A/N: I do not speak Latin, unfortunately. If it's gibberish, blame the on-line translation software, not me.

*****

            The front door was open.

            Buffy didn't wait for Spike. She ran up the porch steps, taking them two at a time. "Spike, tell Dan to wait in the car."  Who knows what we'll find. Dawn and Giles could be… but probably not. It wants to play with us before it does anything… permanent.

            She ran through to door, tripping a little on the jam. "Giles? Dawn?" she called, scanning the living room before moving deeper into the house. "Hello?"

Skidding to a halt at the entrance to the kitchen, she felt relief settle over her for a moment. Giles sat at the island, his head on his arms, facing away from her. He was breathing, she noticed that first thing. He's okay.

"Giles," she said, stepping closer, then paused, sniffing. He wouldn't be…drinking? Now? No. Catching sight of the empty bottle of scotch and shot glass that sat on the counter in front of him, she groaned aloud. Oh. Great. That's great.

Going to the sink, she lifted a second bottle with her fingertips and set it beside a third on the counter. You'd think he'd be dead after drinking all this. I would be. Guess he's been at it for a few days. "Giles, c'mon, wake up. Where's Dawn?" She's been here all alone with no help because he decided to check out for the count. Anger stole her breath; she clenched her fists in an effort to keep from hitting him. "Giles!"

"He's sleeping on his watch? Not very… Watcher-like." Spike propped his shoulder against the doorframe, cocking his head at the scene. "Dawn?"

"I'm trying to find out." Taking hold of Giles' arms, she gave him a brisk shake and didn't stop until he stirred.

Lifting his head, he blinked at her with bloodshot eyes. "Buffy. You're here."

Hurray for the hung-over master of the obvious. "Giles? Dawn?"

        "Ehm, she… she's fine. Not home at the moment. Whenever the moment happens to be." Straightening in his seat, he yawned. "I don't remember falling asleep here."

Don't hit him. Don't do it. Too many other things to worry about. "The snakes?"

            He looked over his shoulder. "Down in the basement. Or, they were, last time I… I mean, before I…" Tapping the side of the glass, he shrugged. "They were there a while ago."

            "Before you got too sloshed to care?" Holding up a hand to ward off his weak negation, she opened the door to the basement and peered inside. Yep. Snakes. Lots and lots of them. She left the light off, feeling sick. Lots. And lots.

As she shut the door, Spike said to Giles, "You've been here for days with them and you didn't fight them?"

            "Fight thousands of garden snakes? With what? Wit and charm?"

            "Or the power of your manly, drunken glare." Spike moved farther into the room to stand at Buffy's side. "Smells like a bloody distillery in here."

            Ignoring their sniping, Buffy pushed her hair back from her face. "It's still all snakey down there. We've got work to do. Put some coffee on, get sober. Where is Dawn?"

            "At Janice's, sleeping over. I sent her there after you phoned." He waved towards the basement. "She didn't need to see this. Poor girl's been through enough."

            "Or that," Buffy said, pointing at the empty bottle. "She's seen enough of that, too."

            Giles didn't answer. He dropped his head into his heads and rubbed at his face with open palms. There was nothing ashamed or apologetic about him. Just tired. Tired, and very, very jaded. "Giles? Coffee?"

            "Right," he mumbled, sounding bewildered. "Coffee. What then?"

            "Books." At his dark look, she scowled. "Yeah, it's been a while. A long while, but now we have to go back to work. Come on. It's like falling off a horse. Or a bike. Or something. Just get back on. Go dig the books out of the attic. Research mode is what we do, remember?"

            "It's what we did," he corrected. He folded his arms over his chest in a gesture of self-protection. "Did, Buffy. And look where it got us. All the research. All the work, all the care…" Picking up his glass, he threw back his head and drained the last, lingering droplets of scotch down his throat. "Look where it got us all."

            She smothered her impatience, suppressed the sudden resurgence of her urge to hit him, and spoke through clenched teeth. "Just get the books. I know it… it sucks. We've been through enough. All of us. But Giles, you have to…" Get past it, she thought, closing her eyes to hide her anger. Don't feel like this. Be stronger. Be… Giles, my Watcher, again.

Opening her eyes, she reached towards him and covered his hand on the glass. She took it, holding his confused gaze. "You have to try. Please."

            Her quiet words seemed to spark something inside of him. His shoulders straightened almost imperceptivity, but it was enough, it was progress. "I'll do it."

            "Great." She rewarded him with a smile. "Set up command central in the dining room. Spike, go tell Old Dan where he can pick up Dawn."

