DR2 - The Cross of Changes by Nick Midian, Book II, part 3 of 8

Written by Nick Midian

Content beta-reading and storyline suggestions by Duncan
English grammar, spelling, slang, Highlander continuity and general corrections
by Theo
French slang, content beta-reading and storyline suggestions by Mash
French slang by Alan


EMAIL: jcaballero@euskalnet.net

WEBSITE: http://www.angelfire.com/tv2/thedarkages

SPOILERS: For Buffy the Vampire Slayer: 3rd season, BUT no Xander/Willow kissing
and no Lover's Walk (welcome to the wonderful State of Denial, Land of
'Shippiness). Hmmm, I've messed with the third season's timeline to accommodate
it to my necessities. Let's just say that 'Band Candy' happened a lot later than
it did, around the first days of February, OK?
For Highlander: None really, the characters of the TV series and films are only
tangentially mentioned. You just need to know the basics of Highlander-style
immortality, BUT I've always thought that whole 'Immortals have no parents and
are found in a little basket' is a... um, the Spanish word for it is 'chorrada',
so let's just ignore it, OK?
KEYWORDS: Romance, Angst, Action-adventure, Violence, Alternate Universe,
Crossover.
RATING: PG-13 with some mild R parts for violence and sexual innuendo.
DISCLAIMER: This story has been written with no intention of profit, merely for
the pleasure of writing and sharing it.
The concept and characters of BTVS (Buffy, Angel, Cordelia, Xander, Willow, Oz,
Giles, Joyce, Spike, Drusilla, Snyder, Faith, Harmony, Lyle Gorch, Quentin
Travers and the rest) are intellectual and legal property of Joss Whedon, Warner
Brothers, Mutant Enemy, etc. Also, the concept of Highlander and the characters
mentioned here (Duncan MacLeod, Amanda Darieux, Richie Ryan, Joe Dawson and the
Society of Watchers) are the property of Panzer-Davis and Rysher Entertainment.
Michael Deveraux, Rachel Curran, Crystal Parker, Kyle White Owl, Robert
Coltrane, Elvis the Dog, Broderick Egoyan, Damon Frost, Mr. Smith, the World
Committee for Civil Defense and the rest are my own creation.
All the songs and lyrics here are used without permission, they are copyright of
their respective rights owners.
AUTHOR'S NOTES: Please, understand that English is not my native language, so
any grammatical or spelling errors are my fault, not of any one of my wonderful
beta-readers. If you're thinking of sending any flames, please be kind with me.
I'm a grown man, but I still can cry like a child, believe me.
Additional Author's Note: The songs performed by Oz's band are 'Loli Jackson'
and 'Serenade' by Dover. It appears courtesy of Subterfuge records. All rights
reserved, yadda, yadda, yadda...
SUMMARY: After the events in 'Dark Reflection' a new threat menaces both the
Slayerettes and the Archangels as new and old enemies come to Sunnydale, merging
past and present. This time, it's something personal - ta-da-da-dam!!! (sorry,
but I just had to say that)

And now, on with the show. Fasten your seat belts ladies and gentlemen, because
it's going to be a long, hard and jumpy ride...

~~~~~~

The cast for Book II


Nicholas Brendon as Xander Harris
Charisma Carpenter as Cordelia Chase

Sarah Michelle Gellar as Buffy Summers
David Boreanaz as Angel
Alyson Hannigan as Willow Rosenberg
Seth Green as Daniel 'Oz' Osborne
Anthony Stewart Head as Rupert Giles
Kristine Sutherland as Joyce Summers

Matthew Perry as Michael Deveraux
Paula Trickey as Rachel Curran
James Marsters as Spike
Nikki Cox as Crystal Parker
David James Elliott as Kyle White Owl
Elvis the Dog as Himself

Eliza Dushku as Faith Adams
Donald Sutherland as The Old Chess Player, Broderick Egoyan
Sebastian Spence as Damon Frost
Avery Brooks as Mr. Smith

Mercedes MacNab as Harmony Kendall
Armin Shimerman as Principal Snyder
Amy Chance as Aphrodesia
Persia White as Aura

Alan Rickman as Conrad Swann
Wesley Snipes as Talon Pantera
Dennis Rodman as Rush Pantera
Tom Berenger as Colonel Cabbot Ashe
Michael Ironside as the Sergeant
Trevor Goddard as Backlash
Shaquille O'Neal as Beast
Jet Li as Bushido

with

Kevin Spacey as Robert Coltrane
Nicholas Lea as Jonah Whalls
and
Catherine Zeta-Jones as the Lady in Red

~~~~~~

CHAPTER FIVE: Dangerous liaisons
Sunnydale, California. December 3, 2002. 4:05 a.m.

Take a journey to the mind of a riddler
Allusion, mass confusion, question mark, clue-sion
What, where, why, who-sion
It's like a maze within yourself

"The Riddler", the Method Man


Xander was so cold, that he could hardly feel his fingers. He was so tired that
he could barely feel anything at all – except the hands of the love of his life,
holding him, protecting him.

One around his naked torso, the other one restlessly caressing his hair with a
comforting, familiar gesture.

She was the only thing he could still feel, and she was everywhere. Above him,
below him, lying next to him... she was with him and her presence, her love
cleaned and comforted him like a healing bandage.

Cordelia was his strength, his support and his shield. If he hadn't had her, he
would be as dead as his body was.

Because he wasn't breathing. His heart wasn't beating. And his soul... well, it
was still there, but now it was dirty and poisoned by the other's touch, by her
obscene kiss and dark embrace.

Xander carried her mark with shame, and he wasn't able to figure out how he was
going to get rid of it.

"What time is it?" he managed to ask, without turning around on her lap to look
at her. His voice was ragged, tired, almost unrecognizable.

"Really late at night," she softly told him, never stopping her comforting
caress, "or really early in the morning. It kinda depends on your point of
view."

He chuckled on her behalf and this time, he did turn to look at her. There was
no pity in her expression or in her seemingly bottomless eyes, and it surprised
him. He was only able to find pure love and deep tenderness, and the total
absence of that bright hardness she used to carry as a shield.

She didn't need it with him, and she knew it.

"I love you," he said, with heart-felt sincerity.

She just smiled and leaned on him, pressing her forehead against his cold one.
She was soft and warm, as dreams used to be.

"I know," she whispered, her breath caressing his lips, "and I love you too."

He shook his head in amazement. "You shouldn't. I only bring pain and sorrow to
those who care about me. I'm a impediment more than a help, I'm- hey!" Xander
exclaimed in sudden pain, and looked at her with surprise. "You pinched me!"

"Yeah," she admitted shamelessly, "and I'll do it again if I hear you talking
like that. If I'd wanted a brooding boyfriend, I would've stolen Angel from
Buffy years ago, Xander Harris!"

