A/N: I know I promised this a long time ago. Real life got in the way. But the more time I take, the more I write. So sit back, relax, and settle in for a long ride. Thanks to all who heckled the crap out of me these past few months (you know who you are). Thanks to Kyre and Alaidh for pointing out the lack of armrests on Logan's wheelchair (Chapter 5 has been fixed, btw). Special thanks to my beta, Tallera, who survived slogging through the mess this originally was.

Don't forget to review!

Chapter Six – Who We Are

February 12, 2001

Dawn's words hung cheerfully in the air.  Dawn could barely contain her excitement at how alike she and Max really were – both were created, brought into being by powers beyond their comprehension and unleashed upon a world that was not yet prepared to accept them.  But the longer everyone stared at each other, the more the small thrill began to fade.

There was a quick, nervous shift of movement as Max and Logan glanced at each other, almost daring each other to speak.  Dawn could feel the buoyancy of her welcome dissipating in the fog of unspoken thoughts that was settling back over the room.  Her face fell, and she thought over what she had said.  'Welcome to Sunnydale.'  Three words.  What can be wrong with three words?  She glanced at the faces around her, and noticed that the looks were quickly changing from acceptance to puzzlement and curiosity, with a touch of wariness…

I think everyone needs to sit and talk this out.  Tell our side of the story.  Then maybe we all can move on… or get along… or something else happy and clichéd, Dawn thought.  Deciding that that was a sound observation, she opened her mouth to share it.

"Dawn, why don't you go to bed," Buffy ordered, beating her sister to the punch, as she crossed her arms and regarded Max and Logan.

Dawn looked at her in shock.  "What do you mean 'go to bed?'  I don't want to go to bed!  I want to know what's going on," she protested.

Joyce looked at her youngest daughter, suddenly realizing the girl was still there.  "Because it's two in the morning and you have school.  You really should go get some sleep," she chided her youngest gently.

"But Mom…"

"Now."  Joyce raised her eyebrows, daring the girl to challenge her.

Dawn turned on one heel in a huff.  "It's not like I don't already know all this stuff," she muttered under her breath as she left the room.

Max took a deep breath, trying to calm herself as she watched the young girl stomp out of the room.  The only one of them I really wish would stay.  Well, and Joyce.  But as she felt the adrenaline continue its mad race through her system, urging her to prepare for a fight that she knew wasn't going to happen, Max decided that it was probably for the best that Dawn left.  That way, an innocent wouldn't get hurt. 

Max shifted nervously, feeling like she was about crawl out of her skin.  Every single one of her senses was on heightened alert.  The colors seemed brighter, the air felt warmer, and the slightest sounds seemed to stand out.  Including the sound of Dawn halting her walk up the stairs… Max turned her head slightly towards the doorway, only to see Spike looking the same direction.  She saw him shrug slightly to himself, and as he turned back, he started at her gaze.  Max narrowed her eyes at him, wondering what he would do.  But to her surprise, he said nothing, only waited.  The Super Hearing Freaks, Max thought to herself.  Good name for a rock band.  Bad for real life.

Dawn stopped short of the landing, beyond where the open banister ended and the wall began.  She sat quietly, pulling her legs up close, trying to make herself as small as possible, so she wouldn't be seen.  She peered through the bars at the light from the living room, unable to see much more than the front door.  That means it'll be hard for them to see me, too.  And besides, I'm not bothering anybody up here.  What they don't know can't hurt them… can it? she thought to herself as she tried to control her racing heart.  She desperately wanted to hear what Buffy and the others were going to tell Max and Logan.  She wanted to know what Buffy would say about her being the Key.

Willow and Xander moved into the room and each gingerly took a seat on the floor.  They looked back and forth expectantly from Buffy to Max, Giles to Logan, Joyce to each other and through the whole lopsided circle again.  With Dawn gone, the silence had crept quickly back into the room, where a big hairy uncomfortable something sat in the corner, waiting patiently for someone to mention it.

Max finally broke the hush with a forceful, "You kept calling me a slayer.  Why?"  The clear, commanding tone only furthered the image of her as a former soldier.

Buffy swallowed a little at the glare pointed at her and tried to smile.  "Uh, not slayer.  Slayer.  Capital S.  Usually preceded by The," she joked.

From her position, Dawn couldn't help but roll her eyes at her sister.  Only time in her life Buffy's ever cared about grammar.

Joyce, too, rolled her eyes at her eldest.  "Buffy, don't be a pain."  She looked at Buffy pointedly, but fondly.

"Whatever.  The Slayer," Max repeated sarcastically, missing the mother-daughter byplay.

Dawn could imagine Buffy smiling now that the capitals were all correctly in place.  "Every generation has a Slayer, a Chosen One, who slays vampires and demons, and destroys other nifty assorted forces of evil.  And since this is a Hellmouth, well, let's just say the forces are here in… full force."

"So, you're all… Slayers?" Max asked.  Then she blinked in surprise as the room erupted in raucous laughter.

Giles tried to bring back some semblance of order.  "I'm sorry, Max, that's not precisely what she meant.  Buffy is The Slayer.  We merely… assist her."

 "Good thing, too," Spike added.  "Sunnydale would be in a much sorrier state if these three buffoons were in on the act."

Buffy just couldn't let the topic go without one more word on the subject.  "I'm pretty much it for this generation.  With the exception of a minor cosmic flub that brought another—"

Max held up a slim arm and waved off the response.  "Whatever."  She turned towards the redhead.  "Willow.  A witch, right?" 

"Yeah, I'm a witch.  Like I said.  And Tara, too," Willow said cheerfully.

"Right.  Okay, that's three.  Giles?"

"I'm what is called a Watcher," Giles said with a trace of pride.  "I was appointed by a council of Watchers to keep an eye on Buffy, to assist her in her training, research, equ—"

"Don't care," Max interrupted. 

Giles blinked in surprise at Max's audacity.  How dare she interrupt him, when he was only trying to—

"They called you a vampire," Max stated, now turning to Spike.

Dawn blinked at the change and drew her knees closer to her body.  Careful!  Harriet the Spy wouldn't be caught daydreaming.  Or… not caught.  Objective here is not caught, Dawn.  She could hear the thick creak of Spike's leather duster as she waited for Spike's reaction.

 "I am," Spike agreed, crossing his arms and eyeing Max warily.

Max stared at him blankly for a moment before asking "Meaning?"

Almost everyone's jaw dropped.  "You don't know what a vampire is?" Willow exclaimed.

"Dracula?"

Dawn shook her head.  She'd obviously have to fill Max in on the situation later.  She could feel a sense of pride at the thought of knowing something that someone else didn't already, for a change. 

Spike, for his part, seemed pained.  "Obviously our PR demon isn't doing such a good job after all.  I think we need to eat a new one."  At Max's narrowed look, he threw his hands up in exasperation.  "Creatures of the night?  Blood suckers?  Big evil?"  Spike shook his head in disgust at Max's continued blank expression.  "'Take Back the Night' is going to have an entirely new meaning from now on."

Max paused before she slowly said, "Okay.  But she said she kills vampires, yet you—"

Xander snickered loudly.. "He's a neutered vamp.  He's all bark now."

Spike opened his mouth to protest, but Max blocked him by with a momentary look of pity.  "Oh.  Sorry."  She then turned to Xander, not even daring to ask.

"Drywaller," Xander replied without prompting. 

Spike took his turn to snicker.  Max, for her part, just nodded sagely.  "I completely understand why one of those would be needed to fight the forces of darkness."

Xander continued helpfully, "Anya's an ex-demon, though."

Logan's shoulders twitched in restrained laughter as Max smiled broadly.  "And now you've made complete sense for the first time tonight," she said.

Dawn heard another long silence.  She was ticking off on her fingers who Max had heard about: Buffy, Giles, Spike, Willow, Tara, Xander and Anya.  All that was left was—

"So you were made by a secret government organization?" Xander asked.

Dawn was confused.  Since when is it our turn to ask again?  She didn't ask about me.  Or Mom…  But me, too!

Max happened to be thinking along the same lines as Dawn, except that she didn't seem to appreciate the change in questioning.  She stood and turned her back on the room, looking out the window.  "Yeah, I was.  Ask me something new."

"Must be something like the Initiative," Willow guessed.

Max turned and laughed.  The sound was hard, cynical, and devoid of humor.  "Those children and their chemistry sets?  Please.  If you're going to compare Manticore to something, at least compare it with something worth its name."

Spike's eyes widened at Max's words.  "Children?  Those brats shoved a bloody Tinker Toy up my brain!  I think they were a bit more advanced than all that."

The room ignored him.  "What's the Initiative?" Logan asked Max, rolling forward slightly.

"A bunch of soldiers who got it in their heads that they could pull a Manticore and create a super soldier.  Only thing is that they were looking to do it with parts of dead soldiers.  Disbanded when all of it was revealed to be a crock."

Buffy raised one hand to draw Max's attention.  "Uh… 'scuse me.  Not dead soldiers.  Dead demons.  And not a crock.  It kinda worked.  For a while, at least." 

"Pretty sad when you have to keep the operations of a secret governmental operation secret from another secret governmental operation," Xander pointed out.

"They did a pretty good job with you, didn't they?"  Willow said.  "Except they must've forgotten to program you with some of the laws of physics."

Max's face darkened.   "Someone probably just misplaced the memo," she said tensely.

Dawn swallowed, not liking the tone of her friend's voice.  Why can't they tell she's getting angry? 

"Yeah, but the way you flipped!" Buffy exclaimed.  "It was like you were… I don't know, suspended or something.  You were up, then sideways, then half turned inside out."

"And you run pretty fast, too," Xander added.

Max tilted her chin up, almost scornfully it seemed.  "You haven't even seen me run." 

Dawn blinked.  Max hadn't said the words like she was bragging.  Just… matter of fact.

Giles quietly said, "We have a training room at the Magic Box.  You are welcome to use it if you wish."

Max's eyes closed for a second.  When they opened again, they were blank, unfeeling.  "No thanks," she clipped.  "I don't train."

Buffy couldn't help the small flare of jealousy that burned brightly in her mind before she squashed it.  It always seemed like Giles was dragging her away to train for a fight against something.  "You don't?  Why not?"

"I just don't, okay?"  Max quickly rubbed at one temple.  She was getting a headache from the whole mess.  "Don't need to," Max added.  She turned to Logan with a sarcastic sigh.  "I'm going out.  Is that okay?"

Oh, geez.  I think she's ticked now, Dawn thought to herself, leaning more towards the railing to adjust her view.

Max waited for Logan to give her a nod, and then she brusquely pushed past Spike and left the room.

Dawn didn't realize Max would move so fast.  There was no time to hide as she walked through the hall… and glanced directly at the girl on the stairs.  Max didn't even break stride as she opened the door, walked outside, and shut it loudly. 

Dawn barely had a chance to breathe a sigh of relief when she noticed that Spike, who had been brushed half out of the doorway by Max's mad rush, was now looking at her as well.  She could feel her breath catch as they stared at each other.  Then he gave her a one shouldered shrug, camouflaged to look like he was stretching the arm Max just rammed into, and moved so that he blocked most of the view, making sure that no one else would be able to see her.

Dawn closed her eyes in gratitude.  She opened them as she heard… nothing.  Again.  Apparently, no one was quite sure what to say.

