And I wanna believe you,
When you tell me that it'll be okay,
I try to believe you,
But I don't
When you say that it's gonna be,
It always turns out to be a different way,
I try to believe you
Not today
I don't know how I'll feel,
Tomorrow
I don't know what to say,
Tomorrow
Is a different day
It's always been up to you,
It's turning around,
It's up to me,
I'm gonna do what I have to do,
Just don't
Gimme a little time,
Leave me alone a little while,
Maybe it's not too late
Not today (-Avril Lavigne, "Tomorrow")
Upstairs in Buffy's room, Faith was careful to throw the few items of clothing and the frugal amount of money she carried into a small duffel bag that she had borrowed from Wesley back in Los Angeles. Downstairs, Buffy was sitting in the living room amongst her friends, probably still silent as she had been for a great while now. It was nearing dawn, and the sky was beginning to grow light. Dawn still had yet to awaken and find her sister alive and home, and Faith knew that it was over now. Zipping the duffel bag, she turned and glanced in the mirror. She had borrowed some of Buffy's clothes, and had left a bit of cash under the Slayer's pillow for reimbursement. She knew it was silly, but she felt like she at least owed Buffy that. That, and getting out of her life as quickly as possible. For three years she had been the trash that polluted the Slayer name, and now, with Buffy back, she could drop off the face of the earth forever. A thousand possibilities entered her head. She could go back to Boston, maybe get an apartment and a job, and start over. Faith wouldn't exist anymore...she could get a new name. She could be...Stacy. Or Jennifer. Or Helga, for all she cared! What mattered was the prospect of starting over! No more Sunnydale. No more vampires. No more death and pain and sadness, just a new beginning away from it all. Sure, she figured, she would slay if the occasion called for it. But for now, it was time to go.
Brushing a piece of her hair back out of her face, Faith glanced in the mirror again. She had a bruise around her throat from Buffy's attack earlier in the night. Her eyes were slightly red from lack of sleep, but her hair was almost perfect. She felt awkward in Buffy's clothes, a black button down and jeans, but she looked normal enough. Stuffing the few hundred dollars that Angel had given her into her pocket, she turned. She knew at a moment like this that she could make a quick getaway out the back door in the kitchen, and no one would notice until she was gone. Turning, she gasped as she saw Spike standing in the doorway. He had bloody wounds all over his chest, and Faith marveled that Buffy had missed his heart during her attack in the other dimension. Spike was pale and sweating, and his coat was tattered and dirty. Yet he still stood tall in spite of this, his finely chiseled face full of realization and understanding.
"Seems easier, doesn't it?" he asked her, eyes full of something that Faith couldn't easily make out. His expression was one that she could not read. "Get out of jail free, and now you're off the hook 'cause Big Sis's back? Don't think that's how it's meant to work, love."
Ignoring his comment, Faith nodded to him: "You're bleeding."
"That I am, then," Spike said, glancing down at his bloodied body. "Least she hasn't forgotten her duty."
"Take off your shirt," Faith said as she brushed past Spike and walked across the hall to the bathroom. Spike glanced back over his shoulder.
"I'm a bit worse for wear. I don't think I'm much for shagging right about now. May cause me to bleed to death, if it's possible. Maybe some other time," Spike said to her as she reappeared with an armful of bandages and a wet rag. Faith rolled her eyes as she slid back into Buffy's room, dumping the supplies on the bed. "I thought you didn't like helping people. All evil and apathetic and all that."
"You want to keep bleeding?" Faith asked.
"Why do you care?" Spike's gaze was fixed on the brunette Slayer.
"Because everyone around here seems to have this big yen for you. And the way you looked at Buffy earlier, just seeing her alive...I saw it, Spike." Spike's head fell, and he stared at the floor. "She doesn't love you, does she. You're just...a thing to her. Something to be reckoned with, but never treated as a person. You do some good stuff, and at the end of the day, you're still just a...a thing." Faith's voice faltered as she said this, and Spike saw it. Yet he knew it was true. "I know how that feels, that's all." Her gaze hardened again, having let a bit of vulnerability shine through. "I don't care, I just relate." "It's works out well enough, then," Spike said. With that, Spike slid down on the bed and allowed Faith to nurse his wounds.
Downstairs, Buffy couldn't help but shiver as she sat on the couch in the living room. She sat alone, for Willow, Xander, and Anya all sat or stood around her. There was an awkward silence over the room, and Buffy couldn't help but feel slightly withered and frightened by their awed and silent stares. Her vision was still swimming slightly, and her internal organs felt as though they were tying themselvs in knots. There was dirt under her fingernails, which were raw and bloody thanks to her efforts to claw through her coffin. She was bruised and her feet ached, thanks to the torments of the other dimension. Though she had left it behind, she still bore horrible signs of what had gone on there. She did her best to hide this from her silent friends. She felt dirty and in pain, as being awakened from death was a harsh and frightening reality. Sighing softly, she drew Xander's jacket more closely around what felt like her frail body. She felt weak and exhausted.
"What was it like?" Anya broke the silence with her chirpy and articulate voice. "I mean, there are different dimensions of Hell, of course, and I imagine yours must have been particularly terrible. I imagine that you spent three days in a constant state of mental and physical anguish, and..." Though Xander and Willow wore shocked looks of disapproval, Buffy denoted beneath this a hint of curiosity about her situation.
"I...I don't really remember," Buffy said suddenly. "I just want to-..."
Buffy froze. Standing halfway down the stairs looking into the living room, eyes wide with shock and a bit of horror, was Dawn. The two sisters stared at each other, wearing identical expressions of awe, Dawn's of fear, and Buffy's of relief. Willow, Xander, and Anya all turned to stare at the younger Summers, who stood as still as a statue as her hand gripped the railing of the stairs. She swallowed, and said nothing. Neither sister could move. Buffy wanted to run to Dawn, to hold her and hug her and smell her hair and know that she was real. Dawn simply couldn't understand what was happening. Part of her was saying that Willow had merely fixed the Buffy Bot. Yet another part of her, a more childish and desperate part, believed that it was Buffy. Silently, Dawn came down the stairs and stood near the front door, staring at the dirty and bruised Buffy that sat on the couch, awkwardly hunched over and in pain. A thick and heavy silence hung over everything, and no one said a word. Dawn's heart pounded in her chest, and for a moment she thought she might throw up. Was she dreaming? Was this all another one of her nightmares, where at the end Buffy went back into the ground screaming and pleading for her life? Or maybe, just maybe, could this be reality? Slowly and cautiously, Buffy rose from her seat on the couch.
Watching her sister walk with a slight limp toward her, Dawn noticed the smell of damp earth creeping toward her as well. Glancing down, Dawn saw the bruises that lined her sister's body, as well as her bloody and ripped fingernails. She glanced back up, silently noting the dirt and mud that clumped in her sister's once delicate and clean hair, and she understood: this was no dream, nor was it the Buffy Bot. This was Buffy, and for some reason she was back. Buffy stood before Dawn now, and watched silenly as her younger sister's eyes filled with tears. Seeing this, Buffy felt her own lower limp trembling, and as Dawn began to cry, she threw her arms around Buffy and hugged her close. Buffy felt the hot, wet tears before she could stop them. Dawn was here, alive and well. Her sister was alive and safe. The hardest thing in this world...is to live in it. Live, for me. Buffy's words echoed in Dawn's mind as she sobbed into her sister's damp and cold shoulder. Buffy sobbed into her sister's hair as the two held each other. Everything was coming back to them now, the pain of the past few years, everything. The death of their mother. The glowing and brilliant light at the top of that tower. Buffy's final plunge. All coming back in this hug at the bottom of the stairs. Buffy sank to the floor, her legs giving out, and Dawn didn't let go as she slid down beside her sister, still holding her.
They stayed like this for a long while, until finally Dawn pulled away from her. "You're hurt," Dawn muttered, wiping her tears away. "We need to get you cleaned up."
"I need to take a shower," Buffy said quietly, glancing down at herself. Dawn nodded, and said nothing as her sister hesitantly turned and went upstairs. Her gait was slow and almost painful to watch, and Dawn stared after her until Buffy disappeared up to the top of the stairs. Silently, Dawn turned to Willow, Xander, and Anya, who were all watching her, unsure of what to do next.
"How?" Dawn asked softly, but behind this was masked a quiet sort of anger that the others detected instantly.
