Phoenix Burning

Rating: R
Summary: After "The Gift," Buffy returns to a world greatly changed.

Archived: Anywhere, but please ask first.

This story is inspired by and contains characters from "Buffy the Vampire Slayer," a series that is wholly the intellectual property of Mutant Enemy, Twentieth Century Fox and Joss Whedon. This story is written without permission, intent of infringement or expectation of profit. Readers can expect spoilers for anything that has happened through the episode "The Gift," but should be warned that the story goes AU after that.

Dramatically AU, in fact. So AU that I cannot quite believe I am writing this. Those who have read my earlier stories will notice *very* quickly that this is something of a departure for me. Those who have not will notice that this is something of a departure from most fanfic in general. But I ask all of you to take a chance and go on the journey with me; I don't think you'll be disappointed.

All thanks to the encouragement and support of Rheanna, Amy and Tara, who provided invaluable assistance during beta reading. Thanks also to Lacy, Rodney and Jesse, who heard it first, and to Amparo, who provided translations. I greatly hunger for feedback, so send praise or flames or anything in between to Yahtzee63@aol.com.

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PHOENIX BURNING
by Yahtzee
Yahtzee63@aol.com
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Chapter One

Buffy turned away from her sister and ran. Ran as fast as she could into the swirl of light and heat and energy that would consume her at last.

At last.

She didn't think about what she was leaving behind. She thought about what she was running from.

The sight of Dawn, tearful and bleeding, and hearing Giles' words about her sister's death ring in her ears again --

Her mother's body, awkwardly sprawled on the couch, and the feeling of pain and sickness and confusion that had snaked its way through her like ice --

The knife she'd plunged into Faith, Faith the hated and hunted and lost, and the way Faith had looked at her with eyes that were not as cold and unfeeling as Buffy had hoped --

The look on Angel's face as he'd closed his eyes in complete ignorance of what he'd done, in complete trust of whatever she was going to do --

No more, she thought. No more. They need me to save the world again. I'm going to save the world again. But I can't go through this any more. I can't lose anyone again. I can't. I won't.

Death is my gift. It will save me from ever losing anyone ever again. I'll never have to do it again. Never have to do anything again --

Buffy jumped, and she fell, and she hit the portal. And then the world was on fire.

Her skin burned with pain like the tearing of hot claws. Her whole body shook, shook so hard she could hear her jaw snapping, her vertebrae breaking. The light was brighter than the sun, bright unto blindness; it was not darkness that overtook her, but the total absence of sight. Her internal organs cramped up with terror or shock or injury until it felt like she was filled with broken glass. She would have screamed without ceasing if she could have drawn a breath.

The only thing she could think was make it stop, make it stop, make it stop, make it stop --

And then everything was quiet for a very long time.

*****

The light hit Buffy like a blow, stunning her whole body, sending sensation prickling across her skin, into her gut. "What the --"

"Relax," a voice said. A woman's voice. "Relax. You're all right now."

Buffy blinked her eyes, trying to make out images in the sea of light blinding her. The walls were white -- oh, God, she'd lived.

The thought did not make her happy or relieved. The words clattered in her tired mind: I lived.

How the hell did that happen?

She shook her head; her jaw felt fine. So did her neck. She squinted as she looked at the white room she lay in. They must've had to take her to the hospital. Dawn would be freaking out --

"Let me up," she said, trying to push herself up from the table on which she lay.

But a hand pressed down on her shoulder; Buffy was still weak enough that this could hold her in place. "In just a moment. You need to get your bearings," the voice said. Buffy realized that the woman was speaking with a British accent.

"What are my bearings?" Buffy said, squinting at the woman. She was wearing loose white clothing, maybe scrubs, and had her frizzy black hair pulled back into a bun. She was smiling at Buffy -- sort of nervously, come to think of it. Then Buffy glanced down. "And why am I naked?"

"Oh. We can see to that," the woman said, quickly turning to get a sheet.

"Where is this?" another voice said. Another woman's voice -- more like a girl's -- this one accented in a far more exotic way. Buffy glanced over and saw who had spoken; she was a girl a bit younger than Buffy, as naked as Buffy was, with long, dark hair and coppery skin. She was looking around her in every direction, a bit wildly. "The vampire --"

"Is taken care of," said the white-garbed man at her side.

Buffy got her first good look at the room. It didn't look like a hospital. It looked -- strange, like a cross between a warehouse and a temple. The ceilings and walls were plain, the architecture very ordinary. But the candles along the perimeter, the hangings with various runes and symbols embroidered on them -- not from a warehouse. And not from a hospital.

She took in the other tables -- three of them -- with other young women waking up from whatever sleep had claimed them all. "What is this place?" Buffy said slowly.

"I suppose this is a bit disconcerting," the frizzy-haired woman said, as she draped the sheet over Buffy. "Can you tell me your name?"

"Buffy Anne Summers," Buffy said. "Didn't my friends say --"

"Yes, Miss Summers," the frizzy-haired woman said. "Called as Slayer in 1996. Very good. Yes, I've got the right one --"

"You know I'm the Slayer," Buffy said. "What's going on?"

"I realize this is all rather shocking,' the woman said. "But, you see, we've brought you back."

"Back?" Buffy said, hearing her own voice crack on the words. "Back from where?"

"You -- you really don't know, do you? You perceived nothing in that time?" The woman made a helpless gesture as she stood there for a moment, searching for words. Finally she said, "You've been gone a very long while."

Buffy felt her hands tighten on the sheet. "What do you mean? Was I -- in a coma, or something?"

"Buffy, you died."

"I -- I thought I would, but --" Buffy shook her head.. "You mean, I died, but they revived me. Like, with CPR, or, or, those paddle things --"

"No," the woman said, and for the first time her voice was soft, a little sad. "Buffy, you must understand. I'm afraid you died a very long time ago."

Buffy stared up at her, shocked almost beyond comprehension, as the woman continued, "You have been dead for 350 years."

Chapter Two
"From the Ashes"

"You're lying," Buffy whispered.

"No," the frizzy-haired woman said. "I suppose this is all terribly strange --"

"What's strange is why you would tell me a story like this. Where am I? What are you trying to pull?" Buffy pulled away from the woman's outstretched hand, slid off the table and clutched the sheet more tightly around her. "What IS this?"

She looked wildly around the room -- other people were standing around, all of them in loose, simple clothing in white or gray. The room was large, antiseptic and blank. The other four girls were are staring at her now; she could see her own panic reflected in their eyes, but none of them rose to stand with her.

"Miss Summers -- do try to stay calm." Buffy wheeled toward the voice she heard and saw an older man in the corner of the room. He was wearing a white robe, slumping down in a high-backed chair, like an exhausted emperor collapsed upon his throne. He had thick black hair, silvery at the temples, and a rich, resonant voice. "You will understand everything soon --"

"I don't want to understand whatever story you've got," Buffy said. "I'm not listening to this any more."

She ran toward the doors -- elevator doors, they looked like, but she couldn't see a button to push. "Buffy! I mean -- Miss Summers! Please!" the frizzy-haired woman called.

Buffy ignored her. Okay, they thought this door could hold her in? They didn't know much about Slayers, then. She let the sheet drop -- what the hell, they'd seen her already -- put her shaking hands to the crack between the doors, and pulled open with all her might. Her strength hadn't returned fully, but she was close enough. Sparks flew, and she heard an odd rattling within the walls as the doors opened.

Footsteps were pounding up behind her now, but the deep-voiced man called, "No -- let her go. Let her see --"

And for some reason, that scared her worse than anything else.

Buffy grabbed up the sheet and began running blindly down the hallway -- a hallway as white and as blank as the room she had left. It smelled -- old. Like abandoned buildings she sometimes scouted for vampires. She looked around for anything: a window, a phone, a computer screen, a human being, oh, God, anything --

The only sounds were of her bare feet thumping along the hard, slick floor and of her ragged breathing. As soon as Buffy realized this, she started to cry out. "Hello? Is someone there? Is anyone there?"

At the end of the hallway was another door, and Buffy increased her speed. Surely, beyond that, would be a way out. She tucked the sheet around her, ready to pry that door open too -- but it slid apart easily as she came close. Buffy saw a window looking out on a dark city night. Thank God, thank God, she thought, I can yell for somebody through that, I can jump through it if I have to, it's just glass, I'll heal, and what gets more attention than a naked woman in the street?

She ran up to the glass, ready to begin hammering on it -- then froze.

Buffy was looking down on a city like no other she had ever seen. Wherever they were, they were high -- higher than any skyscraper she'd ever been in. And the city - the buildings were all linked together, with crosswalks and wings that were hundreds of feet above the ground. But most of the buildings were black -- no lights, nothing. She realized that some of the silver lines running through the city were tracks of some kind, but no trains or monorails were moving along them. It was a city not even half alive.

And when she looked down, way down, she could just make out this one old-timey vaguely familiar building with a clock tower --

Big Ben.

She staggered back from the window, let her hands drop. Buffy stood there for a long moment, trying to come up with an explanation, anything besides --

For a few long moments Buffy remained still, trying to catch her breath, gather what was left of her sense. She couldn't think about it -- couldn't think at all. She could only feel the sweat between her toes, see her reflection on the glass, hear the footsteps behind her --

Buffy whirled around to see the frizzy-haired woman, who was standing next to and half-supporting the black-haired man. "Don't come near me," Buffy said, her palm out.

They froze. After a moment, the black-haired man said, in his steely voice, "I cannot imagine what you must think of me at this moment. But, whatever else you may think, rest assured that I am at least not such a fool as to believe that I could keep a Slayer prisoner against her will."

Some of the tension knotting between Buffy's shoulders relaxed, but only very slightly. She pulled the sheet a little more securely around herself. "Who are you?"

The frizzy-haired woman brightened, with the air of someone who, after a long confusion, finally knows what to say. "I'm Frances Keeling," she said. "And this is Aaron Markwith."

"A pleasure, Buffy," Markwith said.

"Wish I could say the same," Buffy said. "You know, the names are nice, but that's not really what I was going for with the whole introduction thing."

"I am a senior member of the Council of Watchers," Markwith said. "And Frances is to be your new Watcher."

"I have a Watcher," Buffy said, her voice small. "Rupert Giles."

Frances' face clouded over again, and Markwith sighed gently. He turned to Frances. "I should check on the others. Speak to Buffy, and bring her back when she's ready."

"Of course, sir."

"That's gonna be a while," Buffy called after him with as much defiance as she could muster, but he seemed to pay her no further mind. Frances stepped a little closer, and Buffy jerked back.

"Oh -- I don't mean to frighten you. I'm sure this is so overwhelming."

"Yeah, you feel my pain," Buffy said. "Where's Giles?"

"Buffy, what I told you before is true," Frances said, with a schoolmarmish insistence. "You must believe me. This is the year 2353, and this is a very different world from the one you knew. You'll be happy to know, I've studied all the biographical information we had on you; it's a little sketchier than the other girls, but I think I've learned enough about your time to help you adjust."

The words clattered by Buffy, so much noise. Only the date stood out, stark and cold. 2353. She tried to speak, tried to think of words, but she could only repeat, in an even shakier voice, "But where's Giles?"

Frances drew herself up. "Everyone you knew in your former life is dead, Buffy. You must accept that."

Dead. She knew well how stark and unforgiving a word that was, had thought she knew the limits of how hard it could hit. But now --

Hope stirred deep within her for a moment, the faintest swirl of warmth in an ocean of cold. She whispered, "Wait -- everybody? Absolutely everybody?"

"Everybody," Frances said firmly.

And oh, God, how badly Buffy wanted to say, but not Angel. Angel is a vampire, and he could still be here, still be the same.

But Frances was standing there, all formal gravity and solemnness, with her biographical information and her Watcher's chill. And Buffy knew she couldn't bear to here that cold voice recite the facts from her file. Whatever she said, it would mean that Angel was gone -- and she hadn't just said Angel, she'd said "everybody," and that meant once she'd finished telling her how Angel had ended, she'd tell Buffy about everyone else, too.

