When Joyce Summers entered the kitchen on Sunday morning, she found her daughter already seated at the table, mug in front of her. "You're up early," Joyce said.
"Yeah," Buffy replied. "It's one of my new habits."
"Did you sleep all right?" Joyce asked as she poured herself a glass of juice.
"Okay," Buffy lied. She could not bear to tell her mother that she had spent most of the night huddled on her bed, knees clasped to her chest.
"Well," Joyce said, sitting down across from her daughter, "do you have any plans for a beautiful Sunday morning?"
"Sort of." Buffy took a sip from her mug. "I thought later I'd go see Giles. I haven't really talked to him since I got back."
Joyce nodded. "That's probably a very good idea." She frowned. "Buffy, does Mr. Giles know about your... hobby?"
"It's not a hobby, Mom. It's who I am. It's... what I am. And yes, Giles knows. He's my Watcher."
"Your what?"
"My Watcher. He's part of an ancient secret society charged with training and overseeing the Slayer. Sort of a combination nanny slash drill sergeant."
"Well, this just keeps getting more complicated." Joyce's eyes were wide. "What about Willow and--"
Buffy nodded wearily. "Willow knows. And Xander. And Oz, and Cordelia."
"Cordelia?"
"Yeah. I sort of have my own little gang."
"Do their parents know?" Joyce wavered between puzzled, worried and fascinated.
"No, their parents do not know." Buffy's tone made it clear that their parents would not know.
"So, how long will you be... the Slayer?"
Buffy leaned back in her chair. "It's a lifetime gig, Mom. When you're a Slayer, you're a Slayer all the way. From your first cigarette to your last dying day." Joyce blanched and Buffy realized that 'last dying day' line had been too close. Or maybe it was 'your first cigarette.' She reached out and placed her hand atop her mother's. "Which will not be for a long time. At least, not if I get a vote."
Joyce started to speak, stopped, and stared at her daughter. "I'm sorry if I'm not handling this well," she said at last. "But it's a lot to process at once."
Buffy couldn't resist an ironic smile. "Imagine how I felt."
***
Giles saw her coming up the sidewalk. If the truth was known, he'd been keeping a rather close watch out the window, waiting for her. Still, it wouldn't do for her to see him peering out the window like an old maid waiting on a gentleman caller, so he stepped away from the window and arranged himself in an armchair. When the doorbell rang, he hesitated for a moment. Rushing to the door wouldn't look good, either.
He opened the door, and there stood the Slayer. His Slayer. A slight girl in a lavendar halter and black flares, with a sheepish look on her face.
"Hi," she said. "Okay if I come in?"
"Of course," he said, stepping back from the threshold. She stepped inside and they looked at each other for a long moment, then she grabbed him in a fierce hug. Giles stood there, flummoxed. He should do something with his hands, but he wasn't sure what. He settled for a clumsy pat on the back.
"Sorry," Buffy said, stepping back and wiping her eyes. "I know that's probably a little touchy-feely for you, being British and all, but it seemed important."
Giles occupied himself with removing his glasses and polishing them. "Well, I understand, and it's quite all right." He put his glasses back on. "Would you care to sit down?"
Emotional moment past, she flopped on the couch as he lowered himself into the chair.
"How is your reunion with your mother proceeding?" he asked.
She shrugged. "Bipolar. One minute everything seems normal, or at least like it was before, and the next is like a very special Blossom."
"Excuse me?"
Buffy waved a hand. "It was a sitcom. When I was little. It... Okay, let's get back to my mom. Anyway, I guess thing's are going like they're supposed to go. How are they supposed to go?"
Giles sighed, a deep and philosophical sound. "I would imagine that you must simply go about daily life and let everything rebuild itself bit by bit. Although, I must say that you seem very... stable after all that's happened."
Buffy's nod was so small it was almost a trembling in her head. "Maybe. But a lot of stuff did happen, and I have a lot of questions, Giles."
He nodded, understanding. "Well, I'm sure there are some fine counselors--"
"Giles, I don't need a shrink. I have questions for you."
That stopped him in his tracks. "For me?"
Buffy nodded. She clasped her hands, trying to control the intensity of her feelings. "Yeah, and here's the first one. You say I'm the Chosen One. So, who chose me?"
Giles took off his glasses and began to polish them. "May I ask what prompts this interest?"
"A lot of weird stuff happened to me while I was gone. I had... dreams, strange dreams, even for me. I thought they would stop, now that I'm home. They haven't. I had one last night."
"And these dreams are disturbing?"
"I spent the rest of the night pinching myself to stay awake. It seemed better than risking another one of them."
Giles chose his words with great care. "What makes these dreams so... frightening?"
Buffy looked away, then back to her Watcher. "Well, for one thing, they're about Angel."
Silence filled the home of Rupert Giles. Outside, a bird twittered in the bright California sun. The Watcher and the Slayer gazed at each other. First staring contest I've been in since fifth grade, Buffy thought.
Giles spoke first. "Then I guess that we should talk about what happened between you on that last night."
