FRIDAY, DECEMBER 4. Soon after dawn, Oz came to Willow after his second night in the mausoleum. Without a word, they sat down on the sleeping bag in her room. It hadn't been slept in by anyone. "I'd suggest getting more comfortable furniture in here," said Oz at last, "but I suppose you'll move back home today."

"That's what I mean to do," said Willow, grateful for something to say that did not touch on the confession she wanted to make—did not really want to make.

"You feeling guilty about blowing off school yesterday?" Oz asked.

"Surprisingly, not so much," said Willow. "I guess I knew that I blew it off for a good cause, even if no one would ever believe me."

"Well, you got the better deal," said Oz. "I got there by second period, and everyone had already gone home because of Snyder's death."

"Any tears?" asked Willow. She knew about Snyder's murder—and that Buffy and Cordelia were responsible, but it had never occurred to her that school might be cancelled because of it.

"Not really," allowed Oz. "Maybe a gasp or two."

"It's the only time Snyder's ever made Sunnydale High's student body happy, isn't it?"

"Pretty much," said Oz. Then he added: "As soon as you've packed up, I'll give you a ride home."

"Oz, there's something I have to confess. About Xander. And me."

"Oh?" said Oz.

"We've kinda been playin' footsie lately."

Oz looked puzzled. "I'm gonna go out on a limb here, and say, 'uh huh'."

"Nothing's happened," she assured him hurriedly, "but it's been weird. There have been times when we almost kissed, I think, and-and there's been touching, you know, not like when we were just old friends, not-not..."

"Innocent?" Oz filled in.

"Yeah," said Willow. She wanted to say more, but, at the moment, she could not remember what she had wanted to say, or the order in which she had wanted to say it.

"So, are you saying you want to break up with me and go out with Xander?" Oz asked.

"Oh, God! No, Oz, I don't. In fact, I'm pretty sure—no, I'm completely sure it's over between Xander and me. Well, I admit the whole thing with Cordy turning into a vampire had something to do with it. That made it easier; not easy in a bad sense but in a good sense. Anyway, it is over, and, really, I don't think anything was ever going to happen anyway."

"Then why did you have to tell me about it?" asked Oz.

"I don't know, I guess because it was making me feel so guilty."

"Maybe you aren't happy with me," he said.

"But I am," she said. "It's just that... sometimes I don't know whether you're really happy with me."

"How come?"

"Because—and this'll probably sound corny and, even, maybe, too demanding but-but you've always been such a gentleman that—I don't know if you ever want to go to another level and..."

"You're wondering whether I'm interested in you sexually," he suggested. Willow just looked at him, relieved that he had said it. "Look," he continued, "I'm just waiting for the time to be right—for you to be sure that you're ready. For us to be sure."

"How do we know when that is?"

"I just think that we'll know."

"Does this mean you forgive me?"

"Well, since nothing happened, I guess—from my point of view—there's nothing to forgive," he said, "but if it makes you feel better, I forgive you."

"Oh, thanks, Oz. And you're right. Nothing happened and nothing would have happened," she said. "I'm sure of it."

Joyce and Giles sat on the Summers' couch. Their fingers flirted but they couldn't quite bring themselves to hold hands.

"How can she be a vampire Slayer and a vampire, too?" Joyce asked. "I feel like a parent must feel when her daughter turns out not only to be Goth but into S&M as well—and it would be a huge favor if you forgot I ever said that."

"Done," said Giles.

"Oh, my God!" said Joyce. "Will she be able to stay in Sunnydale? Does she have to leave town now?"

Giles thought carefully. "I don't know whether or not it will come to that, but it might. In the foreseeable future, however, I am hoping she will stay to help us avert an impending crisis. I know that Buffy tries to protect you from the things we deal with, but we have a rather dangerous opponent at present, and we're going to need all the help we can get to defeat him. That includes Faith and Angel—and Buffy, if she is willing to stay."

"Then what?"

"Beyond that, you will have to ask her, Joyce, because I don't know."

"Aren't you still her watcher?"