That Giles and Willow and Xander and everybody she ever knew, everybody she ever loved, were all gone, erased, like chalk marks on a blackboard --

Buffy quailed from that thought, from the others that were swelling within her, and tried to concentrate on Frances. "Why am I here?"

Frances smiled. "Now, that's a good question to be asking. Come along, then. Let's join the others. Markwith will explain everything."

***

As Buffy and Frances walked back into the white room, the other girls all wheeled around to face her. The coppery-skinned woman she'd heard before spoke first. "Is it true, what they say?"

"I think it must be," Buffy said, her voice faint even to her own ears.

The coppery-skinned woman said something that might have been a prayer or a curse in a language Buffy did not know. She had her sheet pulled tightly around her, even covering her hair.

"Yes, it's true," Markwith said. "This is the year 2353. You are at the present home of the Council of Watchers. And you have all been brought here to help humanity in its latest, most dire time of crisis. The world is in danger. And we need the Slayers."

Another of the girls, a beautiful Asian woman with short hair who hadn't bothered to drape herself with the sheet, turned toward him then. "Don't you have a Slayer of your own? One dies, another is called?"

"We do have a Slayer, a fine warrior, and I hope you will all meet her soon," Markwith continued. He was walking slowly around the perimeter of the room, and all of them had to crane their heads to their eyes on him. "But, as the past century and a half has made clear, the situation has gone beyond the control of any one Slayer, no matter how skilled."

Control. When were we ever in control? Buffy thought numbly.

Markwith paused at a circle of burnt-down candles and exotic-smelling ashes, and he knelt to pick up a charred sphere -- no, an oddly-shaped skull, Buffy realized. "If we ever find a colony of Jenta demons, perhaps we could raise even more Slayers. God knows we need all the help we can get. But the Council only came upon one demon, and that supplied us with the materials we needed to raise five Slayers. And we chose the five of you."

He looked first at the beautiful Asian woman. "Xiaoting, who protected Beijing for eight years and survived two Ascensions in the late 22rd century." Xiaoting held her head a little higher as he spoke.

He then turned to the coppery-skinned woman, "Noor, who fought for five years and turned back an invasion of ancient demigods from Saudi Arabia in the early 22nd century." Noor frowned and tugged her sheet a little more tightly around her.

Markwith looked straight at Buffy then, startling her with the intensity of his pale blue eyes. "Buffy, who managed to control the hordes of vampires and demons that sought out a Hellmouth in California for five years in the late 20th century."

"And 21st," Buffy said, Everyone turned at her and stared, and she felt a little stupid for even saying it. But she continued, "It was the 21st century when I --"

After her pause had gone on long enough, Markwith went on as though she had said nothing. "Agatha, who defeated one of history's most fearsome master vampires during her seven years of service in Bath in the mid 19th century." A statuesque woman with white-blond hair and even paler skin, who had her sheet tugged around her almost as tightly as Noor did, simply nodded, confirming his words.

"And finally, Sumiko," Markwith said, looking at another Asian woman, this one tinier and more delicate, who was staring at him somewhat blankly, "who traveled within Japan during the late 18th century, defeating vampires and demons for an unprecedented -- and as yet unmatched -- fourteen years." Sumiko did not react to his words at all, but simply brushed her waist-length hair away from her face.

"You are, each of you, an exemplary Slayer. I say that as one who has studied all the millennia of Slayer lore; that is, I do not say it lightly. Together, I think there is no telling what you might become. I hope no less than that you will become humanity's salvation."

No pressure, Buffy thought in a daze.

"From what are we to save humanity?" said the blonde woman -- Agatha, Buffy reminded herself. Agatha was speaking very determinedly, as though trying to convince herself of the subject's reality and importance. "Has some dark god or hellbeast arisen --"

"Would that it were so simple," Markwith said. "Though the story is quite an involved one -- a tragic history I know you all must eventually learn -- the end result is easy enough to describe. Humanity's numbers are diminished, and the vampires' numbers have risen. They are --" he hesitated for a moment, then said, "They are winning."

Frances chimed in. "Throughout most of your lives, there might have been, oh, one vampire per every 50,000 humans."

"Not in Sunnydale," Buffy muttered.

Frances shot her a look, but went on. "Today, the number is closer to one vampire per 100 humans."

"Impossible," Xiaoting breathed. Agatha made the sign of the cross. Noor frowned even more, which would have seemed impossible just moments ago. Sumiko didn't react at all.

"You, of all people, must not despair," Markwith said, smiling slightly at them. "You are our warriors. You are our best hope. We will train you again, teach you modern weapons, modern methods. Teach you about this century. And then reveal you to a world that will be eager to believe in you. And, I pray, to a Council that will be ready to receive you."

"Reveal us to the world," Buffy said absently. "So everybody knows about Slayers now? Guess that makes sense, what with everybody knowing about vampires now --"

"That's exactly right, Buffy," Frances said, in a voice that could have been either encouraging or condescending. "When the struggle became too fierce to conceal, the Council thought it necessary to let people know that they did have a fighter on their side."

"You said, you prayed the Council would be ready to receive us," Noor said sharply. "What did you mean?"

Markwith hesitated -- and Buffy somehow already knew he was a man not used to hesitating. "Well. When the Jenta demon turned up, I raised the question before the Council of performing this spell. There was dissent, discussion, debate; they're still going on about it. Would still be going on about it 50 years from now, if I left matters at that."

"You disobeyed the Council?" Agatha asked, shocked.

"Let's say I simply didn't ask," Markwith said. Agatha looked at him disapprovingly, as did Xiaoting. Noor's frown didn't change. Sumiko didn't react. Buffy, on the other hand, felt a brief, unwilling flash of liking for Markwith.

"Enough discussion for one day," Markwith said. "You must all be overwhelmed and exhausted. We have quarters for you -- a bit cramped, as of yet, though after the Council at large has learned about you, I have no doubt we'll be able to find something more appropriate to your station. Something within the Council Keep itself."

One of the white-clad people in the room -- a slender man who looked to be in his 30s and stood next to Sumiko -- hesitantly raised his hand. "I think we may have one small problem," he said.

"And what's that?" Markwith said.

The man looked over at Sumiko. Sumiko said "Koko wa doko?"

Markwith and the slender man stared at each other for a moment, and then looked back at Sumiko. She said "Atashi wa dare?"

The slender man clasped his hands in front of him. "I've read her Watcher's letters to the Council through and through. He said her lessons in English were coming along spectacularly well."

Sumiko asked, "Dare ka, Nihongo ga dekimasu ka?"

"Affectionate Watchers have -- on occasion -- been known to exaggerate their Slayers' skills due to, ah, understandable pride --" Markwith said slowly.

Sumiko looked at them all, and Buffy realized that what she had taken for lack of reaction was, in fact, a very controlled kind of panic.

"Well, just get a translator," Buffy said. Everyone stared over at her. "Just find somebody who speaks Japanese. God, she's got to be freaking out."

Frances mouthed the words "freaking out?" in obvious puzzlement. One of the other Watchers shrugged.

"I should like that very much, Buffy," Markwith said. "But in this century, Japanese is all but a dead language. Perhaps there's a scholar somewhere -- well, we'll look."

"And in the meantime?" Sumiko's Watcher said.

"In the meantime, we do for her what we do for all the others," Markwith said. "Give them a chance to rest."

**********

They were all in one room, five little twin beds laid out as though they were in an army dormitory. Maybe they were, Buffy thought. Each of them was given some of the shapeless clothing, pillows and blankets, and reassurance that they'd be seen to in the morning. Agatha was a little confused as to how they were meant to dress without the assistance of maids, but otherwise, they were all fairly quiet until the Watchers left.

As soon as the doors slid shut, though, they all looked at each other blankly. Buffy knew she was in shock; from the looks of the others, she wasn't alone. "This is so very strange," Agatha said in a quavering voice. She was huddled on the foot of her bed, unwilling to drop her sheet in order to change into her new clothes.

"I do not trust this Markwith," Noor said. "He should not have kept this secret from the Council."

"True," Xiaoting said. Her sheet was already abandoned on the floor as she held up her new garments to examine them, one by one. "But he's raised me from the dead, and the more I think about it, the less I'm inclined to worry about the details."

"This can't be happening," Buffy said. She ran her hands through her hair, bunched them into fists as she pulled at her own scalp. "I mean, it can't. Death is my gift! I took the gift! So I get to be dead now! The First Slayer told me that."

"The who?" Agatha said.

"The First Slayer! You guys -- you've seen her too, right? The original Slayer of them all, the very first called and chosen and all that jazz? Kinda has this whole Rasta, no-woman-no-cry thing going on?"

"Do you understand anything she is saying?" Noor asked.

"Not much," Xiaoting said. "Are you saying you had a vision or something?"

"Yes, exactly," Buffy said, trying hard not to be exasperated with the only people in the world who could possibly understand her. "My Watcher and my friends and I, one time we did this spell to link their powers with mine, and that totally pissed the First Slayer off, and she tried to kill us all in our dreams --"

Buffy looked at her audience and realized that they all appeared to be appalled. "This not ringing any bells?"

"I do not disrespect the source of my powers," Noor said. Agatha and Xiaoting nodded. Sumiko was the only one who didn't look horrified, but as she just looked scared and confused, this was not much help.

"Forget it," Buffy said shortly.

They all sat in silence for a couple of moments. Then Xiaoting broke the silence."What do you think the world is like?" she said hesitantly. "With that many vampires?"

They were all quiet for a few minutes. "I'm certain it's nothing I ever wanted to see," Agatha finally said.

"It's something we were not meant to see," Noor said firmly. "I tell you now, this is wrong."

"Well, of course it's wrong," Xiaoting said, and for the first time her bright voice threatened to crack. "The last thing I remember -- my Watcher had died, and I was dying with her, and I thought that it was only right we go together. Side by side. As we had lived. And I am here without her --" Her voice trailed off for a moment. Then she cleared her throat and said, more steadily, "I know it's wrong. But what can we do about it now?"

"Nothing," Agatha said. "Nothing at all."

They were all quiet again. Sumiko, ironically, ended the conversation by tugging on one of the sleepshirts -- at least, Buffy thought it was a sleepshirt; hard to tell -- and getting into her bed. After a brief pause, the others did the same. As Buffy lay down, Xiaoting said, "Lights."

The lights went off, leaving them in darkness. "At least that's still the same," Xiaoting muttered.

Buffy clutched her pillow. Now, at last, with nothing happening around her, she was going to have to think about it --

Giles is dead, she thought. Angel is dead.

Either one of those facts ought to kill her, she thought. Impossible, that she could go on in a world without either of them, much less both of them -- the two men who had taken care of her, taught her, supported her. The man she thought of as her father. The only man she had ever truly loved. Both gone now. Dust and ashes.

Willow is dead, she thought. Xander is dead.

They weren't ever going to come to her house laughing and joking again. Weren't ever going to call her up for love advice, as though there were anybody else in the world less able to give it --

Dawn -- is Dawn dead? Could Dawn die? What happened to her? Buffy thought. Whatever happens to people like her has happened, I guess. I -- I hope she was happy --

Tears began to prick at her eyes, but Buffy couldn't stop herself from adding to the list.

Tara was dead. Anya was dead. Riley was dead. Oz. Cordelia.Wesley. Graham. Jonathan. God, the guy at Subway, the one who remembered she didn't like cheese on her turkey sandwich, that guy was dead. Her professors at school. Julia Roberts. The mailman. All gone, erased, like names on a blackboard.

I'm the one who's supposed to be dead, she thought. I let it happen. I was ready. I chose to go, but I'm still here, and they're all gone, all of them, even --

My mom. Mom's dead.

It was that last thought -- the one she'd had the most time to understand -- that finally got her. Buffy turned her face into her pillow and began to cry.

Through her own sobs she could hear the others weeping.

Chapter Three
"Six Girls in All the World"

Don't think about it, Buffy told herself.

Her burdens had seemed unbearable the past few months -- or those few months 350 years ago. To get through, Buffy had fashioned those words into a kind of mantra. Don't think about it. Don't look at the overwhelming mass of danger and terror and loss. You only have to deal with one thing at a time. This is just one more thing. Don't think about it too much, and you'll get through this.