Except for Willow, who asked curiously, "How did they make Max?  I mean, the level of technology that had to go into her production…"

Dawn sighed and shook her head.  As much as she's changed from when I first met her, she's still a science geek at heart, isn't she.

Logan turned slightly, and Dawn could see a stony look on his face.  A bit cold, but mostly just… secretive.  "I think Max had the right idea.  I think this conversation is done for the night.  Personally, I wouldn't mind getting a little sleep." 

Dawn couldn't help but sigh again.  This time as romantic thoughts of a man defending his lady flitted through her mind.  As she heard everyone agree with Logan, and begin to move, she quickly – and as quietly as possible – scampered up the rest of the stairs and leaped into bed.  She breathed quick prayer that no one else knew that she was listening to a conversation she probably shouldn't have.  She lay still for a few minutes, settling from the "adventure."  But as she was finally beginning to drift off to sleep, her eyes sprang open as she realized that Buffy hadn't mentioned her once.


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sleep came eventually, because Dawn woke to the sound of the shower running.  She glanced at the clock on her bedside table, and blinked to rub some of the sleep away.  4:22 a.m. She watched it for nearly 45 minutes before the water shut off.  She laid as still as possible as Max walked into the dark bedroom, already dressed, and combing out her hair.

"You heard everything," Max said, not looking at Dawn directly, but instead in the mirror over the dresser.

Dawn sat up quickly in bed.  "How did you know I was awake?" she whispered.  "I didn't think you could tell."

Max walked over and sat on the corner of the bed.  "I can see in the dark, so it's easy to tell when someone's eyes are open," she informed the girl.  "You heard everything, didn't you?" she repeated.

Dawn was fairly certain she knew what Max was referring to… and it wasn't just the words spoken aloud earlier that night.  "I… I think so," Dawn said hesitantly.

Max nodded and rose, moving over to the window.  Slowly opening it, she said, "You can ask any questions you want.  I won't always answer, but feel free to ask."  Max swiftly stepped onto the roof and closed the window, leaving Dawn alone in the dark.


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

There was an odd dance going on between Those Who Had Been and Those Who Will Be, and neither group was fond of it.  The beat of the music was off, the proper attire was questionable, and no one had a clue what the steps were. 

Everyone thought that once the cards were all laid out on the table, things would be alright.  No more guessing who was whom and what was when.  But in the back of all of their minds, they couldn't help but wonder who might have extra cards up her sleeve. 

Max and Logan, being truly out of their element, felt this stress more than anyone.  They sat at the Magic Box that entire day, quietly looking through books, talking, trying to learn what was, to them, a foreign language.  Sometimes literally. 

Everyone else tried to go on with their lives as though nothing had changed.  Dawn went to school, Joyce headed to work, and Buffy actually went to a few of her classes.  She told everyone it was because she had several quizzes… and if she had other reasons, she kept them to herself.

When they all returned back to the Summers' house that evening, the atmosphere was strained and overly polite.  The houseguests had become… houseguests. Max and Logan kept to themselves, often punctuating their quiet conversation with secretive looks.

Max left the house late that night, to explore whatever opportunities Sunnydale could offer to a creature who didn't sleep.  Nobody asked where she was going, and she didn't volunteer.  Buffy never saw her while out slaying, and by the time she got home Max still hadn't returned.  When Buffy checked in on her sleeping sister, she saw that the blankets on the floor were neatly folded and set in a corner.  Proof of the "Max doesn't sleep" theory.  As if any more proof of anything were needed anymore. 

Satisfied that her sister was safe and sound, Buffy went to bed.

And dreamed of snow.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

February 13, 2001

Joyce refolded the newspaper and took a long sip of her coffee.  With everyone out of the house, she was enjoying the quiet of the morning.  Although she had the day off, she was debating going in to the Gallery for a while.  She had scaled her hours back considerably since having her surgery, but still tried to work as often as possible.  The truth was that she missed the work, and the people there.  She mulled over the idea for another moment before deciding against it.  I'm scheduled for a half-day tomorrow anyway, she thought as she picked up her dishes and took them to the sink. 

As she turned on the water and added a little soap, she thought of her houseguests.  She figured they were probably getting bored and frustrated with their search.  As far as she knew, they had found nothing that would help them get back to their time.  It occurred to her that it might be a nice gesture if she invited Max and Logan to go to the Gallery with her.  For a chance to get away from the Magic Box for a while, Logan would probably jump at the opportunity.  Max, on the other hand…

Joyce chuckled to herself.  Max didn't seem the type to enjoy sitting around staring at art for hours on end.  Joyce rinsed the dishes, set them on the counter… then stopped, feeling someone watching her.  She turned slowly.

She was alone.

She slowly walked to the dining room doorway, a perplexed frown growing on her face. Not seeing anyone, she moved to the living room doorway.  Still nothing.  Must be my imagination, she thought.

As she began vacuuming, Joyce's thoughts drifted back to their earlier topic: Max.  She had been so quiet and secretive since coming to stay with them.  Learning about Max's big "secret" was negligible.  Joyce felt that she almost knew even less about her than when she had first arrived.  She couldn't help but wonder about what Max's life was like, what she liked to do, where she liked to go.  It really was quite difficult to place any one "normal" activity to the girl.

Joyce's mind wandered back to when Max revealed who she was.  Joyce had sat silent most of the time, taking in the information and mulling it through in her head.  Somehow, she had begun to realize that the others present had completely missed what Max wasn't saying about her experiences, which was the reason they had no difficulties prodding Max for more.   What Max didn't say came through the loudest for Joyce, and it made her heart ache to think—

Joyce spun quickly as the feeling ran up her spine again.  She narrowed her eyes, looking for someone who wasn't there. 

"Hello?"

No response.  She might have called herself paranoid, but she was starting to believe that there was more to this feeling than she had first thought.

As she put the vacuum away, an idea began to form in her mind.  After all, there was one person staying in the house who was probably skilled at watching without being seen…

Joyce went upstairs to see if Buffy or Dawn had left any laundry in their rooms.  They always have the best intention of helping, Joyce thought as she pulled out a blood-stained sweatshirt out from under Buffy's bed, but somehow intention never quite makes it to completion.  She made her way back down the hall to Dawn's room… and stopped in the doorway. 

Her bed is made, Joyce thought in confusion.  It wasn't that Dawn never made her bed – quite the contrary, actually.  But it was usually was made after school after a lot of pleading, cajoling, bribery and a few good old fashioned threats.  Maybe she's trying to be "good" for Max.  The early signs of hero worship were all too apparent in her youngest daughter.  At that thought, Joyce eyed the bed suspiciously, and reached out to turn up an edge of the comforter.  Then she couldn't help but laugh out loud. 

Dawn certainly didn't know how to make a bed with military corners.  As she chuckled to herself, she realized that her strange feeling of being watched had disappeared. 

If Max had been there, she was gone now.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Giles was going over some of the recent sales figures.  He couldn't for the life of him figure out why there was an increase in demand for ground otter's tooth, but whatever the reason, he was grateful for it.  The stuff came with a significant profit margin.

"Giles!  We're getting low on mallow root!  Order some more!"  Anya bellowed from the stock room.

"Yes, thank you, Anya," he called back to her with exaggerated patience.  "No need to shout; I have a perfectly good set of ears… for the moment, anyway," he muttered, rubbing his temple.  His nose twitched as it detected a new odor in the shop… mozzarella… with perhaps a hint of…pepperoni? 

He looked up and saw Max standing in front of him, holding several boxes of pizza.  He stood straight as she tilted her head slightly to one side.  "Max!" he exclaimed.  "I'm sorry, I didn't notice the bell as you came in."  Then he blinked, frowning.  Perhaps they weren't as good as he thought.  I really must remember to get those looked at…

Her eyelashes fluttered in an indescribable look before she said, "No big dealio."  She held out the boxes.  "I brought pizza," she said warily.

She still seems slightly uncomfortable around me, he thought.  Max was uncomfortable around most of the Sunnydale natives, but she seemed to hold him at arms length more so than any of the others.  He tried to put on a soothing smile.  "That's quite kind of you, Max.  Thank you."

She nodded sharply and turned to the rest of the shop.  "Chow time!" she called loudly.

Giles rubbed his temple again.

Xander appeared almost instantaneously from the training room.  "Does my nose detect the aroma of small circular pieces of meat?"

Anya sauntered out from the back of the shop.  "Oh, thank you, Max.  That is so very generous of you to give all your money to a store that sells silly round bread with toppings, when you could have spent it here, where you can acquire many useful things, like ground monkey toes and pickled dagoth root.....and otter's teeth! Yes, I hear those otter's teeth are very popular nowadays....."

"Anya!"  Buffy exclaimed.  "Be nice. After all, it's our fault she's –  they're – here."

"Technically, it's Willow's fault."

Willow's brows rose.  "Well, not on purpose… I mean… come on, people, it's not like I'm evil or anything."

"Right, sweetie.  Not on purpose," Tara put in, trying to appease the blonde woman.

"Still, would it kill her to buy a measly box of tea lights? Or a mummified toad, even?" Anya pouted.

Logan looked at Max and raised an eyebrow as the friendly bickering increased in volume.  She shrugged and set the boxes on the table.  "Not my fault.  I just brought pizza."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


It didn't take long for them to demolish the pizzas, then return to their previous activities.  Seeing that Logan was occupied with a book in a back corner and Max had pulled her usual disappearing act, Buffy approached Giles with her newest brain-teaser.  Or, at least, her most recently recurring one.

"I don't know, Giles.  Each time it's a little different, but almost the same.  Snow.  There's always snow.  That much is constant.  I kind of feel like I'm watching cable.  Except we don't have cable.  So I'm squinting at the screen and at first, all I think I can see is—"

"Snow," Giles cut in.

"Yeah.  Snow.  But if I watch the same show a bunch of times, my brain starts making out the pictures.  And then I start to get an idea of what the show really is."  Buffy paused, thinking for a moment.  "Do you get what I'm saying?  I mean, I guess it could be a bit outside your frame of reference…"

Giles rolled his eyes at her.  "I do have a television, Buffy."  Although, I think it gets more use as a magazine rack…  "You mentioned seeing more of the pictures, getting an idea of the program.  Does that mean you're now seeing more than the snow portion of these dreams?"

Buffy hesitated before responding.  "Max and Logan's first night here, I had another one, just before I woke up in the morning."

Giles sighed as he asked, "And you neglected to tell me about this dream for what reason?"

 "Giles, I…"  There was no good response to that question.  "I'm telling you now."  She waited, but Giles said nothing.  "I was barefoot in the snow.  I could hear some sounds – dogs, water, someone running.  And you were there," she admitted finally.

Giles blinked in surprise.  "I was?  What did I do?"

"You didn't really do anything.  You told me to watch.  That it was my turn to be the watcher."

"Sound advice at times," Giles said.

Buffy rolled her eyes.  "Well, duh.  I get that.  What I don't get is what I'm supposed to be watching.  You didn't tell me anything more during the last dream I had—"

"Last dream," Giles interrupted.

"Last night.  Giles, please don't get your knickers in a twist over this.  It was last night and I'm telling you today, okay?"

Giles raised his hands in acquiescence.  "Rest assured my knickers aren't twisted.  I'm just concerned.  But, please.  Do continue."

