by Rob Sorenson

*********Los Angeles, CA*********

Cordelia Chase sighed heavily and leaned back in her chair, thumb and forefinger rubbing her eyelids.

"I got squat. Anything on your end?"

Fred shrugged. "Nothing on the gem...very little on the pimp murders, which is interesting."

"Very little is interesting?"

"Right."

"It doesn't take much to keep you occupied, does it?"

Fred was sticking her tongue out at Cordelia when Angel and Wesley emerged from the tunnel. Angel raised his eyebrows.

"Problems?"

Cordy smiled at him. "Outside of our regular ones, no. How did things go on your end?"

"Zilch."

"Sounds familiar."

"Has anyone heard from Gunn?"

Fred nodded. "He called earlier. The old crew is busy hunting down a Sephora demon."

Cordy winced. "Eww. They're stinky. I mean, most of them are, but that one is like a whole new and improved level of stinkiness, right?"

"Those are the ones. He joined them...guess it's sort of a bonding thing. Once they take out the demon, he's going to buy them dinner and see what he can learn."

Angel sighed slightly. "If he finds out anything, he'll be ahead of us."

"Actually, I have a little bit of an idea."

Cordy shrugged. "Sounds like that'll be a little bit more than the rest of us have."

Fred reached for the folders on her desk and lifted them up as she spoke.

"These case files are incomplete. I mean, severely so. There was some blood at all three scenes, but no samples were analyzed. The only interviewed witness was from the first killing. In the other two, we have no witnesses of any kind...and these murders are all taking place in broad daylight."

Angel frowned. "Well, the killings themselves weren't public."

"No, but they all took place at a hotel of some kind. Front desk clerks, maid service people...they could have helped narrow down regulars who might have been coming or going at the time of the murders."

"Probably a long shot."

Fred began to get annoyed. "Yes, I realize that, but it's better than no shot at all. At the very least, some sort of pattern or profile could have been worked on...a rookie uniform cop could make the connections between these killings. There doesn't appear to be any effort at all being made here."

Angel held back a affectionate grin; Fred was so cute when she was frustrated.

"Gunn was right before. This sort of thing isn't going to be priority one with the cops."

Fred stood and began the pace the room, looking at no one in particular as she spoke.

"Ok, I could live with that theory if it were one isolated incident...but clearly it isn't. What would happen if I were to send these case files to the Times?"

Realization dawned on Cordelia's face. "They'd be all over it."

"Exactly. One look at these case files and the LAPD has another public relations nightmare. People in East L.A. probably have no love for the victims - I mean they ARE pimps - but this still gives them that much more ammo when they tell the world no one cares what happens to the poor people in their neighborhood. I'm not saying the police would start putting their best people on it or anything, but any kind of killing with a serial
pattern warrants more attention than this. They would have to make it look good just in case."

Cordy was nodding now. "Yes. I can see the whole thing unfolding. Sort of a modern day Jack The Ripper in L.A., except this time it's the pimps getting targeted instead of the hookers. Might even go national. This kind of sleaze gets people's attention."

"Right. Which leads us to an obvious question: why is the LAPD putting themselves at risk by covering this up?"

Wesley had been understandably distracted by the conversation he'd just had with Angel. Now, however, he was picking up on Fred's train of thought as he quietly entered the conversation.

"Because someone even more important is influencing events."

Angel sighed. "When you factor in the nature of the killings, the most logical influence peddlers would be..."

"Wolfram and Hart," Cordelia finished. "Gotta give it to you, Fred. That makes perfect sense."

Fred smiled shyly. "Well, the who is the easy part. When it comes to dealing in sleaze, Lilah Morgan is always a good candidate."

There was a silence in the room for a moment; Fred blushed furiously as she realized the implications of what she was saying. "I...I mean...umm..."

Wesley let her off the hook with the ghost of a smile. "It's all right, Fred. You are quite correct; Lilah has no moral fabric whatsoever. Indeed, the who is a simpler portion to ascertain. What remains is the why."

"Right," Angel said. "Why would they be interested in this sort of thing at all?"

Cordy spoke up. "Because these victims generally have no family connections. It's why they're forced to live where they do in the first place. Therefore it's easier to cover up the killing of a street person than someone who has an actual life."

It wasn't the most elegant phrasing, but all three in the room agreed with her. Fred spoke again.

"I think before we can get a good answer on the why part, we'll have to investigate these murders ourselves. Maybe try to track down some witnesses, see what they have to offer."

Angel shook his head. "None of us have any connections in that neighborhood. Strangers won't be given information."

"People are getting killed, Angel."

"Doesn't matter. Let me give you an example: Gunn is spending the day bonding with his old crew and buying them dinner. Why do you think he's going to all that trouble instead of just asking?"

Wes responded. "He isn't part of their world any more."

"Oh, come on," Cordy scoffed. "He grew up with most of those guys."

"Doesn't matter. He left them behind to join us. At least, that's
how they see it. Connections must be re-established if he wants them to speak with any freedom."

"Exactly," Angel said. "And just as you said, Cord, he grew up there. He's no doubt saved the lives of a lot of the people in that neighborhood...but he still left. If someone like Gunn has trouble with his credibility, how do you think we're going to have any shot in East L.A.?"

No one spoke for a while, turning the problem over in their head. Angel broke the silence.

"Anything different on the Gem of Amara?"

Both women shook their heads. Wesley suddenly looked up.

"Angel, remind me once more how you disposed of the Gem?"

"I told you. Smashed it. Bright flash of light."

"And, as I recall you saying, 'a thousand pieces,' yes?"

"Yes."

"How did you dispose of the pieces? Did you sweep them up, melt them down, anything of that sort?"

Angel frowned, searching his memory. "No. Unless Doyle did..."

Cordy smiled in fond remembrance. "Cleaning wasn't exactly his thing."

The vampire smiled back. "Right. So, I guess..." He looked hard at Wesley. "Are you suggesting-"

"I think I may be, yes. If every piece of literature supports the legend that only one existed, we're left with little alternative. Someone may well have taken the pieces and literally created the gemstones. Someone who would have been watching you at the time. Which brings us back to..." He waited for one of them to finish for him. Cordy obliged.

"Wolfram and Hart. Is it me or do we see a pattern developing here?"

Angel folded his arms. "Yeah, but what it boils down to is the same thing we had this morning. W & H has something in the works. Right now we have a bunch of theories - albeit good ones - with some circumstantial evidence. Fred's right...we need to find a way into the circle in East L.A. and work from there. In the meantime -" Angel hesitated, pointedly avoiding looking in Wesley's direction - "we'll explore other angles."

Cordelia spoke with a sheepish expression. "Ummm...I know this is sort of silly to ask, but are we still on for the weekend? I was looking forward to going home for a couple of days."

The vampire didn't hesitate. "Yes. We need to compare notes with Buffy anyway; she's the one who's actually seen a vampire wearing the gem."

Angel didn't mention the additional consideration of Wesley needing a chance to speak with Dawn about possibly going undercover - so to speak - with Lilah.