Buffy dried her eyes at the top of the stairs, willing herself to pull it together. Seeing Dawn again had made her feel...more joy than she had ever known previously in life. Knowing that she had died so that Dawn might live and that her sister was safe brought her more satisfaction and fulfillment than anything else she had done as a Slayer. Killing the Master, saving the world from Angelus, blowing up the Mayor, killing Adam and saving her friends from the First Slayer, taking down a goddess, it was all nothing compared to seeing her sister alive. And now, she was here again. Pulled from that dark place back into the light, where she knew she belonged. Yet she couldn't think clearly...her thoughts were horribly jumbled and confused, and only when she saw Dawn did anything make any real sense. Part of her was still on edge, still full of fear, expecting the demons to come for her at any moment. And yet so far, things were normal. Her friends were there, her sister was alive. Everything seemed fine. Yet all in all, Buffy didn't feel fine. She regarded her bloodied fingernails for a moment as she turned to go into her bedroom, and froze as she saw Spike standing in the room, putting his tattered and muddy coat back on. Faith was sitting on the bed, a bloody cloth sitting in a bowl of water alongside her. The two parties regarded each other, and Spike avoided Buffy's eyes as he quickly exited the room. Buffy and Faith regarded each other silently. Buffy felt her confusion now clouded with anger and contempt. Faith felt uncomfortably and angry, though not necessarily with Buffy. She climbed to her feet quickly, and put her hands into her pockets. Buffy's pockets, since she was wearing Buffy's clothes.
"How long?" Buffy asked quietly, never taking her eyes off of Faith.
"What?" Faith asked. She wondered what Buffy meant.
"How long was I gone?" Buffy said. "Everyone looks older. Dawns looks taller. You're out of jail, and you're here. How long was I gone? And what else has changed?" Faith understood suddenly...Buffy thought she had been dead for years, and now she was asking the one person who wouldn't spare her feelings what had happened in that time. Faith wasn't sure how Buffy was about to take what she was being told, and she found herself wondering what Buffy had been through in the past three days that made her unaware of the passage of time.
"Three days," Faith muttered. "You've been gone three days." Buffy took this in with wide eyes, as though for a moment she was unable to comprehend what Faith was telling her. Three days. She had been gone three days. Glancing to the window, she saw that dawn was quickly approaching. Sighing, she closed her eyes for a moment, and she was back on that platform watching her last sunrise as Dawn sobbed and begged her not to jump. She could taste the whipping winds on her lips, and she could hear the terrible screeches of the demons that came forth from the portal. She could feel the warmth from the sunrise...it was supposed to be her last. Yet here she was, in her bedroom, watching the sunrise with an old enemy. Thinking of this, she turned back to Faith. "The Council...they tried to have me killed. Said they didn't want me taking up your slack. Angel..." Buffy snapped around at the mention of her old lover's name. "...he saved me, him and some friends. And they sent me here."
"Is he...are they..." Buffy couldn't find the words.
"They're all fine," Faith told her.
"And you?" Buffy asked.
"I want to leave," Faith said, and without another word, picked up her bowl and cloth and left Buffy standing alone in her bedroom.
London, England
Quentin Travers couldn't recall the last time he had been this furious. And if he could have, he knew that it more than likely would have been some time dealing with Buffy Summers. Yet either way, he found himself sitting in his office high above the rest of London, surrounded by other Watchers going about their business. The council had been uneasy for the past few days, thanks to a successful attempt by the current Slayer, Faith, to break out of jail. Stirring his tea, Travers laughed ruefully. She was out there somewhere this very instant, laughing at him and the Council. She had disgraced them and dragged them through the mud, and now she was the only Slayer that the Council had. The first attempt at killing her had failed thus far, and they were about to find out whether or not the second one would succeed. Sighing, Travers glanced at the list of names in front of him. All potential Slayers, all waiting for Faith to die so that the next rightful owner to the title could begin her quest to slayer vampires. At the top of the list were circled three names, those deemed most likely by the coven to become the next Slayer. One in Tokyo. On in Rome. And one, the one at the top of the list, in Los Angeles, California. This concerned Travers, for he dimly recalled the last incident in which a Slayer had been called from California.
The girl before Buffy Summers, he recalled, had been a good Slayer. Very by the book, very thorough in her work. Her Watcher had been a good one as well, until the very last. Thinking about this, Travers was almost angry enough to toss his teacup across the room. It had been simple in the beginning, so very simple...one Cromwell in the Council's internal affairs, and her son watching a Slayer. He had been young, but he was good at what he did. But as Slayers tended to do, his hadn't lasted long, and he had come back to England soonafter, unhappy with the way the Council merely moved on. Buffy Summers had been called, her first Watcher promptly killed. Rupert Giles had been deployed next. And then, Kendra had been activated as well, and Sam Zabuto had stepped up to watch over her. And then Faith came along, and this was where the trouble truly began.
This whole mess was almost enough for Travers to trade in his tea for alcohol. Faith was alive somewhere, and apparently, Buffy Summers's old flame was making sure that the Council couldn't find her. But then, he supposed, she couldn't hide forever. As he sat there, another team was on its way to attempt to take Faith out. Hopefully this time would be a bit more brutal and surprising.
His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of voices outside his office door. Sitting his teacup down on his desk, Travers stood, pulling his coat from the back of his chair and putting it on as he started toward the door. He had nearly made it to the door when it opened, and a girl stepped in. She looked no more than twenty, and her clothes were strangely casual for someone entering Council headquarters. For a moment she and Travers stared at each other. Her hair was strawberry blond and curly, and her eyes were a soft shade of blue. Her skin was fair, and a few freckles dotted her slim and lovely cheekbones. She smiles after a moment.
"Mister Travers?" she asked. Travers noticed with suspicion that the girl spoke with a strong American accent, and had not air of a Watcher about her. As he surveyed the girl, he found a dim air of familiarity floating about his head. She stood, stone-faced, waiting. Travers looked more closely at her, and as the realization crept into his face and his mind, Travers felt a sudden and piercing pain in his stomach, accompanied by a hot, sticky wetness. Glancing down, he cried out as he saw the hilt of a knife sticking from his midsection, and the dark scarlet hue of blood staining his shirt in a pattern that grew wider with every passing moment. Smiling, the girl took hold of the handle of the dagger, and yanked it upward, feeling the tissue and flesh of the Watcher's stomach rip as he screamed out in wild and violent pain. Travers could feel the world around him beginning to swirl as he fell backward against his desk, and sank down to the floor in front of it. A pool of blood began forming beneath him, and he felt the darkness closing in as his body began to convulse in pain.
"Meredith..." he managed to choke out, his voice little more than a hushed whisper as he felt his body shutting down. He sat there on the floor for several moments, listening as the blackness swirled more intently around him and his heartbeat lessened and lessened, like the call of a fading drum, until finally fading away into nothing as the darkness overtook him completely.
The girl stood over the fallen Watcher, and calmly glanced down at the blood on her hand. Her smile faded, and she cautiously lifted her dirtied hand to her face, examining it closely. The thick and hot blood was a sharp contrast to her pale and milky skin, and she felt the hunger growing within her suddenly. Kneeling beside the body of Travers, she yanked the knife from his ripped flesh, and watched in fascination as the blood that coated the knife glinted in the overhead lights. After a moment of hesitation, she lifted the blade to her lips, and licked some of the blood from the cold, hard metal. She closed her eyes for a moment, savoring this, and after a few seconds she stood, and strode around behind Travers desk, calmly sitting down and tossing her heels up onto the desk. Leaning back, she closed her eyes for a moment. She could feel the dead Watcher's blood coursing through her veins, and filling her with warmth. After a few moments of this, she went to work rifling through the drawers of Travers desk. It only took her a few moments to realize what she was looking for was right on top of the desk: the list that Travers had been looking over moments before she had arrived.
Tucking this into the pocket of her jacket, she rose from the chair and crossed over and out of the office, leaving Travers' body behind. In the main reception area of the Watchers' Council, there stood a young woman with bright red hair. She stood, arms folded, waiting patiently, and her eyes lit up with a sort of maniacal glee when she saw her friend returning from the office with a small smile upon her face. Elsewhere in the building could be heard screaming and the sounds of fighting, and occasional final cries of death could be heard. The two women stood there together, listening triumphantly to the sounds of the Watchers' Council's final moments.
An hour later, the city of London marveled as a prominent historical building in a rather upscale neighborhood burned to the ground while the fire brigades tried unsuccessfuly to end the blaze.
Sunnydale, California
Giles finally made up his mind around nightfall to go check up on things with the others. He had spent his entire day in his apartment, lying around watching old movies on television. He had given up on drinking himself into sleep, for he always awoke later with the strong urge to throw up and then pass out on the bathroom floor. So he gave up on this after a while, and made the decision to get himself cleaned up and make himself useful. The group at Buffy's house was no doubt on their third or fourth night of ordering Chinese or pizza or something of this sort, and he figured he could at least help out. Maybe later, he would join Faith and Cromwell for patrol. As he grabbed his car keys and headed out the door, Giles could feel that familiar ache in his chest beginning to grow once again. Each day passed slowly and painfully, and there wasn't a single minute that went by that he didn't think of Buffy. He knew that death came with being a Slayer; he had known that she wouldn't last forever. In the end she had been tired, and all the same she had more courage than he ever could, than anyone ever could. She had given her own life to save a world that had given her nothing but cruelty and rules that hurt her more than they helped. She had sacrificed her life to save a world that was against her.