"Anyway, last night, you said the same thing.  One word this time.  Watch.  And you turned to someone else and said something, but I couldn't see who it was or hear what you said.  And there was this giant fence that I started to climb.  And trees.  I was running through trees.  I woke up when I thought I heard glass shattering."  Buffy crossed her arms and leaned on the counter, closing herself off a bit as she bent towards him.    "So… any clue?"

Giles glanced over Buffy's shoulder at Logan, and looked back at Buffy.  He crouched down in almost a mirror of her posture, lowering his voice.  "Have you thought that it may have something to do with your houseguests?"

Buffy shook her head.  "I wondered… but I don't know.  I mean, I started dreaming about snow, just snow, before they came here.  Although the dreams did start to get more wonky after they showed up."

"I wouldn't put too much into when the dreams started, Buffy.  After all, we are dealing with time travel here.  That type of transfer, and the magiks involved, is bound to leave many ripples surrounding it, with repercussions lasting far beyond the instant of the transfer itself.  Not only in real time, but the past, future, non-linear time…No matter what the movies say, it's not as easy as sending a whale through a slingshot.  Just think, the temporal folds alone…"  He trailed off, running the list of potentials through his mind.  He shook his head to clear it, and looked back at Buffy, noticing that her eyes were beginning to glaze.  "Aside from that, it could very well be just a dream.  The only way you can find out…" he trailed off, giving her an expectant look.

"I guess I could ask them," Buffy said.

"You could."

"In a roundabout way, of course."

"Of course."

"Without revealing too much, in case it's something else entirely."

"Buffy..."

"What?  I'm still not sure I can trust them, Giles.  Come on, look what they were hiding from us," Buffy said.

Giles sighed.  "We can't exactly claim innocence in this situation – they weren't the only ones hiding things.  It's no wonder Max slinks around looking as though we're all plotting something evil.  I'm not sure we've given her any reason to trust us, either."

Buffy feigned a hurt expression.  "We told her about us, didn't we?  …Okay, so it was after she told us about her first… but still!  Wasn't it you who tried to pulverize the whole 'Slayer works in secret' idea into my poor, helpless brain in the way-back-whens?"

Giles gave her a pensively bemused look.  "Since when did anything I try to 'pulverize' into your brain not scramble its way back out at the first opportunity?"

Buffy responded with a  laugh.  "Hey!  I remember what you say… sometimes… for a while."  Then she sighed and all the laughter seemed to drain from her face.  "Look at what she is, Giles.  She's told us herself she's dangerous.  How can I trust that?"

He eyeing at her speculatively, and ventured, "Are you not trusting her because of who she is… or what she is?  Or perhaps is it because of what you are… or are not?"

Her hands started tracing patterns on the surface of the counter.  One B, followed by a U, a pair of Fs, and a Y that slowly devolved into a series of swirls and unfinished spirals.  "All you have to do is look at her, Giles," Buffy said wistfully.  "Perfection.  That's what whoever built her had in mind.  She called herself a super soldier.  She's the perfect soldier." 

Buffy leaned down on the counter, resting her chin forlornly on her crossed arms.  "You saw her.  She took down Spike like a linebacker would take down a Math professor.  She runs amazingly fast, doesn't sleep, moves like Jackie Chan in zero-g, and who knows what else!  Why couldn't someone like her have gotten all Chosen for the sacred duty thing?  She was made to do this kind of thing.  She could have been doing all the demon slaying, I could have gone on being little ol' me, and life would have been just fine."

Giles could understand her point, but that didn't make the reality of reality any different.  "Perhaps… but you are you, and Max is… well, Max.  Both of you were destined to be who you are."

"So the girl gets to be a soldier and the soldier gets to be a girl?  Hate to sound petty, Giles, but that sucks."

Giles moved around the counter until he was standing next to her.  "Sometimes it does."

Buffy sighed, but remained silent.  The two stood there until Xander came out of the back room with one arm draped around a grinning Anya.

"Well, hate to say goodbye," Xander called out to the shop, "but Anya and I are going to go home and celebrate 'Between Construction Projects Week' with a nice dinner."

"And sex," Anya added.  "Don't forget sex."

"Yes, and I'm sure no one else can forget, either," Xander replied, giving her shoulder a squeeze and smiling.

"Desperately trying to," Buffy chirped plaintively.

Logan chuckled.

At the sound, Anya's head whipped around.  She looked at Logan, and then quickly turned her head to look around the shop.  "Where's Max?" she demanded.

Willow and Tara glanced up from their huddle in the corner.  "Anya, it is okay if you let her out of your sight for a couple of nanoseconds.  Whole microseconds even.  You know, I bet she could go an entire millisecond without getting the hairy eyeball from you," Willow said.

"No, she can't!  It's not okay.  She could have her greedy genetically engineered paws swiping half our inventory as we speak!" Anya exclaimed.  Her right eye began to twitch spastically.

Logan sighed and moved away from the book he was reading.  "I can vouch for Max, Anya."

"Then where is she?  What's she doing?  Answer me that, Mr. I'll-Vouch-For-Her-Person-Guy!"

Logan looked up, glancing towards the upper level of the shop.  All of the other pairs of eyes in the shop followed his gaze.

"Holy freakin' bunny pellets!" Anya cried.  "Get down from there!"

Max was lying on the railing bordering the upper level of the shop.  In most cases, that wouldn't be a very impressive feat.  Except this railing was a black metal pipe only about two inches across.  The crowd below could do nothing but gape as Max nonchalantly turned another page of the book she was reading.  "Why?" she asked in a bored tone.

Anya's eyes bulged.  "Because!  If you fall and break your neck, do you have any idea what that is going to do to our insurance premiums?!"

Max slowly turned her head to look down at the blonde woman, shrugged, and managed to roll smoothly over onto her stomach.

Anyone who saw Anya's face in that moment would have had no problem believing that she'd slaughtered half the population of Europe back in ye olde demon days.  "Hello?  Are you hearing impaired?"  Anya's voice rose to piercingly inhuman decibels.

No one noticed Giles wince and momentarily rub his temple.

Buffy looked over at the ex-demon (or supposedly ex), and decided that she should probably step in before blood was spilled.  "Anya—" she began.

Max beat her to the punch.  "I heard you fine."  She bent one leg lazily at the knee, waving a foot in midair.  "I'm just ignoring you."

Anya realized that her current strategy wasn't getting her anywhere, so she changed tactics to continue the assault from another angle: logic.  "What happens when you lose your balance?"

Max glanced at Anya in annoyance, and then a wicked gleam appeared in her eye.

"Max…" Logan warned, a little too late.

Max gingerly set the book slightly ahead of her on the rail.  All it took was a smooth push up and a slight shift of weight for her to end up in a handstand, her toes pointed directly at the ceiling. She held the position pristinely, not moving a muscle.

"Oh… wow!" Willow murmured.  "Look at that!"

Max turned her head to look down at them and grinned, noting that none of the men really needed Willow's direction.  Max used her hands to "walk" back and forth a bit, never once wavering in her posture, finally doing a walkover and ending up in a standing position.  In quick succession, she did several back flips – two handed, one handed, no handed – each shifting her shirt a bit to reveal the flat stomach underneath.

"Giles!  Make her stop!" Anya said shrilly, turning to look at her boss.  When she saw his slack jawed unresponsiveness, she slapped him on the arm.  "GI-les!"

He nodded his head fractionally, continuing to gape along with Logan and Xander, absentmindedly muttering, "Yeah… just…  a moment."

Anya glared and stuttered, first at him, then at the other two men,.  "But… wa… but… she's… glarg!"  She finally gave up and glared at Max, who apparently was getting bored with her play.

Max finished up a couple more slow acrobatic moves, and resumed her handstand.  She reversed her earlier moves, lowing herself into a push-up, laying back down on her stomach, and picking up her book.

Buffy sighed to herself.  "Like I said.  Perfect," she muttered softly.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


February 14, 2002

As Joyce suspected, Max turned down the offer of a visit to the Gallery, while Logan accepted enthusiastically.  Max was somewhat vague in saying what she was going to be doing for the day.  She mumbled something about doing more research at the Magic Box, or possibly checking out the town, and made a hasty escape.

"She's somewhat of an art connoisseur in her own right, but her venue of choice isn't exactly an open gallery," Logan explained on the drive to the Gallery.

"More like a closed gallery?" Joyce asked archly.

He shrugged.  "Closed gallery, locked houses, whatever."  Logan straightened a little at the impression of Max he realized he was giving.  "She's not just a thief, you know.  She does a lot of good work."

Joyce shook her head.  "Logan… I can tell.  I've been sorting through some of the conversations that have taken place before we found out who Max is.  It's been interesting to know that she never really kept lied about anything, did she?  Just was… selective."

Logan grinned as they pulled to a stop in front of a typical, tidy Sunnydale shop.  "Selective.  That's a good word for it."

The Gallery was actually bigger than it looked from the outside.  The collection combined the best of local artists and with some who were more renowned.  The display cases were crowded with an eclectic mish-mash of paintings, sculptures, sketches, jewelry, and other art objects. 

Logan felt right at home.

Joyce introduced him around to the other employees, and then the two gravitated back towards Joyce's desk, where she apparently worked mostly with sculptures and historical artifacts from around the world.  Logan recognized several of the pieces, and couldn't help but be awed, knowing that in his time two of those works had been sold on the black market and subsequently disappeared, and the other had been destroyed.  He looked at Joyce and sighed, wondering if he told her about them, if perhaps the fate of a few precious artifacts could be changed.  But then again, maybe it'd be best if I just left well enough alone, he thought to himself.

Logan soon found himself working on a computer database, cataloguing some of the same pieces, and a few new ones that were coming in.  He couldn't help but chuckle, since all it took was a few paintings and a computer to make him feel vaguely normal again, for the first time in days.  He hit a few buttons to produce a printout of the Ivory Coast ship carvings he had just catalogued.  He moved to the printer, and sighed when he realized it was inconveniently out of reach.  He looked over his shoulder and, seeing that Joyce was nearby, called, "Joyce?  Would you mind, uh… getting this printout for me?"

Joyce flushed somewhat as she removed the pages from the print tray and handed them to him.  "Oh, sorry about that.  I didn't think—"

"Not a problem," Logan interrupted.  "Not your fault."  He smiled in an attempt to distract Joyce away from her embarrassment.  "Too bad that when I lost my legs, I didn't get an extra pair of arms."

She cocked her head in curiosity.  "Do you mind if I ask how—"

"Bullet.  Completely severed my spinal cord," he informed her, trying to be as blasé about the painful subject as possible.

Joyce nodded slowly, absorbing that information.  "I don't see you as a gun carrier.  I could see Max, but not you."

Logan laughed loudly at the sheer absurdity of that statement.  "Yes, I carry.  Carried.  I still have to sometimes.  Things can get dangerous in my line of work."

"Freelance journalist, exposing corruption?"

"I can be selective, too," Logan responded, raising an eyebrow.  Then he sobered slightly.  "Please don't bring up the subject of guns in front of Max.  They make her… skittish."

"Really?  But she's a soldier—"

"She's not," Logan said firmly.  "She's a person."

"I realize that," Joyce said, softly, nonplussed by his vehement reaction.  "Soldiers are people, too."

He closed his eyes briefly, remembering too many close encounters.  "Not in our world.  Different times breed different people."  He turned back to the computer, and slowly typed in a few words.