He had another idea as well...but immediately hated himself for coming up with it. There's no way I'm asking her to do that.

Still, as the Fang Gang meeting broke up for the evening, the nagging thought wouldn't leave him.

********Sunnydale, CA***********

"Willow?"

Faith had been the closest to her as she fell, but Xander was right behind her. When the redhead's eyes fluttered open, the first thing she registered was a matching set of big brown eyes staring down at her with concern. She blinked a few times and breathed deeply, now noticing Buffy and Dawn on either side of her as well. It was as if they'd formed a protective cocoon. Embarrassed as she was, it felt sort of...nice.

It had been Faith's voice that had stirred her; now Xander's frantic tone completely brought Willow out of her stupor.

"Wills? Oh, God....Wills, are you ok? I didn't mean to hurt you...oh Jesus."

She smiled weakly. "Xander Harris, you couldn't hurt me on your best day. Big dummy."

Buffy's voice came through strongly. "Dawn, get some water. Willow, you need to sit up."

"Ok, give me a sec-"

Before she could finish, a small - yet very powerful - pair of hands gripped Willow's shoulders and carried her to the wall, gently propping her up. Out of the corner of her eye, Willow spotted Dawn practically flying out of the training room, all arms and legs. Still she was surrounded by the three remaining Scoobies.

"Ok, I appreciate this, really...but a little space might be good."

Faith willingly did as Willow asked, but Buffy and Xander stayed where they were.

"You need to go to the doctor," Buffy said sternly. "Something is wrong."

"I'm fine. Like I said this morning, I didn't sleep well. It was probably a bad idea for me to try to work out today. That's all. I got a little lightheaded."

"Are you sure?" Xander's voice was trembling slightly. Willow reached out her hands; Buffy and Xander each took one in theirs.

"Hey. Guys? I said I was fine. I did it in fifth grade at the choral concert, Xander... remember?"

He smiled. "Your knees locked. I remember. Don't think it's the same."

"No, it is. I didn't sleep the night before that either. 'Cause, you know, me and singing-"

"We got it," Buffy said, smiling in spite of her concern. Dawn came hustling back in with a styrofoam cup.

"Here. Drink this."

Willow sipped gratefully. "Thanks, Dawnie."

"Do you need me to call the doctor?"

"I DON'T need a doctor. I'm fine. I got a little woozy. Don't any of you ever get woozy?"

Faith raised an eyebrow.

"When I was high. Or gettin' clocked in the head by a demon. Never after a hairpulling contest."

Willow squinted at her. Faith raised her hands. "Just sayin'..."

"I'll be fine once I've had some sleep. Let me get up - by myself, please."

Buffy removed her hands from the redhead's shoulders with a frown. Ignoring the dizziness that remained in her head, Willow brought herself to her feet. Xander spoke quietly.

"Do you need a ride home? I can bring you back to get your car in the morning."

"Xander, I'm not drunk. Jeez, you guys. I never got this much attention when vampires knocked me unconscious back in the old days."

Buffy grinned at her. "It wasn't unique at the time."

Willow walked normally out of the room, relieving the Slayer's nerves a little. She'd almost forgotten what it felt like to be worried sick about her friends' health.

Buffy didn't miss that feeling. As they left the gym, she turned to Faith.

"Thanks for helping me with the stuff today."

"Hey, no prob. Some parts of it were actually kinda fun."

The Slayers shared a grin. "Why don't you go home to Blondie? I'm closin' tonight anyway. No reason for you to stick around."

Buffy hesitated. "I have a class at 6."

"I got it. Trainees always like me better anyway."

"Oh, you're just a big bag of funny there, Faith. Despite that weak attempt at humor, I accept your offer. Spike and I probably ought to...you know."

Faith's eyes widened. "Oh, so you two are gonna 'you know'? I thought you might have a serious heart to heart talk, but hey! A good hard 'you know' might be a cool idea too."

"Ok, these would the BAD aspects of your husband being displayed right now."

"Excuse me?"

Buffy turned to see Xander standing behind her; Willow and Dawn had already left.

"Your wife is making stupid jokes. One of them was about sex."

"Oh." He looked to Faith. "Were they funny?"

"Hell yeah!"

He raised a hand for her to slap. "All that matters."

Buffy rolled her eyes and walked away as they high-fived one another.

"I'm sorry about today."

She turned to face Xander again; this time his face was serious. Faith was already headed back inside as Buffy responded.

"No reason to be sorry. You saw what you saw."

"Yeah, I know. Still...lemme know if there's anything...Hell, I don't know."

She gave him a soft smile. "Thanks."

Xander turned, beginning to walk away. Buffy called out to him. "Xander, there is one thing you can do for me."

He turned around. "Sure. Name it."

"Work the grill this Monday."

He sighed. "Ok, that wasn't fair."

Buffy chuckled. "Thanks, Xand." She hopped into the Escalade and headed for home. Xander shook his head and caught up to his wife.

"She got you, didn't she?"

"Do you women always have to manipulate me?"

"Aww, shut up. You know you like it."

"You know, you lied to my best friend."

"Which one this time?"

"Wills."

"Ah."

They walked in silence along the perimeter of the gym floor. Finally Faith spoke.

"Ok, I'll let you off the hook. How did I lie to Red?"

"You said you never got woozy after hairpulling. I was pulling your hair pretty hard last night, and you damn near passed out."

Faith stopped in her tracks and faced him, arms folded.

"All right, Harris. You been goin' on all day about this. Are you lookin' to get hurt?"

"Like you could make me scream anyway."

She reached out a hand and walked forward, slowly backing him up against the wall.

"That's it. You and me. Right here. Right now."

Xander tore his eyes away from her predatory gaze with an effort, nervously scanning the room.

"Uh, lots of people around, baby."

"So? What are they gonna do? Throw me out? I own this place." She reached down. "Just like I own this."

Xander gasped audibly. He spoke hoarsely. "Faith...come on, not here."

"Hold up a sec. My investment is growing."

"Honey..."

"Oh, you wanna 'honey' me now, huh? Sounds like someone else is doin' the begging today. You've been playing little games with me, actin' like you're all that...now it's my turn."

Xander closed his eyes and swallowed. Faith leaned in close and whispered.

"The Slayer wants to come out and play. You think you can hang, Harris?"

When she licked her lips, the tip of her tongue brushed against his chin, causing his eyes to snap open as if he'd been hit with an electric shock. His breathing began to quicken considerably; he responded with a deep, husky voice.

"Try me."

Her eyes flicked to her second floor office, then back to him. He nodded slightly in response, and she finally released her hold on him,
taking his hand instead. Without a word Faith tugged him toward the elevator. After she felt him resisting, she turned and saw him looking at the stairs with a quizzical eyebrow.

"I'm doin' you a favor, honey. You're gonna need every ounce of strength for this."