Giles knew all this, and he had known it all along. Buffy was different. Special, somehow. Past Slayers had been by the book. Thorough. Obedient. Buffy, when he met her, wanted nothing more than to put slaying vampires behind her, and deny her destiny. Eventually she had grown accustomed to her life as the Slayer in Sunnydale, and he had grown accustomed to being her Watcher. She had no regard for rules, or for what the Council thought was right. Over time, Giles understood why. At seventeen, she had lasted a year longer than most Slayers tended to. It was proof enough to him that something was being done correctly. And then she had taken out The Master, and she had died, only to be brought back by Xander. And then she had fallen for Angel, and he had destroyed her world. Giles looked back on this with pain as he often found himself haunted by the blank and lost expression on Jenny Calendar's face as she lay broken and limp in his bed, another victim of Angel's twisted and cruel campaign the ruin Buffy's life forever. Giles remembered going to the factory to take out Angel himself, only to be rescued by Buffy. I can't do this alone. Buffy's sob-filled words still held in his mind, and he had never forgotten them. She was the reason he hadn't given up that night, or ever. And then she had killed Angel, and disappeared. Giles had never known pain such as that, not knowing where Buffy was. For months he waited for her to show up on his doorstep, and when she finally did, it was the happiest day of the Watcher's life. She had been a hero by the end of high school, honored by her fellow classmates. And then she had gone to college, and for a time Giles couldn't help but feel useless. Buffy spent more time with college friends and with Riley, but in the end, the Scoobies had bound together to save the world again. And then Buffy had wanted to learn more about her power as the Slayer, something that fell by the wayside as Glory made her presence known. And then Buffy was gone.
Giles sniffled softly as he drove lazily down the street. There was so much that Buffy still hadn't known...so much he sitll had to teach her. He would never have the chance now, and he regretted it all. She had so much power, so much potential, and now it was all over. Five years of work, pain, and tears, and what did he have to show for it? A lost "child", and the rest of his little "family" was imploding silently. Giles put this out of his mind as he pulled into the driveway of what had been Buffy's house, now occupied by Willow and Tara to secure Dawn's well-being. Stuffing his keys into his pocket, Giles sighed heavily as he climbed the front porch and knocked on the door.
Tara opened the door a moment later, and Giles knew by the look on her face that something was wrong. Her eyes were clouded with worry and with a low-key sort of pain, and he couldn't help but feel as though she was silently begging for help. Without a word, she opened the door wider, and allowed Giles inside. Before he could say a word to the girl, she was gone, almost sprinting into the kitchen. The entire house felt strange, and Giles stood just inside the front door for a moment before he closed it softly. Turning, he glanced into the living room. David Cromwell was sitting in a chair near the fireplace, and he looked angry. Faith was standing behind her new Watcher, arms folded, head down. Dawn was standing with her back to him in the doorway. Giles could hear Xander's voice, but he couldn't see the boy.
"...it wasn't all that dangerous. I don't think we should all be attacking Willow here. She did the right thing." Xander's voice was slightly angry.
"But you can't know that!" Cromwell cried. "How could you possibly think that something like this was safe, let alone authorized? You cannot bend laws like this, it's not your place. You've channeled magick that is more deadly than any person on this planet is equipped to deal with. Have you any idea what you could have caused? You could have leaked demon dimensions into our reality. You could have...imploded the planet. You could have resurrected the wrong being!"
"But I didn't." Giles heard Willow's voice, and he realized that something was indeed very wrong. Not wasting any more time, he moved to step into the living room.
"Giles." He froze. He stood motionless between the living room and the front door for a moment, knowing that it couldn't possibly be. He turned slowly, as did Dawn, now aware of the Watcher, to see standing halfway down the stairs a rested yet troubled looking Buffy. Giles felt his entire body go numb with shock. For a moment Buffy avoided his eyes, and Giles couldn't help but feel as though he couldn't breathe. He stood, numb and astounded, unable to speak. Buffy glanced up at him, and did her best to hide her bandaged and still painful wounds on her hands. The others had fallen silent now, each of them aware of the Watcher's presence as he surveyed his once-fallen Slayer. Buffy descended the stairs silently, and threw herself into Giles's arms. Giles felt tears coming without even realizing it. Buffy tightened her grip around her Watcher, and refused to let go. A single tear fell down the Watcher's cheek as he held her, unable to think and unable to move. He didn't understand how or why, but she was alive. Buffy was alive.
Finally Buffy pulled away from him, and silently wiped her eyes. She looked healthy and normal, like regular old Buffy. Yet Giles couldn't help but notice that she wore a sad and strange expression. Without a word, Buffy turned, seeing that all eyes were now on her. She glanced down at her feet for a moment.
"I'm gonna get some air. I'll be...outside." Her eyes shifted from person to person as she spoke, and without giving anyone a chance to reply, Buffy was out the front door.
Giles watched her go, and then turned back to the others. Dawn appeared shifty and frustrated now, and her arms were folded across her chest. Faith was still doing her best to avoid Giles's eyes, and she was now slowly crossing back and forth from one side of the room to the other. Cromwell was stone faced and angry, and as Giles walked into the living room, he saw Willow and Xander seated together on the couch. Willow was looking down at her hands, and Xander was glancing around at the others. The silence in the room was unbearable.
"How?" Giles asked softly, removing his glasses and cleaning them with his shirt as he glanced around the room. "Why don't we ask Miss Rosenberg about that, Mister Giles?" Cromwell asked, shooting Willow an angry look. Willow glanced up at the young Watcher, a look of utter contempt stretched across her tired face.
"It wasn't just her, buddy," Xander shot back, coming to Willow's defense. "A whole bunch of us got involved, including your Slayer there." Xander nodded to Faith, who had said nothing this entire time. Cromwell paused and glanced back at Faith, who was standing near Dawn now. Faith stared at Xander for a moment, and then turned to meet her Watcher's slightly surprised gaze. "So don't go getting all high and mighty on us."
"We didn't do anything wrong," Willow began, cutting off Cromwell as he opened his mouth to speak. Willow glanced around the room. Tara and Anya had made a hasty exit earlier, and she was unsure of where they now hid. Tara had been absolutely at a loss when she awakened earlier in the day to discover a very alive, albeit confused, Buffy. All day, Tara had carefully avoided Willow's words and glances, and had kept to herself. Willow wasn't sure that Tara had said a single word the entire day. Which was probably, she decided, of little difference, because everyone else had been talking twice as much today, giving her a pounding and ferocious headache. Every few minutes she would feel a little dizzy, and she would steady herself silently. So far, no one had noticed that something was ailing Willow, and this relieved her to no end. It would have given the plucky and obnoxious new Watcher even more ammo against her if she admitted that she didn't feel all that well. And yet at the same time, she felt powerful. While Spike had battled within the dimension to retriever Buffy, Willow found herself with more power at her disposal than she'd had in a great while. It was the same feeling, she recalled, that she'd had when she had given Angel back his soul. As though she wasn't really the one doing the magic, but instead acting as a vessel for a higher power. Whether that power was wholly good or not, she still couldn't decide.
Willow glanced at Giles. Almost six years she had known this man, and never once had he doubted her. She often looked fondly back on the beginning, back in high school. How she had looked up to Giles, and had known how much she had to learn from him. She had looked at him with a child's admiration then, as she still sometimes did. But with age came knowledge of her own. And she decided the minute that David Cromwell saw Buffy that no matter what, she wasn't going to let him turn everyone against her. No Watcher that was barely old enough to shave was going to step on Willow's toes, that much she knew.
"Then what did you do, Willow?" Giles asked, turning to her. The others turned to Giles, waiting for him to react in some other way than his reserved state of calm. He was obviously still reeling from the shock of seeing Buffy alive, but his mind was obviously weighed down by other things. Willow glanced around at her cohorts.
"We brought her back," Willow said softly. "I found a spell in one of Tara's books, one that was a little difficult, but not much trouble. And I managed to open up the dimension where I'd located Buffy, and we sent someone in to get her." Giles stared at Willow silently.
"Tell him who you sent, Miss Rosenberg, please," Cromwell said softly, "I'm sure he'll be thrilled to hear that you let an evil and soulless vampire into that dimension to find your friend."
"Man, why don't you shut the hell up?" Everyone turned. Faith was standing away from her Watcher, wearing a look that suggested that not one person in the room could stop her if she was going to go on a rampage right about now. Cromwell turned to glance at the Slayer, who stepped forward suddenly. "You act like a kindergartener, busting your ass to make teacher happy. Get a life, dude. Get laid. Something. Whatever's in your bottle that needs uncorking, work it out." Everyone waited, and Faith stopped. She stood there motionless for a moment, unsure of what to say. She had spent more than a year in prison, learning to control her anger. And now, for the first time in quite a while, it was about to bubble over. Not just with Cromwell, but with everything and everyone.