In the tiny sliver of her brain that wasn't in profound shock, Buffy knew her mantra had never been the best coping mechanism and was completely, utterly unsuited to deal with a situation such as this one. But at the moment, her griefstricken spirit could come up with nothing else to sustain her.

And so she found herself sitting in a 24th-century training room -- almost unchanged from its 20th-century version -- listening to a Watcher lecture about battle techniques. Instead of screaming at him, or fainting, or slitting her wrists, she sat numbly, thinking, Just one more thing.

"You may think us presumptious, teaching the five of you -- the greatest warriors of your eras -- how to fight," Markwith said.

"Presumptious. That is a good word," Noor said, under her breath. Xiaoting and Agatha shot her disapproving looks. Sumiko was focused on Markwith as if transfixed.

For her part, Buffy sat, cross-legged on the floor, trying to concentrate on what Markwith was saying. On her fellow Slayers, her only peers in this strange new world. On anything besides the litany of the dead that kept running through her mind.

Riley isn't spending any more Christmases in Iowa.

Anya won't ring up any more sales at the Magic Box.

Spike has smoked his last cigarette.

Don't think about it --

"All of you fought in eras when Slayers battled their opponents in hand-to-hand combat," Markwith said.

"What do we do now?" Buffy asked tiredly. "Just flip 'em off?"

Frances frowned at her from the place where the Watchers stood nearby. But Markwith smiled a little. "We have other methods these days."

"What? Magic?" Buffy asked. "Always meant to learn a little of that Wicca mojo --"

The Watchers all froze, and a couple of them gasped. Markwith straightened up and stared at her. Buffy could feel her cheeks flaming. "What did I say?" she said.

Markwith gave her another smile, but this one was distant and forced. "We must remember -- all of us," he said, with a look over at the disapproving Watchers, "that our Slayers come from earlier eras. Their attitudes towards subjects such as magic may be as different as their methods of combat."

"Magic's -- a bad thing?" Buffy ventured.

"You felt free to use it to raise us from the dead," Noor pointed out. "Did you commit a sin?"

Buffy looked over quickly to see the expression on Markwith's face. But he simply nodded. "Some in the Council would say yes. But the truth is more complex. Over the years, there reached a point when far too many people were using magic -- far too many people who did not use it properly. Some devastating things happen. Today, the use of magic is tightly controlled. Only those who have studied for many years are empowered to do so."

"Only sensible," Agatha said.

Suckup, Buffy thought. But in her mind was a vision of Willow looking over at her apologetically while Buffy tried to battle a conjured-up troll that was wrecking Giles' shop.

Only sensible.

Willow -- oh, God, she wanted to see Willow --

Don't think about it. Don't think.

"If not our hands, and not magic, then what?" Xiaoting asked. "And, I must tell you, not being able to use my hands takes all the fun right out of it for me."

Markwith smiled. "That's the spirit. Never fear; you'll be doing plenty of damage. You'll need to. The vampire master in these parts -- a creature called Kean -- has been causing more trouble than usual."

Kean, Buffy thought. She noted the name without emotion, almost as she might jot down something that sounded vaguely test-worthy in one of her classes. She didn't care, couldn't even pretend to, but knew down deep that this would be important soon.

"Kean. He is clever, cunning and deadly. He has found ways to convince humans to keep his secrets, perhaps even cooperate with his schemes -- though we know little of the particulars. We know little of him at all; nobody who knows will speak. But he commands more vampires than any of their other leaders, and he claims whatever lives he wishes, when he wishes. Even with all our resources, we have failed to stop him. This after 30 years he's spent practically on our doorstep." Markwith shook his head. "You'll change that, I hope. You have the ability. And the weaponry shouldn't be too unfamiliar." He nodded to the Watchers, who rolled out a cart containing bows and arrows, crossbows and some things that looked a lot like guns. The Slayers got to their feet and crowded around the tray.

"Archery," Agatha said with something that sounded like relief. "I'm rather good at that, actually. One of the few things I could practice in public." Sumiko picked up a crossbow and tested its weight with her hands, obviously happy to be confronted with something familiar.

"This is your big new innovation?" Buffy said. "Bows and arrows? And this, what --" she picked up a gun-like item with distaste, "this Han Solo blaster? I mean, that's kinda sci-fi and cool, but it's not really thinking outside the box, you know? I figured you guys would be all kinds of high-tech by now."

Everyone stared at her for a long moment. One of the Watchers turned to Frances and whispered, "Do you have any idea what she's talking about?" Frances shook her head sadly.

"The innovation isn't in the weaponry, Buffy," Markwith finally said. "It's in the strategy and philosphy behind our fighting. In earlier eras, Slayers were, frankly, considered expendable."

That's because we are, Buffy thought but did not say.

"Most Slayers lived no longer than a year. Some lived considerably shorter periods of time; there have been hundreds of Slayers who did not survive their first week. The Council accepted this as an established fact of life, as though this were the way things had to be," Markwith said. "We don't think that way any more."

He stepped back from them a bit, looking at them all, as he continued. "Slayers are now regarded with the respect -- the reverence -- they deserve. Your lives are valued. Your lives are preserved."

"In other words, you keep us around long enough to learn our skills properly, so that we can do more harm," Noor said.

"That is another benefit, yes," Markwith said evenly. "And keeping you alive means keeping you at a distance. You can kill vampires very effectively without engaging in hand-to-hand combat. In days such as these, it's not worth the risk. Our extremely limited resources prevent us from developing new weapons, but used correctly, the traditional armaments are more than sufficient. I realize this runs counter to your instincts and to the majority of your experience. But your Watchers will begin retraining you. I suspect you'll see the value of our methods in short order."

Frances and the other Watchers began taking up weapons and leading their Slayers to various areas of the room. Buffy shot Xiaoting a quick sideways glance. "Guess the fun's gone out of it for both of us."

Xiaoting smiled ruefully. "True. But the last time I had that much fun, I got killed."

*********

Buffy would not have thought that you could get really tired just practicing your aim, but after a few hours, her arms were quivering with strain and her eyes felt as though they were going to cross for life.

Agatha's years of practice were paying off as she drilled target after target with the bow and arrow. Xiaoting had apparently mastered the crossbow on her second or third try. Noor worked with the energy blasters like a born gunslinger. And, of course, because the blasters just incapacitated vamps, Noor would actually get to go stake them when she was done. Meanwhile, Sumiko seemed able to perfect every one of the weapons without even breaking a sweat.

But, next to Buffy, Frances was actually wringing her hands together.

"You must have used a crossbow before," Frances said.

"I did," Buffy insisted. "Lots of times. Killed some big uglies that way. Just wasn't ever my specialty."

Frances and Buffy both looked across the room at a target, which had been hit a few times around the perimeter. "So I see," Frances said.

Buffy wanted to hang her head. She wanted to explain that she could aim better than this, but doing so would mean explaining why she was doing so badly. Explaining that her every moment, every movement, was ruled by memory. That she couldn't take the weapon in her hands without hearing their voices.

"You'll be allowed to take up the longbow only after you've mastered this. Now do turn off that infernal racket so you can concentrate."

"You know, Buff, there's only one thing I like more than working long hours with hammer and nail to build you targets. And that's watching you tear 'em up in ten seconds flat."

"These were more common 200 years ago. I was nearly on the wrong end of one a time or two. You can do some real damage this way, Buffy. It's worth the effort to learn."

This target practice was part of her Slaying. And until this moment, she had not realized how much the people she'd loved were a part of her Slaying too.

How could she do this without them? Especially when they were all that still mattered to her, the people she loved --

Don't think about it.

Buffy realized, with a start, that she'd drifted off into memory again. Frances was looking at her uncertainly. "Guess they didn't train you for special ed," Buffy said. "Today, it's like I rode in on the short bus, huh?"

Frances just looked more confused, and Buffy sighed. "Can we just quit for the day? I'm not getting anywhere right now. That's got to be obvious at this point."

"Perhaps you would do better with some rest," Frances said. "Come along then. We'll get you back to your quarters."

As they walked into the hallway, Markwith fell into step beside them. "Not discouraged, are we?"

"Don't know about you guys," Buffy said. "I'm not so thrilled."

"Takes time to adjust," Markwith said heartily.

Frances nodded. "Is there any way we might help?"

Buffy froze. "There -- there is one thing --"

"Yes?" Markwith prodded.

I want to find out what happened to my friends, Buffy wanted to say. I want to know if Willow got her doctorate, if Giles ever got married, if Xander had any kids. I want to know if Angel kept up the fight. I want to know who took care of Dawn.

But if she asked them, they might tell her, and then she'd have to hear it. And as soon as she heard it, it would all be real --

"Buffy?" Frances said.

God, she thought, they're going to think I'm going crazy. Maybe I am going crazy. How am I going to keep from getting completely insane?

"A journal," Buffy said.

"Beg pardon?" Markwith said.

"I used to keep a journal. It was a way for me to, you know, let off steam," Buffy said. "Get my head together. Might be a good idea."

"We can train you on the computers," Frances said. "The interfaces are very simple --"

Buffy shook her head. "No. I need to write it down. With my hands. You know."

Markwith nodded. "We do have paper and pens about. They're generally used for magical purposes only these days; some spells do call for handwritten notes or conjuring words. So some people might look a bit askance --"

"We won't tell them," Buffy said.

"If you think it will help," Markwith said. "I'll have them sent down to you tomorrow."

"For now, perhaps you should just get some rest," Frances said. "You'll do better after some rest."

Rest is the only thing I wanted, Buffy thought. And it's the one thing I'm never going to get.

***

Buffy looked around at the Bronze -- crowded as ever, but crowded with all the wrong people. Where UC Sunnydale freshman should have been milling around, eating onion blossoms and guzzling beer bought with fake IDs, the Watchers were standing, staring, disapproving. Smash Mouth was blaring from the speakers, but nobody was dancing. They were all wearing their drab, shapeless clothing; Buffy looked down at her sequined tank top and bright blue pants with embarrassment. "Nobody told me about the new dress code," she said.

"It was posted on the board," Xiaoting said from her place in the cast-iron swing. "If you don't keep up, it takes all the fun out of it."

"This isn't about fun," Agatha insisted, as she took her feather duster to the stair railing.

Sumiko leaned over the pool table, her cue at the ready. She remained still for a while, studying the table carefully, waiting to make her move..

Markwith and Frances were sitting at a table. Markwith was looking doubtfully at his beer, and Frances was holding up a chicken wing with unconcealed distaste.

"Contrary to popular opinion, there are some very fine American beers," Markwith said. "This is not one of them."

"Why do they call them spicy buffalo wings?" Frances said.

"It's not like they're wings from buffaloes," Buffy hastened to explain. "We all know buffaloes don't have wings. I think they're supposed to be from Buffalo, New York. You know, the city?"

"I meant, why do they call them spicy?" Frances said, dropping the wing back onto her plate. "I've had ketchup with more kick."

Sumiko's stick snapped into the cue ball with a sharp crack that echoed throughout the Bronze, instantly silencing Smash Mouth. Buffy looked down at the pool table as every single one of the balls sank into a pocket.

"You're making a mess, Buffy," Agatha scolded. "You're bleeding all over the floor."

"You should be more careful," Noor said.

Buffy looked down. Blood was pooling on the front of her shirt. She clutched the top in her hands.

Frances crossed her arms. "Blood closes the door," she said. "And blood opens the door."

Buffy could only stare as she saw the bloodstain blossoming out, wider and wider, she felt the pain lance through her heart --

Buffy awoke with a start. She clutched the covers to her chest and gasped in a couple of deep breaths.

She looked around her -- Noor, Agatha and Xiaoting were all asleep in their beds. Xiaoting was sprawled out across her mattress as though she'd melted there, Noor was huddled up into a protective little ball, and Agatha lay on her back with the covers tucked primly up to her shoulders. But Sumiko was nowhere to be seen.

Buffy sat up and ran her hands through her hair. She'd crashed early, thinking she needed the rest -- apparently all she'd bought herself was a long night alone with her thoughts, which were not such pleasant company.