            Giles looked back, halfway out of the kitchen. "Your friend Dan? You brought him here with you?"

            "He's taking Dawn out of town till this whole mess… demon thing… until it's over." Her hands skimmed down to search her pockets. Pulling out her cell phone, she gave it to Spike. "Tell him to give this to Dawn. I don't think the demon will follow her but just in case, she should be able to reach us and vice versa."

            Spike slipped it into his pocket. "You sure that's the best plan?"

            "Better than the alternative." She cast a glance towards the basement door. I can hear them down there, slithering. But they're not really snakes. And they're not really Willow. It's a demon, that's all. Just another demon, no different than any of the others. I can pull it together; I can win this, just like I've always done. Except this time, it's beyond personal. It's not Willow, it's not, but…Weariness bit at her, blackening the edges of her vision. God, I need a rest.

Motioning for Spike to follow her, she headed out toward the front door. "It doesn't want Dawn. It wants us. The Slayer, her Watcher… I don't know why, but we're gonna find out. When Dan's gone, check in with Giles. He'll need help pulling the books out of storage. Tell him everything you know about the demon. Tell him what it looked like- draw a picture if it'll help. Maybe we'll get lucky and Giles will recognize it off the top of his head." Doubt shadowed her last words. The old Giles would have, but this Giles...

            Spike led Buffy into the living room, bypassing the open front door. "First, let's you and I have a chat."

"Umm, okay. A quick one." Dan's waiting, but I guess that's okay. Dawn's safe enough at Janice's house for a little while and I… I need a minute. Maybe two. Maybe two hundred. Just enough time to pull my head together. "What is it?" 

 "Your Watcher's changed." Spike sat on the edge of the couch, asking her with a tilt of his head to sit beside him. "Not for the better."

            "We've all changed," Buffy replied, exhaling noisily. She flopped down beside him and extended her legs out in front of her, stretching muscles that ached from too many hours of driving. On the wall across the room, she saw a framed photograph taken a lifetime before: the Scoobies, the Slayer, the Watcher, and the Key, at one of our post-battle pizza parties. Dracula, I think. Look how… shiny we all seem. Happy, shiny people. Even with all we'd been through, we were… innocent. So innocent. We thought we'd never hurt each other, not permanently anyway. But look at us now. Look at us now.

            "Changed a lot." Spike settled back and fitted his fingers together. "Yeah, of course you have. Giles though…"

            She turned her head towards him, her face soft with worry. The anger melted away, revealing to her a gnawing ache centered over her heart. Pressing against it with her fingertips, she tried to put her feelings into words. "He's beyond changed. He's broken. We… we all were. Giles, Dawn, and I. But Dawn started back to school, started to move on… and Giles was… well, not okay, but… it was like, he said he put on the whole normal-life act for Dawn's sake but really, it was for his own. No Watcher stuff, except for rescuing- I mean, releasing- you. No bookwork. No patrolling or even random, backyard stakings. Nothing that would remind him of who he'd been." Or who he'd killed.

            "And now you've come home and pulled him back into the demon stuff."

            "And he's less than thrilled. I- I think he would have stayed like he was forever. You know? Stayed normal. Well, denial-normal, but still. He never wanted this. The Watcher stuff… it wasn't his choice. Just like me, that way." Kicking the coffee table with the toe of her shoe, she cursed under her breath. "I hate destiny."

            Crossing one leg over the other at his ankles, he shifted closer but avoided her eyes. "You know what else it is he's up-in-arms about, don't you?"

            "Not the demon. He doesn't seem to care that it's dangerous."

            "No, not the demon. It's you. You come in here all in control and Slayer-like, giving orders, pushing the research… see, you're better and he's not. It's gotta kill him to see that." At her look of disbelief, he thrust his fingers through his hair. "Hear me out. You've changed over the last few days. I can see it. Being off the Hellmouth, at the farm… it helped you. Made you… brighter."

            Her eyes flashed back to the photograph. Happy, shiny people. No, that's not me anymore. I'm just doing what I have to do to make it through each day, can't he see that? But maybe, maybe he does see. Maybe he sees more than I do. "Yeah. Okay, I kind of get that. Something in me… it still hurts, don't get me wrong. Hurts a lot. Huge amounts of hurt, but now… god, Spike. This year… it's been… I couldn't feel anything but the hurt. Now though, there's… more. And the hurt, it's easier to bear."

            "Hurrah for your magical, healing farm," Spike said dryly, reaching into the back pocket of his jeans for his packet of cigarettes.