Joyce remained quiet for a few seconds, unsure how to respond to that without butting into things that were most likely none of her business.  "Logan, about Max…" 

He turned back towards her with an expression that invited her to continue. 

"Yesterday, I was doing some work around the house.  I could swear I was being watched, but every time I turned, no one was there.  Do you think…?"

Logan stared at her in amazement.  "You can feel that?" he asked.

"Feel… what?"

Logan shrugged.  "Max," he said simply.  "For starters, if you were being watched, there's no doubt that it was her.  She watches you when she's out in the open, too.  I'm just… surprised that you knew."  He smiled.  "I swear sometimes she's got chameleon DNA in her somewhere.  You can be looking directly at her and not see her." 

He paused, his expression becoming more thoughtful.  "I think you… fascinate her.  She's never known a mother.  I know one woman in her building has a small child, but I'm fairly certain none of her adult friends have any contact with their families.  So I think she's just trying to figure you out."

"What should I do about it?" asked Joyce.

"Whatever you want," Logan replied.  "Ignore her, ask her about it.  If you really want my advice, you'll call her on it."

Joyce looked at him and narrowed her eyes slightly, not quite understanding.

"Start talking to her when you can't see her, but you know she's there.  At best, you'll let her know that you know and she may talk to you.  At worst, it was all your imagination and you'll be talking to an empty room."

Joyce laughed and looked down at the papers she was holding without really seeing them.  A thousand questions crossed her mind.  "So… did she know you before… this… happened?" Joyce asked, indicating Logan's wheelchair.

"Not really," Logan answered her.  "We met a couple times before it happened, but I didn't really see her again until a few months later."  He smiled ruefully.  "We didn't exactly… hit it off well."

"Oh."  Joyce paused.  "Tell me about her."

Logan blinked.  "About Max?"

Joyce rolled her eyes.  "Yes, about Max."

Logan hesitated.  "It's really not my place.  I mean she–"

"Logan," Joyce interrupted.  "Tell me about Max."

Logan was silent for a long moment.  He turned to the computer screen and stared at the glow as he tried to figure out where to begin.  "Max is… she's…" he stopped.  "Max is a miracle."

"A miracle?"

"Where she came from… what they did to her… what they made her do…" Logan stopped as he noticed he wasn't explaining himself very well.  "There've been studies done on children who've spent their formative years in orphanages.  In many cases, the behaviors that these children develop in order to survive become so ingrained that they aren't able to function in the real world.  These behaviors are also extremely difficult to 'unlearn,' if not impossible.  Max, for example, has obscenely perfect posture.  Even when you think she's relaxed, or slouching, she's not.  Oftentimes, it's just that her shoulders that are bent – her spine couldn't get any straighter if she had a steel rod in it."  He stopped, thinking of all of the little things about Max that came from a different time and place. 

Joyce's brow furrowed.  "What would be the purpose of that?"

Logan shrugged.  "Who knows?  But aside from all that… she was born a soldier.  She was bred to fight and kill.  The outside world was nothing but an unknown to them."

"Them?"

"Her, and the others like her.  Somehow, they managed to figure out that what they were being taught wasn't right, that the unknown was better than the known.  They escaped, and she's survived.  I don't know how sometimes, since she slipped out of the cracks of one system, and fell through the cracks of another, right before the world turned upside down.  But she's always landed on her feet."  Logan chuckled.  "Her morals and ethics may be questionable at times, but… sometimes I think she's more human than the rest of us could ever hope to be." 

He paused.  "She's never told me much about what happened to her in that place, but all you have to do is look at her eyes.  You may see a child in one moment, a soldier in the next.  In the end, her eyes are older than any young woman's ever should be."  He paused again, and then whispered, "She's a miracle."

Joyce smiled after Logan turned back to the computer.  Just good friends, she thought wryly.  I think his definition of friends is a little different than most.

"Joyce," Logan said, raising his head.

"Yes?"  She pushed down her smile.

He glanced back.  "Vampires?"

Joyce shrugged.  "Yeah.  Vampires."

He mulled that over.  "Okay."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


"Five."

"I'm in."

"Call.  Show 'em."

"Sorry, boys, two pair.  Aces high."  Max smiled as she laid down her cards and pulled in the coins from the center of the table.  Even though she'd royally trounced the crew at the Fishbowl when she'd first arrived in Sunnydale, they'd easily accepted her back into their group.  Especially since she had taken out some of the "trash" while she was there.  So, they let her play poker with them, no questions asked, and in return she didn't cheat.  So they trusted her – and played with nickels.

She picked up the deck to shuffle, and glanced at each of the players in turn.  As rough as they purported themselves to be, they were basically good guys.  But even good guys could have grey areas…  Casually, she asked, "Any of you boys got any illegals contacts?"

The group grew silent, glancing at each other before Squid took the lead and asked, "Illegals?"  He looked at Ashton and Sludge before turning back to Max.

"Meds?"

Squid narrowed his eyes.  "Drugs?  Max, you asking about drugs?"

"Not drugs," she replied.  "Dealers.  Meds specifically.  Something I need to get."

Ashton rubbed the scar on his cheek before saying, "You don't strike me as a user, Max.  What's up with that?"

Max shook her head.  "Not a user."  She rubbed her temples, trying to massage away the ever present headache.  "Just need something.  Tryptophan."

"Never heard of it.  What is it?"  Ashton asked.

Max shrugged.  "Something Wal-mart doesn't sell.  Can you help me or not?"

Again, silence as the men looked at each other.  Finally, Squid replied, "I may know a couple people.  Gonna take some time."

Max sighed and began dealing the cards.  "All I got right now is time."  Too much, and not enough.  Not nearly enough.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


"I don't get it." 

Buffy grunted as the vampire's foot connected with her chest.  She dodged the next blow and returned with a hard right punch, glaring in disgust at the vamp's Sonny and Cher t-shirt.  "I mean, come on.  I could see if maybe you were turned back at Woodstock or something, but I went to high school with you!"  She dodged another kick, spun, and elbowed him in the face.  "So is there—" kick "—something—" kick "—about the martial artsy stuff that makes you lose all fashion sense?!"  A final kick and a fast jab with the stake, and the vampire was nothing more than dust. 

Buffy sighed.  "And, of course, they always disappear before I hear the answer."

Buffy stopped by a gravestone to pick up her bag of weapons before leaving the graveyard.  As she approached the fence, she noticed a figure standing just beyond the boundaries of the gate.  The dark obscured the identity of the figure until Buffy was close enough to recognize her.  She sighed to herself as she couldn't help but think she'd rather it have been another vampire.  Or a demon even.

"Max," she greeted when she was in range.  "What are you doing here?"

Max glanced down at the bag of weapons, and back up to Buffy.  "I was in the area.  Thought I'd stop and watch you work."

"You watched?"  Buffy looked at the tall, wood slats of the fence.  "X-ray vision or something?"

Max stared at Buffy before answering, "No.  I sat in a tree."

Buffy noticed the tree a few feet away and felt stupid.  "Oh.  I just thought… being all… special… and all, that might be the type of trick your makers programmed you with."  Buffy saw Max's face darken, and recalled the same expression at Willow's words a few nights ago.  Programmed.  Buffy suddenly recognized the expression as a mix of discomfort, anger, and hurt.  A dangerous combination.  "Wrong word."

Max ignored the subtle apology and said, "X-ray vision – not my trick.  Night vision, telescopic vision – more my flavor of programming."

"Oh."  Buffy decided that she should leave that line of conversation alone.  She turned and began walking, not really caring whether Max followed or not.  A quick glance to the side confirmed that Max had decided to join her.  "So you watched.  What'd you think?"

Max shrugged, keeping her head forward.  "I think you killed a vampire.  They're the ones that need a broom and dustpan when they're done for, right?"

Buffy couldn't help but chuckle.  "Those are the ones, all right."

Max's lips twisted upward in a slight, but ironic grin as she said, "So I guess that makes you a dustbuster?"

Buffy groaned.  "God, that was horrible.  Stand-up comic DNA gone bad."  Buffy shook her head.  "If you'd made a crack like that while we'd been fighting, I wouldn't have had to stake him.  He would have imploded in a shower of dust on his own."

Max's grin fell away.  "No."

"No?  No what?"

"You won't find me fighting alongside you."

Buffy's eyebrows knit together.  She tried to push back a surge of resentment as she replied, "Why not?  You've got the ability, you should use it.  With your kill ratio and mine, we could really make a dent in the evil population."

Max's eyes narrowed before she looked away.  "Just because I've got ability doesn't mean I have to use it.  This whole fighting evil dealio is your problem, not mine."

"I just thought—"

"Yeah, you just thought.  I'm not here to sign up for your little crusade.  And you can tell your CO that, as well."

"CO?  Like the Council?  Well, I kinda showed them who was boss so they shouldn—"

"What?  Council?  No.  I meant the Brit."

"Giles?  No, he's on our side.  He's my Watcher."

"Fine.  Watcher.  Whatever."  Max lengthened her strides, picking up the pace a little.

Buffy kept quiet, somehow knowing that anything she'd say would be taken entirely the wrong way.  Plus I'm sure she doesn't really want to hear me rambling on about the fairness of life.  I sure wouldn't want to hear me talk about that.  She sighed to herself.  Why am I even grousing about this stuff now?  I thought I'd gotten over this "can't have a normal life" thing a long time ago.  If Max has that normal life, well, good for her.  .  Not a problem.

When they reached the front porch of the Summer's residence, Max sighed and turned to Buffy.  "I don't mean to be a bitch," she began.

Buffy shook her head.  "You're not."

Max lifted a slim eyebrow.  "I am.  But that's the natural order of things.  I'm actually pretty happy being the bitch that I am.  It's just that… you don't understand things yet.  And, to be honest, I'm hoping we get back to where we belong before you begin to understand."

Buffy smiled.  "Well, you know, I kind of hope you go back soon, too.  No… I mean, I'd like you to be here, but…  damn it, you know what I mean."

Max laughed and held out a hand, which Buffy grasped.  They shook hands in an odd truce, both able to feel the strength of the other.  Buffy opened the front door and turned to Max, who shook her head.

"I'm going to hang out here for a bit, if you don't mind," Max said.  "I… don't sleep much."

Buffy smiled.  "Hate to tell you, but Dawn had that one figured out the first night you were here."  Buffy saw the surprise flash in Max's eyes, and said, "No skin off my back.  Have fun," and went inside. 

Max waited about 15 minutes, and then went in herself.  She really had no intention of hanging out on the front porch.  Her preferred thinking spot was elsewhere in the house. Or rather, on the house.  As she came in through the front door, she paused, verifying that Logan was asleep.  She stared at his sleeping form for a moment before continuing on.

She quietly moved through the interior, hearing nothing but the thin breaths of the sleeping occupants.  She stopped to get something from the hall closet, just as she had for several nights now.  Easing through Dawn's bedroom, briefly noting the girl half-hanging off the side of her bed in her sleep, Max opened the window and stepped out onto the roof.