Blinking in astonishment, Xander rubbed the sore spot on his arm where Cordelia
had tweaked him mercilessly. "Well, excuse me for voicing my pain, Mistress."

Sighing, Cordelia rolled her eyes. "Xander, listen to me very carefully, OK? I
will never, never stop you from coming to me when you need to talk to me, when
you need to unburden your soul or, as you've called it, 'voice your pain'. I'll
try to be there for you every time you need me to be, no matter if you think you
need me, you want me or if you don't..."

"But?"

"But I won't tolerate this kind of talk, Xander. I don't want to hear your
self-blame or you torturing yourself with something that isn't your fault. No
one is going to put down the man I love, Xander, not even you."

Half-closing his eyes, Xander examined her face in wonder, her precious features
lit only by the almost-full moon. "I've said it before, Cor, but I feel the need
to repeat it: I love you."

Her smile could have switched on a hundred 50,000-watt lamps.

"Does that mean that we can leave here now?" she asked him hopefully. "Because
we've spent the last five hours in this mud and, frankly, my ass is cold, wet
and flat."

Chuckling, Xander was finally able to find inside himself the strength necessary
to stand up and he took Cordelia's hand in his, helping her up. She smiled to
him and, without bothering to clean her dirty skirt, began to walk to the parked
Cadillac, which was still waiting for them not far away.

Nevertheless, Xander held her back and yanked at her arm, making her practically
fall into his arms.

"Xander!" she squeaked. "What-?"

Her surprised question was cut short when he slammed his lips against hers,
kissing her almost furiously, ravishing her mouth and enveloping her into his
arms. After the first moments of surprise, he felt her responding to his touch,
practically melting into his embrace as she buried a deep moan in his mouth.

"And this?" she asked, leaning her forehead against his when they finally broke
apart and after taking a moment to regain her breath.

"For being there when I need you, wanted or not. For helping me to live. For
being you, Cordy."

She smiled and, for the first time that long night, Xander felt himself smiling
too.

"Come with me," she softly told him, taking his hand once more in her slender
one. This time the two of them walked to walk towards the black car, leaving
Xander's cold and empty grave behind them.

Inside the black Coupe DeVille, Rachel shook Michael's shoulder and the French
Immortal, who had been softly snoring with his head leaned on the window's
glass, woke up, looking around a little disoriented.

"What?" he asked, stretching and yawning.

"They're coming back," Rachel informed him. Immediately, the both of them got
out of the car and went to see their friends.

"How are you, mon frère?" Michael asked his friend with sincere worry, looking
straight in his dark brown eyes.

The young vampire just shrugged, wrapped in Cordelia's coat. "I've had better
days, if you want to know the truth."

The French Immortal managed a half-smile, and nodded knowingly. "Bien, why don't
we go back home and you have a good sleep?"

"After taking a long hot shower," Rachel observed while they were getting into
the black Cadillac. "You have to be frozen."

"Yeah," Cordelia agreed, letting Xander rest on her shoulder when they got into
the back seat, "I'll take care of making him do that."

"Don't forget to check that he's washed himself behind his ears," Michael
commented dryly, starting the car and driving it in reverse to the walkway.
"Lord knows he is a rebel kid."

"Michael?" Xander called to him over the laughter of the two women.

"Oui, mon ami?"

"Has anyone ever told you before, to keep your big French mouth shut?"

The French Immortal just flashed a smile to him through the rear-view mirror and
began to drive his huge coupe to the cemetery's exit. Maybe, if they were lucky,
the night would come soon to an end.

~~~~~~

She opened her almond eyes, and the first thing she saw was a chubby cherub
floating on a cotton-like cloud, surrounded by a legion of trumpet-playing and
robe-clad blonde angels.

The whole scene was so sweet, that she felt a deep sensation of nausea rocking
her stomach.

It had be that, or the fact that she was really hungry.

Taking her eyes away from the fresco on the ceiling, Faith blinked repeatedly,
trying to make the cobwebs in her drugged brain vanish so she could take a good
look around herself and find out where the hell she had been taken to.

Surprisingly, her captors hadn't taken her to a fate worse than death, as she
had feared at first; at least, judging by the fact that fresh and wonderfully
soft satin sheets were caressing her skin. Taking a good look around, she found
herself in a huge bed placed in a spacious room.

A seemingly thick and expensive angora carpet covered the floor, the only window
had its blinds closed and the door in the opposite wall was closed as well. The
only other thing in the room, apart from herself and the closet in front of the
comfortable bed were the angels painted on the ceiling, and an insulated
container resting on the thick carpet near the bed.

"Curiouser and curiouser," she whispered.

And getting more and more curious by the second, as she noticed that she was
completely naked under the cold sheets, and that all traces of the previous
night's fight had been carefully cleaned from her skin and hair.

The few wounds that her mixed Slayer and vampire abilities hadn't still healed
had been carefully bandaged, and even her long dark hair was clean and fresh.

Someone had taken good care of her.

Leaning on the bed, feeling a pleasurable chill run through her undead body at
the caress of the satin against her naked skin, Faith opened the container and
found a medical blood bag carefully conserved between dry ice packages.

Feeling hungry, she lost no time in taking it and, allowing her game face to
show, ripped it open with her elongated fangs. Nevertheless, she stopped just
when she was going to begin sucking the blood.

What if it was also drugged?

"Go ahead," a deep voice informed her, "it's clean and fresh."

Raising her red and gold eyes, not allowing them to show her surprise, Faith
found a large, black and bald man, the same one that had captured her, standing
up by the now opened door, looking down at her with cold and fearless eyes.

How he had managed to sneak into the room without her noticing it was a mystery
to her.

She hissed at him and he just raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. "Who are you?" she
asked, looking at him warily.

Placing his crossed hands in front of him, he tilted his bald head slightly to
one side. "My name's Mr. Smith," he informed her matter-of-factly.

Faith couldn't help but to snicker. "Really? You were late when they distributed
the fake names, or what?"

Smith looked at her in silence, ignoring her commentary, and Faith finally began
to suck from the blood bag with long and greedy slurps. If the man felt
uncomfortable or some kind of loathing at witnessing her feeding, his cold face
didn't show it.

"I'm just here to inform you that you're a guest in this house," he told her
when the former Slayer finished the bag, "and that your host will see you soon,
at his earliest convenience."

Raising a brown eyebrow as she let her human mask appear again over her demonic
face, Faith wiped her lips clean with the back of her hand and got up from the
bed, carrying the upper sheet along to cover her nakedness.

"And who is this mysterious host that uses a massive dose of drugs as an
invitation?" she asked.

"You will find out soon, Miss Faith," he said, opening the door to go out.
"Until then, please make yourself comfortable. There are some clothes in the
closet that will fit your size."

Faith looked at him with a half-smile on her full lips. "You were the one
who's..."

"...accommodated you?" He finished for her. "Such were my orders, and now, if
you don't need anything else..."

"Just one more question," the former Slayer stopped him from going out. Smith
turned around, the slightly arching of his brow the only expression on his
otherwise cold façade.

"Tell me... Mr. Smith," she purred, walking close to him with a very feminine
gait as she held the sheet tightly against her breasts, "nothing makes you snap,
ever? Nothing?"

Then, Faith let the sheet fall to the floor and stood in front of him completely
naked, leaning her hands on her waist.

Smith's expression didn't change, not even for the smallest fraction of a
second. "Very few things," he told her, before turning around and walking out of
the room, closing the door behind him.

Sighing, Faith heard the turning of the key in the door's lock and she turned
herself around with mock disappointment.

"You lose it, boy," she said to no one in particular as she walked to the
closet.

Opening it, the former Slayer took a look at its contents. "Now, let's see what
Santa has brought this year," she whispered with a wide, girly smile.

