Siblings

by leroy gibin

I hate plot summaries. They're either useless or reveal too much. Tag lines, too, they always sound stupid. But since I have to: A horrifying ordeal leads Dawn to search for her path, while Buffy and the slayers try to stave off another apocalypse.

6. Chapter 6: War and Peace

Chapter 6: War and Peace

General Grishko cleared out the entire fourth floor for Yozh and his men, who in turn gave Dawn her own room. It was officers' room which meant just four bunks versus forty for the general enlisted, and a small wooden table with two chairs. The square window was divided into three panels none of which seemed to open, but it had a scenic view of the bombed out carcasses of downtown Grozny. At the moment, however, the snow storm was coming down so heavily it was impossible to see anything other than an ocean of snowflakes. Prior to her trip to Moscow Dawn has never seen real snow. Even on the coldest winter nights in Rome the best you could get was slush. She remembered her family going to Big Bear Mountain a few times while living in Los Angeles, but that snow was mostly made by snow machines, as fake as her memories of those trips. She sat at the window for hours watching the storm. The snowflakes would get thrown against the glass and stick for a few seconds, just long enough to get a good look. There was something soothing in their perfect crystal structure that went so well with the monotonous wail of the wind. Finally Dawn remembered why she stayed in her room today. She took out the spell book and her notes. The authentication spells were numerous, but which would be best in her situation? It had to be the right balance between effectiveness, her skills, and the available ingredients. "Blood of a virgin goat, " she read one of the candidates out loud. 'A virgin goat'? That's an odd requirement. Then again requiring blood of a non-virgin goat might make the ritual a lot more disturbing. She smirked to herself and continued to flip through the book. A straight arrow authentication spell might not suffice. What if Shamil double crosses them? Vengeance Demons tend to get picked from among promising amateur spell casters. Their trading partner might not have his powers anymore, but he's more than likely to have enough skill and knowledge remaining to make her assignment very troublesome. Hard assignments never frightened her, but in Math you can always be sure you're given enough information to figure out the problem. If only she knew what Shamil was like.

"Taking on an ex-Vengeance Demon, are you now? They are no pushovers. You are going to need help."

Dawn turned to see Anya. Xander's dead ex-finance was sporting a long flowery dress and a wavy light blonde hairdo. She looked just like Dawn remembered, with a decrepit dresser playing the part of the Magic Shop counter. The only thing missing was the cash register on top. The involuntary flash of joy at the familiar image was immediately drowned in geyser of self-loathing at her impotence. If her magics were stronger she could have used Zemfira's spell to keep a lid on appearances such as this, but as long as the First isn't appearing in the flesh she can't even use the uranium loaded pistol sitting on her desk.

"Maybe I need help, but not from you, " she replied returning to her book. Perhaps the best approach would be to ignore It and hope It'll go away.

"Why not? I know everything there's to know about ex-Vengeance Demons."

"I'm sure you do. Makes lying about it so much easier."

"I don't lie, you lie, " the apparition sounded quite offended.

"I lie?"

"You took things from my shop without paying and lied about it. That's worse than Communists. They at least tell you when they take your stuff."

"Awesome, " Dawn mumbled. "The First is complaining about my ethics."

"Who is the First? I'm the First? I'm not the First!"

"Are you kidding me?" Dawn snapped back to face her visitor. The clumsy way in which this deception was being handled was driving her up the wall.

"Well, I'm not!" The expression on Anya's face seemed to mirror Dawn's.

"Yes, you are."

"Am not!"

"Are, too!"

"Am not!"

"Stop it!" Dawn shouted, "Stop it now. This argument demeans us both!"

Anya simply threw up her hands in an obvious sign of exasperation.

"So now you want me to leave?"

"Please."

"Fine. Whatever."

With these words the apparition vanished as suddenly as it appeared leaving Dawn helplessly baffled at the absurdity of what has just transpired. The door opened to let Yozh in.

"I heard you shouting, " he asked glancing around the room.

"The First was just here."

"Fuck!" Yozh pulled out his shotgun and started fumbling for his 'anti-First' ammunition belt. What made It susceptible to radiation was still unclear to Dawn. The explanations ranged from Yozh's "who the fuck cares?" to Zemfira's "if you want a long winded recitation of the useless talk to Martin". A couple things were clear, though, the effects were discovered by accident and there's at least one important member of the team she hasn't met yet.

"It's alright, " Dawn waved Yozh off. "It's gone. You used a lot of that stuff on It, haven't you?" she pointed to the depleted uranium bullets Yozh was loading into his weapon.

"Define 'a lot'?"

"It's just the way It talked... Do you think radiation causes brain damage?"

"I don't know, " Yozh shrugged. "But it would explain the Ukrainians."

"Now it's Ukrainians? They are practically Russians!"

"They need more practice, " the gangster smirked.

Dawn just shook her head in disbelief. She should have gotten used to it by now, but every so often being with Yozh still felt like a Jerry Springfield special.

"Is there any ethnic group you don't hate?"

"I like Eskimos"

"What? Half the jokes you tell are about Eskimos!"

"So? Doesn't mean I don't like those fuzzy little dimwits," Yozh smiled as he watched Dawn's eyes almost fall out of their sockets.

"That's all folks, " she spoke, the volume of her voice getting progressively louder. "Get out. Whatever brain damage the First suffered, you clearly got the worst of it. Leave. Be gone. Now. Right, fucking now!"

The smile never left Yozh's face as he walked out of Dawn's room, closing, not slamming the door behind him further confusing Bones who waited for him in the corridor.

"What the fuck, Yozh?"

"What?"

"Why isn't she spewing blood for mouthing off to you like that?"

Yozh nodded in a most understanding manner and putting his hand on the shoulder of the gangly man, pulled him a good foot down to his level.

"Bones, what can you tell me about that girl?"

"What?"

"What's the first thing you notice?"

"The tits."

"No. Well, yes, but let's come back to that later. How would you describe her?"

"She's foreign, " Bones answered, taking in a second.

"Good, " Yozh nodded encouragingly, "What else?"

"She's weird. She's spews acid every other sentence out of those luscious cock-sucking lips of hers."

"She does magic, " the fat man added.

"That's what I meant by weird."

"Good, " Yozh continued nodding. "Reminds you of somebody?"

Bones blinked for a couple of seconds.

"Zemfira, " he said a little unsure.

"Now add the tits."

"Shit!" Bones took a few steps backwards as he finally caught on to what Yozh was getting at. "Fuck! You think?"

"I don't know, but I'm not taking the chance that I'm beating up on the Boss's new lay. So whatever she says, as long as she doesn't fuck up the mission, I'm going to take with a big-as-a-horse's-ass-crack smile. I suggest you do the same." Yozh gave his underling a pat on the back and quickly took the stairs down to the exit. Judging by the growling of the engines their trucks have arrived.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

It was 9 o'clock in the morning when Buffy, still in her bathrobe, answered the knocking to find Andrew at her doorstep. The young man wore a long tweed overcoat with a dark sweater and pants. Black, blunt-nose shoes completed the "serious Watcher" look, but the goofy smile on his nineteen year old face totally ruined the ensemble.

"Willow, the comic relief is here, " Buffy called out.

"Shoo him away!" the witch yelled from the kitchen.

"Sorry, " she smiled and shut the door in his face.

"I have news!" Andrew yelled from the building hallway.

"He has news!" Buffy shouted into the kitchen.

"What kind of news?" Willow shouted back.

"Are they good news?" Buffy asked loudly with the door still shut.

"Kind of, " Andrew answered. "They aren't bad news."

"Not bad news," Buffy nodded approvingly, "That's already good," and she opened the door. "We're in the kitchen."

Quickly taking off his shoes, Andrew followed her. The kitchen smelled warm and toasty from the skillets on the stove. Willow was sitting at a small breakfast table with a bunch of computer printouts in her hand. In front of her was a plate of freshly made waffles.

"Cool, waffles! Ouch!" he exclaimed as Willow slapped away his hand. "First verbal abuse, now physical violence. She isn't turning evil again is she?" he whispered to Buffy.

"Nah. This isn't Evil Willow. This is an even rarer subspecies, a Surly Willow."

Turning the page Willow mumbled something deliberately unintelligible, and possibly obscene, in response. Buffy chuckled taking more waffles off the skillet. She extended the plate towards Andrew, but pulled back as soon he reached.

"News?"

"Oh, right, " the apprentice Watcher smiled sitting down next to Willow. "Remember how you asked me to look into what Dawn took from the archive storage? You may also remember, she wiped the computer records of the inventory. Three days ago I found the original paper copy in the data entry room."

"Yay paper," said Buffy finally setting the plate down for her guest.

"We're still in the middle of setting things up at the Academy, so it's very caveman-like over there. There's no index in the storage. I had to crawl through every nook and cranny of that cellar checking the items off the list one by one, but the call of duty has given me the strength of a hundred librarians." Andrew poured maple syrup all over his waffles and finding no fork or knife within reach crammed one into his mouth with his hands. After quickly wiping his fingers on the nearest napkin he handed Buffy a piece of paper from his pocket.

"These are people's names, " she said a little confused. "She didn't take a bunch of shrunken human heads, did she?"

Andrew shook his head and tried to swallow enough of the waffle to allow him to speak. "No, the shrunken heads are safe in the spell supplies storage. She took personal notes and diaries belonging to these people. They are all Watchers killed by the Bringers last year. Except for Hawthorne. He died six years ago, but his diary was found among O'Connor's possession."

"O'Connor. Why do I know that name?"

"She was Stefka's Watcher. Hawthorne was one before her." Willow has just handed him the proper utensils and Andrew was now able to give prompt responses without interrupting his waffle intake.

"What about the others?" asked Buffy scanning the list for anything familiar.