"You sent Spike into a demon dimension?" Giles spoke up before Faith could truly lose her temper. There was a note of anger in his voice, and only Xander fully picked up on it. Faith had retreated to her spot near the door, and was staring daggers at the young Watcher. Willow was staring at Giles, waiting for some sort of response. "I thought you would have shown better judgement than that."
"Judgement? Giles, something had to be done. We couldn't just...leave her there. We need her!" Willow said earnestly. "I know we have Faith here, but there's no telling how long she'll go without snapping and killing us all. I think she just demonstrated that well enough. We need Buffy."
"And you broke every law of nature and magick to get her here. Do you have any idea what kind of rules you've broken, what lines you've crossed?" Giles asked her.
"Hey, here's an idea," Xander snapped. "Let's all gang up on Willow!"
"I'd say the occasion calls for it!" Cromwell shot back. "You sit here defending her as though she saved a baby from a fire! But she ripped a human soul out of a dimension she knew nothing about, all so she could sleep better at night!"
"You don't know the first thing about this," Dawn spoke up. She had been silent for a long while; she had been silent for most of the day. And now, she stood at the coffee table, a safe distance between the arguing parties, arms folded across her chest in an angry yet strong sort of way. "You don't know the first thing about Buffy, or Willow, or even Faith." This was directed to Cromwell, who sat perfectly still, looking absolutely furious. "I thought maybe you guys could handle this like mature adults. But you guys keep arguing and blaming stuff on each other, and I don't understand why. Buffy's back. Shouldn't that be all that matters?" Dawn glanced around the room. "You guys have your best friend back." She nodded to Willow and Xander. "You have your Slayer back." She glanced at Giles. "And I have my sister back. And maybe Faith can be off the hook a little now."
"Amen to that, Mini B," Faith said quietly. No one heard her, at least they pretended not to.
Outside, Buffy sat on the bench on the front porch, knees hugged close to her chest. Wet tears threatened at the corners of her eyes, and her chest felt tight and hot with anger and fear. She had heard it all, and everyone's words were sticking with her. She didn't know what to do when the Scooby Gang fought. She hated it when Giles and Willow came to blows. Three days she had been gone, and in that time the entire world as she knew it had been thrust violently upside down, and she hated it. Constantly playing in her mind were the painful fights with demons, each wearing the face of one of her loved ones. And now, she was back in her world, the real world, and she felt more lost here. It was a cool night, unusually cool for the end of the summer, and Buffy closed her eyes for a moment to listen to the chirping of nearby crickets. Detecting a noise a moment later, she opened her eyes to see Spike standing at the base of the front steps, stamping out a cigarette on the ground. She could tell that his wounds were healing already.
"Bad time, Slayer?" Spike asked, slowly and hesitantly climbing the steps to join Buffy on the porch. "Sounds like Red's under the magnifier. Over what we did?" Spike leaned against one of the porch's columns. Buffy looked at him. "Easier to be out here, isn't it."
Buffy glanced at the vampire. "I'm not exactly sure what's easier," she told him softly. "I just know that it's a little quieter out here."
"That's the way I see it," Spike said, slowly climbing the steps to join the Slayer. Buffy glanced down at her hands for a moment, still rather raw from her bout with her coffin not too long ago. Time had gone by slowly in these hours, and she could tell little difference between minutes and hours. She felt as though she had been awake for centuries. She felt old and tired, something that she knew Spike could identify with. Spike hesitantly slid down alongside Buffy on the bench that rested on the porch. Detecting the tears that were now subsiding in her hazel eyes, Spike sighed. "You all right?"
"Yeah." Buffy's voice sounded distant and hollow, and she found herself gazing at the visible wounds that she had inflicted upon Spike. The vampire didn't notice, as he busied himself by staring out at the dimly lit street in front of them. "I hurt you." Her voice was soft and barely audible, and Spike glanced at her after a moment.
"Didn't matter. You did what you had to do, saving your sister and the world. Blood of the lamb and all that. You jumped because you had to, and no one blames you. Hurting me means nothing, because you saved the world...again." Spike's eyes wrinkled as he smiled softly. "Those three days were the longest of my life, but you died for a reason."
"I meant your cuts," Buffy said plainly.
"Oh."
Los Angeles, California
"So this is the kitchen. We use it sparingly, as you can tell. None of us are big on cooking," Wesley said as he turned on the lights of the hotel's kitchen. Behind him stood Fred, who mousily busied herself by tucking her behind her ears. She was silent and jumpy to this point, and Wesley knew that it was understandable. It was hard to say what the girl had experienced in Pylea, and he wasn't sure that she would ever fully recover from her experiences. Yet something made him hopeful that she would, and by staying with Angel and company, he knew that perhaps he and the others could help her. Not at the moment, of course, because Angel had maintained a silent and sad demeanor ever since Willow Rosenberg had appeared inside the hotel to deliver the news about Buffy Summers. The souled vampire seemed quite heartbroken, and Wesley knew the truth. Even two years later, Angel still loved Buffy Summers. And now, she was gone from his life forever. Pushing this from his mind, Wesley nodded to the refrigerator near the corner. "And of course we have Gunn's favorite commodity, the fridge. Fully stocked with fat filled treats. Over there, a microwave. Great for Hot Pockets." Wesley managed a weak smile.
"There's something wrong with Angel, isn't there. Something happened to a girl. And now he's even more brooding than before," Fred said quietly, dismissing the kitchen items quickly. She was hungry, yes, but more importantly, she desperately wanted to know her rescuers. She wanted to make friends, silly and childish as it was. She was fascinated by Angel, the vampire with the soul. She was intrigued by Wesley Wyndham-Pryce, the dashing young Englishman. She was slightly unnerved by Charles Gunn, the rough around the edges young black man. She badly wanted a connection with Cordelia Chase, the young woman with the visions, and former princess of Pylea. Wesley studied Fred's face for a moment, unable to think of what to say.
"It's complicated," was all he could think to reply. Fred stared at him for a moment.
"Angel lost a dear friend a few days ago. And he will more than likely never get over it completely."
"Sounds like more than a friend to me," Fred said.
"At one time she was. And now she's gone, and that's not the sort of thing Angel can merely deal with, and then forget about. He loved her very much. Right until the end, I'd believe."
Sitting alongside Gunn in the lobby of the Hyperion, Cordelia felt restless. Too much had gone one in the past few days, and for the first time in a great while she had nothing other to do than just sit, drinking soda and listening to music as the night dragged on and on. Taking another drink of root beer, Cordelia cast a sidelong glance to Gunn, who was busying himself by sharpening a stake silently. Angel had been locked away in his office all day, and hadn't said a word. From what Cordelia understood, he hadn't slept and he hadn't fed. He had merely been sitting. She knew deep down that he had known that one day Willow would show up with that news, and that he would have to deal with the death of the Slayer. Cordelia had given this much less thought. Yet at the same time, she was sad. She had spent all of her time in Sunnydale being a mean rich girl, and along the way she had come to scorn Buffy because of the company she kept. And even so, Buffy had been compassionate. Eventually, they had become friends, in their own strange and dysfunctional way. A family, almost. And now, Buffy was gone. Cordelia hadn't seen her in a great while, and yet she still remembered Buffy well. Their first meeting, the death of Jenny Calendar, the Slayerfest that she had battled through alongside Buffy, all of it. And part of her missed those simpler, nightmarish days.
It came in an instant, in that painful and biting way that it always did. Francis Doyle's lasting gift to Cordelia Chase, visions that were like a migraine with a few accompanying snapshots, ripped through Cordelia's brain suddenly and painfully. Crying out Cordelia jerked back, and Gunn jumped, startled, as Cordelia's glass of root beer fell to the floor and shattered, and Cordelia jerked around for a few moments before the seizure-like motions passed, and Cordelia was left gasping for breath. When she opened her eyes again, they were wide and stunned.
Angel sat alone in his office, surrounded only by silence and a thick air of grief and guilt. Two years ago he had left Buffy standing in the road alongside what remained of Sunnydale High School. She had been so beautiful and young in that moment. Her whole life had been ahead of her. Her face was smudged and cut, and she wore a look of sad acceptance on her face as she had walked with Xander and then Giles through the maze of firetruckes and policemen. She, Buffy Summers, no more than eighteen, had destroyed another attempt at an apocalypse. She had seen too many by the end of high school, and she wore each bruise and scar with pride nonetheless. She had been powerful and confident that day, and Angel had loved her still. He had stood for a moment in the midst of the smoke and chaos, and their eyes had met. They had said their goodbyes silently, without a final kiss or a final word. And then he had gone, weeping as he drove out of Sunnydale for what he thought would be the last time. He had never wept like this in his life.