Back to the training room, she decided. Maybe I can just wear myself down. Like I did before. Wear myself down until there's nothing left --

She slipped quietly out of bed and grabbed up her exercise clothes, which as far as she was concerned looked just like the sleep clothes, and padded down the hallway to the training room. As she understood it, Markwith had found this building -- which, though it was a skyscraper, seemed to be long-abandoned -- to keep them secret until they were in top form, when he would take them to the Watcher's Keep. If it's up to me, Buffy thought, that might be a while. And what the hell is the Watcher's Keep, anyway? Sounds all David Koresh to me.

When the training room doors slid open, Buffy opened her mouth to call for the lights -- but the lights were already on. In one corner of the room, holding a pole in quarterstaff position, was Sumiko.

Sumiko looked over quickly, first with alarm on her face, then calm as she recognized Buffy.

"Sorry," Buffy said. "I mean, I didn't think I was interrupting --"

Sumiko stared at her, and Buffy felt a little stupid for trying to have a conversation in English. "Don't guess you speak French," Buffy said. "Parlez vous Francais?"

No response. "Just as well," Buffy sighed. "I'd only be able to tell you that I am going to the market to buy eggs and milk, and that my new shirt is blue. Not really a conversation-starter."

Sumiko kept staring, but her expression was a little softer; Buffy wondered if she appreciated the effort of communication, even though it was futile. "Well, I came here to work out, just like you. So don't mind me. Do your thing."

Buffy changed clothes quickly and without embarrassment -- no point in getting modest in front of somebody you met in the nude -- and glanced around for the crossbows. It seemed they'd been put away --

A hand tapped her on her shoulder, and Buffy jumped. When she wheeled around, she saw Sumiko standing right next to her. "God, you scared me! You are one stealthy little minx, aren't you?"

Sumiko took a step back, then bent her knees, brought up her arms, into a fighting stance. Buffy tensed up for a moment, then realized that Sumiko was making no move to strike. "Oh! You want to spar? Am I right?" Buffy half-dropped into the stance herself, made a couple of feinted moves. "Spar?"

After a moment, Sumiko gave one brief nod. Buffy sighed. "Took all the fun out of it for you, too, I guess. Well, then, gimme your best shot."

Buffy took the stance and hesitated for one more second -- just long enough to realize that Sumiko's foot was zooming toward her face. She ducked just in time, came up fast with her forearm to block a low punch that seemed to be moving at just under the speed of light. Buffy swung her own leg out; Sumiko lept over it effortlessly, aiming another kick at Buffy as she did so. Buffy stumbled back and found her footing almost by luck.

They fought on, blow for blow, block for block, with such blinding speed that Buffy had almost no time to think; she fought by instinct, by reflex alone. In the few moments of clarity she had -- the few moments when Buffy could get a breath, remember herself -- a realization unlike any she had ever known was sinking in.

Sumiko was better than she was.

Buffy had fought creatures stronger than herself, but she'd won by cunning. She'd fought opponents smarter than herself, but won by determination. She'd even fought other Slayers before, but Kendra had precision without passion, Faith passion without precision, and those facts had given Buffy the edge.

But Sumiko gave nothing away -- not an inch, not a blow. Her eyes were alive now, the blank expression she'd worn replaced by something that was half fury, half joy. She had moves Buffy'd never seen before, responses faster than Buffy had imagined possible. Buffy was giving her a workout; sweat was slick on Sumiko's skin, spraying from her long hair as she spun. But if push came to shove -- if this were a real fight, and not just sparring -- Buffy had no doubt she'd have been finished off a long time ago.

Sumiko whirled around in another of her roundhouse kicks, and Buffy didn't have time to truly duck, just to drop. As she hit the floor, she heard a horrified voice cry, "What are you doing?"

Buffy looked up to see Frances standing in the doorway. Sumiko's Watcher was at her side, hands folded across his chest. Sumiko glanced down at Buffy, then looked evenly at the Watchers.

"We were sparring," Buffy said, getting shakily to her feet. "You know. Practicing."

"This isn't practice," Sumiko's Watcher insisted. "This is exactly the kind of fighting you're menat to leave behind."

"Gee, hope you briefed all the vampires on the new routine," Buffy said. "If they drop right on top of us, I'll be able to say, you know the rules! Bad vampire! Get back to crossbow distance!. And they'll just leave. Is that how it works now?"

Frances gave her an uneven little smile. "Of course you still need all your skills, Buffy. But I'd say the two of you don't need any more help in this area. If you're going to run yourself ragged practicing all night, you ought at least to concentrate on the things you do need help with."

"You have no idea how much help I need," Buffy said. "The one thing I needed, you took away from me --"

"I beg your pardon?" Frances said. Sumiko's Watcher raised an eyebrow..

"Forget I said it," Buffy replied.

"You girls have another big day tomorrow," Frances said. "And you need your rest. Come along now."

She held out one hand; Sumiko apparently understood the gesture, because she half-turned to Buffy, made a quick bow, then went to the door. Buffy gathered up her sleep clothes with hands that trembled from exhaustion. Frances came to her side, and the smile on her face looked a little more real. "You simply have to give it time, Buffy. You'll see. I'm sure you were quite good at all the weapons before you were -- well, before."

"Don't you already know that?" Buffy said, looking sideways at Frances as they followed Sumiko and her Watcher out. "All your biographical information?"

"Well, your records aren't quite as complete as those of the other girls."

"You mentioned that before," Buffy said. "Why is that? Did my stuff get lost in the move, or something?"

Frances shook her head. "Your Watcher was apparently rather, ah, selective in the materials he sent to the Council. He didn't seem to feel that he should share the complete details of your activities."

"Giles was funny that way," Buffy said.

Was. The word hit her in the gut, stopped her in her tracks. She hadn't said that out loud before -- hadn't used the past tense.

Don't think about it.

Frances had stopped beside her; either she had a little more tact than Buffy realized or was eager to change the subject. "We chose you because you were one of the best, Buffy. That was our most important criterion, that the girls we would raise would be exceptionally gifted. We know that much about you, at least."

Buffy nodded, her spirits lifted from "abysmal" to merely "depressed." Slowly she began walking forward again. "That was just one of the reasons? What were the others?"

"Well, we meant to get Slayers who all spoke English, though that doesn't appear to have worked out precisely as we wished," Frances said with a quick nod forward at Sumiko. "We could only call back those Slayers from whom we had a -- for lack of a better word, a genetic sample. That's not difficult to obtain for recent centuries, though Sumiko and Agatha were a bit of a stretch. We also wanted Slayers who would work well within our society."

"What does that mean?"

"That we wanted Slayers with a strong sense of duty. An ability to follow rules. A dedication to their task above all other commitments in life. This is a time and place that needs people with a sense of duty, Buffy. And we thought those Slayers most focused on their work, their true purpose in life, would be better able to adjust to this century."

Buffy stopped again and stared at her. "That's what you wanted?"

"Of course." Frances looked at her curiously.

"I'm not any of those things!" Buffy said, gesturing with her hands as though she could grab a better explanation out of the air. "I mean, I do my job. I know it counts. But I always had my friends and my family and, and -- everybody. I did the slaying, but being the Slayer wasn't the be-all end-all for me. And I am SO not into following the rules."

"You're not serious," Frances said.

"No, this is my comedy routine. Of course I'm serious! Giles didn't tell you that? He was always on me about it --" And there was that past tense again. Buffy felt herself starting to tear up; she blinked it back and kept talking. "I'm not any of the stuff you wanted. None of it! So why am I here?"

Frances looked at her for a long moment, the uncertainty on her face shifting into cool disapproval. "I honestly have no idea."

Chapter Four
"The Undead"

As the days dragged by, Buffy began realize exactly how and why people go mad.

She'd talked about going crazy before, but she'd never really known what that meant. Now, though, she was starting to get an idea.

Maybe she looked normal on the outside, she thought. The others didn't look strangely at her, save Frances when Buffy botched another target practice. They didn't mention the fact that she went to bed earlier than any of them, got up later than any of them, ate less. Her form improved slightly on the weapons, but Buffy didn't care. Sometimes it seemed as though every voice she heard was from a great distance, or that her limbs were heavy and slow, not worth lifting. She was caged, she thought -- within this century she was never meant to see, in this compound that seemed more like a jail every day, in her own tired, terrified mind.

Nobody in this world cares about me, Buffy thought. I'm not a person to them. I'm only here to be a Slayer, and I'm not even that anymore, apparently. What's the point?

She no longer thought of her lost friends and family and lovers as they had been, laughing and fighting and alive. She thought of them lying quiet in the ground, still and untroubled. Buffy envied them so much she almost hated them, then hated herself for the feeling.

The other Slayers didn't feel the way she did; Buffy never asked them, but she knew. They'd lived to be Slayers, and so long as they remained Slayers, they had a purpose. Buffy knew that Xiaoting still cried at night when she thought about her Watcher, heard Agatha praying for the soul of her fiancé during her morning devotions. Noor's pent-up anger had to come from someplace. But all of that apparently mattered less than being the Slayer. And to Buffy, being the Slayer had never mattered less.

Buffy only tried to talk about it once.

"I mean, why am I here? Without my friends or my family, it feels like there's just -- no reason."

Sumiko looked at her, confusion plain on her face. Buffy sat across from her in the training room, wiping tears from her cheeks with the back of her hand. She had come to the training room for solitude, to taste that silence and stillness she was craving. Instead, she had found Sumiko and, to her surprise and Sumiko's probable dismay, started venting.

"I mean, I jumped into that portal for a lot of reasons. I wanted to stop it all, I know that. I wanted to end it. But I wouldn't have just killed myself, no matter how hard it was, or how bad I wanted to. What I wanted was to save them all. I knew I could do it, and it would be okay, because after that I wouldn't have to lose anybody else, not ever again. So I jumped to save them. And instead -- it feels like I killed them."

Buffy was trembling, could feel her lips curling as she tried to stifle the sobs that threatened to overwhelm her. "And I woke up here in this place I hate. I mean, I HATE it. It's cold, and it's gray, and apparently there's vampires all over the place waiting to kill us. Who would ever want to be here? Who wants to live like this?"

She looked over as Sumiko, who was looking back with the same patient incomprehension as ever. Buffy started to cry in earnest. "Look at who I'm talking to. I m-mean, it's worse for you. You don't even speak the language, and, and, you lost your friends and family too, whoever they were. You're probably more weirded than I am. But at l-l-least you can fight. You're still a Slayer. You've got that. I, I don't even have that anymore. Oh, God. I wish I were still --"

Buffy's voiced choked off before she could say the final word. She leaned over, bending double with her sobs until her forehead touched the floor. For a few long minutes, she kept crying harder and harder, starting to run out of breath between sobs.

Then she felt a soft, hesitant touch atop her head. After a moment, Buffy felt Sumiko begin to comb her fingers through Buffy's hair. And then Sumiko started to sing.

The words were in Japanese, of course, and the melody didn't correspond to Buffy's general idea of music. But her voice was surprisingly light and sweet, and her intent was clear. It was the first kindness Buffy had known in this century.

She continued sobbing, but something deep within her was comforted.

For a little while.

Eventually she tried other ways of centering herself.

Journal Entry: March 20, 2353

Markwith says we go public soon. We get our big debut at the Council meeting -- apparently there's, like, 200 people on the Council now. Imagine the tweed. He's going to apologize for using dark magic to pull us out of our graves, which I would think would take a while, but he says will just take a few minutes. And once the Council gives us the go-ahead, we get to go out on patrol.

I get to fight vampires again, and that's the only thing I've felt good about in a long time. And that scares me.

Because I'm not thinking about winning.

I imagine it over and over. Fangs in my throat, or hands snapping my neck, or falling through one of these windows -- I missed the fall last time I died, though I must have fallen. I wonder how long it takes. Or even drowning -- it didn't take that first time, but it was quick enough --

Spike told me one time that Slayers were all a little bit in love with death. I thought he was full of shit. But now I wonder. I mean, the way I think about it all the time -- I'm daydreaming about it like I was obsessed. The only other time I acted this way? When I was dating Angel and I would imagine making love with him. It's that same kind of dreamy feeling, like there's these images in my brain that I play and rewind, play and rewind, again and again and again, and it's never enough.

