"Alternity's Lieder"

Author: Blair Provence
Email: aggiemo@sbcglobal.net

Cordelia watched silently as Angel drank in the reappearance of his one true love, a feeling of dread suffusing her entire being. If she had ever doubted the abiding nature of his feelings for Buffy, the expression on the vampire's face would have confirmed their continued existence. He still loved her, he still wanted her...

And he had absolutely no idea that she was in love with Giles.

Cordelia turned in her seat to see how the former librarian was dealing with the ex-lovers' reunion. He stood in the doorway behind Buffy, his face impassive, his eyes an unreadable forest green. He was dressed in a black t-shirt and jeans, arms crossed over his chest, positioned just far enough behind Buffy that his stance wasn't overtly possessive. But their squared shoulders and similar attire clearly marked them as a unit. Buffy's t- shirt and jeans combo mirrored Giles', and her expression was equally impassive, though her gaze was locked on her ex- boyfriend. A moment passed, then another.

Finally Buffy's gaze flicked to Oz, who was standing stock still next to Cordelia's overstuffed chair, staring at the new arrivals. A hint of anguish bled through her stoic expression. "Oz," she breathed. "Oh, Oz, I'm so sorry."

Oz swallowed convulsively, which constituted a massive show of emotion for the musician. "You heard about Willow, then?"

Buffy nodded, darting a swift glance at Giles, then stepped forward to give Oz a tentative hug. "We'll get her back," she vowed, before retreating to Giles' side. "We will, Oz."

Oz studied her determined face, perhaps remembering another day long past, when she had made that same vow before striking a deal for Willow's life with Sunnydale's demonic former Mayor. "Okay," he agreed, nodding slowly. "How?"

She glanced at Giles again. "Well, that's what we're here to work out, actually," she admitted. "We wanted to make contact with you guys without alerting the Tarakans that we were here, so we looked up Cordelia at the college, and she snuck us in here. We decided this would probably all go a lot better if we came up with a good plan first."

"Yes," Giles agreed, continuing her train of thought, "May we assume that all of you have been making your own efforts to find Willow?" He quirked an inquiring eyebrow, but it wasn't really a question.

Oz nodded, sinking back down on the couch. His expression was bleak. "Yeah. No luck."

Buffy moved forward and sat down next to him, gesturing for Giles to join her on the sofa. Giles removed Cordelia's chemistry book from the end cushion and took a seat. "Have you tried magick?" he asked, leaning forward.

"Yeah," Oz replied. "Amy's been helping us, and Xander found a book of yours about, uh, locator spells?" He waved toward the book he had deposited on the table earlier. "Anyway, she tried a couple of the simpler ones, but no dice."

Giles' eyes shifted to the book, then widened in recognition. "Oh, yes, I see," he said, reaching out to pick it up. "Yes, this is the correct book, although I hadn't realized Amy was quite this knowledgeable." He glanced back to Oz. "But you say there was 'no dice' - no reaction whatsoever? Are you sure?"

"Yes," Oz replied, frowning. "Amy said not even a glimmer, whatever that means. We thought maybe-" he paused and rubbed his spiked red hair tiredly, "-we sort of assumed that meant they weren't keeping Willow near Sunnydale." The other, much more painful possibility lay unspoken between them, and Giles' next statement did little to reassure him.

"Be that as it may, there should have been *some* sort of reaction..." His voice trailed off thoughtfully, and Buffy studied his face.

"Giles? What is it? Share."

"Willow is quite adept in the use of magick," Giles mused. "In some ways, she has better instincts for it than I do. I'm simply surprised that evidence of some effort on her part to reach you hasn't manifested itself."

Oz went pale with worry, his skin ghostly white against the stark red of his hair. "Giles, you don't think she's-" He swallowed convulsively, incapable of continuing.

Buffy saw his distress and elbowed Giles sharply in the ribs. "Giles! You're freaking Oz out here!"

Startled, Giles glanced at the younger man and hastened to reassure him. "No, no, Oz, I'm sure Willow is *fine*. The Council wouldn't allow anything to happen to her before the tribunal convenes."

"Tribunal?" It was Angel who asked the question in a very quiet voice, and Cordelia started in her chair at the unexpected sound. He'd been so quiet she had almost forgotten he was in the room. Glancing over at him, she found that he'd taken a seat in the chair across the coffee table. The vampire's gaze was still locked on Buffy's face, but she studiously refrained from looking back at him. Her hand gripped Giles's arm tightly.

Buffy directed her answer to Oz instead. "Yes. The Council wants to put Willow on trial for interfering with them - because she broke into their files and found out about the Tarakan assassins. I guess they blame her for the fact that Giles and I got away from them."

"When you say *trial*-" Oz wondered cautiously "-are we talking a slap on the wrist and community service?" He tried to sound hopeful, as though positive thoughts would make a difference.

Buffy averted her gaze guiltily. "No. No, we're really, *really* not." She glanced at Giles and, taking a deep breath, turned to face Oz again. "But it doesn't matter, Oz. We're gonna get her back before they can do anything to her, I promise you. Even though the time frame does make it a little bit tight." She grimaced. "The trial's scheduled to be two nights from now."

A bit of color came back to Oz's cheeks at her partial reassurance, but then his brow furrowed with confusion. "How do you know all this?"

"The last Tarakan I- ah, met up with - he told me about it." She coughed and glanced down. Giles squeezed her fingers reassuringly, and she offered him a small smile before continuing. "So now we have a deadline, which isn't good, but we also know where Willow will be two nights from now, which *is* good."

"Sunnydale isn't huge, but it's not *that* small," Cordelia pointed out. "What are you planning to do, ride around in the car looking for an overabundance of tweed?"

"Ah, no," Giles said, smiling faintly at Cordelia's quip. He tapped the spellbook with his index finger. "That's when this might come in handy."

"How?" Cordelia asked. "Oz told you that the spells Amy tried didn't work."

"Well, if Amy was working alone, she could probably only manage the more basic spells in the book. But if she and I work together, I think we should be able to divine Willow's location."

"Amy *was* going to try some of the more difficult ones," Oz admitted. "That's why I came to LA - we couldn't get the right supplies in Sunnydale." He brightened. "But if you guys can figure out where Willow is, then we can get to her before the trial even starts, right?"

"I *was* hoping we wouldn't have to wait," Giles told him, nodding. "But the fact that Amy got no reaction at all - even from the basic spells - leads me to believe that Willow is being held behind a- well, a sort of magick *shield*, for want of a better term. And the use of any locator spell strong enough to break that shield would also alert her captors to our efforts. I can't imagine they wouldn't keep their own adepts near at hand to watch out for that sort of thing. On the other hand, the shield will have to be rescinded in order for the tribunal to function in the traditional way, so waiting until the night of the trial to cast the locator spell would preserve the element of surprise."

"Sounds pretty risky," Oz pointed out. "Waiting until the last possible minute..."

"Yes, I know," Giles replied, rubbing his forehead tiredly. "But there's also the possibility that she's being held somewhere outside of Sunnydale until the Tribunal convenes. In fact, it seems quite likely since none of you were able to find any leads at all. She needs to be *nearby* when we cast the spell so that we have time to get to her before she can be moved."

"But they know all this, too, right?" Cordelia suddenly blurted, capturing everyone's attention. "I mean, they know you can do magic stuff, right, Giles? On account of that guy that died that one time? I mean, there's no good reason for them to be having this whole trial thing in Sunnydale, anyway, is there? It would be way easier to ship Willow to England or wherever. What if they're doing this just to get you guys to walk into a trap?" She regarded them expectantly, pleased by her momentary insight, then realized from their unsurprised expressions that everything she had said had already occurred to them.

"It's entirely possible," Giles admitted. "Likely, even. But that doesn't change the fact that we must wrest Willow from their control. And furthermore, we must ensure that they won't come after her again in the future."

"You're going to trade yourselves for her." Again, Angel's quiet statement startled everyone. He frowned at Buffy and Giles. "You think they'll leave her alone if they get the two of you. You're going to trade your lives for hers." His tone was low and angry.

Buffy finally met his gaze again, lifting her chin in unconscious defensiveness. "If we have to," she told him. "But only if we have to." Her knuckles whitened as her grip on Giles' arm intensified.

Cordelia looked from Buffy to Angel, mesmerized by the almost palpable current of *something* humming between them. "Wow," she commented, without thinking it over first, "trading you guys for Willow was the only plan I could come up with, too. But I thought for sure one of *you* could come up with something better."

"Yes, well," Giles demurred with a gallows smile, "I'm sorry we've disappointed you. But feel free to let us know if you're hit by divine inspiration." He flipped past a few more pages in the spellbook. "Yes," he murmured thoughtfully. "This should do nicely."

Angel was still frowning. "If the Council knows that you've discovered the particulars about Willow's trial, they've probably changed their arrangements. I don't think you should give them the opportunity to take you - you would be sacrificing yourself for nothing." Oz frowned at the vampire's words.

"No," Giles murmured, dismissing Angel's concerns without even looking up. "One doesn't simply cancel a full tribunal at the last moment. Travel arrangements will have already been made, and canceling would smack of cowardice. After all, they believe we are only two against all their forces." His tone was flat, almost contemptuous, and Cordelia glanced at him in surprise.

Buffy was regarding Giles anxiously, her hand still gripping his arm. He closed his eyes, inhaled deeply, then smiled wanly down at her, as if to reassure her that he was all right. Angel watched the two of them closely, looking both puzzled and slightly hurt, and Cordelia felt obligated to stick up for her painfully clueless boss, though she couldn't quite pinpoint why.

"Well, they wouldn't have to say that's *why* they're cancelling - somebody could fake a heart attack or something. So if they know that a Tarakan spilled the beans..." Her voice trailed off and she frowned. She turned to Buffy and Giles. "How long ago did you kill him? Would they have had time to find out about it yet?"

Giles tilted his head thoughtfully. "We really have no reliable information about how Tarakan assassins contact one another while on the hunt - or even if they *do* actually, since historically they've always hunted alone. A saving grace for the two of us," he added, glancing at Buffy, "for if they were given to working in concert it would have been nearly impossible to elude them for any substantial period of time."

Buffy grimaced her agreement. "I killed him...oh, I guess it's been nine days now. They probably know he's gone, but they can't be absolutely sure *I'm* the one who killed him, or that he told me anything before he died."

Cordelia nodded, frowning. "Good point...So, over a week ago, huh? Boy, you guys must have been some kind of far away for it to take you that long to get here. Where were you? South America?"

Buffy froze, guilt transforming her expression. Keeping her gaze carefully averted from Oz's trusting face, she muttered, "Houston."

"What?" Oz replied, blinking.

"We were in Houston," she repeated, knowing as she did so the conclusion Oz would reach - that she had betrayed Willow, and nearly left her to die in their place. Giles covered her hand with his, lending her strength.

Oz's expression transformed into something dangerously blank. "Were you seriously injured in the fight?" he asked softly, offering her an out - perhaps even wanting her to take it, whether it were true or not.

But she refused to lie to him. Her jaw clenched. "No."

The musician stared at her, fury evident in every line of his tense form. "Are you telling me that you-"

"Stop!" Giles interjected in a commanding tone. "Focus on the issue at hand! *Oz*," he added sharply when the young man made as if to protest, "we must concentrate on planning Willow's rescue now." Oz transferred his glare to Giles, making it clear that Buffy wasn't the only target of his anger, but he held his tongue. Giles nodded, satisfied with that. "Now, we still need to gather the proper supplies for the spell, and we'd best begin tonight in case we have some trouble locating the ingredients."

"I'll drive you," Oz offered, but his scowl made it clear he was making the effort only for Willow's sake. "I know where the shops are."

"Fine," Buffy agreed, standing up. "Let's go, then."

"Why do you need to go?" Angel asked, almost plaintively. Everyone turned to look at him. "I mean, I think Oz and Giles can handle it, don't you?" he elaborated in a more reasonable tone. "You should stay and eat something, get some rest." He managed a small, hopeful smile.

Buffy didn't see it, though; she kept her gaze averted from him. "Well, I-"

"It's a good idea, Buffy," Giles interjected softly. Buffy glanced quickly upward, a flicker of betrayal crossing her face. He laid a hand on her shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze. "Oz and I will handle getting the supplies. If you're not tired, you should take a little practice with the crossbow, I think - you haven't handled one since ours broke over a month ago, and we'll probably have need of it."

She swallowed hard, once, then managed a calm nod. "All right."

He smiled at her. "And eat some of that pizza, please. But not all of it, all right? Save me a piece."

She managed a smile in return. "Okay, maybe just one." She glanced over at Oz, who refused to meet her gaze. "I'll walk you out."