Buffy took a deep breath. It had to come to this, she knew that. "After... after you were gone... he pulled the sword out of Acathla. We... we fought." She stopped.
Giles was as gentle as possible. "Then what? You obviously stopped Acathla's awakening. How?"
The Slayer looked down at her hands. Her voice was still and hushed, but firm. "I killed him. I killed Angel."
"Did you put a stake through his heart?"
Buffy looked up. "What?"
Giles steepled his fingers in front of his face, noting that some of those fingers were still healing from the punishment Angel had inflicted. "Did you put a stake through his heart? Did you see him turn into dust?"
"No." Buffy recoiled. "I stabbed him with the sword Kendra gave me."
"And exactly how did you do that?"
"Giles, do we have to--"
"Yes." The sharpness in her Watcher's voice startled Buffy. He continued in a quieter tone. "I know that this must be difficult for you, but trust me, it is also painful for me to re-live that night." He held up his injured hand. "Angel not only tortured me, but he murdered Jenny and left her in the bed at the top of those stairs--" he pointed "-for me to find. I have my own reasons for wishing to forget, but it's rather obvious that what you are experiencing now has its roots there. If you are serious about discovering what is happening, then you must be truthful. And sometimes truth is hard."
"Nice lecture, Nurse Ratchett." Giles did not respond to her barb. She tried to blank her mind, to recall the fight as though it had happened to two different people. "The sword went through him and into Acathla. The whirlpool thingy collapsed. Angel was gone."
"He was sucked into the vortex?"
Buffy shrugged, listless. "If you say so."
"Then you didn't kill him."
Buffy's heart turned to ice. "What?"
"You did not kill him."
"Then what happened?" Buffy dreaded what she might hear next.
"Since the vortex opened onto hell, there's only one conclusion to be drawn."
"How about we don't draw it out loud?"
Giles nodded out of respect for his Slayer. Life was going to be tough enough without emphasizing that the love of her life was probably suffering in hell.
****
Xander trotted up the steps to the front door of the school, his Amazing Royal Crowns T-shirt flapping in the breeze. "Why do you insist on wearing that ugly thing?" Cordelia asked as he cruised to a stop at her locker.
"This?" He looked down at the shirt. "It's a classic. They had to change their name. Now they're just the Amazing Crowns. I'm one of the few guys with an Amazing Royal Crowns shirt."
"Woo-hoo. That should make for quite a club."
"Yeah? Well, how about if I made fun of the way you dress, you and your..." Xander looked her over. Her hair was up in a ponytail and she wore a black linen camp shirt over black-and-crème windowpane plaid shorts. "Okay, so I can't find anything wrong today, but I'll be keeping my eyes open."
"You do that." Cordelia pulled a book out of her locker. The book slipped out of her grasp and banged off the locker frame and skidded to the floor.
"Hey, let me." Xander knelt and scooped up the book, placing it in her backpack. "How's the hands?"
Cordelia held them up for his inspection. The last three fingers of her right hand were bandaged together and the palm was wrapped. All the fingers on her left hand were free, but the hand itself and the wrist were bandaged. A small bandage adorned her left cheek and the left side of her neck still bore faint traces of red. "The doctor says one more week."
"Well, that's good." Xander tried to put a hopeful spin the situation.
Cordelia was having none of it. "No, it's not good. In case you haven't noticed, the first football game is this Friday night."
Now he understood. "And the hands... ?"
"Yes. The hands. It's hard to do your routines in bandages. Plus, they make me look like a guest on Montel Williams." She gripped the zipper of her backpack between her right thumb and index finger and, with great effort, pulled it closed. Xander did not offer to help; he'd tried that the day after she was released from the hospital and almost died for his trouble.
He opted for the supportive boyfriend route instead. "You'll work something out."
Her look wavered between skeptical and pitying. "That's the best you can do? 'You'll work something out'?"
Xander shrugged. "How about this? The bandages level the playing field. Now, someone might look at the other girls, too."
Cordelia grinned. "That was good. That was very, very good."
Xander rubbed a hand over his chest. "Really? How good?"
Cordelia thought for second. "Not George Clooney good, but definitely better than Anthony Edwards."
"Yes!" Xander pumped his fist. "I'm better than the balding guy."
"Be careful," Oz said as he and Willow walked up. "You can hurt your arm like that." He glanced at Xander's torso. "Hey, cool shirt."
Xander turned to Cordelia. "See?"
"Don't encourage him," Cordelia commanded Oz.
"What brings you guys by?" Xander asked.
Willow clutched her books to her chest. "Buffy and her mom are coming to school this afternoon. They have to talk to Principal Snyder. You know, about Buffy's expulsion."
Cordelia frowned. "What can we do?"
Willow's face scrunched up. "I don't really know. I just thought you ought to know."
"We could all try to send positive vibes her way," Xander offered.
"I don't think so," Oz said. "Too Richard Gere."
"True, Oz-man." Xander shrugged. "Besides, why would she need our vibes? It's not like she's still suspected of murder or anything."
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