Buffy sat on a crypt roof overlooking the Shady Glen Cemetery, hugging her legs and resting her chin on her knees. She cradled Mr. Pointy in one hand, her loaded crossbow at her side. The plots sloped away from her on three sides, lit by the streetlights behind her. The summer night smelled of roses, freshly cut grass, and damp shoveled earth.

Buffy sighed. Nearly midnight, and not a single stray vampire. There hadn't been one all week, not in any cemetery, on any patrol. It was--quite literally--dead out here. And for the first time in a long time, it was lonely. Xander off on his road trip. Willow and Oz, touring with the Dingoes, at least for the weekend. Angel... Buffy shoved off the cold stone she'd been sitting on and dropped lightly to the ground. Not a good time to think about Angel. Time instead to take one last tour of the outlying areas, and then home to bed--even if sleep was impossible.

Somehow she'd gotten out of the habit of sleeping alone. Lying next to Angel, the coolness of his flesh keeping off the sticky heat of a southern California night, meant more than love. It meant not waking up alone--and it meant comfort, if she dreamed.

Buffy shoved those thoughts away and started up the hill. She wasn't a child, calling for her mother every time she had a nightmare. Angel was gone, and if she had no one who could lie beside her and smooth the dreams away, that was the least of her misery. A week of tears by day and empty patrols by night hadn't brought her any closer to horrible.

Buffy took one last look out across the cemetery before she vaulted the wall that separated it from the streets. As far as she could see, this strange calm was the only good that had come of the Mayor's Ascension. A drastic drop in the vampire population was always good news, though it came at the expense of so much...and so many.

But thoughts of graduation only brought her back to thoughts of Angel. Buffy trudged off, trying to escape memory with movement. She circled the outskirts of town, and saw nothing, her mind wandering. Coming back towards home, her feet carried her automatically to Angel's mansion. After a patrol, she'd often drop in to see him, because a long, lingering good night was better than not seeing him at all. She stared up at the stone facade. The place was hidden behind the garden and trellis vines, and from the outside it looked as empty and as old as she felt. Her eyes were hot, and she pressed the heel of her hand against them, pushing back the tears.

Buffy turned away, wanting nothing more than to go home, and to let the sadness come pouring out. She knew--some part of her realized--how completely foolish it was to crouch here in the darkness on the verge of another crying jag. But the pain was bigger than common sense, bigger than her grief over killing Angel a year ago. This time, she wasn't in control. This time, he'd chosen to go.

The last thing she wanted was to search the mansion, but she couldn't keep avoiding it. It was, after all, a perfect place for a vampire nest--abandoned, out of the way, already furnished with thick black curtains, and with easy sewer access. But if she went in there, it would be empty. No fire, warming the stones. No strong arms, welcoming her. No gentle dark eyes watching her as though she were the only thing in the world.

Buffy swallowed back the tears. She couldn't hold on to her illusions any more. Slowly, she climbed up the steps, and stepped into the main hall. The silence told her long before her eyes could that the mansion was still deserted. No nest had made their home here. Buffy knelt in front of the cold fireplace, touching the spot on the floor where she'd left her claddagh ring.

Gone, long since.

Of course. What did she expect?

Buffy closed her eyes, tried to feel Angel's presence, the way he'd somehow managed to fill the rambling, tumbledown spaces of this place with himself. There was nothing.

You'll always be a Slayer. But that's all the more reason why you should have a real relationship instead of this--this freak show.

Angel's words hit her like a roundhouse to the head, unstoppable, exploding with pain. Why was it always so hard, between them? Even knowing the dangers, even keeping chaste, they'd never been truly easy with one another.

You're not friends. You'll never be friends. You'll be in love till it kills you both. You'll fight, and you'll shag, and you'll hate each other till it makes you quiver, but you'll never be friends.

And they weren't. It was easier to hate Angel for leaving than to respect his decision--easier to love him from afar than to let herself heal. How else could she banish him from her memory? How could she exorcise this demon?

"It's terribly simple," Giles had told her once. "The good guys are always stalwart and true, the bad guys are easily distinguished by their pointy horns or black hats, and, uh, we always defeat them and save the day. No one ever dies, and everybody lives happily ever after."

The speech was meaningless, but it was all she had. No matter how sympathetic Willow was, or how patient Mom had been, it was the memory of Giles' soft voice that kept her going. "Liar," she whispered to him, and herself. None of it was true. She knew that. But if she could imagine for a moment that evil could disappear, it helped.

In the end, Giles was the only one she had left, the same steady rock he'd always been. Everyone else had changed--Mom, trapped by her worry for a Slayer daughter, Willow and Oz by their own togetherness, and Xander, escaping onto the open road. Giles...her Watcher, no matter what the Council said...he could chase the nightmares out.

Home suddenly seemed a lot further away, and Giles' apartment nearer.

But it was nearing one o'clock. He'd be sleeping, not expecting her. It was a crazy thought--to just show up on his doorstep, wanting him to deal with her grief as well as his own. He'd lost so much, too. The library, his job, the Council...Jenny. The last thing he'd want was for her to come to him crying about the man who'd killed his love. No. She wouldn't do that to him.

Buffy stood up, rubbed the cold out of her arms, and slipped out of the mansion, heading for home.

Halfway there, passing through the children's park, she heard the sound of someone--perhaps several someones--thrashing through the greenery.

She whirled around. Three vamps lunged out of the bushes not ten feet away. "Finally some action," she muttered, and lifted the crossbow. The leader was dust before he'd managed another step, falling to the ground even as he exploded into a choking cloud. Buffy dropped the crossbow and hefted her stake, expecting the other two to charge her.

Without a glance, they ran straight past her, out into the streets.

"Hey!" she shouted. One looked over his shoulder, his yellow eyes wide, his snarl twisted into a look of terror. "Your mortal enemy is back here." Grabbing up the bow, she gave chase.

There were still a few people on the street, maybe late party goers--idiots, if they thought that was safe in this town. She'd have to chase her prey to somewhere quieter before she could get with the slayage, but the vamps seemed in no hurry to abandon the well-lit streets. They ignored convenient manholes and alleys and just ran.

"Are you guys trying to hide or not?" Buffy muttered. She set an even, measured pace she could keep up for hours--though she hoped she wouldn't have to. It was possible they were trying to lead her into a trap, so she kept well back, making sure she could still see them.

Soon the main streets were behind them, and Buffy put on a sprint to catch up. The slower vamp had a long coat that invited grabbing, and she did just that. She jerked to a stop and yanked him off his feet. He landed on his back with a satisfying thud--if he'd been human, he'd have the breath knocked out of him for a week. Buffy didn't pause, rammed the stake into his chest, and looked up to see where his friend had gotten to.

The street was empty.

Buffy held the stake close, her body tense, ready to lash out in any direction. Her pulse pounded in her ears, and she panted, getting her breath back. She turned slowly, peering into the shadows behind the suburban homes, listening. In the distance, she could hear a cat yowling. A raccoon was digging through someone's trashcan. But no vampire--no sound of running feet. He'd either stopped, or decided the sewers were a good idea after all, or something else had gotten to him first.

Somehow, that thought wasn't reassuring.

He didn't reappear, and an ambush didn't suddenly launch itself out of no where, so Buffy relaxed slightly. "Here, vampire vampire vampire," she called softly. The wind ruffled past her, and she shivered despite its warmth. The first vamps she'd seen in a week, and they hadn't even tried to get a bite. What were they so scared of?

Buffy jogged for home, her senses keyed up for any sign of the creature. At the front door, she paused again, still irritated for losing him. Faith was right about one thing, anyway--it was hard to relax knowing you'd let a monster escape. Buffy turned her key in the lock and slipped inside.

The foyer was dark. Mom had probably gone to bed long since, finally comfortable enough with the whole Slayer thing to stop waiting up. Buffy climbed the stairs and stashed her weapons, then headed for the shower. She felt dried out, itchy, her pores clogged with grave-dust. The remains of the vampires seemed to stay with her, leaving her unclean.

Tomorrow she'd go to the library to report to Giles...

No. Not the library. It was a casualty of graduation, buried beneath the smoldering rubble of the high school. That was another habit she'd have to break. The library, with its high beams, its cool mustiness, its comfortable second-hominess...was as gone as Angel. Time to start thinking in new patterns. Time to remember that Giles wasn't her Watcher or her librarian anymore.

Still, he'd want to know about her patrols, this past week. Buffy pulled on her pajamas and crawled into bed. She'd go to his apartment in the morning, see him for the first time, really, since that awful night.

In the end, that thought was enough to erase her sadness, and she slept, dreamless.

The morning was hot and still, a perfect day for beaches and sprinklers. Buffy walked to Giles', feeling the sun beat down on her, already scorching in the brief skirt and silky tank top she'd chosen. Days like this were not meant for long discussions of evil, trapped inside, and Buffy hesitated on Giles' front step. Knocking seemed at once familiar and alien. She felt like an intruder, sneaking into Giles' personal life, his last safe haven.

But he opened the door quickly, and smiled to see her, his eyes lingering. "Buffy. Do come in." The heat had forced him to abandon his normal suit, and his shirtsleeves were rolled up over his elbows. A good look for him, she thought mildly, as she returned his smile.

"Thanks." Buffy stepped inside and stopped. "We didn't leave you much room, did we?" Towers of cardboard boxes filled with books surrounded them. Giles' apartment was reduced to a narrow avenue between the door and the stairs. Every available surface was littered with papers and artifacts.

"It's quite all right." Giles ushered her inside, past the stacks. "I only wish we'd been able to salvage more of my collection. Unfortunately, I may not be able to replace some of the volumes...the Council, I'm afraid, isn't feeling generous about sending copies."

Buffy nodded, feeling a twinge of guilt. Giles wouldn't say it, but they both knew whose fault that was. He seemed to sense her uncertainty, and turned back. The house was dim, after the brilliance outside, but she thought she saw him blush.

"I'm sorry, Buffy. I didn't mean to imply that you were in any way responsible. You saved us all. That is what matters."

"Yeah." Buffy shrugged. You saved us. The great dragon, rearing up, a wind of darkness spreading before it. Faith's blood on her hands. Angel, walking into the mist-- "But what if, next time, the answer's in one of the books we didn't save?"

Giles took off his glasses and studied her, his face set in lines of worry. "Surely it's too soon to think of next time, Buffy. You haven't seen anything, have you?"

"Nothing prophecy-like. But last night..." Buffy told the story carefully, mechanically, avoiding Angel's name. Giles listened, not interrupting her, but watching her face intently. It was so easy to tell him everything--to let him be the answer guy. He calmed her just by being there. "It was weird, Giles. I've never seen vamps want to get away so bad."

"Badly."

Buffy rolled her eyes. "Yeah, thanks for the grammar lesson. It's worth ignoring evil in order to get my adjectives right."

"Adverb," Giles said absently. "And you don't believe that it was you from whom they ran?"

Buffy shrugged. "That'd be an ego-boost, wouldn't it? But no. They were running before they met me. Out of the frying pan and all that."

"Hmm." Giles picked a book out of the chaos and flipped its pages.

"Giles?"

"Hmm?"

"Giles, you've wandered into monosyllable land. It's not exactly comforting."

"I'm sorry, Buffy, but I'm afraid that this is a rather unique situation." He closed the book he held and laid it on the partition between the living room and kitchen. "Given that Sunnydale is the first city to ever have survived an Ascension, we have no accounts of what demonic activity we should be expecting at this point in time."

"So you're thinking demon." Buffy slumped down onto the couch. "Those guys really don't get the concept of summer vacation."

"As I said, I'm not sure. I have been tracing historical records from the relevant areas, cross-referencing--"

"In short, really living it up." Buffy closed her eyes, feeling heat like tiredness invade her. Not another demon...not yet... "The guys'll be upset you had a cross-referencing party without them."

The couch settled--Giles sitting beside her. She peeked at him from beneath half-closed eyelids. For once, he didn't look old to her...just careworn. Concerned. He reached out, as though to touch her, but then pulled back. "It is not certain, by any means," he said softly. "But if there is something out there, something that terrifies vampires more than the Slayer does--"

"Then it's dangerous." For an absurd moment, Buffy felt a lump in her throat, threatening tears. Not for Angel, this time, but for Giles...why couldn't he touch her? Not even a reassuring pat on the back. Nothing, outside of training. Just when she needed a friend...a hug...and every one else away. They'd be alone on this one.

"Yes. I think it's best if you and I continue training, as though I were still your Watcher, since Wesley hasn't been discharged from the hospital yet."

As though I were still your Watcher. Buffy felt the words like ice, but she forced a wry smile. "He did get pretty trampled. I guess I can't ask him to let me beat on him some more."

"And, since Willow and Oz are away, I will be asking you to help with the research. Doubtless I still have the books dealing with the more powerful beings, things that a vampire might fear."

"All right." Buffy sat up. Giles smiled again, a tender quirk of the lips, and she found herself beaming back at him. "It'll be nice, huh? Watcher and Slayer, together again."

"Certainly." Giles stood, and Buffy watched him dig through the mounds of boxes. The casual thing was really working for him. She jumped up to help him shift a pile of volumes. Soon, they were sitting at the table, each carefully turning yellowed pages.

Buffy threw herself into the work. Maybe this is why he likes cross-referencing so much...you don't have to think. She glanced at Giles working beside her, his glasses dangling from his mouth, his forehead creased with concentration. Nothing like a little evil to let you forget, she thought. Nothing like evil to bring people together.

The rythmic thud of fists on leather gradually penetrated Giles' slumber, and he opened his eyes. He was slumped over the kitchen table, demonologies and grimoires strewn around him. He groped for his glasses amidst the mess and pulled them on, blinking the world into focus. Buffy's chair was empty, though the space had been cleared of books.

Last night, when he'd looked up, it was to see her sleeping, her blonde hair spread across the papers on which she'd been joting down notes. There was the strangest smile on her face...peaceful, and almost playful...as though she'd stumbled upon good dreams at last, even if she knew they couldn't last. He'd wanted nothing more than to pick her up in his arms, and take her to his bed--somewhere she could rest more comfortably. Giles shook his head, and hissed as his neck reminded him of how he'd slept.

All night research sessions weren't Buffy's strong point, but she'd been so eager, ready to help out with his duties as well as her own in Willow's absence. Asleep, she looked so young, as fragile as the girl she would seem to a stranger's eyes. Watching her, and remembering how much she'd been through, Giles felt a surge of emotion wash over him. Pity, and respect, and--and pride. She could never be that girl. She was the Slayer, his Slayer. Only in sleep could she escape the weight of the world, and sometimes not even then, but she bore the burden well.

The sound of a grunt and a heavier series of thumps came from the basement. Giles sat up straighter, feeling his back and neck protest, and moved against the stiffness. He lifted a hand to his shoulder, rubbing at the knots. From the sound of it, Buffy had found the small gym he'd set up--a boxer's punching bag, a vaulting horse, and sparring mats. Giles stood up, slowly, feeling the pull of muscles tightened by twelve unmoving hours. Buffy had the right idea. He'd join her in training to loosen up, get the blood flowing to the brain, before returning to the books.