~~~~~~

Holding the bottle by its neck, Xander used his thumb to unscrew the cap, which
practically flew off the bottle and fell on the kitchen table, bouncing on its
surface and finally disappearing off the edge.

Not bothering to recover it, the young dark-haired vampire poured himself a
large measure of Jack Daniel's in his glass; meanwhile he ripped the plastic
envelope of a cigarette package with his teeth, opening it and bringing one to
his lips.

Putting the package on the table with a sigh, Xander lit the cigarette on his
lips with the aid of his golden Zippo lighter. He took a long and slow drag from
it, filling his lungs with the acrid and burning smoke and then exhaling it with
pleasure, leaning back on the chair and closing his eyes as he propped up his
feet on the table.

"I thought that Cordy had made you abandon that nasty little vice," Angel's
unmistakably deep voice came out from the shadows of the kitchen.

Allowing his lips to show a tired smile, Xander searched and found his
blood-brother's dark figure with his skillful eyes. The older vampire walked out
of the shadows and to the table, sitting down in front of him.

Xander couldn't help but to arch his brow at seeing him, dressed only in black
pants and a white undershirt; completely barefoot, he looked more human than
he'd ever seen him. =God, he even has bed hair.=

"Are you gonna bust me?" Xander asked, after taking another long drag from his
cigarette.

Smiling, Angel took another cigarette from the package and borrowed Xander's
lighter from the table. "Only if you bust me first," he said, lighting it.

Surprised, Xander couldn't help but stare in amazement as the souled vampire
took a long drag and exhaled a thick cloud of gray-blue smoke.

"Your secret dies with me. Didn't know you smoked," the vampiric Immortal
commented, while moving a second glass towards Angel and filling it with the
amber contents of the bottle.

Angel shrugged, removing importance from the matter. "Angelus' heritage goes
beyond feeling guilty and wearing leather pants. How are you, Xander? And how is
it that you're not with Cordy?"

Xander shook his head, taking his glass and letting his hand warm the amber
liquid before taking a good gulp and grimacing slightly when the alcohol burned
his throat.

"She was so exhausted that she fell asleep the moment her head hit the pillow,
and I... well, I just needed this. What about Buffy?" he asked.

"Basically the same, I've left her sleeping in Rachel's room, safely tucked in.
I heard you out here, and I figured you could use some company – was I wrong?"

At Xander's lack of response, the souled vampire looked at him through
half-closed eyes over the rim of his glass before sipping from it, all the time
not moving his attention away from his younger blood-brother. "Is there anything
you want to share with me?"

Biting his lower lip, Xander shook his head and his hair, still wet from the
shower he had taken not long before, let out a thin rain of pearl-like drops of
water.

Angel took a good look at the much younger man, and noticed with amazement that
they were wearing almost exactly the same clothes; only Xander's T-shirt was
dark gray, as opposed to his white one.

His dark brown eyes had lost almost all their usual warmth and his expression
was so pale, tired and haunted, that Angel thought that Xander could easily be
taken to be his younger brother.

Then Angel figured that Xander was that, from a certain point of view; and that,
much to his growing surprise, he really considered him to be like a real
brother.

"I don't know if I can make you understand how I feel right now," Xander said in
a voice so low that it almost passed unnoticed to Angel's sharp ears.

The souled vampire just raised an eyebrow, concentrating on the waves that the
movement of his hand caused on the surface of his bourbon.

"You're confused," he said without raising his eyes to look straight at him,
"your whole world has been shaken up, torn apart and broken right in front of
you. Suddenly you're not able to differentiate black from white, up from down or
left from right."

He continued, "You think you should be accustomed to that by now – because your
life has been a constant roller coaster for so long, that you can't even
remember when was the last time that it was anything that could be considered
'normal'."

Angel paused to take a gulp of bourbon, and ended up finishing it. Then, while
he refilled his glass, he resumed his analysis without raising his eyes to his
companion.

"You want to love and comfort those you care about, and you want them to love
you back and to accept you. But you can neither completely give yourself to them
nor allow them to know how you really are, because you're afraid of hurting them
in the process and of being hurt yourself."

He paused again. "You feel attracted towards those you think you hate, not only
because of physical, psychological or even mystical reasons; but because you
think that they would accept you as you are without question or doubt. That they
would even welcome that darker part of yourself that you fear and like so much
at the same time."

Taking a last drag from his cigarette, Angel let the smoke out through his nose
as he carefully crushed the ember butt on the ashtray.

Then, he finally raised his eyes to Xander, finding him looking back at him with
an open-mouthed and deeply amazed expression. "Am I close enough?"

"Wow," Xander simply said, "you hit the proverbial nail right on the head." He
blinked, shaking his head and mocking a shiver. "Either you know what you're
talking about, or you're a damn good fortune-teller, Angie."

The souled vampire shrugged, passing a hand over his mouth with a tired gesture.
"Personal experience and a little dose of empathy speaking, I guess."

"Well, do you also know a cure, by any chance?"

Sighing, Angel leaned on the table. "I guess that turning into dust is out of
the question." Xander just looked at him sideways and didn't even bother to
answer him but, in the end, both shared a mocking smile.

"Sadly, I have to say that, as with most things in life, the only cure is time,
rest and the support of those that care for you."

Shaking his head, Xander swallowed down the rest of his glass and quickly
refilled it, feeling the bourbon beginning to warm his belly with a comforting
fire. "I wish it could be as simple as that, Angel, but I don't think so. I just
can't explain how Faith made me feel tonight. I love Cordy with all my heart and
soul, you know that, but tonight..."

"Tonight, you would have done anything Faith had asked you – lie, steal, betray,
kill... whatever. And you would've been happy if she had just smiled at you."
Once more, Angel's empathy surprised Xander.

"It's always like that? Between the sire and childe, I mean."

Angel shrugged, and for a second his dark eyes were very distant and unfocused,
as if he was remembering something from long ago. "When Darla turned me, she
took me under her wing – she became my mother, my lover, my teacher and my
mentor. For 150 years we traveled together throughout Europe, and she showed me
things I'd have never thought possible. Thing about life, about death, about sex
and about the true nature of the world."

