Resurrection

by Something Evil

Shortly after Buffy gives her life to save that of her sister and the world, the Scooby Gang must find a way to keep going. Set after "The Gift". (Please Review!)

1. Aftershocks

Part One: "Aftershocks"

I've been living to see you Dying to see you, but it shouldn't be like this This was unexpected What do I do now? Could we start again, please? ( - "Jesus Christ Superstar")

Angel couldn't help but feel a slightly surprising sense of elation as he made it to the front doors of the place he called home. The others were behind him, laughing, talking, and celebrating. He fought back a smile as he listened to them, each chattering excitedly about something different about the world that they had missed so much. Stopping in front of the doors, Angel turned to Wesley as a huge grin spread across his face.

"Okay. Can I say it? I wanna say it." Angel's usually calm and stoic voice was full of excitement.

Wesley gave him a perplexed look. "Say what?"

Without hesitation, Angel shoved open the double doors, and walked into the lobby of his beloved Hyperione. All was as it had been, and it felt good to be home.

"There's no place like..." The words caught in Angel's throat as his eyes fell to something that made him feel as though he had died in gone to hell. Sitting in a chair in the lobby, looking broken and sorrowful as he had never seen her before, was Willow Rosenberg. Her eyes were red and glassy, and her face was contorted into a look of pain that he could scarcely understood. He felt his unbeating heart turn cold and freeze as he eyed the redhead, and in an instant it came to him. Willow, in Los Angeles. Sitting in his lobby, with a look of absolute grief on her face. Only now did Angel's smile fade. Willow glanced up at him, her big eyes full of weary tears. "Willow?" Angel's voice was so soft that it was barely audible. Rising from her chair silently, Willow's eyes now refused to leave Angel's face. From somewhere within, the words he'd never wanted to say came:

"It's Buffy."

Angel sat motionless and disbelieving in the lobby, finding himself almost unable to comprehend the words he was hearing. Willow's voice faltered more now as she continued her story, and Angel saw that tears were now beginning to well up in her eyes. "...but Spike wasn't...wasn't there in time. And Dawn began to bleed, and the portal opened." Cordelia was sitting in a chair alongside Angel, dabbing her eyes with a Kleenex. She had been crying for a while now, something that Angel still hadn't begun to do. Wesley was merely sitting alongside Cordelia, looking stunned and saddened. Fred, Gunn, and Lorne were hovering back behind the reception desk, unsure of how to respond to what was happening. Willow paused now, and for a minute Angel thought she was going to break down entirely. His body felt cold, more so than usual. Buffy...his Buffy...was gone. "Buffy got there too late. And she...God..." Willow let a bitter sob escape her, and bit it back as she forced herself to go on. "She jumped. She jumped instead of Dawn. And she's d-d-d-..." Willow dropped her head into her hands, and sobbed.

Angel could feel something change within him now. She was dead. Buffy, the only woman he had loved in more than two centuries of life, was gone. He would never see her again, never touch her skin, never kiss her mouth. He hadn't even said goodbye. Angel suddenly felt more guilt and sadness than he ever had before. It was a powerful feeling that not even decades of memories of tortures and killings could prepare him for. He should have been there, he told himself, by her side. He should have been there to protect Dawn. Not Spike, him. Angel could only stare ahead as he saw Cordelia move in to wrap her arms around Willow. Wesley could only sit there, unmoving and still stunned. A million thoughts were running through Angel's mind, none of which he could communicate. Feeling moisture coming to his eyes, Angel stood so quickly that his chair toppled backward. Cordelia was now hugging Willow, who was sobbing into her shoulder. The three others were now doing their best to look away, to not meet Angel's eyes. Feeling helpless and furious and grief-stricken, Angel ran up the stairs toward the roof of the Hyperion. He didn't look back at the others.

The cool breeze of the Los Angeles night made Angel's silent tears cold as he sat on the rooftop, thinking of nothing other than Buffy. He remembered more clearly than anything, the first time he had laid eyes on her. She had been so young then, so innocent and vulnerable to the dark and dangerous world that was about to envelope her. He remembered how she had cried after she had returned home from her first kill. He remembered then feeling that she had just lost whatever life she had had ahead of her. This had made him desperate to help her, to protect her. When he finally met her face to face, he had loved her entirely. He remembered their first kiss not because it had been incredible, but because Buffy had brought out the monster in him that he had wanted so desperately to hide. Angel remembered her death at the hands of the Master, and the feeling that he would never see her again, and that he had failed. And then she had come back to him, back into the very world that was against her. He remembered the first and only time they had made love. It was his last memory of Buffy before she sent him to Hell.

Angel wiped his face as he bitterly remembered leaving her behind in Sunnydale after graduation. He remembered that last glance at her, standing there among the crowd of survivors and cops and firemen, and thinking that he was doing the right thing in leaving her. He had seen her again briefly at various other times, but it was this time that stuck out to him now. It was the knowledge that had he not left her in the first place, she might be alive on this night. Willow would not be crying in Cordelia's arms, and there would be one more Slayer in the world. Angel felt bitter sobs rising in his throat.

"I-I'm sorry." Willow's voice caused him to force this back down, and he wiped his face vigorously before turning to see the young woman sliding down beside him on the rooftop. Her eyes were red and puffy, her hair messy, but she had stopped crying now. "I'm sorry you had to find out like this," Willow told him hoarsely, but her words were hollow. "I thought it would be best if I-...if it was me." Willow sniffled. "I wasn't about to send Spike. And Giles..." Willow's lip quivered. "...I couldn't make him tell you something like this. Xander either. They're both having...a worse time with this than I am." Willow wiped a stray tear from her cheek. "Well, maybe that's not true, but I'm the only one who can form actual sentences."

Angel turned to Willow, and said nothing for a moment. "There's nothing I can say to make either of us feel any better," he managed to say finally. "Buffy is...was...the only woman I've ever loved. She was the purest soul I've ever known. The way she cared for her family, and her friends..." Angel's voice trailed off, and Willow put a hesitant hand on his arm. Angel glanced at Willow. "How's Dawn?"

"I'm not sure," Willow admitted, sighing ruefully. "She's quiet. She cries a lot, but we all have. She's been gone less than a day. It's hard to say how she's doing yet." Angel nodded, accepting this. Without warning, Willow broke into sobs once again. Angel put an arm around her trembling shoulders, and drew her close. "I just thought...I can go home and tell Buffy that I saw Angel. And then I remembered that she's dead, and that's why I saw you. I'm so stupid!" Willow cried for a while longer, and Angel could only sit there and hold her, waiting for it to pass.

Tara Maclay sat alone in the Summers kitchen, her entire body feeling numb and cold. The two sweaters that she was wearing did nothing to ease this feeling, and she knew that it had more to do with what she was feeling inside than anything else. The kitchen was fully lit, and she had tried several times to fix herself and Dawn something to eat, but each time she had failed miserably. Every time she went to fix food, she would think: Look, a frozen pizza. But that's Buffy's frozen pizza, and Buffy's dead. And then she would start to cry again, softly but with a great deal of sadness. She knew it was silly, thinking this way and crying about it, but it made her feel guilty, making a pizza as though nothing was out of the ordinary. Willow's friend...her friend...was dead. Buffy had been one of the few people in Tara's entire life that had cared about her. That had, when she barely knew her, defended her as though she were family. And that was how Tara had come to think of Buffy, as family. Buffy was the sister she hadn't gotten, someone confident and loving and loyal to her friends no matter what. And now Buffy, the reason that she was probably still in Sunnydale, was gone.