"Some of them didn't have any Potentials, and the others, well..."

"Have dead ones, " she finished for him. "Stefka would be the logical place to start then. Maybe she can remember something about her Watchers that would link them to Leshii."

"Odds are nothing, " Andrew grimaced noticing several syrup stains on his sweater and grabbed for the napkin. "Seems to me Dawn only wanted one item. She took what lay near so that we couldn't find out what she was really after. It's fascinating how beautifully her mind works."

"When it works. Which is not that often, " Buffy mumbled. "Well?" this was addressed to Willow.

"We're definitely missing something, " the witch answered still staring at the papers. "I'm going to read it again."

"It won't help, " Buffy turned off the stove and sat in the chair across from Andrew. "I read it three times and it only became weirder and weirder. Who are these people? Where are these places? She makes no sense at all."

"She mentions Richard III. I know him. I have no idea who Daft Red is. Or is it a capitalization error? No, it makes even less sense as a phrase."

"Richard III and Daft Red?, " Andrew repeated sipping a just poured cup of tea, "That is weird. I don't remember them being in the same scene."

"What scene? You know who Daft Red is?"

Andrew shriveled a tad under the sudden and intent stare of both women.

"Who doesn't?" He blurted out defensively. "He's a pretty memorable recurring character."

"It's a TV show?"

"Blackadder. We are not talking about Blackadder? I thought we were talking about Blackadder."

"Baldrick, Kryten, Kochanski?" Willow read out names sprinkled in the email.

"Willow, I think you are totally confused. The last two are from Red Dwarf. It's a completely different show. They are literally three million light years apart."

"Well, at least she is not crazy," the redhead turned to Buffy.

"Yes, she is, " the Slayer replied not appreciating the apparent breakthrough. "Why is she writing me quotes from shows she knows I've never seen?"

"Who's writing? What are we talking about? I thought we were talking about Blackadder."

"Dawn has been writing letters to Buffy, " Willow handed Andrew the printouts. "They seem to be full of quotes and allusions to characters from these shows, and, probably, a few others."

"Oh. Maybe she's writing them to me? What? We're tight! We're like that!"

Buffy and Willow exchanged glances once again except this time the witch seemed pensive.

"He might be on to something, " she said uncertainly picking up one of the pages. "What if it's code? Think about it. We know Leshii has been fighting it out with the First, but he never told you that. Even now that we know he refuses to discuss it. If he's deliberately trying to keep us out of the loop then it would make sense that he's censoring Dawn's letters, too. If she were to write in obvious code he probably wouldn't let any of them through, but for someone who doesn't know which shows you watch and which you don't there's nothing suspicious about these references. The fact that she's mixing together different shows makes me think I'm right. You need to look at the original, analyze the similarities and differences in the context of our current situation and then you might get what Dawnie is hinting at. Or not."

"I'll help!"

Buffy took a long look at the eager volunteer. "Andrew, I never thought I'd say this, but I need to borrow your DVD collection."

"This is going to be so awesome!" Andrew practically jumped off his chair. "We'll do marathons! Blackadder Tuesdays! Red Dwarf Thursdays! And Fridays, there's a lot more episodes. Saturdays, we'll reserve for Flying Circus, of course. The three of us will have so much fun!"

"Three?" the witch repeated apprehensively.

"Three, " Buffy punctuated the word. "You're going to be soaking in every second of that British humor-like-thing."

Willow leaned back in her chair arms crossed, her face reverting to the initial surly expression that greeted Andrew half an hour ago.

"When that girl gets back she's going to be in so much trouble," she grumbled.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Their column, three trucks and two jeeps have been traveling across the plains for almost two days. Dawn has not seen or heard any battles, but war was everywhere. As was life. A just repaired village hut next to the burned out ruins of another. Carcasses of trucks and troop carriers dragged to the curb to make room for new vehicles traversing the treacherous roads. Even the forests were filled with trees cut down by artillery fire, yet never so many together as to form a clearing in the heavy growth that Spring was beginning to fill out. As horrid and as scared as the land looked it didn't look dead, just sick. As they got closer to the mountains the villages became rarer and more desolate. Russian roadblocks became more fortified; the number of troops patrolling each one has tripled. The roads were largely unpaved and the heavy trucks would barely do more than twenty kilometers an hour, on a good hour. Driving at such a slow pace, they would avoid making camp, but drive through the night, taking shifts. Never having learned to drive properly Buffy didn't own a car and Dawn's experience was limited to a few hours she could sneak here and there in the Club's Citroen. Of the three girls officially sanctioned to drive the vehicle Kate was the only one constantly out of money. At twenty euros a pop she gave Dawn several secret lessons, not once failing to berate the girl's wide turns and the flimsiness of French engineering in the most colorful mixture of Italian and German expletives. Having some experience with a manual transmission proved handy here and along with sharpening her shooting skills at makeshift ranges, she quickly picked up trucking. That night a snowstorm closed the pass and they camped out near an oil well. The production was shut down, but the structure was completely intact. Virtually none of the metal cranes Dawn passed on the way were damaged. Tanks and artillery, mortars and truck bombs have annihilating most cities and villages, but both sides took special care to preserve as much of the oil infrastructure as possible. You don't throw the baby out with the bathwater. Dawn tried to fall asleep in the back of the jeep, but her mind kept wondering. In particular she was thinking back to her conversations with Leshii. He seemed to know way too much about the particulars of their experience in Sunnydale. Even if he had the Clubhouse bugged, he still knew too many little details to have pieced them from random overhead conversations. He must have an informant on the inside. Stefka? No, she's too loyal to Buffy and her sister-slayers. Even assuming she loves her brother more she is seriously distraught by what he does and she wouldn't do anything to encourage him. There must be someone else, but who? The explosions not too far away interrupted her train of thought. She threw on her overcoat, grabbed her gun belt and ran out of the car. Yozh was sitting a couple of meters away, in front of the camp fire, with a military radio to his ear.

"What's happening?" she called out.

"The usual, " said the gangster putting down the thick rectangular contraption. "They stormed into a village north of here. Took supplies, cut up the elder and his family. Now the feds and the local posies trying to chase the dogs down."

Dawn sat down next to the fat man and reached out with her palms to the fire.

"The family, huh? Burrowing a page from Leshii's book, I see," she mumbled.

"They don't have no fucking book, " Yozh bristled. "They're bloodthirsty fucks, that's all. Anyone can kill a bunch of kids. It's about doing something once in such a way that you won't have to do it again. That's what we do. That takes thinking. These dogs have blood feuds going back centuries. All in the price now, just part of the lives they live. Nobody here is impressed by nothing no more. A week from now another elder will come from the plains. He won't be alone. He'll bring his wife and kids, and brothers, and cousins, and their kids. Pays enough. There is a lot of money to be made here, but no easy money. " Yozh took a gulp out of a large khaki colored flask and handed it to Dawn. She took a sip. Harsh alcoholic brew burned the roof of her mouth. Whatever it was it was stronger than vodka. Probably some local moonshine Yozh picked up in Grozny.

"Is it true that none of you, guys, have any families?" she handed back the flask grimacing.

"Nobody in the field. Some of the retired ones, who served out their term and cached in, they got wives and kids, and all, but nobody active does. No ties, no blackmail, no way to Leshii."

"So what happened to your family?"

Yozh gave her a short look trying to decide if this strange girl was trying to get something or just making conversation, but figuring the information was worth nothing anyway, answered.

"Mom died shortly after I got out of the Colony, and dad, I don't know where the fuck he is. Nor do I care. Yours?"

"Same. Our mom died almost three years ago. The divorce was five years before. Dad has been visiting less and less, and we haven't seen him at all the last four years. He called a few times. Last time we heard from him he was in Spain. Rome is a lot closer than Sunnydale, but Buffy said we shouldn't look for him."

"She's right, " Yozh nodded approvingly. "Fuck the deadbeat."

"I found him anyway, " Dawn continued. "He has a condo in Barcelona with his girlfriend. I have the address and the phone. I even dialed it once. Almost. Hung up before the last digit."

"Leave it the fuck alone. There's no good there."

"But don't you want to know?" Dawn turned to the fat man who has now really taken to the liquor. "If there was a good reason he left, wouldn't you want to know? Or, even if there wasn't, maybe he's sorry. Maybe he's a different man now."

Yozh pulled the flask away from his lips and shook it verifying there was nothing left.

"If he is a different man now, than why, the fuck, would I want to go look for him somewhere out there when there are millions of men different from the one that left me walking just outside my fucking window?"

Dawn laughed. The level of sophistication of the joke took her by surprise coming from Yozh. As boorish as he acts, he's probably got a good head on his shoulders or he wouldn't have risen as far as he has. She should keep that in mind.

"That's clever, " she nodded appreciatively.

"Hey, I'm not all looks, " he grinned back.

Noises in the distance died down and so did the conversation. She has never actually seen her father. Not really, just a decade worth of artificial memories. Does that make him her father? He's Buffy's father, which sort of makes him her father, at least in the DNA sense. It's the oddest feeling, to so miss something you never had. Who is that man living in Barcelona? They spoke a few times on the phone after her mother died. He seemed so detached, never even offering to come. The fire breathed and crackled beneath Dawn's open palms, tiny wisps of smoke rising through her fingers. She felt so strange watching it. It was as though each shape of the flame invoked a memory, but of what she could not tell because it was too quickly replaced by another shape with a memory of its own. On and on, always just beyond her grasp. What if the spell didn't work on him as well as the others? Her presence might have reinforced the fake affection implanted in her mother and sister, made it real, but her father never had the opportunity. He remembers her, but does not love her. Does she love him? Maybe that's why it's so easy for her to forgive. He couldn't hurt her the way he hurt his real daughter. Buffy hates him so much because she loves him.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

They moved on in the morning as the storm died down for a while. Probably hung over from last night Yozh was in a foul mood, swearing at the weather. The snow storm, almost certainly the last of the season, came in unusually late and hard, bogging them down in this God forsaken country for much longer than he was planning on. All the checkpoints were behind them, but what the road lacked in soldiers it made up in dips and bumps, and fallen branches. They were already two days behind and falling further. The sky was still covered in gray low hanging clouds threatening to burst open at any moment. Just as Dawn started to wonder if they'd be able to keep up the improved pace till noon the first day's trickle of snowflakes started to come down. Grinding a swear through his teeth Yozh slowed down the jeep.

