. The forces of the universe had their own ideas, though, and they weren't always amenable to being commanded. Willow hadn't learned what Tara had been taught: the powers of the universe had opinions and preferences, which might not match your own, and you'd best understand that the powers you're dealing with might want something other than you do and might be stronger than you.

Tara sometimes felt cynical in the face of Willow's simple faith in the essential benevolence and predictability of the universe. She also felt deeply frightened of the lesson that Willow had yet to learn.

She bought a vegetarian hot dog from a stand run by the Wiccan group on campus. The young woman--oops, womyn--tending the booth sneered just a little, but Tara didn't notice. She thought instead about blind innocence in all its forms.

There were belly dancers down by the river. Tara watched them with wistful interest as she ate her hot dog. Finally she sat on one of the benches on the promenade, looking out over the water and trying to think calm thoughts.

The bench settled beneath someone's weight. Delicate fingers took Tara's hand, and she looked up with a tearful smile.

"Yeah, I'm glad it's over, too," Glory said, smiling. "Not your fault, of course, the monks made you want to stay away from me, but, really, it's better this way."

Tara tried to pull her hand free, but the hellgod's fingers didn't budge. "You ..."

"Me. Well, not this me for much longer, thank me. Let's blow this popsicle stand, then we can both finally get rid of these stupid human shapes."

"No, please ..." Tara hated herself for crying, but she couldn't think past the fear.

Glory tilted her head. "Oh, sweetie, it's not so bad. You'll be happier when you're just the Key again, really. You can't tell me you like being squeezed into that silly mortal form. All the squishy feelings and weird noises it makes. Me, I can't wait to leave all this behind. Day after tomorrow, we go home!"

Glory hugged Tara enthusiastically, then froze. She grabbed Tara's chin and stared into her eyes.

"You're not the Key," she growled. "How dare you make me think you're my sparkly Key!"

"I didn't," Tara whispered. "I'm sorry, please don't hurt me."

"Dammit, it's one of you!" She shook Tara's shoulders. "Which one of you stinky human rats is my Key!"

"Demeter, Cybele," Tara whispered to herself, "your faithful daughter begs courage."

"Stop that praying! The only god here is me! Tell me!"

"Artemis, Hera, I beg mercy..."

Glory took Tara's hand in both of hers, held together in the attitude of prayer. "You're begging the wrong gods, little witch. Beg me for mercy. Tell me where my Key is, and I might just grant it." She began pressing her hands together, watching Tara's eyes fill with tears. "Tell me."

The long hand bones cracked, one after the other, making Tara whimper, but she managed not to speak. She thought of Willow and faith and courage and wished she could see her lover's face one more time.

Glory released her, and Tara cradled her hand against her, crying. "What is it with you people? The vampire won't talk, you won't talk. Do you really think these stupid lives of yours and this stupid world are that important? You're always whining and crying and bitching about how fate has done you wrong, taken away all the important stuff from you. Don't you just want it to end already? I can do that for you, I can make this silly existence of yours be over."

Tara glanced fearfully at the crowd around her, wondering if there was anyone around who could help her. On the far side of the fair, she saw a flash of red hair and eyes she recognized even at a hundred yards.

"Oh, please, yell for help, see what that gets you," Glory sneered. "Nobody's stopping me, I'm going to find my Key if I have to go through every rotten person in this rotten town." She put her hands on either side of Tara's head. "But you are good for something." She saw Tara look desperately towards the food booths. Glory glanced over and saw Willow interrogating vendors. "Sorry, kiddo, there isn't going to be a daring last-minute rescue by your lover in this movie." She leaned forward and put her forehead against Tara's, grinning madly into her eyes. "Say good-night, Gracie."

Willow ran to the Wicca group's food stall. "Becky, have you seen Tara?"

The girl behind the counter pouted. "My name is Sage Mountain Wisdom."

Something snapped in Willow's soul. She leaned over the counter and got as close as she could. "I don't care if your name is Athena Minerva and the stars themselves dance in your navel," she hissed, "have you seen Tara?"

The girl whimpered at whatever she saw in Willow's eyes. "She bought a--a hot dog, she headed towards the river."

Willow turned and dashed into the crowd, fighting her way to the river. Was that--yes, a blonde head at one of the benches, a familiar head--two blonde heads, the other woman with her hands on Tara's face and Tara crying . A big man with biker tattoos got in Willow's way, and she snarled at him. He started to snap back, but he faded back, a stammering apology on his lips. Willow shoved past, not caring what she'd almost unleashed in her terror.

The other woman, Glory, her head back with a blissful smile on her face, Tara no longer crying--a laughing couple in the way, likewise hurrying away at Willow's glare--Tara alone, staring at nothing, Glory vanished into the crowd...

Willow fell onto the bench, crying and reaching for her lover. Tara whimpered as Willow nudged her injured hand. "Baby, Tara, oh, please, God, Goddess, anyone ..."

Tara looked at her solemnly. "I'm sorry," she said quietly. "The rabbits, they tried, but they can't sing." Buffy found them there ten minutes later, Tara rocking over her arm and Willow crying as she ran a lock of Tara's hair through her fingers.

At the hospital, Willow kept hold of Tara's good hand, only letting go when Buffy carefully unwound her fingers so the technicians could take Tara to X-ray. Tara's frightened whimpers at being separated didn't help matters.

Willow watched the doors to the radiology department calmly. "Glory's at that apartment house next to the park, right?"

Buffy rubbed her shoulders. "Uh huh, why--Wills, no."'

"Sixth floor, was it?"

"You can't do this, Willow."

The look she got was calm and frightening. "Why not? You're the only one allowed to go after the baddies?" A crack appeared in Willow's composure. "She ate my girl's mind, Buffy. She has to pay."

"And she will! it's just--we're not up to it yet."

"And when will we be? The deadline is dawn, the day after tomorrow. Glory's going through us one at a time, looking for the Key. It's time to do something to her, instead of picking up the pieces of what she does to us. She nearly tore Spike apart, she took Tara's mind--who's next, Buffy? Xander, me, your mom? Dawn herself? What do you expect us to do?"

"I don't know! OK?" Buffy wiped her eyes. "I don't know."

Willow wrapped her arms around herself. "She laughed, Buffy. I saw it. And it hurt Tara. I tried to get through the crowd, and I saw Glory laughing and my baby in pain. It's got to stop."

Buffy went over to hug her. "I know."

They stood like that until Tara was brought back to the treatment room. Tara was crying in fear and reached for Willow.

"I'm here, baby, I'm right here." Willow took Tara's good hand and kissed her forehead.

Someone drew Buffy to one side as a doctor began prepping Tara's hand for a cast. Buffy started to bristle until she recognized the man in scrubs. "Oh, Ben. Hi."

"Hi," Ben said with a tired smile. "You're here a lot."

"Yeah. We ought to get good customer cards, one punch for each yard of bandage or something. Good for free coffee."

"How's your mom?"

Buffy managed to smile. "She's good. We've got her walking and doing small things. It's hard making sure she doesn't do too much."

"She should be fine, then." Ben glanced at Tara, who had her face buried in Willow's shoulder. "I'm sorry about your friend. We're seeing so much of this kind of ... attack. Sometimes I agree with the old timers: Sunnydale's cursed."

"Or something," Buffy agreed.

He fidgeted with his nametag. "You ought to just get out of town, take a break or something."

"A break? A vacation? I can't take a vacation at a time like this." She faded off. Maybe not a vacation, but maybe simply being elsewhere for the next couple of days. "I couldn't leave my mom."

"You wouldn't have to. She wouldn't be up to anything strenuous, but she could certainly sit in the car for a few hours. You've got all her prescriptions, and her therapy is as much simply getting up and moving around as anything else."

Her Slayer heart rebelled at the idea of running away, but the strategy drilled into her saw the wisdom in a tactical withdrawal, taking the Key and all the hostages to fortune as far from Ground Zero as possible.

"That might work," she said to herself.

Ben nodded eagerly. "Get as far away as you can for a couple of days, put all of it behind you. Everything will look differently in a few days."

Hope felt strange after so many days of fear. Buffy bounced up to kiss Ben on the cheek. "Thanks, Ben. A few days' break. And then we can deal with everything." She smiled, and it looked close to natural.

"But why can't she come home with me?" Willow's voice protested. "I can look after her."

"It's just for tonight, miss," the doctor said. "Some of the people who have come down with these ... seizures become violent, and we don't want to risk that. "

Willow continued to run her fingers through Tara's hair. "I don't care, I can take care of her, I can."

"Tomorrow."

There was no shifting them. Tara whimpered and cried when she was put in a wheelchair and pushed away from her lover.

"I'll be back in the morning, Tara," Willow called, trying not to cry. "It's just a few hours."

Ben leaned closer to Buffy. "It might be safer to leave Tara here for a few days. We're set up for dealing with the poor folks like this."

"'Fraid that's not an option." She smiled at him, wishing her life was in a place where she could pay attention to nice young men who did nice things for her. "We'd better go, we've got a lot to do."

"Sure. Don't worry, you'll be fine after a few days away."

He watched Buffy collect the crying Willow and walk away, and he ignored the headache screaming in the back of his mind, a headache that screamed his name and demanded to be free.

"Just a few more days for you, too," he muttered, heading back to the locker room and hoping he could make an escape before Glory broke loose again.

Buffy walked Willow back towards the dorm. "You can come stay over with us, if you want," she offered cautiously. "No, I--I want to be around her things. Hug her pillow if I can't hug her."

Buffy nodded, but she wished she could insist. She understood how shock could turn people into zomboids, but something in Willow's calm worried her. "I don't think it's a good idea for you to be alone right now."

Willow smiled fondly. "Always the Slayer. Thanks. But I really want to go wallow in Tara-smell for a while."

"OK." Buffy couldn't really argue. She'd slept with one of her mother's sweaters for the first few nights Joyce was in the hospital. "But be careful. It's going to be dark soon."

"I will." Willow hugged Buffy. "Who's with Dawn and your mom?"

"Xander and Anya." Buffy frowned thoughtfully. "Do you think Mom's strong enough to travel?"

"Travel? To where?"

"I don't know yet. It's OK, just a thought. Go, get some sleep if you can."

"Sure. Good night, Buffy."

"Night, Will."

Willow stood and watched Buffy disappear down the sidewalk toward Revello, her smile slipping away. She looked at her surroundings, some older houses on the border of campus, then began walking. Towards the wooded areas in the opposite direction from her dorm.

As twilight gathered, she found a park bench to sit on and observe the world. It was a pretty evening, the light fading in the west, a few stars peeking out, the moon starting to rise in the east, a vampire sneaking up on the right. Well, he wasn't in gameface, but, really, too many Bela Legosi viewings. At least he wasn't wearing a cape as he stalked towards her.

"Good evening, miss," he said in what he thought was a charming voice. "Can you help me? I think I'm lost."

She got to her feet and smiled her most harmless smile. "Sure. What are you looking for?"

He almost smirked but wiped it off. "The science building? I could have sworn it was near here."

"Oh, gosh, no, it's on the other side of campus. Come on, I can show you. We can take a shortcut through here." She led the way into the trees, managing not to snicker.

Once they were out of view of any passers by, she turned to face her companion, who leered and shifted into fang mode. Then blinked when Willow didn't gasp in shock.

"Where's Ripper?" she asked calmly.

"Huh?"

She sighed. "Ripper? The vampire Ripper? English? Hangs out with Spike, AKA William the Bloody?" The vampire just blinked at her. "Oh, come on, you have to have heard of Spike. Or aren't you in with the cool crowd?" Vampire dweebs. It could happen.

"Who are you?" the vampire demanded. He frowned. "The Slayer's a blonde."

"Slayer, Slayer, Slayer." Willow pulled a stake out of her pack. "She's not the only one out here, you know. Now, come on, do you know who Ripper is and where I can find him?"

The leer was back. "If you're not the Slayer, then you're not super strong. You're just a girl."

She was sighing a lot with this guy. "Do you or do you not know who Ripper is and where I can find him?" She held out her hand with the stake on the palm, and slowly it lifted into the air.

"What are you doing?"

"Never mind." With a magical shove, the stake slammed into the vampire's chest. After a moment, Willow went to pick up the stake and shake the dust off. "Twit." She looked around, glanced at her watch, then headed off in another direction.

The evening was just beginning to get noisy at Willy's Bar. No one had died yet and there were no poker games scheduled, so Willy had hopes for the evening. As he turned from handing over a Prestone-and-7up to a Kroxgar, though, his hopes dwindled. Across the bar was a slight, redheaded human girl, smiling in that reasonable way that said someone was going to be in pain soon.

"Oh, uh, you, um, hi." He looked around desperately but didn't see the Slayer. "Um, Birch, Aspen ..."

"Willow," she said helpfully, still smiling.

"Yeah, Willow. Yeah." He looked over his shoulder again. "So, uh, Willow. What can I, uh, do for you?"

"I need to find Ripper."

He dropped the glass he was polishing. "R--Ripper? Who's Ripper?"

Willow sighed and lost the smile, giving him a look that screamed "Do not even bother." "Ripper," she repeated. "Vampire? English? Hangs out with Spike? You know who Spike is, don't you, Willy?"

The bottles and glasses behind him were beginning to rattle against each other very faintly. "Yeah, I know Spike. He's in here all the time, my buddy Spike."

"Your buddy Spike. Then I've bet you've met his new buddy Ripper."

She was kid, a little girl, a human. And the last time he'd been this scared was the last time Angel had wandered through. "Yeah, I know Ripper."

"Do you know where he is? Where I can find him?"

"You, uh, going to send the Slayer in on him?"

"The Slayer has nothing to do with this," she said flatly. "It's just between him and me."

The practiced weighing of pros and cons and the possibility of personal injury ran through his head. "Him and Spike, they're holed up in the rec center of that subdivision they started on the east side of town. Sunrise Grove or something."

Willow snickered. "Great name for a vampire hangout. Thank you, Willy. I promise I won't tell him you told me."

"Hey, thanks! Uh, can I get you anything? On the house?"

"No, thanks," she grinned, "I'm underage." She walked out.

The fence around Sunrise Grove had long since been breached. From the look of Sunrise Lane, the main street going through the cancelled development, several cars a day used it as a shortcut between the occupied neighborhoods and the old state highway on the other side. Forty years ago, before the freeway, Sunrise Grove would have been a thriving area.

Willow smelled vampires among the unfinished, decrepit houses. Well, not so much the smell of vampires, but the sense of them. A prickling along the nerves that said supernatural things were in the area. One of those witchy things, she imagined.

"Here, vampy, vampy, vampy," she murmured to herself as she walked down the black, desolate street. Maybe she should have brought a flashlight. None of the streetlights here worked, and she was working off starlight and citylight reflected from the scattered clouds. She paused at the crossroad of the main street and a hundred feet of concrete that was supposed to be a road. "It's got to be here somewhere."

"Looking for something, pretty lady?" said a voice from the darkness.

"Yes, I am," she said with no little relief. "I'm looking for the recreation center."

An unassuming man stepped out of the deeper shadows. His blue jeans and t-shirt attracted no comment, but something in the swagger told Willow everything she needed to know.

"I don't think there's anything at the rec center that you want. Any business you have you can settle with me."

She couldn't dust every annoying vampire she met tonight, she had work to do. "No, I really need to go to the rec center. And please don't use the line, 'I didn't order my dinner delivered,' please, that is so passe," she added, seeing him about to speak again. "I need to see Ripper."

The vampire jumped a little. "How do you know Ripper?"

"Never mind. Is he here?"

A half-glance into the darkness told Willow the direction, but he was suspicious when he turned back to her. "What do you want with Ripper?"

"I'm not here to slay him or anything like that. I need his help." She managed not to back up as he approached, but her hand was on the stake in her pocket.

"You're just a human. What kind of help could Ripper give you?"

"Never mind. Is he here?"

He nodded after a moment's thought. "Yeah, he's here. And I bet he'd be real curious why a little mortal girl is looking for him. After you." He gestured down the road.

No way was she going to let a vampire walk behind her. "Oh, I couldn't. After you."

The fangs and ridges came out. "I insist."

They glared at each other a moment, then Willow sighed impatiently and started walking. "Just for your information, I've already dusted one of your sort tonight for annoying me."

"Tough little girl, all worked up and looking for trouble."

Willow turned and found the vampire well within arm's reach. "You have no idea." She remembered Tara crying as she was wheeled away, and her fingers itched for mayhem.

The vampire leaned back a little, though he didn't step away. "OK, then. Just up the street. You can see the lights."

She nodded and strode up the street.

A female vampire lounged at the door of the recreation center. "Why, Sammy, how sweet, you brought take-out."

"Not hardly, Angie. This one's for Ripper."

"He's got you bringing in his meals now? Or does he want her for Spike?"

Sammy looked at Willow. "She came here. I didn't go get her."

"How badly is Spike hurt?" Willow frowned.

Angie studied her. "What makes you think Spike's hurt? How would you know?"

"Oh, never mind." Willow tried to go past, but Angie caught her arm. Willow turned, her hand moving. "Repello." Angie was thrown back against the wall.

"O-kay," Sammy said slowly. "That explains a great deal. You're a sorcerer too."

"Witch, actually. You going to show me the way or do I just go yelling for him?"

"No, that would be bad. You might interrupt him at something, and then he'd get very annoyed."

For the first time, Willow hesitated, realizing that the Ripper she was looking for might not be as pleased to see her as the Giles she remembered. "What kind of things?"

Sammy raised his eyebrows and just looked knowing. "All kinds of things. Come on, then."

Angie got to her feet slowly, growling at Willow, who didn't even look over.

Willow might have been more interested in the arrangement of the newest vampire lair in town if she hadn't had other things on her mind. She followed the vampire with the singularly unscary name of Sammy into the rec center. The place was surprisingly tidy, not decrepit like the ruined factory Spike had occupied on his arrival. Giles' influence? Something reminded her not to think of him as Giles, that the genial ex-Watcher no longer existed. The scary guy who had frozen her and Tara on Buffy's front lawn bore no resemblance to the subject of Willow's younger fantasies--or, at least, no resemblance that Willow admitted to.

Thought of Tara being frozen led to memories of Tara whimpering like a frightened young animal as her broken hand was mended. Thoughts and memories together were overwhelmed by the tearing desire to rip that blonde god-slut to pieces.

Sammy led her down a flight of dark, half-finished concrete stairs. The hallway at the bottom got its light from the open door of a room down the way. Loud electric guitar music came from inside, reminding Willow briefly of Oz. The singer's words were actually understandable, meaning the music was something Giles would listen to. Something about warriors from the land of the ice and snow.

Sammy went to the door and knocked loudly. "Hey, Ripper!"

"Yes?"

"Somebody here to see you."

A curse was lost in the music before the music was turned off. "Who in hell's name would be coming around here to see me?"

Shaking a little inside, Willow stepped around Sammy. "Me."

She barely noticed Giles standing next to a stereo on a bookshelf. The rest of the room devoured her attention. So this was where the missing books from the Magic Box had gone. But there were none of the sparkly gimcracks that the store had sold to tourists and wanna-bes. The implements scattered about spoke of power in use, dark, deep power. Several skulls rested in a row on another shelf, only one of which was human. Old human, dark with age and smoke, smeared with faded runes. The other skulls had horns and spines or strange arrangements of eye sockets. Willow wanted to know what kinds of creatures they had come from and what they were used for.

Giles strode forward, yanking her attention to him. "Willow! What are you doing here?"

From the couch on the far side of the room, Spike was levering himself up to a sitting position. "Red? What the hell?"

Sammy drew back, watching with interest.

Willow took a deep breath. "I need your help, Gi--Ripper."

Giles glanced at Sammy and frowned. "Thank you, Sammy." Pouting, Sammy left. Giles took Willow's arm and pulled her into the workroom. "Willow, what's wrong?"

"Let the girl sit down," Spike interrupted, getting painfully to his feet and pulling over a chair.

Willow stared at Spike as she sat. "They said you were hurt, but I didn't know it was this bad ..."

He waved off her concern. "I'm mending. Why the hell are you here?"

"Did you come alone?" Giles added. "It's incredibly foolish of you to just wander in here. And how did you find us?"

"I asked. And I kept asking until I got answers. I think I scared Willy," she said with a faintly proud smile.

Giles glanced at Spike in surprise, then knelt next to Willow and put a hand on her knee. "What's happened?"

The words refused to come the fist time she tried to say it. "Glory ... hurt Tara."

"Bloody hell," Spike muttered.

"How badly?" Giles asked, being as calm as he knew how.

"She--she's at the hospital, Glory broke her hand. And ..."

"And ..."

"Glory thought she was the Key," Willow whispered. "One of her demons followed Dawn from school to the shop."

"Dawn's all right?" Spike asked sharply.

"Uh huh. We caught him at the shop, he told us we were all being watched while Glory went to get the Key. Tara's the newest of us, so Glory figured ..."

Giles nodded. "That makes sense, if you didn't know about how the monks played with everyone's memories. And then?"

"I--I was supposed to meet her at the cultural fair, I went after her, and Glory was there, and ..." The tears were slipping away from her again. "Glory took my Tara. She took my girl's mind."

Giles pulled her into his arms. "Willow, I'm so sorry."

She shoved him back. "Don't be sorry! Help me make her pay!"

"Excuse me?"

Willow gestured around the room. "Show me! Teach me what I can do to make that bitch pay!" She jumped out of the chair and went to the books. "One of these has to have the answer. I saw it once--" She found the volume she wanted, "Darkest Magic," and yanked it off the shelf. Giles was suddenly there, taking the book out of her hands. "Give it back."

"No. This isn't the way."

"Give me that book."

The temperature in the room dropped, and air currents that shouldn't have existed in a basement began swirling.

Spike took out a cigarette. "Is this the famous resolve face I've heard so much about?" he asked calmly, shielding his lighter from the building wind. He blinked at the look he got from Willow.

Giles grabbed her shoulder. "Stop it, Willow. This won't do any good." He met her challenging glare without blinking. "Magic and emotion do not mix well. You must control the power, not the other way around."

"Thank you, Obi-Wan," Spike muttered.

"Shut up. Willow, what are you planning?"

"To find something to destroy her, the way she's destroyed Tara." She reached for the book again, but Giles pulled it away.

"You're not strong enough to destroy Glory with magic."

The searching winds got fiercer. "Then make me strong enough," Willow snarled.

Giles eyes went hard. "Certainly. Which demon shall I summon so that you can sell it your soul for your revenge?"

Willow blinked, and the winds dropped.

Spike took a deep drag off his cigarette as he watched. "Doubt the little shy witch would be happy to find out what you'd done when she gets back."

"Well, she's not going to get back, now, is she! Glory destroyed her mind!"

Spike looked at Giles. "Not what those Knights said."

"Good lord, you're right," Giles breathed. He shoved "Darkest Magic" back on the shelf and went to his desk to dig among the papers.

Willow reached out slowly towards the book. The answer to her grief was there, the way to transfigure the blades of agony into a weapon that she could against Glory. The leather was soft under her fingertips, strangely warm against her skin. Her hand wrapped around the spine the way it used to wrap around Tara's fingers.

Pale, slender fingers pushed the book back onto the shelf against her pull. "Best not," Spike said softly.

She started to protest, then was distracted by the bruises still discoloring his face. "Xander said you were a mess."

He flinched but didn't move his hand from the book. "Boy's a regular poet, isn't he."

"Don't you want to get back at her, too?"

"Sure, but I'm not going to make myself some slimy creature's plaything for the privilege."

Giles came back from his desk, papers in hand. He frowned at the bookshelf. "Willow, Tara's condition may not be irreversible. Spike and I ran into a Knight of Byzantium who insinuated that there was a magical way to save someone whose mind Glory had consumed. We might be able to get Tara back."

"Get her back?" Willow repeated in disbelief. Spike tugged her away from the bookshelf and back to her chair.

"It's risky," Giles said, "and there is a time factor involved. But time is something I don't think we need worry about for much longer. We'll need to be ready, because things are going to move quickly."

"What do we do?"

He handed her the papers. "From what I gather, Glory's mind syphoning powers are a simple variant on the energy sucking powers of several types of creatures. I wasn't focusing on it as much as I should, because I wasn't anticipating a need for the information, but one should be able to trigger a reversal if you had Glory and her victim touching each other."

Spike snorted. "And the hellbitch will be ever so eager to cooperate with that."

Giles nodded. "And there lies the chief danger. For all the simplicity of the procedure, getting close enough to implement it is extremely dangerous."

Willow scanned through the papers. "What happens if we take too long?"

"Tara's mind, wherever it is stored in the entity that is Glory, will start to deteriorate. Glory doesn't need to feed very often, but she must eat regularly. This suggests that, like any food, the people's minds are consumed completely."

"Tara's at the hospital. I could go get her, then we go to Glory's apartment--"

"Willow, no," Giles said firmly. "We're not up to a frontal attack. Besides, I'm sure Glory will be coming to us before much longer."

"Damn right she will," Spike said. "Glory's running out of candidates for her Key. She came bloody close the night she played pinata with me, she's got to know that picking people off one at a time is bound to get lucky for her. Slayer can't watch everybody."

Giles looked at Willow thoughtfully. "No, you're right, Spike. I think it's time we propose joining forces to Buffy. She could use the back-up." He looked at Spike frankly. "How recovered are you?"

"Recovered enough to deal with anything that might come up."

"I'm serious, Spike."

"So am I." His face showed all his years for a moment. "When it all goes down, I'll be on the front line, never you fear."

"Foolish me," Giles said with a slight smile. "Spike miss a brawl? What was I thinking?" He glanced towards the door. "We'll have to come up with something to tell the others."

"That lot? I'll tell 'em we're going to be gone for a couple of days and to keep their hands off our stuff. I'll be right back."

Willow frowned as she watched Spike limp out. "Is he going to be OK?"

"He should be fine by the time the deadline gets here, so long as he eats properly." He didn't mention that if Spike weren't getting lots of fresh human blood, he'd be in even worse shape.

"This woman upstairs asked if I was brought in as a meal for Spike. How were you going to--" She broke off, obviously remembering she was chatting with a vampire with no artificial restrictions on his feeding habits.

"Don't think about it," Giles said kindly.

She turned back to the papers. "I--I see what you meant, about this being a simple variant. It's just like sharing energy for spells, but Glory doesn't share, she takes, and she keeps taking. The reversal looks easy--except for the getting close enough part you mentioned."

"We can work on that." He glanced at the door again, then crouched next to her chair. "Willow, when I said you weren't strong enough to fight Glory with magic--"

"It's okay, Giles, I know you're right. It's just--I was so mad and so scared, I wanted to make her pay. And keep paying."

He put a hand on her knee again. "I understand very well. But what I meant was, you aren't strong enough--yet."

She stared at him, mouth falling open. "Yet?"

"You are very strong, and you'll get stronger. But we don't have time to get you to that level before we'll have to face Glory."

"But after?" Her eyes went to the shelves of books, of skulls, of odd twisted twigs and cracked crystals.

He smiled. "Soon enough to think of that when we have an after." He stood, drawing her to her feet as well.

"But--you'd show me? You'd teach me? All the things that you said I wasn't ready for before?"

"You only want to become strong enough to keep the ones you love safe. How can I argue with that?"

She would have hugged him, but the memories of Tara in agony scolded her for her happiness. But as Giles conducted her out of the room, she couldn't help looking back towards the books.

Dinner was quiet at the Summers' house. They didn't discuss what had happened to Tara or the creature that had followed Dawn from school. Buffy watched her mother surreptitiously, trying to gauge if Joyce was up to a trip. She thought about mentioning the possibility of running for cover, but the expected explanations and protests were too much to deal with just yet. Best to have a destination in mind.

Who could she trust to look after her mother? The place had to be far enough away from Sunnydale that Glory wouldn't bother following. The Hellgod was bound to a specific time and location, giving the Scoobies more room to maneuver.

Once they were finished eating, Buffy pulled Dawn aside. "Would you start the dishes and everything? I've got a phone call to make."

Dawn started to protest, but Buffy was wearing the Slayer look. Whatever phone call this was, it wasn't the "hi, let's chat" kind. She nodded and hurried into the kitchen to make sure Joyce didn't do more than put some light leftovers in the fridge.

Buffy took the cordless phone out onto the porch for both privacy and the chance to keep watch. She hadn't dialed this number in over a year, but the Slayer-memory didn't give things up.

"Thank you for calling Angel Investigations, we help the hopeless," Cordelia's professional voice said.

"Cordy, it's Buffy--"

"Your call is very important to us. We're working on several cases right at the moment, but if you'll leave your name and number or a place where you can be reached, we'll make getting back to you a top priority."

Buffy grimaced. Well, it was after business hours--except Angel's typical clientele were more used to the dark. She waited for the beep. "Angel, Cordelia, if you're there, please pick up. Wesley, you, too--either, if you're there." No answer. "OK, I guess no one's there. This is--"

The phone picked up. "Hello?" said a male voice she didn't recognize.

"Hi, who's this?"

"This is Lorne. Can I help you?"

"Um, is Angel there?"

"I'm sorry, Angel's not available right at the moment. Can I--"

"What about Cordelia?"

The very nice voice became preoccupied. "I'm--afraid Cordelia's not in either. If you tell me how we can help you, perhaps ..."

It wasn't something she felt comfortable telling a stranger. "Is Angel going to be back soon?"

"Well, to be honest, Angel and the others are--going out of town on a case. But I can take a message."

"Is he going to be gone long?"

"It could be several days. Can I take a message?"

"No," she said after a moment. "I'll call back if I still need his help. Thanks."

"No problem. Thank you for calling Angel Investigations."

Buffy turned off the phone and stared out into the dark. Part of her was relieved: the thought of sending Joyce off into someone else's protection hadn't made her happy. Still, LA was nice and far.

She looked up as a car pulled up at the curb. Giles' red convertible. With Giles at the wheel, Spike next to him and behind--

"Willow," she gasped. She ran down. "Willow, what are you doing?"

"I told them what happened," Willow said calmly. She let Giles help her out of the car. "I wanted Giles' help."

Buffy looked at Giles suspiciously. "Help for what?"

"Going after Glory," Willow said unapologetically.

"Willow, I said--"

"When Angel was dying from that poison," Willow snapped, "you tried to kill Faith, then you made him drink from you. Don't judge me for what I'm willing to do for the one I love."

Buffy bit back what she wanted to say. "But you're here instead."

Giles shrugged. "We talked her out of it."

She wanted to ask how, but decided that could wait. "What are you two doing here?"

Spike nodded at Willow. "Red told us about the demon at the shop. I'm here to help look after Niblet and your mum--if you'll have me."

Her first vampire of choice was unavailable, and she couldn't deny an ally with his own grudge against Glory would be useful. She nodded, then glanced at Giles.

"He says there's a way to save Tara," Willow said excitedly. "A magical way."

"What?"

"Do you remember that Knight who said the minds could be restored?" Giles said to Buffy.

"Yeah, he said--he said it was sorcerer's work."

Giles nodded.

Buffy looked at Willow. "How?"

"It's simple, it's a breaking of the link and a rebinding. The only hard part is getting Tara close to Glory."

"Only ..."

Willow shrugged. "I'm willing to try it."

Buffy stared at her, torn. "If Glory got her hands on you ..."

"I know. But it's Tara's only chance." Willow took a deep breath. "I'm not asking permission. But I know you're trying to juggle a lot of stuff, you need to know what I'm planning."

"How long can you wait?"

"Giles says it needs to be as soon as possible."

Giles came partway around the car, obviously trying not to crowd Buffy. "You have a plan?"

Buffy shrugged. "Less a plan, more a panic. Ben at the hospital said I deserved a few days off, and I asked him if Mom was well enough to travel. So I thought--Glory can't do anything without the Key, and if we take the Key out of her reach ..."

Giles nodded slowly. "That's actually a very good plan. Get everyone Glory can hurt out of her reach, put the Key so far away that even if Glory did gain possession that there wouldn't be time to get back here in time for the alignment."

"You do remember that the point of this is to keep--the Key away from Glory, right? That's my first priority." She looked at Willow. "We can't cure Tara if the world's been sucked into hell."

Willow hesitated, then nodded. "But even hell might be OK, if I had Tara back," she whispered, too softly for vampires or Slayers to hear.

"Spike and I already told the others that we'd be gone a few days," Giles said to Buffy. "I knew matters were coming to a head, and I thought--" He smiled. "I hoped we could be of some service."

Buffy studied first Giles, then Spike. The one used to be the person to whom she'd unhesitatingly trusted her life. She had to keep reminding herself that he was almost as big a danger to Dawn as Glory. The other one--all she could depend on him for were uncomfortable declarations of demonic love and the occasional wistful remembrance of bloody days gone by. And the steadfast refusal to betray her.

Finally she sighed and nodded. "Spike, I need you and Willow to stay here and keep an eye on Mom and Dawn. Between the two of you, you should be able to hold off just about anything."

Spike glanced at Willow, who straightened in determination. "We've got your back, pet."

Buffy met his eyes. "If it all goes to hell, the keys to the Land Rover are in the Mexican bowl on the kitchen counter. I don't care where, just take them some place far away." He grimaced, then nodded shortly.

"What are you going to do?" Willow asked.

She shrugged again. "Looks like it's a roadtrip. I told Xander and Anya to pack up and be ready to go in the morning."

"I'm not leaving Tara--"

"We aren't going to. We'll stop by the dorm for your stuff, then at the hospital for Tara. Then ..."

Giles moved up to Buffy's side. "Your mother's Land Rover won't hold that many people."

"I know."

"And a destination would be advisable. We can't wander the hinterlands like the Lost Tribes."

"I know."

"May I help you with both problems?"

She stared at him, remembering years of mutual faith and every lesson about the essential untrustworthiness and self-interest of vampires. "I would be very pleased if you would."

END

Career Change 5: Glory Night

(No copyright infringement intended, all rights belong to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, and Fox)

Midnight on Revello Drive, all the respectable people were asleep. Not surprisingly, the Summers house was brightly lit. Really, it was something of a wonder that the neighbors hadn't gotten up a petition for the Slayer and her family to pull up stakes and move elsewhere.

Spike wished for a cigarette as he did another circuit around the house. He was supposed to be in stealth mode, and a glowing cigarette tip would give away his position. Inside the house, Red was setting wards and considering magical options. It kept her mind off her girl lying confused and lost in hospital, at least. Spike wished he had something to distract his mind. Ripper and the Slayer had been gone for almost two hours, and Spike disliked the idea of that pair being together without some sort of buffer between them.

He hopped the neighbor's backyard fence and scouted the area for signs of enemy activity. Nothing moving but himself and a couple of intelligent dogs cowering in their kennels away from the darker predator prowling through their territory. No time for games, though. He headed back to the house.

The argument inside was audible to vampire ears out on the walk. Joyce was taking exception to the idea of leaving. Spike let himself in, smiling a little at the confirmation of his invitation.

"I agree," Joyce was saying in the kitchen. "Taking Dawn away is a good idea. But I would just slow you down."

"Mom," Dawn said a little hysterically, "we're not going to leave you. Not where Glory can find you."

"She's right, Mrs. Summers," Willow added. "It has to be all of us."

"I don't know," Joyce started.

"I do," Spike cut her off as he stepped into the kitchen. "No one gets left behind. I'll carry you out to the car and strap you in myself if I have to."

Joyce glared at him. "You're not being sensible."

"No, we're not." He looked at Willow. "Any word from the Slayer?"

"Not yet. But Xander and Anya will be here soon."

Dawn looked around, counting people. "There won't be room for everybody."

"I'm assuming that's where Slayer and Ripper have gone," Spike said, fishing out his cigarettes. "Finding bigger transport."

Dawn yanked the cigarette package out of his hand. "You can't smoke in here! We've got a recovering woman in here."

"Oh, yeah, right, sorry." He grimaced at the self-satisfied nod Dawn gave him. Every now and then he was hit with these twinges of 'I'm a vampire, dammit, why am I nursemaiding this bunch of meals on feet?'

The knock on the door distracted all of them. Spike glanced at Willow, who nodded, then he headed to the front of the house. Xander and Anya waited on the front porch. Spike opened the door, glanced up and down the street, then gestured them in.

Xander hesitated, glaring. "And why the hell are you on door duty? Where is everybody?"

"Slayer left me here to watch Niblet and her mum," Spike answered with a smirk. "Everybody's in the kitchen--except for Slayer and Ripper. They headed off a couple of hours ago."

Anya blinked. "Together?"

Spike shrugged, then looked over at Xander's car, parked on the street. "How reliable is that piece of junk?"

Xander bristled. "It is not a--well, maybe it is. But it gets me to work and back every day. Why?"

"Road trip, whelp, and we've got too many people for Joyce's vehicle."

"I hope I've got a job when I come back," Xander sighed.

"When?" Spike said softly. Xander glared at him but didn't have a good answer.

Anya stared down the street. "What in the world is that?"

An old school bus rolled down Revello Drive with its lights off and coasted to a stop in front of the Summers house. The door creaked open and Buffy hopped out. Giles sat in the driver's seat.

"Good, you're here," Buffy said to Xander and Anya as they all met on the walk. "We can leave as soon as everybody's ready."

"Leave for where?" Xander asked.

"And for how long?" Anya added. "How long am I going to have to leave the store closed?"

"I don't know," Buffy said. "As for where--I don't know. Giles says he knows a place."

"Giles," Xander repeated. "And we're trusting Giles now because ...?"

"Because he's what we've got," she snapped. "Have you two got everything you'll need for a couple of days?" Anya gestured at the duffle bags on the porch, and Buffy nodded. "Let's get started packing, then." She turned towards the house but pulled up at finding Spike behind her.

"So how'd your little trip with Ripper go?" Spike asked.

"We got a vehicle, it went. Are Mom and Dawn ready to go?"

"Your mum is saying we should leave her because she'll only slow us down."

"Damn it," Buffy muttered, and she headed for the house.

Spike met Xander's eyes and raised an eyebrow. Xander nodded and followed Buffy into the house. Spike headed towards the bus.

Anya looked back and forth in disbelief. "I'm not carrying these!" she yelled, gesturing at the duffle bags.