Sitting beneath the stars, she opened the photo album and stared at the pictures.  This particular album must have been put together following Dawn's birth, since it was filled with images of Dawn as a baby.  Max traced her fingers over one sweet picture of a very young, pigtailed Buffy holding the tiny newborn and grinning with all her might.  There were many more of Buffy holding Dawn, Buffy playing with Dawn, Buffy giving Dawn a bottle.  Joyce with both girls in the same activities.  A man with both girls.  Joyce and the man and the girls.  Their father, Max assumed, having seen him in several of the other albums she had looked at.  A family.  A normal life.  Perfect. 

For hours, as the stars rose and set above her, Max continued to look.  And desperately tried to understand.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

February 15, 2001

Joyce had some extra time before work, so she decided to spend it making lunches for Buffy and Dawn.  It was a task she loved, but rarely found the time to do.  There was something satisfying about making sure that her girls would be taken care of when she wasn't physically there.  And making sure they didn't live off of Cheetos and Pepsi.  She turned to get some peanut butter out of a cabinet.  As she turned back to the island in the center of the kitchen, she felt the now-familiar twinge that told her someone was watching.  Hearing the shower running in the main floor bathroom, she was positive which of her houseguests was causing the twinge.

Remembering Logan's advice, she tried to keep her movements constant as she spread the peanut butter on slices of bread.  "You don't have to play the shadow, Max.  I don't mind if you watch me," she told the empty room.  A few seconds passed, then…

"What are you doing?" Max said from behind her.

Joyce turned, and saw Max sitting on the very countertop next to the cabinet she had gotten the peanut butter from.  Joyce had no clue how Max had managed to get herself there without being seen.  Shadow, she thought.  Joyce walked over to the refrigerator for the apples and celery.  She pulled out a knife and began cutting the celery as she replied, "I'm making lunches for Buffy and Dawn to take to school with them."

Max slid off the counter with a puzzled frown on her face, never wavering in that ramrod-straight posture.  "Why?  Aren't they old enough to do that themselves?  Dawn's about thirteen—"

"Fourteen," Joyce corrected.

"And Buffy's in college," Max continued, not even noting the interruption.  "Geez, you'd think they'd've learned to make a sandwich by now."

Joyce chuckled, amused at how perplexed Max looked at something so simple.  "They do both know how to make sandwiches.  I just enjoy doing it from time to time."

"Why?" Max asked again.

Joyce lifted her shoulders as she packed the food into brown paper sacks.  "I guess it's just a Mom thing."

Max's frown deepened.

The rumble of footsteps on the stairs drew Joyce's attention to the doorway.  She stepped out from behind the island just as her daughters stampeded through the kitchen.  They each grabbed one of the sacks from her and offered a quick hug and kiss and an even quicker goodbye as they rushed out the back door.  "Have a great day!" Joyce called behind them as the door shut.  She turned back, only to find Max had disappeared.  She glanced around the kitchen, seeing no sign of the girl. 

Joyce sighed.  "Well, that went well," she said to the empty kitchen, and left to get ready for work.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


When Joyce returned in the afternoon, she found a surprise in the living room.  Max was sitting cross-legged on the floor, with what looked to be nearly every photo album in the house spread out around her.  Every surface available – chairs, couch, television, coffee table, floor, Max's lap – was in use.  "What are you doing?" Joyce asked curiously.

Max glanced up from the pictures she was looking at.  "I found these," she said.

Joyce narrowed her eyes slightly, examining Max's expression, trying to determine what lay behind the mask.  "They were in the upstairs closet," Joyce said carefully.

"That's where I found most of them," Max agreed.  "I also found four in the attic, two in Buffy's bedroom, and five under your bed."

Joyce almost choked trying to hold her laughter in.  Max's sheer audacity was almost unbelievable.  "Under my bed."

Max looked up, a mischievous twinkle in her eye.  "Don't worry.  I remember where they all go.  I'll make sure they get back to the correct places."

This time, Joyce didn't hold back her laughter.  She knelt down and sat right next to Max on the floor, moving a small stack of albums to make room.   Looking at the pictures in front of them, she smiled fondly as she said, "I remember this.  Our first Christmas in Sunnydale.  Buffy would have been fifteen and Dawn would have been nine at the time."

Max stiffened in her place.  "Nine.  It always seems to be nine at the time," she whispered quietly.  Only my life had barely started at nine.  Pushing down the twisting feelings in her stomach at the thought, she looked at Joyce.  "Where's the man?" she asked.

"The man?"

Max pulled over another album and flipped open a particular page.  The picture was of a tall man with a squarish face topped by dirty blonde hair.  His smile was soft, and kind as he looked at his young daughters.

Joyce nodded.  "That's Hank."  She paused and then added, "My ex-husband… the girls' father.  We divorced shortly before moving here."

Max shrugged, not really caring, only satisfying the vague curiosity.  Not having had a biological father, Max really had no frame of reference for what one of those might be like.  "There's got to be a billion pictures of the same thing here.  I think if you stack the pictures in these three pages and flip through them quickly, you'll get the animated version of Dawn unwrapping a stereo."

Joyce laughed.  "So I'm snap happy."

"Why don't you get rid of some of them?  You'd save some space."

Joyce was at first taken aback at the question, but a quick glance at Max proved that the question had been asked in all seriousness.  "I couldn't imagine getting rid of any of them.  It would be like trying to get rid of a memory."  She continued to look at Max as confusion shifted across the young woman's face.  "You do have photographs—"

"Of course we have photographs.  They're expensive as hell to take, but people still take them.  Several of my friends are quite 'snap happy' as well, as you put it.  But they only take pictures of what matters."

Joyce put a hand over Max's, to stop her from turning the page.  "Exactly, Max.  It matters.  This is not just for me, but for them as well."  She looked at Max, and found herself gazing into the old, tired eyes of someone who had seen too much, and didn't need photographs to remember.

Joyce pulled over another book, in an effort to distract Max from whatever thoughts she was having.  She laughed as the page she turned to had images of her pregnant, dressed as a  pumpkin for Halloween.  "Oh, dear.  That's one I haven't seen in a long time."  As she began to explain the picture, she noticed Max begin to smile.

They had been looking at the pictures for over an hour when the front door opened and Buffy called out, "Mom!  We're home!"  She, Dawn, and Logan entered the doorway of the living room and stopped short at the sight of Joyce and Max surrounded by the albums.  Buffy groaned, "Oh, God, Mom.  Tell me you aren't torturing Max with baby pictures."

Joyce put a hand on Max's shoulder as her rigid posture became more rigid.  "Buffy, don't be rude.  We're just looking through a few pictures."

As Buffy saw the slight downcast look on Max's face, she realized that she had been rude.  "Oh.  A few.  Well, that's okay then.  I was just worried that Max would start going brain dead from all the pictures of me and Dawn in our first school plays.  I mean, there are only so many times you can look at pictures of kids dressed as apples."

Dawn looked at Buffy and said haughtily, "I was a cuter apple."

Buffy rolled her eyes.  "You used my old costume.  We looked the same."

"I still say I was cuter."

"And I think you had worms."

Max snickered.  "Joyce, I don't think we saw the apple pictures yet."

Both Dawn and Buffy leapt at an album on the coffee table and crossed their arms protectively over it.  "Don't look at it, Max," Dawn pleaded.  "We'll pay you anything if you don't look at anything from when we were in school."

Max opened her mouth to begin haggling, but Joyce interrupted.  "Speaking of school, did you get all your homework done while you were at the Magic Box, Dawn?"

Dawn sighed.  "Almost all.  Except for math.  We've started this new section and—"

"Can I take a look at it?"  Max asked.

Dawn nodded and pulled her textbook out of her book bag.  "Knock yourself out," she said, flipping it open to the correct section.

Max frowned at the title of the chapter and flipped the book open to the indicated pages.  Her jaw dropped.  "This is it?!" she exclaimed.

Logan and Joyce both laughed at the look on Dawn's face.

"What do you mean 'this is it?'" Dawn repeated.  "Of course this is it.  It's horrible."

"But… it's so…" Max stopped, not wanting to hurt her young friend.

Dawn crossed her arms.  "So what?"

"Easy!" Max blurted.

Dawn opened her mouth to complain, but Logan stopped her with a raised hand .  "Max," he began.  "Did you ever actually go to school?"

"No," she answered.  At the silence in the room, Max turned and saw all of the Summers' staring at her gape jawed.  "What?" she asked.

"That is so awesome," Dawn said.  "Mom, if she never went to school, I don't think I should have to either."

"You, hush," Joyce demanded.  She turned back to Max.  "How did you get away with never going to school?"

Max looked at Logan before replying.  "Well, when I… left… Manticore, it was three months before the Pulse hit.  A couple months later, I'd gotten… in with the Department of Children and Family Services and was placed with a foster family.  I was only with them for a month when the Pulse came and the country took a dive."

"But there still must have been schools after that.  You didn't go at all then?" Joyce asked.

"Who was going to make me?" Max replied.

"Your foster family?"

Max snorted.  "That was a bad deal from start to finish.  Been there, done that, never looked back."

"But… who took care of you?" Dawn asked softly.

Max shrugged.  "I didn't – and don't – need anyone to take care of me.  I take care of myself.  It was a pretty selfish time, after the Pulse… anybody who had the means to help was too busy trying to keep what they had to notice or care that there was one more street rat in the alley outside their door."

Max may have acted flippant, but Joyce could hear the pain in her voice, and knew that there was more to the story than what she claimed.

Buffy's mind, however, was on a different wavelength.  "Three months, one month.  That was all you two were talking about when Logan cooked that night?  Geez, the way you two sounded, you'd have thought you were guarding a military secret."

Max and Logan both grinned.  "We were," Logan said simply.  "We couldn't tell you about Manticore.  Not yet," he pointed out.  "Aside from that, I was curious as to why Max found so much of this time unfamiliar."

"And I basically told him that I wasn't in this world as long as he thought.  And the world I was in was backwoods Wyoming.  Even if there was time for me to check things out, there was nothing there to check out."

"But you still didn't go to school," Dawn said enviously.

"Get off it, Dawn," Buffy told her younger sister.

"Maybe you should go," Joyce said, an idea forming.

Max was quiet for a minute.  Her eyes flashed for an instant before her face iced over, the soldier-mask sliding into place.  She stood and stonily declared, "I'll get my stuff."

Joyce looked at her blankly, and then her eyes widened in shock.  "No, no!  Max, I meant to school!  Tomorrow, with Dawn.  I'm sure if I called, they would love to have you as a guest," Joyce said.

"Oh.  You want me to go to school."

Logan looked at her and smiled at the mystified look on Max's face.  "I think it's an excellent idea, Max.  It'd be fun for you."

Max shrugged.  "Okay.  Why not?  I can handle school."

Joyce smiled.  "I'll go call the office right now.  It's early enough that someone should still be there."  She stood and quickly left the room.

Logan looked at Max and studied her face.  She seemed mildly perplexed at the fact that her entire next day had seemed to have just been planned for her.

"Hey! Did these come from my room?" Buffy exclaimed, picking up a pair of albums.

Max smiled swiftly.  "Don't worry.  I'll put them back."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

February 16, 2001

Joyce took a sip of her coffee as she watched Max.  The odd thing was, she didn't think the girl noticed.  And if that isn't ironic, I don't know what is.

Max's normally perfect posture seemed slightly bent, as though there was a weight resting on her shoulders.  She sat with one hand under the dining room table, while the other slowly stirred and gently stabbed at a bowl of oatmeal.  She seemed listless as she finally scooped up a bite, which nearly made it to her mouth before she stopped and let it plop back into the bowl.