"It's not that bad," said Dawn surprised.

"It's worse. Up ahead, by the curb, " the gangster replied taking his hand off the gear shift and adjusting the gun holster. Now she saw him. A figure in gray and white camouflage was flagging them down a few hundred feet ahead.

"There aren't supposed to be any checkpoints here, " she said half stating half asking. Yozh didn't reply. As they got closer, a view of a small village, perhaps two dozen houses, opened up. The man signaled them to get off the road. A little further down stood two more similarly uniformed men with rifles at the ready, and further still stood a helicopter with another man standing guard.

"Paratroopers. They must be part of last night's pursuit. The storm damaged their chopper. Fucking weather!" Yozh slammed his hand on the wheel as he pulled over the jeep. "Stay in the car," he barked at Dawn and jumped out.

It was immediately clear the paratroopers were not in a friendly mood. Perhaps they were also frustrated by the weather, perhaps something else, but they ordered everyone out of their vehicles and disarmed them before asking for papers. Dawn heard Yozh dutifully protest, then quickly comply. Everything, from the uniforms they wore to the papers they were issued, came directly from general Grishko and thus were completely legit. They may still be able to ride this out without excesses. A man emerged from one of the houses. Tall, in his late twenties he was dressed in the same camouflaged pants with a military overcoat hastily thrown over a white wifebeater. Judging by the three stars on the shoulder straps and the immediate attention he commanded, the captain was in charge of this unit. Another man, similarly underdressed, emerged from a doorway two houses down. Two stars. Must be a lieutenant. The captain waved him towards the trucks while he took Yozh's id papers and manifest.

"Where are you heading to?" he asked in a strict tone, moving his eyes from the gangster to the papers.

"To the pass, captain. It's all there."

"There are no troops at the pass, " said the captain suspiciously.

"They are probably bringing them by chopper, " Yozh answered quickly. "Land convoy takes longer so they sent us ahead. By the time we drag our asses there, they'll probably be in the middle of battle already."

"What battle?"

"How should I know? I'm just the supply guy."

"Grishko's supply guy. The general's inventory has a knack for falling down cliffs, sinking into rivers, and otherwise disappearing up the Devil's ass, then turning up in his hands to mow down my boys."

"I'm just following orders," said Yozh in the last ditch hope that appearing ignorant and meek would placate the paratrooper. It didn't.

"I'm not," The captain crumbed the manifest in his fist and threw it into the snow. "Grishko is infantry, he has no authority over me and I don't like him. I don't like any of this. I don't like your papers, sergeant Bronin, I don't like you, and I sure as hell don't like her, " he growled pointing to Dawn. "She is not even Russian, is she? That smug, fucking face. She's probably one of those Amnesty cock-suckers. What, are you waiting for, a special invitation, bitch? Get out of the fucking car! How much did you get for bringing a fucking reporter here, you dipshit?"

"Relax, bro'," Yozh answered in his normal tone realizing a change of approach was called for. "It's all good. Nobody's reporting nothing. She's not reporting, you are not reporting. Nobody's reporting. You don't like my papers? That's cool. I got others, small, green ones. Lot's of them."

Dawn wasn't paying attention to the conversation. She has passed these small congregations of houses on the road many times. Sometimes they were whole, sometimes burned out shells, but always far away. This was the first time she has come face to face with the inhabitants, and she could not take her eyes away. As much as she wanted to she couldn't. Among the ruins of Grozny life was poor and dirty, but it was life. Here all there was was death. She could see it in the empty gaze of an old man who slowly dragged a corpse of a woman, leaving behind a long bloody trail. It weaved like an unsteady brush stroke from the village square to a porch of a house where two more bodies lay covered by an old piece of camouflage fabric. From the old man, her eyes traveled to the young woman who was peaking out of the house the captain came out of. In the black eye that easily blended into her broken nose Dawn saw the same bottomless pit of despair. She thought she heard the captain yelling for her to leave the truck, but she didn't answer. She kept watching the woman as she slowly and aimless drifted out of the open door. She just stood there, shivering from the cold, her partially torn dress tossed mercilessly by the wind. The captain was yelling at Yozh. She couldn't tell what they were saying. Her mind seemed to fog up and her senses leaving her, except for her eyesight. In the black pupils of the young woman eighty feet away she thought she could see her reflection.

"Captain!" Dawn shouted jumping out of the truck. The paratrooper turned around, almost bumping his face into the barrel of her gun. He didn't even have time to swear. As the captain's body collapsed Dawn walked forward, firing, hitting the soldier guarding the chopper twice. The third member of the patrol was behind her, but as she turned she saw Yozh on top strangling him with his own Kalashnikov. The gangsters at the end of the convoy were caught off guard by Dawn's actions as much as the soldiers, but outnumbering them more than three to one immediately gained an upper hand. The lieutenant was the last to fall into the snow as Bones slit his throat from behind. Breathing heavily Yozh got off his man and turned to Dawn. His hands were shaking either from exertion or the burning rage that has lit up his face. He moved towards her, but machine gun fire sent them both down to the ground. Dawn could see him through the bulletproof glass of the chopper cabin. Dressed in just his camouflage pants, the half naked paratrooper kept all of them pinned down with short bursts of fire as he dashed between houses, trying to make his way towards the helicopter. The guns were everywhere. The trucks were full of them, the jeeps. There was pile of them in the snow just twenty feet away where the patrolmen made the gangsters disarm as they inspected their papers. Fifteen feet away were the dead patrolmen themselves, with their Kalashnikovs and side arms. All of it worthless. One of Bones' men tried to dash to the nearest rifle, but was cut down immediately. The soldier's aim was impeccable, even on the run. Effectively the only gun they had was Dawn's revolver and it only had two bullets left. She must wait until he gets closer. How close? The angle of the cabin no longer allowed her to see his approach. He could climb into the cabin on the other side, or attack her by going around the tail section. She cocked her gun and held her breath. A shallow sound of impact almost made her pull the trigger. A painful groan followed, then another hit. Dawn watched Yozh rise and followed. The paratrooper was already dead, but his bloodied corpse was still being pummeled with snow shovels by two old women. Spitting and cursing they kept landing the blows to his head and back until the old gravedigger who Dawn spotted earlier came for his duty. The dead are dead, they don't have sides.

"Who's down?" Yozh yelled towards approaching Bones.

"A few guys got grazed. Rooster got one through his shoulder. He'll live, but we are short a driver."

"I can drive, " Dawn walked towards them shoving her revolver into the holster clipped to her back pocket. It slipped out and fell into the snow as Yozh lifted her with his massive arms and jammed her against the helicopter.

"What the fuck is wrong with you, you psycho bitch?!"

"They weren't buying your fake papers, " Dawn answered calmly though a bit muffled as the gangster's hands were pressing hard on her diaphragm.

"That's what the fucking money is for!"

"Then I guess I saved us twenty grand." Dawn's voice was eerie quiet. Her life was guaranteed by Leshii, let the fat bastard fume all he wants.

"You stupid cunt! These weren't some draftee's that can be killed on a whim! They are paratroopers! Somebody owns them. Somebody who'll come looking for them and us!" He let her drop to the ground and kicked the chopper wheel in frustration.

"As if Leshii cares," she scoffed, brushing off the snow as she got up.

"The word gets out we are dealing in someone else's territory, not sharing the proceeds, and shooting up the owner's people it will fuck up our reputation. Your brain explosion will cost Leshii millions of dollars in deals that will never happen! He'll care about that."

"Whatever, it's between me and him," Dawn finally found her gun a few feet away and tried for the second time to put it in the holster.

"Oh, I'm sure you have skills and positions saved up just for situations like these, only I'll be the one fucked up the ass for letting you pull this shit!"

Yozh spat angrily in her direction. Dawn simply shrugged.

"Back to the missing driver, do you want me take Rooster's shift or not?"

The girl's calm attitude prevailed. With no fuel to feed Yozh's anger and pressing matters to attend to the Russian has finally cooled down.

"Take the trucks up the road. Bones and I will stay behind to make sure there aren't anymore soldiers left. We'll catch up in the jeep. The snow storm is getting stronger, it'll slow us down, but it might also cover our tracks, " he sighed looking at paratroopers' corpses, then threw up his hands and shook his head in disbelief at everything that transpired in the last ten minutes. "If you overturn your truck you better pray you die in it!" The threat wasn't real, but the anger still was. That's alright; she didn't come to Leshii to make friends. She looked over to the house. The woman was still standing on the porch. The snow was getting thicker, but Dawn thought she saw tears coming down her cheeks.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

They were barely ten feet inside the clubhouse when Willow made a quick one eighty.

"I changed my mind. I don't want to be here."

"What are you talking about?" Buffy scoffed grabbing her by the sleeve. "You never wanted to come, I'm making you."

"Then I don't want to be made anymore," the witch whined.

"You can't lounge around the apartment forever; you'll have to face them soon or later."

"Okay, I'll do it later, " Willow pulled her shirt free, but before she could take a single step Buffy grabbed her by the shoulders, lifted her in the air, and turned her around before putting her back on the floor.

"They are not going to bite, they like you."

"They hate me."

