She was to make room for a new slayer. The only way a slayer can. Looking her straight in the eye, that wretched little twit asked her to commit suicide.

Unacceptable.

We left at the dead of night, taking a few essentials and all the money we could get our hands on.

We hopped from city to city. We were safe nowhere; the council had spies all over. Never safe, never in peace. We got what little jobs we could, making a meager living. It was never enough. I could never provide Buffy with everything she needed. Everything she deserved. My heart clenched with every hungry growl of her stomach, every time she shivered in the bitter cold I could not protect her from. But she never complained, never asked for anything more than comfort and protection.

We would get on whatever long - distance train or bus happened to be leaving when we were in the station. As long as it wasn't back to where we came from, we didn't care. It didn't matter. There was nothing for us at one place that wasn't there at any other place. There was nothing for us at all.

We changed busses and trains rapidly for two days, trying to put as much distance between us and the council, before they figure out that we were gone. Anxiety and shock kept us awake, on edge. Finally, two days after we left, we looked for a place to rest.

I was afraid public shelters or motels would be scanned for us, and opted for a one-room apartment on a weekly rental basis. Damned expensive, but safer.

The bed was freezing as Buffy climbed into it. I suppressed a sigh; was this what was to become of our lives? Sharing small beds in cold, filthy rooms?

Buffy looked up at me, sleepy and sad, the stress giving way to realization. We were far away from Sunnydale, and doomed to stay that way for the rest of our lives.

Self consciously I slid under the covers next to my shivering slayer. Cold, and feeling all alone, she ignored my discomfort as she inched closer and pushed her body against mine, resting her head in the crock of my shoulder while forcing my arm around her.

My warmth and the exhaustion lolled her into sleep. I stayed awake, thinking about our future, our possibilities. Our loss.

Everything Buffy has been through since she became the slayer, Merrik's death, The Master, Angel, her mother and father... the council had no business forcing her to take a test, or asking her to make room for a replacement. She was their strongest slayer in centuries, had proven herself time and again. She had risked everything for the safety of the world, and lost most of it. Her friends, her watcher and her position were all she had left. And the Council took that away from her in the blink of an eye, reading from ancient texts, ignoring the harsh reality that was the everyday life of a slayer.

She mumbled in her sleep and my heart ached as she called for her mother. She would call for many people the following months, but would wake to find only me.

Hanks put out an APB on us. Despite it's short life span, the work of our clever hacker no doubt, it gave us trouble, and quite a lot of it. Most likely contacted by the school when his daughter could not be reached, Hank's choice of Buffy's picture made most men look at it twice, remembering her face enough to call the police on our next attempt at purchasing train tickets.

I am now convinced that had Buffy put her heart into the rule of Oedipus's mother, she would have received standing ovations. She was truly an excellent actress. Switching into full Cordelia mode, she chided the constables for interrupting her trip with her father. How dare they retain us based on a blurry photo which looked nothing like her?

I am still amazed that they agreed to let us go. By some chance, Buffy was wearing the same shirt in both the picture and in life. How they believed she was not the same girl is beyond me.

But the news of our run in with the police must have gone over the police radio. Our bad luck placed us in one of the nation's larger cities, and the council must have been listening in on police frequencies.

No more than ten seconds after the police's departure from the train station, Buffy spotted the first watcher, observing us from his position near one of the exits. Slowly but surely, hired men blocked all escape routes.

Fear filled Buffy's eyes. These were not old, office-dwelling watchers. These were big men, with strong arms, in a large number. Fighting them was beyond her, no doubt the reason the council had chosen to hire them.

Strength was not going to get us out of there. We needed to use our brains.

Clever little devil that girl was. Grabbing the hand of one of the station's security men, she started asking him questions of all sorts. Confused and not very busy, he allowed her to lead him around the station.

She dragged him all around the place, getting us near the trains. The council thugs stayed back, not wishing to alert anyone to their presence by their sheer size and their lack of tickets.

Buffy got us close to one of the trains, asking questions about the way it worked. As soon as the train started moving, she dropped his arm, grabbed mine, and hopped through the open door.

Too far off, the thugs were left running after the speeding train with no hope of catching it. The conductor frowned at us, but we did, after all, have tickets. Sending one last scowl our way, he let us be.

We took our seats. "Are we safe now?"

"I don't believe we are. They'll most likely manage to have someone at the next stop. At the very least, they will know where we got off the train."

"So what do we do?"

"Do these things still have emergency brakes?"