Giles climbed down from the bus and leaned against the side. "Are they still running around and arguing with each other?" he asked Spike.

"Pretty much." Spike looked at the bus. "Nice vehicle. Lots of windows. No enclosed spaces to hide from the sun."

"I've got cans of black spray paint, we can cover some of the windows."

"And where are we going? Slayer said you know a place. What kind of place?"

Giles smiled a little. "A safe place. You'll have to trust me."

Spike started to snarl, but noise at the house attracted his attention. Xander was carrying his and Anya's bags to the bus.

"Buffy's packing and ignoring all arguments," he said. "I think her mom may have finally admitted that there's no stopping the Slayer." He looked over the bus. "Field trip flashbacks, yig."

"At least there are no hyenas, this time," Giles said.

Xander did not smile back. "No, but we've got two vampires. I'm afraid my vote's with the hyenas."

"Can you drive this?" Giles asked, ignoring Xander's hostility. "Come daybreak, Spike and I won't be able to drive."

Glancing in at the driver's seat, Xander nodded. "I can manage it. You two going to be hiding under the seats?"

"Not likely," Spike said. He nudged Giles. "Show me these paint cans. Might as well do that now."

In the house, Buffy was single-mindedly packing things for herself, Dawn, and Joyce. Willow followed her silently from room to room, only speaking when Buffy opened the drawer in Joyce's dresser that held sweaters.

"Are we going to be gone long enough to need winter clothes, Buffy?" she said softly.

Buffy froze, hands wrapped around a forest green cashmere sweater. She blinked for several seconds, then slowly let go of the sweater and straightened. "Right. Over-reacting. It's just-- we've got to get stuff together, we've got to get out of here while we can."

Willow went over to her and put her hands on Buffy's shoulders. "We will. But we don't need too much stuff, do we?"

"No. You're right, we don't." Buffy looked at the duffle bag on the bed that she'd been packing and laughed uneasily. "But at least Mom would have a good work suit with her." She ran her hands through her hair. "Don't have time for this, got to get ready to go."

Willow shook her just a little. "Buffy, calm down! When you get all panicky, I get all panicky, and I don't need panicky right now, OK?"

"I'm not panicky! I'm just--" She took a deep breath. "I have to do something. Glory could be coming down the street right now, and--"

"I know, but--you've got to hold it together, please? We need you to hold it together so we don't fly apart."

Buffy closed her eyes. "Willow, I've only got so much holding it together left. You're going to have to hold on for yourselves here."

"I know." Willow hugged Buffy tightly. "But you've always been better at this than the rest of us."

Buffy hugged back. "Fibber."

After a few more moments, Willow pulled away. "I've got to go to the dorm, get stuff for Tara and me. I'll be back as quick as I can."

"You're not going alone! Take Xander or--or somebody."

Willow started to protest, then nodded and went. Buffy repacked the duffle bag with sensible things and slung it on her shoulder. She headed to Dawn's room to return some of the more impractical items, like dress shoes and a fancy blouse. She found Dawn curled up on her bed, clutching her Teddy bear.

Buffy started to scold Dawn for dawdling, but her sister's scared eyes changed her mind. "You can take that with you, if you want. I don't think anyone would care."

"I remember when I got Bear," Dawn whispered. "I was seven and had my tonsils out. Dad brought Bear to the hospital for me. Those monks thought of everything. I'm not going to survive this, am I."

"What? Dawn, what are you saying?" Buffy dropped the duffle bag and sat on the bed. "Of course you're going to survive this, that's why we're doing all this. Glory's going to miss that deadline, and you won't have anything else to worry about."

"But maybe--I was made to hide the Key. Once that deadline passes, the Key is useless. I'm useless. Maybe those monks just made me strong enough to last until the deadline, and after that there won't be any reason for me to exist any more."

Buffy remembered being Dawn's age, railing against the fates that had made her a Slayer, wondering if she was destined to have any kind of life other than the one foreordained for her. But she'd never had reason to doubt her own physical existence. Fourteen years of memories notwithstanding, Dawn's true lifespan covered mere months. Born for a single purpose, much like being a Slayer, with no clear idea if there was a future to look forward to. Much like a Slayer.

Buffy reached out and pulled Dawn towards her, resting her forehead against her sister's. "I don't know, Dawnie. But for as long you live, understand that I love you and I will die before I let anyone hurt you." She held the embrace for as long as she dared, then pulled free. "OK?" Dawn shrugged. Buffy pulled the duffle bag over and held it open. "You could put Bear in here, no one would mind."

"Are you taking Mr. Gordo?" Dawn asked suspiciously.

"Um, well, no--but I am taking Mr. Pointy!"

"Work stuff doesn't count." Dawn hesitated, then pushed Bear into the bag. "He makes a good pillow, if nothing else."

"Sure. Oh, here, your fancy-schmancy slutty shoes that Mom doesn't know you own. I don't know why I packed them, but I guess we can use the room for other things."

"Thanks." Dawn peeked into the bag. "Who are you trying to impress with the black lace undies?" Buffy smacked her with a pillow, then went back to her room to put back certain things of her own.

Once again Xander felt a little stab of jealousy at the college lifestyle as he followed Willow into her dorm. Past midnight on a school/work night, and there were dozens of people up and about with not a care in the world beyond a good time. Granted, he was up past midnight himself on a work night, but he was deeply involved in saving the world--again. And despite the message he'd left on his boss' answering machine about yet another family emergency, he didn't like the odds of his still having gainful employment after this latest adventure played itself out.

Willow gave him a tired smile as she unlocked her dorm room door. "I'm so glad you're around, Xander. You're dependable." A pair of drunken young men wearing only their boxers suddenly dashed out of a neighboring room, laughing madly as they ran down the hallway. Willow glared after them. "Unlike some."

Xander watched the guys run. "Yeah, I'm the dependable one."

Willow didn't dawdle as she gathered clothing and toiletries for a few days. She spent more time at the bookcase, checking various volumes.

"What are you looking for?" Xander asked.

"Bindings, reversing and changing, sharing energy, that kind of stuff. Giles said there might be a way to get Tara back from Glory."

"And you believe him why?"

Willow stared at him in confusion. "Why would he lie?"

"Because he's a vampire, and vampires like to play with people's brains before they play with the rest of the person?"

"It makes no sense for Giles to lie about something like this," Willow said, going back to the books. "There's no benefit to him if this doesn't work." She stood up, two volumes in her hands. "Let's go. Next stop the hospital."

"Will, visiting hours are over."

"Oh, we're not visiting, we're releasing."

Xander stared at her, seeing her calm, cheerful, determined expression. The pleasant version of the resolve face. The one that gave you the option of cooperating willingly. "We can pick up Tara in the morning, that's the plan, no one's going to leave her."

"I know," Willow said very reasonably, "but if we go get her now, we don't have to waste time waiting for the hospital people. We can just get straight out of Dodge." She picked up the two backpacks she'd filled and headed for the door. "Come on."

Xander hesitated, then he remembered that Willow had a copy of his car keys. He had no doubts that she'd leave him to walk back to Buffy's house while she went to the hospital by herself. "OK, OK, wait up."

He stayed just a little bit behind her as she strolled through the front doors of the hospital. He wasn't sure if it was magic or just her serene confidence that caused the security guards to ignore them. She led the way to the elevators and up to the floor where Glory's victims were being cared for. This time Xander was sure there was some kind of cloaking spell involved, because none of the nurses or staff on the floor paid the slightest attention to them and Willow was careful to not be in anyone's way.

The ward where the brain sucked people were was dimly lit, but no one was sleeping. All the patients were restrained, and they tugged fretfully at their bonds, whispering anxious nonsense.

"There are so many of them," Willow whispered.

"I guess she's a big eater," Xander shrugged. Willow gave him a dirty, if distracted, look.

The patients didn't seem to notice the two people creeping among them. Xander tried not to look at them too closely. They brought back dim memories of his grandfather, who had spent the last few years of his life slouched in a chair, muttering bits of old conversations and calling people by the wrong name. For some reason he had always called Xander "Charlie", and older Xander wished he had asked who Charlie was. Grandpa had liked Charlie.

Tara was in the end bed, restrained like the others, though care had been taken to protect her broken hand. Willow whispered nasty things under her breath as she went to her lover. "Tara?" she said softly. "It's me."

A beautiful smile went across Tara's face. "The sun," she breathed in wonder. "The sun's come out. And the moon," she added when she saw Xander.

Xander raised an eyebrow at Willow, who shrugged impatiently. "Sweetie, we're going to go on a trip," she said as she began unfastening the straps holding Tara's arms. She nudged Xander and nodded towards the straps over Tara's legs. "We're all going on a trip and I'm going to take care of you and I'm going to make you better."

When he was finished with the leg straps, Xander checked the small lockers next to the bed for Tara's belongings. "Here's her clothes. You want to try getting her out of that gown and into something less noticeable?"

"No one's going to see us," Willow said with certainty. "But she'll need her shoes. Here, you hold her, I'll put them on her."

Tara smiled at Xander as he took her good arm and kept her from wobbling. "The trees go gold in the fall," she told him. "But not in the spring."

"No, not in the spring," he agreed, thinking of his Grandpa.

Tara was wobbly on her feet but came along docilely as Willow led her to the door.

"What about pain pills and such for her hand and everything?" Xander asked as he scouted the area for anything of Tara's they might have missed.

"I have some herbs and such that will work. They'll keep her calm, too, in case ..." Willow ran her fingers through Tara's hair. "Maybe we'll have time to wash your hair before we go, baby. And then I can brush it out for you so it won't be so tangly."

"Pink blue," Tara smiled, leaning her head on Willow's shoulder. "Sound of cinnamon."

"Sure, honey. Come on."

Xander followed the two women, still watching for nurses and guards. He'd never stolen anyone from a hospital before. The patients still didn't seem to care what was happening around them, didn't seem to notice that one of their own was being spirited away. The man in the bed nearest the door, though, went still as Tara and Willow passed, then he turned his head to look at Xander.

"The Key," he said. "Destroy the Key. The Beast, the glorious one, it's almost time."

"We know," Xander said, rattled. "Trust me, we know."

"Xander, come on," Willow whispered from the door. Without a backwards glance, Xander left the whispers and their possible meanings behind.

Giles looked at his watch impatiently. "Granted, I've watched Buffy prepare for major outings before, so I know how she is on organization, but, really ..."

Spike was leaning against the side of the bus, one foot up and flat on the vehicle. He seemed quite calm and collected as he smoked, until one saw the way the foot against the bus was nervously tapping. "I'm not going back in there, mate. Joyce is still arguing that she should stay, Slayer keeps picking things up and wondering if she should bring them, and Niblet and Demon Girl are hiding in the corners. What's taking Red and Harris so long?"

"I don't know. Spike, one of us is just going to have to go in there, grab things, and bring them out and stow them on the bus. And you're the one with the invitation."

"Ripper, please, they're all just waiting for a common target to stick his head in there--"

They both looked over in relief as Xander's car pulled up in the driveway. "Isn't that ..." Giles started.

Spike laughed. "Good on you, Red. Leave no one behind."

Willow, climbing out of the back seat, blushed but smiled. "I was just wanting to save time. Now we can go." Tugging gently, she pulled Tara out of the car to stand beside her. Tara stared at the two vampires anxiously but cuddled into Willow's shoulder quietly.

Giles looked pointedly at Xander. "Do not give me that look, Giles," Xander snapped, pulling bags from the trunk. "Just--don't." He carried duffles and backpacks onto the bus. "And neither of you fall over yourselves saying 'Thank you, Xander and Willow, for remembering,' but--" He gestured with a small cooler. "Vampire snack packs."

"Oh, yes, of course," Giles blinked. "Thank you, Xander and Willow."

"You're welcome," Willow said. "And you can't blame him for my getting Tara, I threatened him with the resolve face. And it's too late now, anyway. Where is everybody?"

Spike and Giles looked at each other. "They're, um, still ..." Giles started.

"They're still packing," Spike finished.

"Still?" Willow protested. "But I thought we had to get going. Why haven't you gone in and hurried them along?" Spike and Giles looked each other again.

"Geez," Xander muttered as he jogged down the bus steps. "Creatures of the night, they hide. I'll go get them. If nothing else, I can haul Anya out of there bodily."

"She likes the caveman act, huh?" Spike asked. He chuckled at the evil look Xander gave him as he headed up the walk.

Still, Xander took a deep breath before opening the door of Chez Slayer. Not-quite-raised voices came from the kitchen, but Dawn was sitting on the couch, hunched together as if she didn't want to be noticed. She looked up at Xander anxiously.

"We're back," he said with as reassuring a smile as he could manage. "Time to load 'em up and head 'em out."

Dawn looked toward the kitchen nervously. "Mom's saying she shouldn't go again, that she'll only slow us down."

"Well, I don't know how, it's not like we're making a run for it cross country on foot. Get on the bus, I'll make sure she comes along."

Anya came out of the kitchen. She had her arms wrapped around herself and her unhappy thinking look on her face. "You're back."

"I'm back. What's up?"

"Why is Joyce being so stubborn? She knows it's not safe if she stays. I mean, we're going to go get Tara, who will slow us down as much as a woman recovering from a stroke, but no one's suggesting Tara stay behind. Doesn't Joyce know that everybody will just worry about her if she's not with us?"

Xander hugged her. "It's something good moms do, not want to be a burden. She thinks Buffy has enough to do without worrying about protecting a sick mom."

"That's dumb. Buffy will worry anyway, she's in there saying that. But Joyce keeps being stupid and noble."

"We're not leaving her, so it's not going to be a problem."

"Well, it's not like we can just drag her out of here--" She tilted her head to study the look on Xander's face, then smiled.

"I said nothing about dragging!" Xander protested.

"Xander," Dawn gasped, "you're not going to just grab my mom and--and carry her off."

"No, I'm not. Your mom's a smart woman, she'll see the logic of our arguments."

"And if she doesn't?" Dawn sounded far less outraged than one might expect at the idea of her mother being carried out bodily.

"Hopefully it won't come to that. I mean, we've already got Tara on board, so Mrs. Summers can't really argue."

"Tara?" Anya frowned. "We have to go get Tara."

"Actually, no. Willow talked me into going and getting her just now. Tara's on the bus."

Dawn squeaked and looked towards the door, then, guiltily, towards the kitchen.

"Go on," Xander said. "The more people already on the bus, the more argument we have for getting a move on."

Anya leaned up to kiss him. "You're a brave man, Xander Harris. I like that about you. Come on, Dawn." She took Dawn's arm and led her out the door.

Xander squared his shoulders and headed for the kitchen, trying not to wonder why Anya considered arguing with Buffy and Dawn's Mom something requiring courage.

"Evenin', folks," he said as he walked into the kitchen. "Everybody's on board, we're just waiting on the Slayer and her mom."

Buffy looked sternly at her mother. "I've got all your stuff packed, mom. Time to go."

Joyce sighed. "Buffy, be sensible--"

Xander went to her side. "Is there anything I can carry for you, Mrs. Summers? Maybe I can give you a hand getting out to the bus?" His smile was polite but firm.

Buffy gaped at him, then grinned. Joyce stared at him. "Xander, you're not suggesting--"

"No, really, no trouble at all. I'd be delighted to give you all the help you need getting out there."

There was a flash of the old "I'm the Mom of the Slayer and I took an axe to Spike once and I can take you on, mister" spirit in her eyes. "You wouldn't dare."

"With the greatest of respect and consideration, I beg your pardon, Mrs. Summers, but, yes, I would." And he was trying very hard not to grin.

Joyce looked at Buffy. "Are you just going to sit there and let him . . . loom over me like this?"

"Mom, you always said that people should only pick on people their own size. He's bigger than me."

Xander wallowed in happy machismo for a moment. "Mrs. Summers, I'd be happy to just lend you a balancing arm, but, one way or another, you're coming along."

Joyce stared at the kitchen counter for several second, biting her lip and blinking rapidly. "All right," she said gruffly. She reached for a napkin and blew her nose. "Not nice to gang up on a helpless middle-aged lady."

"No, ma'am," Buffy agreed, fighting a teary grin of her own.

Joyce glared at the walker in the corner. "We'd best take that thing, I suppose."

Buffy hopped off the stool, went to the walker, and folded it neatly, tucking it under one arm. "I'll go get the bags and meet you on the bus."

Xander waited patiently till Joyce had herself under control, then held out an arm for her to balance on as she got to her feet. "What lights do you need turned off and should I make sure the stove's not on or anything?"

"You've done this family trip thing before, I see."

"Once," he said briefly. "It was memorable. But is there anything you need to take care of before we go?"

"Um, yes. Could you help me upstairs, please?"

After that interlude, Xander escorted her around the house, making sure everything was secured for an absence of several days. All doors were locked, all kitchen appliances were off, all lights were off or on timers. As they headed out the front door, Joyce paused and looked at Xander seriously. "Would you really have made me go?"

"Yes, ma'am, I would."

"Why?"

Xander glanced at the bus to make sure everyone was occupied. "Because I am not going to see that look of crazy worry on Buffy's face again if there's anything at all I can do about it." He smiled at Joyce. "Sorry."

She patted his arm. "You are a very nice man, Xander Harris. Let's go."

But just as they reached the bus, there was a sudden exodus from the vehicle, led by Dawn. "Me first! I have a key! Which is only appropriate." She ran past Xander and Joyce towards the house.

"Excuse me?" Joyce said, turning to watch.

Xander looked at the bus. Giles sat in the driver's seat, leaning on the wheel and very slowly beating his head against it. "What is it?"

Buffy bounced down the steps. "Willow asked if everyone had gone before we left and none of us had and we'll be right back."

Anya followed. "We won't be long." She kissed Xander's cheek in passing.

"We all do remember that we are on the run for our lives, don't we?" came an aggrieved voice from the driver's seat.

"I can't run on a full bladder, Giles," Willow said as she led Tara down the steps. "Be right back."

Spike trailed the exodus down the steps. "No," Xander said, "you cannot be headed back into the house."

"Don't be stupid," Spike sneered. "Need a hand, love?" he asked Joyce.

"I have one, but thank you." She looked at the bus steps, though, and frowned.

"Right," Spike nodded. "Harris, hop on and catch."

"Excuse me?" Joyce protested. Xander shrugged and ran up the steps.

"Mind your head," Spike grinned, then he carefully put his hands on Joyce's waist and lifted her up the steps. Xander caught her flailing hands and helped steady her as she got her footing on the bus floor. Spike followed up the steps. "Right, then. Get the 'Wait Til The Last Minute' girls back on board, and we're out of here."

"Finally," Giles muttered. "It's just as well Willow brought Tara, this has taken much longer than I expected." He glanced at the sky. "It'll be dawn in a few hours."

Spike patted him on the shoulder. "That's why we painted over those windows in back."

Xander looked out the windows. "Hey, they're coming back, that was quick."

"A female record," Giles muttered, but he fired up the engine. "All aboard, ladies. Xander, Spike, sit down, please."

Everyone piled on, and Dawn dropped next to Joyce on the front seat. "And we turned off the bathroom light," she said, "and the door's locked and everything secure."

"Thank you, dear."

Buffy was the last to board. She paused on the step and looked around the neighborhood. For all the field trip foolishness, she hadn't forgotten that they were, as Giles said, on the run for their lives. She didn't see anyone watching, but that meant little. So long as they were free and on the move, they were safe.

She climbed on board and pushed the handle that closed the door. "I guess we're ready," she told Giles.

"Finally." He put the bus in gear and pulled away from the curb.

Buffy looked over everyone. Willow and Tara shared a seat, and Tara was lying down with her head in Willow's lap. Xander was in the seat behind Anya and hanging over her seat back, watching everything. Spike had taken the spot behind Joyce and Dawn for now, leaning back against the window and scanning everyone as well. He caught Buffy watching him and nodded briefly before continuing his observations.

Sighing she dropped into the front seat behind Giles. "It's too late to worry about whether this is the right thing to do, right?"

"I'm afraid so, Buffy. But for what it's worth, I think this is the wisest strategy."

"Where are we going?"

"North for now, then east. I know a place in the mountains several hours away. Get some sleep while you can, Spike and I will keep watch."

"Sleep, sure."

"Try, at least."

"Fine, fine. By the way, you should turn the headlights on. I don't want to explain all of us to the cops."

"Oh, yes, right, I forgot."

She stayed where she was, hanging over the railing behind him and watching the road as they ran away.

Nearly three a.m., and the traffic was fairly light on the freeway north. Giles drove easily and not quite fast enough to attract attention.

Spike bent down the backs of two of the bus' bench seats, making uneven but adequate sleeping surfaces. Joyce made a wry comment about road trips to concerts, but she stretched out gratefully with Dawn at her side. On the other side of the aisle, Willow settled Tara against her. Anya curled up in the corner of her seat and went efficiently to sleep.

Buffy made her way carefully up the aisle, checking on people. She smiled a little at the sight of Dawn curled up under Spike's duster.

A couple of seats back, Xander still hung over the back of Anya's seat, one arm reaching down so he could lightly stroke her hair.

Buffy sat down next to him. "Field trip from hell, huh?"

"I said that when I saw this thing. I thought the deal with graduation was that you never had to ride in one of these again." His smile was tired, though, and the humor reached nowhere near his eyes.

She rubbed his shoulder. "You should get some sleep, you're going to be driving in a few hours. It's kind of neat. Me and Willow and--and the others, we do the mystic thingies, but when it comes to real life stuff, we always yell for you."

"Yeah," he said. "I'm Average Normal Guy, Mr. Everyday."

"And we need him," Buffy said, disturbed by the bitterness she heard. "I mean, do you want me to drive?"

His smile answered. "Not at all."

"Then get some sleep."

"I don't think I can, not with people up and moving around." He nodded towards the back of the bus.

The last few windows on either side had been spray painted black. Spike crouched among the rear seats, rearranging baggage.

Buffy patted Xander's arm. "I'll go tell him to keep it down." She frowned at the look of distrust Xander sent towards Spike. "It's only Spike, he's harmless."

"Yeah, harmless. Look, Buffy . . ."

He went silent. With every appearance of unconcern, Spike settled back on his heels, as if he was only stretching his back. But from under lowered eyelids he was watching Xander. The scarred eyebrow quirked when he saw Xander looking back, and his faint smile dared Xander to tell what he knew. But an eye-flick towards Willow was reminder enough about the unwilling bargain.

"I don't trust him," Xander finally said, still looking back at Spike. "I've got my reasons even beyond him being a vampire. Helpless is a great act for somebody just waiting for you to turn your back."

"He can't do anything with the chip," Buffy said just a little impatiently. "You know that."

"Yeah, the chip." Xander twitched at the knowing smirk that went across Spike's face before the vampire went back to whatever work he was on. "But what about him?" He nodded towards the driver's seat.

"Look, he wants to stop Glory as much as the rest of us--"

"And after?"

"Huh?"

Xander took Buffy's hand in both of his. "I understand that he doesn't want Glory to win. I'm all the way with that. But what if we win? Somehow we always manage to pull it off, stop the apocalypse. When the sun rises the day after tomorrow and Glory doesn't get her hands on Dawn in time to open that portal, what then? All world-saving deals with vampires will be done, all bets are off. What do we do about Giles the vampire then?"

Buffy stared over his shoulder, out the window at the passing darkness. An off-ramp with attendant all-night gas stations and quiki-marts went by. There were cars parked in front of those mundane little places, and people with their own three a.m. business going in and out. She wondered if there were any vampires over there.

"I don't know," she finally said softly.

"Except you do know. He's a vampire, no soul, no chip, doing his vampire stuff in the night. You're the Vampire Slayer."

She looked to the front of the bus. Giles had only one hand on the wheel; the other was dangling out the partially open window next to him. He glanced up at the rear view mirror, and Buffy realized with a start that the mirror was angled correctly for him to see the interior of the bus. But she couldn't see him, just like she wouldn't see any vampire.

Xander looked at the driver's seat and sighed. "Maybe, if you'd done it when you first found out, it wouldn't have been so bad. But you're getting used to him this way. And he's being very careful not to let anybody see anything too weird. He knows as long as he can make us think of him the way he was that he's pretty safe. He knows you're not very good hurting

the people you care about."

"You're wrong," she said, still staring at the back of Giles' head. "I'm very good at it." She shook herself. "Get some sleep, Xander. We can't pull this off if you collapse on us."

He nodded, then kissed the fingers of the hand he still held. "You, too."

"Sure."

They both knew it was a lie, but he accepted it and let her go. He reached for his jacket, shoved it between his head and the window, and closed his eyes.

Spike didn't look up from his work as Buffy sat down in a seat near him. "What are you doing?" she asked.

"Building a crypt of sorts away from the sun. Making room to lie down under the seats." He looked at his hands. "Filthy floors on this thing."

"It's what we could get. But why under the seats? Aren't the windows being black enough?"

"They'll do for me, pet, but Ripper's another matter. Even if he's not in any danger, ambient sunlight will be painful for him."

"That's not fair."

"Perks of survival, love," he grinned. "We get tougher the older we get. You find out from him where we're going yet?"

"Not yet. He just said some old place in the mountains. I can ask him again, but he just says he'll pull over if I say 'Are we there yet?' again."

Spike shook his head, then gave her a serious look. "Are you planning on getting any sleep between now and the big day?"

"Probably not."

"That's stupid, Buffy."

She shrugged. "It's my thing. Speaking of which, you shuffling around is keeping Xander up. We need him to get some sleep before he drives. You almost done?"

He surveyed the space he'd been creating. "It'll do." He climbed off the floor as Buffy worked her way back to the front of the bus. He followed her down the aisle, then settled onto Xander's seat, nudging the feet off.

Xander jerked from his amazing-almost-sleep state. "What the hell--" He glowered at his seat mate. "Get the hell away from me."

"I'm just checking up on you, pet." He smiled winningly. "Seeing as so

much depends on you and all." He glanced across the way at Willow, who snored faintly. "Wise move, not telling about the chip."

"I am going to tell her, either outright or living long enough after you try to kill me to gasp it out with my last breath."

"'To the last, I grapple with thee,'"Spike quoted with a smile. "'From Hell's heart, I stab at thee. For hate's sake, I spit my last breath at thee.'"

Xander frowned. "Why the hell are you quoting 'Wrath of Khan' at me?"

"Philistine." He made a show of snuggling down in the seat and putting his knee up against the seatback in front of him. "Go to sleep, Xander."

"Not with you right there. Get the hell away from me."

"Why so shy? Wouldn't be the first time I've watched you sleeping."

"Maybe so, but then I didn't worry about if I'd wake up to find fangs in my throat. Get your own seat."

With a put-upon sigh, Spike moved to the seat behind Xander. "Satisfied?"

"No."

"Good."

The thing with being the Slayer, you were given all these heightened senses and endurance to help you fight the monsters. The fact that these senses were useful in sneaking into the house without your mother noticing or sneaking out of training while your Watcher was still lecturing about how previous Slayers showed ever so much more respect for the process than you did was apparently not considered worth mentioning. The ability to go without sleep, though, was also very useful.

Buffy slipped into the seat behind Giles and leaned on the railing. Tiredness nibbled on the edges of her consciousness, but it was more like the possibility that she might want another double-fudge brownie as opposed to the need for a mochacchino before class.

"You should sleep," Giles said as he steered the bus into the passing lane around a heavily laden flatbed semi truck. "The rest of them are out."

From this angle, she could see the interior of the bus from the driver's mirror. Willow and Tara were still curled up next to each other, looking awfully sweet together. Across the aisle, Dawn and her mother snored faintly in harmony. Xander was slumped low in his seat, though he twitched more than a person who was asleep should do. She glanced over her shoulder in time to see Spike, in the seat behind Xander, turning to look out the window with a very poorly managed attempt at innocence. She waited till he looked her way, then she frowned at him. With a smirk, Spike settled down in his own seat and closed his eyes.

"I'm not that sleepy," she said, turning around to stare out the windshield. She faintly saw the outline of the driver's seat in the glass. The empty driver's seat.

"Even the Slayer needs sleep."

"I hit the snooze button on my alarm clock four times this morning, I got lots." She frowned. "This morning? Or yesterday morning?"

"We are quite on the wrong side of midnight for it to be anything but yesterday morning. This morning is the event that will happen in a few more hours."

"We'll need to trade drivers soon, then."

"The sky has barely turned color, I'm fine for quite a while yet."

Buffy looked to the east, where the mountains would be if there were more light. "How hard is it going to be to find where we're going?"

Giles sighed. "Not that easy. I hope Xander can read a map."

"We can all help navigate."

"Yes, getting hopelessly lost will make it harder for Glory to find us, I imagine. If we don't know where we ourselves are, no one else should be able to, either."

Buffy smacked him in the arm automatically. "We're not that bad." She scooted over so she could see the side of his face and, yes, he was grinning. "Meany."

She was silent for a long time, until Giles swung over into the lane for an offramp. "Los Padres National Forest" was on the sign that flashed by.

"Camping," she observed. "Yay."

"City girl."

"And proud of it, Mr. Tweed." She reviewed what little California geography she remembered from boring classes. Family vacations--when they'd occurred--had involved hotels and beaches and shopping, not woods and mountains and insects. She got a blank about anything regarding Los Padres except "trees--mountains--don't bother".

They exited the freeway and got onto a four-lane highway headed east. Sporting goods stores and outfitters gathered among the usual roadside collection of fast food and gas.

"A couple of more hours," Giles said, "and I'll find a place where we can pull over and stretch our legs and whatnot."

"Whatnot. Another word for potty break?"

"If you will."

She turned around to study the interior of the bus again. All the sleepers were still sleeping. From somewhere--possibly while rummaging through baggage--Spike had found a CD player and headphones. He was nodding his head along with some upbeat rhythm, occasionally mouthing the words.

"You're fidgeting," Giles said.

"Not good at just sitting and doing nothing, you know that." She turned again to look out the windshield. Traffic was beginning to appear, people headed off on their commutes, early-morning deliveries. People with a world they felt safe in, a world that maybe only had one day of existence left to it. Her stomach knotted as she realized how fragile it all was. All that stood between those innocent people out there was one vampire Slayer and her busload of weary fighters, her friends and family. And allies.

"The Watchers' Council," she said.

Giles jumped a little. "What about them?"

"What do you think they know about Glory that they would have told us about if we hadn't thrown them out?"

He was silent a moment. "Not as much as they wanted us to believe, I would imagine, nor as useful. History, most likely, stray tales from dimensional travelers, possibly some writings from the monks who created Dawn or from the Knights of Byzantium."

"And you don't think that would help?"

"From what I've gathered about the Knights, their writings seem to boil down to 'Glory evil, smash Key.' Those monks were no better: 'Run, hide, it's Her.'"

"Then we didn't do the wrong thing by turning the Council away?"

Giles hesitated for quite a while. "I--don't completely trust my recollection of that meeting. The main impression that I have is that if they were willing to put a price tag on information to save the world, then what else do they believe they can make deals on? First your cooperation, then your obedience, then your soul. And then your life. We did not make a mistake."

She nodded. "It's just--I'd hate to think I hadn't done everything I could."

"It isn't in you."

"Huh?"

"I don't believe you are capable of not doing everything in your power to stop a threat."

From the angle of his head, he was looking at her in the mirror. But when she looked up to smile back at him, the mirror was empty. He brought his head back down quickly and focused silently on the road.

Glorificus stood on the sidewalk in front of the Summers house and studied it thoughtfully in the darkness just before dawn. "Well, if you like Arts & Crafts I suppose it's OK. But I think my closet is bigger." She waved her hands, and her minions scurried forward. "Make sure nobody leaves, guys, OK? We're finishing this thing tonight."

The lock only lasted a couple of seconds. The small robed figures poured into the house and spread out, searching for the occupants. Glory sauntered in through the front door.

"And the decor, really, would just a little bit of sparkly and velvet have killed them?" She settled herself on the couch and waited happily for the shouts of outrage to begin from the occupants of the house. And waited. Busy footsteps going back and forth upstairs was all the sound she heard. "Um, guys? Where are my victims? I expect some cowering mortals in front of me, tout suite."

Dreg came down the stairs slowly. "I'm sorry, most holy, but the house is empty. There's no one here. I think they must have left quickly, there are clothes laying all about."

"Left?" Glory jumped to her feet. "Left? How dare they run away!" She stomped upstairs to do her own investigation. She looked into all the bedrooms and peered into the closets. "Frump," she muttered, turning away from Joyce's clothes. "All right, now this is annoying. Where the heck did they go?"

"The car is still in the driveway, delectableness," another minion volunteered. "The mother has been ill. Someone must have helped them."

She waved Dreg over. "Send somebody over to the boy and Anyanka's place, see if they're there. And check to see where the red-headed witch is."

"At once, most holy."

She checked the other bedrooms again, looking at the disarranged belongings. The minions poked around, looking for any clues as to where everyone had gone. Glory was looking through Buffy's make-up drawer and sniffing the various perfumes when Dreg came running in, carrying a notebook.

"Most holy, most holy, look at this!"

"Does it tell me where they've gone or who the Key is?" she asked petulantly.

Dreg bounced. "Yes, it does."

Glory stared at him, then yanked the notebook out of his hands.

"'Journal of Dawn Summers,'" she read. "'I'm so sick of it all being my fault. Running, hiding, hurting, crying, it's all my fault. They were probably happy before I got here. Some big evil would show up, Buffy would kick its butt, then they'd go party. Mom wasn't sick, Giles wasn't a vampire--'" Glory glared at Dreg. "Why am I reading the self-centered whinings of a teenaged girl?"

"Keep going, Glorificus, you'll see."

She sighed. "'If I thought it would do any good, I'd give myself to Glory and be done with it. Tara got hurt because Glory thought she was me. I don't want to see that anymore, other people hurt because I'm . . . the damned . . .'" Glory looked up, smiling. "'Key.'" She leaned down and hugged Dreg until he gasped in pain and breathlessness. "Dreg, I could kiss you, except, yuck. It's her, that little girl is the Key!"

"But how?" Dreg wheezed.

"I don't know how! I don't care! We catch her, we'll squeeze it out of her--gently though. It's tomorrow morning she needs to bleed. And even if she isn't the Key, we'll grab her and torture her until the Slayer coughs up the real one."

She paused and looked around the room again, frowning at the signs of quick departure.

"Perhaps the neighbors know where they've gone?" Dreg said. "We shall bring them to you that you may interrogate them."

Glory perked up at the thought, then shook her head. "There might be a quicker way, but hold that thought. Where are the Knights?"

"The Knights, splendid and pretty one?"

"The Knights! Gregor and the boys! I haven't seen hide nor hair of them for the past few days. We find the Knights, I bet we find the Key. And we'd better find her first. Round 'em up and let's go, there's nothing here."

Dreg scurried out to collect the others. On her way to the door, Glory spotted a pair of Buffy's strappy high-heeled sandals on the floor. "Oh, pretty. And just my color." When she compared them to her feet, however, the shoes were too small. "Hmph. Probably her little sister's anyway. Little girl shoes." She dropped them, kicked them under the bed, and followed Dreg.

Five o'clock in the morning. The towns along the highway were appealing to the outdoorsmen and women who were headed into Los Padres National Forest. It wasn't one of the busier parks, so the kitsch-level wasn't quite as horrible as it was around Yosemite or Yellowstone. The sky to the east had lightened to the point that it was possible to tell the mountains from the darkness, and Giles felt a creeping nervousness that said it was time to turn over the wheel and get under cover.

Just ahead was a gas station with attached restaurant and store. Several cars were parked in front even at this early hour. A quick check of the gas gauge showed it was time to stop.

Giles glanced into the driver's mirror. Buffy was still behind him, but her head rested on the railing and her eyes were closed. "Buffy," he said softly.

She sat up straight. "I'm awake, Mom." She blinked, looked around, then turned to check the interior of the bus and its occupants.

"I'm pulling in up ahead," Giles said. "We need more petrol, and the rest of you need a break."

Buffy stretched with audible popping sounds. "Oh, yeah." She looked out the front window as Giles turned the bus into the parking lot. "Starting to get light."

"Yes." He knew he sounded abrupt but felt he was justified.

The bump of the wheels going over the small rise into the parking lot jostled the sleepers. Groans and noises of "Huh?" soon followed. Giles found a parking spot in the RV section of the lot.

Xander blinked hard as he peered out the windows. "Where are we?"

"On our way into Los Padres National Forest," Giles answered. "Just about time to switch drivers, too."

"Coffee," Xander blinked. "Food, hot food. Bathroom. Not in that order."

"I'm sure the diner will have everything you need."

Xander reached over the seat in front of him to shake Anya's shoulder. "Come on, honey, time to get up."

"Uh uh," she muttered, curling in tighter on herself. "Have good day at work, love you, night night."

Fighting a smile, he wobbled to his feet and went around to convince her to get up.

Willow leaned over and kissed Tara's forehead. "Good morning, sunshine," she whispered.

Tara blinked for several seconds, staring at Willow in what looked like confusion, then she smiled and relaxed. "Green rocks with speckles."

"Is that a good thing?" She helped Tara sit up. Tara whimpered when she tried to use her damaged hand for balance. "Oh, yeah, that probably hurts, let me get you something." She reached under the seat for her bag of herbal remedies.

"Potty," Tara whimpered.

Willow sat up fast. "What was that?"

"Potty."

"Do you need to go potty?"

Tara thought a moment, then nodded once.

"You said potty. And meant it." Willow grinned at the others. "She said potty!" The others stared at her. "Which may not be as exciting for the rest of you as it is for me."

Buffy smiled. "It's OK, Will. We're all still asleep." She went over to Dawn and her mother. "Hey, sleepyheads. How do you feel?"

Dawn was sitting up, but her eyes were closed. As Buffy watched, her head began tilting forward, then jerked up. Joyce rolled over painfully and tried to sit up. Buffy took her arm and helped, reminding herself that Slayer strength was not always appropriate. Joyce got her legs over the edge of the seat and considered standing up.

"I think I'm going to need that darned walker," she sighed.

"Right," Buffy said. "I'll go get it." She turned and found it at her side, held by Spike, who had appeared with more than the usual vampire stealthiness. "Um--thanks."