I used to believe it's wrong to want to die. I remember yelling at Angel, that Christmas when it snowed -- I was so mad at him for being ready to give up. But if he felt as bad as I do now, maybe I was wrong to tell him to keep fighting. I've learned since then how terrible it feels, to truly want to die.

Buffy put down her pen and frowned at the paper. This isn't helping, she thought.

But it increasingly seemed as though nothing would.

*******

"We're going to the Council meeting in a tank?" Buffy said.

She and the other Slayers were all staring at their transportation -- a large, armored vehicle that, Buffy decided, looked less like a tank and more like Spike's Winnebago from hell, if he'd been able to afford cast-iron siding. It was black, windowless and altogether not the ideal family car. Already, she could feel herself losing the slight lift in her spirits she'd known when they'd finally left their few monotonous rooms.

"This looks very heavy," Agatha said. "How many horses do you need to pull it?" Sumiko was also staring at the vehicle in what was obviously utter bewilderment.

"We need something substantial. It's nighttime," Frances said, as though that explained everything.

"I apologize for moving you so late at night," Markwith said. "It might have been better if you could have seen the city during the day first."

"Besides, we ought to be the safest people out there," one of the other Watchers -- Noor's, a sad little man who already seemed to have given up on reaching his sullen charge. "Five Slayers along for the ride? We'll be fine."

"When did five Slayers become necessary protection to move through the streets of London?" Agatha murmured as they clambered into the vehicle.

"I don't like this," Noor said.

"You don't like anything," Xiaoting said. Noor turned as if to snap at her, then saw Xiaoting's pale, drawn face and remained silent.

Frances got in what must have been the driver's seat (though Buffy saw no steering wheel) and began pressing faintly lighted areas on the console before her. They started moving forward, and large doors slid open before them.

Buffy craned her head forward to see out of the only opening -- the windshield area. Almost as soon as she had done so, she wished she hadn't.

The streets looked like a war zone. Nobody was out -- at least, nobody who was willing to be seen. Windows were broken. Some buildings had torn-up or smashed-in walls. Now and again, they would drive by a building that had obviously burned down, perhaps long ago, and never been repaired. A few buildings were lit up, and in the windows Buffy could see what appeared to be crowds of people huddled together. A couple of abandoned vehicles -- bulkier than the cars Buffy remembered, but not so formidable as their own transport -- lay about, one of them with open doors and a dark smear along its side in the vague shape of a handprint.

Frances, Markwith and the other Watchers did not seem to think anything was wrong.

At first, Buffy was horrified; after a few minutes, though, she felt herself begin to ease into the idea. So this is what it looks like, she thought. The place where I'm going to die. For good, this time.

Finally they turned around one bend to reveal a building that stood apart from the dark and damaged ones around them -- a tall, imposing dome, built of some white stone that was almost unscarred by the warfare around them. Rings of light around its different levels shone out in every direction.

"Home at last," Frances said.

****

The Slayers were all in a small room a hallway down from the main Council Chamber. Earlier that day, they'd been instructed to put on their best clothes, which to Buffy looked just like the sleep clothes. For the occasion, Xiaoting had tied her tunic back to show off her curves, and Agatha had spent some time braiding some elaborate updo for her white-blonde hair. Noor, less enthused about the proceedings, had contented herself with creating a wrap that hid her hair to her satisfaction. Though Sumiko couldn't have understood the details, she seemed to have picked up on the new energy; after watching the others all afternoon, she had carefully folded a cloth to create a wide sash for her waist.

Buffy sat slightly apart from them, slumped against the wall. Her clothes were the same as ever, and she hadn't bothered washing her hair. It seemed like too much work.

Despite what they had seen earlier, Xiaoting seemed determined to be cheerful. "This is exciting, isn't it? Finally being known to the world?"

Noor seemed determined not to be cheerful. "I do not think this will be as simple as Markwith claims."

"Probably not," Agatha said. "But -- I do think it's rather a relief. I was so frustrated before; I spent my nights fighting every manner of demon, and in the morning I had to feign a swoon if a mouse ran across the floor. It will be nice, not pretending."

"That's not the best of it," Xiaoting said with determination. "We're finally going to get some payback. All those years of work and sacrifice, and we never got any reward."

"Saving the world is reward enough," Noor insisted.

"You'll need another audience for that line," Xiaoting said. "I did my work in obscurity and did it well, but I'll be twice as happy to do it for a world that knows and appreciates it. Come on! You know we're owed a debt. Don't tell me you're unhappy that a little of it is finally going to be paid back."

"I don't mean to be immodest, but Markwith did say we'd get a warm welcome," Agatha said with a little smile. "I shouldn't mind that at all."

"I bet we get stoned," Buffy said. "Not the Grateful Dead kind. The Biblical kind."

"The grateful dead," Noor said. "This is an unusual name -- is it a vampire cult?"

"Forget I mentioned it," Buffy sighed. "But I don't think it's gonna be all peaches and cream out there. If it were, they wouldn't have kept us secret to start with."

She'd said it mostly to shut Xiaoting up; Buffy was tired of thinking about how much better the others were at coping with all of this. Now, though, as they considered what she'd said for a few silent moments, Buffy started to think about it too. "They do not trust each other," Noor finally said. "They lock their doors, fear one another. My Watcher told me there are thefts even in the inner chambers of the compound. If senior members of the Council cannot trust the others even with their possessions, then whom will they trust with us?"

"I think we're being a bit melodramatic," Xiaoting said. "Besides, they don't look at us as their property, not anymore --"

"That is what Markwith said," Noor said. "But he has kept us locked in these few small rooms for two weeks."

"For our protection!" Agatha said.

"From what?" Buffy said.

They were all silent a few moments longer. Then Noor got to her feet. "Markwith has gone to prepare the Council. I think we should prepare ourselves."

"What do you mean?" Agatha said.

"We leave this room. We find their Chamber. If we cannot see what is happening, we can hear."

"Eavesdropping?" Agatha said, a faint blush in her pale cheeks.

“For somebody who used to behead people for a living, you can be really prissy sometimes," Buffy said. "Sounds like a plan to me."

Noor shot her a quick glance of approval. Great, Buffy thought, I'm on the same page with the hostile, paranoid one.

Xiaoting looked as though she might object, but instead got up and opened the door herself. "They're going to be furious," she said. "But I suppose it will be easier if the fury's spread among all five of us."

Sumiko hesitantly got to her feet, apparently willing to follow. Agatha sighed. "This is completely unnecessary," she insisted. But she came along too.

Xiaoting looked around and signaled that their way was clear. They hurried down the hallway with predators' silence; nobody was near. In perfect, quiet accord, they would stop at each door -- Noor would lean forward and listen, then shake her head -- and they would continue on.

After a few minutes, though, they heard it for themselves -- a low rumble, as though dozens of people were arguing at once. "Bingo," Buffy said.

"They're near," Agatha said.

"I just said that," Buffy said.

"No," Noor said, her ill-temper apparently restored. "You said one of your strange, meaningless words."

"Have we come here to talk or listen?" Xiaoting snapped.

Buffy quit glaring at Noor as they came up to wider doors -- old-fashioned ones made of wood, a grand entrance. They could hear, even without pressing their ears to the doors; four of them leaned forward anyway. Sumiko just watched them, a little sadly.

"Why did you think this was necessary?" said a woman's voice, thick with an Australian accent.

"Any step we can take -- every step we can take -- to turn the tide of this war is necessary," Markwith said. His voice echoed slightly, and Buffy wondered just how big the Chamber was.

"Many steps were available to us that did not involve using dark magic," another voice said.

"But no other step that would so inspire the hope of the people," Markwith said. "They look to the Slayer as their savior."

"Not anymore," the Australian woman said. Wait, no, Buffy thought. Not a woman -- a girl. "I know I'm new at it. But if you think you need more than one Slayer to do the job --"

"That's not the case at all, Sky," Markwith said soothingly. "No one doubts your ability."

"Then why d'ya think you have to bring in other Slayers to do my work for me?"

"Don't be preposterous --" Frances began, but another voice cut her off.

"The Slayer's right to speak is sacrosanct," said a man -- old, even in his voice. "Let her speak."

The Australian girl -- Sky the Vampire Slayer -- continued on. "You've all been saying how it gets better once the people are done grieving for the old Slayer. Then they accept the new one. But how will they ever accept me now?"

"They will accept all of you," Markwith said.

"They'll have favorites," Sky said. "And I won't be one of them. Five legendary Slayers, you said. You mean, five Slayers better than me."

"A little perspective would be nice," Xiaoting muttered.

"If you don't think I'm good enough to take on Kean, good enough to do the job the Powers chose me for --"

Kean again, Buffy thought.

"Of course not, Sky," the old man said. His voice had an unmistakable ring of authority; Buffy wondered if perhaps this was the person in charge. The Quentin Travers of the 24th century. Oh, joy, she thought. "This was done without this Council's permission. The Council did not believe this necessary. But -- it is now done. It cannot be undone. We must make the best of it."

Another man's voice rang out. "Then let's be sure we have the whole truth in the record."

The crowd murmured for a long few moments; when the sound had stilled, the last voice spoke again. "I know that I don't often speak in this Chamber. But I still have the right to speak. And I want it in the record exactly what Markwith's done."

Frances' voice was shrill. "Brought back our fallen heroes from the dead? Helped turn the tide of this war?"

"Slayers fight our war for us, and they pay a terrible price. And we've brought these Slayers back from the dead so that, eventually, they can die for us again. How much do they have to sacrifice? How much do they have to suffer? The price is too high."

Buffy's heart was slamming against her chest. She felt numb, dizzy, utterly overwhelmed. She could feel her palms, hot and sweaty, against the door.

"Is there a price too high for saving humanity?" Markwith said. "I don't think so, though I suppose you might."

"This is no time for another of your endless arguments," the old man said tiredly. "And certainly not the place."

"This is exactly the time, and exactly the place. Markwith's making this Council his pawn, and if none of the rest of you will speak out about it, I will."

"I think, sir, you forget your place," a voice called, apparently from the back.

"I remember it as well as most of you remember yours. We're here to protect humanity, not to deceive it. We're meant to do our work for its own sake, not for public glory."

"Spoilsport," Xiaoting muttered. Buffy opened her mouth to try to speak, but no words would come out. She couldn't find the breath.

"Markwith tries to take people's mind off the fight with his bread and circuses. If people have figureheads to love and worship, they don't remember the trouble they're in. Is that really the best we have to offer? I don't think so."

"You insult me," Markwith said, almost gently.

It can't be true, she thought. It just can't be true.

But if it was -- oh, if it was --

Buffy jumped back as if shocked; certainly it seemed as though electric current was running through her body. The others stared at her, but she didn't care. It didn't matter.

Nothing mattered except getting into that room --

Buffy ran through the doors, slamming into the wood with a bang that echoed through the Chamber. As she looked around wildly, she saw that the room was larger than she had thought -- a circular ampitheater, filled with people in the same drab clothes. A very old man with skin the color of Noor's -- the man she'd decided was in charge? -- was sitting in an elevated chair at the inner rim of the circle. Almost all of the 200 people or so in the room -- all of whom were staring at her or turning to their companions to join in the buzz of confused and excited reaction -- were seated. Markwith, however, was standing. So was Frances. So was a young girl, perhaps 15 years old, tree-tall and rail-thin, with coal-black skin and a wounded expression.

And so was the person she sought.

Buffy ran forward, taking him in at a glance. The same shapeless clothing as the other Watchers -- hair that was boot-camp short --

But the face was the same.

As she ran to him, she cried, "Angel!"

Angel looked at her, and the moment she saw his eyes, she felt the tears start.

Oh, thank God, she thought as she ran to Angel's side. Thank you thank you thank you.

She ran to him, almost leapt at him, clutching him close in a desperate embrace. Any moment now, she would finally feel his arms around her again --

But his body went tense, and she pulled back in shock.

Angel only stared at her, as though he had never seen her.

Or never wanted to.

Chapter Five
"That Which Survives"

"Angel?" Buffy repeated, her voice trembling. "Angel, don't you know me?"