Oz exited the room, his back still stiff with anger, and Buffy and Giles followed him out without another word to Angel and Cordelia.

The brunette glanced over at her boss, who was staring at the empty doorway, a slight frown marring his brow. "Are you okay, Angel?"

His frown intensified. "I...don't know." He turned to look at her. "Something's going on here, Cordelia. Something's different." She averted her gaze guiltily, and he caught the telltale sign. "And I'm betting you know what it is. What's going on, Cordelia?"

Cordelia swallowed uneasily.

"Oz!" Buffy called as the young man took the stairs at double-speed. "Oz, wait a minute!" He stopped, his hand on the door to the parking garage, and looked up at them. She could see the betrayal glittering in his eyes, though he'd managed to recapture his usual calm expression.

She didn't continue until they had joined him on the landing. "It's not Giles' fault, Oz," she told him quietly. "He didn't know about this until two nights ago. I kept it a secret from him."

Oz stared at her for a moment, then nodded sharply, and Buffy heaved a sigh of relief.

"Buffy-" Giles began, but she cut him off.

"I'm okay, Giles," she said. "And Oz has a right to be angry."

"I'm sure he must understand how difficult this is for you," Giles replied, his tone indicating that Oz damn well better. The musician raised an eyebrow in response.

Buffy smiled wanly at Oz. "No, Giles. He can't. He loves Willow." She turned to Giles, and, unmindful of their spectator, reached up to pull him into a kiss. Oz's cool expression hid his surprise very well. "And I love you," she added when the kiss had ended. "Be careful, okay? Hurry back."

"We will," he promised, giving her a quick hug before letting go. "And don't forget, you promised me you'd eat something."

"Yeah, yeah," she agreed, rolling her eyes. "Go on, get out of here." She gave him a playful shove toward the exit.

Oz - abruptly deciding he'd think about their strange new behavior later - turned and opened the door, startling the person on the other side who'd just reached for the knob. Oz watched, stunned, as both Buffy and Giles produced two stakes from somewhere on their persons with such speed that their movements were almost a blur. Buffy rushed into the garage and slammed the visitor up against a cement pillar, one arm pinning him up by the neck, her stake poised to strike him in the chest. Giles was right on her heels, his careful gaze scouring the open area for any more intruders.

Despite their swift, competent show of force, Buffy's target didn't seem a bit frightened - but rather more than a little amused. "Slayer!" Spike exclaimed in a sarcastic voice, smirking with mock delight. "Happy to see me, are you? Well, that's nice, pet. I didn't know you cared."

"Spike," Buffy spat, clearly less than thrilled to see the blond vampire again. "What the *hell* are you doing here?"

"At the moment?" he replied, raising one scarred eyebrow. "I'm pinned to a pillar by your delectable self. Missed me, did you?"

She let go of him and stepped away, her lip curling in disgust. "Hardly. You've got two seconds to tell me why you're here, and then I get stake-happy." Her glare was matched by Giles'.

"It's okay, guys," Oz told them, stepping in to forestall both verbal and physical battle - mainly because they didn't have time for it, though he suspected it would be very entertaining. "Sorry, we forgot to mention he was coming. It was *supposed* to be a surprise for Cordelia."

"She likes me," Spike told them, smirking.

"Hardly," Oz said, glancing to Giles and Buffy. "He calls her prom queen, which I suspect wouldn't annoy Cordelia except that she wasn't one." He turned to the vampire. "Did you check out Willy's before you left Sunnydale?" The vampire nodded. "That I did - with sod all to show for it. Sorry, mate."

Oz sighed and turned back to Buffy and Giles, who hadn't relaxed their combat stances one iota. "Spike's been helping us look for Willow."

"Really?" Giles drawled with exquisite British sarcasm, glaring at the vampire.

"Really!" Spike replied brightly, in a tone guaranteed to annoy them. "I'm on the good guy team now, Watcher. Doesn't that just warm the cockles of your heart?"

"And how exactly did this come about?" Buffy asked suspiciously, fingering her stake.

"Oh, a bit of blackmail, a bit of bribery," Spike replied airily. "It's a long story, pet. But I really do want to find the little witch, you know. Never can tell when I might want a spell cast."

Buffy raised an eyebrow, remembering the last time Spike had 'requested' Willow's services. "The crazy ho ditched you again, did she? Gee, that's too bad."

Spike growled low in his throat and stepped toward her threateningly. Buffy and Giles' stakes came up in unison, and once again, Oz was forced to intervene. "We don't have time for this," he pointed out. "Spike, Giles thinks he and Amy can work one of the more complicated locator spells - the two of us were just going to get the ingredients."

After one last glare toward Buffy, Spike cast Giles an appraising glance. "Are you the one who taught the little witch? Naughty Watcher - I thought the toffs in England frowned upon that sort of thing. But I suppose if you were anything like the rest of the Council's wankers, you and the Slayer would have died a bloody death a long time ago."

Giles smiled thinly. "Quite."

Vampire and Watcher studied each other for a long moment. "I'll go with you," Spike abruptly offered.

Buffy frowned suspiciously. "Why?"

"Because I don't really want to hang about watching the glorious reunion between you and the great pouf, that's why," Spike returned. "The little witch and her werewolf are hard enough to take, but at least he's not as annoying as soul-boy. Besides, I know a few shops hereabouts that wolfie doesn't." He smiled a shark's smile. "Not my first time in LA, you know. Such a...*tasty* city."

Buffy's stake inched back upward. "Oh, for God's sake."

Oz pushed the weapon away, interposing himself between the two of them. "Look, he's not going to taste anyone, okay? And we need to get going." Buffy's glare didn't waver from Spike's smirking face. "Try thinking about *Willow* for a minute, Buffy," Oz added. A low blow, he knew, but he was still angry with her.

Buffy winced and lowered the stake. "Fine," she agreed without meeting Oz's eyes. She turned toward the door, paused, then turned back to face Spike. "Do I have to tell you that if anything happens to either of them you'll become personally acquainted with Mr. Pointy, no questions asked?" Her bright smile was distinctly threatening. "I didn't think so." Her gaze flicked to Giles. "Be careful."

"I will," he replied, and she opened the door to leave. "Eat something!" he added as it swung shut behind her. He turned back to Spike and Oz, who were both eyeing him strangely, Oz rather moreso than Spike. He offered them a bland smile. "Shall we go?"

"Cordelia? Do you know what's going on?" Angel watched his erstwhile employee closely, convinced by her guilty expression that she knew more than she was saying.

Cordelia widened her eyes innocently. "Going on where?"

He sighed. "Going on with *Buffy*, Cordelia. Didn't you notice how strange she was acting?"

"Buffy's always been strange," Cordelia said dismissively. She leaned forward and opened one of the pizza boxes. "Want some?"

"Stop trying to change the subject, Cordelia. You're a horrible liar, you know."

She chewed meditatively on a bit of mushroom and pepper as she debated just which tack to take with her boss. "What do you want me to say, Angel?" she asked, swallowing. "This morning Buffy popped up at my sorority out of the blue and asked for my help - end of story. It's not like we *bonded* or anything - I've barely seen her at all."

He leaned forward in his chair, bracing his elbows on his knees. "But did she *say* anything?'

"Hmm?" A sip of soda. "'Bout what?"

"About *me*," Angel returned, exasperated by what he suspected was deliberate obtuseness on her part. "She barely looked at me, Cordelia. Do you think...Is she angry at me for...for what happened before the Ascension?"

"You mean draining her?" Cordelia wondered, casting her mind back to those hectic days. "Oh, was she mad about that? I didn't know."

Angel frowned. "Well, we never talked about it. I just figured...I mean, if it's not that, then what is it?"

Cordelia kept her gaze on her pizza. <She's boffing Giles, Angel. Um, sorry 'bout that.> She cleared her throat. "What's what?"

Angel sighed again and gave up. He liked Cordelia, he really did, though he would be hard pressed to explain exactly why - but sometimes she was the most maddening person on earth. "Never mind." He glanced up at the door. "I wonder why Buffy hasn't come back yet..."

Buffy raised the crossbow and aimed another bolt toward the target at the other end of the basement gym. A brief 'click'/*thunk* later and the wooden projectile pierced the center of the paper bullseye, burrowing deeply into the rubberfoam base behind it. "Haven't lost your touch, Summers," she murmured to herself as she lowered the weapon and regarded the result with satisfaction. After a moment's contemplation, she wandered over toward the shelves of weapons against the wall, curious about some of the more arcane pieces she'd noticed during their quick perusal earlier. "Wonder what this is?" she muttered, picking up an unfathomable metal monstrosity. She hissed as sharp metal bit into her thumb. "Dammit!" She dropped the weapon and stuck her thumb in her mouth, sucking on the minor wound. She could almost hear Giles laughing at her inside her head.

"Buffy?"

She spun on her heel as the door opened, automatically extracting a stake from her waistband and holding it ready.

Angel stood in the open doorway, an amused expression on his face, and abruptly she realized what a picture she must have made, holding a deadly weapon in one hand while sucking the thumb of the other. She immediately removed the offending digit from her mouth and scowled at Angel. "What?" she asked crossly, tucking her stake back into her jeans.

He stepped inside the room and eyed her uncertainly. "I didn't mean to startle you. I just...I wondered why you didn't come up to get your pizza." His reasoning sounded lame even to his own ears, but Buffy didn't laugh. She seemed more annoyed than anything else, actually.

"Not hungry," Buffy muttered, turning her back on him and picking up the crossbow. She wasn't ready for this conversation, and felt more than a little piqued that he hadn't been able to catch her unspoken hint - if she had *wanted* to see him, she would have gone back upstairs, right? Ignoring his questioning expression, she rummaged through the shelves looking for spare bolts, carefully avoiding any more exposed metal edges.

"Top shelf," he informed her as he joined her in front of the display. She stiffened at his nearness, unaccustomed to close physical proximity with anyone but Giles. He reached up to pluck a stack of bolts from the high shelf and handed them to her with a smile. "Here you go."

"Thanks," she told him grudgingly, carefully avoiding contact with his fingers. She returned to her spot on the mat and loaded another bolt.

Angel glanced at the targets. "I see you're still as proficient as ever," he noted in a friendly tone, clearly trying to set both of them at ease, but Buffy wasn't in the mood to be placated.

"I'm a hell of a lot better than I used to be," she disagreed irritably, letting loose another bolt. It hit the center of the target, just nudging her previous offering.

"Buffy..." She wouldn't turn to look at him. "Buffy, are you mad at me?"

The plaintive note in his voice was almost enough to pierce her emotional armor, but Buffy had become far too adept at using fury as a shield, and she suddenly found herself overcome by it. He was the most convenient target at hand, and a mark much more satisfying than inanimate paper. She was angry at their untenable situation with the Watchers, angry at the unrelenting nature of their Tarakan hunters, angry at her own inability to control her emotions, and most especially angry at the prospect of Giles' nearly inevitable death in the next forty-eight hours.

Angel didn't stand a chance.

"Why *ever* would I be mad at you?" she hissed, letting fly another bolt.

"Be-because of what happened before the Ascension," Angel replied in a faltering voice, his gaze locked on her tense form. He didn't know what to make of her at all - this Buffy was almost a stranger to him, a bundle of angry, contradictory reactions and nervous energy that apparently couldn't even stand being in the same room with him.

"You mean when you almost sucked the life out of me?" she asked nonchalantly without glancing back. "Well, I asked you to do it, right? Why cry over it now?"

He grimaced miserably as he realized his worst fears were apparently all-too-true. "Buffy, you know I never would have done that if-"

"-You were in your right mind," she finished flatly. "Yeah, I got it, Angel. And I'm *fine*, aren't I? No lingering side effects, so no harm, no foul, right?" Clear sarcasm belied her words.

"I wouldn't say that," he murmured regretfully.

She whirled on him, her blazing eyes shooting sparks. "Well, neither would I. But what's the point of talking about it, Angel? It's the past, and I've got way more important things to think about now than you draining me like an all-you-can-eat buffet."

Which was true enough, Angel realized. And perhaps by helping Buffy rescue her friend, he could begin to make up for the pain he'd caused her. "We'll get Willow back," he reassured her, moving forward. "We'll figure out a way."

"Willow." She blinked. "Yeah. Right." She turned back toward the targets.

"And Oz will come around," he added a bit desperately. "He'll understand that you were just scared of dying again, Buffy. And you *know* Willow won't hold it against you."

She turned back to him, abruptly overcome by an eerie calm, and regarded him silently, eyebrows raised. "You think," she began after a long, tense moment, "you think I was scared of dying?" Derision colored her tone.