Xander felt the tiniest twinge of fear roll down his spine...and God, was it hot. He frowned; she'd let go of his hand. Turning back around, he regarded Faith as she leaned against the back wall of the elevator. Her voice was laced with honey.

"Coming, baby?"

"Probably more than once, yeah."

She laughed out loud. "Get that ass in here."

He stepped in, and the doors slid closed. They didn't reach the second floor for 75 minutes

*****************************************************

Buffy sat still for a moment after turning the ignition off, nervous about walking into her own house. The man she loved was in there, undoubtedly as anxious as she.

Taking a deep breath, she got out of the vehicle, heading slowly into the front door. The Slayer knit her eyebrows, expecting him to be in his customary position on the couch. She closed her eyes and concentrated.

Spike was sitting on his old cot in the basement. He wasn't sure why neither he nor Buffy had disposed of it by now; it certainly didn't symbolize a good period for either one of them. For some reason it stayed, however; perhaps they unconsciously wanted it to serve as a reminder of how far they had come.

Now he was back on the cot. He listened to her soft footfalls as she entered the house. Closing his eyes, he could picture that adorable little frown she always got if things weren't as she expected. Probably
thought I'd be on the couch.

He looked up as the basement door creaked open. Her little feet came into view on the top step as she called for him.

"Spike?"

"Yeah?"

Buffy descended the stairs slowly. Once she reached the basement floor, the Slayer moved instinctively to the punching bag and ran her hand along its side.

"Whatcha doin' down here?"

"Nothin' special."

"That much I can figure out. The basement isn't exactly a fountain of entertainment."

"Didn't much want to be entertained."

Their eyes met for the first time. "What did you want?"

He hesitated a moment.

"Clarity."

They stared at each other for a moment.

"How'd it go?"

He smiled slightly. "Still down here, aren't I?"

Buffy cleared her throat. "I'm going to unload the stuff for the cookout."

"D'you need help?"

"Nah, I got it. Plus, you know...sun's out."

"Oh. Sorry. Thought it was later."

He followed her up the stairs, glancing at the clock as they reached the kitchen.

5:30. Three more hours. Dru had once come up with a plan to travel from one Pole to another so they could have the maximum amount of above-ground time as possible. He'd patiently explained that while the lack of sunlight was a benefit, the lack of food was most certainly not. Unless they wanted to attempt to feed on fish and polar bears. Spike shivered involuntarily at THAT thought.

He looked out the window, eyes softening as Buffy opened the rear hatch of the Escalade. Glancing quickly back and forth to make sure no one was paying close attention, she reached inside. Somehow she managed to balance the entire grilling mechanism on one arm while grabbing plastic bags full of accessories with the other. It was a breathtaking display of strength and balance...though Spike had no breath to take, of course.

A soft smile appeared on his face as Buffy frowned at the open rear hatch. With completely full hands, there was no way to close it. Logically, of course, one would just come back out and close it after unloading...but this was Buffy the Vampire Slayer. She wanted that hatch shut, and she wanted it shut NOW. Reaching up with her freer arm (the one
that held only three bags full of lighter fluid, spatulas, wire brushes and tongs), she managed to pull the large door down with her pinky, just enough for her to throw one leg up and catch it. Now she stood with a 300 pound grill on one arm, bags of stuff in the other, with one heel now pressed against the door...over her head, no less.

Need some of that flyin' trapeze music, Spike thought, shaking his head with amusement. His head tilted to one side as she effortlessly slammed the hatch closed with the outstretched leg and strode gracefully toward the back yard. He would never understand how someone so powerful could look so soft and feminine at the same time. Apparently Willow didn't have a monopoly on magic.

That was the key: Buffy was a strong and powerful woman - inside and out - yet she also possessed an emotional vulnerability that broke Spike's heart. When she cried, he wanted to protect her by wrapping himself all around her little body...then utterly destroy whoever dared to upset her with an intensity that frightened even him.

The things this woman could make him feel...he decided he should share his thoughts about the powerful/feminine thing with her someday. Buffy would probably like that, being a girl and all. On the other hand, it was probably best to keep the vulnerable, needing to be protected part to himself. She wouldn't care to be seen that way in the least.

She's flawless, he thought to himself reverently. Absolutely flawl-

He heard a dull thud from the other room. "OW!" Spike moved quickly into the other room, spotting Buffy standing outside the sliding glass door, holding her nose. Her eyes squinted at him as she walked in.

"Did you clean this door?"

He winced apologetically.

"Yeah. Got a little restless today. Did it when the sun was facing the front of the house."

"You did a little too good of a job."

"Sorry, luv. You bleedin' at all? Nothing broken?"

She removed her hand, continuing her dirty look.

"If I can get thrown head-first into concrete walls and live to tell about it, I can probably handle a sliding glass door, Spike."

No. Definitely never tellin' her about that whole protective feeling.

He looked over her shoulder and frowned. "Now there's a big ole' nose print on the door. Right after I cleaned the bloody thing."

Her mouth dropped open in mock horror, trying not to laugh.

"You jerk. I'm in pain over here! And my nose is NOT that big!!"

Spike searched desperately for a non-combative response.

"Well, you know...on impact with the glass, it expanded."

"Oh, really? Well, my fist is about to make impact on something of yours...but I bet it won't be expanding for a while if I hit it just right."

His eyes widened. "Don't even joke about that!"

After another minute or so of banter, things died down. They were left staring at one another, feeling slightly awkward. Spike hated it immediately.

"Bugger this. C'mere." He moved to the couch and sat down, motioning for Buffy to join him. She complied, taking his outstretched hand and sitting close to him. As she rested her head on his shoulder, she spoke softly.

"Guess we should talk about the elephant in the room, huh?"

"Yeah. Let's get 'er out of here. Stinkin' up the place."

"I want to apologize for earlier today. I didn't exactly act like Maturity Girl."

"Not necessary. Best thing, really. Needed some time to suss things out in my own head, too."

There was a silence as Buffy tried to come up with the right words.

"Don't worry about dressin' it up, pet. Say what you feel. I'm a big boy."

She swallowed. "Do you feel the same thing I do?"

"That one way or the other she'll come? Yeah."

"If that happens..." Buffy trailed off, hating the fact that she had to walk on eggshells, regardless of Spike's assurances.

"Then I'll deal with her."

"You mean we'll deal with her. We're in this together."

Spike hesitated a moment. "Right. We will."

Buffy's grip on his hand tightened; she moved her head to look into his eyes as she spoke.

"I need to know where you stand. IF she surfaces."

"I imagine I'll be standing somewhere around here."

She stared at him, not letting him off the hook. He sighed harshly.

"Guess I'm not sure, am I? Still...workin' my way through it."

"It's not that complicated."

"Good for you, luv. Clarity is in the eye of the beholder, init?"

She stood, walking slowly toward the kitchen. Buffy stopped, hugging herself to fight off a chill that didn't exist in the late May air.

"Buffy, one way or the other, my life is here. Nothin' is going to change that, no matter what happens. I stand with you."