Giles set the kettle to boil for his morning tea, and stepped upstairs to change into clothes more suitable for the athletics Buffy would be sure to put him through. He didn't have much, but he opted for a tight white t-shirt that had seen better days, and his only pair of sweat pants. Returning, he steeped the tea, poured a cup, and padded softly downstairs.

He stopped in the doorway and caught his breath. Buffy had abandoned the punching bag. She balanced on the vaulting horse, handstanding, her ponytail hanging down. Her eyes were closed, and she slowly bent her elbows, moving through upside-down push-ups. Her spandex top and short-shorts left nothing to the imagination, showing off her quivering muscles as she strained to maintain balance and continue the slow, steady motion. A fine sheen of sweat bathed her tawny skin. The only sound was of her measured breathing and the soft creak of her leather gloves on the handles.

Giles stared, and knew he was staring, and didn't look away. She was beautiful. The simple grace of her movements, the control she had over every fibre of her body, the incredible strength that was supernatural and yet inextricably part of her...they all came together to form this creature of light and air, golden and mysterious. She paused at the apex of her arc, her arms extended, and Giles swallowed, mesmerized.

She opened her eyes. "Hey."

Giles leaned against the doorjamb, hipshot, his untouched tea growing cold. "Good morning."

Buffy flipped off the vaulting horse and landed softly on her bare feet. "All things considered, I think I'm going to agree with you on that one."

Giles smiled. "Did you sleep well?"

"As well as a person can, folded up in a chair. Princess and the Pea, I'm not, but still. I don't know how you and Willow manage so often." Buffy grinned as she reached for a water bottle. "Next time I stay over, I'm confiscating your bed. Looks comfy."

He raised an eyebrow. "You've had an occasion to judge?"

"Hey, I had to change somewhere. I wasn't about to in the living room, no matter how asleep you looked. You do realise that even your bathroom's full of books?"

Giles nodded and set his tea down. "Wesley and Cordelia were creative with their use of space."

"Yeah, very Fung Shui. Hope I didn’t wake you? You must have been pretty tired, to sleep that long on that many books. Then I found this little set up you've got down here, and I thought I’d take advantage of you."

Giles looked at her sharply. "Excuse me?"

Buffy reddened slightly. "I mean, I used all your stuff. Nice shampoo, by the way. Smells good."

"Probably more so on you than on me." Giles ignored the look she shot him and took a place in the centre of the mats. "With the library, uh, no longer a viable space--to say the least--I thought we could use this space for your training. There isn’t much room--"

"But in the summer, outside'll do for that. This is really great, Giles. I'm--"

Giles paused in his initial stretches when she didn't go on. She smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes. "Yes?" he asked.

"Well, I want to thank you. I--I've been so caught up in...my own...stuff, that I kinda forgot about everyone else. Willow really tried, but I know she's happier with Oz, touring with the Dingoes, right now. And my mom--" Buffy stopped again. She shrugged, with a grimace. "Well, never mind. I just wanted to say, I'm glad you're staying."

Giles straightened. Staying. Of course he was. It was a Watcher's sacred duty, to follow wherever his Slayer led, but that wasn't why. It was far more than that. He didn't know himself the reason for it, wouldn’t let himself know. Buffy's blue eyes watched him steadily. Only an arm's length separated them, and yet she seemed to be light years away. He wanted to reach out to her, reassure her...fold her in his arms and tell her it would all be all right. He'd stay as long as she needed him. Longer. Yet something held him back from saying those words. Some day, his words wouldn't be enough--and that day was as near, or as far, as he let it be. The silence stretched. Buffy folded her arms in front of her and looked down, her eyes bright with tears.

"After I quit the Council, you--"

"Buffy--"

"No, let me finish." Buffy stared at the mats. "You didn't have to. Stay, I mean. And Angel--"

"You know why Angel left--"

"Giles. I know why he said he left. I know he said it was for me. But it was for him, too. It was easier for him. He doesn’t have to worry about the curse, this way--that some day, I might cause him to--" Buffy shook her head. "But you. You gave up everything for me. The Council, and all that English stuff. Plus you let me blow up your library," she added wryly.

Giles let out a huff of breath, almost laughter. "Oh, Buffy, I didn't 'let' you do anything. You were the general that day. You were glorious."

Buffy looked up quickly, her eyes wide, her cheeks flushed. Giles laughed again, a soft rumble in his chest, and stepped forward, putting his hands on her shoulders. This, he knew. "The Council means nothing to me. I am your bonded Watcher. That is all that matters. I learned that after the Cruciamentum--you are more than all of that 'English stuff'. Trust in me, Buffy. I'm staying."

Buffy wrapped her arms around him. Giles hesitated, then returned the hug, gently. She smiled up at him, genuinely this time, though her eyes were still damp. "You see? I knew you needed thanking. That's the most cheering up anyone has managed so far."

"Then some day you can return the favour...I'm the one living in a labyrinth of cardboard boxes." Giles patted her back, feeling the ripple of her muscles as she squeezed him once more and then let go. When she stepped back, it seemed to leave him emptier, missing something. He smiled again, and reached out to brush away her tears.

"I'm sorry," she said, and scrubbed at her cheeks. She smiled sideways at him, but the distance between them remained.

"I'm not," he answered. "We came out of the Ascension far better than any one had the right to expect. You did that, Buffy. You and the others."

She nodded. "But now there's something else coming. I can feel it. It's been too easy. And if I've learned anything about post-Ascension documentation, it's that there isn't any."

"That does seem to be the case." Giles frowned, feeling the ache of last month's sleepless nights and worry-filled days. He was dead tired, in spirit and in body. So many had died at Graduation, fighting for their lives, and now they were all threatened again. An endless cycle. Difficult to bring full force to a problem when it remained so vague, though he trusted his Slayer's instincts implicitly. "Of course, this could be completely unrelated. There's still some hope we might find the answer through research."

Buffy gave a playful groan. "Hey, Giles, no offense, but you're a fiend for punishment. Let's recover from last night before we wade in for more, huh?"

Giles grinned, hearing more in her words than her tone implied. "Certainly." He dropped back into his warm-up, stretching until he felt the burn, and then reaching farther. He closed his eyes to better feel the way his body responded to the rhythm. Even before the Ascension, there had been little time for the traditional routine of training. He felt soft, out of shape. Buffy would be merciless. It was time he tightened up the discipline, worked to keep the trim strength he'd taken for granted when he was twenty...or even thirty. Days long past.

He opened his eyes to see Buffy watching him appraisingly, her eyes travelling slowly over him. "So is the tweed, like, only a school thing, then?" she asked, a teasing light in her eyes.

"Suits are professional. I am not, any longer."

"Right." This mention of his lost job seemed to sober her for a moment, but then the grin returned, and she lifted an expressive eyebrow. "Makes me long for a few casual Fridays."

"Buffy--"

"Hey, I'm just saying. I didn't know you owned a t-shirt, let alone sweat pants. Slumming?"

"Hardly." He managed a glare, but the appreciation obvious in her voice lessened its power. "How is your fencing coming along?" he asked, going to the weapons chest.

She rolled her eyes. "Better than Wesley's."

"What an astute judgement. Catch."

Buffy plucked the tossed sword out of the air without so much as glancing at it. "You won't be able to read newspapers around me."

"We'll see." Giles lifted his rapier, signing en guarde, and then advanced. "As I said, there isn't much room in here. Your normal footwork doesn't apply."

Buffy was silent, but that same playful smile was back. Her eyes held his, ignoring the he sword waved in front of her. He thrust, she parried, and he ducked closer, keeping up a steady attack.

"The close quarters--mean it can sometimes be difficult to--recover. Easy to be over-confident..."

The clang of metal on metal blurred together as they sped up. Giles stepped forward again, angling to corner Buffy, evading her wide slashing strokes. Her breath was coming quicker, but he chagrined to realise he was panting already. He put his longer reach to advantage, pressing her, hoping to disarm her quickly before her strength became the deciding issue. Still, she said nothing, but watched his eyes, letting her body attend to the fencing.

"Remember...to watch...the torso--it's where...the moves...are telegraphed."

Giles closed his mouth, ashamed of how he could barely speak, as he reached for his second wind. He blinked the sweat out of his eyes. Buffy's eyes dropped to his chest, looking for the signs as he'd said, and her faint smile grew wider. She knew he was tiring, and her jabs came faster. He was having difficulty turning them aside. One almost got through, but he dodged aside, switching his rapier to his left hand.

The move tricked her, and he was quick to take advantage. His blade shrieked as it clashed with hers, until they were locked at the hilt. With a twist, he wrenched her sword aside, and used her momentum to flip her to the ground. Giles stood over her, gasping, his sword in one hand resting on his knees. "There--you see--not so different from Wesley," he taunted.

The smile was gone. Buffy lay on her back looking up at him, her sword a foot away from her grasp. At first he thought he'd truly hurt her. Remorse overtook him at once--of course she wouldn't appreciate being compared to Wesley. Especially now. "Buffy, I'm sorry," he said, and extended his hand to help her up.

With a heave, she pulled him down beside her, rolling so that she was on top, straddling his chest. "Small spaces make you overconfident, hmm?" she asked. She beamed down at him, her ponytail falling over her shoulder. One hand held him to the floor, and the other held his own sword at his throat.

Giles blinked, and started up, but she pushed him back. "That move wouldn't have worked on any self-respecting vampire," he commented mildly.

"I count on them to gloat," Buffy answered, keeping him pinned. "I count on you for compassion. Know thy enemy, and all that."

"Now that you've got me, what?"

"Say 'uncle'."

Giles let his head fall back. The solid weight of her sitting on his chest was somehow both ridiculous and...well, mostly ridiculous. But if she was enjoying the charade...he'd teach her to trust an enemy's compassion. "And if I don't?" he asked. He grunted as he struggled briefly, playing along.

"You're looking particularly undignified today, Watcher," she mocked.

"I don't plan to be the only one." Giles gripped her thighs and tried to shift her again, but she tightened her hold until his ribs creaked.

"Not getting out of this like that."

"Fine. You've compelled me." With that, he lifted his hands to her sides and tickled her for all he was worth.

She shrieked, collapsed on top of him, and squirmed to get away. Giles didn't stop, but searched with crooked fingers for her most ticklish spots, until she was breathless with laughter, and he could reverse their positions. He quickly realised the compromising arrangement, and backed off. Buffy lay, gasping, still chuckling, and he smiled down at her.

"Not going to make me say 'uncle'?" she asked, straightening out of her defensive curl.

"I think you've had enough training for one morning," Giles said. Or he had...he felt breathless just looking at her. It was really time to start a better training regimen. He stood up and reached for a towel.

This time when he offered her his hand, he was ready for any treachery, but she calmly accepted his help. "So then. Research?" she asked.

"Right. Research." Giles watched as she bounced upstairs. There was something new in her step. Maybe he had, as she'd said, managed to cheer her up regarding Angel's departure, but somehow he didn't think so. She wasn't ready to let him go just yet. But she was happier than he'd seen her in months...this new mystery evil notwithstanding.

And he himself...what was he thinking? Unless the demon they were after was a tickler...he wasn't exactly preparing her for her Slayer duties. He shook his head, and took off his glasses to clean them. Time to get back to seriousness.

"I'm taking the shower first," Buffy called down to him.

Giles closed his eyes against the vision that that statement presented for his approval. What was happening to him?

"Qui custodiet ipsos custodes?" he muttered to himself, and headed stiffly for the stairs.

"Buffy?"

"Huh?" Buffy jerked her attention to Giles' face. It was clearly not the first time he'd said her name. She tried to think what his question might have been, but she knew that while her eyes had been reading her brain had been somewhere else.

"The pencil?" Giles nodded at her hand.

Buffy looked down. Her fingers were twiddling with a pencil, seemingly of their own accord, tapping a rapid rythm on book and table. She clenched her hand and the pencil snapped. "Uh...sorry," she said. Giles was busy researching some unknown menace, and here she was, daydreaming. Her face hot, she added, "You give me a mini-stake to hold and, well, there are consequences."

"I see," Giles said drily. He pursed his lips, a small frown creasing his forehead, and stared down at his books.

Buffy shrank down in her chair. He was really mad...or was he? His shoulders shook, and his lips quirked sideways. "What?" she asked.

"Hmm?" He refused to look up, but she could hear the amusement in the simple syllable.

"Giles..." she started, loading her tone with all the Slayer-threat she could muster, "what are you laughing at?"

"Oh...nothing. Nothing." Just then, he looked up, and met her gaze. His green eyes danced with suppressed laughter, and a crooked grin spread across his face. "Just my Slayer turning into a zombie before my very eyes."

Buffy felt her blush deepen. How long had he been sitting there, looking at her stare off into nothing? She hadn't even noticed his attention. Some Slayer instincts she had, if she didn't even know she was being watched. "Hey, I was paying attention," she tried, but Giles only laughed harder. It was a sort of silent chuckle, and she grinned, liking the rumbly almost-sound of it. He seemed so relaxed for once. He'd laughed as they trained too. Twice in one day was probably a record for him, she thought, but those words made her mind make a connection that only Xander would think of, and she blushed even harder.

Giles caught her embarrassment and said, "As my mother used to say, you're lucky you didn't catch any flies."

"Your mom, huh?" Buffy ignored the flies remark and tried to marshall her thoughts back to the subject at hand. It wasn't the first time she'd been caught drifting, though Giles usually rebuked her instead of laughing. Maybe because they were alone...usually it was only Xander's cracks and Willow's giggles she had to deal with, not this strangely at-ease Giles. She raised an eyebrow. It was weird to think of Giles having a mom. "What was she like?"

Giles smiled again and leaned back. "She was never at a loss for words, always ready to take the piss," he said. "A sense of humour was the only defense. My father was the exact opposite, a dour man, a Watcher through and through. I don't know how they made it work, but they did..."

Buffy nodded, fascinated by this easy familiarity. Why hadn't Giles ever talked about his family before? Or maybe the real question was--why hadn't she ever asked? "Sure, opposites attract," she said. "I mean, with me and..." She stopped. She'd been about to say Angel...nothing more opposite than a vampire and the Slayer. But that hardly fit into the 'making it work' category. She grimmaced. Obviously she hadn't gotten out of the habit of thinking in terms of 'Angel and me'--yet she hadn't thought about him a single time since arriving at Giles'. Somehow her Watcher filled the gap like nobody else could. Even now, remembering that Angel was gone, the sadness seemed remote, not really worthy of her attention.

Giles didn't seem to notice her pause, but his teasing took on a gentler tone. "You had the most peaceful, empty look to your eyes. I was beginning to wonder if you'd been possessed."

"Yeah, possessed by boredom maybe." Buffy stuck her tongue out at the pile of leather-bound books in front of her and shoved her chair back from the table. "And I wasn't the only one."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Well, if you were watching me zone out, it can't be like you were desperately interested in your subject matter."