Joyce couldn't take it anymore.  She moved from the doorway over to Max and gently placed a hand to her forehead.

Max jerked her head away in surprise.  "What are you doing?" she asked.

"In all the time you've been here, I have never seen you pick at your food.  Let me see your eyes," Joyce commanded.  When Max began to turn away, Joyce took her chin with one hand and turned her face.  She looked at Max's dark eyes, which had widened in shock.  "Not  glassy," Joyce murmured to herself, sliding the hand from Max's chin first to her cheek, and then back to her forehead.  She could feel Max tense briefly and then relax.  "You're a little warm," Joyce commented.

Max frowned and let go of her spoon, bringing her right hand up to her face.  "No," she corrected.  "I'm fine.  That's normal."

"Hmm."  Joyce regarded Max.  "I guess you would know," she said as she turned towards the kitchen.  She turned back  "You have beautiful eyes.  But I guess you would know that, too."  She turned and walked into the kitchen before she could see the puzzlement in Max's features.  "Try to eat something," she called from the other room.

Max sighed.  She still didn't understand what made the people here say and do the things they did.  It was nice, but confusing.  She scooped up some oatmeal and took a quick bite.  She looked over shoulder, checking to make sure Joyce was out of sight, and then pulled her left hand from underneath the table.  As she watched it shake, she knew she was anything but fine.  She reached out with her right hand and picked up the glass of milk she had poured and took a long drink.  She heard footsteps on the stairs, and quickly hid her hand again. 

Dawn appeared in the doorway, saying, "You're still eating?  Do you want to be late for your first day of class?"  She paused.  "God, I sound like Mom."

Max laughed softly.  "No, I'm done."  She picked up her glass and bowl, relieved to note that the tremors in her hand had stopped.  She carried the dishes into the kitchen, trying to not to look at Joyce as she did so.  She began to head out the back door, when Joyce's voice stopped her.

"Max," Joyce said, waiting for her to turn.  She held out a brown paper sack.  "Don't forget your lunch."  Max smiled as she took the bag, and Joyce stubbornly resisted the urge to touch her face again, or give her a hug.  "I'll pick you girls up after school.  Have a great day." 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


As Dawn and Max entered the school building, they were met with a cacophony of chatter and slamming lockers.  Max glanced around at the colorful array of students, feeling a bit homesick as an image of the colorful Jam Pony crew drifted through her mind.  She shook it off as Dawn tugged on her sleeve.

"Come on.  We have to stop in the main office first to get you all signed in."

"Signed in?" Max repeated.

"Yeah," Dawn said.  "They like to know who's here, just in case.  So if you spray paint the building or something, they'd know who to come after."

Max smiled at the thought.  "They'd have to find me first."

Dawn held the door to the office open for Max, and they both entered.  The secretary looked up from her desk and gave both a broad, cheerful smile.  "Hello, Dawn.  I'm so glad you're here.  When your mother called us yesterday and said you'd be bringing your cousin in I thought, 'I bet she'll be just like Dawn.'  And you are!"

Max slowly turned to look at Dawn.  Dark brown eyes met pale blue.  Dawn had worn a long sleeved cream colored shirt with a thick brown stripe around the waist, and pants that matched.  She'd French braided her long, straight, light brown hair.  Max had worn her usual black jeans and a black biker jacket.  For a change of pace, she'd worn a blue shirt.  Her dark hair curled slightly were it sat just past her shoulders.  The only thing they really had in common was their height. 'Cousin?' she mouthed to Dawn. 

Dawn shrugged and turned back.  "Mrs. Thompson, this is my cousin, Max…"  Dawn's mouth hung open as she realized she didn't know what else to say.

"Guevara," Max supplied.  "Max Guevara.  Nice to meet you," she added.

"Guevara," Mrs. Thompson repeated, sticking out her hand.

Max looked down at the proffered handshake, and then looked back up.

Mrs. Thompson slowly withdrew her hand.  "I expected 'Summers.'  How are the two of you related?"

"Um… we're… well, it's like— uh," Dawn stammered. 

"Dawn's father's eldest sister is the niece of my mother's mother's brother," Max answered smoothly.

"Oh," Mrs. Thompson said, smiling.  Then the smile faded as she tried to trace that path in her mind.  Her fingers moved as she started to count something before she giving up and smiling again.  She slid a binder across her desk and held out a pen to Max.  "Well, all I need you to do, dear, is to sign in here.  I've got a Visitor's Pass already made out for you." 

Max took the pen and hesitated before sloppily signing her name.  Mrs. Thompson handed her the pass, which Max put in one of her pockets.  "You two had better get going, or you'll be late for class."  She paused as a bell sounded.  "Whoops!  There's the bell!  Run along now.  Have fun, Max."

Max smiled warily as Dawn grabbed her arm and half dragged her out of the office.  When they reached the hall, they turned and walked quickly away, lest Mrs. Thompson find some reason to call them back in.  "Please tell me everyone here isn't like her," Max asked.

Dawn smiled.  "Not to worry… coz.  Most of the teachers here are pleasantly dull."

Max rolled her eyes.  "Remind me to thank your mom for that alibi."

Dawn put an arm around Max's shoulders.  "She's just looking out for you.  She likes you.  We all do."  She stopped at a locker, shoved her book bag inside, and pulled out some books.  Dawn grabbed Max's lunch and threw it in as well, just before she slammed the door shut.  She then pulled Max by the arm as they rushed through the halls.

Max sighed softly, the corners of her mouth turning upwards.  "Well, I like you guys too.  I think."  Her smile became broader as Dawn laughed.  "So what's first?"

Dawn sobered up with the unfortunate reminder.  "Math," she said shortly.  She stopped in front of a door.  "Here we go," she said, pulled open the door, and walked in.

Max followed closely behind, and stopped short.  The room was crowded with rows of desk, all facing the front of the room.  Her breath caught in her throat as her mind flashed back to Manticore. 

There was a chill in the room.  Whether that was the natural state of that place, or whether it was to give the trainers some subtle psychological advantage, it didn't matter.  What mattered was that they sat with perfect posture, arms on the table surfaces with elbows at ninety degree angles and hands flat against the top.  Their bare feet were always flat against the cold concrete floor.  Any twitch, any movement for any reason, could spell punishment.

Max quickly blinked away the memory as she realized someone was talking to her.  "I'm sorry.  What?"

The teacher smiled at her.  "I said I'm Mr. McDaniels.  We're happy to have you visiting our class today."

"Oh.  I mean.  Thank you.  It's nice to be here.  I'm Max."  She ignored Dawn's puzzled frown.

He nodded.  "Max," he repeated.  "Well, Max, we don't have any extra desks, but when I heard you would be joining our class today, I brought a chair in."  He pointed towards the back of the room.

Max sighed in relief.  "I'd rather sit in a chair anyway."  She moved to the chair and watched as Dawn took her place among the other students.  She couldn't help but notice that several members of the male contingent in the classroom had turned around and were staring at her.  Max raised an eyebrow at the frank appraisal of young men who were too young, and therefore too dumb, to hide their stares.

"Eyes front, people," the teacher called to the class.  "There will be plenty of time at lunch to introduce yourselves to Dawn's cousin."  The boys simultaneously blushed and whipped their heads forward, trying to pretend like they weren't the ones Mr. McDaniels had caught looking.

The process of the class was interesting.  Max didn't think she'd be as absorbed in the lesson as she was, considering the material being taught was below an elementary level— to her, at least.  As she watched the students participate in a discussion about solving area equations, she began to wonder about her own knowledge.  When did I learn Math?  She had no memory of anyone sitting her down and teaching her to add or multiply or calculate pi.  Manticore must have drilled it into her somehow, but it was probably at such an early age, that it was pushed far away in her mind.

Laughter from the class broke Max's reverie.  The teacher had used what Max assumed to be a popular teen music group from that period to illustrate a problem, resulting in a discussion about how much area five dancing band members would cover in a year of concerts.  Odd way to learn, but if it worked…

The bell rang, and the students leaped from their seats, quickly gathering their books as they scattered out the door as quickly as possible.  Dawn stood a little slower as she turned to look at Max.  "Ready for the next class?"

Max blinked and looked up at the clock on the wall.  "It's been over an hour!" she exclaimed in amazement.

"Well, yeah.  Class is long.  Especially since we're on a rotational schedule.  We don't have as many classes in a day, but we've got to sit more."

Max nodded, acting like she understood the difference when in reality, she had no clue.  "Now what?"

"We get fifteen minutes between classes, and then we're going to literature."

"Sounds fun," Max said.

Literature was actually similar in tone to Math.  Max was relieved that she didn't have to sit in a desk in that room either.  The thought of sitting in one of those traps… it creeped her out. Max started to find her mind wandering again.  This time, it was because she was caught up in the story that the students were reading: selections from Le Morte D'Arthur.  They went around the room, each reading a paragraph or two aloud.  Max was fascinated as she heard a tale of a grand castle called Camelot that a king brought his new queen home to.  She could only imagine that the knights in shining armor and other enchanted beings that also lived there had lives full of fantasy and romance, instead of pain and death.

Original Cindy had once told her to read the story, that it was better than any two bit trash book she could pick up in the few post-pulse bookstores.  Max had searched halfheartedly, but never found it and never found the time to ask someone about it.  Now she was seeing that she should have.  Or hearing, rather.  Fifteen minutes before the end of class, Max was disappointed to see everyone set aside their books.  They had been instructed to write in their journals the feelings that had been evoked while reading.  Max thought she could fill an entire journal with what she had heard that day alone.

Dawn had been worried that Max would find the day boring, in comparison to what a day in the future must be like.  But as they walked the halls, she was pleased to see Max enjoying herself.  Normally, she, or they rather, would be sitting in study hall.  And sitting.  And sitting.  One "class" that really had no other purpose than to let students get caught up on homework or other projects.  But when Max and Dawn walked into the room, and the eyes of every young guy in the room bugged out of their heads.  Mrs. Davis' eyes, however, merely rolled heavenward.   "You know what?  I think it might be a good idea if you gave your cousin a school tour."  She lowered her voice and leaned close to Dawn.  "Just to save her from dealing with all the testosterone."

Max, hearing all that just fine, desperately tried not laugh out loud as she followed Dawn back out the door.

 They visited the library, the gym, and the grounds of the school.  More importantly, they talked.  Dawn had recalled Max's offer from before, of being willing to at least listen to any questions the girl had.  Dawn smiled, thinking that she had caught Max in an answering mood.  They mostly talked about what life was like – would be like – in Max's time.  Max spoke in vague terms when necessary, and Dawn understood the reasons for that.  But there was still enough detail that she hung on every word.

Max even got brave and spoke a little on the past when Dawn asked.  Max told her, "I was thinking earlier that I don't really remember learning the basics like numbers and learning how to read.  It's certainly not something you can get from your genes.  DNA doesn't know English from Spanish after all.  All I can figure was that it was like a lot of the other things we learned.  Rote teaching."

Dawn knew that there was probably more to it than that, but decided that it would be best to take everything Max said as a simple truth and didn't really need expanding questions.  So she took the conversation a different way as they strolled outside.  "Was there anything you liked doing there?  At Man— Manicore?" Dawn asked, struggling to remember the name she had heard.