Angel raised his eyes from his glass, and looked at Xander ominously from under
his eyebrows. "And trust me, I was a damn good pupil."

Captivated by his tone and words, Xander looked at the souled vampire in silence
for a few seconds and, when he was finally able to swallow the knot formed in
his throat, his voice was low and reverent. "And how... how did you... break up
with her?"

Angel's snort caught Xander by surprise, and the young vampire looked at him
though half-closed eyes as the much older one focused his stare back on the
surface of his drink.

"How did I break up with Darla? I don't know if I ever really did. I don't know
if any vampire ever really frees himself from his sire's heritage. Even at the
end, when I staked her to save Buffy, something inside me cried when I saw her
turning into dust," he said.

"Then that's it?" Xander grunted. "I'm condemned to be Faith's puppy until I
find the strength to kill her, or she gets tired of me? They're the only options
I got?"

Muttering under his breath, the younger vampire brought a second cigarette to
his mouth. "Well, don't mind me, but that sucks."

Smiling and shaking his head, Angel got up from his chair, carefully leaving his
glass in the center of the table. "You're not like me, li'l bro – you don't have
make the same mistakes I did, nor follow my path."

"Then what do I do?" Xander asked him, looking up at him with a curious mixture
of hope, fear and uncertainty in his brown eyes.

Angel didn't answer him, he just walked away but, at the last moment before
vanishing into the shadows of the warehouse, he stopped and looked back at him
over his shoulder. "Do you know what is that I envy the most about you?"

Xander arched his brow; the idea that Angel could envy anything about him, had
never really crossed his mind. "My handsome bod and good-looking face?"

If Angel found his quip funny, his face didn't register it. Instead, he just
gave him a slow and sad smile. "That you always find inside yourself the
strength to fight back, Xander. No matter how hard they hit you, you never let
them keep you down."

"I ran away once," the young vampire told him matter-of-factly.

"Yeah, and three years later you're back here, rebuilding your life." Angel
shook his head in amazement. "I needed a whole century even to get that far," he
observed, before finally disappearing into the darkness and back to his love.

Xander remained in silence for a long time, his eyes lost into the spot that
Angel had vacated. Then, very slowly, he lit his cigarette and leaned back in
his chair, his feet propped up on the table, his head bent backwards and his
eyes closed.

~~~~~~

When the sky turns gray, that is when the night is about to die. When the sun
begins to rise on the horizon, chasing the darkness away, the vampires know that
their time has ended as the day approaches and, as if they shared one collective
impulse, they search for a secluded place to spent the daylight hours.

Well, at least that's what most of them do.

The bleached-hair vampire known as Spike, for example, was too preoccupied
asking himself what the bloody hell was going on with him, to even notice that
the moment was arriving to pack up his things and go back home.

His current and main problem was, he thought with his cold blue eyes fixed on an
indeterminate spot on the ceiling, that he had never felt as good as he had
right then. And, for the sake of his own unlife, he wasn't able to figure what
was the reason why.

Well, there was the obvious fact that there was a warm, soft and nicely curved
feminine body tightly pressed against his cold one, but he refused to believe
that this was the reason for his state.

After all, it wasn't the first time that he had spent the night with a human,
although it actually was the first that he had dawned with one. And, to make
things even more confusing, he had to admit that the present situation was very
innocent, and much more if it was compared with most (not to say all) of the
similar ones he had experimented with throughout the years.

Willow stirred by his side and made a curious sound, like the one of a kitten,
as she made herself more comfortable in her sleep, absent-mindedly throwing an
arm over his abdomen and a leg over his knees.

Spike gulped down a thick knot in his throat, and bit his lower lip. =This ain't
happenin' to me,= he told himself while he looked away from her, trying to find
a more interesting subject to captivate his attention.

=Innocent. Everything's innocent,= he repeated, trying to convince himself of
that fact.

They had been wolf-sitting Oz, reading, chatting and laughing together with that
surprising and unexpected ease that flowed between them, listening to the radio
and sometimes even daring to sing along the lines of a particular song that both
of them happened to like.

She had laughed at his horrible lack of singing ability and he had laughed with
her, both of them enjoying the time until Willow's sea-green eyes had finally
betrayed her tiredness and he had told her to go to sleep.

She, of course, had refused to do so. She had a responsibility towards Oz and
she intended to take care of it.

In the end, she had practically fallen on the book she was reading, and he had
finally managed to convince her to sleep the rest of the night while he watched
Oz. He would take care of everything.

=Yeah, right.=

He could swear by the most sacred things to him that he had intended to follow
his word, that he had been watching Oz's prone form, hearing his snore and
feeling utterly stupid. Thinking that probably the werewolf's
phenobarbital-soaked brain was probably having a better time than his, when he
had closed his eyes just for a mere second.

The next thing he knew was waking up at the call of the approaching dawn,
looking down and seeing a cloud of auburn hair on his chest.

They were sleeping together. And, worst of all, he was enjoying it more than
what he thought could be possible.

He looked down at her, at her sweet face so relaxed and peaceful during her
slumber, at her long eyebrows resting on her soft cheeks and the lovable pout on
her lips. The realization that she was beautiful hit him with the force of a
pile-driver, and if it didn't leave him breathless it was because he hadn't
taken a single breath in more than one hundred years.

Willow stirred once more and moaned, rubbing her face against his chest.

=Oh boy, I'm in deep trouble.=

"Think unpleasant thoughts, think unpleasant thoughts..." he mumbled almost
maniacally, closing his eyes. =OK, being beaten to a bloody pulp by the Slayer,
that's bad... most o' the time. Feedin' on a rat in a time of need, yeah, yeah,
that is disgustin'... Angelus in a leather thong – Lucifer, that's too horrible
to even...=

"Hmmm?" Willow murmured, her leg beginning to run up and down his. If he wasn't
so sure she was asleep, he would have thought that she was teasing him.

Gulping down a thick knot that had formed in his throat again, Spike surrendered
to temptation and sank his nose into the young woman's bright cloud of red hair.

Wonderful, she simply smelled wonderful.

"Oz?" she muttered, stirring again.

Spike opened his eyes, feeling suddenly cold. At least, it could be said that
the little witch knew how to break a spell.

Coughing softly, the bleached-hair vampire extricated himself from under the
red-haired apprentice of Wicca until he was finally off of the couch and knelt
down beside it, softly shaking Willow by her shoulder.

"Hey," he called her, "wake up, Red."

Willow blinked her eyes open, frowning at the sudden clarity of the room, and
rubbed them with her closed fists as she stretched sinuously and let out a long
yawn. "Spike?" she finally acknowledged her partner. "What time is it?"

"Time for all the good vampires to be off to bed," he observed with a smile,
somehow unable to keep his eyes off of Willow's still sleepy ones.

She looked adorable. Good enough to eat.

"And for you?" she asked with a wicked smile.

Spike brought a hand to his heart and mocked a grimace of pain. "Ouch! Now
that's 'urt me, luv!"

Willow giggled and stood up, rearranging her messed up hair and clothes, she
felt strangely good that morning. "And Oz?"

The British vampire pointed at him, with a sharp shake of his head. "Still full
of hair. The sun still hasn't come up, which fact I should use to go back to the
warehouse without bein' turned into a scorched version of me 'andsome self."

The red haired apprentice of witchcraft just raised an eyebrow with incredulity.
"Handsome?"

Standing up and taking his black duster, Spike flashed a leery grin to her.
"C'mon, Red, you know ya want me."

"Oh yeah," she sarcastically told him, "I can hardly control myself."

With a last enigmatic smile, the bleached-hair vampire waved at her. "See ya
later, luv. Say 'ullo to the Oz-man for me, OK?"

"Hey!" she called him just before he walked out of the room. "You up for a
repeat performance tonight?"

"Wha'?" Spike practically squeaked, turning around, his blue eyes practically
popping out of their sockets.

Willow blinked, not getting her own double-entendre. "Do you want to keep me
company tonight, too?"

Spike didn't know whether to feel happy or disappointed. "Uh, sure. But I get to
choose the music this time, OK?"

"Whatever you want," she smiled, opening her arms, "I'm your girl."

The bleached-hair vampire just looked at her with a weird expression, tilted his
head to one side and then, shaking it, walked out of the room. Willow smiled too
and went to take care of things, for the moment her boyfriend woke up.