"The subject matter was fascinating," Giles said loftily, and Buffy stared sideways at him. Did he mean the books...or her? Another weird thought, and she backed away from it.

"Too much thinking, not enough action," she said, trying to keep the complaint out of her voice. "I'm hungry. And tired. And I don't know if patrolling is doing any good, but I guess I've got to keep it up--look for anything out of place."

Giles nodded. "I can help with the former," he said, as she paced around the boxes in the living room. "As to the rest of it, I'm afraid you're right. If there were anything, we would have found it by now. Even the pages Willow stole from the books of Ascension have no mention of what to expect..."

Buffy stopped and twisted around. "That's it!" she said.

"Hmm?"

"The books of Ascension. Where do you suppose they are right now?"

Giles took off his glasses and rubbed a hand through his hair, mussing it. "I suppose the Mayor had them disposed of, or otherwise locked away."

"But Giles--" Buffy came forward, resting her hands on the table, leaning forward eagerly. "He thought he'd win! He was sure of it. If you were going to turn into a giant snake, and eat everybody, then would you care about the books you'd use to do it, afterwards? I bet they're still in his offices in City Hall. No one's dared to go anywhere near the place yet."

"And I suppose you're suggesting that we two, alone, should sneak into Mayor Wilkins' heavily guarded stronghold, without back-up or assistance, and search for books that have probably long since been taken elsewhere?"

"When you say it, it sounds like crap," Buffy said.

"My apologies. I'm just trying to discern whether you've seriously examined the risks of this--and I use the word lightly--'plan'."

Buffy slapped the leather cover shut on the book she'd been staring at fruitlessly for the last couple of hours. Giles winced at the force, but she grinned unrepenantly. "Nope, I haven't. That's your job. You can think about it, and lecture me while we eat. And then we'll go anyway, because it's the only thing that makes sense, and you already know it."

"And meanwhile, you will be...?"

"Calling my mom. She's probably freaked that I didn't come home last night." She reached for the phone. She turned back again and asked, "Hey, Giles, do you cook? 'Cause toast is about the extent of my culinary skills."

"As a matter of fact--"

"Great! I'll just be a sec." Buffy wandered into the living room as she dialed. She suspected that Giles was as able in the kitchen as he was in the library. Sometimes after patrol, she'd drop by, and just the smell coming from his apartment would remind her of Faith's words--"Slaying always makes me hungry or horny." Well, hungry anyway, she thought. The other...but she didn't really want to examine her feelings about that, not now.

"Hello?"

"Mom?"

"Buffy! Where have you been?" Her mom's voice was harsh, and Buffy felt a twinge of guilt for forgetting her.

"I'm sorry I didn't call," she started. "I was with Giles all night, and--"

"With Giles! Buffy--" Mom sounded shocked, scandalised.

The implication of what she'd said hit Buffy. "Mom! We were researching!" she hissed, blushing furiously, not wanting Giles to hear from the next room. "I can't believe you'd think--ew--Mom, you're worse than Xander."

"Buffy, I didn't mean--"

"Yeah, uh, well, let's not go there, anyway." The phone felt cool against her cheek. "There's a new evil thingy in town, and Giles and me are going to look for more information tonight. I'll come home to get some things, but then I'll be out late again."

"You've been out late every night this week," Mom sighed. "I'm worried about you."

"I know...Mom...but, you know, during summer vacation I can patrol later...and, I can think."

There was a long silence, and Buffy sat on the couch, feeling her mom's presence on the other end of the phone line, like a strut holding her up. In a lot of ways life was more difficult now that her mom knew about the Slaying, but the not-hiding--that was worth all the worry she'd caused. There was more support, now, and understanding, even if there were more safety lectures to go with it.

Finally, her mom spoke again. "How are you feeling, Buffy? You sound tired."

"I'm good, now." Buffy said the words before she'd thought, and realised with a dull surprise that they were true. She felt better than she had since...well, before her eighteenth birthday, anyway. "Tired, yeah. Giles and me are going to have dinner, then go out patrolling. Should be interesting."

"Not too interesting, I hope," Mom said lightly.

Buffy smiled wryly into the phone. "We'll be careful," she said. "Don't get too Mom-ish."

"Sometimes I can't help it."

"I know. Bye." Buffy set the phone back on its cradle. The dish of feeling-good seemed to come with a side of guilt. It wasn't her fault that Angel had left, but somehow it seemed that 'true love' should have a longer expiry date than a week after someone walked out of the relationship. Did that mean that she hadn't loved him, truly?

She got up and walked to the kitchen on Slayer-soft feet. Giles was facing the stove, his back to her, an apron tied around his waist. He was whistling softly through his teeth, a song she remembered but couldn't name. He looked good, like he belonged in this space. It seemed to be the only room that had escaped the books, and he moved through it easily, reaching for spices without looking, not making a mess but not getting anal about being clean either.

"What smells good?" she asked, leaning on the counter that separated the living room from the kitchen.

Giles turned, unhurried, a wooden spoon in one hand. "An old family recipe," he said, "handed down the Giles line from father to son on the deathbed."

Buffy raised her eyebrows and leaned forward further on her crossed arms, and sniffed. "Wow, really? It's quick."

"Yes. And I think that you are worthy of knowing its secret."

"Whoa, Giles, I don't want to trample your family's traditions, I mean, if it's like, a sacred Watcher meal or something--"

Giles held up his hand for silence. "And the secret is: it's canned soup." He pointed to the empty can, sitting on the counter beside the stove. "Chicken noodle, to be precise."

Buffy rolled her eyes. "You're laughing at me again."

"And you're making it easy. You are exceptionally gullible today. And that, my dear Slayer, is reason number one why this little jaunt into the Mayor's erstwhile offices is a bad idea."

Buffy entered the kitchen. "So you're taking me up on the lecture thing, huh? It was a joke--and besides, I know you're going to cave. Want me to set the table?"

"By all means. Dishes are in that cupboard." Giles stirred the soup. "We can't assume that the place isn't full of booby traps, both mystical and mundane."

"Yeah, I get that. But when Willow was taken there, we managed..." Buffy had to pass Giles to get to the indicated cupboard, and her words trailed off as she squeezed by him. It was difficult to concentrate on a battle of wits when there was...a table to set. She squeezed past again, with bowls and cups in her hands.

"There were alarms," Giles continued implacably. "And it has been a long time since then. There are bound to be improvements."

"Okay. Traps. Check. Is that the best you can do?" Buffy cleared away the mess of books and papers from the table and placed the dishes opposite one another. Her gaze fell on a sideboard with a few candles among the mess, and she set them at the centre of the table.

"We can't discount the possibility of additional guards--demons, vampires--recently in the Mayor's employ."

"Vamps won't stay if there's no one there to frighten them into being good. They like being on the winning side," Buffy answered, as she rooted through a drawer looking for matches. How long since she'd had a dinner by candlelight? It was nice, when it wasn't part of some evil spell. She found a box of matches and struck one, enjoying the sharp smell for a moment before lighting the candle.

Giles entered, carrying the saucepan. He poured the soup, didn't comment on the candle, and sat down. "Then what of Sunnydale's finest? This is, after all, City Hall we're talking about."

"The police? That's a joke. They wouldn't dare go anywhere near the place. Besides, we'll go in through the roof. But, I guess, if it'll make you feel better..." Buffy took a mouthful of soup, waiting for his question.

When she didn't continue, Giles looked up from his meal. "What?"

"We'll get you into something a little more break and enterish," Buffy said, eyeing him.

"And what, precisely, would that entail?"

Buffy grinned, imagining Giles in black leather, wearing a ski mask. It was a nice visual. "Something dark. Not reflective. I don't know about the glasses."

"Those would be a necessary part, if you want me to search for anything."

"Hmm. Stakes would be best, because swords would shine, but I guess if we kept them sheathed until we get in they would do. And if the books have been moved, we're out of luck, but I seriously doubt there's anybody left guarding the place. So, any more objections?"

Giles tilted his head. The candle glowed dimly between them, shining the dark wood of the table, glinting off their silverware. It was growing dark out, and they hadn't thought to turn on the lights. The room was softer this way, more intimate. Buffy tried to keep her triumphant smile in place--she knew Giles didn't have anything more to add, or he would have said it by now--but she wanted to slide out of the professional shop-talk and say...what? Something about how nice it had been just to spend the day with him, not talking. With Angel she'd always felt compelled to babble. Not here. Giles was comfortable, like old runners. But that wasn't it either...

Finally, Giles nodded an acknowledgement. "I have black clothes," he said. "And sheathes for the swords. I still think this venture is incredibly foolhardy, but in the absence of all other tenable avenues of exploration, perhaps we have no choice but to proceed as you have suggested."

Buffy sniffed, pretending injured dignity. "A simple 'you're right' would do."

"I'm afraid the universe would collapse in on itself if I admitted as much."

"Ha! You're just upset you didn't suggest it first--you'd rather send me off after those books and reward me with a cookie when I get back, ignoring whatever I had to do to get them."

Giles stood and started clearing away their emptied dishes. "That was never true. I always worry, Buffy," he said as he passed behind her, brushing against her back. Buffy shivered. He sounded so sure, so sincere. No wonder it was easy to be comfortable with him.

"I'm going to run a quick patrol on my way home, and change," she said, trying to cover. "I'll meet you there--you drive; we'll be safer coming from different directions, and we'll still be able to get away if necessary."

"All right," he answered softly. He smiled, and she remembered what he'd said about the way she'd taken charge at graduation: You were glorious.

Buffy stood and started gathering her things, quietly watching Giles through the partition, cleaning up the kitchen. "And, Giles," she called from the front door, "thanks for dinner. Your family's lucky to have such great traditions."

Giles sat in his battered old Citroen, resting his chin on his arms, draped over the steering wheel. Darkness had dulled the day's shimmering heat, but the air was sluggish with humidity, still and heavy. It was like a living thing, invading him with each breath, tasting of tar and phlegm. He could feel beads of sweat as they trickled down his back and ribs under his black button-down, like curious fingertips, exploring. He let the idea wash over him, filling him--fingers, short and slim and with exquisitely manicured nails, but callused by long hours gripping sword-hilt or stake. Strong hands. Sinewed, soft-skinned, and powerful, yet innocent. Questioning. Questing...

There was a tap at the passenger side door and Giles jerked upright. Buffy was bent over, looking into the car window, her head cocked to one side. "Geez, Giles, I always seem to find you napping in this thing. I guess nobody ever taught you what parking was all about."

Giles didn't answer. From this angle, he could look straight down the--garment--she wore. It was caught halfway between a mummy's linens and a biker's vest--the black leather wrapped over her shoulders and around her ribcage, but left her arms and midriff bare, and, he suspected, most of her back as well. When she stood up, he could see that she wore matching leather pants, low-slung and just as tight. Her hair was up, but a few blonde wisps, curly with sweat, had escaped her control and straggled down her neck.

Thankful for the cloak of darkness, he took a slow, calming breath before speaking. "Perhaps if you had given me a time window in which to expect your arrival, I might be more presentable." He heard the exasperation in his voice and fought to get control of himself. Now was not the time to indulge in adolescent fantasies.

"I'm sorry. I patrolled a little longer than I meant to. I swung past all the nearer cemeteries. Nothing. Nada. Zip. I'm beginning to get why everybody thinks these vampire things are imaginary." Buffy glanced over her shoulder. "But, I don't know, there's something creepy about tonight--about here."

Giles opened his door and stepped out. The night flowed around him like an affectionate cat, warm and solid. "Could it be the fact that this is the center of the Mayor's power--that you've had bad experiences here in the past?" he asked as he unlocked the trunk.

"'Bad experiences' kinda sugarcoats it, don't you think? You can say her name if you want." Buffy looked around again and rubbed at her arms. "Well, I can't say I'm enjoying memory lane, but this isn't about Faith. I got spidey sense overload, just coming near this place."

He looked up from the gear he had packed. Buffy was looking up at the half-moon, her arms crossed. Despite the heat, her skin was mottled with gooseflesh. "Do you sense a trap?" he asked. Though she often mentioned this 'spidey sense', he had never been able to coax an understandable definition of its powers and limitations from her.

She shook her head. "I'd know if it were a vampire creeping up on me...and it worked for Angel, too, so it's not evil-only. And when Willow does magic, I can feel these little sparks. But it's a random thing, and sometimes it just goes wonky. Tonight it's like that. Shivery. Not 'Danger, danger, Will Robinson!'--more, uh, Hamlet-y."

Giles finished unloading the trunk and shut its lid. "I'm going to make a leap and assume you are referring to Shakespeare's Hamlet," he said, shouldering a pack and handing the two swords to Buffy.

"Yeah." Buffy walked towards the back of the building. "I did make it to a few English classes. Denmark-rotten. You know?"

"Act One, Scene Four. Marcellus to Horatio," he said irritably. He was still having trouble concentrating on the job at hand, and only Buffy's own distraction saved him from having to admit it. He watched the play of moon-shadows on the stone walls of City Hall, the way the bushes rustled limply in the hot damp air, any thing except Buffy, stalking like a panther ahead of him, lithe and predatory. He'd been right about the back of her shirt--or lack thereof.

They stopped at the bottom of the fire escape. Buffy jumped up, grabbed the lowest rung, and hauled the ladder down. It creaked, but not as badly as he'd feared it would. Buffy took the pack from him and gestured for him to go first. Giles backed off, knowing what she'd see if she followed him up.

"After you," he said, with a gentlemanly nod.

"Yeah, right. Because I'm monster bait or because you'll get to enjoy the view?" She raised a suggestive eyebrow.

"I promise not to offend your dignity," he said tightly.

"Uh-huhn. Way to not answer the question." Buffy swung herself upward, carrying swords and pack, climbing with an unconscious agility. Giles stared past the bushes that concealed them from casual sight, ostensibly searching for lurking vampires, but in actuality imagining what he refused to look at. The soft clang of her footsteps faded upwards, and still he waited, focusing his mind.

"Giles?" came the soft whisper from the darkness above his head. "Are you coming up?"

He didn't answer--couldn't--but pushed himself up the ladder anyway. The effort of climbing in the stifling heat soon had him thinking of nothing more than putting one foot above the other and pulling himself up. When he reached the roof, he felt able to look at Buffy again.

She lay on the roof, staring down through the wide windows, her hands cupped around her eyes. "It's dark in there," she offered when he knelt beside her. "Still looks like a boardroom."

Giles opened the pack she'd carried, bringing out a block and tackle to lower them down.

"Are you sure that's going to work this time?" she asked as he set it up. "'Cause dangling helplessly and fighting for your life does not a good combination make."

"I don't know how Angel managed to louse it up so completely," he answered. "It's a simple enough thing to do, if you're experienced."

"Right."

The bitter word fell between them, dead, listless, and Giles looked up. "Buffy?"

She shook her head. "Nothing. Let's get saddled up." She strapped herself into the harness and clipped the rope to her waist. At his nod, she opened the window and dropped inside.