Tara sniffled again. It had been less than twenty-four hours since Buffy had left the mortal world, she thought to herself. In that time, she had helped Willow and Xander move the body (she hated thinking of it as "the body" when it was indeed her friend Buffy) and bury it, while Giles and Dawn could only stand back and weep while Anya looked on in stunned confusion. She remembered blessing the grave through her own tears, and then Willow and Xander breaking down entirely, each on one of Giles's shoulders. It had been a difficult day, and Dawn hadn't been out of her room since Willow left.

Glancing at the clock, Tara noticed that it was getting late. Willow had been gone for several hours, and hadn't called. It had been difficult for Willow, leaving Sunnydale when her friends obviously needed her so badly. But in the end, she had insisted upon going to tell Angel, telling Tara privately that "the others couldn't even drive themselves there." Tara knew that Willow was right: Xander had left directly after Buffy's body was buried. He had simply run off, leaving Anya and the others standing over the grave, teary-eyed and dumbfounded. No one had heard from him since. Standing, Tara walked out of the kitchen and into the living room. Anya was curled up on the couch, sleeping somewhat fitfully. She had cried herself after Willow left, and after Giles had miserably departed for home (Tara supposed it was more likely that he had gone out drinking). It had been just Anya and Tara, with Dawn upstairs, sitting the living room watching "Friends" reruns on TV. Suddenly, Tara remembered, Anya had burst out crying.

"I can't take much more," Anya had sobbed. "First Joyce and now Buffy, and now everyone's crying again and I feel like I'm going to throw up, and I can't find Xander and he can't stop crying either, and you're all sad and Willow's freaking..." She had dissolved into sobs around this time, and had put her head in a startled Tara's lap and cried even harder. Tara could only pat her head and silently cry herself.

Tara jumped, startled, as the front door opened. Willow entered, looking much worse than she had when she left. Her hair was stringy and hanging limp around her pale and pasty face. Her eyes were red and puffy, and she looked much older than her twenty years at this point. She looked at Tara with sad eyes, and she noticed Anya for the first time now as well. Tossing her coat onto the nearest chair, Willow headed silently into the kitchen, and Tara followed.

"How'd it go?" Tara managed to ask finally. She took a seat at the kitchen island, and Willow sat down alongside her. Tara took Willow's hand, and gave it a squeeze. Willow managed a minuscule smile.

"As well as something like this can go," Willow told her. "I don't think he really understands what I mean when I say she's dead. I don't think he can comprehend it yet." Tara nodded, and said nothing. "Any word from Xander?" Tara could only shake her head.

Rupert Giles had never felt anything like this in his entire life. Sitting here with his Watcher diary open, pen in hand, he felt as though there was a rock in his stomach as he found himself about to write his last entry. Four years. Buffy had lived for more than four years, and had never failed to save the day. This time had been no different, only this time, she had paid for it with her life. Giles remembered Jenny Calendar's death, and the pain that it had caused him. It was nothing compared to this. He was, in essence, a father who had lost his only beloved child. His daughter. He had never thought of her as anything less, and now his pride and joy was gone. The last memory he had of Buffy wasn't one that he had hoped for: he had always hoped his last image of her would be one in which she would be old and gray, holding his hand as he was on his deathbed. Instead, all he had was an image of her lifeless body being placed in a makeshift grave by what Giles considered his "other children." And now, here he was, alone and about to end what had been four years of his life as a Watcher to the Slayer.

My Slayer, Buffy Summers, has passed away. While I understand that this diary is meant to be a record of each Slayer and her Watcher, I must go against the counsel in my last entry. Buffy Summers was more than a Slayer to me, more than a responsibility, more than a charge. She was my child. My family. And I loved her. I never understood before I became her Watcher why it becomes so painful for one to continue after his or her Slayer is gone. But now that she's gone, I feel as though nothing can make me feel as I did when she was alive. She gave her life to save a world that was more often than not against her. She died to save her sister, to save the world. I need not remind anyone that she's done this time and again, only this time the price was much higher. I hereby end the diary of Rupert Giles, and also end my term with the Watcher's Council...

Giles stopped writing as there was a knock at the door, one so loud that it caused him to jump slightly. Realizing that he had been crying again, Giles wiped his tears on the back of his hand, and went to the door. He opened it to find Xander there, looking like he had been to Hell and back. The boy's hair was messy, and his clothes were wrinkled. He was pale and pasty, and his eyes bore dark circles beneath them. His eyes were glassy, obviously from many tears.

"Xander." Giles could find nothing else to say. "It's late. And I'm really not in the mood for company."

"Whatcha up to?" Xander asked, obviously not understanding exactly what Giles was saying. Giles smelled the distinct odor of various kinds of liquor on Xander's breath, and realized that the boy had obviously been drinking, and quite a lot. Xander stumbled, and caught himself on the door hinge before he fell on his face. He laughed miserably. "Got any whiskey?"

"I think you've had quite enough." Giles sighed sadly. Xander stumbled inside, pushing past Giles and flopping down on the couch. "Xander, how much have you had to drink tonight?"

"Haha...uhm, a few. Not a lot. Only when I started thinking about Buffy. So, one every...three minutes or so, for the past little while." Xander appeared to be deep in thought as he was apparently trying to count up the drinks in his head. Not really listening anymore, Giles instinctively went to the kitchen and started making coffee. Xander pulled himself to his feet. "You think she knew, Giles? What we did, I mean. When we buried her. You think she knew we didn't even bother to clean her up, or change her clothes or anything? You think she knew that only Tara had flowers?"

Giles was stunned by Xander's words. He hadn't thought bout this, and didn't want to. How would Buffy react to knowing that she had been buried in the jeans and sweater that she had died in, and that it had been Tara who had knelt over her grave and whispered a pagan blessing, and lay a small white flower over the fresh dirt? How would she react to knowing that no one had prayed except the person she had known the least amount of time? Giles didn't want to think about it. "I don't know, Xander."

"You think she's in Heaven or Hell?" Xander asked after a moment. He sniffled now. "I like to think she's up in Heaven, hanging out with some angels and with Joyce." Xander could fill his eyes felling with tears in spite of his drunken state. "But Willow says that maybe she's in a...in another place..." Xander could go no further, and began to cry.

This gave Giles even more horrific things to think about as he somehow managed to move the now passed-out Xander onto his couch a few minutes later. He didn't cry, at least not until he was in his own bed. In spite of Xander's snoring, he buried his face in his pillow to mask the sound of his weeping, so that no one could hear. Giles knew that Buffy would hate it if she knew he was crying over her.

"Wake up. You've got a visitor." The sharp voice of the guard drew Faith violently from sleep. Opening her eyes, she felt her mind fully awaken after only a few short seconds. She lay there for a moment, and finally sat up to see the guard, a large black man named Charlie, looking at her impatiently. Faith yawned, and stretched as she stood. She had been here for more than a year now, and from what she understood she would be there quite a while longer. She had been on fairly good behavior, and because she was listed as a violent criminal had a cell by herself. Faith waited patiently for Charlie to unlock the cell, and escort her down the long hall.