~~~~~~

One of the peskiest things of being a vampire is that you never can check your
own appearance in a mirror, and you have to trust in your own impressions and
thoughts about your looks.

Or, as Faith put it, not casting a reflection in the mirror really sucked.

"It's a shame I can't see myself," she said out loud as she modeled her
beautiful, tight and extremely expensive-looking attire in black and red silk
that she had found in the closet of her room, "because I'm sure I look
absolutely fabulous in this."

"If an old man's word has any value for you," a voice said behind her, "you have
mine about that being true."

Faith turned around in surprise and found the room's door wide open, and an
extremely old man in a wheelchair standing (or sitting) under its frame. Behind
him, the black and enigmatic man, Mr. Smith, was standing in all his dark glory.

He gently pushed the wheelchair into the room and, after an absent-minded
dismissive gesture from the old man, went out, closing the door behind himself.
"You look gorgeous, Miss Adams. Can I call you that?"

Faith examined the old man with critical eyes. She had to be getting rusty if
she had allowed somebody to sneak up on her without her notice; twice in the
same day in fact, not to mention that one of them was a crippled old man.

Still, looking at his blue eyes, she found that unmistakable spark of
intelligence and ruthlessness that was common to all geniuses and madmen.
"Sister Conception called me Miss Adams back at the orphanage. My friends, if I
had any, would call me Faith. You're neither."

The old man leaned his elbows on the armrests of the chair, and entwined the
long and twisted fingers of his hands. Leaning his chin on them, he looked at
Faith in silence, a predatory smile on his thin lips.

"Very well then, Faith. First of all, I want to ask your pardon for the way you
were brought to my home – but somehow, I doubted you would accept a formal
invitation," he said.

"You may have been surprised," she observed, walking around the man's wheelchair
as she examined him, trying to file the old man under a precise category. "You
seem to know a lot of things about me, but I'm afraid I can't even say that I
know your name," she seductively whispered to him as she sat down on the edge of
the bed. "It's not very polite for you to hit on a lady without even introducing
yourself."

The old man just smiled at her, if the grimace that crossed his lips and made
him look like a vulture, could be called a smile. "My name is Egoyan. Broderick
Egoyan, at your service."

Faith raised an eyebrow. "Should your name sound familiar to me?"

"No," Egoyan said with a slight shake of his head, "I've never been very fond of
fame and popularity. I've always thought that it is in the shadows, where one
can prosper more easily."

Faith offered him an impossibly sweet and beautiful smile. "Well, now that we
know each other properly," she said, getting up from the bed and walking to him.

Then, in a second, she was in front of him with full game face on, capturing his
hands against the armrests of the chair, "give me one good reason why I
shouldn't rip out your windpipe."

If Egoyan felt any kind of fear or apprehension, his face didn't show it. "What
is it you want most in the world?" he simply asked her.

Faith tilted her head to one side, her red and gold eyes fixed on his cold blue
ones. "That's none of your business."

"No?" he said almost with a chuckle. "Not even if I told you that I can help you
to get it?" he leaned closer to her, whispering in her ear. "Not even if I told
you that I can help you get your Xander back?"

With a growl, Faith grabbed him by the lapels of his jacket, effortlessly
lifting him from the chair. "Don't talk about things you can't know or even
understand," she warned him.

Egoyan just chuckled, not scared in the least by the former Slayer's attitude.
"That's where you're wrong, my dear. I know exactly what I'm talking about."

His eyes fixed on hers and, just for a second, Faith felt herself chilled to the
core by the silent blue fire that burned in the old man's orbs. "I haven't spent
the last few years preparing this, waiting for this, without doing my homework."

Silently, with great care, Faith let him relax in the chair. "What do you want
from me?"

"Just a simple quid pro quo, Faith." At the vampire's blank stare, Egoyan rolled
his eyes. "An exchange."

Allowing her human mask to come back, Faith returned to the bed. "Oh, you
scratch my back and I scratch yours, that kind of thing, huh? Well, I hope that
you don't have anything," she crossed her legs seductively, "naughty on your
mind."

Egoyan's grim expression was broken by a tight and cold smile. "That's exactly
what I have in mind, only not in the way that you're suggesting. I'm going to
play a little game of chess, Faith. I already have my pawns, my knights, my
bishops and my rooks. The only thing I need is my most desired piece. I want my
Black Queen. I want you."

Faith looked at him, with suspicion and intrigue. "And what's the prize for the
winner in this game of yours?"