And then a vision from Doyle had sent him back to Sunnydale. Buffy had been in danger, and he had watched her silently and stealthily, speaking with her friends and her Watcher but never with Buffy herself. She had seemed weary and older by this point, and desperate for some sort of connection with those around her. She had been obsessing about Thanksgiving this time, understandably wanting some sort of order in her new "adult" life as a college student and a Slayer. And then she had come to Los Angeles, and it was this that pained Angel most. She had found him out after he left, and she gave him what he would always remember as the most painful moments of his life.
For a short while, he had tasted freedom. He had tasted that chance at a normal life with Buffy, as a normal human with his slightly abnormal girlfriend. He remained that strange sensation of a heartbeat in his chest after more than two centuries, and the way it felt to hold Buffy in his arms without worrying about the loss of his soul. There were other memories that went with this, but mostly, there was Buffy. And then this he had allowed to be torn away from him. He had seen Buffy after that both as she chased Faith into Los Angeles and when her mother died. After the death of her mother had been the last time she had seen him. He remembered with pangs of pain the taste of her lips and his sense of her desperation. She wanted to know what tomorrow was supposed to be like. How she was supposed to behave. Angel was wondering the same thing now.
His thoughts were interrupted as Cordelia burst into the office, her skin white and her eyes wide. Wesley was close on her heels, and both were grave and shocked expressions.
"Now isn't really a good time. I'd kind of like to be..." Angel began.
"It's Buffy." Cordelia cut him off quickly. Cordelia saw a flash of something in Angel's eyes that she had never seen before, and it could only be either pure and utter joy or all out terror. Angel swallowed, unable to speak, and asked her with his eyes to continue.
"Now we don't have all the details, but-..." Wesley began.
"Tell me," Angel said, cutting him off.
"Angel, something's happened that we...didn't expect." Cordelia said softly, unsure of how Angel would react.
Buffy wasn't exactly sure what had possessed her to volunteer to join Faith on patrol, and she wasn't exactly having the time of her life on this night. She didn't doubt that the Scooby Gang was back at her house fighting while Spike hovered around outside the house smoking. No doubt by this point Dawn had retreated to her room, and was busy listening to whatever boy band CDs she could find to drown out the noise. Tara had probably retreated to her room as well, and was probably doing her best to drown out the sounds by covering her ears with her hands. Buffy didn't doubt that the others were still arguing, particularly Willow and Xander versus the two Watchers. Buffy sighed heavily as she walked alongside the other Slayer, the one whom she despised so much. Faith seemed to be concentrating a bit too hard on the darkness that surrounded them.
"You seem involved," Buffy muttered, her voice full of haughty observance. Faith glanced at her for a moment, but said nothing as they continued to walk. "Don't recall you being this mellow the last time we patrolled together."
"That was a long time ago," Faith said softly.
"Yeah, and you were still playing Benedict Arnold at the time, too. It's hard to hide guilt when you're being quiet, I suppose," Buffy told her. Faith said nothing to this.
"I'm not here to fight," Faith said.
"That's interesting, because that's what I thought a Slayer was supposed to do. Or has that gone and changed on me in just a few days too?" Faith glanced at her. "I come back, and everything's different. Willow and Tara are boarding at my house. You're out of jail and playing Slayer. There's a new Watcher in town who frankly seems about as stable and capable as the good Doctor Lecter. Everyone's fighting. I was gone for three days, and this is what I come back to? It's not exactly the best welcome home present I've ever gotten."
"That's not my problem, B. I don't want anything to do with this miserable little town. Life was good for me before I made the mistake of coming here, before I made the mistake of looking for you. And you think I'm any happier to be here than you are?" Faith shot back. Here was one of those old parts of Buffy she had hated: the unjustified complaining.
"You don't know what I went through." Buffy's voice rang cold. "You think I'm not happy to be back?"
"All I'm saying is that for someone who supposedly went through unspeakable torment in a hell dimension, you don't seem to happy to be out." Faith stopped, and turned to Buffy. "If it were me, I'd be turning cartwheels on the lawn, having just escaped Hell. But here you are, same old B. Always with the pity and the weight of the world bit."
Buffy could feel that old anger bubbling up inside her once again as she glared at Faith, and managed to say through clenched teeth, "Well you're not me, F. You don't know what I've been through. And since when do you care how I'm feeling? You didn't care when you tried to turn Angel against me and get him working for the Mayor. You loved that, I remember."
"That was a long time ago," Faith murmured. Of everyone in the Scooby Gang, it was Buffy who was the most justified in her anger and hatred. Faith knew that she had done horrible things to Buffy and to her family, and that Buffy would probably never forgive her. Still, Buffy's words hit her hard.
"Or when you tried to kill Willow. My best friend. And Xander too, don't forget about that. And then you tried to kill Angel. You're a killer, Faith, and nothing else. You love being a Slayer because it gives you an excuse to take lives. But it wasn't enough, was it? You didn't see that line between being a Slayer and being a killer." Buffy's words were cold and came quickly.
"Oh, and you think you're different?" Faith said. Counting to ten and "What Would Buffy Do?" weren't going to stop her now. That white hot anger that she had once known all too well was now surging through her once again as she stepped closer to the shorter Slayer. Buffy didn't step away, and her gaze further hardened as she watched the brunette Slayer closely. "You tried to gut me, remember? You would've killed me and fed me to Angel, and you know it."
"And you would've killed me if you'd had the chance. You would have destroyed every one that I loved, all because you were too jealous of me to see past it all. You had no family, so you tried to kill mine. You didn't have a man, you try to steal mine. You don't trust people, you hurt my friends. What makes you different now?" Buffy struggled to restrain her urge to punch Faith in the face.
"You're right. I was jealous. And now I get it. I come here because Angel sends me, and I see how things are here. Being the only Slayer blows, I get that. And now I see it. You took that plunge off that tower, and you said it was because you loved Little Sis. But you know what I think? I think you wanted it all along. You wanted to rest, and you wanted to dump this all on me. Because you're too self-centered to worry about-..." Faith's tangent was cut short as Buffy punched her in the jaw. Faith's head snapped to one side, and the assaulted Slayer froze. Her body went numb with that old rage, and for a moment she was back on that rooftop, handcuffed to Buffy and desperate for an escape and a victory. Without a word, Buffy turned and began walking away from Faith. Faith stood there for a moment, stunned and angry. Buffy was about a three yards away from Faith when she heard it: sailing through the air with a soft whistle directly toward Faith was some sort of dart. Without warning, Buffy ran and tackled Faith to the ground just as the dart whirled by where the brunette Slayer's neck had been moments before.
Both women fell to the ground, Faith grunting and cursing as she hit the earth. Buffy gasped and lay there for a moment: she could hear voices calling out around them, and she jumped back to her feet as Faith, dazed, climbed to her feet as well. Faith went to say something, but Buffy hushed her with a silently raised hand. They were not alone in the cemetery, and Buffy was beginning to get the distinct feeling that they were being hunted. A moment later, she spotted the culprit. Tucked down low behind a crypt was a man dressed in black. At this moment Buffy felt her Slayer senses beginning to repair themselves, and she saw them all: there were five men visible in the immediate area, each with a gun. And they didn't seem friendly.
"Run," Buffy whispered softly to Faith.
"What? Why?" Faith asked, perplexed.
"Just...run." Buffy said. The two Slayers sprinted out of the cemetery amidst shouts from behind them, and they could hear the snapping of twigs as their hunters scurried along behind them. Buffy felt odd, using her body again like this, when for the past three days she had been lying in a grave. She ran as fast as she could, she and Faith, across the street and over a fence and into the backyard of a hapless elderly couple watching TV, all the while listening for those men that chased them. As Faith ran alongside Buffy she understood: the Council was on her trail again. But this time, Angel and his friends weren't here to protect her. Faith gasped for air as she and Buffy finally made it back to Buffy's street, and the two Slayers sprinted up the driveway and up the steps quickly. Buffy flung open the door and Faith followed.
Slamming the door and locking it, Buffy whirled. Giles was standing in the doorway, looking confused. Willow was now standing near the fireplace, and Xander was still on the couch. Cromwell was nowhere to be found, nor were Dawn, Tara, or Anya. Those present turned to stare at the two Slayers, sweating and gasping for air. Buffy turned to her Watcher.
"I think the Council just found out where Faith's-..."
Buffy's words were interrupted when the sound of a door busting open blasted through the room. The entire group leapt to its feet, and Buffy glanced back at Faith, unsure of what to do. Giles's eyes narrowed, and he hurried to the weapons trunk in the living room, and Willow and Xander hurriedly followed after him. Buffy stood near the front door for a moment, unsure of what to do. The Council wanted Faith. Sunnydale had no use for her. What made more sense than handing Faith over to someone that could deal with her? The Council would almost certainly dispose of her, and while a little extreme, Buffy knew that it was probably the best thing. Yet something made her stop when she considered this, for she knew that perhaps it was a little much. Buffy could only stand for a moment and watch as Spike entered from the kitchen, looking flustered.