            "No, Spike." She placed her hand on his arm, holding him still, making him meet her steady gaze. "Not the farm. You. Having you back… seeing you whole, and, and you again, it… I… you've done this to me. You helped me." Her gaze faltered. "I just wish there was someone who could do the same for Giles."

            Emotions flickered across his face too quickly for Buffy to identify. Beneath her touch, his muscles bunched and relaxed, as if unable to decide how to react. Finally, he covered her hand with his own cool palm and pressed it harder against him. "You will survive this, Slayer."

            But at how big a cost? How much more can I lose? How much is left? She opened her mouth to ask him, but he covered her lips with a single finger.

            "Shh," he whispered, tracing the curve of her mouth. His face was close to hers, so dangerously close. She marveled at his bravery- for it was clear he had not completely forgiven her- but only for a moment, because then his lips brushed over hers. The kiss was so light, as fragile as their half-spoken truce. Buffy held her breath, wanting nothing, not even air, to come between the touching of their skin. A rumble rose from his chest, and she quivered in response.

He tastes like fire, she thought, the only words she could pick out of the mad spinning in her mind. Fire and ice, together. Sun and snow. The heart of all things opposite and conflicting and… oh, wonderful…

            He pulled away abruptly, leaving her surging toward him for a brief, blind moment before she realized his lips were gone. What…what is he… oh. So much for bravery. Licking her lips, she blinked hard. "Spike?"

            "Slayer," he said, and she stiffened. Slayer. Yep, that's me. At least, it is when he wants to put some non-existent distance between us. Nice. Very nice, in a way that's totally not.

           

            "Spike. What's… what are you doing?"

Dodging her question, he stood, tugging on the leg of his jeans. "Dan's waiting," he said, clearing his throat.  

            "Dan. Right. For Dawn." Okay, Buffy, time to focus. She rose to her feet, embarrassed and annoyed to find her legs shaky. "You're right. We don't have time to… well, to…"

            "No time to linger," he said, covering for her. Inclining his chin, he touched her arm. "What will you be doing?"

            Focus. And not on Spike. Slayer, remember? Demon to kill?  "I- I'm gonna check out the basement. The snakes will disappear soon, I'm guessing. Their job was to draw us here and they succeeded. Yay them."

            "Um, yeah," he said, raising an eyebrow. 

Nothing like a little sarcasm to get past a moment of weirdness. "I'll scope it out down there, see if there are any clues. And then…" With a shrug, she skirted past him towards the kitchen.

            His voice was hoarse as he called after her. "Then what, Slayer?"

            "Then I'm pouring every bottle of Giles' booze down the drain." Killing off all our demons, one by one. That's my job. Hi ho, hi ho. "He's the brains of this operation. It won't do us much good if he pickles himself before we even get going."

"Pickle my brain?"

 She jumped, startled to find Giles laboring down the staircase towards her, a large crate in his arms. He clung to it as if to steady his balance.

"Yeah," she said lamely, wrinkling her nose. "No pickling."

He stumbled on the steps and barely righted himself. Wincing, she gripped the end of the railing. That would have been a nice broken neck there. He's still got a ways to go before sober-land.

"Buffy, it's fine scotch, not formaldehyde." He reached the bottom step and glared at Spike over Buffy's shoulder. "Or that swill Spike likes to poison himself with."

            I'm not getting into this with him. We don't have time. Focus, focus, focus. My new mantra. Yay for me. She didn't have to turn to feel Spike sweep out of the room behind her. Taking his silence as a mercy, she let him go. At the sound of the front door opening and shutting, she sighed. Focus.

"Books, good," she said, taking the heavy box from his arms. "Let's go into the dining room and start in. The coffee should be done."

            "I don't want coffee." Giles followed her into the room and slumped onto a chair. Propping his elbows up on the table, he rubbed his face with both hands. "If we must do this then let's just get it done, shall we?"

            Buffy dropped onto the chair beside his. "Fine." Don't snap at him. Be patient. Be kind. You can do this. Focus. Catching sight of Spike coming back inside, she waved him into the room. "Spike got a look at this demon's true face. He can give you a description."

            Spike took the seat beside Buffy's, his face serious. "First off, it's not the prettiest bloke in town."

            "Uh, maybe we should lay off the insults." Biting her lip, Buffy said, "Do you think it can hear us? I mean, hey, lots of snake ears down there. It's powerful, what with the shapeshifting, and the whole non-corporeal deal…"

            Spike's lips twitched upwards. "You think it matters? Our beastie can teleport and be in two places at once. It can take the form of wind and move objects with a thought. Makes going covert a right challenge."