Angel realized he'd made a major misstep, though he was at a loss to determine exactly how. "Well, no...I just-"

She cut him off with a snort of mocking laughter. "You think I was willing to let Willow die in order to save my own neck. That's it, isn't it? God, Angel, it's nice to know exactly what you think of me." Her lip curled. "Or is your ego just so colossal that you think you're the only one in the world I'd risk dying for?"

"N-no, of course not," Angel stuttered, stunned by the vitriol in her tone. She'd never attacked him with so much bitter fury, not even in the tense days following her return to Sunnydale after the Master's death. "I never meant to suggest that. I'm sorry."

She returned to her target practice without acknowledging his apology. The room was silent except for the click of the crossbow and the thunk of the bolts. She had nearly finished off her pile of ammunition before Angel spoke again. "Why didn't you arrive sooner, then?" he asked, his tone one of polite inquiry.

She debated whether or not to answer. *Thunk*. "I was trying to figure out how to ditch Giles," she admitted after a moment's consideration. "But then I figured that without him we wouldn't be able to make it work."

"I don't think he would have reacted well to being ditched," Angel pointed out. "He feels just as much responsibility for Willow's predicament as you do, I'd imagine."

'Click'...*thunk*. "It's not about responsibility." Bullseye. "His *or* mine."

"What is it about, then?" Angel asked quietly, suddenly feeling unaccountably tense.

*Thunk*. The last bolt found its target, and Buffy turned to face him, her expression blank, her eyes hard. "It's about love." Her gaze bored into his. "His *and* mine." Twin spots of color darkened her pale cheeks, and her tone was quietly defiant. "His and mine and ours."

Angel's jaw dropped as he realized the implications of her statement, and he staggered under the painfully physical sensation of the loss of the hopes he'd barely acknowledged harboring. She stood before him - beautiful, bright, bold...and bitter - a gleam of satisfaction lighting her eyes as she surveyed the devastation mere words could wreak, if uttered by the right person.

A phone rang somewhere upstairs, and Angel seized upon the sound as his salvation. Muttering an incoherent apology, he stumbled from the room, not even noticing Cordelia loitering in the stairwell as he staggered up the steps.

The brunette watched her boss until he disappeared through the ground floor door, then she turned and entered the gym. She stopped just inside the door and studied Buffy silently for a moment.

Buffy stared back at her, unrepentant.

"Cruel much?" Cordelia asked once she'd found her voice. She hadn't really expected Buffy to break the news all that gently, but she'd never dreamed Buffy would be so brutal...but then, she didn't really know the Slayer anymore, did she? Maybe no one did.

"Eavesdrop much?" Buffy returned nonchalantly, reaching for a rag with which to clean her weapon.

Cordelia felt the beginnings of anger stir in her chest. Angel - while admittedly broody and annoying at the best of times - did not deserve to have his heart filleted simply for amusement's sake. "God, Buffy, why didn't you just stake him and get it over with? Haven't you ever heard of letting someone down easy?"

"When did *you* discover tact, Cordy?" Buffy shot back.

"We're not talking about me," Cordelia replied impatiently. "Are you *that* pissed at him about the whole blood-draining Ascension thingy? Because you *did* ask for it," she pointed out. "And he *was* delirious at the time."

"This has nothing to do with the Ascension, Cordelia," Buffy replied. "It's not about that at all."

Cordelia crossed her arms over her chest and leaned back against the wall. "Really?" she drawled sarcastically. "Do tell."

The alley where Oz had parked the van was dark and smelly, but located conveniently adjacent to the large warehouse that housed Madame Helga's Magick Storehouse. Spike had volunteered for initial reconnaissance, claiming a previous acquaintance with 'Madame Helga' that apparently did not involve her losing copious amounts of blood. Giles was skeptical about that assertion, but agreed it was better for him to stay out of sight in the back of the van during the initial approach, just in case any Tarakans lurked nearby.

Oz sat in the vehicle's driver's seat, and Giles could feel the periodic weight of the musician's gaze in the front mirror. Oz's anger had apparently abated somewhat, at least with regard to Giles' culpability in Willow's continued peril. The air was heavy with unspoken questions, but Giles found himself possessed of a perverse desire to force the usually taciturn young man into verbalizing his inquiries.

Which Oz finally did, with his customary succinctness.

"So, you and Buffy, huh?" Oz asked.

"Yes," Giles replied in an even tone.

Oz nodded, and that was that.

"Have you ever seen Giles' hands, Cordy?" Buffy wondered aloud, her tone turning almost dreamy. "They're beautiful...so strong...but they're not soft. Callused, from the work, scarred from the weapons. And the middle finger of his left hand - it can't bend all the way into a fist anymore. The knuckle is crooked, and the bone was too fragmented to put back together properly."

Her eyes were closed, her face pale, her lips bloodless as she continued softly, "Angel did that. He enjoyed it. He laughed while he did it. I know, because Giles still has nightmares about that time...and he wakes up screaming." She opened her eyes and looked at Cordelia, anguished. "That's what I think of when I look at Angel now, Cordelia."

"That was a long time ago, Buffy," Cordelia pointed out, silently wondering why Buffy hadn't had these thoughts for Giles before running away two summers ago. Watching him deal with splinted fingers, broken ribs, and rainbows of blue, black and green bruises across every visible patch of skin had been excruciating during the last days of junior year. And seeing the hollow desolation in his eyes as he searched for his missing Slayer had been even worse. She'd almost been relieved to finally leave for Mexico, even though it meant long weeks of bickering parents and missing Xander.

Did Buffy even know how much she had hurt the man all those months ago? "It never seemed to bother you before," Cordelia added, a bit more harshly than she'd intended.

But Buffy didn't bristle in angry defensiveness as Cordelia had expected - instead, she flinched, and closed her eyes. "I know," she admitted. "I-...all I could see was Angel, then...and myself. All I could feel was *our* pain." She opened her eyes again, meeting Cordelia's gaze. "But everything's different now, Cordelia. *I'm* different. Now when I think of all the times that Giles' hand has touched me, I see that crooked middle finger, and I remember that Angel tortured him. It colors everything I think now."

"It was Angelus, Buffy," Cordelia told her softly, even though it was a distinction she herself hadn't cared to make at the time.

Buffy closed her eyes, pained. "Yes," she whispered, "but when Giles remembers it, it's Angel's face he sees." She bowed her head, her shoulders hunched in misery.

Cordelia could find nothing to say in reply to that. After a moment, she just nodded and turned and left the room.

Buffy listened, head still bowed, as the other girl's quiet footsteps receded. Cordelia's compassion for Angel surprised her somewhat, since the brunette had been one of the least willing to forgive him of all of them way back when - though she hadn't been as vicious about it as Xander. Apparently in their months of working together she'd grown closer to the vampire than Buffy ever would have anticipated. Oddly, Buffy found that she didn't even feel the slightest bit jealous - in marked contrast to the way she would have reacted just one short year ago. It made Buffy feel a bit better that he had someone on his side, actually.

Because she couldn't allow herself to feel for him. She wouldn't allow herself concern for him. She wouldn't let him be a priority. Not anymore.

Buffy straightened her shoulders and raised her chin, schooling her features into a mask of determination. "Giles comes first," she whispered fiercely to herself as she headed for the door. "First and only..." A picture of his smiling face filled her mind's eye, one elegant, sardonic eyebrow raised, clever lips quirked in the grin that meant he was humoring her but loving it all the same.

She smiled, squared her shoulders, and left the room.

"Nothing like a decent spot of violence to liven up an evening," Spike observed as the three men exited the elevator onto the second floor of Angel's office building, bags in hand, heading for the door of the small lounge/kitchen. The blonde vampire was still smirking from his quick dusting of a rather weak vampire outside one of the shops they had visited. Giles swallowed a sarcastic reply. It hadn't really been much of a battle - both he and Oz probably could have handled it alone with ease - but there was no point in antagonizing Spike unnecessarily.

Oz hefted one of Buffy's duffles over his shoulder and refrained from comment. He'd been virtually silent since Giles' earlier confirmation of the changed nature of his relationship with Buffy, but Giles sensed that the young man's anger toward the two of them had abated somewhat. Oz wasn't the type to hold a grudge - his generosity with regard to Xander after the other boy's illicit affair with Willow was proof enough of that. Giles knew that Buffy had been stung by Oz's anger earlier, and he hoped that Oz would find some way to alleviate her guilt, at least in part, over Willow's ordeal. Buffy blamed herself for far too much as it was.

Giles checked inside his own duffle to make sure he'd cadged the correct one from the van. They had stopped by his and Buffy's abandoned car to retrieve the balance of their belongings, as he assumed that Buffy would be glad to have a few extra sets of clothes. The weapons they had left in the back of the van, ready for their upcoming trip to Sunnydale, but he had brought the clothes and toiletries inside.

Spike tossed the paper bag full of spell ingredients onto the couch and made a beeline for the refrigerator. He rattled among the contents inside and withdrew a green wine bottle. "O- positive, anyone?" he offered with a flourish, downing half of the liquid inside in one gulp.

Oz blinked and shook his head. Giles grimaced, nudging the vampire aside to pull out one of the pizza boxes. "No, thank you. Would you like something inorganic to drink, Oz?"

The young man shook his head and glanced back toward the door. "Not really hungry, thanks. I think I'll go up and get the cot set up."

Giles heard the unspoken corollary - <and talk to Buffy.> He smiled at the werewolf. "That's fine. I want to go over the spell one more time, make sure that we've everything we require. Tell Buffy I'll be along in a bit."

"Sure." He disappeared out the door.

"Laid back for a wolf, isn't he?" Spike observed, wiping his mouth with his sleeve. "Is he a Lassie pouf when he's all furred out?"

"Share a cage with him next full moon and find out for yourself, why don't you?" Giles replied absently as he sat down on the couch. He opened both the pizza box and the spellbook

"No thanks, mate," Spike returned, scowling at Giles' blithe unwillingness to react to his baiting. 'All work and no play' described the Watcher to a T as far as he could tell. He could almost feel sorry for the Slayer, having been forced into the man's exclusive company for months on end. "Cor, I might as well go and find bloody Angelus."

Giles waved a hand dismissively, already absorbed in his book.

"Wanker," Spike commented, then went to find his sire.

Angel was slumped low in the chair behind his desk, staring blearily into a half-empty whiskey bottle when Spike entered his office without bothering to knock. The blonde vampire stopped short when he saw the liquor, eyeing Angel strangely, wondering at his sire's unaccustomed lapse into vice. The de-souled Angelus had gone in for all manner of intoxicants, but the souled Angel was a walking advertisement for temperance - and a crushing bore, Spike thought, but that went without saying. So it was natural for him to wonder if Angelus had somehow made a precipitous return, though he dismissed the idea almost instantly. Angelus never looked so bloody depressed when he was drunk - or sober, actually. Broodiness was an exclusively Angel characteristic.

"We got the stuff," Spike said, but Angel didn't even look up at him. "What's your bloody problem?" Spike continued after a long moment, peeved at both Angel's lack of response and his own disturbing feeling that he was 'reporting in to the boss'.

Angel blinked up at his childe, then scowled. "Sod off."

Spike's gaze narrowed. Angel rarely, if ever, lapsed into profanity, even when a situation more than warranted it. It was as though he felt it were beneath him somehow, and only applicable in extreme situations. Spike's eyes widened as comprehension dawned. "The Slayer wasn't happy to see you, was she? Cor, I *knew* I should have stuck around for the reunion!"

"Shut up, Spike," Angel snapped, "You have no idea what you're talking about." But Spike was enjoying himself far too much to stop needling the other vampire. And he was far too perceptive where his sire was concerned for Angel's liking.

"Moved on to the living, did she?" Spike guessed blithely, enjoying the tormented expression Angel couldn't quite manage to mask as his shot in the dark hit its mark. "Well, you should have expected it, mate. She strikes me as a wench who's more than a little fond of trips to the beach."

"You know *nothing* about her," Angel hissed, shoving his chair back from the desk.

"You've gotta give the little girl credit, though," Spike mused, ignoring Angel's interruption. "Not a lot of women who'd manage it with a pack of Tarakans on their trail." He paused, frowning, as he recognized the truth of his own statement. "I wonder who-" Angel flinched again, and suddenly all became clear to Spike - though he could hardly credit the revelation. "The *Watcher*?" he asked, astonished. "The *toff*?"

"Get *out*!" Angel snarled, his face half-vamping with the strength of his emotions, and Spike felt a brief pang of unwilling pity.

But only for a moment, before memories of Drusilla and a newly soulless Angel entwined together asserted themselves. His mouth tightened into a grim line of satisfaction. "Hurts, doesn't it, pouf?" he taunted.