Giles controlled her descent with the winch, until she looked up and nodded, unclipping the rope from her harness. She stood on the boardroom table, peering into the dark corners of the office. She craned her head to look up at him, gesturing around to show she hadn't seen anything. He kept his hands on the rope, ready to haul her up the instant a trap materialized, and for a long moment they both waited. Giles strained to hear anything from inside, knowing that if there were anything to be heard, Buffy would know before he did himself. Finally, with an impatient shrug, Buffy leapt down over the chairs, to the floor. Her boots left footprints in the thin layer of dust on the table. Giles' shoulders relaxed. If any part of the Mayor's power still existed, somebody would have dusted.

He clipped his harness to the tackle and eased over the lip of the open window, then let the rope slide slowly through his fingers until he could stand on the table himself. As his eyes adjusted to the deeper darkness, hidden from moon-glow, he saw exactly what they'd expected to see: an undisturbed room, that looked like it could be used for a conference with the city's aldermen at a moment's notice. Only the dust betrayed it.

Buffy stalked to the door and put a hand on the latch. There was no sudden outcry or burst of klaxons, and they both let out a breath in unison. She looked over her shoulder at him and nodded. He tossed her one sword and unsheathed his own. The faint ring of steel on leather seemed to emphasize the quiet, and they both stood for a moment longer, listening, before Buffy swung the door open. She sprang into the hallway, sword at the ready, turning swiftly to look in both directions. Giles followed more slowly, nodding for Buffy to head to the right. Willow had described the secret cache of books and magic paraphernalia in the hidden cubbyhole behind the desk. They crept through the halls to the Mayor's inner office. The door was locked, but Buffy easily shoved it open.

Light hit them like a blow. Giles squinted and turned away, his sight assaulted by the sudden intense flare. Behind closed eyelids, the world danced with red pulsing light. His eyes were streaming, but he opened them again, searching for the source. His eyes danced with spots, but the fiery pain was fading, and he could see. A whirling, gaping hole in the fabric of reality was spinning above the Mayor's desk. Its radiance exploded through the room like magnesium fire. Color swirled in its depths, bruise-purple, rot-green, pus-yellow.

"What is it?"

Giles turned. Buffy's eyes were still squeezed shut against the glare. She held her sword in both hands, and it reflected the room's light like a laser, cutting through him.

"It's a vortex," he answered. "A link between our world, and..."

"And what?"

He didn't answer. A susurration of sound, like whispers in a strange language, emanated from the vortex. He didn't want to talk. He wanted to listen. The voices were promising him something. He wanted to hear more...

"Giles?"

Buffy's voice was far away now, fading. The vortex's song was growing. He turned toward it, staring, seeing patterns grow and die in its center. His eyes were watering, but he couldn't blink. Didn't want to look away. Didn't want to miss--

"Giles, look out!"

There was a sudden pain and he was slammed to the floor. Buffy stood over him, grappling with a shadowy figure. It seemed to suck light from the room--the only dark thing. Buffy attacked with sword and fists, a blur of motion, and the thing was sent flying across the room, crashing into a bookcase. Buffy sprang after it, sword in hand, and severed its head from its neck. It crumpled into a pile of dust.

Oh, he thought. A vampire. Buffy has found some at last.

That didn't matter now. He wanted to get up and crawl closer to the vortex. He could almost understand what it was saying, and it was important.

But vampires were all around them now, their circle closing. Buffy whirled about, the bright shining sword like fire in her hands. She was a lioness, a sun, swift and golden. The vampires cringed before her, and fought desperately, trying to run now, escape. They were all silent, and Buffy stalked them as if unsure of their location, though Giles could see them like dark pools in sunlight.

None of them have their eyes open, he realized. They're fighting blind, all of them.

He lifted himself up from the floor. He'd lost his own sword somehow. It was unimportant. He inched closer to the vortex, but there was a vampire in his way--a vampire holding his sword. It caught his arm and twisted it around behind, holding him tightly. Its hands were icy.

"Leave us in peace, Slayer," it growled. "Or the Watcher dies."

Buffy turned to face them. The light was brighter now, pulsating higher and higher. Giles squirmed a bit, because he wanted to bathe himself totally in that light, and escape the dark creature that shadowed him from it. The vampire growled in his ear. Giles reached for the blade, and closed his hand on it, twisting it away, disregarding the gash across his palm.

"Let me go," he said, and drove an elbow into the vampire's gut. The sword slipped, and returned, slashing across his chest. Pain flared for a moment, and blood welled up, until his hand and stomach were sticky with it. The vampire swallowed, and Giles felt a cold wetness on his neck--the creature's saliva. It grabbed his hand and licked at it, hungrily, drinking deep.

I'm bleeding rather badly, Giles thought. I wish this thing would let me go. I want to listen...

But then he was dropped to the floor again, cracking his head against the corner of the desk, and the room exploded, and he forgot.

Buffy knew the instant she'd dusted the last vampire. There'd been at least ten of them, and she'd staked eight and beheaded two. The room's silence had a different quality now, emptied, but she knew better than to open her eyes to confirm it. Her nerves were still jangling, like an uncontrollable trembling deep inside, and she squeezed her eyes even tighter shut as she turned toward the source of the light.

"Giles?"

She hurried in the direction of Giles' breathing and nearly tripped over him. He lay on his back on the floor, still as death, smelling of blood and vamp-dust from the one she'd skewered with a thrown stake. She ran her hands over him, feeling the warm stickiness covering his chest and face. His hair was matted with it and there was a huge lump on his forehead. She'd heard the sickening crunch as he'd fallen, and hoped that his near-mystical ability to recover from blows to the head was working the way it was supposed to, keeping him safe. His glasses were broken, the frames twisted and the lenses shattered.

"Giles?" she tried again, but he made no answer. She wanted to see his face, see how bad the damage was, but she shuddered at the thought of looking at anything in this room. Even through closed eyelids, the bright yellow-red light was way scarier than the vamps had been, but worse than all of that combined was the thought that Giles wasn't going to wake up. Her heart flip-flopped at the idea, and she could feel cold panic seeping through her. At least he's breathing. She tried to hold on to that small comfort. It'd be near impossible to get him out the way they'd come in, through the roof. Traps or no traps, it looked like the front door was the only way she was going to get her Watcher out.

She knelt at his waist and hauled him half-upright, so that she could get a shoulder into his mid-section. With a heave, she stood, holding him in a fireman's carry, hugging his knees. There was a sudden gush of blood down her back as his circulation was turned upside down, and Buffy prayed she wasn't hurting anything by lugging him around this way. His bulk was awkward, and he was heavier than his trim figure suggested, but she managed to straighten, grunting as she started for the door. The swords and all the other gear were lost somewhere, but there was no help for that. Giles' arms hung straight down, limp, and his nose bumped the small of her back with each swaying step. He'd be so embarrassed if he were awake. But the trickle of blood hadn't slowed, and Buffy felt the panic returning. She slammed out of the Mayor's office, shoving the door shut behind her, finally blocking off that stupid light.

Why had Giles looked at it? He was the one oh-so-worried about traps, and then he'd walked straight into one. He was good at being Bookguy, but take him out to actually fight evil and he always wound up unconscious and bloody.

And he did it all for her.

"Dammit!" she hissed, feeling tears prick at the corners of her eyes. "Giles, you better wake up from this. Me, gullible? I am so going to explain to you the whole deal between the pot and the kettle," she muttered into his hip. She reached down into her Slayer strength and started jogging for the stairs, straining to balance Giles' weight so that he didn't bump around too much.

There weren't any more nasty surprises waiting for them, and Buffy heaved a sigh of relief when they were free of City Hall at last. She was slick with sweat and blood, and Giles' mass was starting to tell even on her strength. She stumbled the last few feet to the car and opened the passenger side, slinging Giles down as gently as she could manage. Her arms were shaking with exhaustion and fear, and he was still not awake. She reached past him to flick on the interior lights, and looked more closely at his cuts. His shirt was shredded and soaked with blood, and the slash was still seeping. His gashed hand lay palm up in his lap, the fingers limp and half-curled, the blood trickling down over his pants. Fang marks circled the cut where the vampire had fed from him. It had been the sound of the thing's feeding that had allowed her to pinpoint its position, and she'd aimed her thrown stake knowing it would be distracted. It bothered her that it was more interested in eating than in fighting--maybe all the vampires were getting desperate.

But then why hadn't she seen any? Why hadn't there been more biting reports? Where were they all? And why were these ones here, now, just when she and Giles were investigating the Mayor's office?

Buffy shook her head. Right now the questions were less important than looking after Giles. Since the shirt was a write-off anyway, she tore strips of material off it to bind up the hand. She stuffed more cloth into the cut on his chest, and though it had looked serious at first, she could see that it was actually quite shallow. It was his head that worried her. He'd had bumps before, but already his face was puffed and swollen, and his eyebrow was split open. When she checked his eyes, one pupil was dilated nearly fully, and the other had disappeared into the grey-green iris.

Hospital, or straight back to Giles' apartment? Buffy knew where he kept his first aid supplies, and he'd taught her enough about treating concussions over the years. Besides, he'd wigged out when he looked at the weird light in the Mayor's office. What if it was still controlling him, and she left him alone with a bunch of clueless doctors?

Well, no question, that wasn't going to happen as long as she had a say in the matter. She reached into Giles' pants pocket for the keys, mumbling "sorry" even though he was probably so far gone he wouldn't have noticed if she'd pulled them out with her teeth.

"And about 'now'--it's not a moment for a trip to bad image land," she told herself, and walked around to the other side, and put the keys in the ignition, and paused. She knew how Giles felt about her driving. "What he isn't awake for won't hurt him," she said, and started the car.

She was torn between slamming the gas pedal to the floor, to get Giles home as fast as possible, and driving as slowly and cautiously as she could, for fear of crashing and making things worse. Instead she alternated between gas and brake, jerking them forward, until the engine stuttered on the edge of stalling every time she worked up the courage to try for third gear. Giles sagged against the passenger door, and moaned every time the car shuddered to a stop. Under the flicker of passing streetlights, he looked as pale as any vampire.

Buffy forced her attention back to the road, concentrating on the stupid ritual of driving standard--clutch in, shift gears, clutch out, gas in, then brakes, then the whole thing in reverse. Giles didn't even wince at the sound of gears grinding, and that worried her most of all. His eyes were glazed, half-open, but he wasn't looking at anything in particular.

She wrenched the car to a stop in front of his apartment building and ran around to help him inside. He seemed to be more awake now, blinking and shifting, but Buffy wasn't taking any chances. She pulled him upright, wrapping one of his arms around her shoulder, and walking as quickly as she could to the door. Giles' head hung down, and it was hard to offer him much support because of the difference in their heights, but he stumbled along beside her. Just before they entered, Giles jerked away from her, falling to his knees, and heaved up dinner into a potted plant. Buffy crouched beside him, rubbing his back, waiting until he'd finished, and then held him up again as they went inside. She led him to the couch, zigging around the books, and when he only sat, she pushed him down farther until he was lying on his back.

"Stay there," she commanded. "I'm going to get you a bucket in case you hurl again. And then I'm going to clean you up. You don't get to move."

"'S'okay. Don't think I can," Giles said. The words were slurred slightly but still clear, and Buffy felt relief like a physical thing. If he were talking already he couldn't be hurt too bad. Not in a dying-between-one-breath-and-the-next kind of way, at least.

She brought back a bucket and placed it by his head. She poured steaming water into a second bowl, mixing it with antiseptic from the first aid kit. Sitting beside him on the couch, she soaked away the crusty blood smeared down his face and neck. Giles winced and hissed when she brought the cloth closer to the edges of the cut, but she pressed as lightly as she could, until the cut bled freely again, and then gradually stopped on its own. Giles lay back, then, his eyes closed. Without his glasses, he looked younger...she could actually see his whole face.

"There, not so bad," she said. With the blood washed out of his hair, the lump didn't look so frightening anymore. "Think you'll live?"

"Not if they keep up the jackhammering in my skull," he answered.

"No worries. Doctor Buffy to the rescue. I just happen to have prescription painkillers here--not even expired. I guess that's the advantage of getting knocked upside the head so often, you don't even run out of Tylenol 3 between one concussion and the next." Buffy poured a glass of water, then slipped one arm under his shoulders to hold him up while he swallowed the pills. "Now, let's see about the rest of you."

Giles turned his head away and squirmed under her hands. "Leave it."

"You've got a bad cut, there. Two in fact. I'm going to wash them--"

"I think I'll live without these ministrations, Buffy."

"Guys are such babies when they're hurt." Buffy reached for his shirt buttons. "I promise, it'll only sting for the entire length of time I'm actually touching the cut with the cloth."

"Let me sleep."

Buffy stared down at him. He was actually blushing. "No. Giles, you're hurt--and dirty--and concussion patients aren't allowed to, anyway. I'm getting this shirt off. Believe me, it's not like I'm seeing anything new, okay? I won't make jokes."

Giles grunted and said nothing more. Buffy slipped the tattered remains of the black shirt over his shoulders. She'd been lying about one thing--she was definitely seeing something new. Even during training Giles was always Mr. Modesty, and usually she wasn't the one to tend his injuries. She knew, of course, that he was fit, but she was just so used to him hiding his body like a turtle in a tweed shell that she hadn't really thought about it.

Knowing hadn't prepared her for seeing. Giles' chest was thick with muscle, furred with curly dark and silver hairs. His torso tapered down to slim hips, still snug in the tight black jeans. His stomach wasn't flat, but it came close. The hairs were dusted more thinly there, thought a dark patch trailed down from his belly button and continued under the snap of his jeans. Buffy realised where her interested gaze was leading her, and turned back to the matter at hand.

The cut stretched diagonally across Giles' chest, deepest through the paler skin of his ribs under his left arm, and ending in a shallow slice just above his right nipple. Buffy wrung out the cloth and cleaned the blood away, feeling the shape of those muscles through the thin material. The hot water seemed to relax Giles and though he kept his eyes closed, he lay more easily under her touch. His breathing deepened and Buffy knew he'd fallen asleep. She'd have to wake him up every two hours or so to check on him. For now, she enjoyed the silence, and felt freer about watching him. Strange how much she just wanted to sit here staring at him. As if he'd vanish if she blinked. As if she were seeing him for the first time.

The cut wasn't too serious, and already scabs were forming. Buffy supposed it would eventually join the other pale pink scars that twisted over his skin like map-lines. She was glad that she couldn't see his back, and the marks Angelus had made.

Finally, Buffy unwound the strips of shirt from his left and took it carefully in hers, trying not to wake him up. This was a deeper slash, across all four fingers and just above his thumb. It looked like he'd actually tried to grab the sword out of the vampire's grasp. What had he been thinking? Had it been the vortex, clouding his mind, forcing him to try something desperate? The vampire had latched onto the meatiest part of the palm. Buffy curled each finger in turn. Giles mumbled and moved his head in his sleep, but didn't wake. He could still move everything all right, and that was definitely of the good.