"We have to mount up. Now." Spike's voice was full of equal parts excitement and concern. "There's a caravan of soldier types outside looking to party. And they don't look like they're here to spread the word of the Lord, either." Spike glanced into the living room, where Giles was already distributing weapons. "Good, then. You already know about them."
No one had a chance to reply, for suddenly the glass of the windows in the living room violently shattered as a man carrying a large pistol crashed through the window, tucked himself into a roll, and landed on the floor near the coffee table. Without hesitation Giles flung a small ax at him, and the man screamed as he fell over backward, ax embedded in his arm, pinning him against the floor. Upstairs Buffy could hear sudden screaming: Dawn. Leaving Faith and Spike to fend off attackers downstairs, Buffy found herself rushing up the stairs as fast as her legs could carry her, all the while praying that Dawn was all right. Stumbling as she made it to the top of the stairs, Buffy slammed into a short man wielding a rather large knife. Reacting quickly, Buffy slammed her knee into the man's stomach and flung him down the stairs, and watched as Spike promptly punched the man, knocking him unconscious. Buffy sprinted to Dawn's room and flung open the door, and found her sister lying on the floor, crumbled in a sleeping heap: she had a dart sticking out of her neck.
Tara tried to scream but failed as she struggled to wrench herself free of the stranger's grasp. A man in a ski mask and high-tech looking black clothes had crashed through her window moments ago, and not being one for fighting, Tara found herself basically defenseless. The stranger covered her mouth with his hand while he attempted with his other to handcuff her to the lower part of the bed post. Tara squirmed, almost succeeding to get free of him, but found herself unable to. She tried to scream again, but still could not. A moment later, there was a shattering sound, and the man fell away. Glancing up, Tara found herself staring into the face of Anya, who moments before had been in the bathroom. Tara glanced at the remnants of the large oriental vase that had once belonged to Joyce Summers which now lay beside the head of the unconscious attacker, and climbed to her feet shakily.
"I've always wanted to do that," Anya said absently. "The whole house is under siege. Being useless as we are, I believe it would be our best bet to remain, as always, locked away in the bathroom, where no one would ever think to look for..."
"Where's Willow?" Tara interrupted.
Willow screamed as one of their attackers came toward her, knife drawn, a stern frown stretched across his face. Giles was doing battle on the other side of the room, and Xander was unconscious on the floor as a result of a gun butt to the head. That same guy had then gone searching through the house, leaving Xander with a head wound on the floor. Willow blindly searched for something to defend herself: her own weapon, a crossbow, had been lost early on, and she had reacted with much screaming and running and ducking. Now, she was cornered against the fireplace, and she had nowhere to go. She stood there, and for a brief moment she thought she was going to die. And then, it came to here.
"Conicere!" Willow cried, flinging her hand up. To both her surprise and that of he who held the gun, he went flying backward and slammed against the man who battled with Giles. Both men slammed against the wall, knocking pictures to the ground with them. Both gave unconscious groans of pain as they slid down against the wall, leaving Willow to stand with a shocked and outstretched, albeit trembling, hand. Giles turned to her, stared incredulously for a moment, and said nothing. After a moment, Willow lowered her hand and rushed to Xander's side.
Faith knew it was cowardly and terrible, but she ran. As she watched Spike fend off another attacker, she had bolted. She had no place here. Her being here had caused this, and she understood that. There was no time to retrieve her borrowed clothes, and she would just have to wing it, she knew. She had to get out of Sunnydale, and it had to be now. She couldn't be responsible for the destruction of the Scooby Gang, she just couldn't. Not after everything that had happened. She ran through the dining room and made it to the kitchen, and it was there that she found her new Watcher, David Cromwell, in the process of beating one of the attackers about the head with his own gun. The man was unconscious already, and bleeding.
"Dude, what the hell?" Faith cried, horrified and more than a little surprised. "He's out cold. Give it a rest."
"Why bother? He'd do the same to me if he had the chance. Wouldn't you, Nigel?" Cromwell knelt beside the bloodied man, who was wavering back into consciousness now. "Tell her what a swell fellow you are. Tell her how you feel about me. And Mister Giles. And Wesley Wyndham-Pryce. You'd kill us all if you could, right?"
"Please..." Nigel begged, spitting out blood as he struggled to form the words. Faith stepped around to see exactly how much damage her "Watcher" had done, and she knew straight away the the man had at least some broken fingers, quite possibly some missing teeth. "...don't..." Nigel continued to struggle.
"Give me the gun," Faith said. She stared at the young Watcher, who had traces of blood on his hands. Buffy's words suddenly echoed in her head, but a moment too late, as she recalled it. Deputy Mayor Alan Finch had died, and her blood had been on his hands. Faith shook it away quickly, and moved quickly in knocking the gun from the Watcher's hand. "What's your problem? You're supposed to watch over a Slayer, not play Serpico." Without a word Cromwell brushed past her and out of the kitchen, back into the living room to join whatever fight was left. Faith stood there for a moment, unsure of what to do with herself. Finally, cursing under her breath, she went back to help the others. Tomorrow, she told herself. Tomorrow she would leave.
Buffy slid down onto the couch alongside Willow, who had just finished picking the shards of glass off of the furniture. Xander had yet to go to work on fixing the windows, as he was too busy sitting in a chair allowing Anya to nurse his brand new head wound. It wasn't major, really, just painful. Buffy sighed wearily as she watched Anya wrap gauze around Xander's head. Tara was sitting nearby, fidgeting with her hands. She had a bruise on her wrist, but seemed unscathed otherwise. Giles was pacing near the fireplace. Spike had long gone, once again thankless and with a cigarette in his mouth. He had said goodnight to Buffy claiming that he'd now had his "daily spot of violence", and could now go out for a drink. Dawn was upstairs sleeping off whatever sleeping drug had been in the dart with which she had been shot. Faith was upstairs in the shower, and the other Watcher was in the kitchen on the phone: he had been that way for nearly an hour.
Buffy was exhausted. It was as though the forces of darkness already knew she was back. The Council had come at them full force, and now all of them were on their way to the Sunnydale General Hospital, where not one of them would say a word about what had happened for fear of exposing the Council. Such was the trend, and Buffy knew that it would hold up flawlessly.
"I'm beginning to ask myself how many times this place has been trashed," Buffy said softly. "I'm beginning to feel how Mom felt when some demon crashed through that door. Ever splintered piece of wood, I hear a cash register making that annoying little clanging noise."
"We'll fix it, Buffy. Don't worry," Willow told her friend. "Just after a nice, long nap. And possibly some drugs."
"I know, Will," Buffy told her.
"Buff, are you okay?" Willow asked suddenly.
Buffy turned to her: "Yeah. Why wouldn't I be?"
"You seem a little...distant. Are you okay?" Willow studied her friend closely.
"I'm fine. I'm still a little thrown off, and a little dazed. Nothing a little sleep and peace and quiet can't fix. And besides...now I know I'm not in Hell anymore, because the bad guys had little interest in me." While she meant it as a joke, just to keep things light,
Buffy could see the effect these words had on her friends. Giles stopped his silent pacing and stared at his Slayer. Xander and Anya both glanced at her, waiting for more. Tara looked down at her feet, and Willow's eyes went slightly wide. For a moment no one moved: it was as though this entire time they had all been fearing that Buffy would not speak of her ordeal again, and now here she was joking about it. Though none had the courage to ask, all wanted to know what it had been like. They all waited patiently, staring at Buffy silently, making the Slayer feel about three inches tall. As Buffy opened her mouth to speak, her front door opened.
All eyes were on Angel as he quietly entered.
When you tell me that it'll be okay,
I try to believe you,
But I don't
When you say that it's gonna be,
It always turns out to be a different way,
I try to believe you
Not today
I don't know how I'll feel,
Tomorrow
I don't know what to say,
Tomorrow
Is a different day
It's always been up to you,
It's turning around,
It's up to me,
I'm gonna do what I have to do,
Just don't
Gimme a little time,
Leave me alone a little while,
Maybe it's not too late
Not today (-Avril Lavigne, "Tomorrow")
Upstairs in Buffy's room, Faith was careful to throw the few items of clothing and the frugal amount of money she carried into a small duffel bag that she had borrowed from Wesley back in Los Angeles. Downstairs, Buffy was sitting in the living room amongst her friends, probably still silent as she had been for a great while now. It was nearing dawn, and the sky was beginning to grow light. Dawn still had yet to awaken and find her sister alive and home, and Faith knew that it was over now. Zipping the duffel bag, she turned and glanced in the mirror. She had borrowed some of Buffy's clothes, and had left a bit of cash under the Slayer's pillow for reimbursement. She knew it was silly, but she felt like she at least owed Buffy that. That, and getting out of her life as quickly as possible. For three years she had been the trash that polluted the Slayer name, and now, with Buffy back, she could drop off the face of the earth forever. A thousand possibilities entered her head. She could go back to Boston, maybe get an apartment and a job, and start over. Faith wouldn't exist anymore...she could get a new name. She could be...Stacy. Or Jennifer. Or Helga, for all she cared! What mattered was the prospect of starting over! No more Sunnydale. No more vampires. No more death and pain and sadness, just a new beginning away from it all. Sure, she figured, she would slay if the occasion called for it. But for now, it was time to go.