"No problem." Spike retreated back up the aisle, leaving room for muddled humans to get to their feet.

Joyce unfolded the walker, then frowned at how awkward it would be to maneuver on the bus. "This isn't going to work."

"I'll help you off, Mom. Dawn, wake up, we're going to get some breakfast."

"Sleep," Dawn muttered, still with her eyes closed.

"Food."

Xander came down the aisle, guiding a wearily blinking Anya in front of him. "Do we have time for a real breakfast? Sitting down with pancakes and sausage and orange juice?"

"Probably--" Buffy glanced at Giles and saw him look out the windows to the east, a disturbed look on his face. "Do we?"

"If you don't dawdle."

"Dawdle? Over food?" Xander said. "I may not wait for the waitress to put it on the table."

Buffy and Xander got Joyce down the steps and leaning on her walker, then the group headed for the restaurant. The humans did, at least. Spike was already lighting up a cigarette as he climbed down the steps, and Giles got out to pace.

"What's got you so wound up?" Spike asked.

"Oh, not much. Sunrise is in an hour, and they're off having a leisurely meal." Giles glared at the eastern horizon.

"Relax, mate. We'll be on our way soon enough. Besides, I've rigged up a nice dark crypt under the seats in back."

"Lovely. Hiding under the seats. How dignified."

"I've hidden in worse. Me and Dru had to hide under a pile of corpses during World War I--or was it the second one? Well, it was France, and there were lots of corpses." Spike waited for Giles' new appreciation of gory vampire adventure stories to ask for more details--under the guise of old Watcher instincts, of course--but Giles was still staring at the horizon. He moved closer. "This is the closest you've been to the sun yet, isn't it."

Giles nodded silently.

"It won't be light enough to cause damage until the sun's really coming up, though you may feel a bit itchy. That wears off as you get older." He glanced towards the horizon himself. "But, yeah, you can feel it coming. Turns into a macho game, though, how long you can stand to be out in it."

"How close have you come to ..."

"Oh, I've gotten singed lots of times." He took a long drag on his cigarette. "Closest I've ever come to real damage, I was barely five years turned."

Giles finally looked away from the lightening sky. "You misjudged the time?"

"Was saving Angelus' poncy neck. Running up an alley to the carriage as the sun cleared the buildings. Would have finished me except the ponce was just that little bit tougher, he was able to get me into the carriage and get us out of there. I was weeks healing from the burns."

The analytical Watcher had possession now. "How old was he then?"

Spike ran the calculations in his head. "About the same age I am now. Huh. You never think of yourself as being the same age as your father." He shook his head, dismissing the thought. "Don't worry, I'll make sure you're under cover in good time."

Giles nodded, careful not to show how grateful he was for the reassurance. "There is one other thing." He glanced around the parking lot. "I'm getting rather hungry."

Spike glanced toward the restaurant. The Scoobies had been seated at a table next to the window and looked out occasionally. "There's the stuff Red brought from the hospital."

Giles made a noise of disgust. "Back to baby food after having tried steak."

"Stake is what you'll get if Slayer finds out you had an attack of the munchies. Plus there's the whole I'm still supposed to be chipped thing."

Giles walked casually into a shadow of the bus cast by one of the parking lot lights. "They'll be quite a bit, yet. Odds are I could be back before they even notice I'm gone."

"This isn't the Hellmouth, Ripper. Most places in the world, people find a body, they make a lot of fuss. And if someone finds a body with its throat ripped out, even the Scoobies can make the logical leap towards one of the pair of vampires lounging about the area."

"When did you get this cautious? William the Bloody would have strolled over to that mini-van" he nodded at a family vehicle parked at the gas pumps "and drained the lot of them, then offered autographs to the gathered crowd."

Spike paused to smile at the mental picture, then shook himself. "Not with a Slayer sitting down to breakfast next to a window that looks out over the entire parking lot."

"Oh, yes, you would have, you'd have been thrilled at the opportunity for a good fight. Hell, you'd probably have gone after the mini-van in order to get the Slayer into the fight."

Tempting, tempting image. And a lovely way to announce his chip-free status. Positively Wagnerian in drama potential. If only ... "Yeah, I probably would. Except I don't know the area and it's too close to dawn to find a good bolthole, and--and here's the biggie--we've got work to do. You do remember Glory, don't you, Ripper? The slutgod you were going to send Dawn to hell for in order to stop?"

"Bugger," Giles muttered. "And that makes sense, worrying about Glory first, but ..." He looked towards the mini-van, where a toddler was wobbling along on chubby bare feet under the sleepy supervision of his mother.

"Fledges," Spike sighed as quietly as he could. "I never gave Dru this much trouble." Because Dru would have already been over there cooing about the luscious little baby and how adorable he was and how she longed to eat him up. Which was why Angelus kept both Dru and William on a short leash until William became old enough to have something approaching sense.

He went over to Giles and nudged him with his shoulder. "It's a lovely plan, Ripper, but we can't. Not now and not here. When this is all done and we're back in the 'Dale, we'll go out to the truckstop by the freeway and have a spree."

Giles finally sighed deeply and turned away. "We'll have to eat it cold. It's disgusting cold."

"I've got some whiskey to wash it down with."

The family with the mini-van climbed back into their vehicle and drove away, unaware of the predators that watched them leave.

The waitress in the diner, Brenda Ann, had an accent straight from the hills of Arkansas. Tara stared at her as she talked and pouted when she was gone. Everyone else was too tired to do more than eat and blink, though Xander blinked faster the more coffee he drank. They ate quickly, and Brenda Ann brought a lollipop for Tara when she brought the bill.

"We should get some stuff for the road," Buffy said after she paid the bill with her mother's credit card. "I don't know if there are going to be any stores where we're going."

"Road trip food, yeah," Xander said, bouncing slightly.

"And water and such." Buffy frowned. "I wish he'd told us we were headed into the wilderness."

Joyce maneuvered her way past a rotating rack of postcards. "Do we know where we're going yet?"

"Nope." Buffy spotted Giles in the general store portion of the business looking at maps. "Time we found out."

Giles glanced at his watch when he saw the others approaching. "That was quick."

"You said we were in a hurry," Buffy said. "So, maps."

"Yes, maps. Xander, how are you at map reading?"

Xander shrugged. "I was never a boy scout, but I've never gotten lost."

Buffy left the two of them going over the route and went to peruse groceries. Anya, apparently well conversant in Xander's tastes, was loading up on crunchy carb-laden things and power drinks. Joyce was tsking over prices but handing Dawn cartons of juice and milk.

"Not much in the way of solids," Buffy observed.

Joyce nodded to the other end of the cooler. "Did you see the price on the lunch meat? Tourist prices."

"Beggers and choosers, Mom. I don't think parking the bus at a grocery store is a good idea."

"Make Giles pay for it," Dawn said, balancing cartons. "He's dragging us out to the back of beyond." She lost control of a container of orange juice, but Spike appeared at her shoulder and caught the carton.

"Hand them over," he said, and Dawn gratefully passed over her awkward load.

"Do you know where we're going?" Joyce asked.

"Not a clue, love. I'm just hoping for buildings. I am not the wilderness sort."

"City boy," Dawn teased.

Buffy moved away, unsettled by how easy her mother and Dawn were with Spike. A pit bull on a leash was still a pit bull. Still, it was kind of nice to have a pit bull you could depend on to savage people you didn't like.

"How soon will we be ready?" Giles asked. Xander wandered over to Anya, still perusing the map.

Joyce pointed Dawn towards some packages of lunch meat. "I'm ready. Buffy, grab some of that water, please."

Buffy hefted one of the cases of bottled water. "I see all your shopping instincts are still in order."

The clerk at the counter was so delighted at the big order that she didn't even frown as Tara ran the fingers of her good hand through the windchimes hanging nearby. Willow untangled her fingers gently from a fragile ceramic chime. "When we get home, we'll get some to put in the window, ok?" Tara smiled and put her head on Willow's shoulder. Willow saw Buffy watching with a sad look, and she put on her resolve face. Buffy smiled and turned away to help carry groceries out to the bus.

Xander got behind the wheel and practiced maneuvering the bus around the parking lot, then over to the gas pumps to fill the tank. The rest wandered around the lot, taking a last opportunity to move around before continuing their journey. Spike strolled over to Dawn, pulled a package of batteries out of his coat pocket, and handed it to her. "Here. I ran down the ones in your CD player. Since when do you listen to The Clash?"

She palmed the batteries casually and tucked them into her own pocket. "Since I stole that CD from you. You think I'd pay money for that stuff?"

Spike snorted his amusement as he lit up a cigarette. Dawn glanced around to make sure no one was in easy eavesdropping range. "I was, um, watching you and Giles through the window while we were eating. The two of you seemed, well, close."

He studied her through the smoke. "What do you mean?"

Her blush would have lit up a room. "Well, what I mean is, you and him--he and you--are--have been . . . dammit, I'm a woman of the 21st century, I can deal."

He was half-curious as to how deep a flustered hole she could dig herself into but decided to spare her. "Niblet, you want to get past this point and say something that makes sense? And the answer is yes. Why?"

"Would you have killed him that night in the front yard?"

"I'd have put him down like a mad dog, Niblet."

"Even though the two of you are . . ."

"Yep." He couldn't help smiling at her inability to say the words. Not that he intended on giving her details about his sex life.

"That's--weird."

"The shagging, that's just what vampires do to pass the time. That and fight. But the Glory thing, that's business. Ripper knows how he thinks it should go, and he knows I disagree. I'm going to stop any plan that involves you getting hurt. Make no mistake, Niblet, he'd have killed me if it came to it that night at your house. I'd have killed him if there was no other way. Just business."

"Just to keep me from getting hurt? Why?"

"Don't be dim."

She looked down to hide her grin as she fingered the stolen batteries he'd given her.

As he piloted the big vehicle down the highway, Xander wondered if he needed a commercial driver's license to drive the bus if it wasn't being used as a commercial vehicle. Well, if the cops pulled him over to check his license, they'd have bigger problems with explaining the blacked out windows, the girl with the broken hand and the inability to form coherent sentences, and the obviously sick woman who should be home in her own bed. Plus the guys under the seats in the back. Maybe he could explain it as a field trip for an institution for the chronically weird.

Maybe Willow could do a Cops-Be-Gone spell or something.

The vampires hadn't gone into hiding just yet. Spike was lounging in the seat behind Dawn, arguing quietly with her over who caused what scratch on a CD. Giles perched nervously in one of the seats back in the blacked-out section, watching the lightening sky. Buffy went to sit in front of him.

"I think I speak for everyone here when I ask, Where are we going? Can we know now?"

He nodded distractedly. "Yes, certainly. We'll be taking some side roads before we reach the park itself. That will take us into the mountains, to a convent of St. Eugene."

Anya turned from her position in the seat behind Xander. "There are Eugenians in America? Since when?"

"Early 1800s, I believe. Their early records are spotty."

Joyce frowned. "I've never heard of a St. Eugene who had a monastic order."

"That's because he was a demon," Anya explained. "His followers mostly stay in the Pyrenees in Europe. I thought there was only the one monastery in France."

Giles shrugged. "I heard of them from a Brachen demon who came into the Magic Box late one night last summer. The convent is apparently a sanctuary for, well, esoteric folks of all species. It's become something of a waystation for creatures who mean no harm who are traveling through this area."

"Out here in the boonies?" Buffy asked. "I'd think they'd be more comfortable in cities."

"In LA and San Francisco they can hide from people, but the smaller cities are more difficult. Plus the Hellmouth discourages them from coming closer to the coast."

Spike looked suspicious. "Eugenians don't much like vampires. You think they'll let us in?"

Giles studied the back of the seat in front of him. "I visited them once or twice, before . . . I'm hoping they'll make an exception. If nothing else, if we cause no trouble they shouldn't object to us."

Xander snorted. "Trouble, like being chased by a hellgod?"

"I'm hoping the sanctuary aspect of the place will be more than just tradition. Aside from that, there is the problem of finding us." His frown became more pronounced. "It's quite late."

Spike glanced out the windshield.. The sky over the mountains ahead of them was definitely pink, tending towards sunny. "Right. Been lovely chatting, folks, Ripper and I are getting under cover now." He got out of his seat and headed into the back. Giles followed, and they slid under the seats to either side of the aisle. Four minutes later, the edge of the sun appeared through a gap in the mountains, sending sunlight into the bus.

Even in the darkness under the seats, Giles winced in pain at the increased brightness. Spike glanced at him, then slithered out of his duster. "Here." He tossed it over.

Giles made no pretense about pulling the duster over his head. He peered out under the edge. "This is bloody unfair. You're only under here to keep me company, aren't you."

Spike shrugged. "Till the sun gets a little higher, no telling how the direct light is going to come in. I'm under here for a bit yet." He managed not to snicker too loudly on the look on Giles' face. "Look, Ripper, I've been a vampire for a century and a quarter. You're not even three months' turned. Fledgling mortality rates are high for a reason."

"It's still unfair."

"Kids." Spike lost his grin. "I wish you'd told me it was the Eugenians we were headed for. Does this place have much contact with the mother house in France?"

"Occasional letters back and forth. Why?"

Spike studied the bottom of the seat above him. Several decades of hardened gum dotted the metal. "You know how Angelus was about convents and such. We spent a few months in France once, and we toured the Pyrenees so himself could make a religious pilgrimage of sorts."

"Angelus attacked the monastery of St. Eugene? When?"

"Before he got souled, of course. But we had a great deal of fun there one night, before one of their sorcerers drove us off. We didn't make a point of introducing ourselves--well, the poof did, but his ego was always bigger than his brain--but we might not want to say the words William the Bloody around our hosts."

"Lovely," Giles sighed. "Damn, this made a great deal more sense when I thought of it. At least we're moving. And there's less than twenty-four hours to go. If we can just make it past dawn tomorrow ..."

"Yeah. Just." *

Glory placed her foot carefully on the ledge around her big bathtub to avoid the blood spatters. Gosh, but who would have thought a skinny pizza delivery guy would gush so much when he got his throat cut? Still, nearly all the blood landed in the tub and not on the walls. The spots on the floor would come off easily enough. She'd have to remember to have tile installed when she got home.

"Wave harder," she told Dreg, who stood next to her with a bundle of burning herbs. "I need to get a clear picture." She peered down into the pool of blood.

"You do remember that you're blocked from scrying out the Key yourself, don't you, your lusciousness?"

"Duh, I know the rules. But I bet I can find the Slayer, and where the Slayer is, the Key will be."

Images formed in the blood, but they were blurry. Wheels turning, a highway, but when Glory tried to focus on details, they faded off into a red mist.

"Stupid wimpy blood." She petulantly stabbed the body a few times with her ornate dagger. "Dreg, go get somebody else. That annoying woman across the hall with her yappy dog."

Dreg peered into the tub. "It hasn't clotted yet, most holy. Perhaps they're shielded from scrying."

"Maybe. I'll try for Gregor and his band of merry men." She ran the tip of the dagger through the still-liquid blood, clearing the images. "Come on, Greggy, show me that tattooed face."

The image appeared with depth and clarity, a man in armor surrounded by Knights of Byzantium. The man was studying a map as someone wearing a monk's robe instead of the typical armor pointed to a spot.

Glory reached down to push on the body in the tub, forcing out more blood. "Give me sound, fella, just a bit more."

The voice faded in. ". . . our scryers cannot see the Key itself, General, but they have shown that the Slayer and her entourage will be at this location at dawn tomorrow. That puts the Key far away from where the Beast needs it. The gate cannot be opened, and the world will be safe."

The general threw the map at an underling. "Our order does not exist to play hide and seek with the Beast, Brother Maynard. Our order exists to destroy the Key. When I asked you and the clerics three days ago to scrye the future so that we could pinpoint the Key's location at the crucial hour, it was not to check to see if the Slayer had tucked it away somewhere safe. It was so we could find it and destroy it. We have not traveled this long since then not to finish our holy mission. Tell the troops to saddle up, we must reach this convent of St. Eugene before tomorrow's dawn."

Glory leaned back and beamed in delight. "I love guys who give speeches. So, where's this convent?"

Dreg looked at the other minions, who all shook their heads. "I don't know, most glorious of gods."

"Hmph." She leaned down to poke the corpse again, but no more blood came out. "Go get Mrs. Hooper across the hall. Bring her dog, too. I've got a convent to find."

Anya proved an efficient navigator. The first side road off the highway passed a few farms and ranches. Dawn kept her nose plastered to the window, watching for horses; Willow distracted Tara by pointing out new lambs.

Buffy settled into Xander's old seat, careful not to trip over the duffle bag underneath. She leaned against the window and stared out at the scenery. A tractor pulled some piece of arcane farm machinery through a field as the driver waved at the passing bus. Vampires liked cities, Buffy mused. It must be nice to live where the night was full of cricket noises and frogs instead of screams and death.

She was thinking of the fireflies at her aunt's house as she drifted to sleep.

The jerk of the bus coming to a stop woke her. There were trees outside the window, and the sun was much higher. "What's wrong?"

Joyce grinned back over her shoulder. "Good morning, sleepy head. Bathroom break."

"Oh. Yeah. Good idea." Her bladder was awake and agreeing with the plan. She looked outside again. They were on a dirt road now, surrounded by forest instead of farms. "So. Bushes. Who remembers what poison ivy looks like?"

Dawn raised her hand. "I do! Campfire Girls!" She went still. "Or, you know, I . . ."

"I don't care how you know," Anya said. "So long as you know."

Xander pulled open the door. "So, ladies to the right, gentlemen to the left?" He and Anya left the bus.

Buffy started to follow, then went to the back. "Guys?"

Spike poked his head out from under the seat--on the opposite side from where Buffy remembered him bunking out at dawn. He raised his scarred eyebrow at her when she looked perplexed from one side of the bus to the other. "What?"

She gestured vaguely over her shoulder. "The rest of us--nature calls. Stretching our legs and--stuff. We won't be gone long."

Spike gave a smile that was more than a little pleased. "Thanks for telling us. We can go through everybody's bags now without being caught."

Buffy craned her neck, trying to locate Giles, checking under the seats on the other side of the aisle in case he and Spike had switched places.

"He's asleep," Spike said, almost moving to get in her way.

"What, and he has nightmares if he's all alone?"

He shrugged. "Didn't want him getting knocked around and out into the light, the way Harris does his kamikaze routine on these roads."

"Right." She studied him for a few moments, then straightened. "Be back in a bit."

"Right." Spike disappeared under the seats again.

In every lecture she'd ever heard, protectiveness was not high on the list of vampiric qualities. Just as well, or there'd be solicitous sires waiting over every fledgling's grave, making her job all the harder. So was it just a Spikey thing, that he stayed close to Giles, looking after him? Maybe it was part of what kept Spike with Dru all those years, maybe he just liked having someone to look after. Whatever it was, she was an idiot for ever allowing herself to think "that's kind of sweet" on the subject.

Business in the bushes was conducted quickly. Several napkins and tissues from Joyce's purse prevented the need for leaves and the identification of possible poison ivy.

"Boy," Willow said, "I hope we have a mom with us every time we're on the run." Tara tugged on her arm, pointing to several flowers on a nearby bush. "Yeah, those are pretty. Buffy, can we walk around a little? She might be a little less restless if we do."

"Probably not a bad idea. I'll go find Xander."

She found Xander checking the bus' tires and radiator. "How's it look, road warrior?"

"Tires are good, the thing seems to be holding up well." The look on his face contradicted his easy tone of voice. He glanced at the bus, then gestured for Buffy to follow him.

A couple of hundred feet down the road, around a curve that hid the bus, Xander stopped.

"How good is vampire hearing?" he asked. "Can they hear us here?"

Buffy glanced back down the road. "I don't think so. Not unless they were really trying. What don't you want them to hear?"

Xander stared at the tread patterns his boots made in the dirt surface of the road as he shuffled his feet. "The chip's out."

She almost said "what?", but all her breath had been knocked out. "When?" she whispered.

"Probably not too much after Giles got turned, I think."

"But--that's been weeks! He always swore--are you sure?"

Xander's smile was twisted. "Oh, yeah. I'm sure."

"What did he do?"

"I caught him playing with one of those Knights of Byzantium one night on patrol. We . . . chatted. I haven't told you before now because he threatened to go after Willow if I did."

"Why didn't he just kill you--no offense," she added quickly.

"None taken. And he said it was because we couldn't afford any distractions with Glory still around."

Buffy stared at the trees around them. At least this explained the odd feeling she'd gotten from Spike the last few weeks. He no longer held himself like a vampire who had to scrounge his food second-hand, who feared his natural prey instead of hunting them. The barely restrained rage and frustration had been replaced with a master predator's swagger and confidence.

Other realizations hit. "He's been in my house! He's visited my mom, he's been wandering around smirking at us and thinking about food."

Xander nodded. "He'd be starting on the buffet except for Glory."

"I trusted him to look after Mom and Dawn, and he's William the Bloody again, without the leash." She paused. "I trusted him."

Xander frowned. "Vampire without a chip, Buffy. Sworn lots of times to shishkebob our internal organs while we're still watching. You can't trust him."

"Except I did. If it was just about Glory, he wouldn't have stopped Giles hurting Dawn. He promised to look after Mom and Dawn."

"Only because he's trying to stay on your good side."

"And that's why he let Glory dig a hole in his skull?"

"It's just that we have the same enemy right now. Buffy, he's back. The Spike that blew into town, took over, wreaked havoc--"

Buffy grinned just a little. "Had his butt kicked multiple times by me . . ."

"Who's been killing for weeks now and laughing at us while we think he's still harmless . . ."

She nodded and stared at the dirt for several moments. "We still need his and Giles' help with this."

"Do we? I know where we're going, we know the plan is to just avoid Glory until dawn tomorrow. We've got them trapped in a contained location, we won't get a chance like this again."

He could be so ruthless, sometimes. So practical. Buffy remembered the hyena thing, and the moment she'd looked into Xander's eyes and seen the predator. The pack defender that still lived in her friend had seen a threat to his group and was calmly planning the destruction of that threat. And she couldn't deny he was right in his way.

"Not until we finish Glory," she finally said. "I can't risk losing allies when we're this close to finishing this. The two of them, their knowledge and their strength, they might make the difference."

Xander nodded in resignation. "And after?"

"Is after."

He lowered his voice, abruptly diffident. "If you don't want to deal with Giles, I could . . ."

She hoped her look of fond disbelief wasn't too offensive to a male ego. "I think it would be kind of hard to sneak up on a vampire who used to be a Watcher with a stake."

"Which is why I'd cheat. Crossbow, grenade--rocket launchers are always in fashion."

"And what about Spike? What would you do about him?" She frowned at the quick look of fear and dismay that went across his face.

"I would cheat harder," he said firmly. "Very much harder."

Buffy hugged him briefly. "We'll deal with that when we have to. Not now. We should get going." She took his arm and led the way back towards the bus. "How much farther?"

"Another thirty miles, maybe. I don't know how bad the roads will get or how hard it'll be to find them. But not much longer."

They came around the curve of the road to find everyone but Willow and Tara back on the bus. Tara was crouched down drawing in the dry dirt of the road.

Xander put a hand on Buffy's arm. "He was serious about going after Willow. Please be careful."

"I won't let him know I know. Though I'm not sure how," she added truthfully. "Hey, Will. What did she find?"

Willow blew an escaping strand of hair way from her nose. "Rocks. But she recognizes poison ivy and knows it's bad, so that's good." She crouched down next to Tara. "Come on, baby, time to get on the bus. Time to go."

Tara handed her a pebble. "The meadow blue water. Bright darkness and red." She straightened, then looked at Buffy. "Seeing and red. Not long now." She tugged on Willow's hand, pulling her towards the bus.

"Does that mean something?" Buffy asked Willow.

Willow shrugged. "I don't have the faintest idea. I'm coming, sweetie."

Buffy looked at Xander, who shrugged in turn. He gestured for her to precede him up the steps. "After you, m'lady. And tell Dawn if she suggests singing 'Hundred Bottles of Beer on the Wall' again, I might hand her over to Glory myself."

"I think I'd help." They shared one more concerned look, then reboarded the bus.

The last road to the convent was marked at the turnoff with a weathered wooden shrine shielding a statue of a figure in a hooded monk's robe holding a chalice. Anya hopped off the bus to investigate.

"It's St. Eugene all right," she called. "You can just make out the extra set of arms."

She climbed back on, and Xander put the bus in gear.

The new road was rough and narrow, forcing them to go slow. "Did anyone notice if this thing has a spare tire?" Xander asked as he nursed the bus across a wash-out filled with large rocks.

"Yes," came an English voice from the back.

"And a jack?"

There was silence from the back, and Anya shrugged. "If we wait till after dark, two vampires would make a good jack."

Xander laughed. "Vampires, no toolbox should be without one."

They opened several windows to let fresh, outdoorsy air in. Buffy leaned out for a better view of the passing trees and the mountains beyond.

"Mr. Bus Driver!" Willow yelled. "Buffy's sticking her head out the window!"

Buffy turned and glared. "Mom, Willow's a tattle-tale." She stuck her tongue out at Willow.

Willow pouted. "Buffy's being mean!"

Xander scowled into the driver's mirror. "If you kids don't settle down back there, I'm going to pull this bus over and make you all walk."

Dawn grinned. "Somebody's letting the power go to his head."

Joyce tried to look stern. "Buffy, don't be mean to Willow. Willow, no one likes a tattle-tale. Play nice, both of you."

The two put on their best innocent faces until she turned away, then they both stuck their tongues out at each other at the exact same moment, causing identical giggles. Tara gently touched the corner of Willow's smile, making Willow turn and hug her.

Buffy watched a moment, thinking only how nice they looked together, then she turned back to the scenery outside the window. The air was cool, smelling the way those pine-scented cleaners wanted you to think was outdoorsy. When she'd first arrived in Sunnydale, she'd thought that was clean air, especially after Los Angeles. At night in the cemeteries, away from the streets, she'd been able to smell the grass and the trees, but even then there was the underlay of the town- -and the death and the blood and the dust. It was surprising how long it took her to learn to hold her breath when a vampire went poof.

Another deep breath of the forest air dispelled that thought. Sunlight. She didn't get out in the sunlight enough anymore. And, boy, was it nice to look at something other than buildings and tombstones and monsters. There was even still snow on those mountains in the distance. When was the last time she'd been in snow? Oh. Yes. She blinked fast, dispelling more thoughts and memories, of a slow walk through a miraculous dawn, of cool fingers entwined with hers, of a tall figure that, despite all sense, made her feel safe.

Cool, clean air, smelling of trees, the sound of tires crunching over the dirt and rocks, snowy mountains in the distance--an armored figure on horseback a hundred yards away, watching the bus go by.

"Hey!"

Xander hit the brakes. "What!"

"No! Keep going, keep going!" Buffy ran to the back windows of the bus, which had not been painted over. "It's one of those Knights of Byzantium guys! He's out there, watching!"

"Here?" Giles said from under the seats. "That's impossible! They couldn't possibly have followed us, not if they're on horseback!"

Spike scrambled out from cover and went to the back window, shielding his face as well as he could. "Where?"

Buffy pointed. "Back there, by that big dead tree."

Spike squinted to see. "Can spot a mouse at a hundred yards in the dark," he muttered, "damned light makes it hard. Yeah, there he is. He's riding off. Do you see any others, pet?"

Buffy scanned the landscape. "I don't see anything. What was he doing?"

"Might have been a scout. But how the hell they could have found us--" A jarring pothole knocked him off balance. He caught himself against the window, then yanked his hand back, swearing.

"Are you all right?" Buffy asked.

"Yeah, yeah." He shook his hand, which was smoking just a little, then put a couple of fingers in his mouth. "Where the hell did the bastard go," he muttered, peering out the window.

Buffy stared at him. Would the old Spike, the pre-chip Spike, have dismissed a brush with sunlight so simply? Would that Spike have come on such a dangerous trip? But that Spike had come to her, his mortal enemy, in the first place to propose an alliance against Angelus.

A wise Slayer, one who had read and learned the handbook, would slip out that stake that was nestled in her sleeve and slam it into the back of the vampire who was paying more attention to what was outside the windows than to anything else, especially the Slayer at his back. It was a little insulting, being that dismissed Slayer. Sure, she wasn't supposed to know he was fully back in the game, but he didn't have to make such a point of the fact that he trusted her . . .

He looked over his shoulder and caught her watching him. He started to smirk, but it faded. "What?"

"Manchester United and dog racing, right? That's why you're here?"

He met her eyes easily. "No. You know why I'm here." He looked at her a moment longer, then headed back up the aisle. "It was one of those Knights all right, Ripper. How could they have tracked us?"

With much rustling and muttering, Giles sat up between the seats, wincing slightly at the brighter light. "They do have magical resources, but they're determinedly anti-technology. They couldn't possibly have kept up with us, even if they had known where we were going. And I only thought of it--" He glanced at his watch "--a bit over twelve hours ago."

Willow turned over the back of her seat to join the conversation. "There's divination, scrying. They might have read the future."

Giles frowned. "True divination requires a great deal of power."

"Could you have done it?" Buffy asked Willow, who thought a moment, then shrugged.

"Does it matter how they did it?" Spike said. "They're here, they're onto us. What do we do?"

Xander had been splitting his attention between the road and the debate. "Mark this down as a sure sign of apocalypse, but I agree with bleach-for-brains. What do we do?"

"How much farther?" Giles asked.

"According to the directions you gave me, another three miles."

Giles looked at Buffy. "I say we keep going. The place has walls, and the Knights may respect its sanctuary."

She shrugged. "I don't have any other ideas. We keep going, Xander." He nodded and put all his attention back on the road.

Willow frowned at Giles. "If this is holy ground, won't you and Spike have trouble?"

"I don't think so. It might be uncomfortable in their chapel, what with the crucifix and such, but the grounds themselves should be safe." He glanced at Spike for confirmation.

"Never stopped me," Spike said. "And the poof quite enjoyed strolling convent grounds. He'd challenge me to see if I could get as close the altar as he could." He remembered his audience. "Though that's probably not something that we want to discuss where we're going."

"No," Buffy agreed. "Probably not." She went back up to sit behind Dawn and her mother.

The sound of bells led the wandering Scoobies around the last curve in the road. A small valley opened up, with fields of crops filling most of the space and an old Spanish mission occupying the rocky area at the head of the valley. An olive grove shaded the buildings.

"Oh, this is pretty," Joyce said, looking out. "How peaceful."

Buffy grimaced. "I bet they're really going to appreciate us showing up."

Spike squinted through the painted windows at the people in the fields. "Not all of those are human."

Giles craned his head up as far as he could while staying out of the sun. "The last time I was here, a family of Minoto was here, waiting for word on relatives in San Francisco."

"Minoto? Scaley sorts with stubby tails? That could be what's out there, but they're all wearing hooded robes."

"Minoto don't like the sun."

"Fascinating as this National Geographic special is," Xander called from the driver's seat, "what do we do? Just drive up to the front gate and say hi?"

"Essentially," Giles answered. "Be careful of the chickens. Buffy, the Mother Superior is called Sister Agnes Gabriel. She knows--knew me, she would be the one to talk to."

Buffy sighed. "How much do I tell her?"

"Everything. With the Knights so close, we don't dare put the convent in danger without warning them."

Xander drove carefully through the old wooden gates, watching for livestock trying to throw themselves under the wheels. The adobe walls surrounding the courtyard were bright with whitewash, and the gates themselves, while old, were in good repair. Directly across the courtyard were the open doors of the chapel, heavily carved in the original mission style but also well tended.

There didn't seem to be a parking area, so Xander just stopped the bus in the middle of the courtyard. A group of nuns gathered at tables in the shade under a grape arbor at one end of the courtyard got to their feet, staring. One of them came forward.

"Buffy, you're on," Xander said, opening the door.

With a deep breath, Buffy got out of the bus, trying to avoid the chickens now regathering around the wheels. She didn't have a lot of experience with nuns and wasn't sure if she was supposed to kiss a ring or anything.

The woman coming towards her had a dark weathered face under the wimple that covered her head. It seemed like a nice face, except for the surprise and confusion there now.

Buffy put on her best smile. "Hi, I'm looking for Sister Agnes Gabriel."

"I am her," the nun said.

"Hi. I'm Buffy Summers. Rupert Giles said you might be able to help us."

A little more friendliness appeared on the sister's face, along with a little more suspicion. "You know Rupert Giles?"

"Uh huh. Known him for years now."

Sister Agnes looked at the bus. "Is he with you?"

"Yes, he is, and that's kind of a long story."

As she tried to think of a place to start that would explain the situation without alienating the woman, Sister Agnes looked at her closely. "You're the Slayer," she said softly.

"You know about that? Oh, of course you would, Giles said this place was a sanctuary for demons, so you probably know about all sorts of weird stuff. "

Sister Agnes smiled and touched Buffy's cheek. "Calm, nina. Tell me why you're here."

Buffy took a deep breath, held it for a moment, then began to talk, never taking her eyes from the nun's face. Sister Agnes frowned at mention of Glory, then again at the explanation for Dawn's presence, both in the world and at the convent.

"If we can just stay out of her way until after sunrise tomorrow," Buffy said, "then the world's safe, and we can work out the rest of what to do about Glory. But we've also got these Knight guys after us, and I think they followed us here, and we're very sorry about that."

Sister Agnes thought for several moments. "Where is Mr. Giles?"

Buffy remembered Spike saying that the Eugenians didn't like vampires. Well, technically speaking, neither did she, what with the job title and all. She thought of trying to talk her way around the inconvenient truth, but Giles himself had recommended being straightforward. And she really hated the idea of lying to this nice lady who didn't look at her like she was crazy or bad or a freak.

"There's kind of a problem with Giles. If he comes out into the sun, he'll go poof. And we kind of need him unpoofed."

Sister Agnes crossed herself. "He's--he's a--a vampire?"

"Yeah. And we have another one with us, too."

"Two vampires? But--you're the Vampire Slayer."

"Like I said, it's part of a long story. Look, if you don't want us here, we'll more than understand. Being around us right now isn't the safest thing, and I don't like dragging innocent people into this. But we need a place to hide until after dawn tomorrow. Do you know of someplace, hopefully close by?"

The nun studied her. "You're exhausted, child. How long have you been up?"

"Everybody keeps harping on how I need to sleep. I got some sleep on the bus, I'm fine."

"Of course," Sister Agnes smiled. "How many of you are there?"

Buffy started ticking off fingers. "Me, my mom and Dawn, Xander and Anya, Willow and Tara, Spike and Giles. Nine of us. Too many, I know."

Sister Agnes patted her shoulder. "We have lots of room. Lots of beds, if anyone wants to get some rest. You said your mother and one of the girls were ill?"

"Well, Mom's doing a lot better, and Tara's not too bad, except for her hand and her mind--and you're going to let us stay?"

"No one who has asked for sanctuary has ever been turned away."

Buffy hadn't known how tired she was until she finally had a reason to relax. She wobbled, but Sister Agnes pulled her into a hug before she could do anything so unSlayer-like as fall over. Buffy hugged her back, grateful for the thick cloth of the nun's habit, which absorbed tears before anyone had to notice them.

The nuns were kindness itself as they helped their visitors get settled. Spike and Giles stayed on the bus, of course, but everyone else was grateful to get off. Tara clung to Willow's hand but accepted being led to the lodgings. The nuns themselves occupied the second floor of the building; several guest rooms of varying sizes were on the ground floor.

"We have a family staying with us," explained Sister Elizabeth, who was in charge of housing. "They're staying in the first room on the left. We have two more big rooms, you can divide them up as you wish. The wash room is at the end of the hall." She bustled off, leaving them to it.

Willow shrugged. "Guys on one side, girls on the other?" She frowned at Xander. "Except that puts you in with Spike and Giles. Maybe not."

"No, maybe not," Xander agreed. "I can sleep on the bus or something. Summerses on one side, everybody else on the other? Always assuming that our breath-challenged comrades intend to do anything so mundane as sleep tonight."

Joyce looked at Buffy. "How long are we going to be here?"

"I don't know. Till sometime tomorrow, at least. Xander, do you mind not having a real room?"

He tugged on an invisible hat. "De nada, senorita. I'll just curl up in my serape in some corner of the courtyard."

Dawn laughed. "With the chickens?"

"OK, so maybe Clint Eastwood never had to deal with chickens in 'Hang 'Em High' or anything. It's still a perfectly good metaphor. Like I said, there's always the bus. So, Summers women in one room, witches and Anya in the other?"

No one quibbled, though a couple of glances went to Anya. "What?" she said. "I'm going to be wherever Xander is. Keep the vampires away from him."

"I don't think they're going to try anything, Anya," Buffy said.

"Well, no, not trying to bite him or anything. But if they get bored with each other, I don't want them seeing Xander off by himself."

Dawn was the only one who snickered. Various degrees of thoughtfulness and/or dismay went across the other faces.

Xander shook himself hard. "So not an image I ever wanted anywhere near my brain. But--wherever I curl up, Anya, you're more than welcome to curl up with me."

Anya smiled. "And if we want to have sex, we can throw Willow and Tara out of their room."

"Sure," Willow said brightly. "No problem."

Xander turned to Buffy. "We need to unpack the bus, right?"

"Right."

Buffy didn't head for the bus, though, once they were outside. She stood in the courtyard and looked around. "Do you mind coming with me while I look around?"

"Not at all."

They walked past the bus towards the gate. From inside they heard Giles' voice: "I already captured your King's Bishop, you can't use it to put me in check!"

"No, you didn't, that was my Queen's Bishop," Spike countered. "You just can't remember which pieces you're imagining."

"I'm not the one cheating at visualized chess, you are!"

Spike laughed. "And you sound so damned shocked, too. Fledges, they're so gullible."

Xander managed not to laugh until he and Buffy were out of the front gate. "Cheating at chess, that's evil. So, we're scouting the terrain, huh?"

"Pretty much." Buffy looked out over the valley. "This is beautiful. Only the one road, right?"

"I think so. There might be some trails behind the convent."