"They love you. You were their favorite person right from the start. The one woman welcoming committee? The balloons, and the welcome baskets with muffins, and fruit, and soy cookies? They hated the cookies, but they loved you!" Buffy gave her friend a light nudge in the back trying to get her walking again, but the redhead was not cooperating.

"They are going to give me that look, I know it. The 'you-are-about-to-ruin-my-life' look."

"They're teenage girls, Will, they give everybody that look."

"No, please. I want to go home, " the whining was getting to be unbearable.

"Half an hour, " said Buffy giving Willow's hand an encouraging squeeze. "I'll yell at Alice, you'll pick up the supplies from the storage, and then we'll leave. Half an hour, max, okay?"

"Half hour and I'm teleporting out."

"Fine. Wait for me here. And no making yourself invisible, I'll know!" Buffy walked quickly towards the small conference room glancing behind every so often to make sure Willow was holding up her end of the bargain. Then again for all she knew Willow could have cast an invisibility spell that worked on everyone, but her. Buffy sighed. One of the worst parts about being a leader is that everyone's problems are your problems. There's one in the room right now.

"I don't know what your malfunction is this time, but I've had enough!" she shouted at Alice right from the conference room doorway. Caught totally off guard, the girl nearly fell off the chair she was reclining in. Buffy slammed the door shut and continued. "How you talk to her in the dorms and at the lunch table is your business, but when your superior officer gives you a combat order you obey it!"

"She is not my superior!" Alice shot back and immediately bit her tongue. Yelling at Buffy was exactly the opposite of what she wanted to do. The girl walked over to the Slayer stopping a respectful three feet in front. The posture, hands folded behind her back and the half a meter distance between her feet had four generations of military service written all over it. She was a few inches taller than Buffy, as was pretty much everyone, and the tight t-shirt emphasized her somewhat broad shoulders and nicely toned arms. Short ash-colored hair were pulled back around her round face and her blunt chin seemed even more square now that the expression of willful stubbornness spread to her other features as well. "We're at war against the First, " Alice tried to speak calmer, but it wasn't easy. "She has never faced it, I did. I fought It in Sunnydale with you, not her. I have the necessary experience..."

"For the hundredth time, you are not getting Stefka's job! She has been my assistant for months and she's doing great."

"No, she isn't! Everybody hates her!"

"Dawn likes her."

"Dawn is not her student."

"Exactly, " Buffy poked the air with her finger. "She has no reason to be jealous. I can't say I've been to most of the classes, but from what I've seen she's the best instructor we have. Better than you."

"There's more to being a teacher than pounding a bunch of Karate moves into their students' heads!"

"That's why I called her an instructor. Parreli is your teacher."

"He can't teach what it's like to be a Slayer. Only you can. But if you are going to pass on teaching us, you should hand the class over to someone who can educate in the same spirit. I could have stayed in the Sates with the others, but I followed you and..."

"You gave up Cleveland for Rome? Oh, the sacrifice!"

"It could have been anywhere! Remember when we went to pick up Dasha and Giles said that geographically Odessa is the best city to setup an office?"

"That place made Cleveland look good."

"Where you would be is all that mattered to me. We all look up to you, Buffy, but Stefka isn't teaching us to be like you. Whatever reverence towards you she expresses verbally, she is teaching the opposite!"

"Maybe she's right, " Buffy shrugged.

"How can you say that? Even with a thousand of us now, you are going to go down as the greatest Slayer in history!"

"Now I'm going down? You are not planning to stop at Stefka's job, are you?"

"No, that's not.."

"I was the Chosen ONE, Alice. I made the best of it. A hundred Buffys under the same roof is a riot waiting to happen. Whatever responsibilities I was willing to share, whatever advice I was willing to accept, it was always on my terms. You can't be like that, each one an island onto herself. Not if we want to do something special."

"That's what I keep saying! It should be your vision, not hers! You can trust me to see it through."

"I don't have one, that's the point!" Buffy screamed inside her head. "That's why I stopped coming to the office. I started this and I don't know what it is. There is something here that is so much more than just a Slayer times a thousand and only that strange prayer-happy girl seems to see it. Maybe that's why she sees it and I don't." The pause grew long.

"Stefka is part of my vision, " she finally responded. "I like what she's doing and I like her. You don't have to like her, but you will show her respect, and the next time she gives you an order, you say, 'Yes, ma'am'. Understood?"

"Yes, ma'am!" Alice rang out loudly.

"Dismissed"

The girl quickly left the room. Buffy followed after her, shaking her head in disappointment. She knew Alice was too stubborn and ambitious to be derailed by a simple conversation, but she hoped she could at least shout her into temporary compliance. Now she wasn't sure she achieved even that. She watched as the girl stormed by Willow, then realizing who it was she just passed, turned, mumbled something greeting-like, then disappeared in the stairwell.

"I did not care for that 'Hi'", said Willow as Buffy came closer.

"It's not you, " the Slayer quickly answered noticing the upset notes in her voice. "It was all me. With the yelling and the berating. Wasn't fun for either of us. Do you yell at your students?"

"Only when they sleep with my girlfriend."

Buffy smiled and took Willow's hand in hers. "Almost done. Let's go get those supplies."

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Buffy was a woman of her word. In less than an hour after leaving it, they were back at the apartment, picking up where they left off last night. Buffy was in front of her laptop going through the latest reports, while Willow was in front of hers supposedly working on her latest spell. She wasn't, not for hours. She wasn't even looking at her computer. Willow was a lone child, which is different from being an only child. Her parents, both prominent psychiatrists spent their time giving speeches at various child rearing seminars around the country, well assured that the worst thing their quiet, overachieving daughter was capable of was inexplicable, but harmless friendship with that neighborhood nitwit, Xander Harris. It was always a tug of war between her desire for human contact and her fear of it, fear of losing it, once she had it. It was the reason she aced the achievement test to skip the 5th grade and enter Middle school at the same time as Xander. It was the same reason she sabotaged the next two tests her parents arranged: she didn't want to get promoted past him. What a different life it would have been then. She would have entered Harvard at fifteen, had her doctorate by now, getting started on her parents' dream of saving the world from Malaria by the age of forty. Forty. She will only turn twenty two next week and this is already the eighth apocalypse she's trying to stave off. Well, seventh. The one she started herself probably shouldn't count. All because she met this little blonde, then brunette, eight years ago. She tore down the narrow walls of her existence and gave her a life of so much wonder and meaning; and she gave her the strength to live in it. She still does. Every word, every embrace, and even an occasional shove, all meant to make her better. Are making her better. They might only be one year apart, but Buffy was the older sister Willow always dreamed of. Barely controlling the urge to hug the hell of her Willow continued to quietly watch her friend. The mid afternoon sun shinning through the window was playing softly in Buffy's hair as she read at the kitchen table. She let it grow again and now the banks were seriously overhanging her forehead, getting in front of her eyes. Buffy didn't make much effort to correct the situation only occasionally blowing them to the side. The extra work prevented her from falling asleep as she read another one of Kim's tortuously long reports. Finally her frequent groans of frustration were beginning to turn into sobs.

"That bad?" Willow asked.

"The last half a page was about different levels of dust on the rocks and what each additional millimeter signifies. I mean, literally."

"It's your own fault," the witch replied in her usual, 'I-told-you-so' voice. "He's almost five times older than you. You should have been politer when telling him to be more thorough."

"Where does he find the time to write all of this? Is there some kind of report generating spell?"

"No, just the magic of apprenticeship. Do you think my professor at Sunnydale U ever typed more than three sentences in a row?"

"Apprentices, " Buffy sighed. "I could use a couple of those."

"'A couple'? You have a thousand of them running around the world killing demons for you!"

"Lucky brats."

"No one is stopping you from doing more fieldwork."

"I can't leave. I'm having trouble keeping myself in the loop as it is. I keep having to remind people to send me their reports and when they finally do, anything useful is buried under six tons of crap!"

"So there is something useful there then?"

"Sort of," Buffy shrugged, "The men Kim caught in Bangladesh trying to blow the dig site worked for Leshii. Apparently he had crews working every one of those dig sites, but after the Peru thing, they made with the fireworks. Leshii is deliberately trying to make sure we are not in the game. It stinks. Double so with Dawn there."

"Maybe Dawn's right and he just thinks we're incompetent and will screw things up."

"I don't believe in that whole plan-a-decade-ahead-master-plan bullshit for a minute," said Buffy with a contemptuous hand wave, "Thinking your enemy smarter than it is can be just as dangerous as underestimating it. I'm not saying the First is stupid, It's not, but this could easily be nothing more than bad luck. For starters, how would the First know what the effect of the Slayer making spell would be? It has never been done before, so how could It know? Leshii's theory, assuming it's really what he thinks, has got more holes than Havarti."

"I think it's Swiss cheese."

"No, Swiss cheese doesn't have that many holes. It has the biggest holes, but on the subject of quantity it suffers. Compared with American cheeses, cheddar, or Monterey Jack, Swiss cheese might have been the hole master, but here, on the continent of cheese plenty I refuse to remain willfully ignorant. There's no cheese with more holes than Havarti and it's about time it was given its due!"

"Into every generation, a Slayer is born," Willow began reciting wistfully. "One girl in all the world, a Chosen One, one with the strength and skill to safeguard the pride and dignity of cheese."

"I'm sorry, but a world without cheese is not a world worth saving. Besides, like you said, I got a thousand peons now to deal with the boring apocalypse stuff."

"Exactly, and if I remember correctly you got the idea for the Slayer making spell after talking with the First. That should have been a big fat clue. The amulet, too. If Wolfram&Hart knew what it did so should have the First, It had to. Yet It let us walk right into Its lair without a fight. It was all just too easy. It wanted us there."