The old man's smile could have frozen the most raging of Hell's fires. "Power.
Eternity. And, in the end, the world itself. Could it be any other way?"

~~~~~~

Even before opening her eyes, the first thing that Cordelia noticed after waking
up was that she was alone in bed. That sensation – even when it had been the
most predominant one in her whole life – brought a cold sense of emptiness to
her, that rocked the young woman to her most inner core.

"Xander?" she called her lover, feeling her voice still dense and sticky with
the last traces of slumber and a little high-pitched with the first ones of
worry.

Nevertheless, her anxiety was almost immediately placated when she heard his
voice calling her back, bathing her like a soothing balm.

"I'm here, Cordy," he told her.

Leaning her head back on the pillow, Cordelia finally opened her eyes, finding
the young vampire seated on the chair that was the only mobile furniture in his
spartan room at the warehouse.

He was beside the window and the first rays of the dawning sun were filtering
through the venetian blinds, tracing lines of glowing gold and dark shadows on
his impossibly handsome features.

He was looking down at her and his chocolate eyes were like a pair of calm
fires, warming her, melting her.

At that exact moment, seeing the young vampire's feelings exposed so raw and
palpably on his face and eyes, so pure and sincere, Cordelia Chase felt more
loved and cherished than at any other time of her life. She was a lucky woman.

"What are you doing there?" she asked him gently, her voice nothing more than a
whisper.

Xander smiled at her with the same gentleness and secretiveness. "I like to
watch you while you're sleeping," he confessed. "I like the way you look,
innocent, unguarded... beautiful."

Cordelia closed her eyes and smiled, fighting not to blush. "Such suaveness...
I'm flattered."

He smiled once again, and shook his head. "I speak from the heart."

"I know that," she extended her arm to him, beckoning the young and dark-haired
vampire. "Come here."

Like an obedient puppy, Xander did as he was told, getting up from the chair,
taking her hand in his and slipping between the soft sheets, warmed by her soft
and feminine body.

They wrapped their arms around each other and lay still on the bed, their faces
barely inches apart. "You should get some rest," she advised him as he slowly
rubbed her nose with his one with a playful and soft caress. "Last night was
very hard on you."

=More than what you can even imagine,= he thought, abstaining from voicing it
aloud. "I'm too wired up to sleep," he just told her, kissing her slightly on
her lips.

Cordelia raised a cold eyebrow. "Oh, and you thought you could discharge some
tension here with me, did you?"

He smiled, kissing her once more on the lips before beginning to run his mouth
all over her jaw and neck. "The thought crossed my mind, I must confess."

She gently pushed him away, looking at him with amazed horror. "That's all I am
to you? A sex toy to alleviate your urges?"

Xander smiled playfully. "Oh, but you're such a beautiful toy..."

She slapped his shoulder when she felt his hands wandering down her body to cup
her round and tight buttocks. "Xander!"

He laughed and brought his mouth against hers, kissing her long, deep and
lovingly. After a few moments of playful struggling and soft laughs, Cordelia
turned the tables, trapping him with her thighs and straddling him, her long
dark mane of hair cascading around her face and shoulders.

"Be quiet, and I'll show you who's the boss around here," she told him with a
menacing purr.

Xander raised an eyebrow. "Is that a threat?"

She just smiled smugly. "You can be sure of that, baby."

The young vampire slumped his shoulders down and let his arms fall in defeat. He
looked up at her, lost in her hazel eyes and beautiful face.

"OK then, Cordy," he smiled at her. "Show me."

~~~~~~

"What are you going to do today?" he asked her much later, while he caressed her
hair as her head, pillowed on his chest, rose and fell at the rhythm of his
breathing. "Got any interesting plans?"

Cordelia sighed and shook her head as she stroke his flat and muscled belly, her
fingertips playing with the soft path of hairs down his bellybutton. "Nothing
worth mentioning, classes and that kind of boring thing. Do you have any better
plans?"

Xander frowned, raising his eyes to the ceiling. "What have I got on my list of
things to do today? Let's see, ah... find Faith, get free from the sire-childe
bond and kill her without becoming a mindless bloodsucking fiend in the process;
oh, and do laundry too. I think that's all."

Surrounding his torso with her arms, Cordelia accommodated herself on the bed,
turning her head around on Xander's chest so she could look up at his face. For
a short moment they just looked at each other, as words became needless between
them.

Then she just traced his generous and sexy mouth with her fingertips and he
captured her hand before she could take it away, closing his eyes and kissing
her fingers tenderly.

"I'm not gonna pretend that I completely understand what's going on, Xander,"
she whispered reverently, as if the silence was too precious to break it, "but I
want you to know that you can count on me, every step of the way."

He smiled at her, cupping her face and caressing her cheek with his thumb. "And
I want you to promise me something," she continued.

"Whatever you want, whatever you need."

"Promise me that you're not going to do something stupid like let yourself get
killed. I don't want to lose you again."

Xander's smile faltered for a second when he saw the deep emotion on his lover's
expression, and he was barely able to manage a weak grin as he gently caressed
her face with his knuckles.

"Me?" he winked an eye to her. "I'm indestructible, sweetheart."

Cordelia smiled back at him, getting more comfortable on his chest and closing
her eyes, reveling in the shared warmth of their entangled bodies for a brief
moment before the time for getting up finally arrived.

But, lying there, she couldn't help but ask herself if the harsh light of day
wouldn't be as unmerciful with them as the cold darkness of the night.

~~~~~~

When she finally accompanied the man calling himself Broderick Egoyan out of her
elegant yet restrictive place of confinement, Faith walked by his wheelchair,
which was being pushed by that cold and black sphinx that was Mr. Smith.

She marveled to herself as they crossed huge rooms and endless hallways full of
valuable, yet poorly looked after, works of art and expensive furniture.

"Do you like my house, Faith?" the old man asked her, noticing her wide-open
eyes and expression.

"A little cold and gloomy for my taste," she observed, resuming her step after
making a short stop to examine closely a bust of white marble that represented
an incredibly beautiful woman. At the foot of the statue there was a little
placard of bronze, with a name engraved on it: 'Rebecca Egoyan'.

Her beautiful and warm features had no resemblance at all to the old
man's ones, so she figured that it was probably a sculpture of his wife.
"Although I like the ornaments."

"Yes, it's been a little abandoned after my wife... went away, a long time ago,"
he began to cough soundly and Smith halted so the old man could regain his
breath. "I-I'm sorry, my dear, I don't want to bore you with my old stories."

Faith smiled sweetly. She liked the old man; there was something oddly familiar
about him, as if he was the grandfather she'd never had. Well, the perverse and
evil grandfather she had never had.

=Curiously fitting,= she thought. "Where are we going now?" she asked as they
resumed their journey through the dark mansion.

"I want you to meet some people," Egoyan told her.

"Who?"

The old man smiled at her smugly. "Aren't we a little eager?"

Faith's smile could have melted all the ice in the North Pole. "Always."

"Well, don't worry, Faith. Let's say that it's some people with whom we have,
ah-" he turned his head to look at the tall black man. "How would you express
it, Mr. Smith?"

"Common interests," he said succinctly, his eyes never waving from their point
of destination.

"Yes, yes," the old man chuckled softly, "common interests, that's it. You could
say that we share one similar purpose."

"Control of the National Football League?" Faith ventured. "Nah, that's already
under the Mob's control. Let me guess, ah, world domination?"

"No," Egoyan said with amusement, "nothing so dramatic. At least, not yet."

They arrived at a set of huge double wooden doors. Not uttering a word, Smith
opened them wide and made a silent gesture, showing them the open path, and then
returning to push again the wheelchair into the room.

"Faith," Egoyan told her as they entered the huge library, "please, say hello to
the rest of the gang."