"Wind?" Giles patted his breast pocket, looking distant. He wants his glasses, Buffy thought. That's a good sign. "Buffy, repeat what the creature said to you while in the pond. The part about… about children."

"He thinks he's Spike's father. Well, not really Spike's father, or not just his father, anyway. The father of all vampires. And he called me… oh, what was it. Harus? The child of Harus?"

Giles tipped the crate on its side. Grabbing the top book, he heaved it out and opened it, blowing a layer of dust from its leather cover. "Horus," he said, "Not Harus, Horus. And father of vampires, father of… father of evil… ah, here." Reaching the page he'd searched for, he slid it to Spike. "Here. Is this the face you saw?"

            "Strange animal head- what is that, you think, an aardvark? Scrawny man's body, curved snout, red eyes… yeah, that's the one alright."

            Snapping shut the book shut, Giles tossed it back into the crate. It missed and hit the table, sending more dust into the air, but Giles didn't notice or care. He slumped back in his chair. "If that's the creature you saw then, well…"

            "Then what?" Buffy picked up the book, trying to find the right page. Holding it out to him, she said, "Giles?"

            "Then we're buggered." He refused to take the book, instead tipping his head against the back of the chair and closing his eyes.

            "Giles…" Hitting him will not make you less scared. Buffy opened the book again. "We've fought bad stuff before. No holding out." Frustration took over as he didn't budge. "Come on, Giles! What good is a Watcher if he sits around with his eyes closed?"

He didn't even flinch. "I'm not your bloody Watcher. Not anymore."

She opened her mouth to yell at him, but Spike spoke up first. "Right. Well, look, Slayer, you have eyes of your own. Watch yourself for now. Here." Taking the book, he pointed out the page. "Here's a bit in English. Read."

Still pissed at Giles, Buffy read, but couldn't focus beyond the first word. "Set. What a dumb name for a demon. Not very fear-inspiring."

            "Set," Spike read aloud. "Also know as Seth, Setekh, Seti, and Sutekh. The most powerful Egyptian chaos lord. Son of…" His voice trailed off as he realized what it was he was reading. "It's not a demon at all. It's a god."

            Buffy took a quick breath, shocked. "Another like Glory?"

             Giles laughed, a terrible, icy chuckle. "Not a god. The god, the original god of chaos and evil. The… the devil, after a fashion. The earliest deity created by the First Evil. Its mythology varies considerably. Set is known as the god of many things: foul weather, fratricide, foreign lands… even as an idol of the blind, though that last comes from his tendency to extract the eyeballs of his enemies."

            "Let's skip over that part, please," Buffy said. "What are the facts?"

"For all the variations of story, there are two consistent details: Set is the most malevolent of evils, and the most potent of chaos lords. He makes Glory look like a tantrum-prone toddler."

            "Oh." She looked down at her hands. Nothing is ever simple. "Not the First Evil, just its bestest, top student. So we can fight it?"

            Spike scanned the pages of the book. "Too many gods. It's a bitch to remember it all. I did study this one, long ago. Before I was… before I met Dru. As I remember, Horus has been trying to kill Set for eons, with not much in the way of success."

            "Horus? You mean, my new daddy?"

            Giles pulled a second book from the crate, opening it in front of her. "Here he is, Horus."

            "There's not much of a family resemblance. What with him having the head of a… what is that, exactly?"

"A falcon. The Egyptian god of light and goodness- the good to Set's evil, if you will. Set would consider all children of the Slayer line to be children of Horus. It would seem that explains Set's purpose here."

            "Umm… okay?"

            Giles sighed. "The ancient tales tell us Set murdered Osiris, who was the father of Horus. Horus swore to avenge his father's death and battled Set many times over the ages, always failing in his task. The last fight was so long ago, many thought Horus had indeed succeeded but there was never any proof of Set's demise."

            "No body?"

            "Gods are incredibly difficult to kill, as you've learned. Horus hacked at Set with a sword, slashing him into many small pieces. It's almost certain that Horus believed Set to be dead but that was not actually the case. Obviously, not the case.

Much weakened, Set turned himself into a snake and went underground. I believe he's lived as a serpent beneath the earth since the days of the Pharaohs, resting, healing, and… and waiting for the right opportunity to reveal himself."

"I get it. He rested up and resurfaced over the Hellmouth to come after the Slayer. The age old battle, good versus evil." Spike glanced back down at the book. "Says here Horus was never killed. Reckon he still thinks Set's dead?"