It occurred to Faith as she walked that it was well past dark outside, and that it was more than likely a few hours before sunup. A glance at the clock on the wall told her that she was exactly half an hour away from sunrise. For a moment she was perplexed: the only visitor she ever had was Angel, and she hadn't seen him in quite some time now. And when he did stop by, his visits were brief. Faith saw Angel sitting in the first chair on the opposite side of the glass, and she knew instantly that something was wrong. She could see it all over his pale face. Angel looked away from her when he saw her, and Faith felt her heart sink suddenly. It was one of those weird things that occurred occasionally now. She had been doing a lot of reading, and a lot of things that she had done in the past pained her now. The guilt was still there, the sadness, all of it. Angel looked as though he was sharing in her feeling right about now. Faith slid down into the chair in front of Angel, and picked up the phone against the wall.

"This doesn't look like it's a friendly visit." Faith said immediately. Angel said nothing for a long moment, and Faith knew that she was right. "Tell me." She knew that nothing but bad news was coming her way now.

"I don't know...exactly how to say what I'm about to say. Part of me still..." Angel stopped, and Faith swore she heard him sniffle. It was around this point that she realized what this was about. Buffy. Something's happened to Buffy. Two years ago, Faith would have laughed at the idea. Now, it scared her. "And I don't know how you're going to react. Faith, there was this...goddess." Faith listened quietly to Angel's tale of Glory, and of bleeding Dawn. Finally, as Angel began to talk about the concept of Buffy being made from Dawn and Buffy being able to close the portal, Angel's voice broke, and he was silent for a long while. Faith waited, and saw a tear fall down Angel's cheek. "She's dead."

"Jesus." The words hit Faith like a ton of bricks. She sat back in her chair, unable to move for a few moments. In a flash she remembered a million different things. She remembered the beginning of her relationship with Buffy. Her need to connect with this other Slayer. She remembered how she eventually grew jealous of Buffy, wanted things in her life that she could never have. And then she had grown to hate Buffy. And now, a year since the last time she had seen Buffy, Buffy was gone.

And Faith found herself less than thrilled about it. "Angel...I'm so sorry." Angel looked up at the Slayer.

"So am I, Faith," Angel said.

"Who will she be? The next Slayer, I mean," Faith said, finding herself curious.

"There won't be," Angel told her. "The line...it falls to you. You're it, Faith. You're the Slayer."

"Damn." Faith looked stricken. "Fat lot of good I'm doing, sitting here behind bars." She looked down at her hands. "I guess I just assumed B would always be there to fight the good fight. And then she went and got herself killed." Faith felt a slight bit of anger rising within her. This was so like Buffy, she told herself, trying to play the hero all the time no matter what it meant. "She should've thrown in little sis." Angel said nothing to this. The look on his face was one that he couldn't read. "So here I am, sitting on my ass in jail while the vampires get their free run of everything?"

"I-I don't know." Angel looked away from her as he said this. "We're not really in the loop on this sort of thing. The world needs a Slayer."

"And Buffy was the Slayer," Faith said, her usually strong voice tight with emotion that

Angel had never really seen before. "I'm just the trash that polluted that title, remember? I'm the evil the Slayer fights." Faith let out a rueful sigh. "Guess B didn't think about what she was leaving behind in her old position before she took the plunge." Faith could feel herself growing upset now. "Angel, look at me. I'm a convicted felon who's going to spend the rest of her natural life in prison, making special friends with Bertha the Weightlifter. I can't save the world. I can't be the Slayer."

"You think it's that easy?" Angel snapped. "You think it's easy for me, telling you this? You think I can stand it that Buffy's gone?" Faith, taken aback by Angel's sudden anger, looked down at her hands.

"Cochran himself couldn't get me out of here," Faith told Angel quietly. "So I suggest you start working on another plan, pronto. 'Cause I'm not going anywhere." And with that, Faith hung up her end of the phone, stood, and left the room, the guard close on her heels. Angel sat there for a few moments, unsure of what to do with himself. Only when he realized that it was close to sunrise did he get up to leave.

Xander was drawn from his deep and troubled sleep by the sound of pounding on a door. He tasted the bitter flavor of liquor in his throat before he felt the pain of his headache, and for a moment he found himself swimming in darkness. Forcing his eyes open, he found himself not in his own bed, but lying in Giles's apartment. A hot arrow of pain seemed to stab into his forehead, and he cursed under his breath as he realized that the knocking on the door wasn't a pounding at all, but a gentle sort of knock that had merely been magnified by his newly hungover state. From what felt like a great distance, Xander could hear the sounds of someone taking a shower. Deciding it was Giles, Xander stumbled to his feet, and felt his stomach give a nauseating lurch. Squinting, he finally managed to pull the door open, only to be blinded by the brightness of the outside world. Standing at the door was the rest of the Scoobies, or what remained of them.

For a moment, Xander forgot everything. He glanced, smiling, at Willow, whose face was decidedly blank on this morning. She held in her hands a doughnut box. Standing immediately behind her was Tara, whose expression was grave, but not cold. Standing beside Tara, holding tightly to her hand, was Dawn. The child looked absolutely shellshocked, and it was this that brought Xander back into reality. Remembering, the smile faded from his lips as the awful truth came rushing back: Buffy was gone. Moving aside, he let the women in. He realized finally that Anya had been making herself as small as possible behind Tara and Dawn as she brought up the rear.

It was Willow who managed to break the silence once the door was closed: "Uh, hey." She managed a weak and grave smile as she surveyed Xander's state. "Sleep here often?"

Willow sat the doughnut box on the kitchen bar, and Tara silently headed to the kitchen and began the process of making coffee. Dawn hovered near the bar, glancing around silently. Her eyes were bloodshot, and her hair was messy. Wordlessly, she drifted over to the couch, where she curled herself up into a ball, and still said nothing. "Where's Giles?"

"Shower, I think," Xander muttered. His head was killing him.

"Where were you, Xander? I was worried." Anya's voice seemed unchanged, but her manner was strangely solemn. Her words were sharp as usual, but Xander could feel the meaning behind them.

"I was...out." It was all Xander could think to say.

"Drowning his sorrows, or so it would appear." Giles appeared in the doorway, freshly showered and looking like the same old Giles. Only now, everyone silently noticed, there was a sort of hollowness in his eyes where a spark had once been. It was the look, Xander realized, of a man who had lost his child. Giles slid down at his desk without anymore words, and Xander noticed that he quickly placed a small leather-bound book in one of the drawers.

"We brought breakfast, Mr. Giles," Tara said softly. "We didn't know if anyone would want to eat, but I thought that someone might be hungry." Everyone glanced at Tara, and Xander pitied the girl for a moment. Here she was, unsure of how to act in this time of loss, and she was offering breakfast.

Giles managed a weak smile, and said with genuine gratefulness, "Thank you, Tara." Tara nodded to herself, glad to have this grieving man's approval, and she began searching the fridge for milk.

"When are we going to talk about what happens next? Because this silence is really uncomfortable, and I don't like how only Tara is trying to make things better. Willow's all frowny, and Xander is obviously hungover, and Giles looks like he couldn't go two rounds with a kitten. And I'm worried about what happens next, but no one is saying anything about it because everyone's still not realized that Buffy's really dead." Anya's eyes scanned the room as she spoke, and each cast their eyes downward at the mention of their fallen friend's name.

"Sh-she's right, you know." It was Dawn who spoke, though no one seemed to realize it at first. Finally, all eyes fell to the girl, who was now sitting up on the couch. Her eyes were shining with fresh tears. "B-buffy wouldn't want us to sit around crying. She'd want us to go on. To figure out what happens next."

"I can't believe you guys." Willow glanced around the room, and her gaze fell finally to Dawn and Anya. "Buffy died. And you guy want to talk battle plans?"