Buffy took out fresh gauze, and after cleaning the cut, wrapped it once more. She kept holding Giles' hand, rubbing her thumb over the warm skin of his wrist. The pain medication had done its job, erasing the lines of tension on Giles' forehead and around his eyes. His pulse was a slow, steady thrum against her fingers. Buffy laid his hand in her lap and reached out to brush his damp hair off his forehead, carefully avoiding the lump.

His hair was soft, a real change from Angel's over-enthusiastic use of gel. Buffy let her hand cup Giles' cheek, then trailed her fingers down to his shoulder. He really was very solid. Had to be, she guessed, if he was supposed to keep up with her. And he did--and not just with the training. He always managed to keep up with her, and she knew it was so that he could be there to catch her if she fell... Buffy wondered what his chest hair would feel like beneath her palms. As soft as the hair on his head? Ticklish?

Angel, it seemed, had always been ready to lose his shirt. Maybe he was more built than Giles, but Giles' shyness somehow made seeing him shirtless that much sexier. That thought brought her up short. Had she just used 'Giles' and 'sexy' in the same sentence? Especially the sentence 'Giles is sexier than Angel'? Buffy sat back, letting 'ew' fight with 'no kidding', and finally admitting that it was true, or had become true, some time in the past two days.

Maybe it's just some weird rebound thing, she thought. Maybe it's not him...maybe if Xander were here right now I'd feel the same way.

Except she didn't want Xander here right now. Or Willow, or Oz, or anyone. She didn't even want Angel anymore. Giles' battered, bruised face was all that mattered. Buffy let her fingers drift to his lips. A tingle shot through her as his warm breath tickled her palm. She should probably wake him, but it was so much easier to just go on like this--feeling more than she'd let herself feel for a long time.

If only he saw her as more than just a Slayer, or a schoolgirl, or even a general. She'd learned to do without a father's love a long time ago. It wasn't what she needed from him, what she wanted. Too bad it was all he seemed to be offering...

"Giles?" she asked, and shook his shoulder gently. "Come on, Giles, let's get you upstairs to bed, huh? Best place for victims of head trauma."

His eyes slid open, bleary and unfocused, but he did seem to understand that she was there. "Tired," he said, and turned his face into her hand, pressing into her caress.

"Okay." Buffy reluctantly took her hand away. "You can sleep here. I'm gonna check on you, though, right?"

"Hmm." He was already falling back asleep.

"Good night, Watcher," she whispered, and leaned close to kiss his lips lightly before running upstairs.

Pain drummed through Giles' head, a dull aching throb that washed nausea over him with each heartbeat. His legs were cramped from sleeping on his couch, which was a few inches short of comfortable. Light pouring through the wide windows heated his face, and he remembered--

Nothing.

He had managed to injure his head--again. That much was plain. Had Buffy brought him home? He remembered--

A light? And voices. Calling him. Offering him the world.

A blanket was tucked around him. Beneath it he was shirtless and dressed in jeans stiff with bloodstains. Giles pushed himself up to a sitting position, and held his head in his hands until the room stopped spinning. He pushed down the nausea, swallowing hard, and then reached for his glasses. They were gone, not anywhere within arm's reach. He had an extra pair in his desk, but the idea that he'd been hurt badly enough to lose his glasses--without which the world two feet past his nose was a half-guessed blur--was rather frightening. He stared at his left hand, bound with layers of white gauze. Surely he'd been with Buffy last night? She had washed his wounds. It had been her hand on his back, holding him, when he vomited outside.

Or was that all part of a dream he'd slipped into? A vision--the voices giving him what he wanted--as they'd promised--except perhaps that was the dream.

Giles stood, and let his body adjust to the fact that it was still mobile, and stumbled to the bathroom behind the kitchen. Staring into the mirror above the sink, he gingerly prodded at the purple bruise on his forehead. Bandages held the edges of the cut on his eyebrow closed. The sword cut across his chest was itchy and tender.

He stripped off the ruined jeans and stepped under the hot spray of the shower, enjoying the sting of the water washing out the pain. Memories started creeping back, and he felt shame flood through him at how useless he'd been--worse than Wesley--walking wide-eyed into the Mayor's office. Buffy had said she'd felt something and he'd disregarded her warning, thinking too much...or, more accurately, not enough. The vortex was probably a standard portal, linking dimensions. A demon could easily slip through, using a standard inattention spell to mask its activities.

Maybe he should just nip off to City Hall again, to confirm his guess.

With an impatient grunt, he turned off the water taps, and reached for a towel. The thing was still calling to him, faintly. The longing to gaze into its depths, to step through...it crawled through him, raising all the little hairs on the back of his neck. He shook his head, and the sudden jangling ache helped push the mesmerizing desire away. He wrapped the towel around his waist and headed out past the kitchen, gathering up his spare glasses from a drawer as he passed. Glancing at the disarray Buffy had created before dinner last night, he realised they'd been approaching the mystery from the wrong angle. What they needed to do was...The thing he'd forgotten was...

The thought danced beyond his reach. Giles swore and headed for the stairs. He needed clothes, and then tea, and then quite possibly more sleep. His bedroom door was ajar, and without thinking he pushed it wider and stepped in.

Buffy was sleeping on his bed, on top of the covers, wearing only one of his button-down shirts. The early sunshine gilded her, but Giles saw her as she had been in the darkness last night. He'd roused slightly, to see her standing over him, the back of her hand cool and gentle against his cheek, her eyes full of worry. "You still hanging in there, Watcher-man?" she'd asked, and he'd mumbled, and then when he awoke again she was gone. He'd wanted to tell her that he was all right, but the words had wedged in his throat, because of what she'd done earlier--

Buffy had kissed him. The briefest press of her lips against his had cut through the pain and disorientation and now he was remembering it all. Buffy stretched and burrowed deeper into the pillow, and Giles looked away from the sight of his Slayer spread out over his bed like an invitation...Which it obviously wasn't. She trusted him enough to sleep in his bed, without fear that he might press himself on her. It--the kiss--had meant nothing to her. He was sure it was just an expression of her worry over him, the fact that she'd never before done anything of the sort notwithstanding. Furthermore, she was probably under the impression that he'd be sleeping off this damnable head injury for days.

But what had she been thinking? What had it really meant?

Why was he still standing here, when she could wake at any moment?

Giles grabbed a change of clothing from the tallboy and stalked out of the room, his frustrated steps jolting in time with his headache. She was concerned. She felt responsible for him, despite the fact that he'd been the one to foul up so completely as to be taken unawares by a vampire. That was the extent of the matter, and if he had any sense left after another crack to the head, he would let it rest there.

He left the room and changed, then went to the kitchen to make himself a cup of tea. He tried to concentrate on the books, because he knew there was more to what he'd seen. The whirling, gaping maw--the colours--but all he could think of was Buffy leaning over him, and the touch of her whispered goodnight against his lips.

At the sound of her light tread on the stairs, he looked up. She had changed back into last night's patrol outfit, very much the worse for wear after being bloodied, dusted, sweat-stained, and half-heartedly washed. He wondered what she'd done with his shirt.

"Good morning," she called down. "Feeling better?"

"Yes, quite." Giles stood to return his tea-tray to the kitchen.

"You don't sound it. Get up on the wrong side of the couch?" Buffy pounded down the stairs, her weapons bag slung over one shoulder. "I tried to move you, but, you know, you can be very stubborn when you're semi-conscious."

Giles closed his eyes against the sound of the thump as she tossed the satchel to the floor in front of the doorway. "Must you stomp so heavily?"

"Sorry." Buffy sat at the table, her face flushed at his reprimand, but her smile shining through her embarrassment irrepressibly. "You need more pain pills?"

"No--I'm fine."

"Maybe I could help you out today--getting these books organised? After I go home and change and all." Buffy gestured at the stacks surrounding her. "I'm sure we could rent you a storage locker somewhere. Or the museum, I bet they'd be thrilled to have your collection on loan. What say? I figure you probably don't want to move much, or read, if it hurts your head. And training's out, definitely. I want a healthy Watcher."

He didn't answer for a long moment, and Buffy's smile faded. "No...it's probably best to leave the books for the time being," he said. "What concerns me is this vortex in the Mayor's office..."

"Yeah--that." Buffy wrinkled her nose. "Not of the good. And you--well, I don't know. When you looked at it. What was that about?"

"It was..."

Light, and colour, and sound. Singing. Deep inside him, a summons. And behind that, an ugly fear. I could forget myself there...

"Giles?" Buffy's frightened voice brought him back to himself. "Giles, you're doing it again."

Giles stared down at her, at the wide blue eyes, at the hand extended towards him as though to help him stand. "It's nothing. Perhaps I'll take one of those pills after all."

"All right." Buffy went for the first aid kit and brought back the bottle. She rattled out two tablets and handed them to him, then rushed to get him a drink of water. "I'm sorry I was loud earlier," she said, this time with a worried sincerity.

Giles grunted, irked by her concern, scratchy with a sudden thirst. He tilted the glass up, searching for every droplet of moisture. Without a word, Buffy took the cup from him and filled it again. "I think we would have discovered more if those damned vampires hadn't interrupted us," he growled. "They're probably slaved to it. Taking from it."

"From the vortex? You think those were its hench-vamps?"

"Not the vortex. The--" The thing inside. The promiser. The voice. Giles reached for words and continued, "The fact remains that they were working co-operatively, despite the fact that they were all obviously hungry, and they came upon us at a most inopportune moment. One cannot help but wonder what influence brought these circumstances about."

"Yeah, I don't know, Giles. I don't think it was a trap the way you're thinking. Those vamps didn't care about us, except that we were in their way. I don't know what they did want, but..." Buffy shrugged. "Seems to me vampires and vortexes are unmixy things. So maybe they were there, like, to try and close it?"

"Vampires are not usually fond of magic as a solution. Even Spike couldn't perform a love spell."

"So let me guess--more research?"

"Yes." He waved a hand to stop her when she stood up and started for the table. "For me. I think it's time you reacquainted yourself with your mother, Buffy. This is the third day we've spent on this particular mystery. It's best if you went home, rested."

Buffy stared at him incredulously. "Oh," she managed, and stopped. "But, Giles, you're hurt, and--I want to help, you know. And, if you're going to keep blanking out..."

"I am perfectly capable of tending to myself," he said, far more harshly than he intended. "This is hardly the first time I've been injured in the course of my Watcher duties, though it may be the first instance that you've bothered to notice."

Surprise turned to hurt. "I notice..."

"As you did last summer?" The words were out before he managed to censor himself, and Giles felt regret slam like lead into his stomach. All his anger welled up at once, at himself for speaking without thinking, and at her, for stirring up feelings he had once thought so well hidden.

"I did notice...I saw you, at school," she said, her voice numbed. "I knew. It was part of why I had to go."

"I see." Giles turned away, not willing to face what he saw in her eyes. He hurt, hurt so badly, itched, wanted...

"You don't. I hurt you--it was my fault--"

"Yes, it was." Giles leaned on the table, feeling his head throb, his cuts suddenly on fire.

"But it's not like that anymore, Giles. I--last night--"

Anger, hot and seething, crashed through his head. "Last night you wanted to forget Angel." His voice hoarse, he added, slow and soft, spitting each word out: "You were only disappointed that I wasn't mobile enough to help you."

"No! That's not true--" Tears were bright in Buffy's eyes, but she held her ground, shouting. "He's gone. Poof. And I'm starting to wonder if he were ever here..." Then, in a broken whisper, "...or if you were. The way I thought."

"Unfortunately I do not have the luxury of forgetting his presence." Giles kept his voice steady, but his anger raged beneath the veneer of composure. "Do you think you can just wave Angel away and what he did doesn't matter anymore?"

Her eyes widened and her face went white, as though all her blood had been drained. She touched the white scar at her neck, still livid against her skin despite a Slayer's healing. "No," she whispered. "I can't."

With a sudden jarring wrongness, Giles heard the words he'd been saying, and started, "Buffy--"

"I--I have to go." She stumbled back towards the door.

"Don't--"

But the word was whispered to an empty apartment, though somewhere, in the distance, the voices were laughing.

Buffy slipped into the house, feeling like a sneak, hoping that Mom had already left for work. She closed the door softly behind her, then leaned back against it. Misery burned behind her eyes, and a huge aching lump had settled in her throat somewhere between Giles' apartment and home. Yesterday's dirt and grime and blood covered her like an ugly reminder. Tiredness drugged her and pulled her head down, stranding her here, unable to move, or think. Slow tears leaked down her cheeks, and she slumped down until she was sitting with her back to the door, hugging her knees, burying her face in her arms.

"Buffy? Is that you?" Mom's bright voice called from the kitchen. Too cheerful. Too ordinary. Like there wasn't evil in the world...

Buffy swallowed past her closed throat. "Yeah."

"What's the matter?--Oh, Buffy!" Mom rushed to her side. "Are you all right? Are you hurt?"

"No. And no." Buffy tilted her head back, closed her eyes. She didn't want to see the worry on Mom's face. She wanted to be alone, to curl up around Mr. Gordo and forget.

"Is it this new demon you and Mr. Giles were hunting? Did it do something? Buffy, answer me."

"No...Mom...don't. It's not Slayer stuff, okay? I'm fine." Buffy pushed herself up, kept her face turned away from Mom, and started up the stairs. Anything to get away...

"Wait just a moment, young lady."

Buffy rolled her eyes and turned back. Mom stood at the bottom of the stairs, holding the banister in both hands. Her mouth was pursed and she frowned, her eyes searching. "You once accused me of not seeing the blood on your clothes, or the bruises from your fights. Well, I'm seeing too much of both right now, and a lot of tears besides. I'm in the know, now, Buffy. You don't need to hide from me. What's wrong?"

"Oh, Mom--" Buffy shook her head. It had taken nearly a year for Mom to accept the Chosen One destiny stuff, but this? She'd never understand. Hell, Buffy didn't understand it, and she was the one it was happening to...

Mom climbed up to stand beside her and wrapped her arms around her, filth and all. Buffy sank into the hug, letting Mom support her, pressing her face into her shoulder. "You know you can tell me anything," Mom said softly. "It's okay."

"'S'not." Buffy burrowed closer, letting the sobs closer to the surface. She'd gone crazy, seen things that weren't there, imagined that Giles felt--or could feel--and then he'd said-- He'd told her the truth, as he saw it, and he was right. Too right. And now he was hurt again, and alone. What if he got worse while she was gone?

Mom murmured into her ear, "Let's get you cleaned up, and then we can talk. I can call the gallery--"

Buffy sniffed. "Don't not go to work for me, Mom. I can take care of myself."

"No, it's time we actually sat down and talked, Buffy. I'm not going to ignore my daughter in order to go catalogue eighteenth-century statuary." Mom pulled back and smiled, wiping Buffy's tears away with her thumbs. "Besides, look at us. We're a mess."

Buffy glanced down and saw that she'd smeared her muck all over Mom's blouse. "Sorry," she said.