            "I don't know." Buffy tugged the book closer, squinting at the tiny print. Latin? Spike reads Latin? "Does it say anything about how Set can be hurt?"

            Giles snorted, the coldness sending a chill down Buffy's spine. "Set can't be hurt. Not by us, not even by you. Horus is a powerful god and he could scarcely manage."

"But we've fought a god before. Fought her, and won."

            "Through a loophole. And at the cost of your life."

            "Well, then find me a loophole!" Biting her lip, she tried to stay calm. "Okay, let's take a step back. Set picked up on the stuff about Willow. Isn't that kinda weird? I mean, he couldn't have been around that long. We would have noticed if he was around while Willow was still… still around. Right?"

            "Think maybe Set's messing with you. He could be telepathic. He'd want to hurt you, throw you off your game. Sure he wants to kill you but he's also the type to enjoy the pleasure of tormenting the Slayer beforehand."

            "Spike…" Giles cocked his head as though listening to something inside himself. His forehead knitted with concentration. Finally, he said, "Accuratus ceterus occidocisum."

            "Umm…" Buffy touched Giles' arm. "Please, speak Californian."

            "I get it." Spike looked down at his lap as though embarrassed. "Caution, otherwise death by torment. That it, Rupert?"

            "Close enough," Giles said. "One of the most common warnings given to mortals by Osiris. Famous words from the third edition of the Book of Lost Dead. Buffy, did Willow ever told you exactly how the resurrection spell worked?"

            "I never really wanted to know," Buffy said. Her stomach churned as she thought back to the months after her return. "It must've been… something huge. Something big enough to get a Slayer back to life. Whatever Willow… whatever she felt she had to do, to give… she never mentioned it. Not to me, anyway."

            "That's almost certainly because she didn't know herself." Turning the page, he nodded as if his suspicions were confirmed. Though his mouth was bracketed by lines of misery, Buffy noticed a frenetic energy about him and it heartened her. That's a Giles I recognize. Then she looked closer and realized that the energy wasn't just intense. Not good. Not good at all. He's terrified.

 "Damn," Giles muttered as he scanned the page, tracking with his index finger. "Foolish, foolish girl."

            Exchanging a look with Spike, Buffy concealed her uneasiness. She raised an eyebrow. "Me?"

            "No, not you. Not you. Willow." He leapt to his feet, pacing with sharp turns, his body stiff. "How could she dare to… she must have misunderstood, o-or misread, or…"

            Not good. "Um, Giles? Want to clue us in?"

            He perched on the edge of his chair, his hands rubbing at the worn knees of his pants. A nervous tic grew above his mouth; he smoothed it with a shaking hand. "To call your soul from death, Willow planned… indeed she thought she had… I-it was her intention to beseech Osiris for your return."

            "Osiris? You mean that guy you were just talking about?"

            "Yes. The god of the Underworld, and father of Horus. A-a sort of… glorified gatekeeper in many ways, at least, in the view of we who live on the plain above. He was once a powerful deity, before being slaughtered by Set and cast down below to rule."

So, you're saying that when I died, I went through the… the gate. Osiris's gate. And when Willow wanted to bring me back, she dialed him up, magically." Frowning, she shook her head. "That doesn't make sense though. Why would he just give me back? Wouldn't he want something in return?"

            Heaving a sigh, Giles said, "Yes. That's precisely it. You can never get something for nothing, not from the gods, and not from magic."

            Spike rolled his eyes. "Bloody capitalists."

"Do shut up, Spike," Giles said, his tone distracted. He opened the book and placed it on the table in front of Buffy. "You see, Willow didn't understand that she couldn't simply kill a fawn and trade for a Slayer. She believed her transaction finished upon your return, and she… and she…" He ran his finger along the book's broad spine. "And she believed her deal was made with Osiris."

"You've lost me again. You said she asked Osiris to bring me back."

"She did ask him. Or, rather, she asked who she thought was Osiris. However, she was…" Swallowing hard, he pressed his hands together, steadying them. "The deal was made with another creature entirely."

"Set," Spike said, his jaw tensing. Hauling the book towards him, he read aloud from the passage Giles indicated. "Set was a peril for ordinary Egyptians in the underworld, where he was said to seize the souls of the unwary." He rapped a knuckle against the page. "Willow."

            Buffy leaned forward in her chair. "Wait a minute. Willow was never in the underworld. I was."

            "That's not entirely correct. In order to contact Osiris, she sent forth her… her magical self, her spirit. She was vulnerable to all manner of evil and she never… never…" Clearing his throat, Giles squeezed his eyes shut, but not before Buffy saw the wetness that glinted inside them. "She never even knew what hit her," he said, his voice as low as a prayer. "Oh, Willow, you… you poor, stupid girl."