~~~~~~

"I'm coming, I'm coming," Giles grunted as he walked quickly to his apartment's
front door, which seemed about to fall under the assault of a nervous visitor.
The pounding stopped, and was replaced by the insistent and chirping sound of
the bell.

"I said I'm co-! Oh, it's you," he corrected himself, when he opened the door
and found himself in front of a worried-looking Slayer. "Buffy, what-?"

Without waiting for an invitation, the blonde Slayer entered her Watcher's
apartment, practically shoving him aside in her haste to get inside.

"I'm sorry if I'm interrupting something," she said, practically stumbling over
the words, "I don't want to know if you and Mom were doing things... uh, about
which I don't want even to think about, but-"

Buffy stopped to take a good look at him, and found to her surprise that he
looked very far from his usual neat self. Instead, his face was unshaven and
showed the unmistakable traces of the lack of sleep and tiredness. "What
happened to you?"

Sighing tiredly, Giles adjusted his spectacles on his nose, massaged his temples
and ran a hand through his spiked-out hair. "I've been working, researching
something. And your mother is not here – n-not that it would be any of your
business, by the way, we're both adults and we can-"

"Giles?" The Watcher stopped his tirade and looked at her. "I really don't want
to know."

"Well, uh, no, obviously. B-but, what are you doing here?" he checked his watch,
and grunted at seeing what time it really was. "You should be in class."

"It doesn't matter right now. Neither does what you were researching, unless it
implies a really, really, really close menace."

"Well no, ah, I guess it can be postponed for now. Buffy, could you calm down
and tell me what's going on?"

The blonde Slayer took a deep breath as her Watcher guided her gently to his
living room, and made her sit down on a couch. "I'll prepare a pot of tea," he
said, "I guess we both could use one."

Closing her eyes, Buffy tried to find some kind of calm in the sounds made by
Giles in the near kitchen as he got a big pot of tea ready. She wouldn't usually
admit it, but after so much time by the British man's side, she had finally
taken a liking to some of his things, like that strong and spicy tea he loved to
prepare.

But right now, she was so mentally exhausted that she would even tell him that
the idea of having him as a step-father was really appealing to her.

"Well?" he asked, when he finally returned back to the living room with a tray
that held the steaming pot, two cups and all those girly things that the British
like so much to decorate their tea-parties.

"Faith's back in town," she said while he was pouring one of the cups. At
hearing this, the pot almost slipped away from Giles' grasp and a large amount
of tea ended up wasted on the surface of the tray.

"Faith?" he asked with surprise.

"Faith," she confirmed with a nod. "And she hasn't come back to throw a party,
if you know what I mean."

Leaning back in his chair, Giles took off his glasses and used them to scratch
his beard. "Well, that really adds a new dimension to...", he absent-mindedly
began to say, stopping when he understood that he was speaking out loud. "Is,
uh, is everybody alright? Are you alright?"

"Well, yeah, I-I'm alright. It's Xander that I'm worried about. You've seen him
in action – he's like this mixture of a Chinese martial arts movie and a
convention of the NRA, but yesterday..." she shook her head. "Faith really hurt
him. I though we were gonna lose him, Giles."

With an unusual gesture on his behalf, Giles leaned back in his seat, biting the
nail of his thumb. "Tell me what happened, right from the beginning."

In the next few minutes, holding a cup of tea between her hands so they could be
warmed by the hot liquid, Buffy proceeded to tell her Watcher the previous
night's events as she remembered them.

She told him about their little visit to Xander's old home, about how they had
gone on patrol after that. The cemetery, Faith and the vampires, how Xander had
seemed to lose control of himself. Him kissing and making out with the former
vampire Slayer, as Buffy fought alone with the rest of her minions.

She then told him about how just when Xander had seemed to be ready to kill her
he had managed to break Faith's control and fight back, destroying her remaining
minions and then engaging his sire in what had seemed a crazy and almost
suicidal action.

"She was very strong," Buffy told him, "more so than your usual vamp. And
freakishly fast, too. There were some moments there that I thought I wouldn't be
able to cope with her."

"Well, ah, well," Giles pinched his lower lip with his fingers for a second, a
gesture that she had often seen when the Watcher needed some time to collect and
order his thoughts properly.

"There's the possibility that her body has kept its Slayer abilities during her
change, the same way that you kept yours when you... ah, gained your
Immortality." The British man frowned for a second and shook his head, it was so
weird to even voice the words... "Well, now that you mention it, that would
explain some things."

"What are you talking about?"

Giles got up from his seat and began a nervous stroll, pacing around his living
room, gesturing and speaking as the ideas and the theories formed in his mind.
"I'm talking about the fact that there was no news about the activation of a new
Slayer when Faith was turned into a vampire. Even when, for all intents and
purposes, she'd been dead for a couple of days..."

"... while Kendra was Called, even when I was just dead for a few minutes."
Buffy finished his thought.

"Exactly," he said, sitting down again in front of her and speaking more
animatedly as the words came out of his mouth. "Neither was another one called
when you suffered the death that activated your Immortality."

Giles looked straight at his Slayer. "Remember what Xander told us? The first
time you were dead enough to activate the new Slayer and fulfill the Master's
prophecy, and the second you were even more dead, if such a thing is possible.
And that time you became Immortal, but there was no activation of a new Slayer."

Buffy made a face. "I'm twenty-one and I've already died twice," she shivered.
"I think that should tell us something about the kind of life I'm having."

Giles blinked repeatedly, adjusting his glasses. "Y-yes, uh, but the point I
wanted to make is that, it-it seems that there can't be more than two Slayers
activated at the same time."

"And how does knowing that help us?"

The Watcher shrugged. "Knowledge is never an impediment, and this offers new
light on the process of the Calling of a Slayer. Maybe, and this is just an
idea, the energy that animates a Slayer is finite, and there's not enough to
maintain the powers of more than two at once. I wonder..."

"Giles!" Buffy cut off his rambling. "That doesn't helps us right now – could we
just get back to the matter at hand, please?"

"Uh, oh, y-yes, of course." He took a short moment to look carefully at his
protégé, and saw the unmistakable traces of worry in her eyes. "There's
something more, isn't there?" Giles asked her gently.

Buffy frowned, her eyes suddenly captivated by the mug in her hands. "I had some
contradictory feelings last night."

"Such as?"

The blonde Slayer sighed, passing a tired hand through her hair. "What Faith
told us about still having her soul – I don't understand it. I mean, if she's
got it back, how is it she behaves so much like a..." she made an expression, as
if asking him for help to finish her sentence.

"A nutcase?" he offered.

The Slayer blinked in surprise. "Well, I was expecting a more technical word
from you... but yeah, a nutcase is right. She's gone completely psycho."

"Buffy," Giles said with a sigh, adjusting his spectacles, "I think it's time
for you to begin accepting the fact that, not everything in life is just black
or white. There's a thousand different shades of gray out there."