She turned around. "I love you...and I hate that this is painful for you. I'd do anything to keep you from hurting....but at the end of the day..."

"She's a vampire," Spike finished, shaking his head. "Just like any other. Is that all you honestly expect me to feel?"

"No. I only expect you to do what's right...or at least not stand in the way of someone else who can."

He stood. "Pretty self-righteous, aren't you? Actin' like it's so simple."

"I've said it before, and I'll say it again: it is never simple. Not for those who are emotionally involved."

"So I just toss aside a century?"

Buffy's voice was quiet. "If I were vamped, would you stake me?"

His eyes blinked hard at what seemed like an abrupt and disturbing segue. "I-I don't-"

"Don't act like it can't happen. Inge was every bit as strong as I am. We just pretend the possibility doesn't exist...just like we've been pretending Drusilla doesn't exist."

"Buffy, I love you. What you're asking-"

"Is for a promise. I'm asking for you to promise me that you would. If I were ever turned somehow, I would expect you to do everything you can to stake me."

"That's impossible for me to think about."

"Really? I'm sorry, but I can't identify with that word. I sent Angel to Hell. I threw myself off a tower...and I would do it again to protect people I love. Before I did those things, I would've told you they were impossible...but I learned the hard way. In our lives, there simply is no such thing. There are certain realities, and you have to hold on to them. The current reality is this: Drusilla is killing people...just like Angelus was. I couldn't kill him when I should have, and it cost good people their lives."

She moved close to him, eyes sad.

"Believe me when I tell you I understand how this hurts you...but it doesn't change anything. I love you so much, William...but you have to know that if she comes anywhere near anyone I love, she dies."

Buffy went upstairs without another word.

*********************************

Willow's condo was on the northern tip of the city, easily the longest drive from Buffy's house. It was conveniently located just a quarter of a mile from Interstate 5...though in her case that hadn't exactly been a major selling point. If she wanted to go anywhere in a hurry, she'd do it via the mystical highway.

No, what she liked about this place was the close proximity to UC Sunnydale. The majority of her neighbors were affiliated with the school in some way...and it felt like the place to be. She would always love her family above all else; no matter what, they came first. Still, Buffy and Xander didn't feel the natural pull toward academia that Willow did; she saw
no harm in indulging herself a bit by occasionally gravitating toward a more natural circle of acquaintances.

This place served that purpose nicely. She'd intended to go to a student production of "Titus Andronicus" that night, but found herself totally exhausted. The horsing around with Xander had actually been a lot of fun; she hadn't kicked his butt in a while. Now, though, she was concerned...it hadn't really been all that strenuous. Not that Willow was about to share that concern with the rest of the Scoobs. She had some pride in herself, after all...but not so much that she would avoid seeing a doctor. Willow simply preferred to deal with things on her own so that no one would feel burdened with her problems.

She entered the loft, punching the alarm code as the headed for the kitchen. A quick bite to eat and some sleep, she thought. I'm wiped out.

Willow felt a gentle nudge on her leg. She looked down at her Persian cat with affection.

"Hey, Rupert. How's my little one? I haven't forgotten you. No, I haven't. Let's make sure you have plenty of water, 'kay?"

After checking Rupert's dish, she grabbed a ham and cheese Hot Pocket out of the fridge and popped it into the microwave. Once it got started, Willow squatted down and gently rubbed the cat's head.

"It's so good to see you. Did you have a nice day? Mommy needs to buy you some new toys. Your scratching post is getting worn out. Yes, it is. I would have my family over to play with you, but you're always hissing at Uncle Spike. He's a good vampire, you know. Don't look at me like that, little Rupert. Maybe I gave you the wrong name if I expect you to like him."

She added some water to his dish just before the microwave beeped, signaling the arrival of hot, flaky goodness. Willow loved Hot Pockets almost as much as Faith did...considering the way the brunette Slayer ate, that was saying something. Of course, Faith and Buffy could seemingly eat as much as they wanted without consequences. Slayer metabolism...SO not fair, as Dawn would say.

As Willow headed for her beloved leather recliner, she tapped the answering machine with one finger as she took the first bite of her dinner.

(Hey Will. I was just calling to make sure you got home ok. You scared us some. I guess...I guess I was hoping you'd be there. I just talked to Spike, and I don't know if I handled it very well...but don't worry about that. Just rest, ok? I'll talk to you later).

Willow frowned, reminding herself to call Buffy back as she gingerly bit into the center that held the scalding hot filling. She couldn't remember the last time Spike and Buffy had argued about anything. Come to think of it, Xander and Faith didn't fight much either. Well, they messed with each other all the time, but there was no malice in it.

In her weaker moments, Willow felt more than a little jealous. Her best friends on earth - for all intents and purposes her real family - were both in happy, stable relationships. I remember those days. There was a period where Tara and I never fought at all...well, hardly ever. Oz and I fought once...but it was a doozy. Still, that's a pretty good record. Both my relationships didn't have much fighting at all. I'm not so bad to get along with...am I?

She swallowed the last of her supper, putting her plate aside and tilting back in her chair with a heavy sigh. It would just take time; it'd happen naturally. That's what her friends had told her; that's what she'd told herself. So why didn't she believe it? Willow often wondered if the things she'd done after Tara's death had condemned her to a lonely life...some sort of poetic mystical justice. Not that she was lonely altogether; there would always be Buffy, Xander, Dawn, Spike and Faith...but it wasn't the same...for obvious reasons...

**********************************************

Willow was hot.

No, hot wasn't a strong enough word. Willow was smothered. It was the classic summer heat of the Deep South; sweat poured from her, as if an invisible leech was suckling the very life from her body.

She was standing at the heart of a cotton field; all around her people were working the crops, dust occasionally floating into the humid air. Mournful acapella gospel reached her ears.

Ride on, King Jesus
No man, gonna hinder me
Ride on, King Jesus ride on
No man, gonna hinder me

For he is King (King of Kings)
He is the Lord (Lord of Lords)
Oh! Jesus Christ the first and last
No one works like him

Willow's eyes fell on an old man, picking as he joined in the call and response vocal with a withered voice that matched his aged skin; the song sounded more like a mournful wail of desperation than a joyous
exclamation of thanks when coming from his cracked, dry lips.

Suddenly she jumped as a loud crack sounded. Spinning around, her eyes widened in horror at what she beheld: a kneeling man, manacled arms quivering. Blood was seeping from countless wounds in his back. Willow's
hand flew to her mouth as the whip descended, making yet another indentation in his glistening flesh. The young man's head fell forward, hanging loosely...but he made no sound.

"He asked for extra water for the older slaves," Tara said, appearing out of nowhere at Willow's side. "He told his masters that the younger, stronger men wouldn't work unless this was done. You're looking at their response."

Yet another crack resounded; still the young man remained silent, seemingly allowing the sad howl of the cotton pickers to speak for him.

Wade in the water
Wade in the water children
Wade in the water
God's gonna trouble the water

Tears sprung from Willow's eyes. "Why are you showing me this? God, make it stop...please?"