After a long moment, Angel whispered, "Buffy? I -- It can't really be you --"

"It is, Angel it's me," she said. "Oh, God, how did you get here?"

The Council was total bedlam now; people were shouting, pointing, carrying on. The old man in the chair was holding up his hand, as though to call them to silence, but was being ignored.

Buffy heard one woman near them whisper, "You don't mean that's HER? That they brought back the one who --"

"Silence!" the old man finally cried, and the room hushed at his words. Buffy glanced back quickly; the other four Slayers had run in behind her and were staring up at her in undisguised shock. Frances' jaw had actually dropped.

Angel looked at her searchingly for a long moment, then shook his head as if to clear it. "Markwith, what have you done?" he called past her.

"Even now, you distrust me," Markwith said. "Even now, when I have given you the greatest gift I could ever offer. Is there no end to your paranoia?"

"You knew," Buffy said. Though she spoke in a low voice, her words carried throughout the amphitheater. "You knew about me and Angel all along, and you didn't tell me he was here. Why didn't you tell me?"

"You're together again," Markwith said. "And that's all that matters --"

"No, it's not," Buffy said. Her fists clenched at her sides. "That's the only reason I'm here, isn't it?"

Markwith hesitated, and Buffy felt her stomach twist. "That's it. You didn't pick me because I was good or smart or fast or anything. You just picked me because of Angel." She looked back at Angel and saw the drawn, tense expression on his face. She looked back at Markwith, and her eyes narrowed. "And not for a gift. I'm not a gift, dammit --"

"Buffy, that's enough!" Frances said. She looked as though she might shatter into pieces at one more shock, but she kept talking. "You owe Aaron Markwith your life."

"Yeah, he did me a big favor," Buffy said sarcastically.

"Angel, is this her?" the old man said. "This is the Slayer written of in your history?"

Angel slowly nodded. "If this is really her, really Buffy -- yes, Ishak, it is."

Buffy whirled back toward him. "What do you mean, really Buffy?" she shot back. "Of course it's really me! Angel, why don't you believe me? I mean, I believe you, and how do I know it's really you? You're the one with the funky weird new army hair and the Obi-Wan Kenobi getup."

"I think it's her," Angel said.

"And these are our other Slayers?" the old man said.

"Yes, Ishak," Markwith said, visibly relieved. "Our other warriors."

"We're not all completely mad," Agatha said helpfully.

Sky sank down into her seat, looking as though she wanted to disappear.

Everyone else was paying attention to the other Slayers now as Markwith introduced them, or was pretending to, anyway. Buffy searched Angel's face. He'd never been easy to read, but now his expression was unfathomable. He considered her in perfect silence, his face grave. At last, she whispered, "Angel, it's really me."

"I know that now," he replied in the same low voice.

"Then how can you just stand there? How can you not care --"

"I do care, Buffy," Angel said. "I'm sorry. It's been a long time, and this -- this is going to take some getting used to --"

"But God, Angel, I've been so -- so scared, and I never thought I'd see anyone I loved ever again, and here you are, and you won't even --"

"Buffy, listen to me," Angel said, his voice even quieter and more urgent. "There's a lot more going on here. You understood that right away. We have to be very careful right now. Both of us."

Buffy took a deep breath. "So we're playing it cool?"

"As soon as this is over, we'll talk," Angel said. After a pause, he hesitantly put one hand on her shoulder. "I promise."

The pressure of his hand was less comforting than she would have thought. Buffy nodded and turned away from him, back toward her fellow Slayers. But she remained at his side.

Markwith was going on about Xiaoting's accomplishments -- something about Velga demons and rings of fire -- and Xiaoting had her head held high. Agatha and Noor were both facing Ishak, Agatha standing almost at attention, Noor with her arms folded across her chest. But Sumiko was staring over at Buffy -- no, Buffy realized, at Angel. Her expression was shifting from confusion to something darker. Something dangerous.

Sumiko leapt forward, landing on the wooden rail of the Chamber's center circle. Her hand smashed down, shattering the rail, then came back up holding a makeshift stake. "No, don't!" Buffy cried, throwing her arms out to shield Angel.

Xiaoting ran forward and grabbed Sumiko's other arm. "Sumiko, no," she said. "It's all right."

Buffy said, "This is Angel. He's not like other vampires. He wouldn't hurt anyone." She knew Sumiko wouldn't understand the words, but hopefully she'd get something from the tone of her voice, the expression on her face. "He's safe. That's why he's here. Everyone knows that." She paused, then quickly looked back over her shoulder at Angel. "Everyone does know you're a vampire, right?"

"That's right, Sumiko," Markwith said, his voice resonating within the halls. "We have all read of Angel's goodness. We all feel perfectly safe having him within this Council. Don't we?"

"Angel's not the one you should be worried about," Buffy said.

"Buffy, no," Angel muttered. "Not here and not now."

Sumiko slowly climbed down from the railing and backed into her old place in the center of the circle. She never took her eyes off Angel.

Ishak held up his hand once more. "We will present the Slayers at the public meeting two nights from now. I do not approve of your methods, Markwith, but perhaps good will come of it."

Markwith straightened up, but the gleam went out of his eyes as Ishak continued, "Be warned, Markwith. We maintain an order within this Council for a reason. Do not step beyond it again."

Ishak lowered his hand, and his chair sank slowly until it was level with the ground. Angel moved toward him. "Where are you going?" Buffy said.

"I work with Ishak," Angel said. "Normally I'd go with him to discuss what's happened." Buffy bit her lip, and Angel quickly added, "But now I'm just going to tell him that I need to talk with you for a while. Wait here, okay?"

"Okay," Buffy said. She sank down into the nearby seat and looked around at the room. The crowds of Watchers around them were getting to their feet, heading toward the door, whispering, pointing, and glancing at all the new Slayers -- but particularly at her. She heard one elderly woman remark, "Well, that was less boring than usual."

Buffy would've liked to smile, but she realized suddenly how exhausted she was, how shaky. She felt this way after slaying, sometimes; adrenalin and emotion she'd needed a few moments before were wearing out their welcome, taking their toll.

Sky was brushing off people trying to talk to her and hurrying out the door. The other four Slayers were being gathered together by Markwith, though they seemed more guarded toward him than usual; Noor did not even pretend to disguise her hostility. Sumiko followed him obediently, but she kept looking over her shoulder at Angel. Her body was tense, still poised to strike.

Angel moved quickly to Ishak's side and spoke to him for a few moments. Despite the throngs of people, and the fact that many of them seemed to want to talk to Ishak immediately, none of them came very close to Angel. Buffy realized no one so much as brushed a sleeve against him, and very few even looked directly at him. He seemed far away from all of them, from everything. From her.

She dropped her head into her hands. By the time the hall had gone quiet, tears were in Buffy's eyes again. She heard Angel come back up the steps toward her and looked up to see him standing near her, seemingly impassive. "We're alone now," Buffy said. "No reason to hold off on that warm welcome."

"Buffy, please," Angel said, and his voice was little gentler -- a little more the way she remembered it. "I know this must be incredibly difficult for you. But this is hard for me to believe, even now."

"I know," she said. "I don't know what I'm doing here. I know I don't belong in this time. Everything's all wrong, and when I saw you, I had this moment when I thought you were going to make everything better. But instead you're all --" Buffy looked up at his face, and a little of the anger went out of her, replaced by fear. "Angel, do you even remember me? I mean, really remember?"

"It's been 350 years," Angel said slowly. "I never forgot you, Buffy. But sometimes you seemed so -- unreal -- to me. Like I dreamed you up. This golden girl who loved me and saved me and told me to carry on the fight. It sounds like a dream, doesn't it?"

"So I'm just this foggy vision from the past. Not even a real person to you any more."

"That's not true," Angel said as he sank into the seat next to her. "There are days you never forget, moments you remember. Even after three centuries."

That sounded a little more like the Angel she knew, and she looked up at him hopefully. But he was still remote -- in spirit, if not in body. His shoulders were hunched forward protectively, and he was half-turned from her. She hugged herself at the waist. "So why aren't you glad to see me?"

Angel was quiet for a moment, considering his answer. Buffy looked at him for a long time; the face was the same, of course, but for some reason he appeared different. Maybe it was the super-short hair, she thought. It managed to make him look both more severe and more vulnerable.

At last he said, "Buffy, when you came through that door and I saw you again --" He sighed and looked away. "I have to remember why you're here, and so do you."

"Markwith," Buffy said.

"He hates me, hates that I have rank here. He doesn't understand why the Council suffers a vampire in their midst, and he's not alone. A lot of people out there distrust the Council because I'm a part of it. Markwith brought you here to knock me off balance. People have done that to me before, and the results have been pretty terrible."

Buffy froze. "People have brought me back from the dead before?"

"No. That's not what I meant," Angel looked back at her. "We're not going to play Markwith's game, Buffy."

"So, that's it?" Buffy said, her voice trembling slightly. "Gee, nice to see you again, you're looking terrific, let's keep in touch? Or do we just pretend we never met at all?" Tears were welling in her eyes again, and she tried to blink them back, but it was no use. All her old despair was flooding back into her now, her heart lacerated by the excision of her brief hope. "Everybody I know is gone, except for you, but I can't be with you, because this guy Markwith, who dragged me out of my grave, is trying to use me to mess you up. So I just go out in that war zone and fight the uglies until they kill me again. And they're gonna get me quick, Angel, because I don't even know how to fight anymore." She gave him a grief-twisted smile. "Do you think you'll forget me faster this time?"

Angel leaned forward. "Buffy, listen to me. I never forgot you. Never. But this isn't how I remembered you. I know that I never saw you like this before."

"Like what?"

"Defeated."

The word hit her like a physical slap. Buffy choked back her last sob. Angel continued: "Nothing ever beat you, Buffy. No matter how much you lost, or how much you were hurting, or how hard it was gonna be to keep going, you did it."

"Not at the end. You didn't see me at the end. That was different," she whispered.

"I know," Angel said. "But you're the same."

Buffy sucked in a quick breath and straightened her back. The flush of warmth she felt right now was only borrowed courage; she knew that much from experience. She also knew that sometimes that was enough to get through to tomorrow. But tomorrow -- "Can't we see each other at all?"

"I'm not going to let Markwith control me," Angel said. "That means we take responsibility for controlling ourselves. We'll -- talk. We'll work something out. Find our way."

"Yeah?" Buffy said, and when Angel nodded, she felt her first faint smile in what felt like eternity spread across her face. "That'd be good."

"I should go talk to Ishak," Angel said as he got to his feet. "And I imagine the others are waiting on you. Where on earth did Markwith have you guys stashed?"

Buffy stood up and began following him down the steps of the empty Chamber. "Some abandoned skyscraper. Many scary blocks from here."

"They'll move you into the Keep first thing tomorrow, assuming they don't move you tonight," Angel said. "Tomorrow night, come to my rooms. We'll have had some time to recover."

Angel looked so cool and unruffled that it was hard to imagine he had to recover from anything. But Buffy didn't feel like pressing the point. "You live here too?"

"Everyone on the Council lives here. It's probably the only truly safe place in London. Maybe anywhere."

"Lucky us," Buffy said, and the absurdity of the comment hit her all at once. She began laughing, a weak, punchy laugh that usually signaled the end of her rope.

Angel gave her the shadow of a smile. "Fortune favors the brave."

They went through the large wooden doors; Markwith and Frances stood there. Buffy could almost feel the chill of the glare that passed between Markwith and Angel. "The others are waiting, Buffy," Frances said hurriedly. "Come along."

"I got one more thing left to do," Buffy said. "This thing where I bitch-slap Aaron Markwith to a bloody pulp."

"So refreshingly direct," Markwith said, with what sounded like genuine good humor. "We'll talk about this later, Buffy."

"Give me one good reason I should go with you."

"Buffy," Angel said, his voice a warning. Buffy looked back at him, nodded quickly and started moving down the hall. Markwith and Frances needed a few steps to catch up with her.

"Angel is trying to tell you to pick your battles wisely, Buffy," Markwith said as they moved away. "He's right about that much. But I hope you'll be wiser at picking your enemies than he is."