"Easy? People died to win that battle! And if the First knew about the amulet why didn't It go after Spike later? There were a good twenty minutes after the Slayer spell was finished and the time the amulet became active. It should have ignored us and sent all the uber-vamps after Spike. I'd like to think we'd be able to keep them off him anyway, but It didn't even try. Now either the First is really bad at battlefield strategy or It didn't know what you think It knew."

"There's a third possibility. It needed us to stay alive to do something else. Something we haven't done yet and that's why It's not attacking us here despite us having no weapons to fight It with."

"Something like gaining twenty pounds eating ice-cream all day?"

"Hey!"

"I've had enough!" Buffy slammed her laptop shut. "I'm going out. Come with?"

"I don't think it's appropriate to invite me where you are going," the redhead grumbled.

"It's not like all we do is have sex. Fine, we'll go some place else, just the two of us. How about a movie?"

"At three o'clock in the afternoon?"

"You are going to turn down everything I'll propose, aren't you?"

Willow didn't say anything, but the answer was clear.

"Fine, " Buffy snapped. She grabbed her handbag off the coffee table and headed towards the door. "I'm out of here. Hey, Watcher, watch her!"

"You can count on me!" Andrew yelped from the couch.

"What? I'm not fifteen, I don't need a babysitter!" Willow shouted to the closing door.

"Fifteen?" Andrew raised an eyebrow.

"I had overprotective parents. Shut up, or I'll turn you into a toad!"

"You've been turning a lot of things into other things lately. That's why Buffy won't leave you alone anymore."

"Whatever, " Willow mumbled feeling increasingly bitchy. "Why are you even here? Isn't your vacation over?"

"It's my free study semester and what better place for me to study fighting evil than with the Slayer and her uber-witch best friend?"

Willow glanced at the TV then back at boy.

"What? It's on mute!"

"You can watch your little soaps at your apartment, Andrew."

"Buffy won't let me get another one."

"Another?"

"My girlfriends sort of burned down the one I had."

"Well! Serves you right for two-timing!"

"I'm not two-timing!" the apprentice watcher protested. "They are followers of Stralik, the two headed demon. They always do stuff in pairs. And Buffy won't sign my expense checks until I dump them. So totally unfair! I know she's the Slayer, and all, but she has no right interfering in my personal life. They are nice girls."

"Who burned down your apartment."

"They thought my Klingon exhibit was an altar of a rival demon. It was an honest mistake, a simple cultural misunderstanding, why can't anyone get past that? Don't worry, they are not coming here, they are afraid of you."

"Me?" repeated Willow taken aback.

"Who else? Buffy doesn't skin people alive."

"One person. One! Why can't anyone get past that?"

"I did. I like you now."

"You do?"

"Sure. I even got you a birthday present. I won't say what it is, but it's pretty cool."

"Really? Wait, it's not a light saber or something, is it?"

"I'm afraid you'll just have to wait and find out."

Willow looked over the grinning boy. It could have been worse, Buffy could have invited Stefka again. "Do you want to unmute that?" she nodded towards the television, plunking herself down on the couch next to him.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Willow was being totally unfair about them. She and Mortimer do a lot of things together. They have great conversations. He makes her laugh all the time and he tells so many wonderful stories. Being a history Buff, as Xander refuses to stop calling her, it is so exciting to speak to someone who crossed the Rubicon with Caesar and double dated with Casanova. They go to movies together, too, and Mortimer can certainly hold his own on the ice-skating rink. Clearly, they have a well-developed and rounded relationship. Naturally, as with any well-rounded relationship, a certain amount of physical...

"Oh!" Mortimer groaned, gently, but firmly pushing Buffy off him interrupting her train of thought, among other things. "That's it. I tried to be a man and take what you dish, but this time I'm pretty sure you broke my rib."

"What are talking about?" she bristled. "You are invincible!"

"No, I'm immortal, there's a difference," he grumbled softly feeling his side. The pause grew a bit long and Mortimer looked up to see Buffy sternly staring him down. The fact that she was nude hugging a giant pillow made the situation a lot less tense than she meant it to be.

"You told me you can't be killed, " she said getting more annoyed at his smile. "If you can be hurt, then you can be killed."

"Well, technically I can be killed. I have been killed. I have lost count of how many times I got killed. It's just that it doesn't stick. As soon as I die I just get resurrected in an identical body somewhere else. Don't ask me how it works, I have no idea, nobody does. That's my big power, if you will. The body itself is just as fragile as any other human body."

For a moment the skeptical look on Buffy's face signaled an upcoming sarcastic remark of some sort when it suddenly changed into something Mortimer never expected to see: panic.

"Wait. Human? How human?"

"What?"

"Oh my God! We're the same species!"

"And that's bad?"

"You idiot!" she screamed jumping off the bed. "We haven't been using anything! Oh my God!" She grabbed for her clothes, but they were falling out of her hands. "What day is it?"

"Buffy..."

She wasn't listening. She kept turning the top over in her hands trying to locate the front. "Which makes it...five weeks?! No, three weeks. No, wait..."

"Buffy..."

"Don't interrupt me when I'm counting!"

"Buffy, it's alright, it's taking care of."

"What?"

"I've got it covered, on my end."

"Your end? Oh. The snippety-snip," Buffy felt herself calming somewhat. At least to the point of being capable of putting on her clothes without too much trouble. She picked up her jeans off the nightstand and starred down her man. An actual man, apparently. "You are not lying to me, are you?"

"Of course not, " Mortimer gently pulled her back on the bed, caressing her shoulders, and kissed her neck to calm her down. "It's the first thing I do when wake up in the new body."

"You start each new life with a vasectomy?"

"If I weren't taking precautions half the world population would be my progeny by now. When I'm making love, the last thing I want to think about, is whether or not the girl is my great-great-granddaughter. I might not be the most moral person on this planet, but even I have lines I don't cross. I bend them, I push them, I might even turn them ninety degrees, but I never cross them."

This self-deprecating boastfulness just works so well for him. Buffy smiled, shoving him playfully away. Mortimer's smile immediately turned into pained grin.

"Sorry! You really are hurt, aren't you? I'm so sorry." She helped him upright and expertly felt up his torso for injury. "It's actually all your fault you know."

"How is it my fault?"

"Easy! This wouldn't happen if you were communicating with me like a normal person, instead of playing hide and seek with every single piece of intell," she grumbled grabbing his shirt and tying it around his midsection.

"You break my rib, you make me feel guilty for you breaking my rib, and you call me an idiot. Do you know what the strangest part in all of this is? I think I love you even more."

She heard him. He knew it from the way her hands paused momentarily, then tagged on the sleeves again, tightening the makeshift support.

"I love you, Buffy, " he repeated.

"Me and what army?" she tried to joke her way out.

"You just love to ride me, don't you?"

"I think we both enjoy that"

"I'm serious, " he lifted her head up to meet his eyes. "I love you."

"What do you know of love?" she scoffed

"Do you really think love is exclusive to human souls?"

"Not anymore, but it's not what I meant. Love is sacrifice, and rib for sex doesn't count."

"Works for you, but what about six billion other people?"

Buffy adjusted the shirt girdle one last time then sat down on the bed next to Mortimer.

"It doesn't have to be life and death stuff. It could be anything, anything important to you. It could be money a kid spent on a necklace that he was saving up for a skateboard. It could be the girl giving up good graces of her family and friends to stand up for her man. It could be time, putting aside your ambitions to let your girl follow her destiny."

"I get that."

"I don't think you do." The tone of Buffy's voice was not one he expected to accompany a rejection. She wasn't angry, or upset, or sarcastic. She was serious; simply serious. "You are immortal, time means nothing to you. Neither does money. You've got no family or friends that I know of, and the only ambition you seem to have is me. Love is not pain, but pain is part of it, it's what elevates love above ordinary pleasure. What is your pain?"

"Just because I haven't had a chance to suffer for you, you think I can't love you?"

"I don't know," she shrugged.

"Is that why you don't love me? Because you are unsure of me?" Mortimer pressed on.

Is that it? She has never seen this relationship going past the 'fun' stage. Why not? Too early? She looked up at her boyfriend face, examining the look of concerned curiosity permeating its extraordinary handsome features.

"First off we've only been dating for two months. For a million year old you are not very patient."

"Don't you feel anything for me?"

"I like you," she responded on autopilot, without thinking. The words echoed pleasantly in her head. "I like you a lot," she added and smiled: she wasn't lying. "How's that?"

Mortimer's face mirrored her smile as he nodded approvingly.

"It's a start"

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

The weather turned from bad to worse. The high winds and almost constant snow meant the convoy could hardly move. In the last three days they covered sixty kilometers at the most. With so much downtime Dawn's offer to pick up the driving shift became moot and she ended up back in Yozh's cabin. The fat man has stopped yelling, but he was still plenty pissed and their conversation was minimal. Which kind of sucked since he was the only person that would speak to her. Leshii's men seemed a very close-nit group and turned positively monosyllabic when speaking to an outsider, which she was and would always be. She had something they didn't, couldn't, weren't allowed to. People she loved, family, friends. Driven by extreme paranoia Leshii strove to make sure his men were motivated by nothing more than the desire for money and adventure, both of which he provided in abundance. Other things came later. Leshii's gang was the only one where members were not only allowed to retire, but were expected to. Most of their considerable pay was deferred until that moment which came every five years: cash in and leave forever, or stay another five. Once retired they would sever all contact with the gang, the stronger the friendships the more immediate the break, and for good reason. "Nobody is here against their will," Leshii told Bones once when he learned of his girlfriend on the outside, "You may leave with her and leave the money you earned or you can blow her brains out and stay." They knew their best friends too well to think their choice would be different than the one that was made that time. This was the world she entered, but she was not of it. For reasons unknown to them the boss allowed her to walk both sides and they hated her for it. And what's wrong with that? Why would she want to be liked by a bunch of ruthless murderers anyway? Stupid High School conformity complex...