"Look at him more closely."

"I can't. Tara, I can't watch this any more."

"His hand, honey. Look at his hand."

Willow's eyes squinted shut at the whip came down yet again; steeling herself, she re-opened them and focused on his hands. Her eyes widened as she recognized what Tara was trying to show her.

"It's the baby you showed me before! He's missing a finger from one of his hands!"

"Exactly. This is fifteen years later."

"Fifteen? Really? He looks...older."

Tara looked Willow in the eyes as she spoke.

"The old man you focused on when you first came here? He was thirty-six."

"What? That can't be."

"Almost thirty years of hard labor - with no hope other than a relatively painless death - will take a lot out of a person."

The whip cracked again. Willow put her hands over her ears. "Tara, please..."

Tara's voice rang out sternly.

"Willow! You need to see and hear this."

Reluctantly, Willow removed her hands. Tara spoke in a gentler tone.

"The boy's mother died of tuberculosis when he was four. His father...well, you remember the story. For all the boy knows, his father could be the one holding the whip. He's been raised collectively by the others...though his light skin made things difficult at times, even among those who suffered with him. Yet here he is, taking a lashing for them because he couldn't stand to see them suffer any more than they had to. Pretty amazing, isn't it?"

The whip impacted on his flesh, creating yet another welt. At last the boy cried out in agony, his dignity broken along with what remained of his skin.

Willow blinked as the scene changed abruptly. The fetid air of the cotton fields was replaced by a crisp chill. She hugged herself, rubbing her hands along her arms in reaction to the sudden temperature change. Looking around, she saw burnt orange leaves strewn along the ground. Occasionally a breeze would catch them, sending them flying off into wild spinning rides along the cobblestone streets. The area was buzzing with activity; people were walking in all directions, some walking proudly, displaying their finery as they made their way to social functions. Others sat in huddled groups, a single shared cup of tea the only defense against the ever-increasing twilight cold. It seemed familiar to her...sort of New Englandish...

"You're right. We're in Boston Common."

Willow turned to Tara with an expression of annoyance. "You could have brought me a jacket. It's chilly."

The blonde smiled. "We won't be long. Come on, I have something to show you."

Near the center of the park, a voice was speaking strongly to a small gathering. Willow noted that the crowd was made up of all social levels; the wealthy, while not mingling directly with the middle and lower classes, were at least willing to stand in the same general area. Whatever they were watching, it must be quite the curiosity, she thought.

The source of their fascination was a light-skinned black man, flanked by two rather ancient looking clergymen, shivering slightly in their vestments. Both clutched bibles as if they provided a source of heat.

Willow recognized the man in the center immediately, of course; outside of a graying at his temples it was clearly an older version of the boy who had been beaten. His voice rang out, breath briefly visible in the
chill.

"In the land in which I was born, I'm officially considered to be one-third of a human being for the purposes of taxation. This is remarkably apt when one peruses your Declaration of Independence from the British. It says
that all men possess certain unalienable rights: life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. Clearly, since I stand before you and draw breath, I have life; but the American Negro in this nation does not possess the other
two supposedly God-given qualities. For all intents and purposes, I AM one-third of a man.

I submit to you that I am as deserving of those unalienable rights as anyone else. It is said that the Negro doesn't have the intellectual capabilities to serve society outside of manual labor. I further submit to you myself as an example of the inaccuracy of that theory. Once I escaped the oppression of my masters, I was taken in by people who had the temerity to assume that skin color had no bearing on educational capabilities. It was simply a matter of opportunity.

Therefore I stand before you as a living example of what is possible if all men in this nation were to be given a true chance to pursue happiness. With all due respect to those who framed the Constitution of the United States, as long as it remains legal for one man to be the property of another, that hallowed document is not worth the paper on which it is printed. It is actions, ladies and gentlemen, that define us...not words. Let your elected
officials know that a civilized nation that supposedly stands for equality among men cannot in good conscience allow their fellow humans to stand on a platform in chains - so that their very existence may be sold to the highest bidder.

Let them know that when a man speaks out for himself, things like what I am about to show you cannot be allowed to happen."

As he began to unbutton his shirt, Willow closed her eyes and shivered as Tara spoke quietly.

"He was among the more controversial figures of the Abolitionists; the sort of display that he's about to do was considered unseemly by some...but he got his message across, wouldn't you say?"

Gasps of revulsion were heard as he turned his back, displaying the ugly scars that portruded his skin in a grotesque criss crossing pattern. Willow swallowed hard as Tara continued her narrative.

"His name was lost to history...just one among many. He was on the front lines, though: instrumental in the creation of the Underground Railroad with Harriet Tubman, fighting with distinction for the Union side
during the Civil War, twice wounded in action. He died in 1883 of the same disease that had taken his mother all those years before; his last conscious act was a journal entry containing three words: 'We are unfinished'."

Willow stared at the man, shaking her head. "I guess I'm thick. I mean, I understand that he was a great man, but..."

"He is with us now," Tara interrupted.

Willow swallowed hard. "You're...you're in..."

Tara smiled. "You've seen where I am, Willow. Remember?"

Tears were welling close again. "I miss you so much."

"I know, honey. I'm here, though. I'm always here. Willow..."

"I know. You're showing me this for a reason. Is he supposed to symbolize something?"

"Yes. There are times when Buffy has felt enslaved by her calling. Alone. She'd have been dead right now... except for people around her who saved her from the system as it was written. As a group, you've helped her to literally close down a Hellmouth. No other Slayer has even come close to that kind of achievement before. You are all very special, Willow...but you've sacrificed to get where you are. You've been in the darkest parts of your
own soul...but came out of the other side to prevail.." - Tara looked up at the makeshift podium - "...just as he did. He was beaten within an inch of his life because he asked for some water...yet he not only survived what he was put through, he flourished. He played a major part in changing the landscape of the nation. He left the world better than how he found it. There is no higher goal to achieve in life."

******************************************

Willow awoke, a sheen of perspiration sprinkled across her brow. It was now fully dark outside. Slowly, she regained her bearings, heartbeat finally returning to normal after a minute. Suddenly the darkness felt smothering; Willow hustled throughout her condo, flipping switches as she went.

After turning on the bathroom light, she took a long look at herself in the vanity mirror.

Her hair was a mess.

*******************************************

Buffy sighed as she pressed the "end" button on her cordless phone, tossing it listlessly on to the bed she and Spike shared. Willow probably hadn't even had a chance to get home yet; she lived several minutes further from the gym than everyone else. What could she possibly say to comfort me anyway? 'You did the right thing, Buff. Honesty is the only way to go in a healthy relationship, everything will be fine' - all that good stuff that friends tell you when they have no clue what to say. Funny how that honesty thing generally results in sleeping alone.

It was probably part of the legacy for the Slayer to have a natural tendency to stay up late; that was prime time in her line of work. For some reason, however, this particular evening she felt totally exhausted. Real tension hadn't existed between Buffy and Spike in a long time...other than sexual tension, that is. Buffy liked THAT type of tension just fine, thank you very much.