Buffy could barely hear him. She didn't want to. The pain in his voice tore her apart. She shot to her feet, sending her chair scuttling back behind her. "I… I… I don't understand this. Any of it."

            "You do, pet." Spike spoke with gentle reluctance. "You do."

            "You're telling me this… this thing, this god, this Set… what? Possessed her?" Buffy hugged her arms around herself. "No. It couldn't have happened like you're saying. I… I lived with her, she… she was Willow. Okay, not super happy, healthy Willow- she was using way too much magic, you guys know that- but still, very Willowy." Righting the chair, she fell back into it. "Keep talking, Giles. Make this make sense to me."

            Giles rested his face in his hands, muffling his voice as if even he couldn't bear to hear what had to be said. "I believe Set sensed Willow's innate gifts and returned you to life in exchange for access to that power. He was weak and needed strength. She… she couldn't have known. I'll never believe she would have done this on purpose."

            Spike reached out towards Buffy, resting his hand next to hers on the table. "Red must've thought she was dealing with Osiris, not his evil twin."

            Buffy stared down at the paleness of Spike's skin next to hers. So white… like Willow was, only he is dead and she was alive, and now she's dead… "Set possessed her? For sure?"

            "I believe it was a gradual domination. Willow never would have realized what was happening to her. I wouldn't imagine she even sensed Set's presence within herself. He must have gained the advantage when Willow became destabilized after Tara's death."

            She was possessed. That whole time, while I was…Bending over at the waist,  Buffy pressed her hands over her mouth, squelching the retching that rose within her. I never knew it. My best friend was dying and I never, ever knew. I was too busy… "Oh God. Willow."

"I know, pet," Spike was kneeling beside her on the ground, holding her steady in her chair. I didn't even see him move. He must know, he must've figured it out. He gave her a slight nod, his fingers pressing into the muscles of her upper arms. "Hush now. Hush. You're fine. You've done nothing wrong, nothing, you hear? Not you. Never you. There are…. there are others to blame."

            His voice quaked on the last words. She knew he was talking about himself, telling her to blame him, to put it all on him, just like she always had. Put it all on me. That's my girl.

            "Others such as… such as me."

            It took Buffy a moment to realize Giles had spoken. Gotta pull myself together. He's weak and I have to help him. Then there's the research, god, always that. Can't sit around feeling sorry for myself. There's no time for that. No time for grief.

Rubbing her damp cheeks, Buffy pulled Giles' hands off his face and held them tightly. "Giles," she started, but could not finish. What could I possibly say to make this better for him? For any of us?

He didn't seem to notice his tears, or hers, or the quiet way Spike rocked back on his heels and stood with his hands spread wide, helpless and frustrated. All his focus was on the empty space above Buffy's head or, rather, on some internal picture. "I was in England. Went home angry with her, angry with the whole lot of them for what they'd done to you."

"I was angry too. And I… I wasn't here much. Ever." I never saw it, never, too busy hiding from my feelings, being angry and victimy and stupid, too busy screwing Spike… Clutching his hands, she said, "It was as much my fault as anyone's. More, even. I was her best friend and she did this… the resurrection spell… it was all for me."

The pain in her voice brought Giles' attention down to her face. He stroked a thumb over the small, knobby bone of her wrist. "No, Buffy, you mustn't blame yourself. It was I who abandoned you all here to your own resources. It is I who am at fault."

"No, Giles, it was me…"

"Oh, for fuck's sake," Spike growled, slamming both hands down flat onto the table. He glowered at both of them equally. "Listen to you two! Look, Red is long gone. We've a mess of snakes in the basement brought on by an all-powerful, ancient uber-god that wants the Slayer dead and seems intent on toying with her first. You think we could save the boo-hooing for later, say, after we figure out if there's a way to kill this thing?"

            Buffy felt her face go red. She wanted to be angry with him- how dare he stop me from beating myself up?­- but she knew he was right. Focus. Fight. That's what you do. Emotion comes later, after the bodies are buried. Like always.

Dropping Giles' hands to scrub her face, Buffy didn't risk looking at her Watcher. I can barely be brave enough for myself right now, much less Giles. He's gonna have to help me. "Yeah. Okay. You're right. Rude, but right. We… there's research. Books."

Spike's shoulders relaxed. He gave her a small smile. "I can take a peek at the laptop."