It took us half a day to find civilization, having stopped the train in the middle of the forest it was speeding through and run off. Knowing that the Council would soon hear about the train's unscheduled stop, we got on the first bus and switched again a few hours later. Trusting that our trail was now cold, we relaxed and watched the view.

Buffy was a physical girl. Physically threatened on a daily basis, words were fine, but nothing calmed and comforted her as much as arms affectionately wrapped around her, a reminder that not everybody was out to hurt her.

Less than a month after our escape, I had grown accustomed to her constant need for contact. She would hold my hand when we walked, sleep as close to me as possible. I have long since stopped blushing at every such contact. But it did sometimes bother me how much she needed it.

We were patrolling the little town we were in. Buffy's fighting was not up to her usual standards - the result of neglecting her training, through no fault of hers.

I'm not sure what happened. She staked the vampire, but she was hurt. Limping towards me, holding her right wrist, her eyes filled with tears and she sat down with a loud thump.

Fearing she might be badly hurt, I picked her up and carried her back to our room, no questions asked.

But very soon I learned that she had suffered far worse injuries than those before, and had never so much as mentioned them, let alone cried or refused to walk.

Silently, I bandaged her slightly scraped wrist and put some ice on her normal-sized ankle. She made a big show of not being able to dress herself, and I helped her into her night clothes and carried her to bed.

But as I watched her fall asleep I wondered what was going on with her. Why she felt such a need for comfort she would feign an injury for it. Resolving to talk to her over breakfast, I went to sleep as well.

Buffy sat quietly, playing with her over cooked eggs, not looking at me. She knew I was about to have a talk with her. She always did.

"Would you like to tell me about it, Buffy?"

She tried to sound as if she didn't think anything was wrong. "About what?"

"About why you acted as if you were mortally wounded, after suffering from no more than a scrape and a little bruise."

She shrugged. "Buffy, what happened last night?"

"I just... wanted you to baby me a little."

"Why? You've never acted like this before."

"I never almost lost a battle to a stupid little vamp Willow could have taken out in the middle of nowhere USA, with no hope of ever seeing anybody I love ever again. I'm sorry if it bothers you that I wanted a little attention."

"Calm down, I was only..."

"You were only about to tell me I'm too old for this sort of thing, that I should know better and that it's time I bloody well grew up?"

"Buffy..."

She got up, raising her voice. "All I wanted was for you to pay attention."

"Pay attention? Buffy I have done nothing else for two years, I have taken care of you by myself for four months, and you want attention?"

"Sorry to be such a burden to you."

"I didn't mean..."

"I'll leave, you won't ever have to pay attention again!"

"Buffy!" She went to the small dresser and started throwing things into her bag.

"Buffy stop this nonsense. You're not helping."

"I never help. All I do is make things difficult. So here, you can have your perfect little life back, no slayer to worry about. I can take care of my own goddamned injuries."

"Buffy..." I sat on the bed. "Why are we fighting? We're all we have left."

Buffy stopped and looked at me. "I think that's exactly why we're fighting."

I nodded slowly. "You're a wise girl."

She dropped the shirt she was holding back into the drawer and came to sit next to me on the bed. "I'm sorry I freaked."

"Quite alright."

"About last night... I was just feeling a little spoiled. I've been doing that a lot lately."

"I've noticed."

A look of pain crossed her face. "I won't bother you again."

I took her hand in mine. "You're not bothering me, Buffy. But if you feel the need for a little extra attention... please, just tell me. Don't make me worry about you. That's not fair to me."

She looked around the room. "None of this is fair for either of us."

"No one, especially the council, has ever said life was fair."

She lowered her head to my lap. "I just like feeling like a little girl. Before all the badness started... life used to be so simple. I just want to be small again..."

We lay huddled together in bed, listening to the sounds of festivities from the apartment next door. The young couple leaving there had finally gotten married.

I didn't even realize I was crying until Buffy wiped at my tears with a tender touch. "Giles?"

I drew a shaky breath. "God..."

"What is it?"

"I... I wanted so much to get married... I used to look at you and your friends and pray that some day I'd get to be there for everything, from birth to adulthood. I... God, I'll never have that..."

I buried my face in her hair and cried while she tried to shush me. But all I could think about was the baby I'd never hold and the ring I'd never put on any woman's finger.

It felt lonely, and sad. And not even Buffy's gentle voice could cut through the darkness I felt fall over me.