Dawn spent most of the quiet time in the cabin composing more letters for Buffy. The responses she got seemed to indicate Buffy knows she's writing in code, though she hasn't yet understood what it is. There wasn't really that much to add to what she has mentioned already, but, perhaps, adding more clues will make it easier for her sister to interpret her previous emails. What made her concerned was that Buffy's letters were edited. The only reason she could think for that was that Leshii was trying to conceal what Buffy knew to make it that much harder for Dawn to feed her information. It's easy to pass along a hidden tidbit here and there, but if she doesn't know what Buffy's missing odds are that most of the time she'll be giving her duplicate information, but if she tries for a bigger chunk, she's likely to get caught. Does Leshii actually suspect her, or is this just another preventive measure? He won't hurt her, but she can't loose whatever little trust she built. Small tidbits it is. Buffy knows the First is involved, that much has gotten through. How much do they know about Its plans, vulnerabilities? Do they know why she's in Chechnya? She only gets to send one email a week, she must make them count.

The guides appeared out of nowhere. Two bearded men on a Nazi style motorcycle with a side car guided the convoy through narrow hidden mountain roads. Often the paths were so steep they had to drive the trucks half loaded up the mountain, drop the cargo then come back for the other half. Unable to help much with the crates, Dawn did most of the driving. The weather was merciless and a few times her truck skidded so badly she thought they would slide off the cliff. It took them four days to get to Shamil's camp. On foot, without the cargo, it would have taken them two.

The sun has set a few hours ago. The camp was lit by a couple of bonfires and flashes of a dozen torches darting around as Chechens unloaded the trucks. Dawn wasn't sure why Yozh just let the Arab looking man with glasses take charge of the cargo before the exchange, but she thought it best not to argue. Instead she picked up a few branches off the ground and began whittling them down into sharp canonical shapes.

"What are you doing?" Yozh inquired suspiciously.

"Here, " she handed him one of the stakes. "Ever fought a vampire?"

"As a matter of fact, yes. After Leshii's sister..," he paused unsure of how much Dawn knew, "...was gone, he organized hunting parties. Sometimes to kill, sometimes to capture for study, " A crooked smile emphasized the exact meaning of the last word. "That's when he caught Zemfira."

"The guy with glasses, " she nodded towards the Arab. "He's one."

"How do you know?"

"The way he looks at me."

"You're kidding, right?" Yozh contemptuously threw the sharp stick back to her. "We're in a camp full of mountain men who haven't been laid in months. Everybody's looking at you."

"Not at my neck they don't," Dawn got up and handed the stake back to him. The fat man gave her a long look and put the weapon inside his overcoat. The trucks were now empty and the Chechens moved to unload the trunks of the jeeps.

"Move, the fuck, away from the car!" Yozh shouted stopping them in their tracks.

"Is something wrong?" the vampire approached him.

"You're not touching that until I get my amulet."

"We've got three trucks worth of supplies already distributed across the camp. Isn't it a little late to be distrustful?" the vampire smirked.

"Well, that's a very special crate, " Yozh returned his expression, only the smirk on his face was a lot more satisfied. "It contains master remote controls, like this one, " he pulled a small rectangle with three buttons out of his pocket. "Which trigger the explosives you have so helpfully 'distributed across the camp'. Now where, the fuck, is Shamil with my fucking amulet?"

The man adjusted his glasses first glancing at the remote control then at Dawn who was pointedly checking the sharpness of her stake against her palm. Shamil has given Jibran clear instructions and he did not intend to cheat, but his esteemed guests were getting itchy stubbing fingers, and it would be better not to antagonize them. He relayed this essentially same thought, in a somewhat more colorful way, to his subordinate as they went off to fetch their master.

"Well, I'm impressed," Dawn grinned approvingly, "Nicely played and you didn't even bat an eye at all the crap he said."

"When?"

"Just now. Didn't you hear it?"

"I didn't understand it, " he said suddenly suspicious.

Dawn didn't notice. She simply assumed their conversation has taken the usual turn and her grin quickly became an expression of extreme annoyance. "Right. Those wild Chechens, they talk funny, " she mocked him.

"Yes, funny. Especially when they talk in Chechen."

"Who is talking in Chechen?"

"Everyone, but us."

What? She concentrated, trying to catch the banter of the fighters. There were certainly a lot of Russian words sprinkled about, but the language was unknown to her. No matter how hard she tried she couldn't understand a single sentence.

"You told me you don't speak Chechen," gangster pressed.

"I don't. It was joke, " she mumbled. "I don't know what he said. Just seemed like it was about you."

All Yozh could do was shake his head.

"I've been racking my brain trying to figure out what the hell is going on under all that glossy hair, and so far I don't have the slightest fucking idea."

Join the club. Just five minutes ago when Dawn thought they were speaking Russian the conversations were clear as day. Or did she just hallucinate that? She felt wobbly and light headed. The rarefied air of the mountains must be screwing with her brain.

They didn't have to wait very long for Shamil. A stocky, bearded man he was dressed in winter army fatigues and a fury hat. He smiled as he approached, apologizing from afar.

"Sorry to have kept you waiting. I can trust my men to handle explosives, but not a three month old lamb. We've got about forty minutes before it's done so let's get the business out of the way. If you would follow me..."

"It just you and I," Dawn responded quickly. "The rest stay here. If I'm not back in an hour, " she turned to Yozh, "blow this shit hole sky high."

The small open area where they left the trucks was not the actual camp. The sleeping quarters and supply storage were located within a vast cave system in the surrounding mountains. Shamil walked briskly down one of the tunnels eager to get the trade over with and start on that lamb. Dawn followed, always keeping at least two steps behind with her right hand nervously gripping the handle of the revolver in her back pocket. She tried to appear stoic and business like, but it wasn't working. Anxiety was getting to her. She felt that if she doesn't start talking soon she'll accidentally pull the trigger and blow her butt off.

"I should get the number of your prosthetics guy for Leshii, " she remarked as casually as she could. "The way your leg moves, it looks totally real."

"It better be, it's my real leg, " Shamil answered glancing behind.

"Never mind. I just heard you had it blown off."

"I did. It grew back."

"Wait a minute, " Dawn stopped, suddenly very concerned. "I thought you were stripped of your powers."

"Vengeance powers. Not the ones I had before."

Shamil was a demon. What kind of demon? Hopefully the kind that can be killed with a gun. It was too late to change anything so Dawn kept following though increasing the distance to three steps now.

"I always thought all D'Hoffryn demons were humans," she continued the small talk.

"D'Hoffryn wasn't always in charge. Vengeance powers would only go to demons for as long as I could remember. It's hard to graft new powers onto existing ones. We were few, but we were good. Then they gave Arashmahaar to D'Hoffryn, for his 'forward thinking'. He started bringing in humans by the boatload. Especially young women, that horny old goat. Human Vengeance Demons are low quality, but cheap to make. The old guard like me got the shaft. There are now seven demons covering tribal vengeance and it's still cheaper than just me."

"Where's the Vengeance Demon of Outsourcing when you need one?" Dawn joked.

"They haven't created that position until the 80's, " Shamil replied

"I was kidding."

"Don't. It's not exactly traditional, but it's the fastest growing field."

"Do your people know you are a demon?"

"These people?" Shamil laughed. "They couldn't care if they had to ally with Shaitan himself and they back it up with deed. You should come by the prisoners cave before you leave. I know you've seen some quality shit running with Leshii, but I bet even you will be impressed."

Dawn didn't appreciate the direction the conversation was taking so she moved quickly to change the subject.

"Did you know a Vengeance Demon named Anyanka?" she asked.

"The fury of women scorned, " Shamil nodded. "We've met a few times. She seemed dedicated and intelligent enough. For a former human. How she managed to loose her powers twice in a span of a few years is beyond me."

"She fell in love. Even when Xander left her, she still loved him."

"Love can be funny – can make you fall for a bunny," Shamil quoted smirking into his beard.

"I never heard that one before! Anya and her bunnies..."

"So how has she adjusted to the mortal life?"

"Perfectly," Dawn answered. "She's dead."

Shamil stopped and looked at the girl stopping behind him.

"We are here," he said motioning her to move forward. "And there's the chest," he added pointing to a small stone cube sitting in the middle of a small torch lit area.

Dawn glanced at the heavy looking object then at the smug face of her guide.

"Well, bring it here," she said.

"I can't do that," replied Shamil.

Dawn quickly backed away, fumbling for her gun.

"We had a deal!"

The demon calmly eyed the scrambling girl for a moment before responding.

"You misunderstand me. I'm physically unable to touch it. There's a spell protecting it. It's probably why it's still here."

"Well, how am I supposed to get it?" Dawn snapped angrily trying hard to mask her fear. It seemed the mission was about to crumble at the most critical moment and in the area that was supposed to be her specialty. The notion of this frail human girl snarling at him was almost too comical for the demon, but minding who her boss was, he kept his smile hidden in the recess of his beard.

"As near as I can tell, the spell only protects the box from evil. Or, rather, whatever its creators considered to be 'evil'," Shamil answered politely.

Dawn stared at the demon's impenetrable face trying to gauge if this was some kind of trick. Discerning nothing, she took the only choice available to her and walked in front of him to the box. She crouched near it, looking over each side. It seemed to be buried half way into the sediment and the inscriptions carved into the stone have faded almost entirely. The runes seemed familiar, but she couldn't recall which language they were from.

"What are you waiting for?" Shamil called out from the cave entrance, "Are you afraid you won't be able to touch it either?"