They walked around the walls. The olive grove sheltered a small graveyard, with weathered wooden crosses.

"Kind of a nice place to end up," Xander mused, looking at the trees and at the mountains beyond. The leaves rustled in the slight breeze, and a bird chirped on the far side of the grove. "Could do a lot worse for yourself."

Something of a professional judge of cemeteries, Buffy looked the area over. "This has been here a long time. And it doesn't look like anything has ever disturbed them."

"That's the way it is in most of the world, Buff. The dead sleep quiet." A sudden rustle came from behind a tree. "Or not."

Buffy pointed out an ancient olive tree a few yards away. "Over there."

They crept towards the tree. The edge of something moving peeked out from around the trunk. Just as they started to look around, a figure jumped out and growled at them. A small, grey- scaled figure with a stubby tail, two arms and legs, and a faintly dinosaur-ish head. With sharp teeth, that were bared in a fearsome snarl as clawed hands waved at them.

Buffy and Xander jumped back, reaching for weapons they hadn't thought they'd need.

The creature froze, then began to hiss quickly, bouncing a little.

Buffy blinked. "Is he--he's laughing at us!"

Xander cocked his head, then put his hands up, fingers curled into claws, and growled back. The creature jumped, then ran away squeaking.

"Xander, you scared him! Meany!" She punched him in the arm.

"Ow! Well, he tried to scare us. Or she, or it."

"No, I think he was a him. At least, I think those were little him parts I saw, since he wasn't wearing anything." She saw the way Xander was looking at her, as if deeply interested in her observational habits of the genders of demons, and she smacked him again. "Come on."

"Ow. Slayer bully."

There were trails in the rocks behind the convent, but anything less nimble than a goat or a deer would kill itself trying to navigate them. The wall continued unbroken around the entire convent, with a barn on one side with two placid cows and a sleeping horse. The only windows were small and high up on the wall.

"The place was designed defensively, I'll say that for it," Xander said, knocking on the rock-hard adobe.

"I thought you didn't remember any of that soldier stuff anymore."

He shrugged. "I don't have the instincts, really, but a lot of the theory is still there. And I do read things other than comic books, sometimes. Giles hooked me up with this Sun Tzu guy, fascinating stuff. I wonder if there's a way to get up on top of the walls."

Buffy grinned as she followed him into the courtyard. It was always fun--and maybe more than a little intriguing--watching Xander being Competent Guy.

Wooden stairs led up to a walkway near the top of the front wall. The parapet came up to Xander's waist, and he crouched down to peer over thoughtfully. He stood up, nodding. "I can work with this." He saw the way Buffy was smiling at him. "What?"

"Nothing. It's just--you're cute when you're being all smart and capable and stuff."

"Well, better too late than not at all, I guess. Anything else you want to take a look at?"

She blinked, feeling just a little put down. "Uh, the church, I guess. Might as well be thorough." He gestured for her to lead the way.

As they crossed the courtyard, they saw movement in the shadows of the doorway. Buffy put a hand on Xander's arm. "It's the little guy from the graveyard. Don't scare him."

"OK, but if he eats your face, don't blame me."

Buffy walked slowly towards the doorway, waiting for the little demon to stick his head out again. One big green eye in a scaley head peeked around. She immediately crouched down. "Hi, there, little guy. We won't hurt you." She reached a hand out. The creature eased his whole head out of hiding, watching her. "Yeah, hi. Do you understand me?"

Xander shook his head. "I saw 'Jurassic Park,' it's always the cute little ones. He's gonna eat you."

"Hush, you. Never mind him, little guy, he's a big meany." She started to straighten, and the creature squeaked and ducked back inside. "Oh, hey, wait, I'm sorry."

"Meany," Xander said.

With a rustle of long skirts, Sister Agnes came to the doorway, the little creature hiding behind a fold of cloth he clutched to himself. "What scary people did you see, Baynar--oh, silly boy. These are friends, they aren't going to hurt you." She picked up the scared little demon and carried him out. "This is Buffy and this is Xander."

"I'm sorry we scared him," Buffy said. "Baynar is his name?"

"Yes, it is." Sister Agnes patted Baynar's back as he hid his face in her shoulder. "He's a Minoto. He's here with some of his clan. He doesn't speak very good English, and he hasn't seen any humans except the sisters and me. It's all right, Baynar, they're not going to hurt you. Buffy, Xander, come a little closer, let him smell you."

Buffy went up first, speaking quietly and holding out her hand. Baynar looked around suspiciously, then stuck his head out and sniffed at her hand. He cringed back a little when she reached up to touch him, but he didn't hide. Buffy grinned, then stuck her tongue out at Xander. "He likes me."

Xander sneered back. "Girls always smell nice. It's just a trick to make men turn their backs on you." He turned to Baynar. "Hey, little dude. Don't bite, OK?" He held up his hand, fingers tucked away in the best approaching-a-wary-dog procedure. Baynar sniffed, then looked suspiciously at Xander. He growled quietly. Xander grrr-ed back. Baynar blinked, cocked his head, then growled again, adding a little claw swipe. Fighting a grin, Xander growled right back. Baynar hissed and bounced a little, then gave a bigger growl. Xander waved both hands at him, fingers clawed. Baynar hissed some more.

"Uh, Xander?" Buffy asked. "What are you doing?"

"You just stay out of this. We're monstering. Gonna prove who's scarier, him or me." Baynar gave a really good growl, showing teeth. Xander pretended to cringe, then growled back. Baynar nearly bounced himself out of Sister Agnes' arms.

Buffy shook her head at the nun. "It must be a guy thing."

"I think so." Chuckling, Sister Agnes put Baynar down. "Go find your mother, nino. She'll need help putting the tools away." The little demon ran for the gate, but not before growling one more time at Xander.

Buffy nudged him. "Don't let Anya catch you being good with kids. It'll make her start thinking things again."

He just gave her an enigmatic little smile and headed into the church. Buffy started to demand an explanation, but respect for the premises kept her to a little huff of frustration.

Two small windows and a modest bank of candles provided the only light in the church. Xander and Buffy stood for a moment, letting their eyes adjust. Sunbeams from the windows fell on the crucifix above the altar at the far end of the room. In front of the altar stood Joyce, leaning on her walker as she gazed up at the carved figure.

Buffy moved forward. "Mom? I thought you'd be resting."

Joyce shook her head absently. "Too stiff, I needed to move around. Isn't it beautiful? Most of the paint and gilding have faded, but it's a gorgeous piece of work. I think it must have been carved in Spain. It might even be the original."

Buffy looked only briefly at the agonized face of the tortured Christ. "It's very--realistic." She saw movement from the corner of her eye and glanced over to see Xander bowing a knee briefly and crossing himself. He looked a little sheepish but more challenging when he saw her watching.

"Mom cared more when I was a kid," he said briefly. "It sticks with you. Couldn't hurt."

"Nope, couldn't hurt."

Joyce hadn't noticed anything. She made her way over to a side altar, exclaiming at various carvings and statues. "And here's the Virgin, not quite so old, a very nice example of a primitive style. Not very skilled, but they cared a great deal when they made it. Oh, and this--" She stopped in front of the candles. "This must be St. Eugene."

The figure in the monk's robes was obviously inhuman, this time. The hood was thrown back, revealing a head with curling ram's horns and long ears. Even with the fangs peeking out, the smile was benevolent. The upper set of arms were held out in welcome, and the lower set held an ornate chalice in outstretched hands. The chalice itself was made of gold and full of water.

Sister Agnes reappeared. "Yes, this is St. Eugene. His chalice is said to have the ability to show the future, but the real chalice is in France. This is just a copy. The old records claim miraculous powers for this cup, but I haven't seen any." Her smile showed no disappointment in the fact.

"What kind of demon was he?" Buffy asked carefully.

"A Wilnith demon. I don't think the Holy See recognizes him anymore, but we have always been well served by him." Sister Agnes looked over the candles, picking out spent wicks and guttered candle ends.

Joyce looked around again. "So lovely. I'd like to sit here and just look for a while, but I think I need to lie down for a bit." She smiled at Buffy. "And you needn't say I told you so."

"Wouldn't dream of it. Need any help?"

"Just your company."

Xander gazed up at the demonic but gentle face of St. Eugene. "I think I'll stay put here a bit. If you don't need me for anything."

"Nope," Buffy shrugged. "We'll call you if we need you."

He nodded, then found a seat on one of the narrow pews.

"Is he Catholic?" Joyce asked quietly as she and Buffy headed for the doors.

"I don't know. I should know these things about my friends--shouldn't I?"

"I wouldn't worry about it, sweetheart. It probably just never came up."

It disturbed Buffy, though, that she didn't know something so basic about Xander. It hinted at hidden depths, and the strange things that might live there.

The rooms they'd been given each had three beds, plus a table and chairs. In the Summers room, Dawn was fast asleep on one bed, Bear tucked in close under her arm. The duffle bag of clothes was on the table.

Buffy dug in the bag to find clean clothes. "I don't suppose they have showers here."

"A bucket with holes in the bottom, maybe. They probably only have a well."

"Oh, gosh, I just thought--outhouses, you think?"

Joyce nodded under the bed, where a porcelain pot rested. There was one for each bed. "Think of it as camping."

"There are reasons I didn't join the Girl Scouts, you know."

Joyce found some fresh clothes for herself. "Let's go explore the washroom before a nap."

"When do we eat? Should we donate our food, do you think?"

"We can ask Sister Agnes."

The washroom wasn't as musty and nasty as Buffy had feared. The stone floor sloped towards a drain in the corner and a long stone sink ran along the back wall. And in the sink was a squalling Baynar, being forcibly washed by a bigger version of himself.

Joyce hesitated at sight of the demon. Buffy patted her shoulder reassuringly. "It's OK, Mom. The little guy is Baynar, one of those Minoto that Giles said were staying here. Sister Agnes introduced Xander and me to him."

The larger demon peered over its shoulder. Or her shoulder, as the case seemed to be. "Hello," she whistled in passable English. "You are the humans in the bus?"

"Yes, we are," Buffy answered. "I'm Buffy Summers, and this is my mom, Joyce Summers."

Baynar bounced and whistled. The larger demon nodded. "My child says he saw you, Buffy Summers, with a male human. I am Savlin." She turned back to Baynar, who was pointing at Joyce's walker. "Baynar would like to know why you have metal legs, Joyce Summers."

Joyce blinked. "I've been sick. My legs don't work quite right yet, but I'm getting better."

Savlin whistled to Baynar, who asked something in return. They talked for a few moments, Baynar getting increasingly vocal, until Savlin said something sternly and the youngster went motionless and silent.

"What did you tell him?" Joyce asked.

"I told him that if he did not behave that I would let the Slayer eat him."

Buffy went very still. It took a moment for Joyce to find her voice. "The--the Slayer?"

Savlin hunched her shoulders. "I know, I shouldn't tell him scary stories. If he has nightmares it is my fault. And the Slayer is far away." She picked up a towel and wrapped Baynar up as she pulled him into her arms. The little demon wrapped his arms around her neck, silent until Savlin tickled him into helpless hisses. Savlin nodded at Buffy and Joyce as she left. Baynar waved at them over his mother's shoulder.

Joyce put a hand on Buffy's shoulder. "Honey?"

"I'm the boogeyman," she said bleakly. "I am what mommies threaten their kids with. The monster that hides under the bed."

"Honey, not you. Your job. And from what you've told me, some of those demons deserve to be frightened of you."

Her forehead unkinked a little. "Yeah, I guess so." She looked the way Savlin and Baynar had gone. "I wonder how many other kinds of demons are out there who are scared of the Slayer and shouldn't be. I mean, there must be others out there who just want to be left alone, who don't want to rampage through the world and kill people. If I'm supposed to be saving the world and all, they're a part of it, too."

Joyce made her way to the sink and investigated the water taps. "I've always wondered--you're the Vampire Slayer. Why do you have to go after all of those other things, too? Why isn't there a Demon Slayer as well?"

"Oh, trust me, I've wondered that too." Buffy joined her at the sink. "Giles just humphed and said I should be glad the job description didn't include dragons."

Joyce nearly dropped the soap. "Dragons?"

"Really. Standing order from the Council. If there are dragons involved, call for backup. They've actually got people who specialize in dragons."

"How often are they needed?"

"I didn't ask. But isn't it freaky that they had to think of it in the first place?"

Joyce stared at her a moment, then went back to washing. "You're teasing me."

Buffy crossed her heart and held up her right hand. "Not. You can ask him." The frown reappeared. "Or, you know, maybe not."

"Maybe not." Joyce leaned over to kiss Buffy's forehead and continued washing.

Just before sunset, Willow left the sleeping Tara and went out to the courtyard, her spellbooks under her arm. No one seemed to be moving around; they were either resting from their day's work out in the fields or getting dinner ready. Anya had headed off wherever Xander was, and all the Summerses were napping. A perfect opportunity to go consult with a vampire sorcerer.

She paused at the bus' open door, listening for the sound of anything she didn't want to acknowledge, much less interrupt. All she heard was faint singing, and she smelled cigarette smoke. Spike, at least, was up.

She knocked on the open door. "Guys? You awake? And decent?"

There was a faint laugh. "Honest answer, Red? Never."

"OK. If I come in there, am I going to see things that will scar my young mind forever?"

"Only in a good way."

She sighed. "Vampires."

Spike appeared, barefoot and pulling on his t-shirt. Willow tried not to notice that his black jeans, while zipped, were not buttoned. "What can we do for the Red Witch today?"

She glanced at the setting sun. There were enough shadows from surrounding trees that no direct light fell on the bus, but it was still quite bright out. She put on her most cheerful smile. "Can Giles come out and play?"

Spike snickered then looked towards the rear of the bus. "Oh, Ripper, your little friend Willow is here for you." The reply was in something that sounded like Old High Temple Sumerian, making Spike laugh out loud.

"Willow," Giles called, "if you'd like to come in, I can promise that I, at least, am decent. It's still a bit bright out for my taste."

Willow accepted Spike's hand for the high jump to the first step. He sat down at the top of the steps and pulled out another cigarette as she went to the darkened rear of the bus. Giles was sitting next to the window with the heaviest paint.

"What can I do for you?" he asked.

She sat across the aisle and put her books on her lap. "It's the reversal spell. I want to make sure I've got it right. I don't think we'll have a lot of time to get it off."

"No, you're right. Let me see what you've got."

As she handed over her books and notes, Willow noticed Giles wasn't wearing his glasses. The little concentration lines between his eyebrows as he perused a text were still the same, but his attention seemed sharper without the lenses. She thought about the Lois and Clark tv show she loved as a kid and how the villain had mocked Clark Kent's disguise of eyeglasses. She understood it now.

Giles must have heard her slight snicker. He looked up quizzically. "Yes?"

"Oh, sorry, nothing. I was just thinking how different you look without your glasses."

He started to reach towards his face, then chuckled. "Yes, well, I can't say I miss needing them." He smiled at her before going back to work.

What pretty eyes he has, she thought. She'd noticed his eyes first, in those days when she was still allowed to have a crush on a guy. The eyes, closely followed by the smile.

She shook herself firmly and concentrated on what he was beginning to explain about the spell that would bring Tara's mind back to its proper home.

At the front of the bus, Spike watched them as he smoked. Red seemed to have no fear of Ripper, leaning close to him as he pointed to various places of the text they were working on. As she brushed her hair out of her face, Ripper's eyes followed the gesture, then lingered a moment on her hair before dropping back to the book. Or maybe he was looking at the pulse in her throat.

She began nodding enthusiastically, talking and gesturing. Ripper smiled proudly, letting her babble for several moments before tapping her on the knee and bringing her attention back to the book. He turned to another section of the book to point out a passage. The pages of notes on the spell slipped out and fell to the floor.

From the chapel, bells began to ring. Willow gasped and looked at her watch. "Oh, it's getting late."

Spike took a last drag on his cigarette and tossed the butt out the door. "Call to Vespers," he said. "Sunset."

"The bells will wake up Tara, she'll wonder where I am." She scooped up the notes and hurried off the bus.

"I'm going to go stretch my legs," Spike said, getting to his feet. He headed back to find his boots. "You ought to come with me, you've been cooped up in here all day."

Giles looked nervously at the windows. "It's still awfully bright."

"Sun's behind the mountains, you shouldn't be in any danger. Besides, it's good for you. Builds character."

Giles walked slowly towards the front of the bus. The remaining sunlight prickled on his skin, itching and stinging. But the feeling was fading. "How close can I get?"

"Depends," Spike said. "I wouldn't be too eager to go experimenting. You okay?"

Giles nodded, stepping cautiously out the bus door and onto the ground. The blue sky above made him wince; outside the gate was a patch of bright sunlight that burned his eyes just to look at.

People were starting to appear, heading for the chapel for evening prayers. Among them was Xander, who spotted the vampires by the bus and wandered over.

"Going to join us?" he asked in a friendly way. "Oh, wait, no, vampires and churches, two great tastes that don't taste great together."

"I didn't know you were Catholic," Giles said.

"Maybe I'm not. Maybe I just like places where the evil things can't go."

Spike nudged Giles. "Let's go for a stroll, Ripper, take a look at the place." He smiled at Xander. "Say hello to your little scaly friend for us, mate. Cute kid." Xander glared at them and went into the chapel.

"What cute kid?" Giles asked.

"I'll tell you on the way."

The patch of direct sun had faded, and Giles felt stronger with every passing minute. His eyesight sharpened as the blinding light gave way to rising dark. "This feels good," he said, feeling the night breeze starting to build.

"Not much for the country," Spike commented. "Too quiet."

They strolled around the walls, checking the terrain. When they reached the barn, Giles paused to look at the animals.

"What?" Spike asked.

The cows and the horse moved nervously, watching the vampires anxiously. Giles stepped closer to the horse, which sidled as far away as it could.

"My family has a farm in England," he said softly. "I went back last summer, during the usual slow time in evil activity. I rode for hours, with nothing to worry me except for possible gopher holes and where to stop for tea." He reached towards the horse, which stomped and pulled harder on its rope. "There's a horse there I raised from a colt. He'll run from me now if he can, won't he."

Spike leaned against the barn wall, far from the animals. "Angelus rode whenever he could. He was Irish country gentry, probably rode before he could walk. Somehow he always found these nasty brutes, as vicious as him, and he'd go riding for hours. About the only living thing he'd ever show any patience with, his horses. Darla thought it was all too human of him, and Dru was terrified of the beasts."

"And you?"

"Horses are for pulling things, not for sitting on. Never saw the sense in trying to break your neck by jumping over a fence that was put there for a purpose. Disgusted with us all, he was." He tugged Giles away from the animals. "But he always found horses that didn't mind what he was. And he'd come home and go on for hours about how the fields and woods looked in the moonlight and how one of us should go with him and see. Closest he ever came to poetry, talking about riding."

Giles continued walking. "Warwickshire is lovely in the moonlight."

They continued around the convent, studying the approaches. The convent bells rang again, and they heard the worshipers leaving the chapel.

Spike stopped in front of the gates. "Do they lock up at night around here?"

"Yes, they do. There are coyotes around here, and the sisters worry about the chickens. They'll close up the barn, too." Giles blinked as Spike shifted into game face. "What?"

"Shift, your sense of smell will be better. The country smells are messing me up."

The world changed colors when he let go of his human face. The plants in the field pulsed faintly, and Giles could almost see the evening breeze. He breathed deeply, tasting the smells. "Horses. Multiple horses. And sweaty people."

"And metal that's been out in the sun all day. They're not coming fast, but they're coming." Spike grinned, licking his fangs. "Come on." He headed down the road.

"Why?" Though Giles followed anyway.

"Ought to tell Slayer how many of them there are."

"Oh, makes sense."

"And I'm not eating out of a baggie tonight."

"Oh, yes. Even better."

The convent's dinner was served immediately after Vespers in the lamp-lit common room of the dormitory. The meal was chicken soup, supplemented by cheese and bread donated by the Scoobies. The cook, Sister Teresa, went around with her soup pot, making sure everyone got enough. Tara was fussed over by Sister Mary, the herbalist, who praised Willow's choices of remedies for the pain of Tara's hand and the distress in her mind.

Savlin, Baynar, and two other Minoto sat near one end of the long refectory table. Baynar kept leaning forward so he could peer around his mother and wave at the new people. Dawn waved back and made faces so that the little boy would giggle and duck back behind Savlin. The other two Minoto adults were less comfortable in the company of strange humans and watched out of the corners of their eyes, occasionally speaking softly with Savlin.

Joyce talked happily with Sister Agnes about the history of the convent, occasionally asking Anya for additional historical information.

Xander turned down yet another offer of more soup from Sister Teresa, then leaned closer to Buffy. "Do I look like I'm starving? She's like my Grandma, 'Eat, Lexi, you're too skinny.'"

"No, I think you've just been adopted by a bunch of Aunts. I think we all have." She grinned as Dawn failed to keep Sister Teresa from either refilling her bowl or patting her head.

Loud knocking came from the front door. Sister Agnes looked up and frowned. "Who could that be? Everyone's here--" She looked at Buffy, who grimaced.

"Not everybody."

Sister Agnes firmed her shoulders and got up to investigate. Buffy followed quietly.

Spike and Giles waited at the open front door of the building. Both of them looked a bit rumpled, and Spike was bouncing on his toes. Giles smiled slightly and nodded to the nun. "Good evening, Sister Agnes."

It took her a few moments to find her voice. "Good evening, Mr. Giles. I was--very surprised to hear about what happened to you."

His smile became sadder. "It was rather a surprise to me as well. I am sorry we've had to bring such strangeness to your doorstep. Things are, however, developing rapidly."

Buffy came up to stand beside Sister Agnes. "What's going on?"

"There's a troop of Knights of Byzantium, they're probably ten minutes away."

She went into first-things-first mode. "How many?"

"About thirty."

"More or less," Spike added.

Sister Agnes frowned. "Should we be worried? Maybe they don't mean any harm."

"The man riding in the lead has the look of a zealot about him," Giles said. "They're fanatic about finding and destroying the Key before Glory gets hold of it. I doubt they're willing to be reasonable."

Buffy peered over Giles' shoulder and saw that the front gates were closed. "Is it too late to get on the bus and make a break for it?"

"They're on the only road, and we'd be trying to fight a running battle at night."

"Are you sure it will come to a fight?" Sister Agnes asked. "Surely they'll respect sanctuary."

Spike shrugged. "They might. Miracles are your business. But I think it's more likely that I'd be able to step into your chapel without flinching."

Sister Agnes crossed herself. Both Spike and Giles averted their eyes until she was done. "What do we do?" she asked calmly.

Giles smiled at Buffy. "Do you think Anya knows much about the proper conduct of sieges? I confess, all my knowledge is theoretical, but it should be quite exciting."

They carried torches as they rode into the valley. Every other soldier in the disciplined column of riders held a flaming torch in his left hand. At the rear of the column, a group of hooded, robed figures each carried their own torch.

They deployed in front of the convent gates, silent except for the jingle of armor and horse bridles.

"What," Xander said up on the parapet, "no pitchforks?"

Spike, standing on the other side of Buffy, leaned against the wall and snickered.

Out of the silent crowd of soldiers rode a man without the chainmail veil, his elaborately tattooed face bare.

"That's their leader," Giles told Buffy.

"Not a reasonable looking guy," she said.

The man stared up at the people on the parapet. "I am General Gregor of the Knights of Byzantium. I am here for the Key."

Spike leaned over the wall. "We already have one," he said in a dreadful French accent.

Xander giggled helplessly.

The General glared. "What?"

Xander pulled himself up. "Yes," he called, "it's very nice." His bad French accent was much worse than Spike's. Spike was leaning against the wall himself again, laughing.

"Stop it, you two," Giles snapped.

They were all distracted by the sound of the gate creaking open. Down below, Anya and one of the nuns had pulled the gate open just far enough for Sister Agnes to step outside.

General Gregor turned his horse to face her, and he bowed. "Sister. Forgive me for disturbing your establishment. I hope we can conclude this business without too much fuss and my men and I can leave you in peace."

"Or pieces," Spike muttered. Giles smacked him hard in the arm.

Sister Agnes stopped a few feet away. "General Gregor, this is a place of sanctuary. The person you refer to as the Key has sought shelter here, and we have granted it."

The General lost what affability he had. "There is no sanctuary from the Beast, sister. Our only hope is to destroy the Key and prevent the Beast from destroying the world."

"What you are proposing is the murder of an innocent person!"

"What I am proposing is the preservation of the billions of people on this planet. One life, mistakenly created, is irrelevant."

Both Buffy and Spike growled at the phrase "mistakenly created." The General glanced up at the people on the wall, then back at the nun.

"Will you give me the Key?" he asked.

Sister Agnes pulled herself up to her full height. "No."

The General pulled on his reins, making his horse stamp fretfully. "Sister, as devout as your faith and intentions may be, I cannot forget that the patron saint of your order is a demon. It is well known that you protect demons of all sorts." He glanced up at the wall again. "Including vampires. I can only conclude your primary loyalties do not rest with humanity and that your sympathies lie with the Beast."

"How dare you!" Sister Agnes gasped. "St. Eugene served the people of his community--the human community--faithfully for decades! We have given shelter to all species, protected all who would ask against evil."

"There are two beings within your walls that prove otherwise."

This time Giles growled. Buffy poked him. "Is he wrong?" she hissed.

His eyes were flickering yellow. "He is about Sister Agnes."

But Sister Agnes needed no such defense. "By their works shalt thou know them. None within our walls have offered harm. You, however, bring up armed troops and threaten an innocent being who has claimed the sanctuary Holy Church offers to all who ask."

"Your saint was rejected by the church, sister." The General gave the title more of a sarcastic sneer. "I don't think the Holy Church will be too concerned about what happens here."

Sister Agnes glared right back at him. "I don't recall seeing your order mentioned in the Holy Calendar either--General. Don't try to hide behind orthodoxy with me."

General Gregor drew his sword. Giles went into full gameface and growled. Buffy debated grabbing his arm--and kept debating. She had a feeling that debate might take a while. But Gregor looked up at the vampire above him and lowered his sword.

"You have one hour," he said.

Sister Agnes hadn't flinched back one footstep. "For what?"

"To give me the Key."

"And when we do not?"

"We shall take it." He looked back up at the people on the wall. "We shall destroy the Key and stop the Beast. No matter what."

Buffy leaned over the wall to glare down at him, cursing the fact that she had to go up on tiptoe to get over far enough. Stupid tall male creatures. "We are all trying to stop Glory, here, General. There's no need for this."

His sneer was very visible in the torchlight. "A Vampire Slayer who stands with two vampires has no moral right to judge our holy mission!"

"Yeah?" She pulled herself up higher on the wall, then felt someone tug up on the back belt loop of her jeans, giving her a boost. "All you and your stupid knights have done is kill helpless crazy people! I don't see a lot of moral high ground under your feet, mister!"

His horse stamped again. "One hour!" General Gregor yelled, then rode back to his men.

Xander glared after him. "Can we taunt him a second time?"

"I think we've pissed him off enough," she said. She saw both of his hand on the top of the wall, wondered who was still holding her belt loop, then turned to glare at Spike, who immediately let her go and put both hands innocently in the air.

"I'm all for taunting," he said, watching the Knights. "I get a distinct whiff of hamsters and elderberries."

"We can wave our private parts at their aunties," Xander added.

"If you two don't stop that," Giles snapped, "I shall throw you both off this wall." He was still in gameface as he glared at the soldiers.

Spike tipped his head thoughtfully. "Might be worth it. Could do some damage." He glanced at Buffy. "I mean, before--"

"Don't bother," she said quietly. "I already know it's out."

Spike went still, then raised his eyes slowly to look at Xander, who flinched just a little before staring back. "Balls of steel, boy," he said softly. "I thought it would take you a lot longer to run for the Slayer's skirts to hide behind."

Xander smiled just a little. "I was thinking of opening the back door of the bus and letting the sun shine in underneath those seats, myself. But somebody said you might be useful for just a little bit longer."

Giles glared at Spike. "Why didn't you tell me he knew?"

Spike was still looking at Xander. "It's between me and the boy, Ripper. Didn't concern you."

"I beg to differ!"

"Look, enough with the testosterone!" Buffy snapped. "We've got bigger problems. We've got a small army out there that just threatened to kill us all. I think chip vs. no chip can wait."

Spike lowered his eyes to her. "You're taking this very calmly, Slayer. Have to admit, I'm surprised."

She wouldn't meet his eyes, just looked out over the gathered soldiers, who had dismounted from their horses and had planted their torches in the ground as they prepared themselves. "It's just--I hate myself for this, but all I can think is--just as well."

Sister Agnes walked back through the gate, head held high--at least until the gate closed behind her. Then she fumbled for her rosary and pulled it up to kiss the cross as she whispered an urgent prayer.

Buffy ran up to her. "Sister Agnes, I am so sorry. I can't believe him." She swallowed hard. "If you want to throw us out, I understand."

Sister Agnes patted her shoulder. "Nina, I am not throwing you out. I will not be the first head of the order to refuse sanctuary, no matter if there is an arrogant dog in armor at our front gate threatening us." She smiled at everyone who was gathering around. "It's not the first time someone thought threatening us would make us give in."

Anya looked worried. "And how many times have you been burned out?"

The nun's smile faded just a little. "No times, here. Back in France--one or two times." She shook herself. "It doesn't matter. We will not give you to him."

Buffy looked at the small crowd around her: the Scoobies, who had been on the run all day only to have their refuge threatened by someone who was supposed to be on their side, and the nuns, who didn't deserve to have their peaceful world messed up like this. And they were all looking at her for a plan.

She shrugged. "Anybody got any ideas?"

Xander looked around the courtyard. "There's enough room to turn the bus around. Someone could yank the gate open and we could make a run for it. Maybe take a few of those Knights with us."

Buffy nodded. "That might work as a last resort. Anybody else?"

Giles gave her a very serious look. "The simplest thing seems to be to turn us loose." He nodded at Spike.

Willow blinked. "'Us?' Are they demons?"

"Oh, yeah," Buffy said. "About that ..."

"Oh, don't you dare," Spike interrupted. "I've been waiting for ages for this." He smiled at Willow. "They're human. But the chip's not a problem anymore."

"Not a problem? What do you--Oh!" Willow gasped in horror and pulled Tara back a couple of steps.

Spike grinned in delight. "Thank you, Red."

Willow looked at Buffy and pointed a shaky finger at Spike. "Spike! Grr again! All bitey, evil, rip our heads off suck our blood out again!"

"Will, it's OK--"

"No, it's not! Bottle! Into the brain! It's not OK!" She turned and glared at Spike. "I felt sorry for you after Glory hurt you, you rotten, non-chipped, evil vampire, you."

Spike was still grinning. "Red, relax. You are far too cute to kill."

Joyce moved forward. "And the rest of us?" Dawn was right behind her, trying not to cling to her arm as she stared at Spike.

All the laughter left Spike's face. "You and Niblet have nothing to fear from me, Joyce. I swear."

"How long have you had the chip out?" Dawn asked in a very small voice.

"Since before your mum got sick this last time, luv."

She blinked, obviously thinking about everything that had happened since then.

Anya poked Spike in the arm. "How is this fair? You get to be all demony again, and I don't?"

Buffy cleared her throat. "I don't think we have time for that right now. We've got a bunch of wacko fanatics out there threatening to bust in here and lay waste to get to Dawn. What do we do about that?"

Willow made sure to keep Buffy between Tara and herself and Spike. "Sister Agnes, I don't suppose you have any hidden rooms or anything we could hide in?"

Sister Agnes shook her head. "We've never needed any such thing. The only trouble we ever had was with a troop of cavalry at the turn of the century--the last century, that is. They thought we might be hiding some bandits, and they weren't quite sure what to make of St. Eugene." She shook herself. "No, there's no place to hide here."

Buffy frowned at Giles. "I don't want to turn you and Spike loose on those guys. They're supposed to be the good guys, and you're . . ."

His smile was ironic. "Evil demonic killers?"

"You don't have to sound so pleased about it. If only there was some way we could sneak out of here, some secret door through the wall or something."

Giles blinked. "A door . . ."

Buffy stepped closer. "You know about something?"

"Possibly . . ." He shook his head. "No, it's insanity."

Buffy pointed at the wall. "Insanity is that guy out there who would rather kill Dawn rather than just make sure Glory doesn't get hold of her. What have you got?"

Giles glanced at Willow, then studied Buffy. "It could be very dangerous. More dangerous than simply fighting General Gregor."

"What, already?"

"We create our own door to slip through--to another dimension. We could hide there until General Gregor leaves and until after dawn so that there's no more danger of Glory opening her portal."

Buffy stared at him in shock, but Willow's eyes went big in excitement. "Another dimension? A whole other world? That would be so neat! How do we do it?"

Buffy put her hands up in a T. "Hang on, hang on. Another dimension? You want us all to open a portal and jump to someplace like--" She looked at Anya. "What were those places?"

"Oh, the land without shrimp, and where it's always Wednesday and like that?"

"Yeah. Isn't that dangerous?"

Giles shrugged. "So is walking through Sunnydale at night, but you do that all the time. And in an hour, it's going to be quite dangerous here. It's not something I propose lightly, but it is an option."

"It's not that easy, is it? How do you open a portal?"

"It depends on where you're going. Anya, I believe you've been to the most different places of any of us."

"Well, yes, but I was a vengeance demon, it was part of my job. I don't really know any spells for portals." She turned to Spike. "You said you've been in another dimension. How did you get there?"

He shook his head. "Wasn't by choice. And if you lot come up with a plan that involves portals, count me out. I'll take my chances with the Knights of the Round Table out there."

"Some of the other dimensions are very pretty," Anya said. "In the Wednesday land, the sun is pink."

"That's lovely, pet, I'll pass."

Giles waved a hand impatiently. "Fine, fine. I've looked at several portal spells, I know the basic construction. Anya, do you remember their proper names, the places you've been?"

"I think so."

Giles looked at Sister Agnes. "The last time I was here, sister, I saw a copy of the Guide to the Higher Planes in your library. May I borrow it, please?" The nun nodded and went into the convent.

"All right," Buffy said, "we know we can do it. We still don't know if we should. Just how dangerous is dangerous? Spike, why don't you want to go?"

He gave her one of the most evil glares in his repertoire. "I'd rather not go into it, thank you very much."

She started to ask again, then realized she'd pushed him as far as he wanted to go. He'd just admitted in public that there was something in the universe that he wasn't willing to face. Asking him to explain just might make him demonstrate what he was capable of unchipped.

"Giles, what are the dangers?"

"Other than the dangers of the land on the other side, the portal itself is supposed to be, well, very disorienting and stressful." He glanced at Anya, who shrugged.

"Depends on the person. Some people suffer severe hallucinations; for some people it just hurts a lot."

"Just?" Buffy blinked.

"I never had any problems, but I never went through as a human." She glanced at Joyce. "I don't think your mother should go. Neither should Tara."

Willow pulled Tara close. "What would it do to her?"

"Dru didn't talk for a full year after our little trip," Spike said softly, staring at the dirt just in front of his boots. "And it wasn't just because of where we ended up." He looked at Joyce. "Don't go if you don't have to."

Joyce thought for several moments, her arm around Dawn. "The important thing is to get Dawn somewhere safe."

"Mom--" Dawn started.

"Honey, they won't bother me if they come in here. I'm just an old, crippled lady--" Noises of protest came from several points in the group. She blushed a little. "Anyway, you're the one they're after. We just need to tuck you somewhere safe for a little bit. I'll be fine here with Tara and the nuns."

"I'll make sure no one comes near you," Spike said firmly.

"Thank you, Spike."

Buffy counted on his fingers. "Me, Dawn, Giles--Willow?"

Willow shook her head. "I'm staying with Tara. If you had a camera, though, I'd say take pictures for me."

"Right. Anya?"

Anya looked at Xander, who glared at Spike. "I'm staying," Xander said. "Not going to leave everybody here with just that one to look after them."

Anya shrugged. "I'm staying with him."

Willow frowned. "Hey, Mr. Macho Manly Guy. It's not like we're helpless here, you know."

Xander finally smiled. "So I want to stay and watch you give General Whozit a hard time."

Buffy looked around the group. "That's just me, Dawn, and Giles, then. Are you sure? Gregor didn't seem like a reasonable kind of guy." She hated the idea of leaving her friends and her mother to a fanatic.

"You need to come with Dawn," Giles said. "To make sure she's safe."

She started to say he could look after Dawn, then recalled what had nearly happened on the front lawn. He nodded at the look on her face as she remembered she couldn't blindly trust her Watcher anymore. If he was reminding her that he couldn't be trusted, didn't that mean she could trust him? But there was no way to be sure, other than going with him.

Sister Agnes came back, carrying a large book. "Oh, thank you, sister," Giles said. "Anya, Willow, I could use your help."

As the magic folks compared notes, Buffy went over to Joyce and Dawn. "You'll be careful?" Joyce said.

Buffy tried to laugh. "As careful as I can. I mean--it's not like a road trip to Aunt Darlene's." She saw Dawn's scared eyes and hugged her. "But I can't think of anything else that doesn't involve lots of people getting hurt."

"Like siccing Spike and Giles on those guys," Dawn said.

"Yeah. Mom, I'm sorry, I never would have let Spike in the house if I'd had any idea--"

Joyce patted her arm. "Honey, if he meant any harm, he's had lots of opportunities."

"God, don't remind me." She wrapped her free arm around her mother. "I think I'm scared."

"I know I am," Dawn whispered. "But I'm glad you're coming with me." They stood there awhile and just hugged.

Xander watched everyone for a few moments then headed for the bus. Spike sauntered after him and leaned against the door, smoking one of his last few cigarettes. Xander came back down the steps, carrying a duffle bag. He paused on seeing the vampire.

"Would that be the interesting smelling bag that was tucked under your seat?" Spike asked, blowing smoke rings.

"Yes, it would."

"They don't know you have it, do they."

"No."

"This will be fun."

"Then you can lead the way. For some reason I don't like having vampires behind me."

"Afraid I might start thinking about how those loose trousers do nothing for your ass?"