"Willow..." Xander began.

"No!" Willow cried, her voice suddenly shrill like that of a child. "Glory's gone, and Buffy stopped the hell dimension. There is no Big Evil, and all you guys can think about is what we're going to slay next? We don't have a Slayer! We're nothing without her!"

"Th-that's not true." Giles glanced at Willow. "We don't have Buffy." Everyone turned as Giles spoke these words. It was Xander who grasped what exactly the Watcher meant first.

"How can she slay?" Tara asked from the kitche. "She's in prison."

Giles opened his mouth to speak, but at that moment there came a rap at the door. The Scoobies jumped at the sound, and it was Giles who finally got up and made it to the door. Opening it, he found himself staring into the bored and stoic faces of several of his peers from the Watchers Council: Quentin Travers was heading the pack. With him were several people that Giles had met only once or twice.

"Mr. Giles." Travers didn't waste any time. "A pleasure to see you again, even if it is on such dreary business. May we come in?"

"Must we do this just now, Quentin?" Giles already knew what the answer was. The Council considered Slayer's nothing more than pawns in a game of chess, and Buffy was no different. Little did they care about what her Watcher and friends were feeling. A Slayer, they always thought, didn't need friends. So the Scooby Gang meant nothing to them. Giles felt hot anger rising within him as Travers pushed past him and into the apartment, his six Watcher cronies following close on his heels. All wore grave expressions.

The Scoobies watched in silence as the Watchers entered, and stood oddly about as they surveyed the apartment.

"Mr. Giles, is this audience really necessary? Surely you could do something about them," Travers muttered, staring with distate around the room at the former Slayer's friends.

Giles's face hardened. "Anything you say to me, they shall find out later from me. Either way, they'll know what's going on." The Scoobies all shared a look of satisfaction at Giles defending them. "Mind you that they've fought more battles than all of you combined."

"As you wish, Mr. Giles," Travers said, sliding down at Giles's desk. The rest of the Council members scattered, finding empty chairs of their own. The only woman among them was glaring at various members of the Scooby Gang with a cold, harsh eye. "Well...I suppose we should get this finished as quickly as possible. Have you your diary?"

"In the drawer, by your elbow." Giles didn't move from where he stood, fixed between Willow and Tara, who were frowning at the other Watchers.

"Quite." Travers pulled the diary from the drawer, and handed it to the frowning woman nearby. "I suppose it will be of more use to Miss Carnahan than it is to you now." Travers nodded at the woman, who was now busily thumbing through the pages. "She has much to learn if she is to be a Watcher of the next Slayer."

"The Slayer isn't in need of a Watcher, Quentin. She's twenty years old. You know the rules," Giles said coldly. "And yet still, she's in prison. How can she be the Slayer when she's behind bars?"

"Ah, but that's where it's interesting, Rupert," Quentin Travers said, smiling rather unpleasantly. "When Miss Summers died, the Slayer lineage fell to the rogue Slayer, Faith. Only when Faith is killed shall the next Slayer be called. And as you're all well aware, Faith is little more than a dangerous bundle of trouble, and she's of no use to us even when not incarcerated." Travers examined his fingernails in a bored way. "So, the matter will be taken care of. By tomorrow morning, there will be a new Slayer called."

"What exactly are you saying, Quentin?" Giles partially already knew what Travers was going to say.

"The Council has dispatched its special operations unit. They arrive at midnight tonight. Orders are to terminate Faith immediately." Travers said this with a small smile of satisfaction.

"Kill her? You're going to kill her?" It was, surprisingly, Willow who spoke. "That's not...that's...I'm too upset to think of a word right now, but that's what it is."

"You hate Faith, Will," Xander reminded her.

"With a fiery passion, the homicidal tramp," Willow muttered. "But that's not the point! You're just going to kill her, and then call the next Slayer? Is that the best plan the Council could come up with?"

"And what would you suggest?" It was the female Watcher who spoke up. "Allow that lunatic back onto the streets to cause more harm? She's already dragged our Council's name through the mud more times than we can count. At least with Miss Summers we still had some measure of control. But if it weren't for Mr. Giles here, there's no telling how Miss Summers would have..."

"Get out," Dawn said suddenly and sharply. "Don't you talk about my sister. What gives you the right to say her name? What makes you think you can talk about her? You never did anything for her. You bossed her around. But if it wasn't for her, you wouldn't be here now. So just get out."

"Orders, from a child? She is every bit like her..." Travers began.

"You heard her," Giles said suddenly. "Leave my home, and never come back, Travers. You want to kill Faith, that's your business. Don't drag me into it." Giles went to the door, and opened it silently. "You'll find my resignation from your Council in the diary. Goodbye, Quentin."

"I'd hoped that you'd stay with us, Rupert." Travers rose, and the other members of the Council followed. "Goodbye, Rupert." And without another word, he and the others were gone. Giles closed the door quietly, and went back to his desk without a word.

"They can't just kill her...can they?" Tara asked, turning to the others. "Isn't there some sort of rule..." Her voice trailed off. Suddenly, without warning, Giles broke down sobbing once again. It was only Anya who moved to comfort him.

As night fell over Los Angeles, Wesley Wyndham-Price found himself sitting alone in the lobby of the Hyperion. Angel had come back from his visit to Faith sullen and sad, and had spoken not a word to his colleagues before going off to bed. Cordelia had been oddly silent for most of the day, and Fred had been busy settling in. Gunn had been distant, and he was obviously a bit worried at seeing Angel so upset. Lorne had come by, but hadn't talked extensively. And now, Wesley was sitting alone, pondering what exactly was going to happen in regards to the Slayer situation. He remembered his days with the Watchers Council, and he knew that with Buffy Summers now dead, there was certainly some confusion among the Watchers. But now that he was out of the loop, he really knew nothing of it. Wesley's thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a car pulling to a halt outside of the hotel, and a door closing a moment later.

A moment later, the door opened, and a young man that Wesley had never seen before entered. There was an air of intelligence about him, and his handsome face had a feeling of sadness about it. Wesley stood, and greeted the young man at the desk.

"Can I help you?" he asked quietly.

"This is...Angel Investigations, correct?" the young man asked, his British accent taking Wesley by complete surprise. He looked at his hand, where something was indeed scribbled. "You...help the helpless, if my sources are correct." He smiled softly.

"Um, yes," Wesley said, pushing his glasses up on his nose. "And how can I help you?"

"You're Wesley, then. Wesley Wyndham-Price?" The young man extended his hand. "David Cromwell." Hesitantly, Wesley shook the young man's hand. "I haven't much time..." He glanced at his watch, and then back at Wesley. "We've got about two hours before they arrive, so we have to move quickly. But I understood that there were...more of you."

"Time before what? Two hours before who arrives? Move where?" Wesley was perplexed. "I don't understand."

"All right. Listen, and listen carefully. I need to speak with Angel, and I need to speak with him now. The life of the Slayer is on the line, and if I...we...don't do something in the next hour or two, there's going to be a new Slayer by tomorrow morning. Goodbye Faith, hello Betty Sue of Smallville. Now if you don't mind, I would like very much to speak with..."

"What?" Angel's voice seemed to echo through the lobby as he entered, eyeing Wesley and this new stranger, David Cromwell, with a suspicious eye.

"Listen to me. My name is David Cromwell, and I'm with the Watchers Council. I discovered that there's a plan afoot to terminate Faith, so that a new Slayer will be activated," Cromwell told Angel, cutting directly to the chase. "A special team from the Council has been dispatched to see that she is properly disposed of."