Angel just glared at him.

Spike smirked back until Angel had to look away. Feeling triumphant, the blonde vampire turned to leave, suddenly cognizant a need for a bit more violence and fresher blood. Time to hit LA's mean streets, in search of the stupidly nocturnal. After all, he may have sworn not to kill, but he'd never promised not to taste.

And, suddenly, he felt like celebrating.

Buffy sat crosslegged in the middle of the mattress of the foldout couch, gazing out the window and up at the stars. She wore only an oversized t-shirt, her legs drawn up, arms wrapped around them, trying to keep warm in the evening's chill. It wasn't appreciably cool in their makeshift bedroom, but her conversation with Angel had left her with a cold feeling inside that spread to leach the warmth from her bones. She'd been unfair to him, she knew - and if Cordelia had noticed, it had to have been excessively bad. She didn't know where the instant, overwhelming fury she'd felt upon seeing Angel had come from - she hadn't been aware that she had harbored such deep-seated anger toward the vampire. And even after several hours of careful thought, she still couldn't quite fathom the whys and wherefores of her extreme reaction. But she owed him an apology, that much she knew.

<Later...> Right now all she wanted to do was gaze up at the stars and pretend that their lives wouldn't most likely end in two days.

A faint knock on the door interrupted her silent reverie.

"Come in."

The door opened to reveal Oz, who regarded her with his characteristic lack of expression. "Hey," he said evenly. "Came up to get the cot."

"Oh, sure," she replied, waving a hand toward the closet. "It's in there."

He nodded, walked over toward the door and opened it. Silently he removed the rollout bed and a stack of linens and wheeled them toward the hallway. Buffy watched him for a moment, then turned back toward the window and the stars. She waited for the click of the door closing behind him, but it never came.

"Are you all right, Buffy?" Willow's boyfriend asked, and Buffy couldn't squelch a reflexive smile. Oz was just so *nice* - probably the nicest person she'd ever met, next to Willow. Henever seemed to hold a grudge for any wrongs done him, and bore his three day a month curse with nary a word of complaint. He and Will were just the perfect couple, and Buffy knew how deep the werewolf's feelings ran for her best friend. Willow's absence must have been killing him, and knowing that Buffy had wavered about coming back to rescue her...well, she wouldn't have blamed him if he hated her. It might have been easier if he did, actually - because, somehow, the tacit forgiveness she suspected he was offering made her feel even worse.

She cleared her throat, never moving her eyes from the window. "Did you guys get everything you needed?"

He noted her lack of response to his question, but decided not to make an issue of it. "Giles thinks so. He's checking the book again - said to tell you he'll be up in a minute."

She nodded.

Oz moved toward the bed and sat down on the edge of the mattress. Buffy felt it give a little underneath her, but she still kept her gaze averted from his face.

"I asked him about the two of you."

Surprised, she automatically glanced over at him. "You did?"

He smiled faintly. "Couldn't help myself."

Buffy smiled back a little shyly. "What did he say?" she asked, honestly curious. She had wondered if Oz would bring up to Giles the kiss he'd witnessed earlier. It would have been just like him to merely accept it calmly and go on about his business.

Oz shrugged. "No details. But I think I've got the gist."

She nodded and turned back to the window.

"You love him a lot, don't you?" he added quietly.

She felt her throat close up and her eyes fill with tears. "So much," she whispered in a strangled tone. For some reason his gentle voice slid effortlessly through her emotional armor, engendering none of the angry defensiveness that Angel and Cordelia's queries had.

"You're afraid for him?" Oz continued, though it wasn't really a question.

She swallowed and nodded. "So afraid."

"That's why you didn't tell him about Willow. That's why you didn't want to come back." His tone held no intimation of cowardice, but Buffy flinched anyway.

She hunched her shoulders miserably, nodding as a single tear escaped to roll down her cheek. Silence stretched between them for long minutes. She could hear his calm, even breathing from behind her as she fought for control of herself. Finally, a warm hand fell on her shoulder.

"It's okay, Buffy."

His absolution was more than she could bear. She began to sob. "No, it isn't, Oz. It's not okay, and I'm so sorry I've let her down - let you all down. I'm so sorry, Oz."

He scooted over on the bed and wrapped his arm around her shoulder, squeezing gingerly, and a part of her noted that it was the first time he'd ever really touched her. She could feel the wiry strength in his compact frame, but she wouldn't allow herself to lean on him. She didn't deserve his comfort. "I don't know how I'm ever going to face Willow," she told him tearily.

"Willow understands love," he replied, "better than anyone I've ever met. She won't be angry."

Buffy swiped at her wet cheeks. "Maybe. But all that means is that she's a better friend than I am."

He regarded her seriously, tilting his head to one side, his spiky red hair a comic contrast to his expression. "I wouldn't have done it," he admitted softly. "I wouldn't have told Willow, in your place, and it's not because I love her more than you love Giles. I think you're braver than anyone I've ever met, and I know you're a good friend to Willow, Buffy. Please believe that." It was the longest speech she'd ever heard him make, and it only made her cry harder.

"I-" she hiccuped through a sob, "Oh, Oz, I hate this so much. I *hate* it!"

"You're in a bad place, Buffy," he agreed. "I'm sorry if I made it worse for you."

She wouldn't allow him to feel guilty, not even a little. "*I* make it worse for me," she told him flatly. "And then I take it out on the people around me." Angel's stricken face rose unbidden into her mind.

Oz studied her expression. "You talked to Angel," he concluded perceptively.

"*Yelled* at Angel," she amended, grimacing. "And threw Giles and me in his face. I'm not even sure why I did it, Oz - I'm just so *angry* all the time."

"You've got a lot to be angry about," he pointed out reasonably.

"But if I'm going to die in two days I don't want to spend them being mad at the world," she replied. "That would be beyond stupid, don't you think?"

Oz just *looked* at her in that wise, unruffled way he had. "Then don't do it."

The abrupt simplicity of his statement startled a laugh out of her. She caught the twinkle in his eyes that belied his calm expression, and she suddenly found that she had to smile - as foreign as the expression felt upon her face. "All right, then," she said, grabbing his hand and shaking it firmly to seal the bargain, "I won't."

Giles popped the last bit of crust from his pizza slice into his mouth, chewing thoughtfully as he contemplated the wording of the locator spell he'd selected. He was fairly certain that he and Amy would have no trouble performing it - the difficulty came from the fact that the casting would leave them vulnerable. In order for the magick to function effectively, it would be necessary for him to lower the protective shields he'd erected around himself and Buffy. Those shields had been their only barrier against the Council using locator spells to find *them*, and he was loathe to give that protection up.

He rubbed his forehead tiredly and sighed, mentally conceding to the necessity of it. Besides, those shields only extended so far, and once he and Buffy were in close proximity with the Council's magick users, they would be effectively useless anyway. Their chief concern had to be finding Willow, and the spell was the only way they had formulated to do that. All other concerns had to be secondary.

He just had to hope and pray that the Council's magickal protection was somewhat less effective than his and Buffy's had been, because if the locator spell didn't enable them to find Willow...

<It will,> he told himself firmly. <It must.>

Giles didn't look up at the sound of footsteps in the hallway, assuming it would be either Spike returning for another round of blood or Oz coming to tell him he'd finished talking to Buffy. The footsteps halted, but their owner made no sound, and finally Giles glanced up to find Angel standing in the doorway, staring at him with an unreadable expression on his face.

"Angel," Giles murmured, returning his attention to the spellbook.

"Giles," Angel returned in an *awful* tone, and Giles realized that Buffy must have revealed the truth about their relationship to the vampire. He raised his eyes to meet Angel's accusing gaze squarely, lifting his chin in unconscious defiance.

"Something on your mind?" Giles had asked, recognizing his own desire to wound the vampire in the taunting tone he'd used to voice the question. It didn't come from the better part of his nature, he knew, this need to hurt Angel as Angelus had hurt him, but it was there nonetheless. Objectively, he could differentiate the deeds of the souled vampire from the actions of the soulless one, but he wasn't saint enough not to resent Angel for all the little slights he'd suffered as Buffy had made her choices - Angel coming first, always, for more than two years. It had hurt Giles, deeply, but he'd pushed the pain aside, determined to do his duty and support his Slayer with all that was in him.

And Buffy was his now. Was that the reward for his forbearance? But Giles could not deny that he still felt the desire to wound Angel, to pay him back for the innumerable hurts the vampire had parceled out to everyone Giles loved. To Jenny, to Willow, even to Xander...and to Giles himself. The trail of roses up the stairs, Jenny's sightless eyes, splintered bone and fractured ribs... But mostly Giles wanted to hurt him for what he'd done to Buffy. For in return for her gift most precious, Angel had given her a soulless demon and taunting words, months of terror, blame and pain. Giles wanted to punish him for the guilt that haunted her eyes, for the wary way she stalked the night, for the two puncture scars on her neck that would never fade despite the strength of Slayer healing. And for Faith, still languishing in a coma, a living weight on Buffy's chest, crushing her with the knowledge that she could kill, or at least desire to do so, that she could be driven to an act so like the deeds of the evil ones she fought, all for the creature that had haunted her nights.

So if a part of him looked forward to this verbal battle with Angel, he would simply have to be forgiven for it.

"Something on your mind?" Giles wondered, managing not to smirk as he asked the question.

"Buffy," Angel returned coldly as he entered the room, clad in dark shirt and pants, scowling like a walking cloud of doom. "I think you *know* why."

"She told you, then," Giles replied in a mild tone, casually flipping through the pages in his spellbook. "Well, she said she might."

Giles' glib, guilt-free reply seemed to disconcert the vampire for a moment, but only for a moment.

"How could you do this?" he hissed. "How can you take advantage of her like this?"

All amusement fled, leaving behind a cold core of anger. "Take advantage?" Giles repeated, his eyes turning Ripper-dark, his voice dangerously soft. "Take *advantage*?"

"She's *eighteen* years old, Giles," Angel pointed out.

"And she was barely seventeen when you took her, wasn't she?" Giles returned, shoving the spellbook aside and rising to his feet. "Barely seventeen when you ripped her life - her *heart* - to shreds! Do you honestly think *anything* of the child she was remained after that?"

"Is that how you excuse yourself?" Angel asked tightly, the anguish in his eyes revealing that Giles' barbs had hit home. "To say that I did worse, so it's all right now? The situations are not the same at all."

Giles' hackles rose. "Oh? And why is that, Angel? Because your love was so great that you simply couldn't help yourself? Because the love you shared simply couldn't be denied, and damn the consequences?"

"I didn't *know* the consequences!" Angel retorted angrily. "You *know* that. No one knew but your girlfriend's damned gypsy clan."

"You'd best not bring Jenny into this," Giles replied in a cold, cold voice, his fists clenching at his sides. "You'd best not even speak her name." His furious expression brooked no argument - but Angel didn't offer one, not about that.

"I'm sorry," Angel told him, sounding as though he meant it. "But I didn't know what would happen, Giles. You know I didn't."

Giles nodded slightly, willing to grant him that small concession. "Perhaps. But are you saying that if you hadn't lost your soul, then it would have been all right? You had over two hundred years on the girl, Angel, and you're *dead* besides, but you thought having sex was a good idea?"

"No! I mean, I didn't think-"

Giles cut him off with a derisive snort. "You didn't think. Oh, that's brilliant, man. Swept away on a tide of passion, were you?" He grabbed the box of pizza and headed toward the refrigerator, feeling a restless need for movement. "But *I'm* supposed to think, though, yes?" he threw over his shoulder as he shoved the box inside. "I'm supposed to be logical, to remain detached..." He whirled around to face the vampire. "*I* can't possibly be swept away by passion, because I can't love her as you do, is that right?"

The answer to his question was writ large upon the vampire's face. Clearly Angel felt that no one could love her as he did. But he only said, "You're her Watcher. Maybe not officially, but that's what you are."

Giles could hear the dismissal in Angel's tone as he relegated Giles' place to that single aspect of Buffy's life, and he resented the implication with all his being. "She doesn't need a Watcher, Angel," he returned, managing a surface calm despite his simmering anger. "She hasn't for a long while. What she needs is a friend, and a partner, and a lover - and I am all of those to her." Giles stepped toward Angel, his eyes intense, his tone flat, hard, and unyielding. "And you have no say in it whatsoever."

Angel's lips tightened into a grim line. "Maybe I don't," he conceded with more than a little bitterness. "Maybe you've convinced Buffy not to listen to me anymore. But you will no longer be the only one in her life now, Giles. What will Willow and Xander say? How will Joyce react? If by some miracle we do all come through this alive, and you and Buffy regain your lives, just how long do you think this thing between the two of you will last?"