Buffy raised an eyebrow. "You know computers? Weird. You're older than denim."

"Came in useful from time to time. Minions tend to be on the dim side. You know what they say, if you want something done right, don't leave it to the brainless undead."

Why are we talking about this when everything is so totally wrong? Snarking at Spike felt comforting, like oatmeal, or her oldest pair of sweatpants on a rainy day. He knows it, too. Standing, she stretched her arms up above her head, trying to ease the taut ball of ache that had lodges at the base of her throat with no success. It hurts and it's going to stay painful until we lay Willow to rest, one way or another.

Walking with Spike to the entryway, she said, "The laptop's upstairs, in Dawn's room." From the kitchen, she heard the sound of glass bottles clanking together. She winced. That didn't take long. "I'll be dumping out a few hundred dollars worth of booze while you're up there."

Spike touched her shoulder. "You need a hand?"

"No, it's okay. I want to preserve his dignity as much as I can. Having me stop him is bad enough, but you… I think Giles would rather drink himself to death before he'd let you get the upper hand."

"You don't think he wants to drink himself dead as it is?" Putting a finger to her lips to stop her protest before she could voice it, Spike said, "Don't. Buffy, no more excuses. No more bloody melodrama. Go on and see to him." He walked away, up the stairs, leaving her with a question she could not bear to answer.

In the kitchen, Buffy found Giles seated at the island, a tall, amber bottle between his hands. "I'll make more coffee," she said, going to the opposite side of the island. She placed her hands on either side of his, framing the bottle. "The stuff in the pot's gone cold."

"I told you before, I don't want coffee." His fingers tightened on the bottle even as he ducked his head, the petulance in his voice shaming him. "Leave off, Buffy."

"Not this time." She tugged the bottle away from him slowly, not wanting to hurt him. "Giles, we have to work."

"There's nothing we can do." He laid his head on the counter, letting his arms dangle at his sides.

The sharp stench of the alcohol stung her eyes as she poured it down the drain. She spoke loudly, not wanting him to be bothered by the sloshing sound of his lost anesthetic. Don't think about it, Giles. Push it away, like me. It's easier. It's necessary and god, I need you to help me now. "Yeah, nothing we can do, heard that already. Hence the need for research. We'll look stuff up and figure out at plan, just like always."

"You're not hearing me."

"You've said this same thing before." Opening the cupboard below the sink, she tossed the empty bottle on top of a pile of others in the garbage can. "Glory couldn't be fought. The First Evil, same thing. The Mayor? Pretty damn close. And we won, every time. We can do it again."

"You're so sure of that, are you?" He struggled to lift his head, rubbing with his fingertips at the back of his neck, then gave up and laid it back down. "It's just the two of us now. And Spike."

"Yeah. The Slayer and her Watcher. It's all traditional. Isn't this what Slayers have always done? Fought with only their book-guys at their side?"

"And traditionally, they died before the first year of their Calling passed by."

Putting on an artificial smile, Buffy forced cheer into her voice. "I've died twice, so I've got some bonuses headed my way.  Frequent dier miles." Cringing, she said, "Okay, bad pun. But still, how many times can it happen, right?" Softly, she took his arms and tried to draw him upwards. "Giles, it's book time."

Ignoring her touch as well as her words, ignoring even her stupid pun, he turned his face into the smooth countertop.

"You're being a baby." She felt his arms stiffen. "Yeah, that's right, a big baby. You're sitting here feeling sorry for yourself instead of saving my life. Isn't that your job? Protect your Slayer, protect the world? And hey, look at me… I'm supposed to be figuring out how to kill off the Big Bad, but instead, I'm here doing everything I can to keep my Watcher from killing himself the slow way. God, Giles, selfish much?"

Her words, stark and accusing, hung between them heavily for a long, silent moment. Maybe he didn't hear me. Maybe he's passed out.

But then he sat up, his face ashen, and Buffy knew he'd grasped everything she'd said and everything she'd been too angry and afraid to say as well. Please, be Giles, be Giles again.

"You think I'm selfish?" He sounded so casual, she thought maybe she'd mistaken his expression, but only for a moment. "You think I'm selfish. Oh Buffy, that's simply… that's rather…" His eyes burned green at her, furious and branding. "You are the Slayer. The muscle, as you say. But that night, Buffy, who held the torch? Who lit the girl we all loved aflame and ended her life? Was that you, Buffy, who put aside all that love and terror to do what needed to be done? Was it you? Was it?"

Buffy dug her fingernails into the tenderness of her palms. Clammy faintness washed over her and she dug in harder. He's not saying this to me. Not Giles.