"We don't need you here, Spike. If I stake you, no one will care."

"Oh, you may not need me, but you want me."

"You're right. I dream of you, Spike. I dream of a shoebox with the words 'Spike's Remains' written on top. That's how I want you."

But Spike only smirked. "See? I knew you wanted my body."

Xander snarled then headed for the parapet on the wall.

Buffy watched Xander cross the courtyard, followed by a too-pleased-looking Spike. Who just might be looking for some private time in which to show his opinion of being outed, chip wise.

"I'll be right back," she told Joyce and Dawn, and followed Spike.

Up on the parapet, Xander looked over the top of the wall at the invading force. The horses had been tied up farther down the road, and the soldiers were lined up in front of the walls. Spike settled down on the parapet and peeked over the top himself.

"Crossbows and swords," he observed. "A couple of spear chuckers, too. Then there's those guys in monks robes to the side. They'd be laughable if I didn't know they were willing to cut crazy people's throats without qualm."

"Hopefully we won't have to worry about that." Xander unzipped his duffle bag.

Buffy came up the stairs, careful to stay below the top of the wall. "So, guys, what are we doing for fun tonight?" She frowned at Spike's grin, then she saw what Xander was pulling out of his bag.

A military-style assault rifle. Xander turned it in his hands, inspecting it, then he reached into the bag, pulled out a long clip of ammunition and shoved it into place.

"Oh, my god," Buffy whispered. "Xander . . ."

"Yes?" He didn't look up from the bag.

"How--where did--you can't--"

"Why not?" He settled back on his heels, the rifle across his legs, and looked at her. "Not all of us can be Slayers or witches or vampires. Fortunately, we don't have to be."

Spiked leaned over to look into the bag. "What else you got in there?" He started to reach in, and Xander slapped his hand.

"Xander," Buffy tried again, "these guys have, what, swords, crossbows? You can't use a gun on them."

"There's one of me," Xander said, "and thirty of them. Even on rapid fire, they've got us out gunned."

"But--"

"In the middle ages," Spike said casually, "the church forbade the use of the crossbow against Christians because it was such a devastating weapon. Only fit for use against heretics and infidels. Don't feel sorry for the men with the crossbows, Slayer."

"But guns are nasty."

"Yep," Xander agreed, stretching up to check on the soldiers. "I'm hoping they agree. I put a few shots into the ground in front of them, they should decide they're a whole lot too close and back the hell off." He gave Buffy a tight smile. "And hopefully nobody gets hurt." The smile went nastier when it turned to Spike. "I wonder if I can get wooden bullets."

Spike smiled back. "Not for a modern gun, pet. Pressure in the breech is too high. Kind of fun to watch people try, though."

"Bet a bullet to the head would put a crimp in your day, though."

"It's been known to make a mess."

Buffy retreated, leaving them to their blood-thirsty barbs. She wandered over to the portal discussion, which had moved to the tables under the grape arbor. A lamp had been brought out to provide light for human eyes.

Anya glanced up at the wall. "Why is Spike bothering Xander?"

"Because he's Spike." Anya shrugged agreement and turned back to the papers on the table. Buffy pulled up a bench to sit down. "Xander's brought a gun."

Anya nodded. "He keeps it in a locked trunk in the back of the closet."

Willow blinked in horror. "Xander has a gun?"

"An M-16, I think. He was telling me about it one night while he was cleaning it. I didn't care, but Oprah says you should pay attention when your man is talking about something important to him."

Giles glanced towards Xander. "Not a bad plan. It might convince the Knights to keep their distance."

Willow blinked. "But--why would he bring it in the first place?"

"If I had an M-16, I might have brought it. As it is, I brought a sword." He gave Willow a sad smile. "There is someone out there who has hurt us in the past and is looking for us to hurt us some more. This is a case of using any means necessary to protect ourselves."

Willow looked at Tara, who sat beside her, rolling an orange back and forth and humming. "Yes, it is."

Buffy looked at the papers and book, frowning at the odd symbols. "So what have you got?"

Giles arranged the papers for her. "We've found a location that should be safe for all of us. It's a place Anya has been, so we can prepare for the conditions. We just need to go over the words of the spell a few times and we'll be ready to go."

"How long will we be gone? And is this going to be one of those an hour here is like a day there things?"

"I don't believe so. It has to do with the proximity of the dimensional planes in relation to--" He broke off at the look on Buffy's face. "They're close enough that the time flow should be very similar."

"I want to ask how, but it would be like all those times you tried to explain physics to me, wouldn't it."

Giles managed not to laugh. "I'm afraid so. Though Willow would be happy to tutor you, as always."

Willow bounced. "This is so cool, Buffy! And it makes sense. The hard part is to make sure you have the proper name of the dimension and you know what language to use in the spell. The language itself partially invokes the dimension, and the rest of the incantation forms the portal." She settled down a little. "And, yeah, it's kind of like physics."

"We can get back, right? I mean, if the two of you are going to be doing the spell to open the portal, won't you need two to open it coming back?"

"Oh, of course we can get back," Giles said. "I want Willow's help for safety's sake. Plus, I don't think I could stop her." Willow grinned back at him. "But I know the spell for a portal that will bring us back here. Which explains why the Council insists all Watchers learn Sumerian, which is one of the earliest human languages to have a magical vocabulary."

Getting both Giles and Willow back on track when there was fascinating stuff to discuss was like pushing a shopping cart with a bad wheel. "When do we go?"

Willow and Giles looked at each other. "Twenty minutes?" Willow asked. Giles nodded. "Twenty minutes."

Buffy blew her hair back out of her eyes. "So what do I pack?"

They quietly spread the word about the imminent departure. When Buffy went up to consult with Xander on the Knights, Spike abandoned his torment-Xander post to track down Giles.

"You're an idiot, you know," he said when he found the other vampire, who was sweeping debris from a section of the courtyard. Willow was shooing the chickens back into their coop, using unladylike language that would have upset the Humane Society.

Giles barely looked up. "No, I'm not. Portal travel isn't done on a regular basis, but the theory is well understood." He glanced around and moved closer. "Though I don't blame you for being leery, if you've had a bad experience. How did it happen?"

"Voodoo priestess in New York. Booby trap in her hougon. She was after vampire parts for a spell. I was for parts, and she sent Dru through the portal as a present for the creatures on the other side. She had a power-sharing deal with them, had to feed them occasionally. I had to go in after her. Dalton and the boys made the bitch keep the portal open, then we chopped her up once me and Dru were back." He studied the darkness for a while. "I kind of miss Dalton. The Judge ate him. I found him in an old bookstore in Manhattan. I called him in for the Du Lac Cross thing." He shook his head firmly to stop the babbling. "Have you ever even seen a portal, Ripper?"

"Yes, I have, actually. In training. They are rather stomach turning, I agree. But Sqaon seems the wisest choice for a place to hide."

"Sqaon? Haven't heard of it."

"It's Anya's land of perpetual Wednesday. Not a term useful for spell casting, so we had to get her to remember its proper name. Excuse me, I need to finish sweeping, then we're ready to go."

Spike nodded and wandered off, finding his way to the bus. Buffy was already there, searching under the seats for something. Spike hesitated, then simply said, "Excuse me," stepped over her and went to the back.

Buffy pulled her head from under the seat and looked at him, puzzled. Still, she shouldn't complain about not having to deal with rude chatter. She found her boots and started to leave, then sat down on a seat to change shoes. "Spike?"

He straightened from the pile of stuff he'd built Giles' hidey-hole from, looking wary. "Yes?"

"Thank you for staying to look after Mom. And for looking after her and Dawn through all this."

Spike shrugged. "No big deal."

"I think it is. I know what you've always promised about what you'd do when you got the chip out. But you haven't done it. You've helped us, instead." She looked at her hands. "I--was kind of relieved, knowing you were looking out for them when I couldn't. I'm not going to ask why, just--thanks."

Spike settled into a seat several rows behind her. "No matter what I ever planned, even when I planned horrible things for you, I never meant any harm to Joyce or the Niblet. I don't know if that's the monks' doing, playing with my memories and all, but there it is. And it's not because I'm trying to get in good with you," he added, just a little bitterly.

"Just because I'm glad you're protecting Mom and Dawn doesn't mean I trust you."

He managed to smile. "Just means you're not stupid. You may never believe that I love you, and you may never love me back. Doesn't change how I feel. And I am grateful you trust me with your family. No one will lay a hand on your mum, not while I can still crawl."

"Thank you." She looked out the window and saw Willow and Giles conferring in the clean spot of the courtyard. "I think it's time. Spike, if this doesn't work, if we get stuck or something--"

"Skip that part, I've got a good imagination."

"Yeah. Anyway, I'm not going to be here to deal with Glory. And she's going to be pissed."

Spike scratched at the healing spot on his head. "I've got some payback scheduled for her. Between me, Red, who's got her own reasons, and Rambo Harris, we should be able to manage something."

Buffy stood up, tested the fit of her boots, and nodded. "Good enough, then." She started to leave, then looked back one more time. "What are you going to do to Xander?"

The old, joyfully evil smirk made a brief reappearance. "Don't know yet. Lovely watching him squirm, though."

"Don't you hurt him."

"I don't think he'd appreciate you trying to fight his battles for him, luv."

God, a guy thing. She did not have time for this. She spared one more glare then left the bus.

Everyone gathered around for last farewells. Xander hugged Dawn, then Buffy. "I'm going to go keep an eye on our friends. They might try to stop this."

"Be careful," Buffy said, of the dozens of things she wanted to. "Keep an eye on everybody for me."

"Sure thing." He kissed her on the cheek and headed back to his position on the wall.

Willow watched Giles looking around fretfully. "What's wrong?"

"I know I'm forgetting something, but what--"

"Ripper! Catch!" Spike, sauntering from the bus, tossed a long item to Giles, who smiled and caught it.

"Yes, precisely. Thank you, Spike." Giles drew the longsword, checked the edge, resheathed it, then buckled it across his chest so that the sword rode on his back. "Buffy, would you like some weapons? I believe we brought a crossbow."

"No, I'm good." She glanced at Dawn, then they went to Joyce, who hugged them tightly.

"Be careful, you two," she whispered.

Dawn sniffled and nodded. Buffy managed not to squish her mother when she hugged back. "You stay under cover, you. Please. OK?"

"OK." Joyce pushed them back. "Best get a move on."

Buffy nodded and headed back. Dawn hesitated, then ran towards Spike, who gave an audible oof when she hit him. He hugged her as tightly as a vampire who didn't want to hurt someone could.

"Look after Mom," Dawn said.

"I will. You mind your sis, now--and Ripper, so long as it doesn't seem like he's--"

"Like he's trying to kill me, right." She looked over her shoulder to where Buffy waited with mixed impatience and uncertainty. Dawn kissed Spike's cheek. "Don't bite anybody."

"Nobody who doesn't want me to. Go on."

Dawn ran to Buffy, who was almost glaring at Spike, then at her sister. Dawn only smiled at her pleasantly.

Giles sighed. "Are we ready?"

Willow hugged Buffy and Dawn. "I'm ready."

"All right, then. Together."

Willow nodded, took a deep breath, and waited for Giles' nod. They began to chant.

The air in the courtyard vibrated, then began to turn. The chickens in their coop squawked loudly.

Out in the Knights' camp, the horses stamped nervously. Xander watched one of the monks run up to General Gregor, who was glaring at the gate. The General listened a moment, then strode to the gate.

"You can just back off there, General," Xander called. "Our hour isn't up yet."

Giles, still chanting, glanced up worriedly, then at Spike. Spike nodded and ran up the steps to join Xander.

The General glared at Xander. "There is foul sorcery afoot, boy! I demand you stop and turn over the Key."

"We have an hour, General. You will get your answer then." Xander glared at Spike but made room for him.

"What is that spell your wizards are casting?"

"I don't know much about magic." He hefted the M16 to port arms. "I know weapons. Do you?"

His knightly order may shun modern technology, but General Gregor obviously recognized it. He stepped back.

Down in the courtyard, the wind had become visible and thick with light. Giles and Willow raised their voices to be heard over the wind. A tiny vortex appeared, slowly spinning larger.

In the doorway of the chapel, Tara watched the portal form. "Giggling stones jump," she whispered, moving forward. Sister Agnes, watching the proceedings next to her, gently took her arm.

"Best stay back, nina."

Tara frowned at the nun. "Pictures tear. Black words eat. The red turns black."

"Go inside, Taracita. This is upsetting you."

Gregor stood below Xander. "Cease this magic. Give us the Key."

Xander flicked off the safety on the rifle. "No."

"Then you give me no choice." Gregor turned to go to his troops.

Xander rose smoothly, put the rifle to his shoulder, and fired a single shot into the ground at Gregor's feet.

Buffy whirled. "Xander, no!"

Spike waved her back. "Warning shot, keep going!"

Xander watched Gregor's face over the sights. "You've got lots of choices, General. You're the only one who can make them. And I already know what my choices are."

A last shout from Willow and Giles, and the vortex bloomed into full life. The wind whipped out across the courtyard, then stillness fell, leaving a swirling silver hole in the air.

Giles turned to Buffy. "We need to go now."

She stared at the portal. It had the same innocent silvery shimmer as that hole that had opened up behind Angel and had made her decide between woman and Slayer.

"Buffy," Giles said urgently.

Dawn tugged on her sleeve. "We need to go, Buffy."

She looked at her sister, who hadn't existed last year at this time. Someone else the fate of the world hinged on and who it was up to her to deal with. This time, though, the choices of sister and Slayer were the same. She took Dawn's hand and squeezed lightly. "Right. Let's go. First one who goes nuts has to do the dishes."

"Right."

Buffy nodded to Giles, who grinned back. "I'll go first, shall I?" he said enthusiastically.

"Go for it."

He paused just a moment, then dove into the moving tunnel. Buffy looked at Dawn and made sure she had a firm grim on her sister's hand. Dawn nodded back, and they ran for the portal, jumping as one.

Joyce gave a whimper, despite herself. "My girls . . ."

Anya patted her shoulder. "It's not a bad place. Just dark and gloomy and boring. Kind of like high school."

Joyce wiped her eyes and nearly laughed. "Thank you, Anya."

Willow didn't relax. She wiped her hands on her pants legs, checked her notes, then began the chant to close the portal. It fought her for a few seconds, then cycled down to a pinprick before disappearing with a flash and swirl of dust.

"Cool," Willow said, panting.

Xander didn't look down. "Are we done here, General?" he asked, watching Gregor's livid face.

"What was that spell?"

"You'll get your answer when our hour is up."

"I demand--"

"You gave us an hour! Are you changing the rules, General? Do we just cut loose now and let what happens happen?" Xander saw out of the corner of his eye that Spike was looking over the wall, grinning down in full gameface.

General Gregor snarled up at them, then stomped away. Xander watched a few seconds, then slid down below the top of the wall to sit and shake. His hand automatically reset the safety on the rifle and set it down carefully, pointed at a wall.

"Oh, god," he whispered.

Spike kept an eye on the soldiers. "I think he soiled his armor. Good job, Harris."

"I shot at him."

"Nah, you didn't come anywhere near him. Just scared him good."

"I shot at somebody."

"You do it all the time with crossbows."

Xander looked up with a glare. "That's at vampires. They don't count."

"Oh! You wound me. So, what do we do when our hour's up? Jump over the wall and set to?"

"No!" Xander sighed. "I don't think, anyway. Keep an eye on them, I'll go consult."

Spike snapped a perfect salute. "Yes, sah!" But his grin ruined the image of the compleat Royal Army military man. Well, the black leather and bleached hair did, too.

Manic Spike. What fun.

He joined Willow, Joyce, Anya, and Sister Agnes. "So. What do we tell him when the hour's up?"

"The truth," Joyce said. "The Key's not here anymore."

"He won't believe us."

Sister Agnes drew herself up. "Then he may come in and search."

"Oh, you don't want that," Anya said. "Soldiers searching for things tend to break other things."

Joyce shook her head. "And he only has our word that Dawn is the Key. He doesn't strike me as the believing sort."

Willow frowned. "But--if the Key's not here and he doesn't believe us . . ."

"If they don't offer us any harm . . ." Sister Agnes said hopefully.

Xander gave her a sympathetic smile. "I think General Gregor is definitely in the mood to harm someone."

"Well, maybe if you hadn't shot at him," Willow muttered.

"He was going to attack, Will. Kind of a bad thing in the middle of spell casting."

"Still, you didn't have to shoot."

"True. I could have sicced Spike on him. He's certainly willing."

"Kids," Joyce said mildly. "That's not helping. Sister, do you want to offer him the chance to search? I don't know what he'll make of Savlin and the others."

"Oh, dear. But, we'll have to let him in, won't we?"

"No," Xander said.

Anya shrugged. "Of course, they'll be annoyed. Soldiers are like that. But annoyed soldiers are easier to deal with when they're outside, not inside."

Sister Agnes nodded once. "So. We know they're going to be upset. We don't want them inside the walls if they're upset. Very well."

"What if they insist?" Joyce asked.

Willow blinked. "They can't insist. They don't have any right to insist."

Xander squeezed her shoulders. "Our Willow, so trusting. Will, they have swords and crossbows and lots of men. They think that gives them the right."

"But that's just--bad guys think like that."

"Uh huh."

"But you have that gun thing, which is nastier than a sword, doesn't that mean--" She broke off, frowning. "Oh, dear."

"Welcome to the arms race, Wills."

"I'm going to go hug Tara."

Joyce smiled kindly as Willow went to the chapel. "So. When they insist. What do we do?"

Sister Agnes looked at Xander. "You don't think we should let them in?"

"Maybe just their general. Not all of them."

"Can you keep them out?"

He looked at his hands. "I think so."

"Spike can help," Anya said.

Sister Agnes frowned up at the wall. "That's what I'm afraid of." She crossed herself. "We can only do our best and trust in the Lord. I'll speak to them when the hour's up."

"From the wall," Xander said. "Don't go outside."

She hesitated, then nodded.

"I'm hungry," Anya said, looking perplexed. "Is this a usual human reaction to fear?"

Xander went over to hug her. "Humans have lots of reactions to fear, Ahn."

"Oh, I know, but do we have time for sex? I don't think we should, not here."

Xander stared at her, blushing slowly.

Joyce cleared her throat. "Anya, there might be some food in the dining room. We didn't really finish supper. Would you help me in?"

"Oh, of course." She moved closer to help Joyce balance as she maneuvered the walker across the uneven courtyard. Joyce took a step forward, then went still. "Joyce? Are you all right? Xander, Joyce is broken again!"

Joyce shook her head. "No, I'm all right, dear, I'm sorry. I just realized where I am."

"Where are you?"

"I'm in a Mission era convent dedicated to a saint who was a demon, threatened by a small army that dates from the Middle Ages, while my daughters have jumped through an interdimensional portal in the company of a vampire. Our defense relies on another vampire, one young man with a gun, and a witch. My high school yearbook said I was the girl most likely to be boring."

Anya hugged her. "And you're with us, instead. Isn't that better?"

Xander laughed. "Yeah, Mrs. Summers. Congratulations, you're a Scooby."

Joyce smiled at him. "My highest dreams achieved." She headed to the buildings with Anya.

Xander glanced sheepishly at Sister Agnes. "Um, about Anya and what she said. I'm sorry--"

She patted his arm. "She's a lovely girl, and blessed with a simpler view of life. You can always believe what she tells you."

"Oh, gosh, that's true."

"You're very lucky. Most people lie by habit. Your Anya tells the truth. Not everyone can deal with that."

"She's definitely an acquired taste." He blushed again and averted his eyes from the nun's smile. "I'd better get back up there before Spike starts taking potshots at people."

"Call me when you need me."

"Right."

In the chapel, Tara avoided the shouting and the smell of magic and crawled under the benches to hide. Little gray scaley feet appeared in front of her, then a small muzzle and bright eyes peeked under at her. They stared at each other, then Tara crawled out, careful of her broken hand. The little creature sniffed at the cast, then chirped at her.

"Cotton balls," Tara said. That got her an amused hiss.

She wandered around the chapel, ignoring the large demons that looked like the little one that followed her. The large crucifix made her wince, but she stood in front of the Virgin for several minutes, tracing the curves of the wooden face with delicate fingers. The little demon tugged on her sleeve. She followed him to the statue of St. Eugene.

They stared at the statue for a bit, then Tara reached out to touch the golden chalice in the statue's hands. The water in the chalice began to swirl and glow. Her small companion went up on tiptoes to see in.

The glow faded to darkness, then a picture. A pretty blonde woman sat in the front seat of a car, eyes closed, head shaking, pain knotting her forehead. The lines of her face flickered several times, but settled. The woman glared, then poked the pockmarked demon behind the wheel. "Drive faster. He's getting pushy. I think he's trying to stop us."

"Yes, most glorious."

The little lizard whimpered and fell back. Tara took her hand away. The water slowed and went still.

"Tara?"

Willow came through the doorway, looked around. The little demon ducked behind Tara, peeking around her legs at the new person.

"Hi, little guy," Willow said, crouching down. "Are you looking after my girl?" He didn't come out of hiding. She straightened and hugged Tara. "Crazy night. So this is the guy?" She studied the statue of St. Eugene, then ran a finger along the top of the chalice as she rested her head on Tara's shoulder. "Crazy night." She put both arms around Tara's waist, gazing into the still, empty waters in the cup.

Buffy hit gravel and lost Dawn's hand. She rolled to her feet. "Dawn!"

"Here," came the shaky answer. "Oh-h, he was right, that was nasty." Dawn climbed slowly to her feet. "Wow. Ick."

"Yeah."

The sky was grey-green and seemed to pulse with occasional pink flashes. Maybe day, maybe night. There was enough light to show they had landed among ruins, half-collapsed stone walls that rose two or three feet. The weedy plant-like things clustered around the walls were yellowish and spiky. And they twitched, even though there was no wind.

Dawn and Buffy moved together, taking each others hand. "Shouldn't there be people?" Dawn asked. "I kind of expected people."

"I'm wondering where Giles is. Giles!"

Dawn hugged her arm. "Don't yell. You don't know what's out there."

Footsteps crunched behind a wall, and Giles came into view. He was still grinning. "Isn't this amazing? A whole new world."

Dawn shook her head. "No songs, no songs."

Buffy reminded herself that perkiness was not a capital offense. "Is everything OK? Nothing about to eat us? Where are the people?"

"Oh. Yes. Potential eating things." He actually reached up to fiddle with glasses he wasn't bothering with anymore. "I haven't seen anything threatening. Haven't seen much of anything, actually."

"Shouldn't there be people?"

"Yes, one would expect people, wouldn't one? Anya certainly wouldn't have come here on business if there were no people."

Buffy and Dawn looked at each other. "Giles, are you OK?" Buffy asked.

"Yes, yes, I'm fine. What about you two? Was the trip through very bad?"

Dawn shrugged. "Kind of like Space Mountain, but with a nastier light show."

"And smells," Buffy added.

"And noises."

Giles nodded. "Good, not too appalling, then. All we need to do now is find a safe place to wait- -oh, how lovely!"

The girls looked up to where he was looking. On a nearby mountainside a large furry something spread out huge orange half-circle wings, then leaned forward and glided away. It didn't flap its wings, just floated.

Dawn buried her face in Buffy's shoulder. "Go home now. Go home now."

"It's not a bat, Dawnie. It's not going to come down here." Buffy glared at Giles. "It better not, anyway."

Giles watched the thing travel across the sky, fascinated.

"Giles!"

"Hm? Oh, sorry. I wonder if that's one of the people? Anyway, I found an old building around the corner that has most of its roof. It's quite empty."

"OK, let's go."

Giles lectured on what he'd observed so far, how the ruins suggested the builders were humanoid and how the path was made by something with two feet. Fortunately the building wasn't too far away. It was rather dilapidated, but was nicely empty and not very dirty.

Dawn waited for Buffy's nod, then collapsed on the dirt floor. "How long are we going to be here?"

Giles glanced at his watch. "In our world, dawn is at 6:13 tomorrow. It's nearly 10 now--and, yes, my watch is still working and seems to be keeping the same time."

"How would you know?" Dawn asked. "If time operated on different principles here, it would affect the way you perceive time. It might be faster than what we're used to, but we'd perceive it as normal."

Buffy stared at her. "Tell me again why you're flunking American History?"

Giles looked offended. "You're failing history? With all the resources available to you?"

"Geez, guys, relax. It's been a bad year, OK? And come on, Tea Pot Dome Scandal and all that, not exactly fascinating."

"Still," Giles said, "if you're intelligent enough to discuss theories of time, you can certainly handle a mere two hundred and twenty-five years of history."

Dawn shrugged. "That's just from watching science fiction stuff with Xander. I don't think that counts as learning."

"Xander is a very clever young man and much smarter than he gives himself credit for. As are you, Dawn."

She shrugged again, though she was smiling a little. The smile faded. "How do you think they did it?"

"Who?" Buffy asked.

"The monks. When they put me together. Was it some big communal project, they got together and said stuff like, 'Give her brown hair, and she needed braces when she was twelve, and she had whooping cough when she was three.' Or did they do it by committee, one for school stuff and one for friends and all? Maybe competitions on who could come up with the most twisted stuff?"

Giles leaned against a wall on the far side of the room, keeping partial watch outside. "I have no idea. It's an amazing spell. They could have been constructing it for years, crafting all the elements and making sure everything was ready by the time Glory caught up with them. All of us have memories of you, and you have a fully documented existence. It's a masterpiece of magic."

Buffy sat down next to Dawn. "Would have been easier if the Key had been a rock or something. I could have shoved it in a box in the basement or something." She dodged Dawn's kick for form's sake.

"Howler monkeys. I'm just saying." Something made chittering noises off in the murky gloom. Dawn slid closer to Buffy.

"Should we have a fire?" Buffy asked.

"That could attract as many things as it scares off," Giles said. "Besides, I don't have a lighter or matches." His hand flashed up and drew the sword on his back as he turned to face the door.

Buffy jumped to her feet. "What!" She hesitated about going to his side, because his vampire face had appeared. "What is it?"

"I'm not sure. I heard something, but it was far away. I think it's moved off." Still staring off into the dark, he resheathed the sword. "You two should get some sleep, if you can."

"Huh, yeah," Dawn muttered.

Buffy stared at the man in the doorway, the vampire who sometimes wore her most trusted friend's face. Who had tried to kill her sister. He even caused the twist in her gut that all vampires caused. The Slayer instincts said, "Kill, he's like all the others, it's your duty." But now he was defending them, acting just like the man who had always covered her back. It wasn't fair.

Giles glanced over at her and frowned, then reached to his face. "Oh. Sorry." He concentrated, and the ridges and fangs disappeared. He looked back outside, just a little embarrassed.

Slowly Buffy went to stand beside him on the other side of the doorway. "I thought Anya said the sun here was pink."

"It may well be, above the clouds. We may have arrived at a stormy time. And Anya spoke of cities near the ocean, which I don't think we're near."

"Did it hurt?" Buffy whispered.

"Excuse me?" He stared at her, then turned back to the darkness. "Yes, quite a bit, actually," he said, keeping his voice down to where only a Slayer would hear. "But she was too strong, and I'd left it too late to try and fight."

"Why?"

"Pride, I think. She'd beaten me before, but I was . . . not at my best. I suppose I had some idea of proving myself stronger and smarter than mad Drusilla."

"You don't know?"

"It's very blurry. All I remember clearly is the sound of her voice. And then waking up with Spike."

Dawn cleared her throat. "I don't suppose either of you have a candy bar or something in your pocket, do you? I'm a little hungry."

"Gosh, that's right," Buffy said, grateful for the distraction. "We should have brought some water, too."

"We shouldn't be here long enough to need to eat," Giles said.

"I'm a growing Key," Dawn muttered, "and I'm hungry."

Buffy went back to sit next to her. "Try to go to sleep, and it won't bother you." Dawn laid down and put her head in her sister's lap. "In a few hours all this will be over. Right, Giles?"

"Well, if not over, Dawn's part will be done. If Glory doesn't have her Key at 6:13 AM, she will not be opening any portals."

Dawn snuggled closer. "And my reason for existence will be over."

Buffy stroked her hair. "Your reason for existence will be to take make-up exams for this unannounced vacation and to get a passing grade in the Tea Bag Scandal and all that."

"Tea Pot Dome," Dawn said, hiding her smile.

"See? You're going to be the family historian. Now get some sleep." She stroke Dawn's hair for several minutes, listening to her sister's breathing get quieter. She saw Giles check his watch and frown. "What?"

"The General's hour is almost up."

"Will they be OK?"

Giles didn't look at her. "I don't know."

Xander took a swig from the mug of water Anya had brought him, but he didn't take his eyes from the soldiers below. "Almost time." He nodded at the crossbowmen checking their weapons.

Anya peeked over the walls. "They certainly do look professional."

"Maybe they'll be reasonable." He saw the look on her face. "Yeah, I know."

"Here comes the sister," Spike, at the far end of the parapet, said. Sister Agnes, accompanied by Willow, came up the steps. "You're early, sister." Spike offered her a hand up the last awkward step. After a blink of surprise, she accepted.

"I will not be summoned to my own walls by some fanatic. Where is he?"

Xander nodded towards the soldiers. "Over there, talking to his monks. He's working himself up to a full head of steam."

Sister Agnes' eyes narrowed. "Que lastima. I don't think we'll wait. General Gregor!"

General Gregor jumped, and Willow giggled. "Sister Agnes has been working herself up, too," she whispered.

Gregor scrambled for his cloak and the sword he'd put aside. "Yes, sister?"

"The hour you asked for is almost up. You have words for us?"

Xander snickered appreciatively.

"Yes, I do," Gregor called back. "You know my demands, sister. Give me the Key."

"No, General."

Gregor blinked. "Sister Agnes, one man with a rifle will not stop my warriors from coming in there and taking the Key. It is our sacred mission."

"Your enthusiasm is getting away from you, General. I won't give you the Key, because the Key isn't here anymore."

Gregor frowned. "Brother Maynard said the spell you cast was a portal."

Xander and Spike looked at each other. "Brother Maynard?" Xander gasped.

"If he goes for the Holy Hand Grenade, I will not be held responsible for what I do."

"Hush," Sister Agnes hissed at them.

"Bring it back," Gregor ordered.

"What? General, Glory cannot possibly get the Key in time now. There's no need for this--"

"There is every need! We are here to destroy the Key, and we shall not leave without completing our quest."

"The quest is the quest," Spike muttered. Sister Agnes kicked him.

Anya leaned over to Xander. "Does he know the Key is a girl?"

"Maybe not. Might make a difference." He stood up, keeping his empty hands in plain view. "General, do you know what form the Key is in?"

"It does not matter."

"It does. The Key is in the shape of a girl, Dawn Summers, the Slayer's little sister--our little sister. We're not giving her to you. That's why we sent her away. She's just a kid, an innocent kid. A person. You can't just destroy her."

Gregor was silent for several moments, then bowed his head. "It is not right." He looked up, the fanatic look on his face unchanged. "But it is the monks' fault, not mine. I have been charged with the destruction of the Key. It is the sin of the monks, that they placed the Key in the form of a living being that you care for. Their cruelty, not mine. The Key should have been destroyed long ago, and this grief would never have come to you. I am sorry for your pain, but it changes nothing. Give me the Key, or face the consequences."

Xander looked at Sister Agnes, who was staring in disbelief down at General Gregor. She raised her eyes to heaven, whispered something, then crossed herself. "The Key is not here, General. We cannot summon it back."

"You opened a portal once, you can do it again."

Anya leaned over to Willow. "Can you?"

"Maybe."

Sister Agnes looked at Xander. "Do we let them in?"

Xander took a deep breath. "No."

"Do we do our best to stop them?"

He swallowed and glanced down at the rifle laying on the parapet. "Yes."

"You won't have to," Willow said eagerly. "I'll put up a barrier, they'll never get in."

"You can't," Anya said.

Willow glared at her. "Yes, I can."

"But you can't."

"I most certainly can, you--"

"If you put up a magical barrier, Buffy, Giles, and Dawn won't be able to get back."

Willow gasped. "But--we don't want them coming back yet."

"And what if they're in trouble and the only way out is by coming back?"

Spike leaned forward. "You said the place was safe."

"It is! Earth is safe, too, generally." She nodded at the soldiers to prove her point.

Xander nodded grimly. "So no barrier to keep out the arrows. All right, then. Sister Agnes, I'm willing to try to keep them out. But this is your convent. Your call."

Sister Agnes pulled her rosary from her belt, held it to her lips, and closed her eyes. "They're determined, aren't they."

"Yes."

She nodded and opened her eyes, crossing herself. "And so are we. General," she called, "we shall not give you an innocent girl to be killed. Do as you will."

Gregor nodded curtly and turned to his soldiers.

Xander glanced at Willow. "I think there's someone with a better resolve face than yours, Wills."

Willow nodded. "Uh huh. Goddess protect us. Oh, sorry," she added sheepishly, looking at Sister Agnes.

"No need, nina. May whatever good beings there are bless us."

The soldiers outside had found large logs. "Oh, battering rams," Anya said. "Will the gate hold?"

Sister Agnes frowned. "I don't know."

Xander looked over the courtyard for possibilities. "Spike, the keys for the bus are in the ignition. Back it up against the gate. They'll have a hard time getting past that even if they get the gate down."

"Good call, General Gordon." Spike jumped straight from the parapet to the ground and ran for the bus.

"General Gordon?" Xander repeated.

"Royal Army general of the Victorian era," Willow explained. "Supposed to be a good one." She looked over the wall. "I bet I can make them drop those logs."

Xander saw the movement out of the corner of his eye. "Down!" He shoved Willow, grabbing Anya's arm as he hit the deck. Sister Agnes ducked as four crossbow bolts sliced through the air where their heads had just been. The bolts slammed into the dirt of the courtyard.

"Good grouping," Anya observed.

Willow was hyperventilating. "They--they--dear Goddess, they . . ."

"Right, everybody down from here," Xander ordered. "Combatants only up here."

"I'm as much a combatant as you," Willow protested. "You said you didn't remember that soldier stuff."

But he didn't seem fazed at all. "Get off this wall, Willow. You want to do something useful? Stop those arrows when they're coming in over the wall. If you're down there, you can see them coming, but if you're up here they can see you."

She started to pull on her resolve face, but he was already turning away. Anya pushed past her and tugged on Xander's sleeve. He turned to snap, but she interrupted with a quick kiss. "Be careful," she said as she began inching towards the stairs, staying below the wall.

Xander managed a smile. "I love you."

"I love you, too. Don't die."

"Yes, ma'am." He saluted her, then glared at Willow. "Resolve face doesn't work when there are arrows aimed at your head. Get out of here."

She looked at the rifle he was picking up. "But--"

Sister Agnes tugged on her arm. "Come, nina, we are in the way." Willow tried the resolve face on her, but the nun wasn't impressed either. "Willow, if we stay he'll only worry about you. If we go, he can worry about himself. And you can stop the arrows just as well down there."

Xander smiled very briefly at her. "Shoo. And keep your head down."

She stuck her tongue out at him, but she went.

Spike rolled the bus gently back against the convent gates, then shut off the engine. "Get through that, you silly English ka-niggits." He paused briefly, remembering he was English, but at least he wasn't playing medieval dress-up. He headed for the steps back up to the parapet. Anya was hurrying down. "What's up, luv?"

"Arrows. Xander's clearing the decks." Spike frowned up at the wall. "Yes, go help him. Get in the way of arrows that could hurt him far more than you."

Spike blinked, then grinned. "I like your priorities, girl."

"I know you don't want him to get hurt. I've seen you checking out his ass."

"You have?"

She shrugged. "I don't blame you, it's a nice ass. Go."

"Yes'm." She went to the chapel, and he headed for the stairs after Willow and Sister Agnes came down. Once he was on the parapet, he made his way carefully to Xander's side.

"You shouldn't be up here either," Xander said tersely, peeking very carefully over the wall. "Flying stakes, and all."

"Better night vision than you and quicker to duck." He stuck his head up, took a good look around, then ducked down as another flight of arrows came over.

Xander checked the courtyard to make sure everyone was clear. "Good placement on the bus, thanks."

"Welcome." Spike slid a little closer. "Look, send me over the wall, and you won't need that." He nodded at the rifle.

"No."

"Why?"

"You'd kill them. We don't need to do that."

"You're going to have to shoot somebody. You know that, don't you?"

Xander didn't look at him. "I know. But I don't have to kill them. Besides . . ."

"Besides?"

"Wounded screaming men are harder on morale than dead martyrs."

Spike raised an eyebrow. "True enough. Hard to be sure of just wounding, though."

"I know that too." Xander finally looked at him. "Why are you doing what I tell you? There's nothing to stop you going over the wall and having a feast."

"Nope, there isn't."

"So why?"

He got a knowing grin in return. "Can't watch you being all masterful and decisive if I go over the wall."

"Just don't distract me."

"Wouldn't dream of it."

Down in the chapel, Joyce watched Savlin comfort her scared child. The Minoto were gathered far from the door, whispering together. Joyce wondered very privately what soldiers fanatic enough to kill an innocent girl would make of demons.

By the door, Tara watched the events outside anxiously, chewing her fingers and whimpering occasionally. She squeaked and bounced as Willow and Sister Agnes came in.

"How is everyone?" the nun asked.

"Not too bad," Joyce said. "What's happening?"

"General Gregor insists we bring him the Key, never mind that it's a little girl. We said no. Xander and Spike are convincing him to stay on his side of the wall."

"What's that involve?"

"I'm not asking."

Another gunshot blasted out, and they all looked towards the wall. Xander ducked down as more arrows came flying over. These impacted against the wall, one coming close to the open door of the chapel.

Sister Agnes looked at Willow. "Time for you to get to work, nina."

Willow looked up from hugging Tara. "I think so. Stay back here, baby," she told Tara, then stepped outside. "Bring 'em on," she muttered, smiling just a little.

Xander saw another group of archers getting ready to shoot. They weren't taking the hints of the shots fired at their feet. Right and wrong got packed up neatly and tucked in a mental footlocker. The torchlight made sighting a bit tricky, so he aimed carefully and fired. The center archer yelled and fell back, clutching his shoulder. The whole line turned in confusion, reaching for their comrade.