"It will last as long as Buffy wills it," Giles replied tightly. "And when - *if*," he amended hastily, scowling at the satisfaction that briefly lit Angel's eyes, "*if* she ends it, I'll still be there for her as her partner and her friend. Always." <I won't leave her behind like you did.> Those words lay unspoken between them, but they both heard them anyway. A gauntlet thrown down, but not picked up, as Angel had nothing to say in reply.

Fury still burned in the air, traveling between them on twin glares. Angel was the first to look away, but Giles felt very little triumph nonetheless.

"I'm going to bed," Giles muttered, brushing past the vampire. As he headed for the elevator he wondered why saying all those long-suppressed words hadn't made him feel as good as he had imagined they would, and why victory tasted like ashes in his mouth.

< "If we all come through this alive..." >

It had seemed like merely a pipe dream for so many months, the unattainable happy ending to their living nightmare, but Angel's words had forced him to begin to wonder...

If they all came through this alive, what would happen then?

Giles slammed the door behind him as he entered their ersatz bedroom, still annoyed and angry from his conversation with Angel. Buffy whirled to face him mid-pace, the hem of the t- shirt swinging halfway down her thighs. She'd been stalking back and forth in front of the window, whittling a stake with a wickedly sharp knife. Wood shavings littered the floor around her. She raised her eyebrows in mute question as he entered, tilting her head to the side, her blonde hair curling around her shoulders.

"I don't want to talk about Angel's *pain*," Giles snarled in greeting, ignoring the little voice inside that told him he was taking out his anger on the wrong person.

"Did I say *I* did?" Buffy snapped back, stung by his unexpected vitriol. "By the way, I really appreciate you leaving me here alone with him. And could you possibly have been any *more* obvious about it? Does the phrase, 'Subtle as a Mack truck' mean anything to you?"

"I *left* you here to practice with the crossbow," he replied. "We didn't need your help to get the supplies for the spell and it's been over a month since you had target practice. It had nothing to do with Angel."

"Yeah, right," she returned, rolling her eyes. "Even *Angel* saw through you, though I think he probably thought you were doing it to be nice - to give us time alone to re-bond or whatever. I'm surprised you didn't want to stick around to rub his face in it." "I don't have the slightest idea what you're talking about," he snapped, tossing his jacket into a corner. "I have no agenda at all where Angel is concerned, and if you'll recall I *told* you he never had to know about us. Letting Cordelia and Oz in on our relationship guaranteed he would find out eventually and that was *your* call - unless you thought the two of them would somehow manage to keep it a secret." His gaze narrowed on her face. "Or did you want *them* to tell him?"

"I didn't really care *how* he found out!" She swiped the stake viciously with her knife, tearing off a too-large chunk of wood and ruining the weapon-in-progress. She tossed the remainder away in disgust.

Giles pulled his t-shirt over his head and flung it to the floor. "Then what's the problem?" He sat down on the rumpled bed in order to kick off his shoes.

"You're asking me? You're the one who jumped all over me the minute you walked in the door!" She tossed the knife into a weapons bag and glared at him.

He grimaced - she had him there, and he knew it. "I saw Angel before I came up," he admitted, falling back onto the mattress with an explosive 'huff'. "He told me he thinks the change in our relationship is an extremely bad idea. I didn't like what he had to say and I told him so. Not very politely. I'm afraid I have no patience when it comes to him." He waited for her usual defense of the vampire - he'd become rather good at tuning them out over the years, but he imagined their new relationship would make the process exponentially more difficult. He closed his eyes and braced himself.

But she surprised him.

"Why should you?" Buffy asked, flopping down on the bed next to him. "He has no right to act like he can tell you what to do. You don't owe him anything, and we *certainly* don't need his approval." Her guilt over her treatment of Angel vanished upon hearing of his words to Giles. How dare he try to dictate her life after dumping her and leaving so unceremoniously?

Giles cracked open one eye and regarded her suspiciously. "Who are you and what have you done with Buffy?"

She didn't take the joke as he had intended; instead of smiling, she appeared hurt. "Why would you think that Angel's feelings would matter more to me than yours? Do you think I'm lying when I say that I love you?"

"Buffy, *no*," he protested, grabbing for her arm when she made to get up from the bed. "I didn't mean it like that. I was joking."

Her gaze narrowed on his apologetic face. "Were you?"

Chagrin colored his voice, but he'd long ago vowed to be honest with her. "Mostly."

She stilled in his grasp. "*Why* would you think I would choose him over you?" she asked him, honestly curious. "I mean, you *do* remember my relationship with him, don't you? What part of that did you think I'd be wanting to recreate for what might possibly be the last two days of my life? The can't-ever-go-out- together-in-daylight part? The *no-sex* part? The can't-be- happy-without-losing-his-soul part?" Her pointed gaze transformed into a scowl. "You really have a high opinion of me, don't you?"

"I have a higher opinion of you than of anyone else on this earth," he told her quietly, "and that's the God's honest truth, Buffy. But you can't expect me to dismiss the idea of you still loving Angel based on arguments of logic - because, frankly, when it comes to that, I've *never* understood* your love for him. If there were ever any logic to it at all, I never saw it."

She studied him for a moment, considering his words carefully. "You've never said that before."

"I've never felt as though I had the right." He fell back and closed his eyes again. "Maybe I still don't. Oh, I know you love me, Buffy. But love won't necessarily make all our problems go away."

She laid down next to him. "Well, *duh*." I mean, there is still that whole sentence-of-death thing hanging over our heads." She rolled into him, capturing his cheeks between her palms and waiting until he opened his eyes to look at her. "I Love You," she enunciated, as though he were a somewhat dimwitted child. "Got that, Mr. Giles? 'Cause I gotta tell you, you're beginning to piss me off with all this doubt crap."

He closed his eyes again. "Sorry," he muttered.

She scowled at his less-than-truly-apologetic tone. "No, you're not. You're just in a bad mood and you're taking it out on me - *again*! I'm not your emotional punching bag, Giles, and if Angel made you feel bad for being with me, that's *your* problem, not mine." His eyes snapped open, his glare matching hers. "Ooh, hit a nerve, did I?" she taunted. "Let me guess - he called you a dirty old man who's taking advantage of poor little naive, innocent me." She rolled her eyes. "I can't believe you fell for that, Giles! He's only got - what, two hundred years on you? And I'm about as far from naive and innocent as you can get." Her gaze narrowed. "Or is he saying that's your fault, too."

Giles' jaw clenched as he glanced away.

"Dammit," Buffy swore, cursing both men simultaneously. "I can't believe he has the nerve to pull this crap when you and I probably have only two more days to live. Could he *be* more selfish?"

"You'll get no argument from me," Giles muttered.

"*Now* he agrees with me," Buffy huffed, rolling away toward the edge of the bed. Giles caught her arm before she could escape, tugging her back toward him. His other hand snaked beneath her oversized shirt.

Buffy immediately felt a flooding warmth between her legs, but she wasn't willing to let go of her anger so easily. "I have a headache, *dear*," she sneered as his fingers danced higher.

"I can fix that," he returned, rolling on top of her, confident that her greater strength would allow her to escape if she truly wanted to.

She glared up at him even as her own fingers dipped below the waistband of his jeans. "Distrust is not an aphrodisiac," she informed him, while delving beneath the material of his boxers.

He rested his weight on one elbow, freeing his other arm to strip her of the t-shirt. She was naked underneath, and he let out a hiss of pleasure as her bare breasts grazed his chest and her fingers encircled him. "I trust you," he murmured, his lips roaming her silken neck. "And we've *never* needed an aphrodisiac..."

She wrapped her legs around his waist, rubbing her wet core against his erection, which strained against the denim of his jeans. His warm body covered hers, a living erotic blanket, and her melting mind briefly noted the chief difference between her two lovers - Angel's body had been cold...so cold. And Giles' was an inferno. His hot breath against her ear sent shivers down her spine. "*Fuck* Angel," Buffy muttered, dismissing her ex as she bit into Giles' skin at the juncture between shoulder and neck.

Giles jerked away, and Buffy suddenly realized what she'd said. <Shit!> "Giles, I-"

But he'd simply pulled back to divest himself of his jeans and boxers. "I've got a better idea, I think," he muttered, kicking the pants away before turning back to her. His heated gaze burned into her body, branding her with fevered lust, and she realized with relief that he'd completely understood her meaning. His eyes glittered hotly, and her breath caught at the dark promise offered from within. "Fuck *me*," he said, and the low, sexy sound of his voice thrilled her to her toes.

And then he was on her, pressing her into the lumpy mattress, devouring her as though she were the main course of his very last meal.

"Gladly," she told him thickly, her nails gouging a path down his back, marking him as he was marking her. He nipped at her neck, sucking hard enough to bruise, though Slayer healing would hide the evidence come morning. The sharp stubble of his five o'clock shadow scraped her delicate skin, burning her with prickly heat. She pulled him more tightly to her, relishing the feel of his crisp chest hair against her breasts and the slippery slide of sweaty skin on skin. They panted in time together, their movements in sync, almost choreographed, with Giles as the aggressor.

He had treated her as though she were made of fragile glass when their intimate relationship first began, his every touch worshipful, reverent, and gentle, and she had adored the feeling of being more precious than life to him. But soon enough her tempestuous nature had made her long for more rousing play, and she'd learned to coach the closet-Ripper out from under Rupert's shadow, though it was always a battle to make Giles lose his finely-honed control. But despite the long hours they had spent in bed together, he had never initiated the rougher forms of lovemaking, not until this night, and the small part of Buffy's brain still capable of coherent thought knew that he was staking his claim to her - here, in the building owned by her ex-lover, who had dropped so precipitously back into their lives.

She supposed it should have bothered her, but it didn't.

He stretched her arms above her head, gathering her two wrists in his right hand to pin them down. She knew she could have pulled away had she wanted to, though his surprising strength would require more than a token effort to overcome on her part, but instead she allowed him to restrain her and do his will.

He devoured every inch of her torso with his lips and teeth, marking her with bites of exquisite pleasure/pain. She tightened her legs around his waist, trapping him closer with her powerful thighs, trying to use that leverage to force him to enter her. He strained to hold himself above her, sweat beading his face and shoulders, his skin stretched taut over muscle and bone. His eyes were dark with something primitive and not-entirely-sane. "Mine," he growled.

"Yes," she immediately replied in a voice thick with lust. "Let go now, Giles. Let me touch you."

He entered her with one powerful thrust, embedding himself so deeply that the sofa frame screeched in protest. "Mine," he repeated, panting, his eyes locked on hers, all swirling forest green and gray and so intense it was almost blinding.

She'd never felt so full of him, nor so powerfully craved even more. "Yours," she gasped, her shoulders tense with strain as she struggled to keep from freeing her hands despite the strength of her desire. "Yours, Giles. Just yours." <Please,> her own eyes said. <Let me touch you.>

He released her hands, and she immediately reached up to pull him to her, bucking her pelvis against his. He began a powerful driving rhythm, each thrust slamming her down against the mattress. "Mine," he growled again, and her own voice echoed his, just as fiercely. "Mine, mine, mineminemineminemine..." Every word brought them closer to the brink.

They trembled on the edge for a long endless moment as their eyes met, clear and focused, all the love in the world shining forth from within. Buffy could have named the moment when Giles accepted her declaration - the darkness receded from his expression, to be replaced by something that almost looked like awe.

"Yours," she whispered one final time, and was rewarded by an inner explosion of love and lust that knocked all further thought from her mind.

Buffy reached for the handle of the toilet and flushed it, blinking blearily in the shadowed gloom of the bathroom. She guessed it had to be close to midnight - they hadn't been asleep for long before she'd felt the call of nature, and, groaning unhappily, had extricated herself from Giles' warm embrace to trek down the hall to the bathroom. She had barely remembered to don her t-shirt and Giles' boxer shorts before leaving the room - it wouldn't have done at all for Oz to see her in all her naked post-sex-marathon messy glory. (And she was fairly certain Willow wouldn't like it.) But Oz had apparently taken the cot down to one of the lower floors, and Buffy, cheeks reddening as she remembered how vocal she and Giles had been, could only be grateful for his thoughtfulness.

She pondered the porcelain lid of the toilet with a thoughtful frown, fingering the unused tampon in her hand. If her schedule had been anywhere near normal, she should have begun her period that day, but her cycle had been erratic ever since they'd left Sunnydale the previous summer. She told herself that the lack of a period didn't necessarily mean she was pregnant, though it was certainly possible, given the way the two of them had been going at it lately. But the weirdest thing was that Buffy had no idea if she wanted it to be true or not. On the one hand, she couldn't imagine having a child with anyone *but* Giles. But on the other, it felt as though admitting she wanted to be pregnant with Giles' baby now meant she was accepting the inevitability of his death in two days time.