"I know that, Giles," the Slayer protested with an annoyed grunt. "I'm not a
baby."

Giles arched his brow. "And I'm not trying to suggest that, Buffy. You know I
trust completely not only in, in your abilities, but in your judgement as well.
But I'm afraid that there are some things, some facts that you... a-are not
ready to accept."

The young woman blinked at him in surprise. "Now is when I'm not completely
following you."

He shook his head, and massaged the bridge of his nose. "I think that not even I
am following myself," he grunted. "What I mean is, that not everything i-is what
it seems."

"Some things are," Buffy stated with a small frown.

"But most things are much more that what meets the eye. Not everybody who has a
soul is a nice person," he shook his head, "although it seems that the other way
around used to be true."

"So Faith is helpless, is that what you mean?" the Slayer asked with a sad look.
"We can't do anything for her, apart from dusting her?"

"Some people would say that it would be... the most merciful thing to do. Giving
her a final rest."

Buffy raised an eyebrow, and snorted with sarcasm. "Well, those people don't
know squat of how it is to be a Slayer."

She sighed, hiding her face between her slender hands for a moment. "This is so
not fair."

Letting out a long breath, Giles took off his glasses and leaned back in his
chair, adopting a more comfortable position and examining her through
half-closed eyes. "I'm not sure if this is best moment to tell you this, but I-I
think that you have the right to know."

Buffy waited for a few dramatic moments, holding her breath and expecting with
dread Giles' next words. "I think that something's going on with Xander and his
friends."

Buffy stared blankly at him. "And that's all? Giles, this is Sunnydale," she
explained to him as if he was a slow-learning kid, "there's always something
going on with somebody!"

The Watcher sent her an irritated look. "I mean something serious, and that it
could be quite, uh, unsettling."

"Explain it to me," Buffy asked him, her dread returning to her like an
unwelcome visitor to her stomach.

Giles passed a hand though his messed-up graying hair, recollecting his
thoughts. "Well, there's this demon..." he began.

Buffy just groaned with deep sarcasm. "Oh, major surprise. A demon. On the
Hellmouth. Go figure."

"Could I continue, please?" the Watcher asked her politely.

Buffy offered him a small smile. "Just out of curiosity, what kind of demon is
this guy? One that eats people? One that eats certain parts of people? Or is it
one that calls you at ungodly hours of the night, making you get up from bed to
answer the phone and then he just laughs and hangs up? What?"

Giles looked at her with a blank expression. "One that destroys the world," he
stated, deadpan.

"Oh!" Buffy exclaimed, feeling suddenly ashamed. "That kind."

"To be exact," Giles explained, "Ezrain, that's its name, is a demon of the
fifth circle of Hell, quite a powerful one indeed. It – or rather she – was
deified by some obscure tribes of the Middle East during the Golgorah
reunification, after Alexander the Great's death, as their goddess of war. It
would be interesting to make a study on how many of these tribes actually
recollected ancient beliefs, and adapted them to their own..."

At Giles' sudden tangential escapade, Buffy let her head fall dramatically to
her shoulder and began snoring soundly. Giles just looked at her in silent
reproach, before getting back to the story.

"Mmm, the case is that the wizards of these tribes had a ritual that, carried
out at a precise moment, during an extremely uncommon star alignment, would open
a portal what would allow to Ezrain to, ah, pass into our plane of existence.
And, adopting a human form, possessing it, thus exist in our dimension."

"And then destroy the world," Buffy concluded.

"Well, quoting the books I've consulted: 'Ezrain would wreak havoc, spread
disease, rid the world of the plague of humans and reign over the ashes of
civilization for a whole millennium.'"

"How nice on her part," the Slayer whispered with a tight smile. "Well, lemme
see if I'm able to deduce the rest. A ton of years later, now, there are some
guys who've had the bright idea to perform that ritual and bring this...
Efraim..."

"Ezrain," Giles corrected her absent-mindedly.

"Whatever. They're going to summon this demon because they think that it'll
protect them, and they'll live full, rich and happy lives while the rest of
mankind goes down the toilet. Am I close enough?"

"Quite," Giles admitted with a nod. "These people call themselves 'the
Brotherhood of Ezrain, the unholy'."

"Nice and catchy, although original not."

"Yes, I don't think these people were interested in taking a class for
marketing, although you never know," the Watcher chuckled, sharing a moment of
amusement with his young protégé.

"Mmm, where was I? Oh yes, the Brotherhood. Well, this particular star alignment
only happens once every 700 years. And, the-the co-alignment of the different
stars produces some changes in both the physical and spiritual parameters of the
barrier that separates our dimension from that one we call Hell, and-"

"And," Buffy interrupted him again, "the day is near. So near in fact, that
we're barely going to have time to deal with it. Gosh, but this is so darn
typical," she shook her head, not believing the irony. "When's it going down?"

Giles grimaced. "Two days ago."

For an endless second, they looked at each other in silence.

"Two days ago?!?" the blonde Slayer exploded with a mix of surprise, anger and
incredulity. She blinked repeatedly, and shook her head. "Well, now that's
working under pressure."

She sighed and hid her face between her hands, trying to think clearly. "Wait,
wait a minute," she said, looking at her Watcher with suspicion. "I guess that
it's pretty obvious, that they didn't succeed in this major suckfest plan of
theirs."

Giles nodded. "Otherwise we would either be dead right now, or probably pledging
eternal loyalty to a thing emerged from the depths of Hell."

"And two days ago was Sunday." Very slowly, Buffy let a long smile cross her
face. A smile that, nevertheless, wasn't shared by her Watcher. "And this is
where Xander and the guys enter into the equation, huh? Last Sunday they went to
Los Angeles 'to save the world'."

She shook her head, and let out an amused laugh. "And I thought it was a figure
of speech."

"Well, no, it seems that 'saving the world' was indeed what they were doing,"
Giles said, scratching his five o'clock shadow.

"Then they actually had a good reason for missing the debut of Oz's band. But
what I don't get is where you see the problem here, Giles. Shouldn't we be
grateful to them for saving our collective butts?"

Giles didn't answer her. Instead, he got up from his seat and, going to his
desk, retrieved a thick file from its surface that he passed to the Slayer
without uttering a word.

"What is this?" Buffy asked, absent-mindedly opening the file and beginning to
flip through its pages. "Who are these... people?"

The voice seemed to die in Buffy's throat, becoming barely a whisper as the same
time that all the blood drained from her face, leaving her as pale as a ghost.

A few moments later, she closed the file with trembling hands and placed it
carefully on the surface of Giles' small coffee table, as if it was some kind of
dangerous snake beside the pretty tea ornaments of the Watcher. When she raised
her hazel eyes back to him, they were wet with unshed tears.

"Why?" she just asked.

Giles shrugged sadly. "I think that that's a question that only Xander can
answer."

~~~~~~

To be continued...