"Leave him!" shouted Gregor. "Take your positions! The monks will see to Brother Lawrence!" He glared up at Xander. "Fire!"

Xander ducked back down as the archers recovered themselves and drew back their bowstrings. Spike nodded downwards. "You think they'd go away if you took out General Asshole?"

"If I wound him he'll just keep yelling. Anything else and they'll take us all out in revenge. We just need to hold him off." He looked up, curious as to where the arrows were, but Spike yanked him back down before he got more than the top of his head over the wall. The arrows came over in a tight group.

Spike glared at him. "You do know they want to take you out, right?" Xander nodded.

Willow raised her hands at the incoming arrows. "Incendere."

The arrows burst into flames, then impacted into the walls of the dormitory, burning. Flaming chunks fell down onto a chair, which began to smoulder.

"Oh! Fire bad! Extinguo!" All the fires went out. "Dispel? No, that would just make them scatter, oh, what's the word for disintegrate . . ."

She saw Spike peek over the wall and say something to Xander, who obviously swore. "Willow! They're getting fire arrows! Get ready!"

"Oh . . ."

Xander picked off three more archers as they prepared, and part of the wave of burning arrows slammed into the wall right below his position. Burning rags soaked in pitch had been tied to the arrow shafts; fragments of the rags came over the wall to fall on the parapet. Spike ducked under his duster to escape the flames, then shook them off. Xander peeled off his jacket and helped put out the burning spots on the wooden parapet itself.

Willow gulped at the dozen or so burning arrows that came into the courtyard. This wave was spread out, and she could only hope she'd get them all. "Disintegrate!" No time for the correct Latin. The arrows exploded, and burning chunks fell down. Small fires broke out on furniture and awnings. "Extinguo!"

Sister Agnes and Joyce peeked out. "The dormitory has a wooden roof, but the chapel's roof is tile. We need to get everyone in here."

"Anya's gone to get them," Joyce said. "A couple of the older sisters were saying they'd rather trust in God than have to come out into the open."

"Yes, and God helps them who help themselves. They'll be safer here."

"I'd prefer it," Willow gasped. "This is a lot harder than it looks. Oh, darn it--disintegrate! Extin--that's cheating!" Another flight came through before she could finish the spell to put out the first batch of fires, and those arrows hit the walls full force. "Extinguo!"

Spike scanned the situation. "Red's not catching them all. There's too many for her. Does that thing have a full auto setting?"

Xander clenched his jaw as he put a bullet into the leg of the soldier running down the line lighting the aimed arrows. "Yes. But I'm not using it." He watched the monks drag the newest wounded man behind the lines to the others. Another soldier took up the torch and finished lighting the arrows. "Incoming. Watch your head."

Anya, hiding in the doorway of the dormitory with all the sisters, saw the flight of arrows come over and be destroyed and their fires put out. "Run now! Get your little habited butts over there!" Sister Dymphna, a quiet soul who looked after the animals, gave her a disapproving look, but hoisted the skirts of her habit like the others and ran for the shelter of the chapel. Sister Beatrice, in charge of the crops, was not a runner, and Anya grabbed her arm to help hustle her along.

Xander rose to fire and barely had time to drop back down as the five archers who'd been holding their shots for just that moment released their arrows.

Sister Dymphna tripped on the step into the chapel and grabbed Willow to keep from falling. Willow saw the wave of arrows coming in too late. Four impacted into the adobe wall of the chapel. The fifth slammed into Anya from behind.

Sister Beatrice shrieked and yanked off her wimple to beat at the flames on Anya's back. Willow stared for a shocked instant, then shouted "Extinguo! Repulse!" The next flight of flaming arrows impacted against an invisible barrier rising from the convent's wall.

Xander, just rising to aim for his next shot, felt the rifle barrel bump against something solid. "The hell?"

Spike poked the air. "Some kind of shield. Did Red do this?"

"I thought putting up a shield was a bad idea." Xander turned to look for Willow. "Anya!"

Spike whirled. "Oh, fuck."

Xander hurtled off the parapet, stumbled only slightly on landing, and sprinted towards the chapel doors, where Sister Mary, the herbalist, was helping lower Anya to the ground. Spike caught the rifle he'd flung aside, hesitated, then poked the barrier experimentally. Impervious.

"Aren't you lot just a bunch of lucky bastards," he growled towards the milling, confused soldiers.

"Xander," Anya gasped. "Where's Xander!"

"Here, honey!" Xander dropped to his knees beside her. "Right here."

He took her gently from Sister Mary, wincing at her gasp of pain. The arrow was buried past the metal head in her back, just below her shoulder blade. "Can you get it out?" he asked Sister Mary.

The nun bit her lip, then shook her head. "I think it's in her lung. If we pull it out . . ."

There was blood on Anya's lips. Memories that spoke of prey said that was good, it never took long after they started coughing up blood. He shook himself. "There's got to be something you can do. I mean--no offense, but--you're a nun out here in the boonies, maybe--"

Sister Mary grabbed hold of the hand that was reaching for the alien object stabbed into his woman. "And before I was a nun I was an ER nurse in South Central LA. If I had an intubation team and a surgical suite and the rest, I'd risk it, but . . ."

Sister Agnes, standing with Joyce in the doorway, looked towards the wall. "If we appealed to General Gregor . . . ?"

Xander laughed bitterly. "I've shot about a dozen of his men, I don't think he's going to be real concerned about one of ours."

Willow grimaced. "Maybe if you hadn't shot them . . ."

Xander raised his head slowly, but before he could speak, Joyce said, "Willow, not now. Is there anything you can do with--with magic?"

She shook her head. "I don't think so. We couldn't help you when you got sick, and I wouldn't even know where to begin with this."

"Real useful," Xander muttered. Willow took an offended breath, but Anya's sudden cough distracted them. Xander wiped the new blood from her mouth. "Take it easy, honey. I've got you."

"Hurts . . ."

"I know. Just hang on."

She breathed several quick, shallow breaths. "Xander?"

"Yes, sweetie?"

"I'm dying, aren't I."

"No! No, you're not."

"Yes, I am. People always tell the person who's dying that they aren't, but the die-ee, they know, they always--" She whimpered and coughed again.

"Anya, for once in your life, be quiet. You're going to be fine."

She smiled weakly at him. "You're an awful liar."

He swallowed hard. "You are not dying. You want to know how I know? Because I've still got two more payments on that ring down at Gordman's Jewelry, and you're not allowed to die at least until after I finish paying for it and I put it on your finger."

"A--a ring?"

"Uh huh."

"An engagement--"

"Yes, an engagement ring. So, you see, you can't die, you have a wedding to plan."

She was starting to cry. "You want to marry me?"

"Yes, I do." He shifted her closer in his arms and wiped his own wet face. "But I can't do that if you do something stupid like die on me here."

"No, I can't." The tears came harder.

Willow poked him in the shoulder. "Xander."

"Go away, Will."

"Xander!"

"Damn it, Willow--" He saw Anya trying to lift her head, trying to look at the other side of the courtyard. "Honey, lie still."

"What are you doing here?" Anya whispered.

Xander looked slowly over his shoulder, to where stood a robed figure whose elegant horns curled back from a fine-featured demonic face.

"D'Hoffryn," Willow breathed.

The demon nodded his head politely. "Ms. Rosenberg. Hello, Anyanka. I promised myself that I would come to you on your mortal deathbed, to say good-bye." He looked around. "But that's not supposed to be for another fifty years. I was expecting to find you surrounded by two or three generations of grieving descendants, not lying in the dirt." His eyes went to Xander. "Oh, yes. The Harris boy. You're still with him, then? That would cut down on a life expectancy."

"You bastard!" Xander yelled. "You're the one who did this to her, made her mortal, made her vulnerable!"

Anya tugged weakly on his shirt. "Xander, don't . . ."

D'Hoffryn raised one eyebrow. "Do you think she'd have come to you if she were still a demon, Mr. Harris? Don't be so quick to condemn me for making her mortal." He stepped closer, and Sister Agnes crossed herself quickly. D'Hoffryn paused. "Very well, madam, I'll come no closer. Anyanka, I planned to ask you a question when I came to you one last time. Though I think I can expect a different answer that you would have given me otherwise. Was it worth it, this mortality? Now that you lay dying, would you do it again?"

Xander braced himself for Anya's answer. The march of time had always frightened her, the swift inevitability of mortal death. He couldn't blame her if she railed against the brief lifetime she'd had as a human woman. The demon was right, if she'd driven out of Sunnydale at graduation time, driven out and stayed out, she'd mostly likely be safe with someone else, working on those generations of descendants, not facing hellgods and monsters and crazy fanatic generals.

Anya looked up at Xander's face quietly, then she smiled and rested her head against him. "Yes. I would." He closed his eyes and held her as tightly as he could without hurting her.

D'Hoffryn shrugged. "I might have known. Silly emotional humans. Ah, well." Willow slowly raised her hand. "Yes, Ms. Rosenberg?"

"How--how did you get in here? There's a magical shield up. Anya said a shield would keep people from coming in here."

"She's quite right. It's a very good shield, my congratulations. Still, there is very little in the cosmos that can prevent me from doing as I wish." He looked at Anya again. "You'll forgive me if I don't stay for the painful conclusion. Farewell, Anyanka." He raised his hand.

"Wait," Xander said.

"Yes?"

"You could fix this."

"Fix this, Mr. Harris?"

Xander met his eyes squarely. "You could heal Anya."

D'Hoffryn glanced around at the gasps. "Yes, I could," he said. "But why should I? She is mortal woman, doomed to die, either now or fifty years in the future. Healing her would not prevent that. I sympathize with your pain, Mr. Harris, but why should I grant one woman an exception?"

"Because this is Anyanka, who was the star of the vengeance demons."

"She was Anyanka. She is no longer."

Xander gestured Sister Dymphna over and passed Anya over to her. Anya tried to catch his arm, but he kissed her hand and slipped free. He stood up and walked over to D'Hoffryn, who he discovered was not that much taller than he. "You've got no reason to save the mortal woman Anya, I know that. So make her Anyanka again, and let her live."

D'Hoffryn put his hands into his sleeves and studied Xander closely. "Make her Anyanka again? Give her back her powers? Make her a demon again?"

"Yes."

"What an interesting proposal. You surprise me, Mr. Harris. I don't deny that having Anyanka back in the fold would be a great help. Her replacement as patron of scorned women is woefully pedestrian in her vengeances. Still, we cope. So why should I do such a thing? Simply because you ask me?"

Xander looked over at Anya, who was trying to talk to him but coughing too hard to get the words out. "What would it take for you to do it?"

D'Hoffryn cocked his head, intrigued. "What do you have?"

Xander spread his arms. "What do you want? If I've got it, it's yours."

"No!" Spike jumped down from the parapet. "Xander, you're offering him a blank IOU? This is D'Hoffryn, the being who gives the vengeance demons their powers. You know, manipulation of time and reality? Those powers? And you'll let him have whatever he wants from you? Does the phrase 'deal with the devil' mean anything to you?"

D'Hoffryn glared at him. "This is between Mr. Harris and myself, William the Bloody. Please stay out of it."

Xander nodded. "Stay out of this, Spike. I know what I'm doing."

Spike shook his head. "And that is?"

"Saving Anya's life." He ignored Spike. "So, D'Hoffryn, do we have a deal? You'll save Anya in return for a consideration to be determined later?"

The demon thought for several moments. "You understand that this will involve her becoming Anyanka again, patron of scorned women, vengeance demon, etc.? Not just a little shopkeeper on the Hellmouth?"

"Yes, I do." He glared at Spike, who had started to protest again.

"Very well, then. But she has to agree. I can't force this on her."

Xander nodded and went back to Anya, kneeling at her side.

She was shaking her head and fighting off coughing. The back of her shirt was soaked with blood, and she was very pale. "Don't," she whispered.

"I'm not going to let you die, sweetheart. I won't."

D'Hoffryn walked up behind Xander and held out his hand. Light glowed in his palm, then he tipped over his hand and an ornate necklace dangled from the chain he held. "Your power center, Anyanka. Reach for it and be whole."

She stared at it, obviously torn. "Go ahead," Xander said from a tight throat. "You'll never have to worry about gray hairs and being too old for me to love ever again."

"But you won't love me if I'm a demon," she whispered. "You won't want to give a vengeance demon an engagement ring."

He took her hand in both of his. "But I can't love you if you're dead, either. The rest of it--even on the Hellmouth I can't marry a dead woman."

Spike stepped up quietly. "Yes, you could."

"What?" Xander started to tell him to stop being stupid, but he went still as Spike slid on his gameface. "Oh, god. That's right."

D'Hoffryn sneered. "Vampire is still demon. At least as a vengeance demon she'd have some self-respect. If this one turns her, she'd only be his soulless minion."

Spike smiled slightly. "I think we could come up with an Orb of Thesulah to lend out in a good cause. I'd help her all I could, but there'd be no ties on her. And anyway, isn't this up to the lady? Anya? What do you want to do?"

Anya was fading fast, but she managed to focus on Xander. "I want to go home with you," she whispered. He nodded, fighting tears. "But I'm not going to get to, am I."

"I--it's up to you, Ahn."

She looked at Spike, then at the power center still dangling from D'Hoffryn's hand. "Xander?"

"Yeah?"

"Kiss me?"

He leaned forward obediently, and as their lips met he felt her reach past him and take the power center. The electrical shock knocked him away. When his eyes cleared, Anya was sitting up, the arrow gone from her back. Then she looked up, and he couldn't help flinching. Heavy, protruding veins traced her face, and her eyes glowed. "Anyanka."

She nodded sadly. "Anyanka." The veins faded, leaving the familiar human face. "But still your Anya, too?"

"Yes."

He started to lean forward again, but D'Hoffryn cleared his throat. "We don't have time for this, Anyanka. We have to go."

"Go?" they both repeated.

"There is a great deal of work for you to do, Anyanka. Your replacement is not only uncreative but inefficient. Besides, this human squabble is none of your affair anymore. Let us go."

Slowly, Anya got to her feet, Xander helping her balance as they stood. He glared at D'Hoffryn. "That's it, you're just going to take her out of here, leaving us behind?"

D'Hoffryn gave him a pointed look. "You demanded I make her Anyanka again. She is. And she has responsibilities to fulfill. You got what you asked for, Mr. Harris. I shall be in touch with you for fulfilling your part of our bargain."

He held his hand out to Anya. She hugged Xander tightly. "I love you," she whispered in his ear.

"I love you, too."

They kissed one more time, then she pulled away and took D'Hoffryn's hand. They disappeared with a bright gold flash of light.

Xander stared at the spot she'd been for several seconds, then looked down at his hands. They were dark with Anya's drying blood. "It's better than her being dead. Isn't it?"

Willow finally found her voice. "Probably."

"Probably." He studied his bloody hands a bit longer, then wiped them on his pants. "Anyway. We've still got a small army outside. Will, can you drop that barrier?"

She blinked at him for a few moments. "Sure, but--it stops the arrows, which I'm quite the fan of."

"Plus it keeps me from shooting out, and I think Anya's warning about Buffy and the others having trouble getting back is legit. Bring it down, please."

Willow started to argue, but Xander was already moving towards the parapet.

Spike followed him silently up to their position on the wall. He watched a grim-faced Xander pop the ammo clip on the rifle, check the contents, then reach into the duffle bag for a spare. He pulled out all six of the spare clips and lined them up next to him, in easy reach.

"You got enough ammunition to take out all of them?" he asked.

Xander slammed a full clip into the breech. "I've got enough to make a fucking big dent in them. Willow! Get this shield down!"

Spike reached out and pushed the barrel of the rifle down. "Let me do it."

"Excuse me?" Some of the focus faded, and Xander blinked at him. "And what do you think I'm going to do that you want to do it instead?"

Spike smiled just a little. "They took your woman from you. They need to pay. Perfectly happy to help. Just keep them off me."

Xander thought about it for all of four seconds. "OK, then. You've got a deal. You make 'em pay, I'll stay here and jot notes in my memoirs while keeping them from staking you."

Joyce watched Xander up on the wall and frowned. There was something in his eyes that worried her. Through all the adventures of life in Sunnydale, Xander had never lost the spark of humor. It may have been overlaid with pain or stress or weariness, but it had been there, if only in the awareness that it was not the appropriate time for whatever quip he'd just thought up.

That was gone now. All that was in his eyes was pain and loss. The optimism that had survived vampires and betrayals and whatever private griefs haunted him from his pre-Buffy life had finally gone under to one too many losses.

Sister Agnes was watching as well. "I didn't know they were to be married."

"Neither did I. I don't think anyone did. He was probably waiting till after we finished with Glory to ask her. I'm worried about him. He's just started having things work out for him, and now this."

"But Anya lives."

"Yes, but--she's changed. She was so wanting a normal life, she talked of children and growing old with him. Now . . ."

Sister Agnes nodded. "If she'd died, he could mourn her. Instead he'll see her and wonder if he did the right thing."

Willow stood nearby, wringing her hands. "I don't want to take down the shield," she whispered. "I know what he's going to do. How do I stop him?"

"Can you mess up the rifle somehow?" Joyce asked.

"I don't know enough about how guns work, all I can think to do is make it blow up, and that would hurt him. What do I do?" She suddenly gasped and went to her knees. The air around the convent glowed white for half a second, then faded. "Oh, oh . . . ow . . ."

Sister Agnes helped her up. "Nina, what was that?"

"Counter . . . spell, those monks--they're trying to bring down the shield." She cried out as the shield flared again.

Xander saw this from the wall. "Willow! Willow, take it down! I can stop them!" Spike poked at the air above the wall and muttered curses.

Willow let Sister Agnes hold her up as she gasped. "Nina, this is hurting you. Bring it down before they rip it from you."

"But Xander--"

"Must do as he will. You can do nothing for him if you let them injure you."

She hesitated, then nodded. "Disperse," she said, waving her hand. "It's down."

Spike, still poking the air, felt his hand slip through. "We're on." He slipped into his fangs and grinned.

Xander stared at him a moment, then out at the soldiers. The monks had staggered back, holding their heads, but their leader spoke urgently to General Gregor, who straightened triumphantly. Xander took a deep breath, then let it out. "Yipee ki-yay," he said, and nodded at Spike. Spike nodded back.

Xander flipped the selector switch to full auto and jumped to his feet. He sprayed the full clip at the feet of the soldiers, not caring too dreadfully much if he got a little close. With a howl of delight, Spike vaulted over the wall. The screams soon followed.

"My god, he's not," Joyce gasped.

Willow stared in horror. "He turned Spike loose . . ."

Xander stayed as low as he could while still being able to fire over the wall. When he finished the clip, he hit the release and reached down for a new one. A quick-witted archer took advantage of his distraction, and he wasn't completely able to dodge. The arrow sliced across his left bicep, making him swear, but he swapped clips and fired back.

Willow shook her head and ran for the parapet. "Xander, stop it!"

"Get down from here, Willow!"

She took a breath to argue, then she got a glimpse over the wall. Spike was playing. Broken bodies marked his trail through the ranks of the soldiers. He was stalking General Gregor, who had pulled out his sword and was watching the vampire's progress as he exhorted the monks to pull themselves together after the backlash of Willow dispersing the shield in mid-attack.

A crossbowman leveled his weapon at Spike's back. Xander sighted carefully and shot the crossbow out of the man's hands. This brought another flurry of arrows towards Xander's position, which he ducked casually.

"Xander, please!" Willow yelled. She got a half-smile in return, the hyena smile, the condescending look that said she was dealing with things out of her league. "No, not this again."

As she moved, one of the monks pointed. "The Slayer's witch! She's the one." All the monks able to stand began chanting.

"I have had enough of you!" Willow yelled back. "Away!" She waved her hand, and all the monks went flying. "Spike! Get your butt back here!" Spike halted in mid-prowl to stare up at her in disbelief. Three archers took advantage of his motionlessness to take aim. Xander swore under his breath and brought the rifle around. Willow knocked the barrel down and pointed at the archers. "Scindo!"

All the strings on all the bows and crossbows snapped, sending parts flying everywhere. Spike ducked a potential stake, grinned, and moved towards the archers.

"Spike! I said get back up here!"

This time the glare was one of annoyance. "Or what!"

Xander saw Willow's hair whip around, which was very interesting considering there was no wind. And her eyes had gone a very frightening color. "I think you want to do what she says, Spike. Get back up here."

Spike hesitated, looked around at the potential victims wistfully, then shrugged. He jogged to the gate and climbed up the rough wood, then hopped onto the parapet, bloody and grinning, still in game face. "So, Red, playing with the heavy mojo, now, are we?" He stopped when she turned to glare at him.

"How many of them did you kill?"

He lost the grin but didn't back away. "I didn't keep count. Hardly my first. Won't be my last."

She glared over her shoulder. "Xander, how could you? Turning Spike loose on humans--"

But Xander didn't back down either. "Armed humans, used to these kinds of fights. Armed humans who put an arrow into Anya's back. I bet they've got spare bows and strings. Who are we going to let them put an arrow into next, Will? One of the nuns? Tara? Give me an option."

"I can stop them with magic, we don't have to keep hurting them."

Spike nodded over the wall. "Brother Maynard and his boys are getting back up. They're going to be ready for you next time. You didn't make any friends by tossing them aside. How are you going to stop them without hurting them?"

She looked out at the soldiers. They were already regrouping, salvaging equipment, getting the wounded and the dead out of the way. She could see Gregor and the monks consulting and glaring up at her. "There's got to be some way . . ."

"If you think of it, tell me." Xander went to one knee, taking deep breaths. "I'm all for options. Ow." He poked at his left arm and winced.

Spike crouched down. "How bad is it?"

"Just a scratch."

"I'm sure it is, John Wayne. I don't know how long the Monty Python Road Show will take to get their act back together. Get some rest while you can, I'll keep an eye on them."

Xander glared at him. "Aren't we the happy mother's helper all of a sudden. Your concern for my well-being makes me deeply suspicious."

"Look, whelp, you barely got any sleep last night, you drove all day, and tonight comes nowhere near the vicinity of restful. Sleep deprivation and automatic weapons aren't nearly as fun a combination as you'd think."

Xander studied him a few moments longer, then careful passed the rifle over. "You know how to use this?"

"I'm no stranger to firearms."

"OK. No potshots for fun."

"Spoil sport."

Xander sneered, then settled in against the wall and closed his eyes. Spike peeked over the wall to check the soldiers' progress back to threat potential before settling down himself. Willow looked at him suspiciously, until he grinned at her and began ostentatiously licking the drying blood from his hands. She sat down on the other side of Xander and fretted.

Buffy didn't know she was asleep until she jerked awake. Dawn was curled up next to her in the corner farthest from the doorway, but Giles was nowhere to be seen. It seemed a little brighter, though the light had a weird pinky tone to it like Barbie's Dream House gone bad.

She got to her feet slowly, doing her best not to wake Dawn, then she walked silently to the doorway. The wind blew louder through the plants, and the temperature was a bit higher. Daytime? Dear god, did Anya say if the sunlight in this place was dangerous to vampires? Buffy hadn't thought to ask. Maybe Giles had miscalculated, maybe the wind that blew the weedy things around had swept his dust away, too.

She told herself the fear in her gut was because Giles was the only one who knew how to get them home. There was no sign of him outside; none of the dirt had the consistency of vampire dust, and she felt foolish for checking. She tried to control her anxious breathing as she listened, then she ran down the trail, to where she heard something disturb the gravel.

He was practicing sword katas, chopping and slicing at an invisible opponent, moving at vampire speed that made the sword edge whistle in the air. He still wore his human face, all his attention focused on the movements.

A knot built in Buffy's throat as she watched. He moved the way a young man would, the way he never had in the time she'd known him. Was he remembering the strength and skill of his youth, or merely enjoying the demonic abilities of his new form? She'd always wished there was a way she could make him stop hurting, take away the twinges and aches that made him move so stiffly on bad days. She'd used them against him, too, on selfish days when his middle-aged human endurance was no match for teenaged Slayer energy.

Watching him now, she realized that he still knew more weapons technique than she did. In hand-to-hand she thought she could take him, but only Slayer speed had ever helped her beat him when they were sword-to-sword. He pulled a combination gut-slash/decapitation so quickly the sword blurred, and he was back two steps from his position before the afterimage had faded from her eyes.

Note to self: If it all goes bad, do not let Giles get his hands on a sword.

He looked up and spotted her, and the remote, inhuman look went away. "Is something wrong?"

"Uh . . . no. I--just woke up and wondered where you'd gotten off to."

"I didn't want to wake you and I was feeling restless." He swung the sword up and into the sheath on his back without even checking.

"What time is it?"

"Nearly 2. Not much longer."

Buffy nodded absently. She kept trying to fall into the old habit of "aimless chatter with Giles", then her memories kicked her with "this isn't your Giles." She couldn't afford to forget the differences between Giles and Ripper. No matter how easy it would be. She glanced up at the sky, where the pink glow had gotten more pronounced. "So is the sun up?"

"I believe so. In any case, the light doesn't seem to be harmful to me, which was quite a relief." His smile was the old self-deprecating one, and she imagined him poking a finger cautiously out into the light to see what would happen.

"If we're staying here until after the sun comes up at home, what are you going to do when you go through the portal?"

Giles started to reach for his glasses again. "Run, I imagine. The mountains to the east of the convent are sufficiently close that there should be shade in the courtyard well after the time of dawn. That should give me time to find proper shelter. Spike says it's character building, to play tag with the sun."

"Yeah, like he's a good role model."

"Indeed."

"And then what?"

"What do you mean?"

"The world is saved from Glory's portal, Dawn is safe. What do we do about Glory?"

Giles sighed. "I'm not sure, to be honest. The texts suggest that she is fighting a deadline of her own, that it is more than just homesickness and the desire for her full power that is driving her to open the portal. Being in our world weakens her, and it's possible that she will eventually be weakened far enough to be destroyed."

"How long will that take?"

"I have no idea."

Buffy started to pace. "Even with her weakened, she's still pretty darn indestructible. And she won't go quietly."

"No, she won't. But our first goal has always been the preservation of the world."

"No, our first goal has always been the preservation of Dawn."

He smiled very slightly. "Which is why both of us are here. We can worry about dealing with Glory once we know Dawn and the world are safe."

"And after that? Assuming we do bring down Glory?" She sat on a nearby rock and studied him. "We save the world, but I don't think it's going to be time to party."

The remote look was back on his face. "You'll have to do what you think best. A Vampire Slayer's duty is clear."

"You're telling me to come after you and Spike."

"Neither of us would be surprised if you did."

"And you two would just let me."

"We wouldn't be able to stop you making the attempt. But I would not count on your success being guaranteed."

He'd only ever lied to her when she asked him explicitly. She shouldn't be surprised that he could discuss a campaign against himself so matter-of-factly. He knew her and her sense of responsibility better than anyone. And fighting Angelus, who wore the form of the man she loved and who surgically exploited all her weak spots, was not as frightening as the idea of going up against the mind that had trained her, that knew things she had only ever had glimpses of. Her trust in him had been her refuge, and she kept thinking, "Giles will know how to deal with this."

He relaxed slightly, let the aura of Ripper dissipate. "You ought to get more sleep. Surviving till dawn is only part of what we have left to do." He started back up the trail towards the shelter where Dawn still slept. All Buffy wanted to do was to sit in the weird Barbie light and cry a few frightened, grieving tears, but she followed, instead.

The moon was sliding down the far side of the night. The tide of darkness was at its peak, just turning to ebb into daylight.

And Spike needed to get his inner poet under better control. Normal vampires would say, "Sun'll be up in a few hours," without all the poncy symbolism.

Most of the humans had fallen asleep, since the Knights had gone quiet. But the Knights weren't asleep. They were moving around, checking equipment and the wounded, consulting each other and glaring at the convent walls. Spike aimed the rifle occasionally and smirked as people scurried for cover.

Harris and Red were snuggled up together, asleep, holding hands like innocent kids who didn't throw magic and bullets around. Kind of cute, actually, the two heads leaning against each other.

He shook himself. Damn, but he was turning into a sap.

Down in the courtyard, the only ones moving were Tara and the little demon sprout, though they didn't stray far from the chapel doors. He scowled at both of them and made shooing motions for them to get back inside, but they just waved back. Kids and crazy people, no sense between them.

So here he was, the lone protector of a bunch of humans and a religious establishment against a bunch of fanatics who he might have enjoyed partying with, except for the whole self-righteous boring bits. Like the Poncy Scourge of L.A., if that one were to decide to go on a crusade.

Spike sighed and contemplated the road out of the valley. The chip was out of commission, he was a free vamp again. Why didn't he just take to the open highway and find new adventures? Yeah, yeah, gave his word to keep Niblet and Joyce safe. What business did an evil bugger have, keeping his word? No wonder nobody had any respect for him. He could take the bus and be under cover far from here in the few hours left of the night. And when the next evening came he could be back on the road, south to L.A., west to San Francisco, or even the long haul back east to New York. He missed New York. The city had depth, age, history, had seen much and forgiven more. And it was riddled with tunnels that connected all the important parts of the metropolis, making it heaven for vampires.

"Bugger," he muttered. He wasn't leaving. Not when there was a chance Buffy could look at him with a shred of honest appreciation, not when Dawn was willing to run into his arms and hug him, not when Harris was still the reliable wind-him-up-and-watch-him-snarl toy, not when Ripper was such fun to watch as he explored his powers. In his own twisted, perverted way, he was needed on the Hellmouth.

Still, the full moon rising over the Empire State Building, it was a lovely sight.

He watched the Knights idly, following one soldier as he walked from a supply pile, over to the monks, then to the wounded, then back to the supplies, then back to the monks . . . passing another soldier who was doing the same round, but in the opposite direction . . .

He straightened, actually looking at the Knights, looking at individuals. And speaking of individuals . . . there was somebody missing.

He reached down and poked Harris' shoulder. "Wake up, whelp."

"Go 'way, Mom."

Spike smacked his arm. "Wake up! Something's wrong."

Xander jerked. "What! Where! Huh?" He blinked a few times. "Oh. What?" Beside him, Willow blinked as well, wobbling just a bit.

"Get it together, Harris," Spike snapped. "They're doing something. General Gregor's slipped off somewhere, and there aren't as many soldiers out there as there should be."

Xander squeezed his eyes together and shook his head. "Focus, dude, focus. OK, show me."

He looked over the wall and Spike pointed out the soldiers that were aimlessly moving around, creating the illusion of more soldiers and activity than there actually was. And Gregor was indeed not among them.

"Is there somewhere they could climb in?" Willow asked.

"No," Xander said, "I've been around the whole place, there aren't any trees close enough to the walls, the windows are too small. Did you see any ladders, Spike?"

"No. And I haven't heard any chopping or pounding. Maybe they're running their own scouting party, looking for a way in."

Xander scanned the courtyard. "And this walkway doesn't go around the whole way. Do you think you could get up on the chapel roof, take a look around?"

"Probably, the grape arbor looks like it'd hold me, I can climb up there then jump--"

Willow looked at the two of them as they stared at each other. "What!"

"Stable," the two said at the same time.

As Spike jumped off the parapet and ran for the grape arbor, Willow leaned closer to Xander. "I haven't looked around outside. Where are the stables?"

"Other side of the wall from the chicken coops, across the courtyard from the grape arbor."

"The soldiers could get in?"

"Wouldn't be a hard jump from the roof of the stable to the top of the wall." Xander glared at the soldiers in front of the convent. "Think I should let them know we're on to them?" His fingers flexed against the trigger guard.

Willow shook her head hard. "No, I don't."

Tara and Baynar watched curiously as Spike went to the grape arbor. "You two get back inside!" he ordered as he started to climb. The vines and the scaffolding creaked threateningly but supported him long enough to scramble to the top of the wall and then to the chapel. Tara and Baynar retreated to the doorway but continued to watch. Spike clambered up the chapel walls to the roof, where he could see out over the walls.

One of the Knights yelled and pointed, obviously towards Spike on his vantage point. The repaired crossbows came out and aimed.

"Spike, arrows!" Xander yelled over his shoulder.

Willow peeked over the wall. "I'll make their bowstrings break again." She raised her hand, then gasped in pain and fell back as a ball of green light hit her from the monks' group. Xander caught her and eased her down against the wall, then raised the rifle and considered the monks.

Willow watched, trying to catch her breath so she could tell him she was alright, then a flash of something bright down in the courtyard caught her eye. Light from the one lamp on the table under the arbor, reflecting from a swordblade.

Baynar gave a shrill yell, and the Knight of Byzantium who had appeared from the shadows knocked him aside with a mailed fist. Tara blinked at the soldier, who studied her a moment, then raised his sword.

Willow could do nothing but scream, her mind scrabbling for one of the dozen spells she knew to drive the soldier back. Spike heard her, saw what was happening, and ran for the edge of the chapel roof. The sword kept moving.

Xander glanced over his shoulder, swivelled on his knee, calmly aimed and fired. The bullet caught the soldier squarely in the forehead, throwing him back against the chapel wall in a splash of red. Xander turned back to the soldiers in front of the walls.

Spike dropped to the ground next to Tara. He stared at the body, then up at Xander. Tara, also staring at the body, gave a small squeak.

Spike shook himself and took Tara's arm. "Get inside, girl, and take your little friend." He pushed her towards the chapel door. Sister Agnes and Joyce were there, also gaping in disbelief at the dead Knight. "Will you all just get back inside so he doesn't have to do that again?"

"Actually," said a cold, familiar voice, "no one will move one inch."

General Gregor, flanked by two crossbowmen, stepped from around the dormitory. One bowman aimed at Spike, the other at Xander, who had turned again to aim into the courtyard.

Spike let his demon out and snarled. The soldier aiming at him fired, but Spike dodged the bolt easily. He grinned his best mad killer grin as the soldier quickly reloaded. "Don't know how many of your sort I've killed tonight. Wouldn't mind adding a few more."

"Not before we dropped you, monster," Gregor said.

"And how many men would it cost you to drop him?" came Xander's quiet question. "I've got a faster firing rate than you do."

Spike was still grinning. "It's fun being part of the twenty-first century."

Joyce took a step forward, leaning on her walker. "Spike, Xander, calm down."

Gregor glared at her. "I would step back inside, madam. This is no place for the infirm." He blinked at the number of smothered snickers he heard, and he blinked again as Joyce turned to him.

"I may be infirm at the moment, General Gregor," she said sharply, "but this is very much my place when hostile troops fire arrows at my friends and me."

"Who are you?"

She straightened, one hand barely resting on the walker for balance. "Joyce Summers, mother of Buffy, the Vampire Slayer, and Dawn, the young girl you're so desperate to kill. And I don't like you."

Gregor grimaced. "The Key was created in this form magically. It has no mother."

"I remember the day I first felt her kick inside me. I remember giving birth to her, I remember when she first smiled at me, and I remember her first step. And you think I'm going to let you lay one finger on her?"

"Those memories are false. Put them aside."

"No. I believe as much in the memory of holding both my daughters in my arms as you believe Dawn is something evil to be destroyed. I may not be at my best right at the moment, but you will see me dead before you come anywhere near my daughter."

Spike grinned at Gregor. "I'd listen to her, mate. She's no one you want to mess with."

The fanatic's calm still rode in Gregor's eyes. "I shall do what I must to destroy the Key, and I shall pray for the souls of everyone who falls

in my pursuit of that holy quest, faithful or misguided."

Willow finally got all her brain cells lined up. Gregor and two goons in the courtyard holding crossbows on everyone but especially on Joyce. Tara and Baynar were hiding in the shelter of Sister Agnes. Spike kept trying to step in front of Joyce, snarling at the Knights, but Joyce's hand on his arm was holding him back.

And Xander . . . She didn't know this Xander face. The soldier look had been weirdly attractive, and she thought the hyena was the most scary Xander could be. But this one--his eyes were focused unwaveringly on Gregor. His trigger finger hung a millimeter from the trigger, vibrating faintly. She didn't know he could be like this, all bound-up violence waiting, waiting for the moment to turn it loose. The faint light from the lamp in the courtyard caught on his face, on the stubble he hadn't bothered with in a couple of days. His pulse vibrated under the skin of his throat, and if he was breathing, she couldn't tell. If she whispered his name, tried to reach through the unemotional warrior to her gentle Xander, she didn't think he'd even hear her.

"Fuck it," she growled under her breath. "Disintegrate," she snapped at the crossbows of Gregor's henchmen. The bows fell apart into their component pieces, and the bolts leaped into the air with the release of energy. Spike jumped in front of Joyce, but the bolts came nowhere near. Willow peeked over the wall. "Scindo," she said to all the bow strings over there, and she grinned at the twang and clatter of wood and steel.

Xander jumped but managed to get the rifle barrel away from people and his finger away from the trigger. "Geez, Wills, warn a guy."

"Sorry." She smiled at him, but he wasn't looking at her. He checked over the wall to see what the soldiers outside were doing--aside from swearing--then he came back into his shooting crouch as he scanned the courtyard for more trouble. She noticed his eyes stopped for just half a second on the man he'd . . . then went back to Gregor and his men.

Spike was smiling more broadly now that the stake firing weapons were out of commission. Joyce was actively holding on to his arm. The soldiers to either side of Gregor drew their swords.

Sister Agnes stepped forward. "General, please, hasn't there been enough killing? There's no need for all of this. The Key isn't here, and she won't be back until after dawn, when all of this will be irrelevant." She nodded to the east. "The sun will be up soon. There are only a few hours left, and then we're all safe."

Gregor looked over his shoulder. The tops of the mountains could be seen very faintly as the sky began to lighten. "We cannot depend solely on the dawn, Sister. Our only sure safety lies in the destruction of the Key. Bring it back, and I will give it as swift and painless an end as I possibly can."

Joyce only barely managed to stifle herself, and Sister Agnes shook her head. "No, General," she said.

Gregor sighed and nodded. "You give me no choice, then." He let out a piercing whistle.