To have a child with Giles' smile and his bottomless green eyes...just the thought of it gave her a warm, peaceful feeling somewhere deep inside her chest.

But to do it without Giles? She couldn't even imagine it.

Buffy shook her head and glanced up at her reflection in the mirror. A reluctant grin lit her face upon seeing the Medusa-ish tangle they had made of her blonde locks. Her lips were dark and swollen, the marks Giles had branded into her neck and chest had yet to fade, and her cheeks were red with stubble burn. All in all, she looked like someone who had - what was Giles' term? Oh, yes, someone who had been 'shagged silly'.

She swallowed a giggle as her stomach rumbled, and suddenly she remembered her earlier promise to Giles that she would eat some of the pizza Oz had brought for dinner. After her argument with Angel, food had been the furthest thing from her mind, but her body had apparently decided to point out that she'd just enjoyed some rather strenuous exercise on a completely empty stomach. "Feed me, Seymour," she murmured giddily, a part of her recognizing the somewhat alarming extremities of her mood swings. But she was tired of thinking, weary of examining her every stray feeling and thought...and really, really hungry. And it probably wasn't midnight yet, which meant that all she needed to do was go downstairs and cadge a snack, and her promise to Giles would be fulfilled.

Flipping off the light, she headed for the elevator.

Despite his very best efforts, Angel had not been able to drink himself into unconsciousness, nor even to a state of weary, blurry disinterest. He lay sprawled across the couch in his office, glaring up at the ceiling - a ceiling which was, he had discovered earlier to his utter horror, very far from soundproof. The office Buffy and Giles were using for a bedroom was situated directly above his own, and the noise that had accompanied their coupling had been more than audible to vampire-enhanced hearing.

He wondered if Giles had known that would be the case and had used it to prove some sort of point.

They were silent now, presumably exhausted into slumber by their earlier activities, and Angel had spent the past hour or so literally battling his inner demon for control. It had surged closer to the surface in the past few hours than at any time since his pre-Ascension actions toward Buffy, when the taste of her warm, sweet blood had made the demon howl in delight. The pure violence of his present thoughts frightened him immensely, even as his darker half reveled in them.

The creak of the floorboards of the hallway outside the office broke into his dark reverie, and Angel wondered if Spike had returned early from his night of carousing. He knew the other vampire still fed from the living, though he suspected Cordelia, Willow and Oz did not. He'd followed Spike for days once their 'deal' had been struck, making sure that the blonde vampire was adhering to the letter of their agreement, if not the spirit - which Spike appeared to be doing by refraining from killing, though he clearly wasn't averse to the occasional brief snack, nor the more than occasional fistfight. Angel had had words with Spike about the situation, letting him know that he, Angel, would not be complacent about their so-called ally, no matter how the others felt. The two vampires had subsequently developed an uneasy but mutually satisfying hostile rapport.

Angel felt like indulging in a little hostility at the moment. A dustup with Spike was just what the demon ordered. Silently, he rose from the couch and headed for the hallway.

Buffy rummaged inside the refrigerator and withdrew a can of diet coke and one of the pizza boxes. Peeking under the lid, she discovered six slices of pepperoni, which she decided would just about hit the spot. She hadn't felt so hungry in weeks.

Buffy set the box on the counter, popped open the coke and picked up a slice of pizza - only to drop it seconds later as her Slayer sense began screaming. Mentally cursing herself for her stakeless attire, she snatched a long wooden spoon from the holder on the counter and whirled around...

To find herself facing a very angry-looking Angel, whose perceptive gaze raked her from head to toe, cataloguing all the very obvious evidence of her evening's activities...

An Angel who looked incredibly pissed off, and eerily, *scarily* reminiscent of Angelus at his sadistic worst.

Swallowing hard, Buffy managed a sickly smile. "Hey."

<This is Angel,> Buffy told herself firmly as she stared at the vampire in the doorway, the spoon-slash-makeshift weapon still clutched tightly in her hand. <Not Angelus. No matter how mad he looks.> But a speck of niggling doubt wormed its way into her mind anyway - he seemed so *incredibly* angry. <Stop it,> she commanded her recalcitrant brain. <He can't have lost his soul. There's no way he could have achieved perfect happiness sometime in the last three hours.>

Especially not if he'd found his conversation with Giles as upsetting as Giles had.

She straightened her shoulders, raising her chin defiantly, determined against letting him intimidate her. "I...um, forgot to eat," she finished lamely, when she found herself bereft of anything else to say. She put the wooden spoon down on the counter and reached for another piece of pizza, raising it up as if in illustration. "Want some?"

Angel frowned. "You know I-"

"-don't like pizza," she chorused along with him. "I remember." She shrugged and bit the point off of her slice. "But it doesn't hurt to ask, you know - things *can* change."

His frown deepened as he glared pointedly at her rumpled attire - Giles' t-shirt and boxers. "Yes, they can, can't they," he replied darkly.

She took another bite and chewed it thoughtfully. "Sometimes change is good," she pointed out. "In general."

He crossed his arms over his chest, pinning her with his gaze. "I talked to Giles."

She didn't react, other than to raise one eyebrow. "Yeah. He told me." She took another bite of pizza and decided to take the offensive. "It's none of your business, you know," she told him conversationally. "Me and him, I mean."

Angel blinked, startled. "How can you say that?"

"Because it isn't," Buffy replied reasonably. "There's no special ex-boyfriend clause that allows you to pick out the next guy I'm with. My relationship with Giles is none of your business."

"Buffy-"

She cut him off. "But, you know, before he told me about what you said to him, I was going to apologize to you. For what I did earlier, I mean."

Her matter-of-fact demeanor seemed to throw him off a bit. "For wh-...You were?"

"Uh-huh." She regarded him steadily. "I didn't have to tell you about Giles and me the way I did." She grimaced, looking more than slightly embarrassed. "And I honestly didn't *mean* to tell you the way I did - I didn't even know that I was mad at you."

"But you are," Angel concluded, misery darkening his face.

Buffy managed to stifle an automatic burst of anger upon seeing his all too familiar guilt-stricken expression, while wondering again why his every word seemed to infuriate her so. "It's not about you," she snapped - then suddenly realized that she was telling the truth. "It really isn't. I'm mad at *everyone* and *everything*, Angel. So, yeah, okay, you drank me - and maybe I did ask for it, so I really don't have any right to complain. But you nearly *killed* me!" He flinched, and she shook her head impatiently. "Look, I'm over it, all right? But almost dying made me realize a few things, Angel - mainly about how much I *don't* want to die. I want to live forever..." Her intent gaze zeroed in on his dark eyes. "I want to live forever with Giles."

Angel scowled, and she frowned back at him. "Yeah, with *Giles*, Angel. And maybe you think that's a really bad idea or whatever, but I don't think you'd agree that we deserve to *die* for it." She looked down at her pizza, abruptly finding herself nauseated by the mere sight of it. "That's what is probably going to happen, though," she whispered, to both Angel and the pepperoni. "So, *yes*, I'm angry. But it's not about *you*." She tossed the remainder of the slice into the trashcan next to the refrigerator.

Angel ran a hand through his hair. "Look, we'll figure something out, all right? You aren't going to die."

"Oh, thanks," she returned with more than a little sarcasm. "And, you know, if I were six years old, that might just fix everything."

Visibly hurt, he replied, "Don't you trust me to help you?"

Buffy pressed her lips together and glanced away. "Look, if we didn't trust you, we wouldn't have come here."

Angel found that response less than satisfying. "Or maybe you're just desperate."

"I think that goes without saying, don't you?" she returned, somewhat wryly. "But Giles and I both know that our best chance of getting Willow back is for us to work together. Personal feelings shouldn't enter into it."

"Personal feelings?" he mimicked bitterly. "Do you even have any left?"

Her face flushed. "That's not fair, Angel. You left *me*, remember? You broke up with me."

"Not because I stopped loving you," he pointed out with some asperity.

"Does it matter why?" she retorted. "No, seriously, does it? You called our relationship a 'freak show'. You said we had no future, and that I deserved more - well, now I've got it, Angel. And if you can't find it within yourself to be happy for us, then just keep your mouth shut, okay?" The flush of anger still burned her cheeks. "I can't believe you went off on Giles the way you did."

"I just told him what I thought," he said defensively.

"Well, you had no right," she snapped back. "*God*, Angel, I don't see where you get the nerve. He *never* said anything like that to either one of us, and he had *way* more reason than you do. Anytime he wanted he could have just said, 'Buffy, I'd really rather not have to watch you sucking face with the guy that tortured me' - and he would have had *every* right to say it, Angel."

He couldn't help but object. "That was-"

"Angelus," she finished, scowling. "I know that, Angel. But you wear Angelus's face, you know." She tilted her head to the side, considering. "It's kind of funny, don't you think? That you spend all your un-life heaping guilt on your own shoulders for everything the demon did, but then just expect Giles to be able to separate them when even you can't seem to." He opened his mouth to protest, and she cut him off. "I know, I did exactly the same thing, and he never said a word about it - but that doesn't make it right."

He closed his eyes, slumping defeatedly against the arm of the couch. "I guess...I guess I just never saw this coming."

Buffy studied him silently for a moment, unwilling sympathy tugging at her heart. Was she expecting too much of him? How would she have reacted if he'd been the one to find someone else? Maybe she wouldn't have dealt with it any better than he had. And it wasn't like he had any warning of what was coming - they had dropped in on him out of the blue. Sighing, she closed the lid of the pizza box and shoved it back into the refrigerator, then turned to face him again. "Is it that it's Giles?" she wondered. "Or that it's anybody?"

"I-" He sighed and shook his head. "I don't know. I mean, I tried to imagine how your life would go after I left you - I pictured you dating Xander, or that boy Willow tutored...even Oz sometimes, and I hated every single one of them every single time." He finally looked up to meet her gaze. "I never pictured Giles - I never even dreamed of it. But, Buffy," he leaned forward, his expression earnest, "I honestly *do* think it's a very bad idea - and that's not just jealousy talking." She frowned at his words. "I swear it isn't," he insisted. "Buffy, he's-"

"You're not going to say too old, are you?" she interrupted heatedly. "Because if you can be that big of a hypocrite, I *really* don't want to know about it."

"It's not about him being older," Angel replied, but she could tell it sort of was. "Buffy, he's your Watcher - and that means you have a certain kind of relationship. It means you have to be able to depend on him, for a lot of different things. It means you have to be able to trust him not to take advantage of you."

"Is that what you think he did?" she asked incredulously. "Oh, c'mon, Angel, you know Giles better than that!"

"I thought I did," he replied simply. "But, then, I never thought he'd do this."

"He hasn't *done* anything," she returned, exasperated. "He didn't 'take advantage' of me, or pressure me, or *seduce* me, or anything like that!" He continued to frown stubbornly, and she sighed, conceding defeat. Obviously he was going to have to hear the whole story. "It was *me*, all right? I did it."

Angel raised his eyebrows. "You...?"

"Seduced *him*," Buffy finished, blushing slightly. "Showed up naked in his bed one night and refused to take no for an answer." She crossed her arms over her chest, feeling unaccountably embarrassed but also oddly proud. "I wanted him so I took him." She tossed her hair back and met his gaze squarely.

"I'll bet he fought really hard," Angel returned sarcastically, but she could tell her words disturbed him.

"Hard enough," she replied. "But I loved him, and I needed him, and I wanted him." Her gaze was piercing. "And Giles has pretty much dedicated his life to giving me what I want. You should know that."

"You can want what isn't good for you," he pointed out.

"Yeah," she agreed, abruptly tired of the whole conversation. "You and I are living proof of that, aren't we? All we have to do is look at the stupidest thing either one of us ever did."

A stricken expression transformed his face. "Don't say that. Buffy, please, don't say that. I could never regret what we had."

"Well, *I* could!" she retorted. "My *God*, Angel - Jenny's *dead*, and Kendra, and a whole mess of other people. You *tortured* Giles, the world nearly ended and you went to *hell*, for God's sake! How can you say you don't regret it?"

"It was the best night of my life," he replied simply, and she could tell that he meant it.

Buffy stared at him. "You know," she began slowly after a moment, "there was a time when I would have agreed with you about that. There was a time when those words would have been the most romantic thing anyone had ever said to me - just the idea that a single night with me was worth the price of spending years in the yuckiest depths of hell." She drew herself up and squared her shoulders. "I've grown up a lot since then, Angel, and I've learned a few things - about people in general, and about myself in particular. And I *know* that one night of sex, no matter how good, isn't worth the terror we unleashed." He winced, but she continued, remorseless. "And I learned that love doesn't have to hurt - that with real love the pain doesn't outweigh the joy." She stepped forward until they stood scant inches apart. His eyes were glued to her face, mesmerized by the utter conviction he saw there.