"I'm afraid not. The Council rather frowns on watchers mentoring vampires—even ones with souls. Besides, she doesn't need me any more. It might seem redundant to say that Buffy has grown up too fast, but I'm afraid that every vestige of her innocence has gone completely now."

"Then, my daughter really is lost to me."

"Not lost, because I am sure she still needs you in the way that grown children always continue to need their parents."

"She doesn't need you any more, either, does she, Rupert?"

"No."

"What will you do?"

"I'm to be Faith's watcher now."

"Faith," Joyce said thoughtfully. "Do you think she might want to come live with me, if Buffy can't live here anymore?"

"Do-do you think you're ready to take on parenting another teenager?"

"Do you think I shouldn't?"

"Well, it would be a great help to me if you would, but I must warn you: if you thought that rearing Buffy was difficult, you'll find that Faith is more than a challenge."

"We'll just have to see about that," said Joyce. She interlaced her fingers with Giles', and they leaned against each other.

Buffy and Angel leaned against the couch by the fireplace at his mansion. They stared into the flames for a long time before Buffy spoke. "This is so majorly strange," she said.

"Name something that isn't strange about all this," said Angel.

"I meant being a vampire."

"That's a big one."

"Did I ever tell you it was the thing that I feared most?"

"You once told me that," he said. "Now it's happened."

"Not only happened," she said. "I've gone through it and come out the other side, kinda. But, then, you've been there, done that."

"More times than I care to remember."

"Remembering is the hard part," said Buffy. "Not just remembering what I did as Buffy the Vampire, but remembering my old life as the Slayer. When I had that, I didn't want it. Now I can't go back to it even though I'd love to."

"You could still live with your mom," Angel suggested. "Maybe she could fix up a coffin for you in the basement."

"Don't kid around," said Buffy, slugging his arm.

"Sorry, but why couldn't you stay in touch with your mom?"

"Could I?" she almost pleaded. "When I'll never know when I might become evil again and turn on the very people I love?"

"You can't live like that," said Angel, shaking his head. "Take it from me: what-ifs are a waste of time."

"And what's going to happen to us, Angel?" she asked. "Do we dare keep on seeing each other even though the next time we can't control our feelings could mean we both turn evil at once? What happens to my family and friends then?"

"Definitely wouldn't be a good idea for us to live together," he said. "That's for sure." He looked back at the fire. "We have to stay and defeat the Mayor, but, after that, it might be a good idea for one of us to leave town."

"Maybe we should both leave," she said. Because his head was turned, Buffy could not see the tear running down Angel's cheek. "We should go to opposite ends of the earth so that neither of us ever knows where the other is," she added, her own tears flowing.

Mayor Wilkins sat in one of the chairs in front of his desk, making notes on a pad. Allan Finch sat in the other, consulting a few stapled leaves of paper. Finch was saying: "I am afraid there is a short list of available candidates to replace Principal Snyder. There wasn't much notice."

"Yes," said Wilkins. "Darned inconsiderate of him to invite vampires into his apartment at a time like this."

Finch never knew how to react when the Mayor made such off-hand remarks, so he plunged on. "There is one candidate who looks very good: his name is Robin Wood."

"Nah," said Wilkins, "he's too young. Maybe after a bit more seasoning, hmm?"

"Well, we do need an assistant principal," said Finch. "Perhaps we should consider Wood for that position."

"I don't know," said the Mayor, "although that might be worth considering. Tell you what: I'll pick the new principal, and you can pick the vice-principal."

"Me, sir? But what about the school board?"

"That's why we're discussing it, Allan. In my town, my office makes the recommendation, and the school board rubber-stamps it. No, you choose, and I'll sign off on it." There was a knock at the door. "Who could that be at this hour? Be a good fellow, Allan, and answer it for me."

Finch looked frightened at the thought of who might be knocking this time; nevertheless, he crossed the room and opened the door. He blanched and stumbled backward: Cordelia Chase stood on the threshold. Wilkins got up and walked to the door, gently elbowing his paralyzed deputy to one side. He smiled.

"What can I do for you, Miss?" he asked.

"You can invite me in. I understand you've got a vacancy for head henchperson or whatever," said Cordelia.

Wilkins smiled and graciously stepped aside. "Come on in," he said.

THE END