Brushing a piece of her hair back out of her face, Faith glanced in the mirror again. She had a bruise around her throat from Buffy's attack earlier in the night. Her eyes were slightly red from lack of sleep, but her hair was almost perfect. She felt awkward in Buffy's clothes, a black button down and jeans, but she looked normal enough. Stuffing the few hundred dollars that Angel had given her into her pocket, she turned. She knew at a moment like this that she could make a quick getaway out the back door in the kitchen, and no one would notice until she was gone. Turning, she gasped as she saw Spike standing in the doorway. He had bloody wounds all over his chest, and Faith marveled that Buffy had missed his heart during her attack in the other dimension. Spike was pale and sweating, and his coat was tattered and dirty. Yet he still stood tall in spite of this, his finely chiseled face full of realization and understanding.
"Seems easier, doesn't it?" he asked her, eyes full of something that Faith couldn't easily make out. His expression was one that she could not read. "Get out of jail free, and now you're off the hook 'cause Big Sis's back? Don't think that's how it's meant to work, love."
Ignoring his comment, Faith nodded to him: "You're bleeding."
"That I am, then," Spike said, glancing down at his bloodied body. "Least she hasn't forgotten her duty."
"Take off your shirt," Faith said as she brushed past Spike and walked across the hall to the bathroom. Spike glanced back over his shoulder.
"I'm a bit worse for wear. I don't think I'm much for shagging right about now. May cause me to bleed to death, if it's possible. Maybe some other time," Spike said to her as she reappeared with an armful of bandages and a wet rag. Faith rolled her eyes as she slid back into Buffy's room, dumping the supplies on the bed. "I thought you didn't like helping people. All evil and apathetic and all that."
"You want to keep bleeding?" Faith asked.
"Why do you care?" Spike's gaze was fixed on the brunette Slayer.
"Because everyone around here seems to have this big yen for you. And the way you looked at Buffy earlier, just seeing her alive...I saw it, Spike." Spike's head fell, and he stared at the floor. "She doesn't love you, does she. You're just...a thing to her. Something to be reckoned with, but never treated as a person. You do some good stuff, and at the end of the day, you're still just a...a thing." Faith's voice faltered as she said this, and Spike saw it. Yet he knew it was true. "I know how that feels, that's all." Her gaze hardened again, having let a bit of vulnerability shine through. "I don't care, I just relate." "It's works out well enough, then," Spike said. With that, Spike slid down on the bed and allowed Faith to nurse his wounds.
Downstairs, Buffy couldn't help but shiver as she sat on the couch in the living room. She sat alone, for Willow, Xander, and Anya all sat or stood around her. There was an awkward silence over the room, and Buffy couldn't help but feel slightly withered and frightened by their awed and silent stares. Her vision was still swimming slightly, and her internal organs felt as though they were tying themselvs in knots. There was dirt under her fingernails, which were raw and bloody thanks to her efforts to claw through her coffin. She was bruised and her feet ached, thanks to the torments of the other dimension. Though she had left it behind, she still bore horrible signs of what had gone on there. She did her best to hide this from her silent friends. She felt dirty and in pain, as being awakened from death was a harsh and frightening reality. Sighing softly, she drew Xander's jacket more closely around what felt like her frail body. She felt weak and exhausted.
"What was it like?" Anya broke the silence with her chirpy and articulate voice. "I mean, there are different dimensions of Hell, of course, and I imagine yours must have been particularly terrible. I imagine that you spent three days in a constant state of mental and physical anguish, and..." Though Xander and Willow wore shocked looks of disapproval, Buffy denoted beneath this a hint of curiosity about her situation.
"I...I don't really remember," Buffy said suddenly. "I just want to-..."
Buffy froze. Standing halfway down the stairs looking into the living room, eyes wide with shock and a bit of horror, was Dawn. The two sisters stared at each other, wearing identical expressions of awe, Dawn's of fear, and Buffy's of relief. Willow, Xander, and Anya all turned to stare at the younger Summers, who stood as still as a statue as her hand gripped the railing of the stairs. She swallowed, and said nothing. Neither sister could move. Buffy wanted to run to Dawn, to hold her and hug her and smell her hair and know that she was real. Dawn simply couldn't understand what was happening. Part of her was saying that Willow had merely fixed the Buffy Bot. Yet another part of her, a more childish and desperate part, believed that it was Buffy. Silently, Dawn came down the stairs and stood near the front door, staring at the dirty and bruised Buffy that sat on the couch, awkwardly hunched over and in pain. A thick and heavy silence hung over everything, and no one said a word. Dawn's heart pounded in her chest, and for a moment she thought she might throw up. Was she dreaming? Was this all another one of her nightmares, where at the end Buffy went back into the ground screaming and pleading for her life? Or maybe, just maybe, could this be reality? Slowly and cautiously, Buffy rose from her seat on the couch.
Watching her sister walk with a slight limp toward her, Dawn noticed the smell of damp earth creeping toward her as well. Glancing down, Dawn saw the bruises that lined her sister's body, as well as her bloody and ripped fingernails. She glanced back up, silently noting the dirt and mud that clumped in her sister's once delicate and clean hair, and she understood: this was no dream, nor was it the Buffy Bot. This was Buffy, and for some reason she was back. Buffy stood before Dawn now, and watched silenly as her younger sister's eyes filled with tears. Seeing this, Buffy felt her own lower limp trembling, and as Dawn began to cry, she threw her arms around Buffy and hugged her close. Buffy felt the hot, wet tears before she could stop them. Dawn was here, alive and well. Her sister was alive and safe. The hardest thing in this world...is to live in it. Live, for me. Buffy's words echoed in Dawn's mind as she sobbed into her sister's damp and cold shoulder. Buffy sobbed into her sister's hair as the two held each other. Everything was coming back to them now, the pain of the past few years, everything. The death of their mother. The glowing and brilliant light at the top of that tower. Buffy's final plunge. All coming back in this hug at the bottom of the stairs. Buffy sank to the floor, her legs giving out, and Dawn didn't let go as she slid down beside her sister, still holding her.
They stayed like this for a long while, until finally Dawn pulled away from her. "You're hurt," Dawn muttered, wiping her tears away. "We need to get you cleaned up."
"I need to take a shower," Buffy said quietly, glancing down at herself. Dawn nodded, and said nothing as her sister hesitantly turned and went upstairs. Her gait was slow and almost painful to watch, and Dawn stared after her until Buffy disappeared up to the top of the stairs. Silently, Dawn turned to Willow, Xander, and Anya, who were all watching her, unsure of what to do next.
"How?" Dawn asked softly, but behind this was masked a quiet sort of anger that the others detected instantly.
Buffy dried her eyes at the top of the stairs, willing herself to pull it together. Seeing Dawn again had made her feel...more joy than she had ever known previously in life. Knowing that she had died so that Dawn might live and that her sister was safe brought her more satisfaction and fulfillment than anything else she had done as a Slayer. Killing the Master, saving the world from Angelus, blowing up the Mayor, killing Adam and saving her friends from the First Slayer, taking down a goddess, it was all nothing compared to seeing her sister alive. And now, she was here again. Pulled from that dark place back into the light, where she knew she belonged. Yet she couldn't think clearly...her thoughts were horribly jumbled and confused, and only when she saw Dawn did anything make any real sense. Part of her was still on edge, still full of fear, expecting the demons to come for her at any moment. And yet so far, things were normal. Her friends were there, her sister was alive. Everything seemed fine. Yet all in all, Buffy didn't feel fine. She regarded her bloodied fingernails for a moment as she turned to go into her bedroom, and froze as she saw Spike standing in the room, putting his tattered and muddy coat back on. Faith was sitting on the bed, a bloody cloth sitting in a bowl of water alongside her. The two parties regarded each other, and Spike avoided Buffy's eyes as he quickly exited the room. Buffy and Faith regarded each other silently. Buffy felt her confusion now clouded with anger and contempt. Faith felt uncomfortably and angry, though not necessarily with Buffy. She climbed to her feet quickly, and put her hands into her pockets. Buffy's pockets, since she was wearing Buffy's clothes.
"How long?" Buffy asked quietly, never taking her eyes off of Faith.
"What?" Faith asked. She wondered what Buffy meant.