Activity exploded in the soldiers' camp outside. The logs from earlier were taken up, and battering ram crews ran to the gate. Xander swore and raised the rifle.

"Please, Xander, no!" Willow begged. "Please, don't."

The military calm in his eyes showed fractures. "They mean to kill us, Will! You know that! Give me an option!"

She raised her hands, then hesitated. She fought back tears, knowing they were down to their last few options. Xander fired down at the battering ram crew, putting bullets into arms and legs so that they dropped the log and had to reorganize

Spike looked from one swordsman to the other. "Who first?" he asked with a full-fanged grin. He raised an eyebrow at Gregor. "Or shall I deal with you first? You know you're going to have to settle me before you get to lay one finger on anybody else."

"Our faith is pure, monster. We shall defeat you."

He chuckled. "I've eaten lots of people who thought their faith was pure. They don't taste any different from anybody else."

Tara's sudden cry interrupted the showdown. "Time! Time!" She clutched at Sister Agnes' shoulder. "Time . . ."

Willow ran down the steps from the parapet. "Baby, what is it!" The swordsmen took their eyes from Spike to follow her progress across the courtyard. "Tara? What is it?"

Tara reached for her, whimpering. "Time, time. Time's up. No more time."

Willow took her good hand and brushed her hair back. "Tara sweetie, what do you mean, time's up?"

Spike jerked his head up, scanning the night. "There's a car coming. I can hear it. Xander! What's on the road?"

Back among the trees at the far end of the valley, a glow grew slowly brighter. The light bounced, and Xander remembered the rough road and how Anya had clutched his arm to keep her balance. She'd squeezed his arm, and he'd flexed the muscles for her without thinking, making her laugh. He shook his head sternly. "Car on the road, inbound!" The soldiers with the logs paused and looked back down the valley.

Tara smiled beatifically. "She's here. Time's up. Glory day."

Sister Agnes gasped and crossed herself. Gregor drew his sword and kissed the hilt. "Lord preserve us," he whispered.

Joyce looked around, confused and wishing she could stay so. "Willow?"

Willow's eyes were big and scared. "I think--Glory's in that car. She's here." She turned and ran for the dormitory.

"Where are you going!" Spike yelled.

"The spell for Tara! I have to get it!"

Spike nodded, then turned to Joyce. "Right, then, into the chapel with you."

"Spike, there has to be something I can do, throw rocks or something."

He raised his eyes to the night sky and muttered about Summers women. "Yes, there is something you can do. You can go into the chapel and stay out of harm's way and not get hurt. Because that's what I promised Buffy, and I keep my promises."

"But--"

Without a word, he crouched and scooped her up in his arms. Ignoring her outrage, he strode to the chapel. "Sister," he called to Sister Agnes, "would you mind bringing her walker in? She might need it."

He winced as he crossed the threshold, but the pain was ignorable. The Minoto, with Tara sitting next to Baynar, sat on a couple of pews at the far side of the room. All the nuns were clustered in front of the altar, praying and whispering. Spike barely got a glance at that end of the room before the crucifix made him turn his back. Carefully he set Joyce on her feet.

She smacked his shoulder. "Don't you ever dare do that again! I will not be hauled around like a useless bag of old clothes!"

He raised a finger and took a deep breath, then fought back the first dozen words. "You are going to stay in here where it's safe--safer. If you get yourself hurt, I will have to find a way to dust myself, because I will not be here when Buffy gets back to answer to her for why I let something nasty get one finger on you. Do you understand me, Joyce?"

Joyce took a deep breath of frustration. "I just want to help. I never get to help."

He snickered. "Says the woman who saved her daughter's life by taking a fire axe to the back of somebody's skull." All humor went away. "Joyce, if it gets to the point where anything you can do will be of any help, then me and Red and Harris and Gregor and all his lads will be dead, and you and the sisters will be on your own. If you were up to it, I'd hand you an axe all over again, but you're not. You know that. Right?"

"I hate being helpless!"

"I know the feeling. Deal with it." He took the walker from Sister Agnes, who had followed them in, unfolded it, and placed it in front of Joyce. "We haven't lost you yet, Joyce. Let's keep it that way?"

She nodded and leaned on the walker, using it for balance as she made her way to one of the pews.

Outside, Gregor ran up the steps to the parapet and Xander. "Open the gate. I must go out to meet her with my men."

"No can do, General," Xander said, staring over the sights of the rifle at the approaching sedan bouncing along the dirt road towards the convent. "I can't open the gate without moving the bus, and I'm not moving the bus because I'm not opening the gate." He turned his head to smile at Gregor. "But feel free to jump over the wall. I'm sure the drop won't do more than break a bone or two."

"I must be out there! We only have swords and spears, that red-haired bitch snapped all our bow strings--"

Xander slammed the butt of his rifle back into Gregor's stomach, then he glared down at the gasping man laying on the parapet. "You've already cost me my fiancee. Keep your mouth away from my best friend. I don't like you, General. Please keep that in mind."

Willow came running up as Spike stepped out of the chapel. She was looking over her pages of notes with the desperate air of someone who knows she hasn't studied enough for the big final exam. Spike caught her before she could run into him in her distraction. "You either know it or you don't, Red. Panicking isn't going to make it make sense."

She stared at him with big scared eyes. "Buffy's not here. How are the rest of us going to stop Glory when Buffy couldn't do it?"

Spike reached for his cigarettes, discovered he was down to his last one, pulled it out and lit it. "Drown her in our blood, bind her with our entrails, smother her with our corpses, the usual."

Willow frowned. "That's not the kind of uplifting pre-battle speech I was hoping for."

He chuckled. "'Dishonour not your mothers; now attest that those whom you call'd fathers did beget you. Be copy now to men of lesser blood and teach them how to make war.'" He grinned at her. "That better?"

She blinked at him, and he jogged off to the wall.

The late-model silver Lincoln crept to a halt on the edge of the Knights' position. The soldiers stared suspiciously, then glanced toward the wall and their commander for instructions. Gregor pulled himself to his feet to see what was going on. He gave a short whistle, and all the soldiers drew their swords.

Spike settled down at Xander's side, but he said nothing. Xander looked over at him and got a familiar cocked eyebrow in return.

"So, are you really going to let Glory kill all of us without making good on your threats to bathe in our blood?" Xander asked.

"She might not kill all of us."

"True. She might get sloppy and miss a few." He looked down at the car, which was disgorging a half dozen of Glory's wizened minions. "If Buffy and the others had to stay where they are, would they be OK?"

"Don't know the place, luv, got no idea. But I imagine there'd be food problems for someone before long. Here we go," he added, nodding at the car.

The minions opened the passenger door, and one gave a hand to the woman inside. Glory looked like she needed the support as she climbed out of the car and straightened.

"The Beast," Gregor hissed. "Long have I waited for the day to confront it."

"Oh, be quiet, bad dialogue guy." Xander saw Willow hurrying up the steps but only gave her a nod.

Glory took a deep breath and glared at the soldiers surrounding her. "Twits." She reached out, and Dreg was at her side just as her hand came down looking for something to lean on. He winced but smiled proudly.

The soldiers braced for action as she stepped forward. Glory ignored them and looked at the people at the top of the wall. "Where's my Key! Give it to me!"

While the others were debating the best response, Gregor stood. "We defy you, Beast! Our order has existed for centuries for the sole purpose of destroying you, and here is where we make our stand!"

Xander glanced at Spike. "And I thought our Monty Python riff sounded dumb."

Glory winced and put both hands to her head. "Stop it, stop it," she muttered. "Not going to let you--" Her face and body flickered, very briefly taking the form of a man who did not look nearly as good in the designer dress and heels as Glory did.

"That's that doctor guy, Ben," Willow said. "What's he doing here?"

Spike did a double-take. "Didn't you say that Glory was put into the body of a human? I'd say that's the human."

"Oh!" Xander gasped. "Ben's Glory! Or is Glory Ben?"

"I don't think it matters."

Ben reached towards the people at the top of the wall, but Glory flickered back into control. She glared at the observers. "You bunch. You've got my Key, the little girl, the Slayer's sister. Give her to me. I'm running out of time."

Willow glanced to the east, where color was starting to seep into the sky. "The Key's not here. We sent her to another dimension until after it's dawn. We can't get her back till then."

Glory stared up at her, then screamed and clutched her hair. "Why! Why are you doing this to me! I just want to go home! This stupid stinkhole of a world is killing me, I just want to go home!" She looked back up, and there were tears on her cheeks. "Please? Home, is that so hard to understand?"

"If you open the portal to go home, it will destroy our world. We don't want that to happen."

"I am a god! You are stupid puny mortal monkeys in ugly clothes! How dare you decide your world is more important than me!"

Willow blinked. "Because we're like that?" She checked her watch, then the sky again. "Anyway, even if you had the Key, you'd never get it back to Sunnydale in time. The sun would be up before you even got halfway there."

"I can move fast! I can do it! Give her to me, or I'll rip you all to pieces! And you can ask the vampire there what that feels like. Give her to me!"

Willow swallowed hard. "No."

Glory shrieked again, then strode towards the convent gates. A brave young Knight stepped in her way, sword ready. She ripped the front of his chest open in a gush of blood and kept moving.

"Attack!" yelled General Gregor. The massed Knights yelled and charged. Even the wounded rose up and joined the throng towards their most hated foe.

"God, no," Xander breathed.

They only slowed her down. Swords bounced off her. She merely ripped the arms off most of them and snapped a few necks, but one particularly nimble Knight was grabbed, raised high, and broken across her raised knee. Xander tried a shot, but she dodged it easily, though not without a glare and snarl in his direction.

The monks chanted en masse and flung an orange ball of energy at her. She actually staggered, then she changed direction and stalked into the middle of the group. The fountaining blood was a dark liquid in the slowly growing light.

"This is your fault!" Gregor yelled at Xander through his sobs of horror. "If you hadn't defied us, we'd be at full strength and would stand a chance against the Beast!"

Xander tried to contradict him, but the words stuck in his throat. Spike reached past him and grabbed a handful of Gregor's tabard. "You never stood a chance against Glory! If the Slayer couldn't take her, what makes you think your bunch of pansy horse soldiers could?" He looked at Xander. "Do I throw him to her, let her collect the complete set?"

"No," Xander whispered. "Leave him. I don't think a few more minutes will make much difference."

Finally Glory and her minions were the only ones standing before the gates. The little creatures hurried to her, helping her stand. She staggered a little, as if the rampage had exhausted her. Her figure blinked again, and Ben looked up, tears on his face.

"I can't stop her!" he yelled. "She's too strong for me, I don't know how to stop her!"

Spike reached for the rifle, but Xander was already raising it to his shoulder. "No," Xander said.

"Harris, let me."

"No. No time."

As quick and smooth and free of thought as the shot to the soldier who would have killed Tara. As Xander's finger squeezed the trigger, Ben's face started to shift. Glory was flung back by the impact, and all her minions screamed in horror. Then Glory pushed herself up and shook her head. Blood ran down her face. She reached up in disbelief, then stared at the blood on her fingers.

"Ow," she said in offended shock. As one, her acolytes turned and glared at Xander.

Dreg raised his hand and pointed. "He dies last and longest." His companions growled agreement.

Spike tsked. "You're not making friends tonight, Harris."

Xander pulled the clip out of the rifle to check how many bullets were left, then slammed it back in. "Didn't join this gig to make friends. Joined up to save the world."

Her minions assisted Glory to her feet, and she spent a few moments getting her equilibrium back. Then she stomped towards the convent gates. Gregor ran down the steps, drawing his sword.

Spike nudged Willow. "Remember that little spell you and Ripper were working up to get your girl's mind back? Something tells me it's now or never."

"Gods, yes." She ran down too.

He turned to Xander. "Come on, Harris, not much more we can do from up here."

Xander shook his head. "You go down, do what you can. Best firing angle's up here, I can cover the whole courtyard." His glance flickered towards the soldier's body lying near the chapel.

"Mate, the bullets won't touch her, you know that."

He nodded. "Still, it's all I've got. Shallow and macho, I know, but at the end of the day, I'm not much without a weapon."

There was something weirdly calm and peaceful in the boy's voice, something that made Spike nervous. He'd seen it before, though: when all the choices have been stripped from you one by one, you might as well be at peace with what's left to you.

The ancient wood of the convent gates shrieked, then the door flew apart. Glory kicked aside a remaining beam and walked in, trailed by her creatures.

Xander picked up the last clip from the parapet and tucked it into his pocket. "Best hurry, Spike. I know you don't want to miss the carnage."

Spike took a step back, frowning, then leaned forward just enough to run the backs of his fingers along Xander's cheek. He turned and dropped from the parapet to the ground.

Xander smiled slightly. "Yeah, like we've got time for that." He looked the rifle over one more time, blowing carbon out of the breech and checking the seat of the clip.

Gregor's last two soldiers ran up from where they were guarding the chapel doors to join their commander as he stood waiting for Glory. She stopped in front of him and smiled. "By the way, thank you, Greggy. I'd never have gotten here if it weren't for you. Saw you in a vision while you were on your way here to do your fanatic routine."

"Aroint thee, Beast," Gregor snarled, his sword leveled. "Thou shalt not pass."

"I will if I want to. Look, bring me the Key, and I'll think about making this easy on you."

"Thou shalt not lay hands upon thy Key, Beast. Thou shalt be stymied and destroyed, from now until eternity."

She pressed the heels of her hands against her forehead. "Gosh, I have such a headache. Gregor, if you say 'Thou shalt' one more time, I'm going to rip out your heart and wring it dry right in front of you. Stop babbling the holy crap and get me my Key."

"Thy Key is not here. The Slayer's people sent it away. Thou shalt not--"

Glory knocked aside his sword and punched her hand through his armor and into his chest. She fished around inside for a moment as Gregor thrashed, then yanked out her hand, full of a dripping red, quivering, hunk of meat.

"I told you." She squeezed her fist, and blood oozed out between her fingers. "Nobody ever believes me when I say I'm going to yank out bits of them. You believe me, don't you, vampire."

Spike, who had been creeping up behind her, froze when she turned and looked at him. "Uh, yeah, I do."

Gregor convulsed and fell. His last two men gaped, then, with a yell, charged Glory. She sighed and turned back to them, caught the sword arm of the quickest one, and tossed the soldier into his comrade. "Dreg, would you and the others finish them, please? I've got a Key to find."

"Yes, most holy!" The acolytes swarmed the fallen Knights, who only screamed for a few seconds, although the wet noises continued for a bit longer.

Glory looked over her shoulder at Spike. "Where's my Key?"

"Not here. We sent her to another dimension, where you couldn't get your hands on her."

"They must care about you some, they came in and rescued you. If I rip you in half, would they bring her back?"

He laughed. "More likely you'd get a round of applause from some parts of the studio audience. I'm afraid I'm not universally loved."

"I wonder why." Glory looked up at Xander on the parapet and rubbed her forehead, then shrugged and headed for the chapel. "Here, witchy, witchy, witchy. You can get me my Key back. I know you're in there, I can smell your girlfriend. Hiding's not going to hel--OW!"

She put her hand to her nose and glared in outrage at the chapel doorway, which she'd just bounced off of. She poked a finger at the air and met a barrier.

"What the heck is this! I'm not a vampire! This isn't anybody's house that I need an invitation to! Witch, if this is some barrier of yours, it's not going to stand up against me for long!"

Sister Agnes appeared in the doorway. "You're wrong, Glory," she said serenely, "this is someone's home. This is the house of God and of His holy representative, Saint Eugene. You may not enter."

"But I've been in there," Spike protested. "That crucifix gave me the willies, but it didn't stop me from going in."

"You're evil, Spike, but you are not a god. An enemy, not a competing power," Sister Agnes said. She crossed herself. "I wonder if it's a sin to acknowledge other gods as powers in their own right."

Spike shrugged. "First Commandment says 'Thou shalt have no other gods before me.' You wouldn't put that kind of order in there if there weren't other gods about to consider."

"Enough with the holy talk that's not about me!" Glory shrieked. She pounded her fist against the adamant air. "No stupid human god is keeping me out! Let me in!"

Sister Agnes flinched, but did not back up. "Human god and demon saint. The powers here are not the usual ones, Glory."

Glory stepped back and glared. "OK, if I can't get in, I bet Ben could, and once he's inside--" She stopped and looked over her shoulder. Spike had shifted into game face and was smiling an anticipatory predator's smile. On the parapet, Xander had the rifle to his shoulder. She glanced at her minions, then back to the two who were just waiting for her to change.

Spike chuckled. "Go ahead, bitch. I was protecting Dawn before, keeping your rats' attention on me rather than her. Sic 'em on me, I'll show you what a vampire who's having fun can do. And the whelp can pick off some of them if he gets bored with the show."

She considered a moment longer, then, with a snarl of frustration, she kicked the chapel wall. The adobe crumbled.

"All right, then," she said with a sudden grin. "If they want to stay in there, they can stay in there." She dug her hands in on either side of the doorway, found the wooden posts that formed the frame, and pulled.

Spike jumped forward and yanked her back, throwing her to the ground. "Red! Get out here! Do it now!" He fell onto Glory and began punching for all he was worth. Her minions charged in to defend their god. Xander opened fire, wounding where he could, taking head shots when there was no other choice.

Willow pushed Sister Agnes to one side and hauled Tara out of the chapel. Tara hung back at sight of Glory, but Willow yanked her forward. "Honey, I'm sorry, but this is going to make you better, I promise. Spike, give me room!"

Spike pulled back. Glory started to lunge up, but Willow's hand on her forehead shoved her back down.

"Stay put, bitch!" Willow snarled in a voice that echoed more than it should. She tugged Tara down and slid her fingers into her lover's hair. "Just a moment, baby, just a moment." Her eyes went black as she began to chant.

Blue lightning flared between the three of them. Spike fell back, shielding his eyes. All three screamed, then were thrown apart by a blast of light. Willow was flung into Spike, and Tara landed against the chapel wall.

Dreg was the last of Glory's minions alive, and he had stuffed his robes into the wound in his belly to slow the blood loss. He crawled to his god, unable to walk. "Glorificus! Speak to me, great and unstoppable one!"

Willow pulled herself out of Spike's hold. "Did it work? Tara! Where are you!" Spike pushed her to her feet, and she staggered to Tara. "Baby, are you OK?"

Tara levered herself off the ground, whimpering. Then Willow reached her, and she looked up. "Willow?"

Willow pushed her hair back with shaking hands. "Tara? You know me?"

"I always know you. I heard you, but you couldn't hear me. I couldn't get to you--"

"So I came and found you instead."

Dreg reached Glory's outstretched hand and took it in both of his. "Most luscious and creamy cheesecakeness, most rich and utterly-free-of-nuts double-fudge brownieness, Glorificus, speak to me."

"Missing," Glory whispered from split lips. "Part of me is missing."

"You're all here, most mighty. A little battered from what those despicable worms have done to you, but you're all here."

"Inside. There's a hole in my mind, and it's dark in there. There's a bit of me missing inside my brain." Slowly she rolled onto her side and looked around. She snarled when she saw Tara and Willow hugging by the wall. "I can take it back, witch. I don't mind seconds. Take yours, too."

Willow raised a hand and tried to point, but she was shaking too badly. "Oh, goddess, I can't . . ."

Glory started crawling towards them. Tara scrambled to her feet and helped Willow up. "Inside the chapel, she can't get us there. Come on, honey, come on."

"Dreg, stop them!" Glory commanded.

With a matchless effort, Dreg struggled to stand, determined to serve his god to the last breath and pulse. He managed one step before something broke inside and he fell. "Glorificus . . ." he breathed, turning his head for one last sight of her.

"Dreg?" she whispered. "But--you can't die. Not until I tell you to."

Spike helped Tara haul Willow into the safety of the chapel, then turned with a grin. "And that's the last item on tonight's to-do list. Now we just hurt you."

Glory barely blocked his fists, but he could still only inflict minimal damage. "Change, damn you," he snarled. "Change so I can kill you."

Xander watched, appalled and afraid, wondering how on earth they could finish this. Everybody was dead except for Glory, the Scoobies, and the nuns, and Glory kept right on surviving, like the grandfather of rats, who lurks in the corners of the basement and watches you in the middle of the night. Not that Xander ever admitted to seeing glowing eyes in the dark there in the Basement of Doom. Maybe Glory was the God of Rats, because she just wouldn't die.

In the chapel, Tara helped Willow collapse into one of the pews. Joyce hobbled up, gasping relief, but Tara only spared her a smile before turning to Sister Agnes. "Sister, what miraculous powers is St. Eugene's cup supposed to possess?"

Sister Agnes could only blink for a few seconds. "You're Tara."

Tara took a deep breath. "Yes, I'm Tara, we weren't formally introduced, thank you for all your help. St. Eugene's cup, what does it do? I touched it before, and I saw Glory in it, on her way here."

Sister Agnes shook herself back into "deal with it" mode. "The actual cup that St. Eugene created shows a person the way of his or her death. You didn't see Glory--killing anyone, you just saw her coming?"

"Yes. Is this cup supposed to be able to see things far away?"

"I--all that's ever been said is that you can see revelations, and sometimes people who are most on your mind. One of the early records speaks of the cup being used to reassure people who were worried about the families they'd left behind when they traveled here to the frontier, but I've never seen any sign of this being so."

"Maybe you never had a witch touching it before." She maneuvered around Joyce and went to the statue of St. Eugene.

Willow straightened as best she could. "Tara, what are you doing?"

Tara didn't answer but put her hands around the cup, resting them on the carved hands of the demon saint. Immediately the water in the cup began to glow. "Please, work," she whispered. "Aradia, protectress, Hecate, seer, show me what I seek. Isis, who transcends, everywhere and nowhere, within and without, show me." The water swirled, showed fragments, Spike beating on Glory, Glory slowly getting her strength back.

Sister Agnes took an uncertain step forward. "I don't think she should be doing that here."

Tara looked up and stared into the statue's stone eyes. "St. Eugene, who served humans and demons alike, who brought solace and protection regardless of species, let me through. Let me see."

Golden light burst forth from the cup, and Tara's hair blew away from her face. "Thank you," she breathed.

In the cup she saw Buffy and Dawn, curled together asleep. Giles sat a few feet away, his sword across his lap. His lips moved, as if he were singing to himself.

"Buffy," Tara called softly. "Buffy, wake up. We need you."

Xander yelled outside, sounding scared. Tara heard Joyce gasp a word Tara didn't think anybody's mother would ever use in public. She focused harder on the vision in the cup, even as her head began throbbing and her vision blurred.

"Buffy, we're losing. Please, wake up. We need you."

She gasped and sagged into Sister Agnes' arms. "Easy, nina, easy."

"Sister, I'm sorry, I know they're not your gods, but I meant no evil, I swear. . . "

The nun helped her to sit next to Willow. "If it were evil you were trying to work, I doubt the saint would have let it work."

Willow brushed Tara's hair back from her sweaty forehead. "Baby, what were you doing? I touched that cup, but it never did anything for me."

"I--I was calling for help. I hope it got through.

In the land of perpetual Wednesday, under a pink and grey sky, Buffy's eyes popped open. "Oh, my god, I just had the most horrible dream."

Buffy sat up, rubbing her eyes. Dawn blinked at her sleepily. "A dream?"

"What kind of dream?" Giles asked, frowning. "The usual sort or something more?"

"I was dreaming about the guys back at the convent. Glory was there."

Dawn squeaked in alarm, but Giles continued to look serious. "Did it seem like something prophetic or just the usual sort of nightmare projection of your worries?"

"It wasn't just a nightmare, but it didn't seem like one of the Slayer dreams, either. More like--something that's already happened. I heard Tara's voice, she was calling for help." Buffy licked her lips. "She said they were losing."

"If Glory has arrived, I imagine Willow would try the spell to get Tara's mind back. I have never been certain of everything that Tara is capable of, perhaps she did find a way to contact you."

"So you think this is real? That Glory's there and they're in trouble?"

Giles checked his watch. "It's not quite dawn. We can't go back yet, regardless."

Dawn sat up. "But--if Glory's there, she could--Mom's there!"

Giles was unmoved. "Spike, Xander, and Willow are there, they'll defend Joyce."

Buffy got to her feet. "I couldn't take her. The guys may not even be able to slow her down."

He gave her a much more adamant version of his usual Watcher look. "What was the point of all this, the running, coming to this dimension? It was to protect Dawn from Glory, to save the world. Surely you didn't think Glory would shrug it off, that after everything she's done she'd just accept that her Key was out of reach. I admit I'm surprised she was able to follow us to the convent, but I knew she wasn't going to sit idly by and let herself be trapped." The cold look faded a little. "I don't like thinking about anything happening to the others, either. But our first priority has always been to stop Glory from opening her portal."

Dawn looked at her own watch. "Dawn's less than an hour from now. Didn't you say she had to be in Sunnydale for her spell to work? She'd never make it in time, we could--"

"I am not going to risk it," Giles said firmly. "You are not stepping back into our own world one second before 6:13 AM. Glory might have some way to open her portal with just you, I can't imagine she doesn't have an emergency back-up plan of some sort. We are not going back."

Dawn looked at Buffy anxiously. "I saw bodies, Giles," Buffy whispered. "Lots of bodies. And Tara was really scared. Spike was laying into Glory, but he wasn't doing enough damage. She was starting to get up." She saw regret was briefly over Giles' face, but it was swiftly replaced by acceptance.

"The possibility is quite real that someone we--that someone could get seriously hurt whom we don't want to be hurt." His brave, resigned smile looked very human. "Occupational hazard, I'm afraid."

Buffy looked away, knowing very, very well that he was right. She'd risked everything to keep Dawn from harm, dragged her unwell mother out of the comfort of her own home, disrupted everyone's lives, demanded obedience to her demands that Dawn's safety come first--and gotten it.

Maybe those monks had put that in her, that blind focus on Dawn's safety before everything else. Whatever the source, she simply couldn't bring herself to risk opening the portal before the deadline, risk Glory getting her hands on the Key after everything they'd done. The writers of the Slayer Handbook would approve. The girl who knew that the Slayer was stronger with friends and family, though, screamed in her mind, "But they're dying! They're covering your ass and they're dying for it! As least give Glory a target that's not so fragile!"

She couldn't stay here, not while knowing her mother and Willow and Xander and Anya and those nice nuns and, heck, even Spike were holding the line for her and losing. But she couldn't go back, she couldn't take Dawn back there yet--

"Goose, corn, fox," she whispered.

Dawn blinked. "Huh?"

"There's a game. You've got a goose, some corn, and a fox, and you have to get them across a river. But you can only carry one thing at a time in the boat. The fox will eat the goose and the goose will eat the corn if they're left alone together."

"So?"

Buffy turned to Giles. "Please, let me trust you just one more time."

He tilted his head at her in that painfully familiar way. "Excuse me?"

"I can go back there, if I leave Dawn here with you."

He smiled suddenly, proudly. "Instead of the goose alone with the fox, Dawn should be the corn?"

She nodded. "Let me trust you to keep her safe. Despite whatever your brain is currently telling you is a good idea, please be my Watcher again for just a few more minutes, instead of something I'm supposed to kill."

The look he gave her was dispassionate and assessing. "And you would believe me why?"

"I would if you promised."

"I'm not Spike. He was raised on tales of chivalry and noble quests."

"No," Buffy nodded. "You're not Spike. You're Giles. And if you promised, I'd believe you."

"You shouldn't," he said softly. "You can't. Not now."

"I know. But I would. Please? For just a little while?"

He'd only ever lied to her when she'd insisted. He would keep things from her, try to change the subject, try not to say anything at all, but he'd always told her the truth. He studied her for several moments, his thoughts locked behind remote, unhuman eyes. Then he smiled, and the man who'd wielded chainsaws in her behalf with such disturbing glee was back.

"I promise. I'll keep Dawn safe while you're gone, and we'll come back just as soon as the sun clears the horizon and it's too late for any of Glory's plans to work."

Buffy ran to hug him, but not long enough for the lack of heartbeat to register or for the chill in his skin to feel like anything more than someone who had been out in the cold. "Thank you. Now, where do we open the portal so I can get home?"

Blood finally smeared the Hellgod's face as Spike continued pummelling her. She actually seemed dazed by the blows, her head rocking under the impacts.

The violence was soothing after a night of frustration. Even rampaging through the Knights hadn't taken enough of an edge off Spike's anxiety. Having his hands on the creature who meant to sacrifice Dawn--not to mention who had tortured Spike himself--was sweet. Though he could have done with a few more signs of damage. He was causing more harm to his knuckles than to Glory. If he could just get her to change into her mortal, killable form . . .

Over the smack of fists hitting flesh came another sound: birdsong. In the trees of the olive grove outside the convent walls and in the scrub pine on the hills behind, the birds felt the approach of dawn and began to wake.

For the first time in his unlife, Spike heard that sound without a start of fear. "Hear that, bitch? World's waking up to the new day. Morning has broken, but it ain't no portal of yours that's done it."

Glory blinked, and her eyes went to the sky, where the stars were fading fast and air was turning the blue of an exquisite mountain springtime morning. "No," she whispered from split lips.

"Oh, yes."

She looked away from the sky and locked gazes with Spike. "I just wanted to go home. And you stopped me. And now you're stuck with me. Whatcha gonna do with me now, huh, smartypants?"

She twisted, got a knee free, and slammed it up between Spike's legs. He screamed, and the blow knocked him away from her. He lay crumpled on the ground, unable even to draw breath for whimpers.

Vaguely he heard a shout from Harris' direction and words from the chapel in Joyce's voice that she'd ground either of her daughters for even thinking. And the footsteps of Glory, who had gotten to her feet and was coming for him to finish the job.

Xander fought off agonized male sympathy and brought up the rifle. Maybe the damage was cumulative. Glory was knocked off her feet by the impact of the last six shots in the clip.

She scrambled back to her feet and glared up at Xander. "This dress is Versace, you jackass! I am so going to come up there and suck down your brain when I'm done with this." She wiped blood off her arms and headed back to Spike, who was trying to get his arms under him.

Xander hit the release on the clip and fumbled for the last bullet clip. He was exhausted and terrified, but his soldier memories and own sense of duty told him to keep trying until the rifle clicked empty for the last time. Then maybe he could use it as a club as Glory finally turned her attention to him.

Glory reached Spike and dragged him up by his shirt. She reached over his head and began digging her fingers into the side of his neck. "You're not using your head for anything, are you?" Spike reached up for her hand but was unable to pull it free. And skin began to rip.

Bad angle for what he wanted up there on the parapet. Xander paid as little attention as humanly possible to the sight of a vampire in the process of getting his head torn off and ran down the steps to the courtyard. Kind of like lining up a pool shot, and hope she doesn't yank on that hand she's got in Spike's neck. He flicked the selector switch to full auto, leveled the rifle and poured the full clip into Glory's body.

Glory jerked at the impact of thirty rounds of bullets traveling twice the speed of sound. The force knocked her over and made her throw Spike towards the chapel door.

"Get him!" Xander yelled, and Sister Agnes and Tara dashed out to drag Spike inside the protection of the chapel.

"Come on!" Tara yelled once they were inside.

Xander grinned at her across the courtyard. "Good to see you back, Tara."

"Xander!"

Glory groaned and dragged herself up. Her dress was a smoking mess from the energy of the bullets that couldn't penetrate her skin. Xander guessed he was lucky he hadn't been hit by ricochets.

Willow joined Tara at the door. "Xander, please, get in here before she gets up!"

"Sorry, Will, got a little more work to do out here yet."

Glory managed to get to her knees. "Oh, gosh," she gasped. "Ow." She managed to focus on Xander. "You prick! That hurt!"

He shrugged. "Kind of the idea, bitch." He shifted the empty rifle in his hands as she stumbled to her feet. He glanced up at the mountain tops behind the convent. The very tips of the pine trees showed faint spots of color. Not much longer. "You know, you just might want to lay back down and nurse your wounds. A few more minutes, and there's going to be a Slayer showing back up, and I don't think she's going to be pleased to see you."

The vacuous airhead had gone somewhere else. The being glaring at him was every inch the thwarted hellgod with an enemy in her sight. "Bring her on. She can't do any more to me than you can with that pop gun. And once I snack on what's laughably called your brain, I'll be in even better shape."

"About that brain eating thing. The people you eat, you ever hear their voices in your head? 'Cause I'm thinking, maybe you don't want my mind mixing with yours. You know I'll be right there, hanging over your shoulder, criticizing everything and telling you what a loser you truly are."

Glory actually paused and gaped at him. "I do not! Hear voices. I eat you, you go away, and you're--you're just a Twinkie to me. The witch, she would have been good for days. You, I'll probably need a refill in just a couple of hours."

It was kind of like facing off a dead guy in a basement over a bomb with less than twenty seconds on the timer. The world became a simple, peaceful place. "Only one way to find out, isn't there."

"Oh, I am so going to enjoy ripping off your empty head when I'm done sucking it dry."

Glory stomped towards him, and he brought the rifle up to get one last good shot in with the butt end.

Then the wind picked up inside the courtyard, and the dust began spinning. Tiny lightning crackled in the air, and sparks danced.

"God, no." Xander looked to the east, where the sun was not quite putting in its appearance yet. "Too soon, guys, too soon."

Glory grinned at the growing portal. "This'll be them coming back, huh? I bet noshing on my Key would be a big ol' power kick, don't you think? Then I can do some damage. But you first."

Just as she reached for Xander, the portal pulsed into full form, sending a bow wave of wind across the courtyard. Glory and Xander both staggered.

Buffy rolled out of the portal, which closed behind her. She hopped to her feet and brushed off her hands. "Hi, there! Somebody called for a Slayer?"

She stared at Glory the Hellgod in disbelief. She actually looked--battered. Her dress was in tatters, her hair was a mess, and there was blood on her. And it looked like her own blood. She was even bruised.

"Boy," she grinned, "Spike did a number on you. Pissed off vampires hit hard, don't they."

Glory snarled. "He won't hit anything once I finish ripping his head off. And then I start on that little twerp with the gun." She glared at Xander, still standing not far away, rifle poised to block whatever she might throw at him.

Buffy tensed. "Xander, get out of here. You can't take her."

There was no reply from the dark figure that was half lost in the shadows on the other side of the courtyard.

"Xan--" He spared a moment to glance at her, then turned back to face Glory.

Buffy knew that look. She'd seen it years ago when a guy she thought firmly categorized as sweet but clueless had slammed her into a vending machine and given her a look that only said, "Now or later?" She'd met vampires since then who hadn't been able to match the sheer predatory menace of Xander as a hyena.

But there was no time to deal with residual possession. Glory was looking between Buffy and Xander, trying to decide where to begin.

"Xander, get inside! I'll deal with her!"

A smile quirked Xander's lips. "Of course you will, Buff. We've just been waiting for you."

She frowned briefly, wondering about his tone of voice, but Glory chose her target--Xander.

Xander dodged the first swing while slamming the butt of the rifle into Glory's stomach. Glory staggered but managed one good kick into Xander's hip. He fell, swearing.

"C'mere, Twinkie," Glory growled. "You'll do for a snack."

She got her hands around Xander's head, just as Buffy slammed into her from the side. They hit the ground and rolled.

From the chapel doorway, Willow yelled, "Xander, come on! Let Buffy handle it!"

He rolled to all fours, wincing. Over near the bus, Buffy jumped to her feet while Glory actually staggered a little as she rose.

Willow slipped out of Tara's grip and ran out to Xander, grabbing his arm and tugging. "Please, Xander, come inside."

"Will, get out of here--"

"Not without you! You've done enough, let Buffy take care of it from here."

He struggled to his knees, then up. "Yeah, we've got a Slayer. No faux soldiers needed here."

She peered at him anxiously, then ducked under his shoulder to help him to the chapel.

Buffy sighed in relief at having everyone else off the battlefield. This was her job, after all.

Glory was breathing hard. "I just wanted to go home. But you and your rotten band of evolutionary mistakes got in my way."

"It's my job," Buffy shrugged. "Get in evil's way. Nothing personal. No, wait. You hurt my friends, you wanted to kill my sister. I guess that makes it pretty personal."

She stepped forward, and Glory stepped back.

Buffy wondered if Xander would know the perfect spaghetti western reference for this: a duel at dawn in an ancient convent's courtyard. The bird song in the otherwise silence was almost deafening. But there was another sound. Flies buzzing. Buffy finally noticed all the bodies lying around. Why hadn't she noticed the smell of blood? Glory's arms were red to the elbows.

"You did all this?" she gasped.

"Sweetie, it wasn't me who put bullets in those guys--especially not in my guys."

Buffy looked around again. There were really messy bodies, but those were the humans. A bunch of Glory's minions were lying where they'd dropped, precise bullet wounds showing what had killed them. But there was that body over by the chapel . . . "Xander did this?" she whispered.

"Don't worry, he's going to pay for it, the little jerk." Glory twitched, then glanced over her shoulder to the east. The tops of the trees were well lit now. "No," Glory moaned. "Damn it, no. I just wanted to go home!"

She charged. Buffy stepped out of the way, but Glory's wild swing knocked her down. She dodged the follow-up kick and swept Glory's legs out from under her. Glory wasn't fighting, but flailing in rage. Still, she had a god's strength, and Buffy was dodging more than attacking. And not dodging everything. The grazing clip she got on the side of the head rocked her, leaving her open to the punch in the gut.

The light changed. Brightened. Streaks of gold broke through between the trees at the top of the ridge to spread across the small valley, covering the hills and trees on the other side with sunrise. The mist rising from the fields glowed. New day, well and truly begun.

"We did it," Buffy whispered, blinking hard. "We did it."

Glory screamed, convulsed, fell. Her scream dropped from outraged soprano to agonized tenor. The hair cropped itself, and the shoulders became more than a little ludicrous in the ruined dress and lingerie.

Buffy stared in disbelief, until she heard a familiar voice whimpering. She lowered herself to her knees cautiously. "B--Ben?"

The young man turned his head slowly. "Hello, Buffy," he gasped.

"Ben? You? You were Glory?"

"Yeah. Thank you for listening to me and getting out of town."

"You're Glory?"