I pulled myself together a few days later. But watching me cry, knowing what keeping her alive had cost me, was something that hit Buffy deeply. It didn't matter that I thought her worth it. That I considered her life more important than some imaginary child I might have had. It added a burden of guilt to Buffy that she did not need. And it made her miss her family and friends all the more.

I came out of the shower one night to find Buffy in front of the mirror, clad only in her underwear. Fully ready to berate her for standing half naked near the window, I froze when I realized what she was looking at.

I'm not blind. I was always aware of the fact that Buffy was a beautiful young woman, and that her body was shaped like the dreams of most young men.

She was but a shadow of her former self. Bones once hidden by strong, full muscles were now showing, the angles of her face sharpened by its thinness. Her once lush hair was now flat and dull, her eyes rimmed by dark circles that seemed to be an extension of the darkness shining through.

Seeing my reflection in the mirror she moved to cover herself with a T-shirt and slid into bed, pulling the covers all the way up to her chin.

"Alright?" I asked as I lied down beside her.

"Fine." She closed her eyes, only to open them again, a look of concern in her eyes.

"Do you think I'm pretty?"

I have no doubt I turned very red. "I think you're the most beautiful girl in the world."

"But you never get that smile anymore."

"What smile?"

"The one you used to get whenever you thought I looked nice but was too British to say anything." She looked at me. "You never smile at all, actually."

"I haven't had much to smile about lately."

She looked away again. "What do you think Willow looks like tonight? Do you think she's still pretty? Still full in all the right places?"

I heard the unspoken "unlike me", but ignored it. "I don't know. I should imagine so."

"It's her birthday."

"I remember."

She was quiet for a few seconds. "Would you like to go back?"

"Back where?"

"To Sunnydale. I could take care of myself..."

"Out of the question."

"But... don't you miss them? Willow? And Xander. I know how much you love Xander."

"Not enough to leave you."

"You'll have something to smile about."

"How much smiling do you think I'll be doing, worried sick about you and missing you so much?"

"Willow misses you. She wants you home."

I sat up, almost knocking her out of the bed in my haste. "Buffy, tell me you didn't call her."

She looked away. "Buffy!"

She started shaking. "It's her birthday..."

"Right!" I threw the covers off, jumping out of the bed. "Get dressed. We're leaving."

Buffy struggled to keep up with my long strides, my pace quickened by my rage. "Giles..." she gasped.

I ignored her, fearing that in my anger I might say something we will both regret later. "Giles... please, slow down..."

We got into the train station and I went to the counter to purchase tickets. Buffy dropped into the first available seat. When I turned around she looked up at me expectantly, waiting for me to say something, to offer her the water bottle I carried.

Old fool. I dropped my bag next to hers and, without a word, went to the men's room.

The council had traced the phone call, much as I feared. When I came out again, Buffy was running towards me, dragging my heavy bag behind her.

Trying our best not to run into people, we jumped on the first train we saw.

As the train left the station, I could see the watchers, breathing hard, looking at us. The station was too crowded for them to do anything other than run and watch. To the other passengers they looked like a pack of grumpy old men who had missed their train. They checked the destination of the train, pulled out digital phones and made some calls.

The next stop found us barely managing to sneak into another train unnoticed by the tweed-clad hunters. The conductor thought us a couple of fools who's managed to get on the wrong train, but, having fully paid for tickets, he did not report us to anybody, allowing us to switch trains again, where another conductor thought us strange, but not trouble worthy.

Buffy was breathing fast, staring out the window at the passing trees. An occasional shudder ran through her. For a long time she said nothing, lost in her own and, most likely, gloomy thoughts. At last she sneaked a peek at me, and turning her eyes back to the window, addressed me in a voice that told me she was more afraid of not receiving any answer than hearing what I might have to say.

"Do you think they hurt Willow?"

"No reason they should. They traced the call, a purely technical exercise. I'm sure she's fine, Buffy."

Her relieved smile disappeared when she saw my stern expression. "Do you realize what you've done? Everything we did, everything we sacrificed, and you do something so foolish, so reckless? One minute of distraction in that station and you would have been dead now. Do you understand that?"

"Yes."

"Xander's birthday is next month. If you get anywhere NEAR a telephone..."

"I won't."

"I should hope so."

Judging it was safe to come near me again, she slid over, leaned her head on my shoulder, and fell asleep.

Two weeks later Buffy lay in bed, shedding silent tears for her mother's uncelebrated forty-second birthday.

The End

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