"Huh?" Angel blinked once or twice, not really comprehending what the young man was saying.

"Did I stutter?" The new Englishman's voice rose slightly, and Wesley was slightly surprised to see someone using such a harsh tone with Angel. But then, Wesley reasoned, this young man didn't know Angel. Not like he did. "Once more, and pay attention. This is urgent. It's a matter of life and death, and I'd prefer the former for all of us. In about two hours, a special unit from London's Council will arrive, and proceed to end the life of the current Slayer in order to bring forth the new one. They're going to try to kill her."

"Faith," Angel said softly, the information sinking in for the first time. Gunn had appeared now, Cordelia not far behind. Both had heard the stranger's raised voice, and were curious to see what was happening. Or, more accurately, they were curious to see Angel beat him down. "The Council is trying to kill her?"

"And there was much rejoicing as the vampire realized what I've been saying for ten minutes!" Cromwell was growing impatient, and Angel merely stood there, puzzling over this new information. His thoughts were jumbled, and for a moment he wondered if there was anything to be done about the situation. Faith was the Slayer, and the Slayer was the business of the Watchers Council. But then, Angel remembered, Faith had wanted to get better. She had wanted to become a person again. And now, in the blink of an eye, that was about to be taken away from her.

Angel walked to the front desk that Cordelia now sat on top of, and glanced around at the others. Cromwell was still standing in the exact same spot, his blue eyes following the vampire without missing a beat.

"

Not that I...question your motives, Mr. Cromwell," Wesley spoke up, fidgeting slightly with his hands. "But you seem to be rather knowledgeable about the operations of the Council. And if I recall correctly, you are the son of Vanessa Cromwell. The same son that was thrown out of the Council two years ago for disorderly conduct..."

"And you think that would make me want to help the Council? I'd like nothing more than to watch them burn. I also believe that killing the current Slayer isn't exactly the greatest idea." Cromwell pulled from the pocket of his coat a book, and tossed it to Wesley. "Aramaic. It should take you some time, because as I understand it, you're no Rupert Giles. But well enough, still." He turned back to Angel. "I figure I'm about to go bust open a state prison. You coming, Big Fella?" Angel glanced at him for a moment, and then turned to gone.

"Right there with you, man," Gunn muttered, as he, Angel, and David Cromwell left the Hyperion on their rescue mission. As soon as they were gone, Cordelia watched Wesley silently pick up the phone, and dial a number.

Faith sat on the edge of her bunk, thumbing through a magazine in a bored sort of way. It had been a long day, and she'd had way too much time to think. As much as she hated to admit it, she didn't like the idea that there wasn't a Slayer on the streets, free in the world to protect it from the forces of darkness. She hated it that she, the only Slayer, was sitting on her butt in prison for what would most likely be the rest of her life, and that by then the apocalypse might have already come and gone. She knew that averting that sort of thing wasn't her area...that had always been Buffy's trick. As she flung her magazine onto the ground, Faith tucked her knees up to her chest, and rested her chin on them. In all this time, she had rarely thought of Buffy. She kept herself busy, but now the face of the newly deceased Slayer was clear and bitter in her mind. Faith remembered her arrival in Sunnydale, and her surprise that Buffy Summers was, in spite of all that she'd heard, a bit of a priss. She had found Buffy uptight and a bit too worried about everything. They hadn't gotten along. And then, by some grace of God, they had. And that bonding had led to what Faith knew was her own downfall. One night of fun ended with the blood of an innocent bystander on her hands.

Buffy had tried to help her after that, Buffy and Angel both. But by then Faith's anger at the world around her had come full circle, and she hated Buffy and everything that she stood for. Faith remembered that hatred now, something that she had lost long ago. There had been times during her stay in prison that she wanted nothing more than to speak with Buffy, face to face, and tell her how sorry she was. But Faith knew somewhere inside that Buffy wouldn't have forgiven her. That she couldn't have. And that hurt worse than Buffy stabbing her in the stomach.

Faith was brought from her reverie by the sound of a door opening and closing at the end of the hall. Not moving, she waited. Charlie appeared at the door to her cell, frowning and looking even more mad at the world than usual. He eyed Faith, and a small smile sprung to his lips. It was that smile that told Faith something was up. In more than a year here, Faith had never seen Charlie smile. Not once. Charlie said nothing as he opened the door to her cell.

"C'mon," he said, nodding for her to get up. Hesitantly, Faith rose, cracking her knuckles as she did so. Something was definitely wrong. She found herself, a few moments later, being handcuffed by the guard, something that didn't happen very often. Irritated and very aware that something was up, Faith allowed herself to be led down a hall that she hadn't been down in quite a long time: the hall which led to the interrogation rooms. Charlie was now whistling as he escorted her, and Faith allowed herself to be led into a small room at the end of the hall. The lights were bright in the room, and in the corner stood three men in their mid-forties. All were dressed entirely in black, and all seemed to sneer as Faith entered and was pretty much shoved into a chair by the guard. Charlie tossed the keys to the handcuffs to the man nearest Faith.

"Be sure and take 'em off. Make it look like a prison fight," Charlie said, still smiling brightly. Faith understood fully now that she was in trouble. And without another word, Charlie left her alone and doomed.

"Faith," the tallest of the men said as the door closed behind the guard. His accent was thick and obviously English, and this told Faith everything she needed to know. The Watchers Council was making good on old promises. "As justice goes, this is fairly poetic, wouldn't you say?" Without warning, the man grabbed Faith by her hair, and flung her from where she sat. She hit the cold floor hard, and swore she felt her shoulder dislocating. She groaned, but refused to cry out. "You ruined our Council. The name of the Slayer and the Watcher mean nothing now. And now, we get to ruin you."

"Yeah, because it worked so well last time you tried it," Faith said acidly, staring daggers into the men that stood around the room. She was managing now to pull herself up against the wall.

"But this time, there will be no rescue, you see," another one of the men spoke up. "Buffy Summers isn't here to protect you from the Council. Nor is her vampire lover. Nor her Watcher. Why, Mr. Giles didn't even bat an eye when we told him of our plan." It was this that caught Faith's attention, but didn't surprise her much. "He's too busy grieving over his Slayer. A good one."

"A good one?" Faith laughed, and the men were surprised by this reaction. "If she was such a good Slayer, then why'd she turn her back on you guys? How come you guys fired Giles? How come she had you negotiating with her? That's not in the chain of command, I take it."

"You know nothing of what you speak." Faith wasn't sure which of the men spoke, but she could hear the uncertainty in his voice.

"You talk about Buffy like she's a saint now," Faith could feel a new breed of anger that she'd never known bubbling up inside of her. "But you didn't know her. All you ever did was try to control her. You tried to limit her. She did more for this sorry excuse for a planet than you bastards could ever dream of, and you hated her for it. And now you want me out of the way, so you'll have a new mouse to bat around. Am I right?" The men said nothing. Instead, one nodded to another, and pulled a knife from his pocket. Faith fell quiet now. She had pictured her death a hundred times over in her mind, and it had never been like this. She'd never really thought she'd die screaming and alone.

Faith closed her eyes, feeling fear for the first time in quite a while. But at the same time, she realized that perhaps these men underestimated the abilities of a Slayer. Keeping this in mind, Faith listened as she heard the man with the knife drawing closer. Her eyes still closed, she thrust her foot out quickly, and felt a sickening crack and a cry from Knife Guy. Opening her eyes, she saw the man fall face first onto his knife. She winced, glancing away, as the other two ran to his side.