All hesitation gone, Dawn pushed the top off with one agitated push. Inside, on a withered cloth, lay a three inch elongated crystal pyramid attached to an intricately woven metal chain. Dawn picked up the amulet and took it to the nearest torch. Aside from runes similar to the ones on the outer box, it had four deep and symmetrical chips running along one of the edges. "This is where it fits into the other half of the original amulet, " Dawn thought. Out of the inner pocket of her coat she took out a small vile she has prepared in Grozny. Two drops and the amulet radiated a gentle blue aura that quickly turned green and dissipated. Strongly enchanted and at least ten thousand years old.

"Satisfied?" asked Shamil correctly reading her expression.

"Hungry, " she answered putting the chain around her neck. "Let's see that lamb."

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Whether or not Shamil was as brilliant a murderer as the media made him out to be was hard to say. His cooking skills, on the other hand, Dawn got to experience firsthand and they were exemplary. Two straight weeks of eating nothing, but canned pork, hastily heated in a small pot might have thrown her taste buds a bit, but she was certain this was the best lamb she ever had. After completing the first course with the rest of the men, the seven of them, Dawn, Yozh, Shamil, Jibran, and three bottles of vodka set up their own camp fire nearby. At thirty below the alcohol flowed as smoothly as water on a hot day, nicely lubing the mellow conversation that somehow has managed to stray away from business, until now.

"So what is all the stuff for? Another cultural trip to the capital?" Yozh asked not expecting an answer. "Just don't blow up the circus, I like the bicycling bears."

"I'm not going to Moscow," Shamil replied. "It was a one time deal, not really my thing."

"Strange, " Dawn piped in, "And here I thought you were the one who liked killing people. I know what happened, I must have got you and Mother Teresa mixed up."

Dawn's sarcasm might not have been Yozh's cup of tea, but Shamil seemed to enjoy it.

"Don't know about the good Mother, but while I do enjoy an artful kill, I do not feed on flesh. Fear feeds me, despair, all that general misery. There are eleven million self-absorbed, jaded people in that city. Even a big hostage taking wasn't going to bring them down. The theater trip was a message. This, this is going to be a feast. Maybe my last one here."

"What's with the sour face?" Yozh asked actually going off Shamil's tone since the demon's face was hardly visible behind the glare of the fire.

"The damn oil is going up. Suddenly half the money is more than the whole thing was when the war started. Oil needs safe railroads, intact pipelines. Peace is now worth more than war, a lot more. That 'a lot' has made people reasonable. Moscow is cutting deals left and right and I'm loosing allies by the dozen. They are putting screws to my suppliers, too, so even Grishko will only trade through intermediaries and for triple the price. It's only going to get tougher from here."

"Why don't you move to Congo or something?" Dawn suggested offhandedly as the vampire refilled her glass.

"He can't stand the heat, " Jibran replied for his master.

"If push comes to shove I'll move to Pakistan, but I'd rather be a big fish in a small pond. Even a really small pond will do. After those theater hostages they cut me a deal. I stay away from the big towns and they let me play in the countryside. Only some of their dogs are already cutting into my territory. I need a way to make them stick to their word. I need Leshii."

"No fucking way is the boss coming here," Yozh quickly answered. Apparently the topic came up before.

"The money is good, " Shamil persisted. "I'm getting millions from the Saudis and he can have a big chunk of that. Moscow wants the deal to hold, too, they'll cut him in. With oil and reconstruction there'll be billions flowing through. Even one percent is tens of millions."

"Money may be good, but it's not our scene. There are dozens of clans here. There always will be someone trying to get a bigger slice. We don't like that. If necessary, we step in, make an example, so that no one is stupid enough to fuck with us again. These people never learn. Leshii doesn't do constant war. He is not a violent person."

Dawn almost choked on her vodka at the last comment.

"Leshii is special, " Shamil pressed. "He can even make Chechens learn. Remember Doku Sadaev?"

"What about him?" Dawn answered unsure of who the question was directed to.

"You are joking, right?" Shamil scoffed.

Dawn wasn't trying to be a smartass, she was curious. Of the hundreds of Leshii victims mentioned in Dmitri's papers this was one of the few that stuck in her mind. The phrase 'fate worse than death' does that sort of thing. There was no elaboration, though. If there was any fault with Dmitri's style of journalism it was that his revulsion to violence kept him from being sufficiently graphical about Leshii's 'adventures'. Now, it looked like Dawn might finally get a few details.

"I haven't heard of him either," Jibran piped in while Dawn was still constructing a proper information inducing response.

"No surprise there. You spent the 90's living under a rock. Literally, " the demon smirked.

"It was a rejuvenation ritual! For the millennium! I was just hibernating, like bears do."

"Did you plug your ass with a cork like bears do?" Dawn giggled, "Well, they do."

"I'm not sure I want to hear the answer, " Shamil laughed in response.

"Just tell the fucking story, " the vampire snarled.

"Alright, alright. I'll give you the version I heard. Yozh can correct me if he feels like it," he nodded towards the fat man, who shrugged indifferently. "It was around '95. Leshii has been heading his gang for a couple years now. His arbitration business wasn't around that long, but he had developed a pretty nice reputation street level. Chechens were fighting Armenians for the control over the two biggest Moscow bazaars at the time. There weren't really mobs then, just a bunch of ethnic gangs with shifting alliances. An agreement was struck between a dozen or so groups to divide up the merchants. Leshii was signed as the arbitrator. Three weeks later there's a hit on one of the Armenians. Leshii finds out which gang did the deed, executes the leader, and all is quiet. For another three weeks. Same deal, party found, punished. Two months later a restaurant is set on fire, doors barricaded from the outside. Feel free to insert a kabob joke of your choice. Now Leshii is getting pissed. What does he need to do to be taken seriously? This time he wipes out the entire gang. Whatever family members are in Moscow he finds and kills as well. There aren't that many, most of them are in Chechnya which is in the middle of the first war and Leshii's has no connections there. Still, he figures people got the message. Turns out they did get the message, just not the way he expected. The guy running the biggest operation was Doku. Time came he decided to make his move. Only he didn't start with Armenians. He went straight after Leshii, first strike. It was brutal. Leshii never lost so many guys before. Rumor is Doku almost got the man himself when he set off a gas blast in the tunnels. Still Leshii got the upper hand eventually and Doku disappeared. Then a month later his wife turned up. More like a five hundred piece jigsaw puzzle that added up to his wife. Then his two kids. Intact, but without any skin. About the same time a patient was delivered to a Moscow hospital. He had no arms, no legs, no dick, no eyes, no ears, no nose . His teeth were knocked out. His tongue was cut out, as well as his vocal cords. Otherwise, he was in perfect health. He's still there. Somebody's paying a lot of money to keep him alive, keep him under guard, yet accessible through a bulletproof window. Unable to communicate, without fingertips or dental records, there's no way to identify the man. There's no need either. Everyone knows who it is. Leshii caught up to Doku. He tortured his wife and kids in front of him. He made sure the last thing he saw was them writhing in agony, the last thing he heard were their screams, the last thing he tasted was their blood. There would be no other memories for the rest of his very long, very impotent existence. Since that time, no gang, Chechen or otherwise, have tried to fuck with Leshii again. That's the story as I know it. Most of it I can vouch for, as for the rest, like Doku's last hours, well, the guy who was probably there isn't correcting me."

"Were you really there?" Dawn turned to Yozh.

"Those legs and arms didn't chainsaw themselves off, " he smirked. "But I didn't stick around for the whole thing. When Zemfira started skinning and salting those kids it was a bit much even for me."

"'Zemfira', " the vampire repeated wistfully, "She sounds delicious "

"That's right, Jibran, " Shamil laughed, "The moral of this story is let's hit on the guy's girlfriend."

"They aren't together anymore, " Yozh commented, lighting another cigarette, "Haven't been for a while."

"Never mind, then."

"I think I'm going to call it a night," said Dawn. She got up slowly not sure what was making her more noxious, Shamil's story or the notion of Leshii and Zemfira coupling.

"Peace be with you, girl, " the demon called after her. "Honestly I'm fucking impressed you are still holding it together. You've got at least half a liter in you by my count."

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Dawn tried to keep to the beaten path as an errant step would easily leave her waste deep in the fresh snow. Half a liter? Impossible, she barely felt any buzz. She started thinking back to the number of shots she drank counting to the squeaking of the snow accompanying each of her steps. As the number in her head kept rising, her walk became unsteady. It must have been the alcohol that was making her sick after all, not the stories. How could she drink so much and not notice? Her legs started to go slack. Her vision began to blur and the blue sea of nighttime snow began to rise and fall around her, surrounding her, until she felt the cold puffs stinging her cheek.

"Get up, sweetheart." Dawn lifted her head off the snow to see her mother's face flush with loving concern. "You can't sleep here, baby, you'll catch your death a cold."

"Go away!" Dawn groaned, slowly rising onto all fours.

"I know you are embarrassed, honey. You don't want your mother to see you like this."

"You are not my mother!" she tried to push the apparition away, but lost her balance and fell back into the snow.

"I'm not happy to see you like this either," Joyce continued, "But we can talk about this later. Right now you're sick and you need me to take care of you. Now get up, baby, the jeep is only fifty feet away, you can do it."

Whether the First or a drunken hallucination Dawn knew it was right. In the darkness no one would see her passed out and she'll freeze to death. She rose slowly grasping at air as though it was filled with imaginary rails, then staggered toward the dark silhouette of the car ahead of her. First she pried open the door, then her fingers from the metallic frame. What the hell happened to her gloves? She climbed inside and shut the door behind her.

"Very good, honey. Now drink some water before you go to sleep."

The windows of the cabin were covered in snow cutting off any light coming from the outside. Dawn couldn't tell where the gentle voice was coming from.

"Where am I supposed to get it?" she shouted back both angry and resigned.