"Angel's enemies are my enemies," Buffy said. "So I guess they're all picked out for me."

They got into the elevator and began their descent to the lower levels and the armored transport. "You are loyal," Markwith said. "And loving, I think. Your dedication to Angel speaks well of your heart, at least."

"So what does the fact that you hate him say about you?" Buffy shot back.

"A great many things," Markwith said. "And I think they speak well of me."

The elevator doors swooshed open to reveal the transport, four obviously horrified Watchers and four Slayers who were staring at Buffy and Markwith with mixed levels of suspicion and curiosity. Buffy took the opportunity to put some physical distance between her and Markwith; she was dangerously close to losing her temper. "Angel is not like other vampires. Don't you know that by now? Ishak trusts him. Why can't you?"

"Ishak is a sentimental old man who --" Markwith caught himself. "Buffy, be honest with me. Be honest with yourself. Was Angel always as trustworthy as you say? Was he always stable? Did he never once, in all the time you knew him, become a danger to you? To those around you?"

"If you have my records," Buffy said slowly, "then you know the answer. But that doesn't mean --"

"That it will happen again? I sincerely hope it doesn't. But I'm not content to hope. I act." Markwith got into the vehicle, forcing Buffy to get in as well in order to continue the discussion. After a moment's pause, the others followed suit but remained silent. "Angel's convinced that everyone who doesn't accept him wholeheartedly has a stake behind his back, waiting to strike. It would never occur to him that my intentions might be genuine."

"Genuine?" Buffy asked incredulously.

"As the story goes, you were the reason Angel joined our fight in the first place. His inspiration, perhaps you'd say. But he's been odd of late. Quiet, secretive, hostile -- I mean, more so than usual. His behavior has drawn attention. I'm far from the only one who thought he might have the potential to become a danger again. This project was in the planning stages, and I thought, why not bring you back to him? If there were anyone capable of stabilizing him, it would be you."

Buffy looked sideways at Markwith as the armored vehicle rumbled into motion. The explanation made sense. It was even flattering, in a way. But it didn't quite add up. "So why didn't you tell me?"

"Didn't want to get your hopes up," Markwith said easily. "After all, it's been three and a half centuries, hasn't it? I wasn't sure he'd welcome you back with open arms. Glad I was wrong on that score."

Buffy said nothing else on their way home.

**

Everyone was silent until the moment the last Watcher left the Slayers' communal room. The moment the doors slid shut --

"A vampire? You were in love with a vampire? How is this possible?"

"How terribly shocking! I mean, for you too, dear --"

"I can't believe you're the girl from Angel's past!"

Xiaoting said this last, and Buffy turned to face her. "What? You knew about us?"

"Well, I knew about Angel," Xiaoting said. "A vampire on the Council? That's a topic of conversation that never ends, I'm sure. I even met him once, when my Watcher brought me to London for a visit. It seemed so scandalously thrilling."

"My Watcher did not mention this," Noor said.

"Nor mine," Agatha said. Sumiko was ignoring them all and getting into her sleep clothes.

"He wasn't on our side of the fight in your time, Agatha," Buffy said. "For that matter, he wasn't a member of the Council of Watchers fan club in my time, either."

"But he joined up because of you," Xiaoting said. "It's such a great story. And I just can't believe you're the beautiful girl they always talked about!"

"I'm gonna assume that came out wrong," Buffy said. "What did you hear? Tell me."

Xiaoting bounced onto her bed and hugged the pillow tight; Noor and Agatha drew conspiratorally close to hear her. Buffy flopped across the foot of the bed and thought, this is like a sorority house on Bizarro World.

"Well, so the story went, Angel was cursed with a soul centuries ago."

"True so far," Buffy said.

"He has his soul, then?" Noor asked. When Buffy nodded, Noor visibly relaxed. Agatha had been smiling at Buffy before, but now the smile became more genuine. Noor said, "This is still very strange."

"I used to think that too," Buffy said. "Then I realized that everything about love is so strange, you really can't get hung up on the details." Noor and Agatha simultaneously sighed in resignation. Xiaoting rolled her eyes.

"Can I continue this story? Very well, then. At some point, Angel meets a Slayer." Xiaoting held her hands out toward Buffy as though presenting her to the audience after a play. "Despite the fact that he is a vampire and she is a Slayer, they fall madly in love. He swears to fight by her side. After her tragic death, he vows that he will carry on the work they began together. When her Watcher took over the Council --"

"Giles became head of the Council?" Buffy said in disbelief.

"I suppose so," Xiaoting said. "Anyway, Angel began helping the Watchers then. Over time, they grew to accept a vampire among their number."

"Markwith has not," Noor pointed out.

"Markwith's trying to help," Xiaoting said. "How bad can he be? He's brought you two together again, hasn't he?"

"Guess so," Buffy said. She still wasn't sure what to think of Markwith's explanation -- or his words of warning about Angel.

"If he's your beau, Buffy, then I trust your judgment," Agatha said. "But -- really -- a vampire?"

Buffy glared at Agatha, but her usually sharp tongue failed her, and she just flushed a deep red.

"Oh, no, no, please don't take offense!" Agatha pleaded. "I simply meant that it would be strange. And somewhat sad, I should think. To know that you could never marry."

"Marriage," Buffy said. "I didn't think ahead that far. Didn't seem to be much point."

"How could you not?" Agatha said, a blush pinking her pale cheeks. "I -- I don't wish to be immodest, but when I met Ronald -- well, I spent quite a bit of time thinking about being married."

Xiaoting raised an eyebrow. "You don't have to wait until you're married, you know." Agatha went scarlet.

"End of discussion," Buffy said. This particular conversation was headed back into a painful area. "We have to move tomorrow. We should get to bed."

"Yes, we have so much packing to do," Xiaoting said with a sarcastic laugh, but she good-naturedly started stripping her garments away. "And I imagine you're in a hurry to be alone with your thoughts."

"I am in a hurry not to share my room with four other people," Noor said.

"How very surprising," Agatha said dryly as she went into the bathroom with her sleep clothes.

Buffy glanced over at Sumiko; she was already under the covers, her eyes shut too tightly.

Sumiko sees a dangerous situation. The others see a big love story, Buffy thought. Markwith sees an opportunity -- for good or for bad, I don't know. Angel sees some ghost from the back of beyond.

What do I see?

Chapter Six
"London 2353"

For the first time since her resurrection -- no, since long before that, back before her mom got sick -- Buffy awoke without the heaviness of depression weighing her down. She felt almost as much fear and amger as anticipation, but even the negative energy counted as energy, and it jolted her with the power she'd been lacking.

As she padded into the bathroom for her morning shower, she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. Buffy gasped, shocked by her own reflection; her hair was so dirty, her face so pale. Her anguish had left its mark on her, and even if her spirits had improved somewhat, her body hadn't quite caught up. "No wonder Angel got wigged," Buffy muttered as she began to soap up.

She knew, of course, that her appearance hadn't made one damn bit of difference in his reaction. But Buffy couldn't quite help wishing she'd made her first entrance in 350 years looking a little less scary.

Xiaoting and Agatha were both excited abou the upcoming change in scenery; Agatha had everything packed up in a neat little bundle before Buffy even woke up, and Xiaoting was humming as she flitted around, getting ready in a far more disorganized fashion. Noor seemed more resigned than anything else, and Sumiko was packing just to copy the others, which Buffy thought must get awfully tiresome after a while.

Buffy tried to give Sumiko a sympathetic smile or two, and once or twice made a move to help her fold up clothes. But Sumiko pulled away. Apparently Buffy's association with Angel was too great a betrayal to forgive.

If only I could explain, Buffy thought. Then again, would it really make a difference? There are gonna be a lot of people who can't handle it, even though they do know the full story. There always were.

When their Watchers arrived, Xiaoting practically bounded forward. "Are we ready to go?"

"Certainly," her Watcher said with a maternal chuckle. "We'll get you girls back down to the transport."

"I don't think so," Buffy said.

They all turned to stare at her; Frances, in particular, looked pained. After a moment, Frances said, "You don't mean to come to the Keep at all? You're refusing to help?"

"And the Olympic gold medalist for the high jump to conclusions is Frances Keeling," Buffy said. "I just meant -- I'd like to walk."

She hadn't known she was going to say that until it popped out. No sooner had she spoken, though, Buffy knew that was exactly what she needed. To be free, on her own, just for a few minutes. And to be able to look at this caved-in world on her own terms.

Frances gave her an awkward smile. "It's three miles, Buffy. And it's rather uncertain out there --"

"I thought I was supposed to be dealing with that," Buffy said. "Not avoiding it. I have to get to know this place, right? I don't want to live in an ivory tower." She remembered the Watchers' Keep and frowned. "Except, you know, in the literal sense."

Sumiko's Watcher, apparently desperate to speak to a Slayer who might understand him, broke in, "Well, we don't allow solo patrols anymore. Haven't for more than a century. You'll have to have someone with you."

"This isn't a patrol," Buffy said through clenched teeth. "This is a walk. Am I allowed to take walks? Because the whole distinction between doing my job and being a prisoner seems smaller all the time."

"Of course you're allowed to go for a walk, Buffy," Frances said. "The rest of you go on. I would like to speak with Buffy for a moment."

The others wandered out, Xiaoting making a face behind Frances' back as she went. Buffy bit her lip not to smile.

When they were alone, Frances took a deep breath and began speaking in a measured, rehearsed tone. "Buffy, I realize how shocking all of this has been for you. And the situation you are attempting to absorb is complex. But I do wish you would consider, for a moment, that perhaps not everyone is attempting to harm you. This project was begun for the highest motives and only after due consideration, and --"

"Can it," Buffy said. "You can talk all you want about high motives, but the fact is, you treated us like your dirty little secret until yesterday. You didn't tell them the truth, and you didn't tell me the truth."

"Buffy, I told you as much as I knew," Frances said, more honestly. "I've been given access to Rupert Giles' full records now. I've not had time to read them all, but -- ah, some of the peculiarities you mentioned do seem to show up."

"I knew Giles couldn't resist," Buffy said. "But hey, okay, let's say I'm cool with all this. You, Frances, did not lie to me, Buffy. But what about Markwith?"

"You heard him last night, Buffy --"

"That's just his reason for lying to me," Buffy said. "I thought about it a lot last night, and you know what I couldn't come up with? His reason for lying to you."

Frances straightened her back. Her lips compressed into a thin line. "That's quite enough," Frances said. "It's not your place to question Markwith's motives."

"Not your place either, I guess," Buffy said, slinging her slim pack across her shoulders. "Looks like the only guy who gets to do that is Angel."

When Frances stiffened yet further, Buffy sighed. "You want to give me directions or what?"

*******

Buffy had visited London once before. The summer after she'd graduated from high school -- the summer after she and Angel had broken up -- her mother had attempted to reward and comfort her with a three-week trip. Joyce had come along for the first week, and they'd shopped in Harrods and eaten out and had what her mother considered a very nice time. Buffy's face had hurt from forcing herself to smile.

The second two weeks had been Buffy's own. Joyce had claimed she couldn't leave Dawn or the gallery that long, but Buffy knew that Joyce was hoping her elder daughter would go out, go dancing, find exotic young men to drink and flirt with, maybe even have a vacation fling that would erase Angel from her mind.

Instead, Buffy had spent a lot of time sobbing in her hotel room, sending morose postcards to Willow and writing some extraordinarily bad poetry. All in all, the trip had left a lot to be desired.

But at least London looked better then than it does now, Buffy thought.

Now that she had light to see, and a full range of vision instead of the transport's thin window, she could see more evidence of the damage. Most buildings looked as though they had been abandoned long ago. Yet here and there, amid the damaged buildings, would be one in good condition, with lights and flickers of movement behind the windows, or laundry hanging out on the sill to dry. The curbs were still visible, but the roads had remained uncleaned for so long that they were reverting from pavement into dirt; a few plants had pushed their way through, and some of them had gotten pretty tall. She checked out the car she'd seen the night before with the bloody handprint. With her Sunnydale High education, Buffy quickly realized the blood had been there for a long time. Apparently nobody was in charge of crime-scene cleanup anymore. The whole city's a crime scene, she thought.

