Rupert Giles awoke early, around nine, despite the consequential events of the previous night. After rubbing his tired blue eyes, he slipped on wire-framed glasses. As usual, he had slept in his clothes and was rumpled beyond repair. But that barely registered in his consciousness as he hurried downstairs.

Don't let her be gone! Don't let it have been a dream!

The faint sound of the television soothed his fear as he rounded the landing. That and the sight of a blonde head laying back against the sofa cushions.

"Oh! I-I'm glad that. . . that you are still here," he stuttered as he moved into the living room.

"Is that so? Well, don't get too comfy, Jeeves. I'm leaving."

Giles sat down on the edge of the sofa, looking at the teenager staring resolutely at the television. Watching the blank set of her face, he realized that she wasn't even watching the pictures on the screen. Her thoughts were turned inward.

"Miss Summers, I don't know how to thank you. . . "

She turned her head to look at him. Her eyes, nothing more than frigid chips of green ice, were empty. "How about by not? I don't need your thanks; it's what I do."

Sadness filled the librarian as he studied the young woman. Buffy Summers could've been pretty, beautiful even, despite the diagonal scar bisecting her full lips. Waist-length golden hair was scraped back into a utilitarian braid and her face was devoid of any makeup. Still dressed in her uniform of the night before, cargo pants and a gray tank top, she was thin and wiry, her lean musculature reminiscent of a coyote Giles had once seen on an early morning drive in the mountains.

She looked hungry.

"Can I fix you something to eat before you go? Or some tea perhaps?" Giles said as he rose to his feet.

"No."

"Miss Summers, you need to eat something. You need to keep your strength up. . . " Giles started to say.

The Slayer cut him off curtly. "All I need is to get back to Cleveland before Merrick comes looking for me. It's kind of a long walk to the airport, so if you could be persuaded to shut up long enough to give me a lift, great. If not, then let me know so I can get started."

Giles gaped at her, an irrational anger rising in his chest. "Now, look here, young lady! I don't understand where this attitude is coming from! I know, better than most, what it is you are going through, but I hardly think I deserve to be treated so disrespectfully!"

Buffy stared at him for a moment, then sighed. "I'm sorry, Mr. Giles, I was out of line. Merrick says my mouth is going to be the death of me, not the vampires. It's just. . . " she trailed off.

"Just what?"

She was struggling with herself, debating on whether to speak. "That vampire, you know, the dark-haired one that helped me last night?"

"That would be Angel."

"Angel? What a name for a vampire," she said, with a mirthless smirk.

Giles shrugged as he went into his tiny kitchen. He busied himself filling the teakettle and setting out two china teacups and saucers. "It's a diminutive for Angelus, his true name."

"He said something strange. He said that I was supposed to be his destiny."

Giles frowned. "His destiny?"

Buffy followed him to the kitchen and seated herself on one of the barstools. "Yeah. He said that he had come to Sunnydale and I was supposed to be here too and never showed up."

Giles thought back to his first meeting with Angel. He had approached him early in the fall of 1996, with rumors of a prophecy. The Master was going to use the Harvest, one of the times that vampires were at their most powerful, to attempt to break free of his supernatural prison. At that time, despite serious misgivings about placing his trust in a vampire and one known to have once been a cruel, vicious animal, he had been pleased with the information. Angel had told him, one evening while they were in the library at the high school, that the Slayer would come to Sunnydale soon and she would defeat the Master. It was written to be so.

But, the Slayer never showed up, Angel had been captured by the Master's minions and the Harvest had occurred right on schedule, releasing the vampire once known as Heinrich Joseph Nest onto an unsuspecting town.

And, so the end had begun.

"I-I'm not sure I understand his meaning, although he did say, some time ago, that you were destined to come to Sunnydale. Are you from Ohio?"

Buffy shook her head. "Nope. Los Angeles. My parents were going to get a divorce and they decided to work it out, for my sake." This last sentence she said with a roll of the eyes. "Dad moved us to Cleveland instead."

The teakettle was whistling and Giles reached over and picked it up. "I see. How. . . how do your parents feel about your being the Slayer?"

A flicker of pain so brief he almost missed it crossed her face. "They never knew. They're dead."

Another layer peeled back. "I'm so very sorry, Miss Summers. Was it vampires?"

"Yep."

"So, you live with Merrick?"

Buffy accepted the teacup from him and sipped from it, not bothering to add sugar or cream. "When he wants me to."

Confused by the strange answer, Giles started to comment, but was interrupted by the ring of the telephone. Excusing himself, he walked over to the sofa table and answered it.

"Hello? Oh, Oz, how's your arm?"

Buffy glanced back at the Watcher, taking another sip of the hot tea.

"Yes, yes, I see. We'll need to burn it, but that can be done by the light of day. Yes," he looked over his shoulder at the Slayer. "she's still here. No, she's going back to. . . I can't force. . . "

"Okay. Don't worry, Oz. I'll call you this afternoon. Goodbye."

When Giles had turned to face Buffy, she was watching him with an inscrutable expression. "That was Oz. You know, the red-haired young man you met last night."

"They think I should stay."

"Can you blame them? This town is under siege and we need some kind of hope."

Buffy set the teacup back on the bar and smiled very faintly. "You want my advice? Get the hell out of Sunnydale."

Giles shook his head. "Is it any better anywhere else?"

Her look was full of resignation.

"No."