She crawled on top of the covers and curled herself up, hoping that Spike would come to her...but she sensed he wouldn't. Not yet, at least. It was an impossible situation: every instinct within her said Drusilla was coming to hurt them. If not Buffy or Spike directly, then someone else she loved.

If it were your garden variety vamp, Buffy wouldn't worry so much. She had total confidence in everyone's ability to handle that...even Xander always seemed to find a way to stay alive. This, however, was no ordinary vamp.

This was Drusilla. She had killed a Slayer. Buffy would always be haunted by the moment she'd cradled Kendra's lifeless body in her arms. So much had changed since then. Angel's soul was restored; Spike had become...her everything. Everyone from that period had changed dramatically...with one exception.

At the time, Buffy had done what she had to in order to save the world. She'd made a deal with a lesser evil so that she could deal with the devil. There was no question she had done the right thing, but to this day the Slayer side of her seethed whenever she heard a certain name.

Kendra had never been avenged, and the need to do so had never completely abated within her. In fact, she discovered it had grown stronger this morning. When Xander mentioned Drusilla by name - something no one had done in years - everything inside her had tightened like a violin string. For a minute - before she got herself out of there - Buffy felt a ferocious urge to destroy everyone and everything in her path. That jerk at the Home Depot had no idea how close he'd come to serious pain.

For a minute there, my life wasn't full of emotional mine fields. Sure went by fast, she thought.

Now she lay in her bed...by herself. It wouldn't make everything better, but Buffy knew it would help a lot if Spike were to come lie with her. He wouldn't have to say anything; just his presence would be enough. Anything to make her feel like he understood.

Of course, he might well have done that if she hadn't walked away from him a few minutes before. I was too much of a coward to hear what he had to say, Buffy scolded herself. Now all she could do was wait. There was no
way she would be able to fall asleep alone...

*****************************************

Buffy sat with her eyes closed, luxuriating in the power of an unencumbered wind surging through her golden hair. The vast expanse of the Pacific yawned before her; the sheer overwhelming size of it never failed to clear her mind.

Leaning forward, she adjusted her plastic folding chair to more of an upright position, wanting to watch the waves roll in. The Slayer dug a little, burying her toes in sand that remained cool from being submerged in
the water at high tide a few hours before. She felt the gentle touch of a hand taking hold of hers.

"You always did love the ocean."

Buffy took a deep breath. "I remember when we used to come here every weekend."

Joyce smiled at her daughter. "Your father would take you and your sister out on his board with him. Dawn took to it right away; you were more inclined to play frisbee on the sand...or just sit like this."

"I'd love to try surfing again if that meant Dad would stop by every once in a while."

They exchanged sad expressions. "It's not his way, Buffy. I'll always be grateful to Hank in some ways; he's not an entirely bad man. A miserable husband and father, of course...but he does love you. I'm sure of
that."

"He doesn't show it well."

"You didn't do a very good job of showing your feelings for a while there, either."

Buffy blinked, unsure how to respond. "Well...ok, got that coming, but-"

Joyce squeezed her hand. "I know. It's not as if Hank had to save the world 22 times a year. He didn't have to worry about exposing people he loved to danger they weren't equipped to deal with like you were. That's
why I'm so proud of you, honey. You've overcome so many things - inside and out - and you're stronger than I ever could have hoped for because of it."

Buffy looked away, focusing on distant whitecaps as she spoke.

"I'm not always very strong."

"Nobody is strong all the time...but you are more often than not. It's why you're one of the Chosen."

The Slayer chuckled. "I remember a time when you didn't take to that idea so well."

"Things change. Sometimes it takes a while, but...they always will. Your own life is an example."

Buffy looked back into her mother's soft eyes. "My death was an example too."

"Which one?"

"You know which one, Mom."

Now Joyce looked away, shifting uncomfortably.

"I wish you'd never had to bear the pain of coming back. I'd have given anything to make it easier for you."

"Would you have come back with me if you had a choice?"

For a long minute nothing could be heard besides the steadily crashing waves, accompanied by the mournful cry of the gulls as they trolled along the shore. Finally Joyce slowly shook her head.

"No, honey. I couldn't have come back with you because I'm not as strong as you are. I wasn't chosen for what's to come."

Again Buffy barked out a laugh, but this time it was laced with bitterness.

"What's to come? What I am? I haven't even begun, right? Isn't that the standard line?"

Joyce spoke evenly. "It was decided that you were special...even as Slayers go. What made you special...well, I think you know the answer to that. Your actions - along with the actions of your friends - have changed
everything."

"It's just one Hellmouth, Mom. There are probably more, you know. Rumor has it Cleveland is a strong candidate."

"Buffy, you're so much smarter than you give yourself credit for. Do you remember what you said to Spike? Not long after the Watcher's Council was destroyed?"

"I said a lot of things to Spike."

"About being tested? You felt like there was something more coming...and it scared you?"

Buffy said nothing, merely staring at her mother expectantly.

"You were right. When it comes to the most important things, Buffy, you always manage to be right. It all comes down to this, really."

"Down to what? Mom, what's going to happen?"

"What always happens: change. Some changes are more drastic than others, but the one constant in life is change."

Joyce stood. "Walk with me."

After a moment, Buffy got up to join her; they slowly strode down the coastline as Joyce continued to speak.

"If there's one major change that your time as a Slayer has caused, it's how wide open the future has become. Remember when I was under the influence of demons and I said that your job was fruitless? That you didn't
prevent the problems, you just reacted to them?"

"Sure. That one had a fairy tale ending."

They shared a grin. "Anyway, as cruel as that was, to some degree it was true. The Slayer's job was meant to be reactive, not proactive.
You and those around you changed all that. Terrible things happened to you along the way, but you kept fighting. You didn't stop, even after you came back."

Buffy stopped and faced the water, arms folded. "That was a terrible time."

"I know...but you got through it. Everyone faced their own personal demons for a while. The scars as still there, but you helped each other heal. That's the way it goes with any good family, really...but when you're Chosen, it takes on a different significance. Buffy, the fact that you came back from death more than once is amazing. The way you reacted to those events, however, is what makes you so extraordinary. The actions of those around you are equally extraordinary for different reasons...but it adds up to a one in a million group of people. You have no idea what a rare and special package you all are. For that reason, it was decided that your time had come."

"I thought my time had come when I was with you."

"Hadn't I done enough?"

"That's not my place to answer. I'm so sorry, honey. All I can tell you is what you already knew instinctively: everyone was being tested. This was yours."

Buffy sighed heavily. "Did I pass?"

Joyce smiled as tears began to pool in her eyes. "Oh, Buffy. If you hadn't, I wouldn't be here."

They embraced. "I miss you," Buffy whispered.

"I'm right here. I always am."

When they parted, Buffy cleared her throat nervously.

"Ummm....how do I-"

"I'm not the First."