"Murderous little bitch," the one who seemed to be the leader hissed. "We'll see how well you fight." And with that, he pulled a needle from his pocket. "I thought perhaps you'd make it easy on everyone, but how often do you make things easy?" Faith struggled to move away from this man, and she fell over into the new pool of blood by the now-dead man's body in the process. Faith cried out in disgust and fear, and she could see from the corner of her eye the man with the needle inching toward her.

Faith wasn't sure what happened next, because she was busy hiding her face in fear. She heard the slamming of a door, and both of the still-living assassins yelling and cursing. She heard the sound of punching and then the sound of a body hitting the floor. The same sound repeated a moment later.

"Girl's got some skill," she heard an African-American voice say.

"That was...slightly easier than I thought it would be," Faith heard an unfamiliar British man say. "I thought they'd be more prepared. The Council must be desperate."

"Faith." Faith felt herself being pulled up from the ground by a pair of strong hands, and she opened her eyes reluctantly to see Angel staring back at her in a relieved way. She said nothing, only staring at the vampire. "Are you all right?"

"Five by five," Faith muttered. "Or I will be as soon as someday gets me out of these damn cuffs." She glanced over at Gunn, whose face was unfamiliar to her. She nodded to the keys on the table, and Gunn picked them up, tossing them to Angel. Faith turned around, and Angel set her free. Faith's eyes now fell to the Englishmen, who was kneeling beside one of the unconscious bodies.

"We'd better get moving," the young man muttered, "This kind of group works in teams. Odds are, there's more than one team. A backup plan, just in case she makes it out. Odds are, they're waiting for us."

With Charlie's keys in hand, Angel leading the way, the group left the interrogation room and headed off down another hall, which Faith told them lead to the parking lot area. Charlie had keys to everything...the trick was figuring out which one was which. The door was locked, and Faith couldn't help but glance back over her shoulder as Angel fiddled with the lock.

" 'Scuse me." The one that Faith heard Angel refer to as Gunn pushed his way past the rest of the quartet, and pulled a small pistol from his pocket, complete with a silencer. Wordlessly, he shot the lock off of the door, and opened it, stepping out.

"I like him," Faith muttered as she followed Gunn and Angel, the young Englishman following behind her.

There was a small convertible parked at the curb, and Angel hurriedly got behind the wheel. Faith climbed inside quickly, followed by the others. Gunn was looking around now, making sure that they weren't being followed. His gun was still in hand. Faith laughed aloud as Angel started the car and tore out of the parking lot. She leaned back in her seat in the back, and let the breeze go through her hair. She was free. She sat there, saying nothing, as Angel drove through the busy night-time streets of Los Angeles.

It was nightfall in the Summers home when a ringing phone pierced the silence that had fallen over the house. It was during dinner, which consisted tonight of greasy Chinese food and soda, that the call came. It had been Anya's suggestion, this sort of group dinner, and though everyone had been slightly uncomfortable with the idea, they had complied. It was an awkward meal. Xander ate exactly two bites of lo mein. Dawn busied herself smashing a fortune cookie into tiny bits but not speaking. Giles ate, but the entire time seemed wrapped in a cloud of sadness that refused to go away. Willow picked at her food, and it very rarely found its way to her mouth. Anya slurped soup and tried to pretend that things were fine, while Tara tried her best to get people to eat while she herself didn't touch her own food at all. And then, amidst the heavy silence was the ringing phone. The Scooby Gang all jumped at this sound, and it was Willow who finally rose and went to the phone.

"Summers residence. Willow speaking," Willow said softly. Her voice was completely and totally devoid of any sort of emotion. Willow said nothing for a few moments, while the rest of the group watched her unchanging facial expression. After a moment, she furrowed her brow, and held the phone out to Giles, who took it from her after a moment.

"Yes? Oh." Everyone watched Giles for some indication of what was happening, and Willow slinked back to her seat looking troubled.

"I see. No, I don't. That's not...no!" Giles was shouting into the phone now, and the others were watching with a sort of strange fear rising in the pits of their stomachs. "Fine. But it won't do much good," Giles said finally. He hung up the phone, and glanced down at his hands. Without a word he stood, threw down his napkin, and left the house, slamming the door behind him. The Scoobies listened in silence, and realized with horror that Giles was sitting on the porch of the house cursing and crying. Everyone glanced around at one another.

"Someone should go out there," Willow muttered quietly. Without another word, she cleared her plate in the garbage can, and headed upstairs to the bedroom that she and Tara had been sharing in the home in the days following Buffy's demise.

"More bad news," Dawn said quietly. "I think Giles is...losing it."

"He's grieving, Dawnie," Tara told the girl. "We all are."

No one seemed to notice, Xander thought in sad amusement, that he was gone from the kitchen table and sliding down beside an already calm Giles in a chair on the Summers porch. Giles had taken off his glasses and was now cleaning them in an almost neurotic way, but Xander said nothing of it. Xander was silent for a long while, unsure of whether to press Giles for information or not.

"That was...Angel," Giles admitted finally with a heavy sigh. "The Council's plans seem to have been thwarted. Faith is alive, and out of prison. And Angel seems to think it would be best if she were here."

"And you think it's a bad thing?" Xander felt an odd tug of guilt about the subject of Faith. It wasn't because she was evil, necessarily. It was because, plain and simple, he had lost his virginity to a lunatic. It was something he didn't think about often, but when he did it was a bitter thing. He knew his track record with women wasn't all that great: he had loved Buffy for years, he recalled, and never got anywhere. He had slept with Faith, only to have her try to kill him a few weeks later. He had been with Cordelia, whose heart he had broken. And now, here he was, engaged to Anya the Ex-Vengeance Demon. It was this that made him feel worse, the idea that he was engaged and that while he should have been celebrating, he was mourning the death of the first girl he had ever loved.

"It's...complicated," Giles said, turning to him. "Watchers, when their Slayer dies, typically take on no more assignments afterward. Most Watchers will never have a Slayer, but those that do are considered...lucky." Giles sniffled, but fought back tears quite bravely. "The Council wants Faith dead. I wonder if it would have been just as well to let them."

"But she's...good now, right?" Xander asked.

"So I'm told," Giles said to the boy. "Angel believes it wholeheartedly. And that's what he was calling about. He wishes for Faith to come to Sunnydale. It wasn't so much him asking for me to look after her that bothered me. It was the idea that she's replacing Buffy."

"She could never replace Buffy, Giles. You know that," Xander's words were calm but strong. The Watcher turned away from Xander, avoiding his eyes at all costs.

"I know that." Giles cleared his throat for punctuation. "It's just...my Slayer is gone. And yet I'm expected to continue on with this other girl, and care for her as I did Buffy. And I just don't know if that's possible."

"No one's asking you to make Marcia Brady out of Faith." It was the best way Xander could put it.

"There's another Watcher, one that informed Angel of the situation. And he also presented Angel and his groupmates with a very ancient text. One that..." Giles's voice trailed off. "...there's nothing in it that hasn't come to pass. It was written in the time of Christ, and it has never been wrong. And this Watcher is certain that Faith is to do something that will somehow..." Giles shook his head. "Why am I saying this? Listen to me! A respected Watcher, on flights of fancy!"

"Faith will what?" Xander felt cold suddenly, even in the summer warmth. Giles blinked several times, and turned back to the boy.

"That she will be redeemed," Giles said.