"Hugs are more important than clothing, sometimes," Mom answered. "Are you sure you're all right? Is this just demon slime? And should I use bleach or spot remover?"

"Just cold water." Buffy backed away and crossed her arms. "It's Giles. He was hurt. I had to carry him..."

"Oh, my God, is he all right?"

Buffy shrugged, still not looking in Mom's eyes.

"Well, silly question, I suppose," Mom said doubtfully. "If you've managed to tear yourself away from his side he must be firmly among the living."

Another shrug. "Yeah."

"You're sure?"

"I said, yeah. I'm going to take a shower." Buffy nearly ran to escape Mom's questions. She didn't know, really, if Giles was okay. Physically, he seemed to be recovering as fast as he usually did, but there was still something wrong. Yeah, just because he starts being straight with you, you gotta chalk it up to one to many hits to the head, she thought. He tells you how he really feels and you assume he's gone over the edge.

Well, but what if he had? This was not her Giles. This was not the stuffy, tweed-wearing, stiff-upper lip, insufferably British Watcher, or even the more recent version of him she'd come to know--the caring, laughing, tickling guy who looked way too good in jeans and who teased her so easily. The guy she wanted to get to know better, even after all this.

It had all started after he'd looked at the damn vortex...

Maybe it was magic. She needed Willow to figure that one out, but she was gone with the Dingoes for another couple of days. Buffy couldn't leave Giles alone that long, just because he'd said some things...just because he'd pointed her directly at a truth she'd been avoiding as well as she could, and all but laughed at her when she couldn't ignore it anymore.

Does every guy have to go whacko just when I realize I love them...?

Love...

Oh, Giles.

Buffy returned to her room after her shower and looked at the crumpled outfit lying on her bed. It was pretty revealing, even for her--not exactly the best for break-and-enter work. Better for catching a man's eye, maybe. But he'd been as professional as ever...

But that shouldn't stop her from helping him. She could be professional, too, if she could just figure out what to do. Buffy pulled on fresh clothes and tromped downstairs. Mom was waiting in the living room with coffee and donuts, mostly jellies. Buffy smiled and joined her on the couch and for a few moments just enjoyed breakfast. Amazing how much happened between two meals. Last night, with Giles, things had been simpler. Now...

"Buffy, there's something I need to tell you."

Buffy looked up at Mom's words. It sounded like things were about to get complicated--again. Or still. Or more. Whatever.

"And I don't want you to hate me for it, but I'd understand if you did...it's not one of my more shining moments." Mom shifted on the couch, and Buffy stared at her, mutely asking for her to continue. "Before your prom, I went to Angel..."

"Mom--"

Mom shook her head and kept going. "I asked him to leave...I told him I thought he could never make you happy. I wanted to tell you, but since he's left, you've been so miserable...and now I wonder if I did the right thing."

There was a long silence. Buffy thought back to the day in the sewers when Angel had dumped her, Mom's words in his mouth. She tried to be angry, but it fell flat. There was just nothing left to feel for Angel, a week gone and forgotten. She had newer regrets that pierced closer to her heart.

"You did the right thing." The shock on Mom's face was so funny that Buffy managed a smile. "You did," she repeated. "Angel and me--there was always Angelus between us. And I couldn't grow up and remember what he'd done...not even when Giles told me..."

"Are you sure that Mr. Giles is all right? You look worried."

"He said he could research by himself today..." Buffy stood and started pacing. "I'm not much help with that, I guess. I wish Willow was here..."

Mom stood and put her hands on Buffy's shoulders. "Stop fretting. You might not be the best researcher, Buffy, but you can still help," she said consolingly. Then, good-naturedly, she added, "Why don't you go beat up Willy?"

Buffy let out a snort of laughter. "Mom! I can't believe you're actually encouraging me to injure a human."

"Well, I'm just trying to help. Isn't that your part of research? 'Roughing up the snitch'? I'm sure Mr. Giles will be glad of any information you bring him."

"I guess you're right." If it was magic making Giles this way, she'd find out, and she'd find a cure. And perhaps she could find out where all the vampires had gone at the same time. She really should have thought of it before. "Yeah," she said with more enthusiasm. "Thanks. You're the best mom a Slayer could ever have."

Mom hugged her close again. "All right. There. You see, it's not so difficult telling me what's bothering you."

Buffy half-smiled, thinking of all the talks they'd have to have, once she and Giles had figured everything out. "I suppose so," she said wryly, and headed for the door.

"And Buffy--"

"Yeah?"

"Don't forget your stakes."

Willy's Place stank of beer and dust and sweat, but the more exotic stench of demons was obvious by its absence. Buffy wrinkled her nose as she approached the bar. Willy was wiping out steins with a rag, his back to her. She tapped his shoulder and looked innocent when he squealed and jumped around.

"Oh, it's you," he said flatly. "Gee, if it isn't the Slayer," he said loudly to the room at large. Not a single patron so much as looked up. "Humans," he muttered.

Buffy followed his gaze. The place was nearly deserted. "Not really your usual clientele, eh, Willy?"

"No kidding. And they don't drink enough to keep a bar in business, either. Humans, they don't like the atmosphere."

"You've really maintained the dank," she offered.

"Oh, thanks, thanks. Yeah, you get a couple slime demons in heat every now and again, and time just does the rest." Willy shrugged, and his beady eyes narrowed. "What do you want, anyway?"

"Trying to figure out where the nightlife's at these days."

Willy's face twisted in a grimace that made him look even more like a ferret. "Search me," he said, the nasal whine in his voice even more apparent. "When you put the Mayor out of business, you never really stopped to do a cost-benefit analysis of the effect on us smaller entrepreneurs, did you? I ain't had a regular in here for a week."

"Yeah?" Buffy glanced around. No one was listening, or even paying attention. Like the rest of Sunnydale, Willy's was too quiet to make sense. "What about the un-regulars?"

"Most of 'em have emigrated, I guess." A shrug, and Willy went to pull a pitcher for one of the back tables.

Buffy held on to the shreds of her patience. He thought she already knew, whatever it was, and it would be best not to be too obvious about her own cluelessness. She waited for him to return and stuff the cash into the register before asking, "Emigrated?"

"Sure." Willy casually wiped at the bar. "I mean, you open a portal when you're preparin' to snake your way into the next dimension, and then what? You just leave it behind after you get turned into boot-leather material? You gotta expect somebody's gonna use what's just lying around, am I right?"

Buffy leaned forward. "The Mayor made that vortex?"

"Yeah...boy, you're more out of the loop than I am. Maybe this is all worth something to you?" Willy grinned, showing off weasel-teeth, and rubbed his forefinger against his thumb. "I got a business to maintain here, you know?"

"You'll have kindling if you don't tell me what I want to know." Buffy picked up the nearest bar stool and gripped its leg hard enough to make the wood splinter.

"Okay, okay." Willy held up his hands. "I get it. Vampires, they ain't the best at keeping secrets. Less slaying, more drinks, that's the ticket. You get enough Jimmy Dean in 'em and they don't care whose minions they are anymore."

"What's in that vortex?"

"A demon, of course. Trying to get through to here, like. It's maybe halfway through...hunting vamps on this side, enticing the 'un-regulars' over to that side. Sucking power from 'em all, like a big old Electrolux. I heard it all from a vampire trying to get out of town. He was hungry. I had to give him the last of my stock to keep my neck intact."

Buffy stood and grabbed Willy by the collar, hauling him half across the bar. "Now," she said brightly. "The only question that matters. You interested in your neck, you'll answer quick and you'll be right." She twisted the shirt until he choked, then loosened her hold. "The vortex. What does it do to humans?"

"I--I don't know..."

"Wrong answer!" Buffy jerked her fist tighter until Willy's face turned purple, and then let him breathe. "When a human looks at the vortex. What happens to him?"

"I don't know! Geez, ease up, will you? Always before, all the humans were snake-food before this point, so they say. Usually an ascended demon--well--ascends! Through the portal. It closes. End of story."

"Not," she answered, but let him slide back down. "It's not, this time."

"Yeah, and whose fault is that? Stop an Ascension, expect some consequences, that's what I say." Willy rubbed at his throat, and pouted at her. "Why not go ask a vampire? They're the only ones who know anything. They're the ones not on good terms with your friendly neighborhood evil-suck."

"If I could find one," Buffy muttered.

"Why not ask Broody McBadPosture?" Willy asked. "He's been around."

Buffy looked up sharply. "Now you're the one out of the loop," she said. "He's gone."

"Huh." Willy tilted his head. "So are you free, then? 'Cause let me tell you, I cook a mean bisque. My mom'll clear out if I ask."

Buffy felt her mouth drop open. "Are you asking me to go out with you?"

"Well, yeah." Willy grinned. "So, whaddaya say? A date?"

"No!" Buffy slammed a fist into the bar, and they both looked at the resulting dent. "First I have to save the world. And second, you're a slimy squealing demon-bar snitch. And third--you still live with your mother?"

Willy sniffed disdainfully. "There's someone else, isn't there?"

Buffy smiled back. "Oh yeah. Big time."

Willy nodded. "I guess that's it then. How bout you never come back again?"

"No promises," Buffy said. As she escaped the dank, she thought, there's somebody else, all right. Now all I have to do is save his ass and tell him so.

Giles' door crashed off its hinges and swung inside, crunching against the wall. Buffy stood silhouetted in the opening, wearing Xander's hand-me-down army fatigues and a spaghetti-strapped tank top. She had a smouldering, smoking, blanket-wrapped body heaved over one shoulder and her weapons satchel slung over the other. With a negligent shrug, she pitched the body to the floor, disregarding the dull thud of its landing. The weapons bag followed a moment later, clattering, and Buffy rummaged through its contents. She plucked out a pair of thick iron handcuffs and snapped them shut around her prey's wrists, squeezing until the pale skin was pinched in the clasps. She dragged her victim out of the blanket by his bound hands to the staircase. She left, then, skipping down into the basement, only to return a moment later, a length of chain jangling in her hands. She twined it around the handcuffs and the newel posts of the banister. A large padlock was the final touch, and Buffy gave a decisive nod at the chunk of its bolts slamming closed.

Giles stood in the centre of the room and stared at her. Buffy glanced up at him, but then her gaze skittered away. She folded her arms and looked down at the lightweight combat boots she wore. The triumphant warrior disappeared, leaving only an uncertain girl, nervous and unsure. He followed her as she gaped at the apartment. The stacks of boxes had been reduced to a scattered pile of folded cardboard. The bookcases that lined the room strained under their new burden.

"You've been cleaning," she offered.

"Cataloguing, mostly," he said. "Would you care for some tea?"

Buffy looked up at him sharply, and actually took a step back. "How're you feeling?" she countered.

Giles lifted a hand to the bruise on his forehead. The pain had long since vanished, but the squirming desire to leave, to get out, to find the vortex and let it wholly into his mind, had only grown. Buffy seemed diminished, reduced by his silence. Xander's pants hung on her ridiculously, though they'd obviously been tailored down to her size, and the forest-green tank top was as close to a concession to modesty as he'd ever seen her wear. Even her shoes were sensible. The simple, innocent trust of spandex and Lycra had been broken, and he didn't know if that meant their relationship had been destroyed...or somehow strengthened. He paused for a moment longer, but she was looking up at him now. Her blue eyes were steady and resolved as she waited for his answer.

"I believe, if nothing else, that I am going slowly insane," he said calmly.

"Yeah," she said, equally calm. "That's kinda what I was thinking, too."

"Well, it's nice to be on the same page." Giles looked pointedly at the unconscious body chained to his staircase. "Perhaps you'd care to enlighten me?"

"He's a vampire," Buffy said. She dug a toe into its ribs, but it didn't stir. "How do you feel about him?"

"I--I want rather badly to kill him in the most painful way imaginable." The words came tumbling out, spoken sooner than thought. Giles clenched his hands into fists, not noticing the bandaged left. He wanted, needed a weapon. Holy water. He'd dribble it over the vampire, watch it etch like acid, smoke rising from the sizzling sores. He'd listen to the thing's whimpers of pain; he'd make it squeal before he was done. Red streaks livid against pale skin. Then--he'd carve a stake in front of it, so it would know its fate--

"Giles!" Buffy stood directly in front of him, and he wondered how she'd managed to cross the room so quickly, and without him seeing her.

"I, um, why is it still alive?" he muttered. "You're the Slayer. You should, uh, kill it. Do you want me to--because I--"

"Giles, snap out of it!"

Giles shook his head. He stared over her at the vampire's sprawled body, waiting for its first stirring twitch. "I will destroy it. It will know its own futility. I will not suffer a vampire to continue its existence. I will rule--"

Buffy hauled back and smacked him across the face. The bright stinging pain shot through him, and Giles looked down at her, startled. His cheek burned. The blow seemed to remind him of his other injuries, and his head started pounding to remind him he was concussed, and his left hand throbbed inside its bandages. "You hit me," he said.

"No kidding." Buffy reached up to touch the spot she'd whacked but then pulled back. "You do kinda get the fact that all this crazy talk--it's because you're under the control of the lighty thing in the Mayor's office, right?"

"Yes," he sighed. She was so close. Ice blue eyes, watching him. He could see the weariness beneath the surface and knew that he had done that to her--hurt her, with his words. He wrenched himself away from her and started pacing, not looking at her. "All day it's been calling. I needed to go to it. I--I was waiting for you, though. Needed you too. Maybe more. Cataloguing helped."

"Hey--" Buffy held out a hand and caught him by the wrist, stopping his pacing. "Giles..." She lifted her hands to his face, holding him, pulling him gently until he was forced to look at her. Her eyes had darkened, ice blue melting to distant ocean. Her hands were cool against his heated skin, and she drew his face even closer, reaching up to touch her lips to his. Giles gasped, deep in his throat, trying at first to back away, but Buffy followed after him until her body moulded against his. She deepened the kiss, her mouth slanting over his, her tongue probing. The sweet warmth of her body seeped into him, and Giles felt the taste of her filling his soul with a vivid clarity. His eyes drifted closed, and he gave himself up to the kiss, seeking what she offered. Her hands slid up into his hair, and she rubbed at the small muscles at the back of his head until he was limp and trembling in her arms. At last, they parted, a soft ending filled with promise.

"Thank you," Buffy whispered.

Giles slipped his arms around her, leaning on her, needing her strength. "For what?" he asked.

"For not going. For me."

"Oh."

"'Oh'? That's the best you can do?" Buffy's tone was exasperated but her smile belied the words. "Aren't you going to confess your undying love?"

Giles tightened his grasp, hugging her close. "Aren't you?"

"Oh, bloody hell, would you two lovebirds get a room? I'd rather save a cute cuddly puppy from a lawnmower than watch any more of this."

Buffy broke away from Giles and they both looked down at the vampire.

"He's awake," Buffy said flatly.

"Well, if the poor girl doesn't have a nice firm grasp of the obvious," the vampire snarled, glaring at them. "You may have got lucky with me once, Slayer, but clearly brains weren't involved." He tugged against the chains experimentally once or twice. "A bit tight, this, don't you think? You'd've cut off my circulation...if I had any."