The Slayer's eye widened. "How did you-"

"It's a perfectly reasonable question. I'm surprised you hadn't asked me before now."

"I...I suppose I wanted to believe."

Joyce touched Buffy's cheek. "The fact that you still have that quality says so much about you. Do you realize that?"

She shrugged, speaking with an apologetic tone.

"There wouldn't be a way you could prove it, is there?"

"Prove I'm not the First, you mean?"

Buffy nodded. Joyce stared into her eyes for a long time, then slowly shook her head.

"Outside of telling you that you need your friends and family by your side...and to trust them...no, I can't prove anything to you. If you'll remember, though, the First wanted you isolated. That is the last thing I would ever want for you...besides, you're not going to survive what's coming by yourself. No one could, no matter how powerful."

Neither said a word for a moment. Buffy sighed heavily.

"So all you're going to tell me is to expect something really bad and stick close to everyone. Mom, I love you so much, but this is just as bad as every other one of my crappy dreams. Why can't you just-"

Joyce interrupted gently. "Buffy, listen to me carefully. Look at
the water."

"Huh?"

"Look at it."

She obeyed with an air of annoyance, turning to face the waves. The wind had calmed to a gentle breeze; water tickled her toes as the tide began to roll in. Joyce raised her hand, gently waving back and forth as she
spoke.

"It's so beautiful, isn't it? So calm and tranquil. For some people, the best sleep they've ever gotten was lying at the edge of the ocean."

She turned to focus on Buffy. "And yet..."

Suddenly the skies began to darken; the rumble of thunder could be heard in the distance. Waves that had been gently lapping at her feet only moments before were now coming in much faster; Buffy had to back up to avoid
getting soaked. She looked up and gasped in shock. Azure skies were morphing to an angry shade of gray...and they were beginning to spin before her eyes. Buffy had lived in So Cal all her life; she'd been at the beach enough to know how quickly the weather could change. This, however, was happening too fast to be natural.

"Mom, we need to get out of here."

Joyce's gaze was directed toward the horizon, which was rapidly blurring due to the incoming sheets of rain. She said nothing in response. Buffy took another step back; her acute sense of approaching danger was off the chart. Things had deteriorated so quickly she had to shout to be heard.

"Mom! MOM!! We have to go! We have to go NOW!!"

*********************************************

Buffy's eyes snapped open. She rose quickly to re-establish her bearings, discovering that she was bathed in sweat. Then her mother's last words hit home...and Buffy sprinted out of the room.

*********************************************

"You ok, babe?"

"Yeah."

"Sure? I can carry you."

"Put a cork in it, sweetheart."

Faith grinned evilly as she and Xander finally walked out of the elevator.

"Ok, if you say so. You're movin' kinda slow."

"I'm in no hurry."

"Uh huh. Looks to me like you're limping."

"My leg was asleep."

"Yeah, right. The way your blood was pumpin'? Please."

Xander sighed heavily as they walked into the office.

"Fine. You win. I'm exhausted, ok? Do you feel better now that I've admitted that I'm inadequate?"

"Aww, don't be like that. I just wanted to help. Sit over here, 'kay? B's got this big ole leather office chair. Let's make you all comfy."

"Faith..."

"Don't argue." She took his hand, leading him to Buffy's desk. As he sat down, an involuntary groan of pain could be heard. Faith knelt down as she spoke.

"I heard that. Your back is hurtin' you, isn't it? Here, let's get these shoes off."

Xander couldn't hide a lazy smile of affection as she untied his laces. "Baby, cut it out. I'm fine."

Ignoring him, she took hold of his now-shoeless heels and stood. The chair swiveled to adjust as Faith placed his feet gently on the desk top.

"There we go. Just relax. How's your neck?"

"It's fi...mmmmm." Xander purred with contentment as she rubbed her thumbs firmly against his neck muscles. How did she ever learn to be so good at this? After a minute, he began to fade, causing her to stop her ministrations. He frowned.

"Don't sto-"

Again Xander was interrupted, this time by Faith's lips pressing against his. Unlike the thousand or so that they'd shared over the last hour, this one was devoid of frantic hunger and thrusting tongues. It was just soft...and warm. After lingering for fifteen seconds, she pulled away slightly, reaching up to caress his face.

"You sure you're ok?"

"I am now."

"'Cause I know I got a little..."

"Hey. I like it when you get a little." He frowned. "Not that anything of mine is even remotely little."

Faith giggled, which always sent a tingle up Xander's spine. He wasn't sure about many things in this world, but he'd be willing to bet a million dollars that no one on the planet had ever heard Faith The Vampire Slayer's silly little giggle... except him. He doubted she had any clue how special it made him feel when she did that. After planting one more gentle
smooch on his forehead, she headed for the door.

"Ok, I gotta go clean up a little and change."

"Where are you going?"

"Told B I'd cover her 6:00."

Xander shook his head. "You're going to teach a class NOW?"

"It'll be over before you know it, honey. Don't worry...I'll have plenty of energy left for later. We're not done yet."

Xander let loose an exaggerated moan, reaching for a tissue on Buffy's desk. He waved it back and forth in the air, earning him another one of those precious giggles as she walked out.

Once she was out of sight he slumped back into the chair, grimacing more openly now. His back wasn't all that was killing him. Note to self... no more challenging Faith about this particular subject. He nodded off with a slight smile.\

*******************************************

"You have post-orgasm face."

Xander's eyes widened. "Say again?"

"That little smirk that you always had after you came to a successful landing. It always made me happy to see that...as long as I arrived too, of course."

Anya was now seated at Faith's desk directly across from where he was sitting.

"Of course. So..."

"Let's just get the awkward part out of the way, shall we? I'm aware, of course, that you actually went through with a marriage to someone. For the record, even though you hurt me terribly, I'm glad you moved on."

Xander swallowed hard before speaking. "Thank you, Ahn."

Anya's voice softened. "You're welcome. Now, as to why I'm here-"

"You're here for a reason?"

Her eyes rolled. "Of course I'm here for a reason."

"Not just to say hi?"

"Actually, saying hi would count as a reason."

"Ok...so we're done, then?"

"Stop trying to be funny. Now pay attention."

He fell silent. Anya took a deep breath and began.

"Something big is about to happen. It might suck royally...but then again it might not. It depends on what all of you do. If you stick together, your chances are better."

Neither spoke for a moment. Xander raised an eyebrow.

"That's it?"

Anya nodded firmly, a satisfied smile on her face.

"Yes. Your prophetic dream is complete. You may wake up any time
you wish."

"That's all I get?"

Anya sighed patiently. "Let me give you the shorthand. Big, possibly dangerous changes, but you're in control. Trust the family. Is that better?"

"No no, I got the gist of it before, I was just...sorta hoping for more."

Her face clouded. "More?" Then her eyes lit up in understanding. "Oh, you want all those bells and whistles that come with dream prophecies. I had some ideas for that, but really I thought it would just make the
message hard to understand. I mean, screw the symbolism. Say what you have to say and get out."