"It's your jeep, baby. You put the thermos in the glove compartment, remember?"

"So, you're spying on me all the time now?" she mumbled, fumbling for the container inside.

"Mother don't 'spy', Dawn, they 'stay involved in their daughters' lives'. Small gulps, baby, you'll hurt your throat."

Finishing off the contents Dawn simply let go and watched the thermos roll under her seat. She climbed in the back, stretching out until her feet bumped into the walls of the car.

"Good night, Dawn," came a soft whisper as she closed her eyes and let herself fall into the bottomless pit of alcohol induced sleep.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

The first ten minutes after she woke up Dawn spent fighting to keep her eyes open. Or, perhaps, to keep her eyes closed. Honestly she wasn't sure which side she was on. She wanted to fall back asleep, but the bumpy mountain road beneath the fast riding jeep and the bright sunlight bursting from the windows would not cooperate. She tried opening her eyes, but the very same light seemed to burn every drop of moisture out of them.

"Where are we?" she addressed whoever it was driving the vehicle.

"Australia," Yozh scoffed from the front seat.

Dawn sat up and looked out the window. It was a beautiful day. As starlit as the sky was last night, the daytime sky beamed with the brightness of the sun. The fresh white powder reflected it back making the whole world outside the car look like a big novelty snow globe. So beautifully fake it made her want to vomit. As did pretty much everything she saw, felt, or smelled at the moment. The water she drank last night kept her head relatively clear, but it didn't help her stomach. She climbed into the passenger's seat and clanked the seat belt closed. They were going awfully fast. Dawn looked over to the speedometer. With clear weather and without the heavy trucks slowing them down Yozh was pushing fifty, probably the most a mountain road would allow.

"How long have you been driving?" she asked the gangster.

"Since sunrise."

She checked her watch. Eight hours. At this speed they must have covered the entire previous week worth of travel.

"Are we in a hurry somewhere?"

"Germany"

"What's in Germany?"

"Leshii is."

"Oh. How did his expedition go?"

"It's been postponed. Someone attacked Zemfira."

"Someone?"

"Some remote magic thing," Yozh waived his hand uncertainly. "That place in Germany is keeping her safe for now. We don't know who it was, but Leshii is pretty sure it's not the First. If you ask me, I think it's your sister's buddies who are screwing with us."

"No, Buffy wouldn't do that."

"Not when we have such a plump little hostage, she wouldn't, but she isn't the one running the show. Martin says that whole Council is one giant snake pit. Maybe they don't give a shit about you. Maybe even trying to provoke us into offing the big sis."

"Leshii isn't going to fall for it".

"Zemfira's important. One way or the other he will get this thing to go away."

"How important is she?"

"Jealous?"

"That's a 'no' in so many ways!"

The vehemence of her denial in the face of what was so obvious as far as he was concerned only made Yozh laugh harder. Dawn didn't want to argue, she wanted information.

"How long were they together?"

"Pretty much since we captured her, for a couple years."

"She needs protection from Witch Hunters, so I take it he dumped her."

"I never said you were stupid, just crazy"

"Why did he dump her?"

"The usual reason. When you're a fourteen year old kid you just want to stick your dick into something soft and warm, or, in this case, room temperature. Then the novelty wears off. You develop taste and preferences."

"He got tired of her."

"Funny, isn't it? I mean the bitch is a perfect girlfriend."

"What?!"

"Think about it," Yozh turned to the shocked teenager tapping his finger against his temple. "That thing she does when she makes things look different..."

"Glamor"

"Yeah, that. She can make herself look like anybody. You can fuck any actress, model, singer, movie character. Different one every day of the week. She isn't just your dream girl, she's every girl of every one of your dreams," he paused letting the concept sink into his audience. "Only that crap doesn't work on Leshii. No matter what she does he still sees her as a scrawny little brat with no tits. Now that still does it for more guys than care to admit to it, but apparently he's not one of them. I pity the poor little critter sometimes. How many women do you know who wish their boyfriend was a pedophile?"

"She still loves him."

"Whatever it is they feel, she's got it bad. Those Witch Hunters are all deader than dead, but she's still stuck to him like glue. I'd watch your back, if I were you."

It has become clear to her sometime ago that Yozh thought her Leshii's girlfriend. That would be the most obvious way to explain her sudden appearance and the high position she was given. She wondered if it was something Yozh arrived at on his own or was told this by Leshii or Zemfira. The truth would make Leshii appear weak, not to mention reveal other truths even more dangerous. Do any of the gangsters know that the girl they rescued in Paris and kept with them all of last summer is the boss's not so dead sister? What is the official reason given to them for fighting the First? Her thought process came to a dead stop as they came down the pass. The small valley where they meet the paratroopers was oozing black smoke which slowly gave way to a view of the smoldering wasteland as they drove closer.

"Stop the car, " Dawn called out needlessly. Yozh was breaking already; this was something he wanted to see up close himself. They exited the car and slowly waddled through the deep snow to the mosaic of burnt out house carcasses and craters.

"What happened here?" Dawn almost whispered.

A wide smile began to spread across Yozh's face.

"Can't say for sure, but the press release probably sounded something like this, 'A crew of courageous paratroopers were ambushed and murdered by terrorists yesterday. In the ensuing cleansing operation, the bandits were exterminated with minimal civilian casualties.'"

The truth of what has occurred has started to sink into Dawn.

"The snow covered the tire tracks and if the locals told on us they weren't believed. We're in the clear, girl, " the gangster continued, starting to cackle as he got a better look at Dawn's face contorted in shock. "Congratulations. Turns out you really did save us twenty grand!" A pat on the back overwhelmed Dawn's already wobbling legs and she fell head first into the snow. She could hear all the gangsters behind her burst out with laughter. She got up slowly not bothering to wipe the snow off. In the melting water coming down her face nobody would see her tears.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

The clunk of a stack of dishes being dumped on the table in a deliberately loud way startled everyone into attention.

"What is this?" Buffy paused to let her indignant stare travel around the room. "I leave for two minutes and you all got your noses in books?"

They finally had a breakthrough four days ago. Until then the information they uncovered at the dig sites had at most vague references to various objects or implements of power. It was only when they restored the wall carvings at the accursed Andean caverns that they were able to piece together something concrete. Their first clue was a composite amulet, and if Andrew was interpreting Dawn's allusions correctly, a part of it was somewhere in the Middle East. They had to get there ahead of the First or Leshii, and Buffy was on board of every all-nighter research so far. Except tonight. Tonight was off limits.

"It's Willow's birthday, people, so interact!"

"What if Willow wants to read on her birthday?" asked the redhead her eyes still glued to the page.

"You said you'd rather have a small dinner party than a big hoopla at the compound. There can be no reading at small dinner parties."

"What if we make it a small research party?" Willow countered giddily.

"Do you want me to throw this biscuits at you? Because I will throw this biscuit at you."

"It was always my understanding that traditionally biscuit throwing comes at the end of small dinner parties, " said Giles perusing a text of his own.

"Seriously, people, get rid of the books! I guess this is like a family dinner," she mumbled setting up four places with plates, forks, and knives. "First rule of business, drag everyone away from the television, or in case of this nerd herd, print."

With a loud clap Andrew demonstratively shut his volume and taking a few steps towards the dining table stopped to deliver what seemed like at least a semi-prepared speech.

"I just want to say again, how much it means to me to be invited, Buffy. To be considered part of the family, as you have just implied. The circle is complete. From the founding member of a villainous triumvirate, to the Slayer's closest ally..."

"Andrew," she interrupted, laying out the napkins, "It can't be a dinner party with less than four people and Olivia's flight got rained out, which makes you less my closest ally and more Giles' date."

"I beg your pardon?!"

"Speaking of significant others," Willow spoke still chuckling at Giles' mortified expression, "Why isn't yours here?"

"Because, you should be the focus of the evening on your birthday and not my new boyfriend."

"I don't mind."

"I bet. He's perfectly fine with not being invited and even offered to cater the dinner. I kept the food, but let go the waiters. I figure since I'm not going to prepare the meal for the party I'm throwing, the least I can do is serve it."

"After last week's lasagna I think we all can agree it's the most she can do, " Giles mumbled as Buffy exited to the kitchen.

"Hush!" the birthday girl shushed him quietly.

Buffy came back into the room carrying a large silver tray layered with some kind of edible greenery. In the middle were two golden roasted birds with blackened cherries all around.

"Aren't they gorgeous?"

"Is that his way of saying you are too chicken to introduce him to us?" Willow punned happily.

"These aren't chickens, smarty pants. They are game birds, I think. Maybe. I'm not sure what they are."

She set the tray in the middle, and taking out a six-inch sica that served as a kitchen knife for the last two months, proceeded to cut each one of them in half. The extraordinary aroma had both Andrew and Willow finally seated at the table. The last holdout was Giles who was still very much engrossed in his read.

"Turkey!" he exclaimed suddenly. "Of course! It's so frightfully obvious!"

Buffy and Willow looked at each other, then the birds.

"It is?"

"Do you mean like a baby turkey?" Willow whimpered guiltily.

"No, " the Englishman looked up confused, "like the country, Turkey."

Buffy's expression that mirrored that of her ex-Watcher has now notched a few degrees higher.

"So you are saying the big ones we usually eat are urban turkeys?"

There was a moment of silence as the look of confusion on Giles' face gave way to complete and utter bewilderment.

"The amulet, Buffy, it's in Istanbul."

Who knows how long she and Giles could have stared at each other, but it was Andrew who broke down in laughter first.

"Oh, eat your turkey!" Buffy threw half a bird on his plate as her legs buckled from under her and she fell on her chair laughing. They all were. The sound rose and filled the living room, branching into every corner of the apartment. For the first time in months this was a happy home.