"You're not answering." He barked out a laugh and she shuddered. "Don't you have anything to say to me? You seemed chock-full of good advice a moment ago. Selfish, eh? You really believe that? Was that what you were thinking last year, while we were standing in the cemetery watching Willow burn?"  

"Giles…" She stopped, wanting to say only the right words, wanting to make him understand. I just want you to be… you again. "I didn't mean it like that."

"Well, you said it like that. Selfish. After all we've been through, you truly think that of me."

            Their eyes met, glaring, and held. Between them spun the name they'd never speak to each other- Jenny Calendar, teacher, lover, Gypsy traitor- as well as something larger, something with shape and heat. Why did you let Willow learn magicks? Why didn't you see the weakness in her before it was too late? It was your job, Giles, to Watch me, to Watch us all, and you were blind. In his eyes was the reply: How could I see her? How could I, when all my attention was on you?

            "You are lonely." Her words came from nowhere. They surprised her, rattled her, but she held on. "Giles… you're so lonely."

            Something in his face crumbled. "Lonely." He stood and walked woodenly to the doorway. "Yes, Buffy. I am that."

            He didn't slam the door. It swung shut after him with a hollow click, but Buffy's nerves were so fragile even the polite shutting noise jarred her. Polite. Sure. 'Cause that was… what the hell was that?

Pushing Giles' chair in, she plodded back out to the dining room only to find she couldn't bring herself to open any of the books. Thoughts slowed to mud-like consistency in her mind. He'll come back. He will. And Spike is upstairs. I'm not alone, I just need a few minutes to rest. Just a few… She made her way to the living room and paused only long enough to pull the throw from over the back of the couch before falling into a dense, dreamless sleep.

*****

The next thing she knew, she was woken by a hand shaking her shoulder roughly. It was several moments before she was awake enough to comprehend Spike's voice.

"Buffy. Slayer. Pet. Where is Rupert, luv? Where's your Watcher?"

The edginess of his tone shot through her grogginess. She jolted upright. "He didn't come home?"

"He did leave, then?" Spike would not look at her. He held something in his hands, something wrapped loosely in cloth. "Buffy, did he leave?"

"Before I fell asleep."

Growling, Spike said, "That was hours ago."

"He's not home?" When Spike didn't reply, when he dropped the bundle from his hands to the rug and she saw how his whole body trembled, she knew. I feel nothing. Nothing. I am a stone, that smooth, that solid. There's nothing inside of me. "He's dead. Set got him and he's dead."

Spike did not argue with her and she wanted to hit him, wanted to make him yell at her, make him strike her back, making him do something besides sit on the edge of the couch like a… like someone wounded. "I don't think he'd dead," Spike said. "Not yet, anyway."

But if he's okay, why do you sound so stiff? "Spike? What aren't you telling me."

"Buffy, luv… look, let's hit the books. We'll hammer out a way to hurt this… this…" His voice broke, as if he couldn't find a word terrible enough to call Set. But what is going on?

She caught him trying to surreptitiously scoop the packet up from the floor. It's small. What could it be? Holding out her hand, she said, "Give it to me."  


            He held it close, evading her. "No, pet, I… no."

"Spike. Either give it to me or I will take it from you." Giles is fine. He's out for a walk. A long walk. Maybe he stopped for coffee, or, or ice cream, or maybe even a movie. He likes the dollar cinema, they play all old movies, black-and-whites. His favorites. Where the evil is always evil and pointy-hatted, and the good guys can always be distinguished by their… god, what was it he told me? How can you tell who the good guys are?

She pulled Spike's hands towards her and unwrapped his fingers from around the bundle, one by one. Holding it still, she stared at it a moment. I'm in shock. I must be. Otherwise, I should be able to feel my hands and arms. I should be able to feel something other than this… "It's wet." My fingers are red. It's blood.

"Yes, luv," Spike said, inching closer to her, his arm moving to brace her back. He feels almost warm. Weird. Maybe it's me, maybe I'm too hot, maybe I have a fever or maybe… "It's blood. Giles' blood."

He tucked his hand beneath hers, helping her hold the packet. "Yes."

Cupping her mouth, she spoke through her fingers. "Tell me. You looked, didn't you?"

He lowered his forehead to hers and held her there, close to him. "I looked. I did."

I don't want to know, I can't hear this, I can't… but I'm not selfish. I'm stronger than strong. "Tell me, Spike. You never held out on me before."

"Buffy…" he said, turning her name into a sound of grief. "It's one of Rupert's eyes."