"They really think a stint in jail has changed her that much?" Xander was incredulous.

"I don't know. Perhaps not."

"Then how can she be..."

"Perhaps it's not her time in prison that will change her." Giles and Xander chewed on this idea for what felt like a great while, and Giles chuckled bitterly after a moment. "I'm getting too old for this." He took off his glasses, and began cleaning them. "I've been Watcher to a Slayer longer than most other Watchers could dream of, and here I am being sent another. A homicidal one, at that."

"Then don't take her." It was simple, at least in Xander's mind.

"And what would we do then? Allow the demons to override the town, and die horrible deaths at the hands of creatures pouring from the Hellmouth?" Giles put his glasses back on for punctuation. "I'll take my risks with Faith."

In her bedroom above this softly spoken conversation, Willow sat with her window open, listening to the conversation between the Watcher and her best friend. What she heard, she didn't like all that much. She didn't like the idea of relying on Faith for safety. A tiny voice in the back of Willow's mind was telling her that she could protect the others just as well, with her skill in magick. And maybe Tara could be useful as well. It wasn't like they had no defense at all without a Slayer. A Slayer just made the circle complete. Chewing her lower lip, Willow rose from her seat on what had been Joyce Summers's bed, and went to a bookshelf on the far wall. There, casually laid across the top, were several spellbooks. Hesitantly, Willow put her hand out to pick one up, but as she did, a chill ran down her spine. Shaking her head, she went back to her seat on the bed, her mind now full of possibilities.

Faith found herself standing in a brightly lit room, which she soon enough recognized as the library of Sunnydale High School. Something within her mind told her that she shouldn't be there, that the school was long since destroyed. But still, she found herself feeling oddly comforted here, and she went to the long wooden table that had gotten so much use before the school had been blown up. She ran her hand along its smooth surface, remembering how Giles had always had his books lying everywhere. Buffy would sometimes do her homework here, and this was where the Scooby Gang concocted all of their plans.

"Looks empty, doesn't it?" A voice rang out through the silence, and seemed to echo throughout the room and inside Faith's mind. Whirling, Faith saw Buffy standing atop the stairs which led into the stacks in the adjacent room. She was leaning against the railing of the small stairway, smiling softly at her fellow Slayer. In spite of herself, Faith smiled as well. "I guess it kind of would be."

"Isn't it a little lonely?" The words came from Faith's mouth without her really realizing it. "Maybe a little cold, too."

"What's it like where you are?" Buffy descended the stairs, seeming to almost float down them. Her face was calm, almost affectionate.

"A little scary," Faith admitted finally. "It's dark, and everyone around me is grieving. But it's warm here, and there's lots of company. Beats the hell out of being by yourself."

"It gets better," Buffy said, smiling reassuringly. "I remember it gets better. A little hard at first." Buffy moved toward Faith now, and slid down at the table. Scattered around it now were stacks of books, some so high that they seemed to wobble. "Awful lot of stuff for something so simple, don't you think?"

"I guess," Faith admitted. "I didn't know it was going to take this much."

"Me either." Buffy glanced around at the library. "But you can do it. Whatever it takes, right?"

"Sure," Faith said, feeling a little unnerved now. Faith picked up a nearby book, and opened it. Irritated at first glance, she closed it, and extended the book to Buffy. "Isn't this more your thing? Being Miss Nancy Drew and all, saving the world?"

"Not anymore." Buffy's voice was almost sad in a way, and her eyes spoke volumes when Faith looked at her. "You know the drill. One dies, the next one's called. But you've got a head start."

"So I've heard," Faith muttered. She glanced around the library again. "There's no way around it, is there. It's not going to go away."

"No." Buffy stared into Faith's eyes. "Not until you're dead, like me." Buffy smiled. "But hey, miles to go before you sleep, remember?"

Faith bolted upright from sleep, her body feeling numb and foreign for the moment. She felt her hair mat against the back of her neck with sweat, and she groaned. It was unaturally hot in this room within the Hyperion, just down the hall from Cordelia. Faith had no idea how long she had been sleeping, but it felt like forever. Through the drawn curtains, Faith could see the beginnings of light in the sky, and she knew that she'd been asleep for a few hours at least. Groaning, she pulled herself into a sitting position, and looked around. The room was sparsely decorated, but the sheets were clean. Faith noted with sleepy amusement as she lay upon them that they smelled strongly of fabric softener, and she realized that someone must have washed some sheets specifically for her. Faith shivered in spite of her sweating, and stood abruptly. She didn't like borrowing clothes, particularly from Cordelia, but for the moment she had no choice. Pulling on a pair of jeans and a peasant top, she cursed mentally. Sure, the prison garb was gone, but was now replaced by what Faith referred to as "softie clothes". Cordelia wore them. Willow wore them. Buffy wore them. At least, Buffy had worn them.

Not wanting to think of that, Faith exmained herself in the mirror. She was pale, and wore no makeup. She had a bruise on her arm from the prison attack, but her hair wasn't all that messy. Sighing, giving up on fixing up her appearance, Faith left her room, careful not to make much noise in case other people were sleeping. Wandering down into the lobby, she found Wesley sitting alone on a couch, reading the morning paper and sipping tea. He stopped and looked up, obviously having heard Faith coming.

"Having trouble sleeping?" Wesley asked.

"Sort of," Faith grumbled. "I'm a little wound up, to be perfectly honest. Something about getting attacked and nearly killed'll do that to you. Plus, weird dreams are an added bonus. Sort of like fun, but not."

"Dreams?" Angel was now emerging from the front office. The sun had yet to rise, and Angel clearly had yet to retire to bed. He looked as though he'd been thinking about Buffy again, as he seemed almost haunted now. "What kind of dreams?"

"I don't really remember. Only that they weren't the fun sweaty kind," Faith said quickly, shrugging. She didn't want to talk about Buffy. Not with Angel, not with anyone. "So." Faith plopped down in a chair in the lobby, and swung her legs over the side. "Figured out what to do with me yet?"

"It's simple enough." Angel shrugged. "Buffy was the Slayer. You replace Buffy."

"And by replace you mean..." Faith could feel a sinking feeling growing in the pit of her stomach.

"Go to Sunnydale," Angel said flatly. "It's where you're needed."

"No, it's where the Slayer's needed. The Scooby Gang needs me about as much as they need herpes." Faith said, her voice ringing cold. "And believe me, none of them are getting any as it is."

"Faith, please," Wesley spoke up. "Given the current situation, I'm sure they'll all be happy to have you." It was Faith and Angel who both turned to give Wesley a skeptical look. "Well, maybe not happy to have you. But...relieved to have you."

"So I go to Sunnydale. Then what?" Faith asked.

"Build a life," a voice said from somewhere behind Angel. Faith turned to see the same young Englishman who had aided in her rescue standing there, looking frumpy and tired. His shirt was wrinkled, and his blue eyes seemed bloodshot. His hair, a strange sandy-brown color, was in an absolute mess. "Do whatever you can, aside from not dying and not getting back into trouble. You're the Slayer now, and it's your job to fight the forces of darkness in Sunnydale. But that also means you get to stay off the streets and out of trouble as well."

"Ooh. You've got a pair on you. I like that," Faith said, feeling a sudden surge of old anger rushing up from inside her somewhere. Who was this guy, and why was he telling her what to do? She didn't take orders. She was Faith.

"I'm sure," the young man fired back. "That seems to be one of your only qualifications for shagging. All the necessary parts."