"I love him. And I'm going to keep on loving him until I die, and maybe even after that. Nothing you can say will ever change that." She held his gaze for a long moment, letting him see the truth in her eyes. He finally had to look away. She nodded, satisfied, and brushed past him, heading for the door.

"Buffy," he murmured, in a low, raw voice.

She paused in the doorway, then turned to face him. He kept his back to her, closing his eyes against the sight of her wearing another man's clothes, filling another man's heart.

"I still love you," he whispered, hoping against hope for...something. Anything.

Her breath caught, and then, because he couldn't see her, she offered him a sad, sympathetic smile. "I know you do." Four small words that pierced him like wooden daggers, both for what they said - and for what they didn't say.

By the time he turned around, she was gone.

Buffy shed a few tears in the elevator, but that was all. More than sadness, she was cognizant of a feeling of deep relief - and an unexpected sense of freedom that lifted her spirits immeasurably. Her anticipated reunion with Angel had cast a pall over her life for so long - and now that it was over, she felt oddly weightless, grateful that the strain of expectations that had always burdened their relationship was gone now. She had faced him and felt...well, not precisely nothing - too much had passed between them for that - but not love. That was the most important thing, that she didn't love him anymore, or need him, or want him. And suddenly she was glad that they'd been forced to come here and see him again.

Well, not glad about what had happened to poor Willow, of course. Buffy was very, very worried about her best friend. But, strangely enough, getting past her reunion with Angel had left her with a new feeling of optimism with regard to the rescue mission.

<We'll get you back, Will,> she silently promised as she opened the door to the office bedroom. The meager light from the hallway cut across the bed, and Buffy could see that Giles was still asleep, hopelessly entwined in the sheet the way he tended to become on restless nights. She allowed the door to shut behind her, finding her way by touch alone through the darkened room. Once her knee had bumped the edge of the mattress, she stripped off the t-shirt and boxers and crawled into bed.

Giles shifted against her in his sleep, his arm drawing her close as a murmured "Buffy" passed his lips. She leaned down to kiss him and felt him smile against her mouth.

"I love you," she whispered as she settled against him. "I'll love you forever." She felt his arms tighten around her and turned her head to kiss his chest. "Go to sleep."

Cordelia let herself through the front door of the Agency, conscious of a deep feeling of relief upon finding the building still standing in the hazy pre-dawn light. She hadn't been at all sure that leaving had been a good idea last night, but with Buffy and Giles sleeping on the spare bed, Oz using the cot, and Angel crashing on his office couch, there really had been no more room at the inn, so to speak. Or so she told herself, while trying to convince herself that her hasty departure had nothing to do with not wanting to watch her boss have a breakdown.

She had followed Angel up to the second floor after her little conversation with Buffy in the gym, concerned that news of Buffy and Giles' relationship had been too much for the vampire to bear. The look in his eyes had been truly terrible, speaking of an unbearable inner pain, the depths of which Cordelia could only imagine. Xander had hurt her badly, to be sure - but it hadn't been anything like this. Angel looked as though he'd been staked in the heart already, and was only waiting for the rest of his body to realize it and explode into dust.

She hadn't found the nerve to broach the subject, however - a truly inconvenient time for her famed tactless honesty to desert her. She'd simply asked him for the keys to his car, which he often let her borrow when her rusted junkheap gave out. He'd handed them to her silently, and she had fled the room, and then the building, without another word.

The guilt was terrible.

But another part of her - the part she secretly identified as pre-weirdness Cordelia - rejected the idea that she should feel guilty at all. After all, *she* hadn't done anything to him, and if the vampire had been stupid enough to fall in love with the Slayer, it was hardly *her* fault - or her mess to clean up.

And she'd only brought him the extra-large, extra-fresh bag of blood because the butcher shop was on her way to work.

She set the mini-cooler and a bakery box on top of the front desk and began arranging things for the start of the workday. She wasn't sure if Angel intended to open the Agency - it had been closed more often than not since Willow's disappearance, but usually only when Angel was out of town. If there were Tarakans out there watching for anything out of the ordinary, it might be better to open for business, and simply hope for a dearth of customers. Not that that was usually a problem.

Cordelia pinched a few dead leaves from the drooping plant on top of her filing cabinet and collapsed into her chair, sighing. Giles had said the Watchers Council would try Willow for her so-called 'crimes' tomorrow evening, which meant that time was running out for coming up with a better plan than abject surrender. How must Buffy feel, knowing she most likely had only a few hours left to live? And that Giles, because of his attachment - no, his *love* - for her, faced exactly the same fate?

Okay, so maybe the Slayer had reason to be a little cranky.

The sound of footsteps on the threadbare carpet behind her had her whirling about in the rickety rolling chair. "Oz!" she exclaimed as he entered the front room, dressed in a pair of purple pajama pants and an ancient Grateful Dead t-shirt, looking as though he'd just awakened. The chair protested her sudden movement by pitching her to the ground.

Oz helped her up, lips twitching with suppressed laughter. "Hey, Cordelia."

She tried to summon her 'glare of death' as she regained her feet, but it didn't seem to be functioning. Oz's humor, while sometimes bizarre, was never cutting nor cruel, and as she noted the dark circles under his eyes, she decided she could afford a little humiliation for his sake. "Don't sneak up on me," she ordered instead. "You almost gave me a heart attack!"

"Sorry," he replied. "Isn't this kind of early for you, though? When I heard the door open, I figured it was Angel or Spike running late getting back, or that Doyle guy."

"Hey, I'm a working girl now," she quipped in a peppy voice. "Up before the sun!" She shrugged a little sheepishly. "And, besides, I wanted to make sure the place was still standing."

"Oh," Oz said, nodding his understanding. "So, you know, then."

"'Bout Buffy and Giles? Yeah, I think I was the first, actually. I kinda walked in on them yesterday afternoon. And I saw Angel last night after Buffy dropped the bomb on *him*..." She arched an eyebrow pointedly.

Oz leaned against her desk and ran a hand through his spiky hair. "He didn't take it well, huh?"

"Understatement of the century." She eyed him. "So how did *you* find out, anyway?"

"Buffy kissed Giles in front of me, then he sorta confirmed it in the van later." He reached out to peek under the lid of the bakery box. "Sounds pretty serious."

"Yeah," she agreed, taking the handle of the cooler. "Guess I'd better get this up to the fridge." She lifted it up and turned toward the back hallway, then stopped in her tracks as she suddenly realized what he'd said before. She pinned him with a glare. "Did you say *Spike*?"

Spike was already seated in the lounge by the time Buffy made it down the stairs in search of a caffeine fix. Barefoot, ponytailed, clad in sweatpants and a tanktop, she made a beeline for the coffee maker without sparing him a glance.

"And a good mornin' to you too, ducks," he told her, exhaling a puff of cigarette smoke. He was sprawled across one of the overstuffed armchairs, wearing his trademark scuffed black duster over a wrinkled red shirt and black pants. He fairly reeked of a combination of alcohol, blood, and smoke.

Buffy finished measuring the coffee crystals and turned on the machine, sparing him a brief glance. "You look like an ad for death, Spike. Not a good look for you." She began rummaging through the cabinets in search of breakfast food. Though she had yet to persuade Giles to try a Pop-Tart, she lived in hope.

"What can I say, pet?" Spike returned, stretching lazily. "'ad me a bit of a celebration last night, y'see. In your honor, you might say."

She eyed him skeptically, then returned her attention to the bag of bagels she had unearthed from the bottom left cupboard. She poked one with her index finger, using considerable force, but failed to even make a dent. <Petrified. Yuck.> "In my honor, huh? Do I even wanna know?"

"I'd say you know already, unless your Watcher ain't doin' it right," he returned. "You threw over my pouf of a sire, Slayer. 'S'worth a drink or three."

"Oh," she muttered, shoving the bagels back into the cabinet. "That." The other shelves were empty. <Cold pizza it is,> she decided, though her stomach rebelled at the thought. She opened the door to the refrigerator.

"Yeah," he went on blithely, seemingly unaware of her lack of enthusiasm for his topic of choice. "Looked a bit dodgy, 'e did - I 'aven't seen 'im brood like that since...well, never, come t' think. But I imagine after bein' cursed by the gypsies 'e was moanin' somethin' like it."

"Mmm." She eyed the pizza critically - it wasn't looking all that appetizing, frankly, but she knew she'd best eat something or Giles would nag her.

"Are you *listenin'*, Slayer?" Spike asked, sounding somewhat exasperated.

"Are you saying anything *interesting* yet?" Buffy shot back. She raised a piece of pizza to her lips and closed her eyes, steeling herself. Her stomach roiled.

"An' pickin' the *Watcher*, of all blokes," Spike continued after a moment. "A stroke of genius, that. Even better than doin' the whelp for pissin' 'im off - in fact, the only man that would chaff 'im worse'd be me." He took another drag on his cigarette as he eyed her appreciatively, cataloguing her curves in a blatantly provocative manner.

She glared at him, opening her mouth to deliver a scathing retort, but, suddenly, her face paled, then turned a peculiar shade of green. She clapped her hand to her mouth and bolted toward the door, barely avoiding a collision with Cordelia and Oz in her headlong rush down the hallway. Thrown off balance, Oz juggled the bakery box but managed not to drop it. "Whoa," Cordelia commented as the two of them entered the lounge. "What's *her* deal?"

Spike regarded her sourly and didn't answer, instead contenting himself with blowing a smoke ring in her face as she walked by.

"Oh, never mind," Cordelia muttered, heading for the refrigerator. "I don't know why I even needed to ask." She'd never managed to develop even the most basic tolerance for the blonde vampire, no matter how the others felt - everything about him just rubbed her the wrong way. "God knows seeing *your* face first thing in the morning is enough to make anyone sick."

Spike blew another smoke ring. Oz hid a smile.

Buffy managed to make it all the way down the hallway to the second floor bathroom before she threw up the few bites of pizza she'd consumed the previous night. She held her head over the toilet, temples throbbing, tasting the acidic tang of bile in the back of her throat. Her harsh breathing sounded loudly in the tiled room. <I can't get sick,> she thought miserably. <Oh, this is *so* the worst possible time to get sick.>

"Buffy?" Giles' tentative voice broke through her mental reverie, but she lacked the energy to raise her head and look over to the doorway. "Buffy, are you all right?"

"Mmm." She kept her eyes closed and concentrated on taking deep, even breaths. The sound of running water began in the sink next to the toilet.

"Here," Giles said, and she felt the smooth, cool sensation of glass against her palm. "Drink this."

A few sips of the cold water seemed to settle her stomach a bit. She sighed as Giles pressed a wet cloth against the back of her neck. "That feels good..."

"Buffy, are you ill?" He sounded terribly worried, and she felt her heart melt a little.

"I don't think so. The pizza just didn't agree with me this morning." <I hope.>

"You were eating pizza for breakfast?" He still sounded vaguely appalled by that food choice, though she'd indulged in it repeatedly over the course of their wanderings. She didn't feel he had room to criticize, though - not after he'd tried to torture her repeatedly with something called Wheetabix.

"I wasn't planning to, but they're running kind of low on remotely edibles." Buffy swallowed a few times, testing her stomach, then realized with relief that the bout of nausea had passed. "I don't think Cordelia's much of a breakfast kind of person. But don't worry - I'll be fine after a cup of coffee or two." Keeping her eyes closed, she scooted back from the toilet and slumped against the opposite wall.

She opened her eyes at the 'clank' of the toilet lid falling, and watched as Giles sat down on top of it and reached for her hands. "Come here," he ordered gently, and she allowed him to draw her up into his lap to cradle against his chest. He took the rag from the back of her neck and began to smooth it over her shoulders.

"It's just nerves," she whispered, rubbing her cheek against his shirt as she silently willed her statement to be the truth. "I just can't be calm like you."

He chuckled sourly. "I'm performing a quite good imitation of calm, actually, but I don't think I'd fare any better with cold pizza than you have. Don't let my outward demeanor fool you."

She shook her head, raising her arms up to embrace him loosely about the neck. "What demeanor? You mean the one where you try to convince the rest of the world that you aren't the greatest guy in creation?"

He hugged her. "Yes. That one." She could feel him kiss the top of her head. "Ready for our tactical planning meeting?"

She grinned. He'd given the words the pompous intonation of a supreme military commander. "You mean the one with the two vampires, the werewolf, and Cordelia?"