He laughed weakly. "Yeah. Sorry." He picked at the silky rags hanging on his body. "Imagine how I feel, waking up in high heels and Victoria's Secret all the time."

She fell the rest of the way to the ground. "But--you helped us."

"I tried. My--sister was getting very strong there at the end."

Buffy looked up at the blue sky. There were big fluffy clouds up there, catching red and gold light. "It's going to be a pretty day."

Ben nodded and closed his eyes. "I think so. A gorgeous day."

The air suddenly tingled and swirled. Buffy scrambled to her feet. "That'll be Giles and Dawn coming back." She bounced just a little as the portal popped into the air and began spinning. She heard Ben slowing getting to his feet behind her. "Maybe now that she missed her deadline we can find some way to keep her from coming back."

She turned to grin hopefully at Ben--right into the two-fisted hammer blow that flung her through the air and hard enough into the chapel wall to crack the adobe facing.

"And maybe you won't," Glory growled, watching the portal. "So this is my Key coming back. I need a pick-me-up." The portal blossomed open.

Repetition did not make portal travel any better. Dawn squinted her eyes until she could just barely see which way she was going, because it was better than seeing the things pulsing in the walls. She ran just as fast as she could, desperate to get back to Buffy and her mother. There were footsteps behind her, but more than just Giles' steps.

A golden light appeared ahead, dawn's light. Go to the light. The light at the end of the tunnel. Is sometimes an oncoming train. Dawn stumbled on exiting the portal, a hand grabbed her arm to pull her up, and she screamed when she saw the bloody, bruised, crazed face of Glory.

Glory shook her. "Don't bother, kid. You're mine, and I'm starving." She clamped her hands around Dawn's head. "Shut up! You wouldn't even exist if it weren't for me!"

Dawn felt a dreadful hollow sucking in her head, and the world began to dim. Glory's eyes bored into hers. A strange green haze fell over Dawn's fading vision, and she thought, "She's right, if not for her I wouldn't exist. It almost makes sense, her taking me." It hurt, though, and she whimpered.

Glory suddenly screeched and let go. Dawn fell, gasping. Blinking hard, she saw Buffy, her face blood-streaked, clinging to Glory's leg.

"Get off, bitch!" Glory kicked at Buffy, who grabbed that foot and yanked. Glory hit the ground hard.

"Dawn," Buffy gasped, "get into the chapel."

Dawn started to crawl away, then Glory grabbed her ankle. Gasping in terror, Dawn tried to dig her fingers into the dirt, but the hellgod dragged her closer. Fingernails dug into her leg as the inhumanly strong fingers clamped down. Dawn tried to bat away the hands that clawed at her, even as Buffy tried to get to her feet. Glory kicked at Buffy, knocking her over, then, grinning, reached up to clamp her hand over Dawn's face again.

Until a gleaming swordblade slashed down between them, slamming into Glory's wrist and knocking the arm, regretfully intact, away. Glory yelled in pain and Dawn scrambled away just as fast as she could.

Glory looked up and snarled. Giles leveled his sword, the point just a few inches from her face. "Stop that," he said calmly.

Buffy checked the position of the sunlight creeping across the valley towards the convent. Giles couldn't stay out in this long.

And why do we care? Asked a voice in her mind that wore dramatic face paint and which didn't understand loyalty to anything other than slaying.

She ignored it and got her feet under her.

Glory swung at the sword aimed at her face. Giles flicked the blade out of her reach, then brought it back on point.

"At the risk, of sounding like a silly movie," he said, "you do know that we're not going to let you get away with any of this, don't you?"

"You slugs can't touch me," she snarled. "I did more damage to your punk buddy than he did to me." Her face flickered to Ben's very briefly, and she smacked herself upside of the head. "You stay out of this!"

Giles blinked. "Ben's Glory?"

"Been there, done that," Buffy said.

"Do you have a plan for finishing this?"

She licked her lips. "No."

Glory charged Giles, ducking underneath the swordblade. He barely managed to roll out of the way of the claws that were aimed at his face.

Buffy ran to Dawn, who was still on the ground, staring in disbelief, and she yanked her sister to her feet. "Get in there," she snapped, pushing Dawn towards the chapel.

"Buffy--"

"Go! Go check on Mom."

Dawn gasped and nodded, then took off as fast as long legs could take her.

Giles spun and slashed at Glory. The blade caught her but did not break the skin. Instead of trying for cuts, Giles began using the sword as a very narrow club, chopping at Glory.

Buffy watched for several seconds, ramping up her perceptions from human to Slayer. Then she dove into the god vs. vampire brawl, landing a kick that knocked Glory straight into Giles' backhand slash. Glory turned on Buffy, giving Giles a clear shot at Glory's head. Glory stumbled, and Giles gave Buffy a tight smile. He'd shifted into game face, but she couldn't help grinning back. Then they moved in again.

Every time Glory tried to shift her attack, either Buffy or Giles countered her. Glory made no attempt to escape, wanting only to cause damage. She managed to get hold of Buffy's arm and twisted, driving Buffy painfully to her knees.

"Aren't you happy you're stuck with me?" Glory hissed into Buffy's ear, yanking on the arm. "I bet you'll come apart easier than a vampire."

"You'll not be finding out!" Giles kicked Glory in the side, and she fell back, but without letting go of Buffy. Buffy yelled as her shoulder was nearly dragged out of its socket. Before Glory could recover, Giles stomped with all his power on her wrist. Glory screamed in pain and let go. Giles grabbed Buffy and pulled her out of reach.

"Will you be all right?" he asked anxiously. She nodded impatiently, clutching her shoulder. They both looked up at a strange sound. Glory was whimpering in pain.

The hellgod sat on the ground, cradling her wrist. From the angle, it was severely broken. She stared at her injury, shaking her head. "You can't. It's impossible. You can't hurt me. You can't." Her body morphed several times to Ben's, and then back, the pain-filled voice shifting as well from male to female.

Giles nodded. "Excellent. She's beginning to lose hold. Let's finish this." He started to move, but paused when Buffy didn't move. "Buffy?"

She stared at her foe, watching the transformations. For moments on end, Ben's face stared at her, and she could only think of him shyly asking her out for coffee. Then Glory would be back, mad and desperate and needing to be stopped. "I don't think I can . . ."

"What?"

"He's Ben, he's human." She glared at him. "I'm not supposed to hurt humans, that's what you taught me. Can I help it if some lessons took?"

Giles started to argue, then thought better. "Well, then, you hit her when she's Glory, and I'll hit him when he's Ben. Buffy, we can't give her time to recover."

"I know . . ." She stared at his vampiric face. When he'd been a Fyarl, she'd known him by his eyes. It was his voice that confused her now, reasonable, concerned, Gilesian. He hadn't quite gotten the knack of sounding like himself past fangs, but he wasn't far off. She wanted to ask him to change back, but that was encouraging a lie. She needed to see this face and try to figure it out later, how his face could scream enemy while his voice still said friend.

"Buffy . . ." His voice was patient, but firm, sounding like a thousand training and consultation sessions.

She nodded and looked away, unable to listen to that voice from that face. "I know. Let's do it."

They moved. It was Glory, all pretense at rationality gone from her eyes, who rose to meet them, so Buffy hit first. Even a one-handed god still had some power, and she barely staggered as the blow landed. Two more punches brought out Ben, though. He saw Giles' sword coming and flinched, catching the edge on his shoulder instead of in the throat. Buffy grabbed his arms, gasping an apology as she tried to immobilize him. Glory reappeared and wriggled free, headbutting Buffy squarely in the nose.

Giles punched Glory in the belly, bringing his knee up to catch her face on its way down as she doubled over. More blood flowed, but Glory could do no more than gasp in horror before Buffy recovered and joined Giles. They drove Glory to her knees. Giles dropped his sword, the quarters being too close for decent swings. Buffy hesitated a little when Ben surfaced, showing the bruises of the beating Glory was taking, but Giles continued, never blinking as the face beneath his blows kept changing.

Then it was Ben's face that appeared and stayed as he slowly sank to his knees. Buffy managed to redirect Giles' fist as the young human man lay on the ground, whimpering on every breath.

"Enough!" she snapped, glaring back at yellow demon eyes. "He's down! She's gone!"

"No, she's not."

"She's gone enough! Look at him!" Maybe not the wisest of instructions to a vampire. Giles stared down at the bloody human, and Buffy could have sworn she saw him lick his lips very briefly. "Anyway, even if she comes back, she's going to be too weak to do anything. You said it yourself, she's losing control. She won't be able to hang on to the form long enough to do anything. Besides," she added, "the sun's going to be shining in here before too much longer."

Reminded, Giles looked anxiously at the sky and winced. He glanced back at Ben, undecided.

Buffy crouched down closer to Ben. "I am so sorry," she said, trying to find an unbattered part of him to touch comfortingly. "But we had to stop her. We'll find a way for you to control her, I promise. She can't last much longer. Can you hear me?" She shifted position so he could look at her without moving his head. "We'll help you."

Ben might have nodded, he might have been trembling in shock. But he managed something approximating a smile.

She straightened with a wince and reached for her bleeding nose. "Ow." Then she reached for her shoulder. "Ow again."

"You should rest," Giles said quietly. "Get those injuries seen to. And I imagine someone's mother is rather anxious to see her daughter."

Buffy turned towards the chapel door, forgetting her wounds. Dawn and Joyce stood in the doorway, holding on to each other, looking both horrified and relieved. Buffy took a step towards them, then glanced back over her shoulder. "You should get under cover."

"I will. Go on."

She ran to her family. Joyce was incoherent with worry and happiness, trying to hug Buffy without letting go of Dawn. Dawn clung to her sister, not even bothering to try to speak as she cried.

Willow came up carefully, not wanting to interrupt but carefully reaching out anyway to touch Buffy's arm. Buffy looked up and blinked away tears. "Hey, Will," she whispered, taking her hand.

"Hey, Buffy. How was your trip?"

"Kind of dull, actually. How was your night?" Willow stuttered then went silent, but Buffy had already looked beyond Willow to Tara. "Hi. I got your call. I'm glad you're OK."

Tara smiled. "I'm glad it worked. We should pack your nose before it swells too much more."

Buffy almost reached for her nose, but it hurt too much to touch. "Is it broken? Am I going to look like a field hockey player?" Dawn giggled from where she was tucked in tight between her mother and her sister.

Spike stepped forward a little from the shadows, but not too far. "Nah, should be fine, but you'll bruise up impressively. It'll look like you went a few rounds with a god."

Buffy nearly smiled at him, then frowned at the bandage around his neck. "What happened to you?" She looked around the chapel. Xander was sitting in a front pew, staring at the floor in front of his feet and not paying attention to anyone else. She checked everyone again, worried now. "Where's Anya?"

Everyone went very still, then Spike took a slow, reluctant breath. Something outside caught his attention before he could speak, and his eyes went very wide. "What the hell?"

Giles glanced at the encroaching sunlight, gauging the time, then he went over and picked up his sword. He brushed the dirt off the grip, then cleaned the blade with a corner of his shirt. Holding it loosely, he walked back to Ben, who had managed to raise himself a few inches and was pausing to catch his breath.

"A noble soul, Buffy," Giles said. "She sincerely believes in the curative powers of hope. She will offer help to anyone, all they need to do is ask." He shifted out of game face as he gazed down at the battered human. "But sometimes there is no help, no hope. I think you know that."

Ben managed to look up at him. "I can try . . ."

"You can't control her, we've only driven her back. I have no idea how long it will take her to fade away. As you recover, so she will recover. And so she will be back. And she will try to kill my Slayer again, in revenge for everything that was taken away. No."

Ben barely had time to blink before Giles raised his sword and swung down.

"Giles!" Buffy shrieked from the chapel door, but the head was already on the ground, rocking slightly. Blood gushed out of the body as it convulsed and transformed one more time, leaving Glory's corpse laying in the dirt.

"Requiescat in pace," Giles said softly.

Buffy ran up and gasped in horror before she turned away with her hands over her mouth. "Oh, god, how could you? How could you?" The others were approaching, though more hesitantly.

"This doesn't require an audience," Giles called, cleaning his sword again.

Spike came up, looked at the pieces and shook his head. "You had to do this in front of everybody, Ripper? Come on, love," he said, putting his hands on Buffy's shoulders and urging her away. "None of your concern anymore, go on back in."

She pulled away and turned, tears on her face. "You had no right," she whispered. "We could have--"

Giles sighed and resheathed his sword. "Buffy, you are a hero. Your job is to save the world. And congratulations are in order, because, yet again, you've done just that. Well done." His tired smile was sincere. "But every hero needs a cleanup crew, people who will do the jobs the hero can't but which need to be done to make sure the hero's job stays done. I have always been a part of your cleanup crew, and as long as I walk this earth, I shall continue to be so. Whether you want me to or not."

She shook her head. "This was wrong. We might have been able to save him . . ."

"No. If there was enough Ben left to save, it wouldn't be Glory lying here now." He glanced up at the sky again. "I do apologize for leaving this mess for others to deal with, but time is against me." He looked at Spike and frowned. "What happened to you?"

Spike grabbed his arm to pull him towards the bus. "Long night, long story." He hesitated and turned back to Buffy. "I'd take care of this for you if I could, but . . ."

She shook her head without looking at him. After a moment he continued to the bus with Giles. Buffy kept her eyes away from Glory's body, but she couldn't avoid any of the other bodies lying around the courtyard. "It was supposed to be over," she whispered. "Now what do we do?"

Xander hadn't moved from his spot on the pew when all the shouting broke out. From what he gathered, it was all finished, Glory beaten, everyone home, the good guys win again. Yippee. He might care some decade.

The nuns talked among themselves about clean-up and gravedigging and, oh yes, someone would need to go milk the cow and feed the chickens, because things do go on, despite the epic battles that take place. Xander approved, in a quiet corner of his mind that was still acknowledging that the world had relevance to his existence. No matter what, there were still jobs to do.

There was a job he didn't think he could stand to leave to anyone else. Damn, but it hurt to move. Regardless, he pushed against the pew and forced himself to his feet. Baynar, the baby Minoto, came over slowly, squeaking at him.

"Hey, little dude," Xander said wearily. "You OK?"

Baynar glanced towards his mother and the other Minoto, then bobbed a little in apparent reassurance.

"Good. You ought to stay in here a bit longer. It's a bit of a mess out there." He squared his shoulders. "Ought to go help clean it up."

Sister Agnes stopped him before he took more than a couple of steps. "You should rest," she said. "You've had a very long night."

"And long nights are followed by long days. I helped make that mess, I should help clean it up."

Baynar's mother and the other Minoto came forward. "No, you have done enough."

Xander winced, even though he knew it was very true.

The demon didn't seem to notice. "All night you have fought and bled to defend us and this place while we hid inside. It is time for you to rest and let us have a turn at being useful."

Xander blinked at her. "Uh, I'm sorry, but I really didn't do it for you."

"It does not matter. We were benefitted by your work, we owe you a service. Rest. Heal what you can. We shall see to the fallen."

He didn't know how to say what was mostly on his mind. He couldn't just leave them to someone else, those soldiers he'd wounded, the man he'd killed. It was too easy to brush away their existences, especially when the gruesome part was still to be done. A part of him insisted that he see up close the work he had done, the damage he'd inflicted. He owed it to them. Didn't he?

Baynar took his hand and tugged him back towards the pews, chattering to him. Xander stared at him, then looked at Sister Agnes and his mother.

"He says you need to sit down before you harm yourself," his mother said. "He can be a little bossy."

Sister Agnes patted Xander's shoulder. "Rest, nino. There will still be work to do when you wake up."

He thought of the dormitory and the beds, then of the long walk over there and the probability of someone insisting on talking to him, then of Anya's things there in the room.

He wobbled, and Baynar tugged again, more insistently.

"I can't sleep in here," he said.

"You wouldn't be the first," Sister Agnes smiled. "The pews are surprisingly comfortable, and no one will mind."

Finally he gave in to superior forces and followed his tiny demon guide back to the front of the chapel. The world was fuzzing as he stretched out. The seat of the pew was almost wide enough for him to lay flat, but he curled up on his side, as close to fetal as he could manage. Baynar watched him for a moment, then bustled away. He returned dragging a rectangular embroidered pillow, one of the kneelers from under the pew. It was faded and old, but Baynar hoisted it up onto the pew seat. He wiggled his hand underneath Xander's head and tried to lift. Bemused, Xander raised his head and let Baynar shove the cushion underneath. When he dropped his head, he couldn't help sighing in relief, because the cushion was the perfect pillow height and smelled companionably of dust and incense and old cloth.

Baynar pointed at Xander, then at his own eyes. He closed his eyes tightly, then looked sternly at Xander. Smiling, Xander closed his eyes obediently. He opened one a moment later, to find Baynar still watching him. The demon scowled at him and pointed at the open eye.

So the resolve face transcended species. Xander blinked back tears and closed both eyes. The soft darkness rose around his mind. The last thing he felt was a small scaley hand patting his cheek while a tiny voice hissed at him.

The stories were told over a scraped together breakfast in the common room. Willow talked most, describing the siege, the arrows, the loss of Anya.

"He--he made a deal with D'Hoffryn?" Buffy repeated. "Her life for--whatever D'Hoffryn wants?" Willow nodded solemnly. "Well, we'll have to get him out of it."

"I don't know that we can, honey," Joyce said. "He agreed, even after Spike tried to talk him out of it. Anya's life was on the line, and he agreed."

"Was she really dying?" Dawn whispered from where she sat as close to her mother as she could. Joyce nodded sadly.

"I don't care," Buffy said. "No demon gets to use my friends like a bar bet. I'll find D'Hoffryn and get this settled." Sadness replaced the resolve. "He was really going to ask her to marry him?"

Willow nodded. "He said he was paying for a ring and everything."

Dawn licked her lips. "Can't they--you know . . . anyway? She's not dead."

Buffy hugged her. "I don't know, Dawnie. The full-fledged vengeance demon thing might be a bit of a crimp."

"Spiked offered to turn her into a vampire instead and lend us the orb to put her soul back," Willow added. "I think Xander was thinking about it."

"It was that or watch her die," Joyce said softly. "Poor boy."

"It was an accident?" Buffy asked. "They didn't aim at her specifically?"

Willow nodded, but Tara frowned. "I don't think the Knights cared either way, if they hit someone or not." She shivered. "That one soldier--I think he meant to--he was swinging his sword at me . . ." Willow hugged her tight.

Buffy looked confused. "A soldier tried to hurt you? What happened?"

It took Willow a long time to answer. "Xander shot him. Shot him d--dead."

"The one by the chapel?" Buffy whispered.

"I was going to stop him! I was, I just couldn't think--Xander shouldn't have--"

Tara put her finger across Willow's lips. "Sweetheart, there wasn't time. That sword was so close . . . if Xander hadn't, I'd . . ." She put her head on Willow's shoulder, and Willow hid her face in her lover's hair.

"Xander's been through a great deal tonight," Joyce said. "He did the best he could."

"He still shouldn't have sicced Spike on those soldiers," Willow muttered.

"What?" Buffy said. "Xander sent Spike out? Against humans?"

"He went all scary, Buffy. He kept saying things like the Knights knew what they were getting into and stuff."

"He told Spike to hurt people?"

"Like Spike would need to be told," Dawn said. She saw everyone staring at her. "What?"

Buffy frowned thoughtfully. "Spike was doing what Xander told him to? He wasn't running wild on his own? Why?"

Willow shrugged. "It was weird, the two of them working together. They seemed to know what each other was thinking. Xander gave orders, and Spike even saluted."

Buffy shook her head, unable to get her head around the concept of Spike and Xander on the same side.

They talked until adrenal withdrawal and lack of sleep threatened to drop them in their seats. Dawn was unashamedly yawning against Joyce's shoulder, and Joyce was blinking and shifting uncomfortably in her hard chair. They silently and unanimously agreed to table further discussions until they'd had a few hours' uninterrupted sleep. At the door of Willow and Tara's room, though, they all paused on seeing Anya's belongings piled on the bed she'd claimed.

"Should--should we pack them up?" Tara suggested. "Or leave them for Xander?"

"We'll pack them later," Joyce said firmly. "After we've had some sleep. We can leave them for now."

Dawn blinked rapidly. "I mean--it's not like she's dead, right? She's still going to want her stuff, right? Wherever she's at?"

"Right," Buffy agreed. She frowned and looked across the hall into the Summers room, which was also empty. "Where is he, anyway?"

"He might still be in the chapel," Willow said. "He likes it in there. I think he probably wants to be alone right now. Oh, god." She bit her lip suddenly. "I remember, a couple of weeks ago, he was going on about not knowing any guys and how if he ever got married I was going to have to be his best person."

Tara tugged her into the room, whispering soothingly. Joyce gathered her daughters as well as she could while maneuvering the walker, and they went into the other room, closing the door behind them. Dawn helped Joyce balance as she sat down on her bed with a grateful sigh.

"I don't think I've ever been this tired in my life," Joyce said.

Dawn nodded. "And I even got some sleep. Though it may not count, because that was in another world."

Joyce shook her head. "You were on a different world. It's so--odd." Dawn tried to think of something to say but could only shrug and nod again.

Buffy stayed by the door, watching her mother and sister. They were safe. Glory was gone, the world was rescued from Apocalypse yet again, and Dawn was safe. They'd won. It got more and more bizarre every time it happened, and she couldn't help wondering how long the odds were getting on the big Slayer Life Expectancy board. She'd beat back the end of the world this time, would the next one finish her? How many more was she going to have to go through until history caught up with her and Faith took on the title of In Every Generation There is Only One.

"Honey?" Joyce said softly. "Buffy?"

"Huh?" She blinked and paid attention again. Joyce was settled back on the bed, with Dawn curled up next to her, already drifting into sleep.

"It's a big bed, if you wanted to get some sleep."

"I should go see if I can help clean up, we shouldn't leave the sisters to take care of all that."

Joyce threw her the tired version of the mom look. "You had a hard fight there. You need to rest. Now come on."

Buffy didn't want to argue further. There was enough room between Dawn and the edge of the bed to settle down comfortably, and Buffy was able to reach over and take her mother's hand while holding on to her sister. Joyce was asleep in moments.

"Don't steal the pillow," Dawn muttered, half-asleep.

"OK." Buffy brushed Dawn's hair back and blinked back tears. "You're still here." Dawn stiffened just a little. "No Key goes poof. I guess we're stuck with you."

"Sorry," Dawn whispered.

Buffy kissed the top of her head. "Guess we'll just have to deal. Oh, well."

"Yeah."

Many hours later, Buffy woke up. Dawn and her mother were still deeply asleep, but the Slayer recuperative powers had jumpstarted her system and she couldn't lay still any longer. Sense of duty and certain bodily requirements pushed her up into action, especially when she caught a whiff of herself. She found clean clothes in her duffle bag and went for an exploration of the personal hygiene potential of the convent.

A shower and sleep made the whole Glory battle feel a little more safely historical, a bit less like an aching wound. She went off in search of Sister Agnes to see if there was anything she could do to help clean up.

All the bodies were gone from the courtyard. Cleaner patches marked places where bloodstained dirt and been removed and replaced. There were a lot of those patches.

There was no sound from the bus as Buffy walked past as silently as she could. Were they asleep? Whispering the tales of the night to each other too quietly for any but vampires to hear? She moved a little quicker, not wanting to think thoughts that might lead to decisions she couldn't contemplate just yet.

The signs of battle were still present outside the walls. The Minoto demons were busy digging up dark, sticky looking clumps of dirt and dumping them into wheelbarrows, then shoveling clean dirt into the holes. The bodies were gone from here too. All the Knights' equipment, however, was being sorted into piles by some of the younger nuns, and Sister Dymphna was tending to the herd of horses left behind. Sister Agnes was helping, though her talents in animal husbandry seemed to be limited to brushing.

Buffy walked up slowly, careful not to startle the skittish creatures. She held up a hand to be sniffed by the horse Sister Agnes was brushing. The horse considered her suspiciously and tossed its head once before allowing her to stroke its nose.

Sister Agnes looked up and smiled. "Good afternoon, Buffy. How are you?"

"Still tired. Have you and the others had any rest? Can I do anything to help?"

"I think we have most everything taken care of." She patted Buffy's shoulder. "We spent the night in prayer, for the most part. Nothing like you and the others. We're fine."

Sister Dymphna came up, wiping her forehead. ''There's enough feed in their packs for a couple of days, but we'll have to think of something to do with them. What are we going to do with thirty some war horses?"

"eBay?" Buffy said without thinking. "Never mind," she added at the baffled looks of the two nuns who lived in a place so isolated they didn't even bother with electricity. "Aren't there rangers or something at the national forest?"

Sister Agnes frowned. "Somehow I don't think bringing this to the attention of the rangers would be a good idea. Are there more of the Knights somewhere? A monastery we should contact?"

"I don't know. Giles might--" She was silent for several moments. "Stupid reflex."

"He might know. I'll ask him before you leave. Do you know when that will be?"

Buffy looked out over the quiet valley, wishing she could stay and listen to birdsong and the wind in the leaves for days and days without having to think of everything she'd put aside till "after Glory." She took a deep breath, held it for several seconds, then let it out. "I should say, tonight, but they're all still exhausted. Tomorrow? Do you want us gone sooner?"

"Oh, nina." Sister Agnes wrapped her in a tight hug. "You will stay as long as you want to. You all need time to rest and heal."

Buffy hugged her back and stared over her shoulder at the late afternoon sunlight on the trees. "What do I do now, sister? What do I do about Giles and Spike?"

"Nina . . . I don't know."

"They're soulless monsters. It's in the definition. And they fought as hard as the rest of us last night. I think it's because neither of them wanted the world to end, but . . ." She closed her eyes. "I don't know either."

"Can it wait until you get home?"

"It going to have to, I guess. Xander's the only other one who can drive the bus, and I've still got to get everybody home." Her mind shied away from the whole thing of Xander and Anya and what Xander had done in the night. "Where is he, by the way?"

Sister Agnes sighed. "I told him he didn't have to, but he insisted on helping." She nodded up the slope, towards the olive grove and the convent's graveyard.

Buffy walked slowly up the hill. There were two big spots of dug-up earth. Mass graves. It made sense, she guess, but it bothered her.

Something glittery caught her eye at the larger grave. When she got closer, she saw that the Knights' swords had been planted around the grave, point down. A fancier sword stood in the middle of the line of swords at the top. Xander was at the bottom edge, carefully setting the last few swords in place. Baynar sat at the foot of a nearby olive tree, watching.

Xander straightened and considered his work. "That should do. What do you think?" he asked, looking at Baynar, who chittered and nodded.

"It looks nice," Buffy said, coming up quietly.

Baynar squeaked and went to hide behind Xander's legs. Xander smiled and patted the little demon's shoulder. "It's okay, dude, she's one of the good guys. He's still a little rattled," he added to Buffy.

"A lot of us are." She looked at the other grave. "Is that . . ."

"Glory and her folks, yeah." He reached down for the shovel that was laying under the tree. "Savlin and the others had all the digging and carrying done by the time I got up, so I helped with the filling in."

"We ought to put something up for Ben."

Xander nodded but made no move. He leaned on the end of the shovel and stared at the Knights' grave within its fence of swords.

Buffy wanted to say something about the fight, ask if he couldn't have found some other way. The look on his face, though, said it would only be one more accusation he didn't need.

"I should have been here," she sighed.

"I don't know if it would have been any different."

"It might have."

"Maybe. But you weren't here."

She flinched. "I know. I'm sorry."

He sighed and looked at her. "Being sorry makes no difference. You went with Dawn, you had good reason to. You couldn't be here. You left me in charge. I did what I had to."

"Did you? Have to?"

He turned back to the grave. "Seemed right at the time."

"Including siccing Spike on humans?"

His eyes went to some un-Xanderish place. "He offered to go to keep me from opening up on them. He probably did less damage than I would have. He was having fun. I would have been serious." Buffy gave a breath of disbelief, and he smiled at her very faintly. "You weren't here. Shit happens."

"And D'Hoffryn?"

"I did what I had to."

"He could ask for anything. Xander, you can't go through--" She stopped at the look he gave her.

"I made a deal. Anya's still alive. I'm not digging a grave for her up here. Whatever D'Hoffryn asks me to do has to be better than digging a hole and dropping the body of the woman I love into it."

Down by his knee, Baynar squeaked and hugged his leg. Xander looked down and patted his head. "Sorry, guy," he said more softly. "Didn't mean to get all angsty in front of you. You ought to go find your mom, I bet she's looking for you." Baynar frowned at him, then at Buffy, then ran down the hill to the convent. "Shouldn't fight in front of the kids," Xander said.

"Yeah." She looked back towards Glory's grave. "I don't think I ever knew Ben's last name."

"At least you knew his name." The wind rustled the leaves above them, and Xander looked up. "Sun's going down. A couple of somebody's are probably just about to make an appearance."

Buffy closed her eyes and shook her head. "I don't know what to do about them." After a couple of silent moments, she looked over at Xander. He was still staring out over the valley and the lengthening shadows. "Yesterday you seemed like you knew what should happen now."

He frowned a little. "Was that just yesterday?" His faint smile was painful to see. "That guy? The world was a simple place to him. Vampires evil, humans good, kill the demons. Today? Not so simple. You're the Slayer, Buffy. What should the Slayer do?"

"I know what the Slayer should do. But I don't know what Buffy should do."

The bell in the chapel began to ring for Vespers. Xander continued to lean on the shovel, gazing off. Buffy hesitated, then took a couple of steps down the slope. "Dinner will be in a little bit. You coming in?" He nodded. She finally continued down the hill.

The sun dipped down behind the western mountains. The birds flew back from their daytime pursuits to settle with gossipy chirps in the branches of the olive trees. Bats flitted through the gathering shadows, snagging unsuspecting bugs. Xander wondered where Dracula was now.

Movement downslope caught his attention, and he chuckled despite himself. "Speak of the devil."

"He couldn't make it," Spike said, strolling up with his hands in his duster pockets. "He asked me to fill in."

"Not surprised. What brings you up cemetery way? Shouldn't you be hanging around Buffy, basking in thanks for looking after her mom?"

Spike sighed, and it wasn't completely a put-on. "Slayer's got a bad case of 'Oh, my god, they're monsters.' She must have had a chance to sit down and read through the Slayer job description and noticed there didn't seem to be many loopholes for soulless vampires who lend a helping hand."

"You can hardly blame her. Especially when one of said soulless vampires is a guy she's depended on for years now."

Spike shrugged and nodded, then started searching through his pockets. "Damn, that's right. Out of smokes. Shit."

Xander did not raise his chin from the fist he had resting on the end of the shovel. "Vampire in nicotine withdrawal. I'm thinking not a good thing."

Spike studied him for several moments. "You're remarkably calm about being alone with the evil undead."

"Sorry. I think my white hat got trampled in the dust sometime back, and I don't feel right about threatening you without having it on."

"Harris, you did what you had to. You kept everyone alive last night. That counts as a good job. And yes, I'm counting Anya in there." He looked away from the surfacing pain in Xander's face and nodded at the Knights' grave. "Nice fence. I like the whole cross effect with the sword hilts and all."

Xander laughed very briefly. "That wasn't the effect I was going for. It just . . . seemed right."

"Yeah."

They both looked over at Glory's grave. "Buffy thinks we ought to put something up for Ben," Xander said. "I think I'd just rather leave the whole thing as it is."

"I can't imagine Glory's minions could ask for more that being buried with their god."

Xander looked at him, surprised at the statement, and Spike hunted through his duster pockets again to avoid the gaze.

The bell at the chapel rang again for the end of the service. Dark was settling in seriously, especially under the olive trees. Xander sighed and shouldered the shovel, finally heading down the slope towards the convent gates. Spike silently fell into step beside him. Xander paused at the ruined gates, watched the last of the group of nuns go in to the dormitory for dinner, then turned and considered the car Glory had arrived in.

"What are you thinking?" Spike asked softly.

"I wonder if the keys are in it."

"Thinking of heading home early?"

"Yeah. They're going to want to talk about it and talk and talk and . . ." They shared a glance of male sympathy for the chattering tendencies of women. "I really don't want to talk about Anya. Besides, you and Giles can drive the bus. Hell, Tara can drive."

"And when you hit the highway, which direction will you be turning?" Xander didn't answer, and Spike nodded. "No one would blame you if you went. Leastwise, I wouldn't."

Xander stared down the road. "There's nothing wrong with running, I guess. Except I'd be running from, not running to. Don't even have the excuse I had after high school, looking for the great American road adventure."

"New York's nice," Spike said. "Been a long time since I've seen New York."

Xander glanced at him, and they considered each other for several moments that stretched closer and closer to offer and acceptance and unexpected developments.

Xander finally shook his head and laughed. "Who are we kidding? We're both going back to the Dale. We're whipped."

"Hellmouth whipped. Still, it was a nice thought."

"Yeah, but when the shock wears off, I'm going to remember that you're the evil, soulless, chipless undead, and I'm going to look for my stake and holy water."

Spike grinned. "Good. You were starting to worry me, whelp, being so sociable and all."

Xander gave him a companionable sneer and turned towards the convent. Chattering female voices could be heard. He visibly braced himself, then glanced once more at Glory's car. He shrugged. "It's probably hot, anyway."

Spike nodded. "Probably so."

Xander met Spike's eyes as the darkness deepened. "Thanks for being there last night. It was good to have back up."

"Glad to be of help." He leered to break the mood. "Don't mind in the slightest, being at your back."

Xander smiled briefly and walked away. Spike watched him cross the courtyard all alone, and he thought about New York.

Buffy looked around the dinner table, remembering the same meal the night before. Tonight, Tara was able to feed herself, and she gave Willow smiles that were a distracting mixture of shy and sultry. Willow gazed back and kept forgetting to eat. The nuns didn't bustle around quite so cheerfully, but they were tired more than depressed. Sister Teresa still patted everyone on the shoulder and forced second helpings. Savlin, Baynar, and the other Minoto sat at their usual end of the table. They also looked tired, but they didn't watch the Scoobies with the same suspicion as they had last night. Dawn waved at Baynar, and Baynar waved back, as Savlin looked on approvingly.

Sister Agnes came in, studying the information on a sheet of paper. Buffy had seen her in consultation with Giles in the courtyard at sunset. Neither of the vampires had received invitations into the dormitory, and neither had asked. Buffy wasn't sure if they really needed invitations to the building, but it showed surprising consideration that they stayed out. She wondered if it was Spike or Giles who was being considerate.

She finally let herself look at the empty place at the table. The two empty places, actually. Xander hadn't come in yet.

Anya a demon again. By the number of stories she'd gleefully told, she wasn't what could be called a nice demon. Granted, vengeance demons didn't act unless someone asked them to, but they certainly ran with whatever ideas were presented to them. Buffy wondered if she was going to be called on to do anything about Anyanka. Had Slayers ever gone against vengeance demons before? Buffy hoped no women in Sunnydale got scorned enough to want revenge anytime soon.

Xander came in quietly, wearing clean clothes and with his hair still wet. He didn't look up as he walked to the empty seat on the far side of Tara. Willow caught his hand as he went by and gave him a worried look. He smiled and leaned down to give her a kiss on the forehead. The smile he gave Tara looked less forced, then he tugged his hand free and went to sit down. Sister Teresa made a beeline for his empty bowl and ladled him a large serving of stew.

Buffy watched him a moment longer, then left him to his solitude. She found Joyce watching her, a proud mom-smile on her face. "What?"

"You make a good general, worrying about everyone before worrying about yourself." Joyce nodded at the barely touched bowl of stew in front of Buffy.

She began eating. "I can't help worrying. None of them would be here if it weren't for me." She glanced at Dawn, who was still making faces at Baynar. "Maybe Dawn wouldn't be here either, if it weren't for me. They gave her to the Slayer to protect. So is she my sister because the Slayer happened to be me, who has a mom and friends and all that? Or is she my sister because I happen to be the Slayer? If Faith were the official Slayer, would she have a new baby sister?"

Joyce stroked her hair. "You worry too much about things that don't matter. What-ifs can drive you crazy. I mean--" She frowned at Dawn. "What if I hadn't made it? What would happen to you two without me? You wouldn't be having to nursemaid a crippled mother, but the idea of the two of you alone, having to cope with all that, with Glory on top of it all . . ."

Buffy leaned over to hug her mother tightly. "But you did make it. You are here, and you're getting better and better, and Glory's gone, and we're all still here--or, more or less. Nobody's dead--or, at least, not in the gone forever, never come back sense--" She broke off to keep from crying. That kept happening, every time she thought about Giles.

Joyce kissed her hair. "Not now, honey. Don't try to deal with that right now."

"I'm going to have to deal with it eventually."

"But not right now. Time enough when we get home and get things a bit more back to normal."

Buffy tried not to laugh. "Normal. What's that like?"

"Well, I thought normal might be something like--summer school."

Buffy leaned back fast. "What? Summer school?"

"Or summer semesters, whatever they call it in college. A way to make up those classes you missed." Joyce glanced at Dawn. "Do you think her school will buy having to leave town for a grandmother's funeral?"

"Probably." Buffy gazed at her mother, fighting back another round of tears that was probably as much stress relief as anything else. There had been nightmares she'd told no one about, of finding Joyce dead, of having to bury her mother, of having to make some kind of life for Dawn while still having to save the world. In those dreams she'd envied those other Slayers, the ones without families, without loved ones who needed worrying about.

She heard Dawn laugh behind her, then begin a conversation with Willow and Tara. She even managed to coax a chuckle out of Xander.

"We won," Buffy whispered.

"Yes, we did," Joyce said, smiling that proud smile again.

"It wasn't easy, it cost a lot, but--we won." Joyce nodded. "And that's enough for now, right?"

"Right."

Dawn reached over and poked Buffy in the arm. "When are we going home?"

Buffy felt a brief wave of dismay that everyone was looking to her for the answer, but that just came with the territory. "Tomorrow?" She looked around and saw nods and shrugs. "Tomorrow." She took a deep breath and let it out, feeling victory and its cost settle into place. "We go home."

End

Better Buffy Fiction Archive Entry

Career Change