"Manticore," Max corrected.  She was silent for a moment as she pondered the question.  She smiled.  "The equivalent would be gymnastics drills.  I love to jump and flip.  To be as high as possible."  She tipped her head back to the sky and threw her arms out like wings.  "To fly."

Dawn could hear the exhilaration rising in Max's voice with even those few words.  "Airplane DNA?" Dawn asked smartly.

Max laughed, feeling free.  "Who knows what they stirred up in the soup of me.  I mean, come on.  What could they possibly have been thinking when they—"  She stopped speaking suddenly as she stumbled, a wave of dizziness washing through her head and crashing over her body.

Dawn brought her arms up quickly to steady Max.  Her friend had gone from fine to not in the blink of an eye.  "Are you okay?"  Dumb question, Dawn, she chastised herself.

Max shook her head sharply to clear the dizziness from her brain.  Oddly enough, it seemed to work.  Kind of.  "Yeah, I think so," she said carefully.  She realized she was leaning on Dawn and carefully extricated herself from the girl's arms.  "I just got a little dizzy is all.  I'm fine now."

Dawn sighed with relief.  "Well, as long as you're okay.  You're probably just hungry.  We can go back inside now.  It's almost lunchtime."

"Yeah, I think that's a good idea.  Lunch."  She followed Dawn to her locker and got out the bag that Joyce had packed.  She peeked inside and smiled.  "Peanut butter and jelly?"

Dawn chuckled.  "Favorite lunch of high school students everywhere.  We'll get some milk in the cafeteria."

That statement relieved Max more than Dawn could possibly know.  And brought Max's mind back to the previous moment.  She touched Dawn on the arm, growing serious.  She looked down for a second, in a brief prayer that the girl would help her.  "About earlier, when I…" She stopped, took a breath, and continued.  "Would you mind keeping that between the two of us?  I just… I don't want Logan to know.  He worries," she tried to explain.

Dawn nodded, in complete understanding.  "Mom worries about me, too.  I won't tell."

Max put a friendly arm around Dawn's shoulders.  "I believe you were about to show me the cafeteria."

"I knew there was a reason you wanted to come to school.  New source of food," Dawn groused, rolling her eyes.

The cafeteria was just as chaotic as the halls, only louder.  Max and Dawn walked through the lunch line to quickly grab a couple cartons of milk each and then went to join a small table with several girls sitting around it.

"Max, this is Elizabeth and Chantal, a couple of my friends.  Guys, this is my cousin, Max," Dawn introduced, taking a seat.

"Hi," the girls said in unison, trying to give secret glares to Dawn for bringing an adult in their midst.

Max raised an eyebrow at them, realizing that she was being considered an interloper.  So she ignored the looks and grabbed one of the chairs, swinging it around to straddle it backwards.  "Nice to meet a pair of coz's peeps."

The girls blinked and looked at each other, then to Dawn.  "We didn't know you had a cousin," Elizabeth said.

"And you sure didn't tell us she was cool," Chantal added.

Both Dawn and Max grinned.  "We're kind of distant cousins," Dawn admitted to them.  Really, really, really, really distant.

"But, thanks to Dawn here, I've got some decent clothes to wear while I'm in town.  The airline somehow managed to swing with my luggage.  Sista girl here hooked me up at the mall.  Knew all the chillin' places to go.  It was a bitch replacing it all, but it gave me and Dawn chance to kick it."  Max laid the slang on a little thicker than usual and the effect the effort had on Dawn was apparent. 

Dawn seemed happier.  Max kept playing up her unusualness to Dawn's friends, sensing that made them more impressed with Dawn somehow.  Whack teenage logic, probably.  But while she listened to the other girls talk about a couple of the guys in their class, her attention was drawn to another conversation in the cafeteria.

"I don't know what trash heap Dawn pulled that ho out of, but it's rather distracting when all the guys around are busy throwing their eyeballs at that chick's chest," Max heard a high-pitched female voice say.  "I mean, come on.  She looks like some skanky biker chick or something.  And nobody comes by those looks naturally.  They only come with lots of good surgery.  Dawn better hope that wherever she bought her cousin, they take returns."

Max slowly twisted her spine in a stretch that turned her line of sight towards the speaker.  She saw a teenager with golden blonde hair and looks that could only be described as prissy.  "Who's that?" she asked the group.

All three girls at the table sighed simultaneously.  "That's Kirsti," Elizabeth told Max.

"Possibly the biggest bee-atch in this entire school," Chantal added.

"Nobody important," Dawn threw in, with a hint of bitterness in her voice.

"Uh huh."  Max looked away from the bitch princess as the bell rang.  "Come on.  We gotta bounce."  They began to leave the cafeteria when she told Dawn, "Hold up outside.  I'm going to grab another milk real quick."  She watched Dawn until she was out the door, and then went to get a carton.  Right before she left the cafeteria, she took a detour by Kirsti, who had stood to take her tray to the cleaning cart.  As Max walked by, she causally slid one heel backwards and to the side.  When she felt her foot make contact with Kirsti's, she gave it a quick jerk.

Kirsti fell forward.  Unable to stop her momentum, she tumbled to the floor, landing directly on her tray.  As the entire cafeteria erupted in laughter, she quickly stood up and looked down at her blouse, which had salad dressing stains all over it.  Her face turned bright red as she tried to scream over the din, "Who did this to me?!"

Outside the cafeteria, Dawn watched Max casually step out of the cafeteria, finishing off a carton of milk.  "That was fun," she said over the laughter emerging from within.

Dawn frowned.  "What's everyone laughing about?"

Max shrugged innocently.  "I don't know.  Think someone tripped."

"That's all it'll take to set people off around here.  Some people are so childish," she said primly.

Max couldn't help but agree.  "So… next?"

"Art."

"Art?  What's the point of teaching you that?" Max asked in confusion.

Dawn furrowed her brow.  "A point? To art?  You are familiar with art, right?"

"Of course I am," Max replied indignantly.  "I'm completely familiar with Picasso, Monet, and all sorts of dead folks like that.  You don't get very far as a thief if you don't know what you're selling."

Dawn blinked at Max's audacity.  She remarked, "You're very straightforward, aren't you?  You don't hide who you are."

"I hide plenty," Max said with a smile.  "But there's no point in fronting on the little stuff.  All that is, is me surviving, Dawn.  Nothing less, nothing more."

"I get that."  Dawn looked down for a moment.  "Thanks for not… not treating me like, well, a kid.  Like I'm too young to hear things."

"I'm not gonna take you out to find you a whisky and a lay, Dawn.  But, like I said, no point."  Max ended the conversation succinctly as they entered a room filled with easels rather than the usual desks. 

After another round of introductions, Max found herself staring at one of those easels.  She'd expected to observe, like the other classes.  However, a piece of graphite was placed in her hands and she was gently directed to where she now stood.  "Draw your spirit," had been the instructions.  My spirit, she thought, not without a touch of sadness.  How can I draw something I'm not even sure I have?

She glanced to the side, trying to see what Dawn and some of the other students were drawing.  To her eye, they weren't drawing much.  Mostly abstract shapes and haphazard shadows.  No help there.  She rolled the graphite between her fingers, watching as her skin blackened with the dust from the carbon.  She moved the graphite to her other hand as she tried to rub her fingers to get the dust off.  It just seemed to stick even better.  Frowning, she tried to wipe a finger on the canvas.  The dust didn't come completely off, but it did make an interesting streak.

Max tilted her head at the sight of the streak.  Somehow, it seemed to take on a shape of its own.  She rubbed more of the graphite on her fingers, and began to add more streaks.  Time somehow began to shift away from her, and all that was in front of her was her work.

"That's really good," Dawn said from over her shoulder. 

Max blinked out of her reverie and looked at what she had drawn.  It wasn't necessarily outstanding, but neither was it bad.  Her finger smudges had taken on the shapes of feathers, and the feathers converged to form a single wing, appearing out of a shadow.

Dawn leaned a little closer to the picture.  She pointed to a spot.  "You didn't draw all the way through here.  It's disconnected."

Max ran a finger along the edge of the white line that cut across the wing.  Broken.  A piece detached from the whole.  Appropriate.  She tried to think of some kind of response to Dawn's words, but failed and settled for a one-shouldered shrug.  Luckily, the bell rang, saving her from explanation.

"Well, I have to turn my picture in, but you can keep yours," Dawn said.

Max glanced over at Dawn's drawing.  "It looks like lint," she stated, before realizing that the words may not have been the best to say.

Dawn took Max's comment in stride, looking at the fuzzy ball she had drawn.  "Closest I could get." 

They both grabbed their drawings, Dawn placing hers on the teacher's desk, and they left the room.  They stopped by Dawn's locker to drop off Max's drawing and to pick up a book.  Dawn sighed with relief.  "Almost done, Max.  All that's left is biology."

"Biology.  How bad can that be?"

Dawn smiled.  "Congratulations.  You've almost survived your first day of school."

"Piece of cake," Max said as they walked into the next classroom.

Meet the Teacher, Round four, Max thought.  This time, however, was a little different… 

"Is that short for Maxine?" Mr. Alsach asked.

"Uh, not really," Max responded.  "It's just Max."

"Max Guevara," Dawn added helpfully.

"Well, Max Guevara, welcome to Eighth Grade Biology.  Have a seat."  He gestured towards the rear of the classroom.  "Lisa, would you mind moving so Max could sit by Dawn?  Thanks."

Max watched a girl get up from her seat and move to an empty desk .  Her stomach churned as she realized where she would have to sit.

"If you want to have a seat there, Max, we can get on with the fun," Mr. Alsach said cheerfully.

Max nodded, and walked towards the desk.  The closer she got, the bigger it seemed to get, as though it would swallow her whole.  She reached out a tentative hand and touched the surface of the desktop.  She wasn't sure if it was her imagination or not, but she thought the surface felt cold.  She glanced up from it and saw Dawn turning and looking at her with a puzzled expression on her face.  Max shook her head slightly and slid into the seat.  She gritted her teeth against the instinct that made her automatically press her hands flat against the top.  Instead, she pulled her hands into fists, and waited for the lecture to begin.

Mr. Alsach walked to the front of the room.  "All right students, today we continue the exploration of the human body," he said, ignoring the snickers of several students.  He started writing on the blackboard.  "Last time we were talking about how respiration is an autonomic process.  We all have to breathe.  We know this.  Your body knows this, too."  Control, he underlined on the board.  "But even though it's autonomic, we have some control as well."

The room slowly spun away.  The children and the desks dimmed in her vision, and all that was left was her… and him… and the word.

"Control!  You have no control!  There is no you!  There is only your unit.  The only control you have is over the decisions you make for the benefit of your unit."

Max stared at him in shock and fear.  She wanted to run, but her hands and feet were rooted in position.  Looking down, she saw that her fingers had flattened themselves again.  I can't move!  Why am I here? Control.  They have control.  No, I have control.  Stop thinking of them as separate creatures, Max.  They're your hands.

She stared at her hands, and was relieved to see her fingers twitch, and then bend.  She heard laughter.  This isn't right.  There is no laughter here.

"SO, now that I've got my intro out of the way, we'll continue on to the real joy of science."  He patted a projector at the front of the room and waved off the groans.  "Slideshows!  Every teacher's favorite torture method."

Max watched him push the projector towards the middle of the classroom. 