"I find I still want to kill him rather badly, though--" Giles looked at his hurt hand and winced as he flexed it. "Though I think it's mostly my own desire, and not the vortex's."

Buffy smiled and hugged him. "Yay for the power of smoochies!" she said. "It's just like Sleeping Beauty."

"Though I would prefer not to be cast as Aurora," Giles said dryly. "Besides, I wasn't asleep."

The vampire growled and yanked on the chains. The banister groaned and one of the posts crackled and splintered. "Not much for bondage after all, I see," he said, and started to heave against the chains again. Buffy grabbed his wrist and stopped him, squeezing until he yelped.

"I wonder what the odds are that you could break through every post in Giles' staircase before I could slam a stake through your heart?" she asked cheerfully. "Giles?"

"I'm not a betting man," Giles answered. "Buffy, could we please torture him now? I don't think this newfound clarity of mine is going to last indefinitely."

"Oh, fine." Buffy pouted up at him. "Hand me my holy water?"

Giles lifted the weapons bag and rooted through until he found a large vial inscribed with a cross. He tossed it to her, and followed it with her favourite stake, its grip shiny from long years in her hands.

"Now," Buffy said, as she uncapped the bottle. "We can do this the easy way--" She dipped one finger into the water and then held up a single droplet on the end of her finger, suspending it over the vampire's face. "--or we can do it the hard way."

"Oh, come on! That's supposed to scare me? Do you know how many times I've been tortured in my hundred-some-odd years? That's about the lamest thing I've ever--Ow!"

Buffy had upended the entire bottle of holy water over the vampire's crotch. His expression twisted into game-face, and he growled and writhed on the floor. Even through his pants, smoke was rising up.

"Listen, Bitey," she said calmly, "I've got a vortex to close and a world to save. Again. And the 'again' part is kind of annoying, because if I didn't just do this a week ago, then I'm not the Slayer. So talk."

The vampire only continued to moan.

"Giles? I think there's another bottle in my bag."

"Okay, okay, wait! Stop! You don't understand. There is an ancient enmity between the Koeshmar demon and the vampires. I mean, every time they find an open ascension vortex, they're all like, 'this is my town now, go eat some other city', and--"

"That's it? A pissing contest between vampires and a demon? Like I haven't seen about a billion of those..."

"The Koeshmar started it."

"Oh, what is this, the third grade? It's always 'ancient enemy this' and 'mortal nemesis that'. Is there anybody you vamps have managed to not piss off?"

Giles let Buffy continue needling the vampire and wandered over to the bookshelf. A day's worth of cataloguing had not been in vain...he remembered reading about Koeshmar demons earlier, but through the fog of voices in his head, the symptoms he'd read about had meant nothing to him. Now, though, he was free, for however short a time. He pulled a book down from the shelf, absently listening to Buffy's interrogation.

"So that's it? You're scared of an itty-bitty Koeshmar? Why don't you just close its vortex and snap it in half?"

"We would, if stupid Slayers and their thralled Watchers didn't get in the way," the vampire said. There was a sudden sound of choking, and Giles looked up. Buffy had taken the vampire by its neck and was throttling it. Without breath, it would hardly incapacitate him, but knowing his Slayer's strength, it surely hurt.

"So sorry for the inconvenience," Buffy said. "Now what was that about a thralled Watcher?"

"Just that the Koeshmar's eating his memories," the vampire snarled. "He'll give up sooner or later, and go to it, join it. If not--well, he's no good to you brain dead, is he?" He surged against his restraints, lunging for Buffy's neck, but she backed out of his reach.

"Stop that," she said mildly. She pressed the business end of her stake to his chest. "Tell me how to fix it, or I'll introduce you to Mr. Pointy."

"Better than being Koeshmar dust," the vampire taunted. "Better than having your mind ripped out through your ears. Go on, Slayer, stake me. Much good it'll do you."

"Not just yet, Bitey." Buffy hurled the vampire down, cracking his head against the stairs.

"Buffy, my homeowner's insurance premiums are high enough as it is...do you think you could stop breaking my walls with your vampire?"

"Sorry." Buffy joined him at the table where he was flipping through the pages of his book. She wrapped her arms around him from behind and sighed. Giles pressed back against her, drawing comfort from her nearness. "Didn't like what he said about you having milkshakes for brains."

"I don't think he put it quite that way..." Giles stopped at an inscription written in flowing Armenian beneath an inked illustration. It showed the Koeshmar demon emerging through the vortex, a huge horned beast of light and shadow. "Oh, dear Lord," he sighed. "Maybe he should have."

Buffy's arms constricted around him, making his ribs creak. "Maybe I will stake him," she muttered. She let go, stalked over to the vampire, and kicked him in the ribs. The vampire flipped over, his arms twisting as the chain tightened.

"How do we close that vortex?" Buffy shouted, hauling the vampire upright by his hair.

"There's a ritual..."

"There's always a ritual!"

"You want to close it or not? It's a simple sacrifice." The vampire sniggered, dangling limply from Buffy's hand. "Kill your Watcher. He's thralled to it. That's all it takes."

Buffy dropped the vampire, her eyes wide with mute horror. "No." She grabbed her stake, leaned over the prone creature, and stuck him, just enough to make him bleed, not enough to dust him. "You're lying."

The vampire shrugged, still laughing. "You want the vortex closed, we want the vortex closed, so what's the problem?"

"No!" Buffy brought her arm up, ready to impale the vampire, but Giles caught her hand before she could deliver the death blow. She let him stop her, and he drew her up into his arms, and this time it was he who supported her.

"Buffy..."

"No! Giles, I'm not going to, I can't kill you. I don't care what you say, or the Koeshmar, or him--" Buffy aimed another kick at the vampire, but he twisted out of her way, doubled up with cackling laughter. Giles let her struggle in his arms, knowing that it was a token fight only.

"Buffy...I'm here, I'm here. Shh..." He leaned his forehead against the top of her head, feeling her tears moisten his shirt. Helplessness caught at him, pulling him down, until the voices boiled just beneath the surface. He was drowning in them, falling, Buffy's solidity the only real thing he could grasp.

"It can't be you," she whispered into his chest. "I love you."

"Buffy--" Giles rasped her name out, holding her tighter. The room was whirling now, dizzying, and he was fading away. "Vampires," he said. "Thralls. After--" There was so much he had to say, about the books, the ritual, the way, but he couldn't remember it all now, memories leaving only shadows, desire eating him. The pain had disappeared. Buffy was a ghost in his arms. He choked out, "Love you too," and then all was forgotten.

Buffy traced the outline of the Koeshmar demon illustrated in Giles' demonology, her fingers shaking. The shadowy beast emerged from the vortex like a billowing cloud of smoke from a blazing fire. Beneath the drawing, serifs chased flowing calligraphy across the page, a meaningless jumble of letters. Whose bright idea had it been to take French in high school instead of ancient Armenian?

Not that it matters, Buffy thought, and slammed the book shut. Somehow she figured the translation 'as likely to eat you as look at you' wasn't too far off. She clenched her fists, hiding the tremors in her hands, wanting nothing more than a clear target, something to pummel. The vampire she'd tracked through the sewers hadn't put up much of a fight: it was weak from hunger. She ached for a good battle, something to kill. Restless, she returned to the couch and sat next to Giles. His eyes were open, staring at something beyond the walls of the room--the vortex.

He's thralled to it.

The vampire's words mocked her. The malicious delight he took in telling her how to close the vortex was too real for doubt. The truth was a knife in his hands, cutting where it hurt the most. She'd beaten the laughter out of him, kicked him senseless, and it did no good. She couldn't do it. She'd kissed Giles. For real this time, not some cowardly peck while he was sleeping. The feel of it stayed with her, the softness of his lips, the scratchy skin where he hadn't shaved, the taste of him. His eyes had met hers, cool and clear once more, the emptiness of his madness erased. He hadn't pulled away. He'd kissed her back, met her want with his own--only to slip away again. Possessed by the Koeshmar.

It's a simple ritual.

Slay the thrall, close the portal. Snap the dimensions shut, slice the Koeshmar in half, like a rat in a trap. The only way to stop it--kill its thrall, before it managed to worm its way through the vortex. Buffy felt fear like acid coursing through her blood. There had to be another way. Anything. Giles thrashed his arms, flinging himself upright, his breath harsh and edged with an animal whine. He struggled beneath her, trying to shove her aside, trying to escape. Buffy pushed him back down, avoiding the blows he aimed at her. She lay half over him and held him down with her weight, feeling the fever running like wildfire through him. The demon was eating his memories. It was stealing who Giles was, taking him away from her.

He's no good to you brain-dead.

Buffy grabbed Giles in a bear hug, squeezing, feeling his muscles bunch as he strained against her. He could tear her apart. Not physically, of course, but she knew she couldn't keep him here forever. If she let him go, he would return to the Mayor's office and merge with the demon, offering himself to it, crossing over to the thing's dimension. If she held him here, it would suck away everything that made Giles Giles, leave him an empty shell, dead. And either way the vortex would remain open, leaving the Koeshmar free to pass into this world.

Kill your Watcher.

It was Angel all over again, Angel's trusting eyes staring into hers, Angel's pain and confusion. Except in her mind's eye, it was Giles standing in front of her. It took every ounce of her Slayer's strength to stick the sword into him, feeling bone and muscle give way beneath her thrust, blood spurting, coating her hands in hot waves. He looked up at her, a crooked smile on his face, his eyes alight with love. "I'm sorry, Buffy," he said. "Forgive me?"

Buffy stared down at her hands, red and sticky, and knew they could never be cleaned. "There has to be another way," she whispered. "I can't do it. Not again. Not to you--Giles--I need you--"

But Giles didn't answer. He writhed and mumbled on the couch, drenched in sweat, his hair damp and curly with it, his hands clammy. Buffy understood only a handful of his muttered words, because he spoke in many languages. Suddenly, his eyes widened. "Buffy," he gasped. "A thrall must be slain." He jackknifed off the couch and slithered out of her hold. Before she could grab him again, he had made good his escape, out into the descending night.

Buffy's first impulse was to chase after him, but she stopped at the door, and turned back, undecided. She knew where he was going, and she could get there first if only she thought about it. She grabbed up her weapons bag and pulled out a leather jacket, hauling it over her shoulders, despite the heat. She slipped Mr. Pointy up her right sleeve, and the familiar press of the wood against her skin calmed her and let her think.

Buffy glanced down at the vampire, sprawled unconscious beneath the stairs, his arms chained above his head. She quickly unwound the chain and coiled it into a more manageable length, clamping the vampire's hands behind his back and harnessing him as best she could. She grabbed him by his collar and started slapping him across the face, back and forth, until his eyelids fluttered.

"Rise and shine, Bitey," Buffy said, and continued to slap him methodically until he snarled and morphed into wrinklies and fangs. He snapped at her fingers, and she pulled her hand out of reach.

"Bitch," he hissed, and tongued the thin trickle of blood that leaked from his nose and pooled on his upper lip. "What do you want this time, detailed instructions on how to disembowel the Watcher, or just an audience for the kill?"

"Neither. It's time for a field trip." Buffy jerked the chain taut, until the vamp's eyes were inches from hers. "You're coming with me."

City Hall loomed up through the gathering darkness, lit by brief flashes of heat lightning. The air around it was thick and hot, like a jungle, and thunder grumbled bad omens in the distance.

Buffy could feel the vortex before they even entered the building. The power of the thing gave her the creepy-crawlies, making every hair on the back of her neck and arms stand on end. A chill shook her, and she stretched, trying to dislodge the uneasiness that settled somewhere between her shoulderblades. The world itself seemed to tingle around her, screaming bloody murder, cautioning her against every step she took towards the Mayor's office. The vampire felt it too. He growled and strained at his improvised leash, and Buffy had to jerk him forward like a reluctant dog.

The doors were still off their hinges where Buffy had kicked her way out last night, carrying Giles. This was no time for subtlety, and Buffy walked straight in, dragging her captive behind her. She stopped outside the elaborate oak doors that lead to the Mayor's office and grinned fiercely at the vampire.

"Ready?" she asked, and placed a hand on the knob.

"You crazy cunt, what are you doing? You'll give the Koeshmar everything it wants!"

"Oh, really? And what might that be?" Buffy turned the handle, holding the door closed.

The vampire's yellow eyes widened and it snapped its fangs shut once or twice, as though the very air around them tasted foul. "It's coming, Slayer. Won't stop it then. Thrall everyone, eat them all."

Buffy let go of the doorknob and stepped back. "That's what I thought." She looked up at the ceiling, where lamp fixtures were welded to the doorframes.

"What the fuck you doin', Slayer?"

"Tying you up, dog." Buffy tossed the vampire's choke-chain around the fixture opposite the Mayor's office door, and hauled him up by his arms. She shackled him, foot and wrist and neck, with fetters from the weapons bag. He struggled and swore, but soon she had him restrained and suspended.

"Koeshmar's coming. Feel it? Glad enough that something's gonna kill you, even if I'm dust when it does."

"Not going to happen. I'm gonna slay its thrall, just like Giles said." Buffy reached into the bag again and withdrew a black silk scarf. She held it up in front of her eyes and started tying it around her head.

"Fucking Slayer." The vampire twisted and quivered, frantic now. "Think you're smart? Think you can kill your Watcher-man now? The Koeshmar's got him. He ain't gonna sit still while you gut him!"

"Not your worry." Buffy flexed her wrist to feel Mr. Pointy once more, then tugged the scarf tighter. Without vision, the world faded to the eerie prickle of her spidey sense. She could taste vamp-dust and blood from last night's battle. Could hear her trussed-up hostage squirming and cursing. Could feel hardwood floor beneath her feet, heat and far-away rain in the air. She faced the doors, knowing what was behind them with a ghostly double-awareness. Power and light, scent of death and roses. Like a cemetery at night. Like Angel.

"There's always another way," she whispered, and pulled the doors open wide.

Light assaulted her, scrabbled to pass through her blindfold, lashing out at her. Buffy knew that if she had relied on her eyelids alone, she would have been lost. She could feel the fiery light crawling over her skin like a million insect feet. She brushed at her arms, but they didn't go away, and she knew--she just knew--that they were ticks, and lice, and spiders, settling into the crooks of her elbows, the soft skin at her neck, looking for a place to latch on and feed from her. She wanted to rip the blindfold from her face and look for them, search them out, pick them off her skin one by one and crush them. The light had a weight to it, dragging her down, heavy, and the feeling of feet increased until it was rats scrabbling over her, their claws pinching as they scrambled through her clothes, wanting to bite.

Behind her, the vampire's struggles stopped, and he went still, making no sound.

"It's not real," Buffy said. "Not."

"Oh, but it is, truly."

Buffy whirled, lifting her hands defensively. "Giles!"