"Um, if I may, it's-..." Wesley began.

"And I'm sure you will no longer have all those parts after I start chopping things off. Now...who the hell are you?" Faith snapped.

"Faith...meet your new Watcher," Wesley said, shaking his head. He knew this wasn't a good thing: at least when he had first met Buffy, she had made fun of him. But Faith was threatening this Watcher with loss of body parts, and they hadn't even slain a single vampire in each other's company yet. "David Cromwell."

"You gotta be kidding me," Faith said, spinning to face Angel. "I don't need a Watcher! And even if I did, I really think someone over the age of twelve is more qualified for the job!" Faith looked David Cromwell over again, and laughed. "Look at him. He's got Dungeons and Dragons nerd written all over him!" Faith turned to Wesley. "And last time I checked, the Council wanted me dead. So why on earth would they want me to have a Watcher?"

"Any work that Mr. Cromwell does is unofficial." Wesley was now joining Angel and David at the front desk. David was now leaning against the desk, looking at Faith was a look of blatant amusement stretched across his face. Faith paid him no mind. "The Council doesn't think too highly of him. But there is still much to be done, Faith. And if I recall...you've never been one to research what you're killing. It's very much plunge, and move on."

"I'm not even going to point out the joke there," David muttered. Faith sent him a glare that would have terrified most, but only caused him to laugh softly under his breath. "What about Giles? Giles could, uh, watch me," Faith told Wesley. "He's alive, and he's well. He could look after me, and do the book thing."

"Giles is also grieving, Faith." Angel spoke finally. "Losing a Slayer...it's gotta be tough. Maybe someday he'll be okay. But for now, working with you will only make things harder. And that's not saying he won't help. But he needs help. Someone who can, er, keep up with you, so to speak."

"I really, really doubt that." Faith folded her arms across her chest. Angel sent her a look that seemed to be pleading with her.

It was at this moment that something violent and angry sparked within Faith, something that she hadn't felt in quite sometime. It was the same feeling she had gotten the moment she had seen Buffy with Riley so long ago. It was pure, animalistic rage. She knew it well. It suddenly occurred to her that she didn't have to listen to any of this. She could bolt from this hotel, and be on a bus to Mexico by mid-morning. Yet now, standing here in this place, it was the last thing Faith wanted. She remembered running from her problems, and remembered dimly nearly getting gutted as a result. The darkness only came, she realized, when she wouldn't...no, couldn't...face herself. And now, she realized, she was it. Buffy was no longer there to be the "good one". Buffy wasn't there to play hero. She was alone, and the darkness was behind her. And there it had to stay.

"Whatever," she muttered finally. "I don't like this, and I'm not gonna. I don't like you," she said, turning to David, "and I don't like your attitude."

"Hm. So much for pleasantries, then." David didn't appear fazed by Faith's words.

"But seeing as how I'm it now, I don't have much choice. Or I do, but I don't feel like tasting the dark side of the Force again," Faith said, smiling grimly at Angel.

"Good," Angel said, nodding gratefully. "I told Giles you'd be there by tonight. I figure it'll give you time to get some clothes, something to eat, and whatever else you need."

Willow shivered slightly as she and Xander silently made their last nightly rounds around Restfield Cemetery. It was an unusually cool night, one that was almost chilly enough for light jackets. In four hours, the group had seen two vampires. Willow had managed through a simple spell to freeze them in place, and had talked Xander into staking them. It was a job he didn't like, but one that he accepted without complaint. Tara had offered to come along, but Willow had told her to stay with Dawn. Giles was at home, and Anya working at the Magic Box. Willow knew that it wasn't the best time to talk to Xander about what she was going to, but it was the only time, she knew, that they could be completely alone. And she didn't really want Tara or anyone else to know what she was thinking. If Tara knew, she would want to stop it. And she would go to Giles. All things considered, Willow knew they were best off without them.

"Hey, Xand?" Willow finally found the courage to speak, as the silence was becoming deafening. Xander glanced over at her, and waited for her to continue. "Remember what we talked about the other night? About Buffy, I mean."

"How could I forget?" Xander chuckled bitterly. "You basically hinted that there's a good chance that Buffy's sitting on a couch with Hitler and Charles Manson in a blinding land of eternal torment. What's not to remember?"

"That's not what I said," Willow told him.

"Not directly, but it's what you meant. You talked about Buffy being somewhere other than heaven. And that's a talk I never wanted to have." Xander stopped walking, and casually dropped down at the base of a tombstone. Willow slid down beside him, unsure of how to continue. "Explain to me again how this is possible."

"I-I don't know for sure that it is," Willow said. "Giles's books are sort of sketchy about the idea of heaven and hell. But still, Buffy's death was the result of powerful dark magicks. And she ended her own life. According to the Christian beliefs, that's a mortal sin. And if you die of a mortal sin..."

"You burn." Xander finished Willow's thought. "And you think that, combined with the magicks, threw Buffy into someplace with an eternal heat wave?"

"Maybe." Willow was silent for a moment, and she turned to Xander suddenly. "Xander, what if I told you that maybe things didn't have to be this way? That maybe, just maybe, we could fix things?"

"Will, what you talking about?" Xander seemed incredulous.

"Oh...bloody hell..." Willow's answer was interrupted by a groan from nearby. Both armed with crucifixes and holy water, Willow and Xander leapt to their feet in time to see Spike stumbling somewhat drunkenly among the gravestones, his leather duster looking dirtier than usual. His hair was messy, and his eyes appeared bloodshot. Every few seconds he would stop and catch his balance, and continue stumbling along. Willow felt instant relief at the sight of Spike...she knew that if Xander didn't like her plan, Spike would. Spike would help her, as much as she hated to think of it that way. Sensing Willow and Xander, Spike glanced in their direction. "Great...sub-important members of the Scooby Gang, out on nightly patrol. You two, you're real menacing." He glanced at Xander. "What, you think vampires are afraid of flannel shirts and cologne?" Spike turned to Willow. "And you, with your fuzzy sweater...real intimidating, I tell you."

"But funny, last time I checked, you were the one with the chip in your head. Real intimidating, I tell you," Xander snapped. They hadn't seen Spike since the day Buffy died. But judging by the looks of him, he was taking it not-so-well.

"Sod off," Spike murmured.

"We were here first," Xander called back.

"Xander, shut up," Willow said, leaving Xander to jog after Spike, who was now passing by them in a hasty, angry way. Xander watched, perplexed, as Willow caught up to Spike, and grabbed him by his coat sleeve. She spoke to him in a low and secretive voice, and Xander suddenly saw Spike's face soften. Willow waited, and finally, Spike nodded. Xander, stunned, watched Willow return toward him with Spike in tow. Spike was oddly silent now, and was mainly looking down at his feet and watching the grass pass underneath him. When Willow returned, she pushed Spike down onto a raised tomb, and she stood looking from Spike to Xander. With a heavy and worried sigh, she began: "The other night, I was crazy. I couldn't think straight. After what happened to Buffy, I was in shock. Anyway...I started going through books. Mine, Giles's, Tara's, anything I could get my hands on. In one of Tara's books, I found a spell."

"A spell in a book of spells. What a crazy, mixed up world," Xander said, trying his best to make a joke in the incredibly uncomfortable situation that was now being presented.

"It was a spell that...it's complicated. There's a lot involved in it, and as far as I know it's never been done. The spell...it's not like anything I've ever seen before." Willow glanced at Spike, and then at Xander. "I think I know a way to bring Buffy back."