As she got closer to the Keep, though, the situation changed for the better.

She started to see people.

At first there were just one or two at a time, hurrying along back to their homes, wherever they'd staked their claim. They wore clothes even more drab and shapeless than the ones she'd seen so far, and they clutched cloth bags close to them, as though scared their belongings would be taken at any moment.

Every few blocks, though, Buffy would begin to see more and more people, and they were more relaxed -- talking to one another, greeting people who were obviously friends or neighbors. She was startled when she saw the first pushcart, trundled along by a man offering potatoes to apparently eager customers. By the time she was within sight of the Keep, though, there were literally dozens of these pushcarts around, trading cloth and produce and simple tools.

Xander would say I've truly come home, Buffy thought. I found the mall.

One cart caught Buffy's eyes, and she started. It was piled high with cloth -- most of it in the plain white and dark gray and olive green she'd become so used to in the past weeks. But her eyes were caught by a few things -- tucked almost out of sight -- in dark red and regal blue. She jogged up to the cart. "Can I see those?" she said.

The woman behind the cart, a stout, sweet-faced lady with hip-length dark hair, raised her eyebrows as she smiled. "You're not afraid, then."

"Not of primary colors, anyway," Buffy said. The fabric was light and surprisingly soft; though it was flimsier than the garb the Watchers had given her, it was also obviously a lot prettier.She was surprised how much something so simple could cheer her. "Oooh, nice. What do you want for this fabric?"

The woman smiled and, to Buffy's surprise, took the question literally. "What will you trade me?"

"Haven't got much," Buffy said. She pulled down her pack, realizing that money was probably as thing of the past too. And, with all her possessions easily lifted in one hand, she wasn't very well-prepared for bartering. "A lot of clothes, but you probably don't need fabric, seeing as how you sell fabric. Not really much else, except an apple I swiped at breakfast and a few sheets of paper --"

"Paper?" the woman's face lit up. "You have paper?"

"Yeah," Buffy said. "Only have about ten sheets left --"

"Ten sheets! Will you part with them?"

Buffy shrugged as she quirked her mouth. "You got it."

The woman took the paper with a trembling hand, then quickly handed over thick bundles of red and blue fabric, all the bright cloth she had. "You have no idea what this means. If you ever get any more, please do come back. I'll trade at any time. Or set up other trades for you, if you like. I'm Tam. I come here twice a week."

"Tam," Buffy repeated as she put out her hand to shake. She felt absurdly glad to know any person who wasn't a Watcher or Slayer. "I'm Buffy. Didn't realize paper was such a commodity in these parts. Makes sense, though. Not a whole lot of logging going on."

"We make our own, of course, but it's hard to make the quantities and grades we need," Tam said. "Where does your group get such fine quality? This is lovely."

Buffy frowned a little. Her group? She asked a different question aloud. "How come you don't make more cloth like this? I'd think people would be buying the red and blue like crazy."

"Most people don't like the extra attention," Tam said. "Most people can't protect themselves from it."

"You mean, the whole vamps-jam-on-bright-colors thing?" Buffy frowned. "It doesn't really make that big a difference. I mean, they like the flash, but they're not that much more likely to strike because of it."

Tam shrugged. "But every bit helps, doesn't it?"

"Guess it does," Buffy said. The more she thought about it, the more she realized that, in a desperate situation, people would clutch at any means of improving their chances of not being picked out for a vampire's lunch. She managed to compress her new acquisitions into her pack, then shouldered it again. "So, just curious on this point -- how did you know I'd be able to protect myself?"

Tam creased her forehead in puzzlement. "You had paper. You didn't think I'd know?"

Buffy thought about this for a second, then remembered what Markwith and Frances had told her. "Oh, witchcraft! You're a witch?"

Tam's round face went ghostly pale and looked around quickly. "Please! Your voice --"

"I'm sorry!" Buffy said, holding her palms out toward Tam. Too late, the rest of what Markwith and Frances had told her was sinking in -- the part about witchcraft being forbidden for all but a few, one of whom Tam apparently was not.

"It's all right," Tam said, breathing a little more easily. "Nobody unusual was about. My friends here, they know. But you can't ever say when somebody from the Council might be coming by."

Buffy raised an eyebrow. "Yeah. Never know when they'll turn up."

Tam repiled her things on her cart and prepared to push it away. "I'm moving on just in case anybody thinks of mentioning this. You won't, will you? Do you promise?"

"You kidding?" Buffy said weakly. "I'm the one with all the incriminating paper."

Tam hesitated a moment longer, then smiled at her unevenly. "Then return when you've got more."

With that Tam trundled off. Buffy watched her go until she was sure Tam wouldn't turn back. Then she headed toward the entrance to the Keep.

***********

Frances rushed Buffy through her introduction to her new home; apparently the others had gotten a nice lunch and a tour for their trouble. Buffy got a few minutes to change clothes and get a glance at her new, private apartment -- which, though roomy, was still too bland and empty for Buffy's taste -- before she dumped her pack on the bed and hurried up to the new training room.

Buffy gave a low whistle as she walked into the room -- almost football-field long, with walls that displayed an array of weapons such as Buffy had never seen. The other Slayers, all five of them, were going through a kata Buffy vaguely remembered from her late-fall burst of slaying enthusiasm. "This is like Fort Knox for armaments," Buffy said. "Way cool."

"At last you have decided to come work," Noor said. She was sweating from exertion. "Did you enjoy your pleasant stroll?"

"As much as you enjoyed your pleasant lunch," Buffy shot back. But Noor only gave her a small smile in response, and Buffy wondered how much of Noor's bad humor was just for show, after all. "Chairman Mao -- that sounds sort of familiar," Xiaoting mused quietly as they reached toward the sky, then brought their arms down in two sharp blocks.

As the kata ended, they each bowed quickly to the Watcher leading the kata. Xiaoting then turned to Buffy. "Thank goodness you've got something with some color in it," she said. "These things are boring me to tears."

"I rather like these clothes," Agatha said, holding one loose-trousered leg out for inspection. "You've no idea how wretched it was, trying to slay in a corset."

"Ugh," Buffy said. "Didn't you pass out?"

"Sometimes," Agatha said. "But most nights I simply used my bow and arrow. And I do have to admit, hoop skirts were excellent for concealing weapons."

"I remember thinking that," Buffy said, flashing back to a Halloween centuries past.

"Vanity," Noor sniffed. "We are here to do a job, not worry about our finery."

"Or lack thereof," Xiaoting said. "The clothes aren't a distraction, Noor. They're just for fun."

"This isn't about fun," Agatha said.

As they bickered, Buffy looked past them to see Sumiko and Sky. Both of them were sitting on the floor near the front, waiting for the Watcher to lead the next exercise. Sumiko's eyes were shut, her expression serene.

Sky looked as miserable as only a young teenage girl can look. Her arms were folded across her chest, her lanky legs tucked awkwardly up under her, and her face set in a sulk. Buffy had a sudden, piercing recollection of Dawn, and she had to close her eyes for a long moment.

Buffy stepped away from the others, who by now were too involved in their argument to notice, and went to Sky's side. "Hey," she said. Sky jumped at the sound, then half-turned toward her with a scowl. "How's it going?" Buffy offered. "I mean, how are you?"

"Useless, thanks."

"I know it's a drag," Buffy said. "Having other Slayers show up? Happened to me too, you know."

"You all showed up together," Sky said in the same grudging voice. "You're all a team, aren't you?"

"In a manner of speaking," Buffy said. "But that's not what I meant. Before -- way back in ye olden times of the 20th century -- I had another Slayer show up."

That caught Sky's interest, and she looked up at Buffy with ill-hidden curiosity. "You're telling me a story. There's only ever been one Slayer at a time. Didn't they ever tell you? One Slayer dies --"

"The next is called," Buffy said. "If I had a nickle for every time I heard that -- well, now that money's useless, I would actually not be any better off. So let's get back to the point, which is that I have had the pleasure of coming back from the dead before this. I'm getting pretty good at it."

"You died and came back again -- again?" Sky said. Her curiosity was winning out over her attitude at last, and she got to her feet. Buffy tilted her head up as Sky slowly pulled herself up to her full height -- which appeared to be an inch or two more than Riley could have claimed.

"Uh, yeah," Buffy said. trying not to be disconcerted at talking to a giantess. "The first time, I got drowned by a vampire master. Fortunately two friends of mine -- one of them being Angel -- showed up to help. The other friend, Xander, was able to resuscitate me."

"And that called another Slayer?" Sky said.

"Her name was Kendra," Buffy said. She was beginning to feel a little misty, talking about Xander and now Kendra. She'd never thought to say any of their names again. "She was terrific. And she would have fit in here so much better than me."

After Kendra came Faith, Buffy remembered, and the mist cleared right up. Weird -- she hadn't thought about Faith being dead and lost too. And she still wasn't sure she cared.

I ought to care, Buffy thought. But her heart was unmoved.

"Two Slayers at one time," Sky said. A bit of the pout reappeared. "Now there's six. You can't tell me that's not a crowd."

Buffy turned her attention back to the young girl. "Listen, when Kendra first showed up and laid her whole we-are-the-chosen-two thing on me, I was not happy. I was all, hey, you, get off of my cloud, you know?"

From the perplexed expression on Sky's face, Buffy could tell she needed to get a bit more literal. "I hated it, at first. I thought it made me less important. But really it just made me less alone."

Sky sighed. "It's just -- the Slayer before me was so good. Inez lived for three years, and she was smart and talented and beautiful, too, a real stunner."

"She stood out," Buffy said. "That's okay. You'll stand out too. Find the thing you do best, and do it like crazy. Ask them if there's not something else you can do -- something new, something Inez didn't do. You can make them see that you're special."

Sky's young face was torn between hope and doubt. After a moment, she said, "The people loved her. I've been at it two months now, and I mean, they respect me, but -- they don't love me."

"They're gonna love you," Buffy said with assurance. "Give 'em time. We're not that cuddly a group, actually."

At that very moment, Noor said, "I am tired of your frivolity and your ridiculous concerns!"

"And I am sick and tired of being lectured at every turn by a sour, angry --"

Xiaoting was interrupted by the Watcher in charge. "Ah -- perhaps that's enough of a break, then?"

The others turned back to him; he was holding an armful of quarterstaffs. "I had thought we, ah, might try some quarterstaff work, if ever you need to get a vampire out of your immediate proximity --"

"Sounds great," Xiaoting said, stalking forward to grab her weapon. Noor followed suit, and the two of them were soon poised to square off.

The Watcher, attempting to exert some authority, said, "No, no. Let's, ah -- let's match up by height, shall we? Most even that way."

"It won't be even out there," Noor said, still glaring at Xiaoting.

"Come along now. Let's see -- that puts Sky and Agatha together --" The two tallest Slayers moved to their corner. "Then Noor and Buffy, and Xiaoting and Sumiko." Sumiko, understanding her name, looked up from her quiet meditation on the floor, got to her feet, and obediently took the quarterstaff Xiaoting offered.

"You are shorter than Xiaoting," Noor muttered as they faced off.

"About the same, I think," Buffy said uneasily. Noor looked furious, and Buffy had never really done a lot of serious quarterstaff fighting --

"Begin!" the Watcher shouted, and Noor swung her staff toward Buffy -- and Buffy parried it easily, twisted it around, disarmed Noor in a stroke. Noor somersaulted backwards to catch the staff before it hit the ground, but Buffy was on her in a moment. She let loose with strike after strike, never letting Noor get her bearings. After a minute she tried the twist again. It worked again, and Noor's staff spun off into the wall.

From her half-crouching position, Noor stared up at Buffy, amazed. "What is this? You come at me like a crazy person. And you have spent the last two weeks sleepwalking."

Sleepwalking. That was as good a term as any for the way she'd been dragging around. Today, though -- she was no less sad, no less bewildered about her surroundings. But everything had begun to change because of Angel. Not because he was here himself, she realized -- or, at any rate, not only because he was here. But because of what she could now know. What she could at last bear to hear.

Buffy took a deep breath and smiled. "I guess I woke up."

TBC...

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