"Jeff, can you hit the lights?" the teacher asked a student in the front corner.  He flipped the switch on the projector and spoke as the screen flashed to life.  He read off the slide, "The Respiratory System: Breathe It or Not."

The room seemed to tunnel around her again, until all that was in her vision was the screen.  Colors bled away, until only shades of grey existed.  Max saw other words.

Slide... flash 

Determination. 

Flash. 

Teamwork. 

Another.

Life is Manticore.

Max drew a sharp breath and tried to force the images away.  Somewhere, a distant voice was talking about the passage of air through the nose and into the lungs.  She tried to focus on his words, but with each successive click of the slides, X5-452 was pulled further and further into the past.

Hours of continuation… the only movement, a change of images

Loyalty.

Cold.  Still air.  And flash.

Know your enemy.

Flattened palms… straightened spines.  Cold concrete.  And grey.

Without Manticore, you are nothing.

The teacher continued on for several minutes, oblivious.  When he finished the lesson, he walked over to turn the lights back on.  "Okay, now that we've finished the wonderful world of air, next week we'll be moving on to—"  He paused and blinked as he turned back to the room and saw that one desk was empty.  "To water.  Or rather, the passage thereof.  I'll leave it to your teenage imaginations to fill in the blanks for which body system is left.  We've got a few minutes before school lets out for the day, so if you want to get a jump start on the assignment, here's your chance."

Dawn turned to say something to Max.  Her jaw dropped as she saw Max was gone.  Max would have needed to walk up to the front of the room to get out, but apparently no one, including Dawn, had noticed.  Dawn heard a tap on her desktop and looked up to see Mr. Alsach standing there.

He cocked his head towards the door.  "Why don't you go see what happened?  School's almost out, so why don't you go ahead and take your stuff."

Dawn nodded, picked up her stuff,  and tried not to rush out of the room.  The halls were still empty, since everyone in the school was still in class – or should have been in class.  Not really sure where to look first, she decided to start at her locker.  Which was exactly where she found Max.

Max was sitting cross-legged on the floor, in front of the locker next to Dawn's, elbows on her knees and chin resting on her fists.  She stared at the wall opposite her.

Dawn approached quietly.  "Max?" she said softly.

Max took a deep breath and continued staring into space.  "I'm done.  I'm not going back there."

Dawn was silent for a moment, taking in the paleness of Max's face.  Then she nodded timidly.  "It's okay.  We can leave."  Max didn't move.  "Max… are you okay?"

Max continued to stare.  "I need to get out."

Dawn kept a worried eye on Max as she slowly opened her locker and packed her book bag with homework.  She also picked up Max's drawing, since she didn't think Max herself would remember.  She shut the locker gently, not wanting to startle the other girl.  A futile move, since the bell did it for her.

Max clamored to her feet in a smooth, quick move, crossing her arms in front of her chest and trying not to look at the students flooding out of the classrooms.  She turned sharply on one heel, and began walking towards the main doors of the school.  Her voice was flat and emotionless as she asked over her shoulder, "Do I have to sign out?"

"No, I— I don't think so," Dawn said, still trying to figure out what had happened to upset Max so badly.  They walked out of the building together, quickly spotting Joyce parked amid the slew of other people picking up students. 

When they reached the car, Dawn pulled open the back door and threw her bag inside, gently setting the drawing on top.  Max didn't touch the front door.  She stood outside staring at the handle.  She vaguely heard Joyce speaking and looked up.

"Max, are you going to get in?" Joyce asked, her brows knit together in concern.

Max was mute for another moment before she answered.  "Actually, I think I need to take a little walk.  I'll meet up at the Magic Box later."  Without waiting for a response, she turned and quickly walked away.

Both Joyce and Dawn watched in astonishment as Max's pace carried her swiftly through the crowd and away down the road.   Oddly enough, she wasn't headed toward home or the Magic Box.  Dawn finally shut the back door and sat in the front.  Joyce turned to her youngest daughter and asked, "Did something happen?"

Dawn shook her head.  "I don't know.  I don't think so.  She seemed to be okay, but…"  Dawn stopped as she remembered her promise.  She figured that "Don't tell Logan" actually included her mom as well.  "I thought she was having fun, but I guess not," she finished.

Joyce frowned, but turned the car on and drove away.  She soon pulled up in front of the Magic Box, put on the brake, and looked at Dawn.  "Have fun.  Give Buffy my love and I'll see you this evening."

Dawn opened the car door saying, "Okay, Mom.  See you later."  She hopped out, but paused in her walk and turned back.  "Mom…"

Joyce nodded.  "I'll find her."

Dawn sighed with relief.  "Thanks."

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Joyce found Max quicker than she expected.  She knew it was probably because the girl wouldn't have thought anyone would look for her.  Joyce tried to quell the rising anger she felt at that thought – anger at whoever would have tortured a child so much that it resonated through every action made by the adult she had become.  She slowed down as she drove up behind Max, who had kept walking slowly in the direction she had started. 

Max looked at the car as Joyce pulled up next to her and rolled down the passenger window. 

"Get in the car." 

Max tilted her head warily, but didn't respond. 

"Get in the car," Joyce repeated. 

Max slowly stepped to the door, grasped the handle, and after taking a moment to compose herself, got in.

Joyce started driving.  Max looked at her in surprise when she didn't go back towards the house or town, but instead went in the direction Max had been walking.  "Where are we going?" she asked.

The blonde woman didn't answer.  Instead, she took a turn and started driving down another road.  "Sunnydale was founded by a group of Spanish missionaries.  They originally called it 'La Boca del Infierno.'"

"The mouth of hell," Max translated.  "Looks like they had the 411 on this place.  So why did they stay here?"

Joyce shrugged.  "Who knows?  Why do you want to go back to your Seattle, even though life is so much more difficult there?"

Max sighed, "Because it's home.  It's what I know."  She rested her head against the window.

"Probably the same for them, too."  Joyce continued, almost rambling as she mentioned a few more of the historical facts, landmarks, and even current events of the town.  She kept her voice quiet, soft.  Comforting.  She looked out the corner of her eye as Max took a deep breath and let her eyes slowly drift close. 

Joyce stopped talking as she pulled up to a high point with a beautiful view that overlooked the town.  She cut off the engine and waited.

Max's entire body jerked as she sat up and looked around in confusion.  Wide-eyed she looked at Joyce.  "Where are we?"

Joyce shrugged.  "It doesn't really have a name, but the view is great.  Almost drifted off there, didn't you."

Max rubbed her eyes.  "Almost.  Why are we here?"

"Because I think you needed a little time to sort things out before dealing with the rabble at the Magic Box."

"They're waiting for me, aren't they?"  Max looked out the passenger window again.

"Probably," Joyce agreed.  She waited.

Max's head whipped around to look at her in irritation.  "So, what –  you've sent me to a corner until I can behave?"

Joyce had one daughter who had been a teen and another who was currently passing through that hellish stage.  Max didn't scare her.  "Don't take that tone with me," she replied severely.  "You can ask Buffy and Dawn.  I don't take attitude."

Max was dumbfounded.  "I didn't—"

"You did," Joyce interrupted.  "But that's okay.  I'll take it as a compliment.  For a whole five seconds, you were able to relax.  Ten if I count when you closed your eyes."

"Bonus points for that one," Max mumbled.

Joyce chuckled briefly, and then sobered again.  "It would have been okay not to go."

Max looked at her hands.  "I didn't realize… I mean I knew, but…" she took another breath.  "I thought it'd be fine."

"Were you that nervous this morning?" Joyce asked.

Max shook her head.  "No, I… I just wasn't hungry."

Joyce looked at Max, and could tell she was lying.  She started the car.  "Maybe when you can trust me more, you can tell me the truth."

Max closed her eyes again.  "Trust gets people hurt."

"People like you?"

"People like me," Max agreed.  "People like you, people like Logan—"

"Logan?" Joyce asked, fairly certain she knew what she was referring to.

"My fault," Max whispered.

Joyce was quite surprised by Max's admission, considering that Logan himself had said nothing like that.  "Is that why you've stayed close to him?"

Max hesitated.  "At first, yes.  Then a funny thing happened."

"He became your friend."

Max was quiet.  Joyce pulled out and began to drive back to town.  Max looked at the road ahead, thinking.  Finally, she said softly, "Yeah.  My friend."

Neither woman said anything for the rest of the drive.  They pulled up to the Magic Box and Joyce parked the car.  Both got out and headed to the main door, but Max stopped Joyce by lightly touching her arm.

Max swallowed, steeling herself.  "I want to trust you."

"And I want to know you," Joyce replied.  Max looked away.  "Max, you'll be going home.  It's not going to be as simple for us as writing a letter or picking up the phone.  We'll need to wait 20 years to even talk to you again.  Let's just say that I think we've got a lot of time to start making up for."  Joyce watched Max absorb that, and then slowly smile.  Truly smile.  The change completely lit her face, making her look… innocent.  Joyce smiled back at her.  "Let's go inside."


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Buffy looked up from the book she was examining as the bell over the door chimed.  She was flabbergasted to see her Mom enter the shop with Max in tow.  Her mother had never been one to just drop by.  Drop off, maybe.  Actually, she thought that, in a way, the place might wig Joyce out a bit. 

"Mom?  What are you doing here?"  Buffy glanced over at Dawn, who was sitting and working on her  homework.  Her Mom couldn't be there for family reasons so… "Everything okay?"

Joyce raised her eyebrows.  Buffy always seemed to be worrying about either her or Dawn.  "Everything's fine," she told her.  "I gave Max a lift and thought I'd drop in and see how everyone was doing."  She gave Dawn a hug and walked over to Buffy.

"Drop in?" Buffy repeated dumbly.

"Drop in."  Joyce gave her eldest a quick peck on the top of her head.  "Is it really so unusual?"

"Yes!"

Joyce laughed and looked back at Max, who seemed ill at ease.  She doesn't understand, does she?  "You've all spent so much time here lately.  You should think about doing something to relax."

"Like what?" Max asked.  "Last time we stopped to relax, we ended up here."  She walked over to where Logan was sitting with a stack of books and plunked herself down into a seat next to him.

"We should have a party," Dawn declared.

Max stared at her.  "A what?"

Buffy smiled.  "I like that idea.  We haven't had a party since, well… oh.  Well, that was…  Anyway, what do you think we should we celebrate?"  Her smile was a bit too brilliant, and there was a touch of panic in her eyes. 

"Well, Max and Logan have been here for a week," Giles began.

"Ooo!  Ooo!  I got it!" Willow exclaimed.  "We'll throw them an 'I Survived a Week on the Hellmouth' Party!"

Giles looked pained.  "That's… not quite what I had in mind."

"No, it's perfect!" Buffy enthused.  "That is definitely an event to celebrate around here.  Whaddya say, Mom?  Party at our place?"

Joyce nodded.  "Why not?  Why don't we make it an old-fashioned Sunday afternoon picnic?  Lots of food, games, conversation."

Logan turned to Max.  "In the mood for a party?"

She shrugged.  "Couldn't be any worse than the 'Normal has hives' parties we'd throw at Crash."

Logan chuckled, remembering one of those events that he'd attended.  Definitely couldn't be any worse.  "So who's going to man the grill?" he asked.  Logan slowly wilted under the heat of the glares from six pairs of female eyes.  He cleared his throat.  "Figuratively, I mean."

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