"Ummm, I meant-"

Anya went on, apparently oblivious that Xander had begun to respond.

"I'm a minimalist. I had a vision of Dream Unplugged. Stripped down to its essence."

"Ahn, what the Hell are you talking about?"

She folded her arms and glared. "You wanted to know about your dream. I was sharing my vision."

"You think you could share some details instead? What exactly is going to happen?"

"Oh, for God's sake, Xander. I can't tell you THAT. What, is this your first prophetic/cryptic dream or something?"

"Ummm...well, yeah. I guess."

"Oh. I'm sorry. I didn't realize."

"I must be moving up in the world."

"Wait a minute. You had that shared dream with Buffy."

"Nothing prophetic about that. Just some chick who looked like Venus Williams's Great-Great-Great Grandma trying to kill us all."

Anya's eyes widened. "Hey! That's the First Slayer you're making fun of! Cut it out. I have to live with her, you know."

"Ok, whatever. My point is, why not just tell me what's going to happen instead of playing games?"

The former vengeance demon rolled her eyes.

"You are such a novice. Just flat out telling you everything eliminates all the drama."

"Right. That's what I don't want. No more drama. I've had enough drama, suspense, horror, and adventure to last me a bunch of lifetimes. I want comedy, romance and wacky fun from now on."

"Xander, don't be difficult. It doesn't work that way. God, we could have spent all this time reminiscing about all the spectacular orgasms we gave each other, but noooo. You have to question the rules."

"Rules?! There's a rulebook for ghostly dream appearances?"

Anya folded her arms.

"Well, ok, not that I've seen. In the meeting, though, they go over what we can and can't say very specifically."

Xander stared at her for a moment. She continued before he could ask.

"It was an enlightening experience for me. Tara had drawn up this outline for using historical parallels; Joyce had this weather idea with all kinds of big budget special effects. I thought it was sort of silly. Probably worked for Willow and Buffy, though. What I learned was, you base your presentation on the subject. In your case I thought it would help to keep things as simple and straightforward as possible."

"You call this simple and straightforward?"

"As these sorts of dreams go? Abso-friggin-lutely. You haven't seen anything. I saw archived footage of a prophetic dream they did for Salvador Dali. Talk about migraine city."

Xander put his face in his hands.

"Ok, before I get a migraine of my own, let's try again. I'm going through changes that could be dangerous. What kind of changes? Do I have to invest in Viagra?"

"I love you, Xander."

He opened his hands, surprised at the sudden change in her mood. Anya's face was deadly serious.

"I love you too, Ahn. I miss you."

"I'm suddenly realizing you may not understand how serious this is. Xander, if I'm authorized to visit you, something very big is about to happen. It's not as if we come out every week to visit. The world is
depending on you."

Xander's eyes widened. "Say what? On me?"

"Not you alone...but you're a definite part of things now. The times when you could surprise people as the normal guy coming through out of nowhere are over. No one is ignoring you any more."

He frowned. "Ok, now I'm confused."

"Xander, your greatest asset has always been your ability to surprise people. No one understood what you could truly do... except those who knew you best. Now everyone will know who you are... and how important you've always been. That will make you a target."

"That's been tried before."

"Yes...and when the Council kidnapped you, they could have killed you at any time. They chose not to do it because you were useful in drawing in the Slayers."

Xander laughed bitterly. "Useful. Yeah. Plus, don't forget the fringe benefit of breaking some of my bones."

Anya shook her head sadly. "I'm not minimizing what you went through. I would certainly never minimize what you did to yourself in the final fight against Inge."

He closed his eyes as she continued.

"I'm simply trying to make you understand something. In the first battle against the Watcher's Council you were bait...while Buffy, Willow, and Faith were the primary targets."

Anya stood, leaning across toward him.

"You've become every bit as important as they are now."

Xander looked at her with disbelief. "Ummm....Ahn, maybe you got the files mixed up in the afterlife staff meeting. I'm not a major player."

"You're in the game now, Xander."

The tone of her voice frightened him a little.

"Ahn, please just tell me-"

"I can't. I'm sorry. It was important that I make you understand. You've become one of the primary targets now."

"Anya, I guess I'm the one who should be apologizing, because I don't understand."

She sat back down, sighing heavily. "You understand enough for now. One last thing: do you love your wife?"

The abrupt change of subject caught him by surprise. "Well...yeah, of course."

"Take a little unsolicited advice. Tell her what's going on with you...then tell everyone else. They earned your trust a long time ago."

He looked away. "I can't."

"Yes, you can. They need to know this...just in case problems arise. You've become too important to the world."

Xander said nothing. Anya smiled at him. "In fact, why don't you tell Faith now? She's watching you sleep."

**********************************************

Xander's body jerked as he awoke, causing him to grimace with pain. Faith stepped back, surprised.

"I'm sorry. Didn't mean to wake you. Slayer stealth must be in the shop."

He rubbed his eyes as he responded.

"It's ok. I was glad to wake up from this one."

She was perched on the edge of Buffy's desk, a fine sheen of perspiration on her forehead. Xander looked her up and down.

"My God, you're beautiful."

Under normal circumstances she would have made a smart remark of some sort...but the intensity that he'd just used actually embarrassed her a little. Faith simply shrugged a little.

"I'm all stinky, Xand."

"Doesn't matter to me. Never has. You take my breath away."

"You know, if you're just lookin' to score again, I believe I already said we weren't done yet."

Xander took her hand. "I'm so sorry."

She frowned with concern. "For what?"

He sighed deeply.

"I've been keeping things from you...and I can't do it any more."

Finally, she thought. "Ok..."

"You might want to sit down. This will take a while."

***************************************
The sun had barely set when Spike walked down Revello, uncertain where he was headed. After an hour or so, he wasn't completely surprised to discover his feet had taken him to Restfield Cemetery. Taking a seat on a backless concrete bench amongst the headstones, he did something he rarely did these days.

He lit himself a cigarette. Spike closed his eyes, reveling in the feeling as he inhaled deeply. The things I give up for love, he thought.

Crickets began to chirp in earnest as full darkness began to settle over Sunnydale. A crescent moon arose as he lit another stick with the butt of his last, not worried about Buffy's disapproval for one night. Too late anyway, he thought ruefully. She'll be on me for ashtray breath for a week at least.

When Buffy had first gone up the stairs after her little speech, Spike knew the right thing would've been to follow her...to tell her he understood. He did, of course; they had a job to do. Didn't make it the least bit easier, though...not in this case. Bloody soul should come with a case of amnesia...be a damned sight less complicated.

Spike sighed heavily, expelling a stream of fresh smoke from his lungs. He smiled slightly as the familiar presence could be felt behind him. He spoke without turning his head.

"Been expectin' you. Thought you'd give me a bit of time to sit for a spell."

She smiled; of course he'd be able to sense her. Moving to the side of the bench, she sat down and leaned back so that her head was on his lap before speaking.

"My dollies miss their daddy. Would he like to come home for tea?"