"No, not he, precisely. It's just a borrowed body, I'm afraid, but I'll be sure to make the most of it." The voice came towards her, stepping farther into the room, and Buffy moved to block it from the vortex. She had to keep Giles--his body--safe, and in this world. "I've never had a human before. It's quite delicious, all its knowledge and experience. A new thing, after all these ages."

Buffy's muscles tightened. He--it--sounded exactly like Giles, the accent, the intonations, the words. How could she fight that? "Yeah, well, new experiences are fun," she taunted. "Maybe I should let you try the one where I kick your sorry ass right back into the dimension it came from."

"Oh, certainly, you're welcome to try. I'm afraid you won't have a long time in which to do so...Your Watcher's mind is almost gone. When I've absorbed him, I plan to make a personal appearance."

Buffy heard a brief clatter--the swords we left here last night--and then suddenly she felt something hissing through the air towards her. Faster than thought, she lifted a hand, and felt a sword-hilt smack her palm.

"Good catch," Giles said, and hearing the husky approval in his voice, Buffy almost let the sword drop.

Through the blindfold, she imagined him as he'd been in his basement yesterday morning while they trained. Giles stood with an easy grace, trim and fit, all the more so because he seemed so unaware of his own power and agility. His sword was a part of him, not a tacked-on piece of metal he just happened to be holding for the hell of it. She remembered his courteous nod and slight smile as he saluted her. She remembered the mild way he said, "En guarde," like he was commenting on the weather, but with a deadly seriousness behind the tone.

She remembered that he'd dropped her on her back after ten minutes--and that, while she could see every move he made.

The darkness behind the blindfold was suddenly terrifying.

"This body holds the knowledge of all your weaknesses," Giles' voice said. "It knows how you fight. It knows it can overcome you."

Buffy lifted her sword tip. "Giles also knows I won't stop. He knows I'm capable of this."

There was a swish, and Buffy lifted her sword. The sound of metal on metal rang out, and she heard Giles take a step back. She kept her sword steady, parrying the blows aimed at her, but not attacking, listening and feeling where the next flurry of strokes was coming from. She kept her footing, keeping the vortex at her back and Giles in front. The attack came steadily, and she riposted too easily. This creature was either lying, and didn't have Giles' skill, or--

It's buying time, she thought. Distracting me.

With that thought, Buffy pressed forward, listening to the tap-tap of Giles' retreating feet, the thrusts coming quicker now, the impact of metal ringing like cymbals through the office. Giles came in close, too close for good sword-work, their blades trapped between their bodies. Buffy could feel the heat of him, and smelled the sour sweat of fever--and beneath it, Giles' smell. He was in there, somehow, hidden, his body working but his mind buried. She shifted her sword to her left hand and shoved the body away from her, looking for room to maneuver.

"I'm afraid I have my doubts about your ability. Even this body doesn't think my defeat is certain. It cries out for you. I can hear it, faintly, begging me to spare you. Shall I let it speak? Let it tell you of the pain, the fear?" The voice came without effort, Giles' strength augmented by the demon's, and Buffy could hear her own harsh panting loud in the quiet office. Outside, the thunder was nearer, booming and harsh.

"I don't believe you," she gasped. Her arm was lead, and she could feel her energy draining away, behind her, into the light.

"It is not a matter of belief. It is simply--"

Buffy didn't wait, but stabbed towards the voice, only to have her sword twisted aside, wrenched out of her hands. It clattered across the floor, to the doorway. Buffy dove, rolled to the side, and came up with Mr. Pointy in her hand.

"Oh, really. Do you think a stake will have any effect on me?"

"I'm not planning on dusting you, if that's what you think."

Giles stepped toward her, the sound of his boots against the floor slow and deliberate. "I love you."

Buffy froze, then backed up a step. "Nice try, Koeshmar."

"I'm sorry, love. I didn't mean for this to happen. It's my fault..."

"Shut up!"

"Buffy..." The footsteps stopped, and Buffy heard Giles' sword clash as it fell to the floor. He was close. His breath touched her lips, her neck. He was bending over her. Cloth rustled, and he reached up, his hand cupping her cheek, soft. Buffy felt the demon through his skin, like the buzz of angry bees through the thin walls of a hive. She couldn't move, not to touch him, not to push him away. She tensed, coiled in on herself, like a spring clenched to the snapping point.

Giles' other hand joined the first, drifting through her hair now, and Buffy's scalp crawled. "Poor girl," he whispered. "Going to be thralled after all."

With a sudden yank, the blindfold was ripped away. Light burned into her, and Buffy twisted away, running. She was through the doors, but the light followed her, grabbing hold and drowning her. The glare struck out at her, fire eating along her every nerve, her spidey sense blinded by the inferno. But--in front of her--there was a still form, the only dark thing. Buffy reached for it, stumbled, fell forward, Mr. Pointy outstretched in her hands.

And there was a swirling cloud of dust, and a sudden blackness, and the far-off grumble of thunder, and Buffy fell to the ground, senseless.

Giles returned to himself as if from an interminable journey.

He found himself bent over, hands on thighs, fatigue running through him like a traitor in the night. He collapsed to his knees, head hanging, breath burning like vomit at the back of his throat. Shadows lingered in his mind. How long?

The Mayor's office was painted in darkness. An icy wind slithered past him, and Giles shivered hard, his muscles locking in spasm. The fever-heat had blazed through him, leaving him cold and empty. He was human again, only that; saved. The breeze ruffled abandoned papers and pushed aside the heavy window draperies. The air tasted of iron. A damp chill pushed its way through his clothes, and Giles found the energy to tilt his head back and look up.

Above him, the stars.

The roof was simply gone. The walls met at ragged edges. Grey wisps of clouds stained the sky, hiding the waxing moon. Giles reached back in his recollection, searching for reasons, explanations. There was only a wall of light, blocking him from thought. Panic warmed him, made him move, and he staggered to the office doors. They were twisted off their hinges, lined with charcoal slashes, as though they'd been gouged by fiery claws.

In the hallway lay a crumpled figure, leather-clad and still, a stake gripped in one hand like a lifeline. Grey dust sifted through her blonde hair and collected in the creases of her skin. Giles kneeled beside her and pulled her over onto her back. A sudden shaft of moonlight painted her skin milky. Giles leaned down, turning his head, and felt her breath against his cheek. With two fingers, he sought the pulse just under the line of her jaw, and relaxed when he felt it throbbing full and steady. Asleep, then.

"Buffy?" he whispered. "Please, wake up."

He shook her shoulder gently. Buffy frowned, pressing her eyes shut. Without warning, he was shoved backwards, sent sprawling, and Buffy was standing over him. He could do nothing but lay there, watching the weary fear in her eyes. Her death grip on the stake hadn't loosened, and somehow she'd managed to come up with a knife in the other hand. Ankle sheath, he thought randomly.

"It's a trick," she said. Her voice was hoarse, dead, filled with such an utter defeat that Giles shook his head, denying what he couldn't remember.

Buffy slipped the stake up the arm of her jacked and looked around the room, absently smoothing down the fine hairs of her arms. She spared no more than a brief glance at the sky. "Another apocalypse, another condemned building," she muttered. "Figures."

Giles pushed himself up onto his elbows, cursing the tiredness that dissolved his strength and left him helpless. Buffy was staring at him as though he were a strange animal, not threatening for now but dangerous if approached. The sight of her, prowling around him, wary and uncertain, seemed to snap something inside him. The barrier of light in his mind faded, dimmed, flickered out. Memory crashed through him, everything he'd said, everything he'd done. Vigour seemed to return at the same instant, and Giles rolled to his feet. Buffy leapt back, the knife at the ready.

Giles lifted his hands, showing them open and weaponless. "Buffy, it's me."

"Right." She stayed across the room from him, but she did lower her knife. Quickly, she stooped and sheathed it inside her boot. She glanced at him, then walked out into the hall and kicked at some iron shackles that lay on the floor. A chain hung from a light fixture above her, rattling in the growing wind. Giles ran a hand through his hair, and winced as he bumped the bruise on his forehead.

"Buffy, I'm sorry..." Giles tensed even as he apologized, knowing what the Koeshmar had said to her--how it had nearly trapped her with his love. Yet, they were the only words he had.

"Don't say that." Her answer was quick and harsh. "You don't know--"

"I know you tried to kill me. That doesn't matter to me--I know why you had to attempt it. It was the only answer we had." Giles stopped. She still refused to look at him, was busy raiding the Mayor's secret cache of all its books and supplies, shoving them randomly into her bag. He knelt beside her to help, but she stopped when his hands neared hers. "I know you killed the Koeshmar. I felt it go, Buffy. I know you closed the vortex...I'm still a little hazy on the 'how', but--" He smiled, trying to coax her closer with his gentle teasing.

"I killed a thrall," Buffy said dully. "Something Willy said...usually all the humans are snake-bait before one of these vortex things gets out of hand. Vampires don't like 'em, they close 'em when they can...so who else?"

Giles nodded. Her face was closed to him, but he let her lead him to safe topics of conversation. "I remembered...it was like a dream...I tried to tell you to thrall the one you'd caught."

"Done and dusted." Buffy clipped her satchel closed. She looked at him then, a furtive sideways glance. As if she were trying to hide from him. Giles opened his mouth to ask her what was wrong, but she interrupted: "You sure you're all right?"

"I think so. Why?"

"I can still feel power here." Buffy leaned toward him and paused, uncertain. "Let me...?" she asked, raising a hand as though to touch him.

Giles nodded, wondering what she needed his permission for. He wanted to crush her into his arms, bring her close, but the fear he sensed from her was genuine. Something had changed, and he couldn't for the life of him figure out what. She placed her palm against his chest, her eyes closed in concentration.

He held his breath, concentrated on the soft touch, the feel of her hand moulding itself to him. It seemed to burn...a slower, gentler fire than the fever of demon possession. More like a wood fire on the hearth after a long, rainy day; comfortable, relaxing, and welcoming. "What do you feel?"

Buffy jerked her hand away as though he had suddenly grown tentacles. She frowned up at him. "Nothing. Human-ness," she diagnosed succinctly. "You're you."

"I believe I already mentioned that fact. Buffy--"

"Then maybe we should get out of here." Buffy stood and picked up her bag. Without looking to see if he was following, she swept out of the office. Giles stared after her, a strange incredulous hurt paralysing him. Was she equating the demon's actions with his? Did she think that he had meant to, wanted to hurt her in some way?

Giles launched himself after her, catching up with her as she marched down the hall. She watched the steady, dull thump of her boots on the thick carpets and ignored his hand at her side when he grabbed her arm.

"Buffy, stop. What's wrong?"

She pulled easily out of his grasp and continued. "Nothing."

"Tell me."

She glared over her shoulder at him. "Probably the heart of an evil lair isn't the best place to talk." She delivered a fantastic kick to the main doors and slammed them open. Outside, the storm was closer, lightning cutting through the cloud-darkened night. Buffy flinched at the sudden brightness, and Giles wrapped his arms around her from behind.

"Don't be scared," he whispered into her ear. "It's gone."

Buffy stood stiff and unresponsive in his arms. "I know."

Her voice was colder than the wind. Giles fought his instinct to back off, to let her go. Had he dreamt that she loved him? Was it the Koeshmar's voice making empty promises to him, only to lure him closer? He hugged her tighter, absorbing her warmth as a defence against the lowering skies, and she made no move.

"Buffy, you can tell me. What's wrong?"

Buffy shook her head slightly, her hair brushing his face. "You--it--told me--said you loved me."

"I know what was said, Buffy. The Koeshmar was using me, but I was aware."

"Using your body, your voice. Sure. I get that." She shifted in his arms, as though uncertain, and then dropped her hands to cover his, forbidding him to let go. "But, what you said...before...when you fell..."

"I'm afraid that point is still quite vague..."

"Nothing happened--between us--until you got all demony," Buffy said. She was blushing now, and Giles could feel the heat of her cheek next to his. "And what if it was all a trick, and now you'll go back to being tweed guy all the time, and never look--look at me, or--or want me?"

"Buffy..." Giles dropped a kiss on her temple. "You saved me. That is what I remember. I walked into a trap that I could never have escaped without you. And these feelings...I have had them for far longer than a simple demon possession warrants."

Buffy smiled then and twirled out of his arms. "Well, then, why didn't you ever say anything, you big lug?" she asked wryly.

Giles laughed. "Big lug?"

"The handsome guys in the old-timey movies my mom and I always watch. You know, the strong silent type. The leading lady falls in love with them and calls them a big lug. I don't know why." Buffy skipped down the steps. "Coming?"

Giles walked down after her, smiling at her mercurial mood swings. It was a familiar thing, a way of denying the pain and danger. A way to begin healing. "So I'm to take that as a compliment?"

"Yes, and stop avoiding the question."

He sniffed. The rain was close, now. "It would have been highly inappropriate."

Buffy grinned and grabbed his hand. "You can still do it."

"What?"

"Sound stuffy. But I know better now..." She tugged him closer until she was snuggled into the crook of his arm. "You can't hide behind tweed forever." She tilted her head back and smiled enticingly.

Giles took the hint, bent closer and kissed her. He'd meant it to be gentle, but the sound of her moan made him pull her roughly towards himself, tracing the outline of her lips with his tongue. She returned the kiss with an equal fervor, her hands stroking down the line of his back, as though to reassure herself that he was real, here, in her arms. Giles felt crushed her to him, knowing he couldn't hurt her, knowing it was what she wanted. The feel of her lips heated him through to the core, erasing the last of the Koeshmar's hold on him, weakness and chills melting away before the bright flame of Buffy's love.

Lightning interrupted them, slamming into City Hall, leaving afterimages in Giles' vision. Together they looked up at the sudden dark mass of roiling clouds. Thunder cracked, sharp and immediate. The downpour washed over them, clean and cold and healing. Buffy squirmed closer, using his height to shield her from the worst of the wet, her head against his chest.

"Don't worry. We're going home in style," she said, and pointed.

Giles stared at his Citroen, parked half on the curb, inches from a fire hydrant. "You transported a rapidly hungry vampire in chains, across town, in my car?"

Buffy pouted. "To save your life."

"And that is supposed to mollify me?"

"We're standing here getting soaked and you want to argue with me using big words." Buffy took out the keys and tossed her bag into the backseat. "Hop in, Watcher-mine."

Giles swung himself into the driver's seat and looked across at her. She was staring at him appraisingly.

"Wondering if this is going to work out once we inform your mother that we're madly in love?" he asked.

"God no, nothing like that. We're for keeps." Buffy's eyes widened in terror. "Wait, you want to tell her?"

Giles started the car and backed away from the fire hydrant. "Eventually."

"I suppose we'll have to..." Buffy eyed him again.

"So what were you thinking, then?"

"Hmm? Oh...just that you look kinda yummy with your shirt soaked through." She grinned up at him. "Maybe we can put off the telling part...?"

"Not forever," he said, sending her a quelling glare. She looked hurt, and he relented immediately. "But perhaps for tonight..."

And she giggled as she slid across to his side of the seat, warming him, as they drove home through the rain.

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August 22, 2003