She could hear the smile in his reply. "That's the one."

She snuggled closer. "The Council would uberfreak over a Watcher and Slayer having allies like that, wouldn't they?"

"Entirely," he replied dryly.

She pulled away to look up at him, blue eyes meeting sparkling green. "Good," she told him, grinning. She reached up to solicit a kiss, and he cheerfully obliged. They held each other silently for several minutes, mentally preparing themselves for the ordeal to come.

"Guess we should go," Buffy said finally, sighing as she slid off of Giles' lap and rose on shaky legs. She took his hand to pull him up, glancing out the door into the hallway. Her step faltered as she beheld Angel standing just outside the door to his office, his gaze riveted on her. She realized he'd seen everything.

She managed to stifle an automatic frown as she and Giles emerged from the bathroom. "Good morning, Angel," she told him stiffly, her face pale in the hallway's fluorescent lights.

He nodded silently, expressionless, and gestured for them to enter the lounge ahead of him. They walked inside, still holding hands.

The room's two occupants greeted them with smiles. Buffy wondered where Spike had gone off to, but, in truth, felt rather relieved to be rid of the blonde vampire, however temporarily. Their meeting was liable to be tense enough without Spike's incendiary comments on her relationship with Giles. Giles led her toward the couch, and they sat down, side by side, next to Oz. Buffy tucked her feet up underneath her, leaned against Giles' shoulder and closed her eyes. Angel took the remaining chair without comment.

"You look wiped, Buffy," Cordelia told her matter-of-factly from her seat in the chair across from them. She waved a hand toward the carton on the low coffee table. "Have an eclair."

Buffy eyed the box as though it were full of demonic spiders instead of baked goods. Giles examined the contents and came up with a jelly donut for himself and a plain bagel for Buffy. He offered Cordelia a gracious nod of thanks, and she smiled a bit smugly.

Buffy eyed the bagel with no little trepidation. "You have to eat something," Giles murmured, though the room was so quiet that everyone else heard every word. "You must keep up your strength."

She nodded reluctantly and took the bagel from him, pinching off a small piece. She popped it into her mouth, chewed for a moment, then swallowed, raising her eyebrows at him as if to say, <See?> Giles smiled down at her fondly and took a bite of his donut.

Cordelia noticed Angel watching them, and decided to change the subject. "Okay," she began, "before we go all crazy with the maps and stuff, I've got a question." She waited until all eyes were on her. "Here's the deal - I couldn't sleep last night, what with all the death and stuff coming up, and I started thinking about how nuts all the tweed guys on the Watchers Council must be to be doing all of this." She glanced at Giles. "Not to diss your life's destiny or anything."

He raised an eyebrow. "No offense taken. I quite agree with your assessment, actually."

"Fine," she nodded. "I mean, that part makes sense, right? You bailed on their little group, so they want you out of the picture. Hiring a bunch of crazy assassins is kind of extreme, but..." She shrugged. "And we all think they want Buffy dead because she did the same thing, don't we? She told them where they could stick all their little traditions, and they decided to off her. Cause they want another Slayer like Kendra, right?"

"They didn't know anything at all about Kendra," Buffy replied darkly, thinking back to her first Slayer counterpart. She still blamed herself somewhat for the girl's death, though those feelings had become buried under an avalanche of newer guilts. "She wasn't who they thought, not really. But I think that's the gist of what they want, yes."

"Exactly!" Cordelia concluded triumphantly. "So I'm thinking about this in bed last night, and I start wondering...well, if a shiny new slayer is what they're really after, why don't they just unplug Faith, then? I mean, she gets fed through a tube - it wouldn't be that hard to off her. *Way* easier than getting to you, Buffy."

Buffy and Giles traded glances, then looked back to Cordelia. "We haven't a good explanation for that one, I'm afraid," Giles admitted.

"Well, I might," Oz interjected thoughtfully. "It's something Willow told me about - something she found in the Council files."

Buffy frowned at him. "We read those files before we left, Oz. There wasn't anything in them to explain this."

Oz shook his head. "Not those files. Ones she found later."

Buffy sat up straight and regarded him incredulously. "She kept looking? She hacked into the Council records *again*? We told her to leave it alone, Oz. How could you let her put herself in danger like that?"

"*Let* her?" Oz nearly snorted. "This is Willow, Buffy. She didn't ask for my permission. I did try to talk her out of it, though - so did Xander. But she wouldn't listen to us - she really wanted to do it. She wanted to help you."

"Well, she didn't, did she?" Buffy snapped back angrily. "All she did was get herself kidnapped and force us to come back here and probably *die*."

"Hey," Oz retorted, incensed. "She was only-"

"She was only trying to help," Giles interceded smoothly, putting a hand on Buffy's arm. "It's not productive to rehash this, Buffy. We must simply deal with what has happened." Buffy subsided back against the couch cushion, still scowling. "You were saying, Oz?" Giles added.

Oz took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, trying to swallow back his anger. "Willow thought that it was strange that the Council didn't seem to care about Faith. She hacked into the hospital records and found out that the Mayor had set up a fund for Faith's treatment, and that the Council didn't have anything to do with it at all."

Both Giles and Buffy looked surprised at that. "Guess Mayor Dick didn't believe the Ascension was such a sure bet after all," Buffy muttered under her breath. Giles frowned.

Oz shrugged; it hardly mattered now. "Anyway, Will somehow managed to get into the official transcripts of some of the Council's debates. Apparently, they had a big brouhaha last spring about Faith and Kendra, and why they weren't up to Slayer snuff."

Buffy's brow furrowed. "Faith was whacked long before she was Called - and Kendra was a good Slayer. It's not like a run- of-the-mill vamp got her, after all. Drusilla was nuts, but she was *powerful*." Again, she silently gave thanks that Spike was absent. The last thing she wanted was to discuss Dru with him.

Oz shrugged again. "Well, I didn't know Kendra - but Willow told me that she was-...well, more like the kind of Slayer the Council wanted - like in their handbook? You know - no friends, no school, lives for Slaying and all that."

"She *did* name her stake, Buffy," Cordelia pointed out, somewhat irrelevantly. "And-"

"The point *is*-" Oz interrupted, glancing at Cordelia, "that some of the Council got the idea that the reason Kendra and Faith weren't all that successful was because the Master didn't kill you."

Buffy blinked. "Huh?"

"He *did* kill her," Cordelia reminded Oz. "Hence, the second Slayer."

"Well, she didn't stay dead," Oz replied impatiently. "And some of the Council people think she should have. They think-" he frowned and shook his head, "-I can't remember the exact words, but they think that something that should have been passed along to Kendra *wasn't*. And they also think that you dying *again* won't activate another Slayer - it'll just give to Faith whatever you kept back. They've decided that having two Slayers violates the traditional order of things, and that once you die, there will be only one again. The way it's supposed to be."

Buffy rolled her eyes. "Of course. God forbid we stomp on their sacred traditions."

"The point is," Oz continued, "that they don't think Faith dying will do any good until after you've died first - otherwise, they'll just be getting another inferior slayer."

Buffy opened her mouth to reply, but couldn't find any words. After a moment, she just shook her head and leaned against Giles again. Giles drew his arm up around her shoulder, pulling her close.

He frowned, considering Oz's words. "Do you by any chance remember who proposed this theory?"

Oz shook his head. "Willow would know."

"Probably Travers," Buffy offered sourly.

Giles was forced to agree. "It's not really relevant, however. It doesn't change the fact that we must rescue Willow, using any means we have at hand." He tapped the cover of the spellbook which rested on the coffee table. "Tomorrow night is fast approaching. We need to make our plan."

For the past three and a half weeks Willow Rosenberg had awakened alone, in a bed that wasn't hers, in a place not of her choosing. Those few seconds of consciousness right after waking, before she realized Oz was not beside her, that she wasn't awakening to the alarm she set for class - those few seconds had become the only good moments of her days. And then reality would come crashing down, and she would remember that she was a captive, a hostage against her friends' lives, and bait to drive them into a trap.

It almost wasn't worth the effort of getting out of bed in the morning.

But this morning was different. This morning she didn't awaken in the hard narrow bed on the rough cotton sheets that the Council had provided for her. Cold metal lay under her cheek, and her back hurt, badly, from sleeping on a hard surface. Shefelt the tang of *something* in the back of her throat, though she wasn't quite sure what it was, and her nose and lips felt unbearably dry.

Something had happened to her, that she knew without question. What she didn't know was if she even wanted to open her eyes to find out what it was.

Curiosity, as it often did, finally got the best of her, and she opened her eyes to find herself alone in a bare gray room, lying on top of a rectangular metal table. She swallowed convulsively, the acrid taste in her mouth informing her that she must have been gassed into unconsciousness while she was asleep, then moved from her room into this dismal place. She grimaced ruefully, remembering all the times that she had prayed for *any* kind of relief from the monotony of the four walls that had held her for so long. <Be careful what you wish for is *right*,> she told herself. These surroundings weren't any kind of improvement.

She shivered. <Much too reminiscent of a prison cell...> Slowly she turned her head to scope out the other side of the room. The far wall held a shiny mirror about four feet wide, and Willow almost laughed at the absurdity of it - it had to be a two-way mirror, the kind cops had made use of on every police drama since the invention of television. Either the Watchers thought she was an idiot - or they were just emphasizing how powerless she was to affect the whole situation.

They were watching her even now, she knew without a doubt. She could almost feel their eyes upon her, having become far too accustomed to that feeling over the last few weeks.

Willow had found three cameras in her tidy little room in the first few days after she was taken, and had no doubt more existed that she'd overlooked. The Council hadn't needed to remove her from that room in order to observe her - so it had to be something else. There had to be some other reason why they'd brought her here.

<But what?>

Slowly she raised herself into a sitting position, sliding forward until her legs dangled off of the side of the table. Her head swam for a moment, and she groaned feelingly. <I wonder if this is what a hangover feels like?> She brought her hands up to rub her face, using the gesture to mask her mouth as she uttered the words to a simple spell in a very low voice - just a small spell, in order to discover if the Council's wards were still in place.

Nothing. Nada. Zip. Zilch.

She suddenly had a whole new appreciation for how Buffy must have felt when temporarily deprived of her Slayer powers. <And all that happened because of the stupid Watchers Council, too,> she thought grumpily as she slid off of the table. She laced her fingers together and stretched her arms over her head, trying to work the kinks out of her back. <The least they could have done is bring along my pillow.> She bent over to touch her toes, and suddenly realized that she wasn't wearing her pajamas - that instead, someone had dressed her in a crisp white blouse, blue tie and plaid skirt, a combination that was bizarrely reminiscent of a school uniform. "God, they really are warped," she muttered under her breath, her cheeks flaming from the unwelcome realization that one of the Council's minions had undressed her.

If they were trying to throw her off balance, she thought, then it was working - and the anger she immediately felt upon comprehending that fact was enough to banish any embarrassment. Willow closed her eyes and took several deep steadying breaths, willing her mind and heart to calmness. If they wanted a reaction from her, she was determined not to give them one.

A slight noise emanating from the corner over by the door made her open her eyes, in time to see a large manila envelope slide through the thin mail slot and fall to the floor. Her name was printed across the front in large block letters - almost mocking her, she thought, as irrational as it seemed to ascribe motives to paper products. Clearly the next step in the Council's little game had commenced.

<Well, they're not the only ones who can play games,> Willow thought defiantly. She skirted the table, as though heading for the envelope - but at the last moment changed course to stop directly in front of the mirror. She stared at her reflection as though she had no idea strangers were watching from behind it. Then she reached up to use her fingernails to part her hair, separating it into sections and beginning several small plaits.

Thirty minutes later her head was topped by a mass of intricate auburn braids, wound to and fro like some sort of fiery crown. She capped the ends with strips of the navy school tie - which had ripped very nicely into ribbons. She hoped the damn thing had mattered to someone, and that destroying it had been an offensive act. She turned her head from side to side, admiring the effect, then leaned forward and rubbed her teeth with her finger until they shined.

Then, just for good measure, she returned to lie back down on the table and recited the periodic table of elements up to the ceiling - in numerical order, matching proper name to official abbreviation, spelling out the longer ones for the benefit of any chemistry-challenged listeners.

Then, and only then, did she retrieve the envelope.

Willow sat cross-legged in the center of the table and stared down at the packet in front of her. She schooled her features into an impassive mask, determined not to react to whatever the Council had brought for her. She took a moment to imagine the worst and harden herself against it - her imagination had become rather a grim place lately - then ripped the end off of the envelope with steady fingers.

The contents spilled into her lap, fanning out across the plaid of her skirt.

Her jaw didn't drop - but it wanted to.

To be continued...

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