"How long was I gone?" Buffy said. "Everyone looks older. Dawns looks taller. You're out of jail, and you're here. How long was I gone? And what else has changed?" Faith understood suddenly...Buffy thought she had been dead for years, and now she was asking the one person who wouldn't spare her feelings what had happened in that time. Faith wasn't sure how Buffy was about to take what she was being told, and she found herself wondering what Buffy had been through in the past three days that made her unaware of the passage of time.
"Three days," Faith muttered. "You've been gone three days." Buffy took this in with wide eyes, as though for a moment she was unable to comprehend what Faith was telling her. Three days. She had been gone three days. Glancing to the window, she saw that dawn was quickly approaching. Sighing, she closed her eyes for a moment, and she was back on that platform watching her last sunrise as Dawn sobbed and begged her not to jump. She could taste the whipping winds on her lips, and she could hear the terrible screeches of the demons that came forth from the portal. She could feel the warmth from the sunrise...it was supposed to be her last. Yet here she was, in her bedroom, watching the sunrise with an old enemy. Thinking of this, she turned back to Faith. "The Council...they tried to have me killed. Said they didn't want me taking up your slack. Angel..." Buffy snapped around at the mention of her old lover's name. "...he saved me, him and some friends. And they sent me here."
"Is he...are they..." Buffy couldn't find the words.
"They're all fine," Faith told her.
"And you?" Buffy asked.
"I want to leave," Faith said, and without another word, picked up her bowl and cloth and left Buffy standing alone in her bedroom.
London, England
Quentin Travers couldn't recall the last time he had been this furious. And if he could have, he knew that it more than likely would have been some time dealing with Buffy Summers. Yet either way, he found himself sitting in his office high above the rest of London, surrounded by other Watchers going about their business. The council had been uneasy for the past few days, thanks to a successful attempt by the current Slayer, Faith, to break out of jail. Stirring his tea, Travers laughed ruefully. She was out there somewhere this very instant, laughing at him and the Council. She had disgraced them and dragged them through the mud, and now she was the only Slayer that the Council had. The first attempt at killing her had failed thus far, and they were about to find out whether or not the second one would succeed. Sighing, Travers glanced at the list of names in front of him. All potential Slayers, all waiting for Faith to die so that the next rightful owner to the title could begin her quest to slayer vampires. At the top of the list were circled three names, those deemed most likely by the coven to become the next Slayer. One in Tokyo. On in Rome. And one, the one at the top of the list, in Los Angeles, California. This concerned Travers, for he dimly recalled the last incident in which a Slayer had been called from California.
The girl before Buffy Summers, he recalled, had been a good Slayer. Very by the book, very thorough in her work. Her Watcher had been a good one as well, until the very last. Thinking about this, Travers was almost angry enough to toss his teacup across the room. It had been simple in the beginning, so very simple...one Cromwell in the Council's internal affairs, and her son watching a Slayer. He had been young, but he was good at what he did. But as Slayers tended to do, his hadn't lasted long, and he had come back to England soonafter, unhappy with the way the Council merely moved on. Buffy Summers had been called, her first Watcher promptly killed. Rupert Giles had been deployed next. And then, Kendra had been activated as well, and Sam Zabuto had stepped up to watch over her. And then Faith came along, and this was where the trouble truly began.
This whole mess was almost enough for Travers to trade in his tea for alcohol. Faith was alive somewhere, and apparently, Buffy Summers's old flame was making sure that the Council couldn't find her. But then, he supposed, she couldn't hide forever. As he sat there, another team was on its way to attempt to take Faith out. Hopefully this time would be a bit more brutal and surprising.
His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of voices outside his office door. Sitting his teacup down on his desk, Travers stood, pulling his coat from the back of his chair and putting it on as he started toward the door. He had nearly made it to the door when it opened, and a girl stepped in. She looked no more than twenty, and her clothes were strangely casual for someone entering Council headquarters. For a moment she and Travers stared at each other. Her hair was strawberry blond and curly, and her eyes were a soft shade of blue. Her skin was fair, and a few freckles dotted her slim and lovely cheekbones. She smiles after a moment.
"Mister Travers?" she asked. Travers noticed with suspicion that the girl spoke with a strong American accent, and had not air of a Watcher about her. As he surveyed the girl, he found a dim air of familiarity floating about his head. She stood, stone-faced, waiting. Travers looked more closely at her, and as the realization crept into his face and his mind, Travers felt a sudden and piercing pain in his stomach, accompanied by a hot, sticky wetness. Glancing down, he cried out as he saw the hilt of a knife sticking from his midsection, and the dark scarlet hue of blood staining his shirt in a pattern that grew wider with every passing moment. Smiling, the girl took hold of the handle of the dagger, and yanked it upward, feeling the tissue and flesh of the Watcher's stomach rip as he screamed out in wild and violent pain. Travers could feel the world around him beginning to swirl as he fell backward against his desk, and sank down to the floor in front of it. A pool of blood began forming beneath him, and he felt the darkness closing in as his body began to convulse in pain.
"Meredith..." he managed to choke out, his voice little more than a hushed whisper as he felt his body shutting down. He sat there on the floor for several moments, listening as the blackness swirled more intently around him and his heartbeat lessened and lessened, like the call of a fading drum, until finally fading away into nothing as the darkness overtook him completely.
The girl stood over the fallen Watcher, and calmly glanced down at the blood on her hand. Her smile faded, and she cautiously lifted her dirtied hand to her face, examining it closely. The thick and hot blood was a sharp contrast to her pale and milky skin, and she felt the hunger growing within her suddenly. Kneeling beside the body of Travers, she yanked the knife from his ripped flesh, and watched in fascination as the blood that coated the knife glinted in the overhead lights. After a moment of hesitation, she lifted the blade to her lips, and licked some of the blood from the cold, hard metal. She closed her eyes for a moment, savoring this, and after a few seconds she stood, and strode around behind Travers desk, calmly sitting down and tossing her heels up onto the desk. Leaning back, she closed her eyes for a moment. She could feel the dead Watcher's blood coursing through her veins, and filling her with warmth. After a few moments of this, she went to work rifling through the drawers of Travers desk. It only took her a few moments to realize what she was looking for was right on top of the desk: the list that Travers had been looking over moments before she had arrived.
Tucking this into the pocket of her jacket, she rose from the chair and crossed over and out of the office, leaving Travers' body behind. In the main reception area of the Watchers' Council, there stood a young woman with bright red hair. She stood, arms folded, waiting patiently, and her eyes lit up with a sort of maniacal glee when she saw her friend returning from the office with a small smile upon her face. Elsewhere in the building could be heard screaming and the sounds of fighting, and occasional final cries of death could be heard. The two women stood there together, listening triumphantly to the sounds of the Watchers' Council's final moments.
An hour later, the city of London marveled as a prominent historical building in a rather upscale neighborhood burned to the ground while the fire brigades tried unsuccessfuly to end the blaze.
Sunnydale, California
Giles finally made up his mind around nightfall to go check up on things with the others. He had spent his entire day in his apartment, lying around watching old movies on television. He had given up on drinking himself into sleep, for he always awoke later with the strong urge to throw up and then pass out on the bathroom floor. So he gave up on this after a while, and made the decision to get himself cleaned up and make himself useful. The group at Buffy's house was no doubt on their third or fourth night of ordering Chinese or pizza or something of this sort, and he figured he could at least help out. Maybe later, he would join Faith and Cromwell for patrol. As he grabbed his car keys and headed out the door, Giles could feel that familiar ache in his chest beginning to grow once again. Each day passed slowly and painfully, and there wasn't a single minute that went by that he didn't think of Buffy. He knew that death came with being a Slayer; he had known that she wouldn't last forever. In the end she had been tired, and all the same she had more courage than he ever could, than anyone ever could. She had given her own life to save a world that had given her nothing but cruelty and rules that hurt her more than they helped. She had sacrificed her life to save a world that was against her.
Giles knew all this, and he had known it all along. Buffy was different. Special, somehow. Past Slayers had been by the book. Thorough. Obedient. Buffy, when he met her, wanted nothing more than to put slaying vampires behind her, and deny her destiny. Eventually she had grown accustomed to her life as the Slayer in Sunnydale, and he had grown accustomed to being her Watcher. She had no regard for rules, or for what the Council thought was right. Over time, Giles understood why. At seventeen, she had lasted a year longer than most Slayers tended to. It was proof enough to him that something was being done correctly. And then she had taken out The Master, and she had died, only to be brought back by Xander. And then she had fallen for Angel, and he had destroyed her world. Giles looked back on this with pain as he often found himself haunted by the blank and lost expression on Jenny Calendar's face as she lay broken and limp in his bed, another victim of Angel's twisted and cruel campaign the ruin Buffy's life forever. Giles remembered going to the factory to take out Angel himself, only to be rescued by Buffy. I can't do this alone. Buffy's sob-filled words still held in his mind, and he had never forgotten them. She was the reason he hadn't given up that night, or ever. And then she had killed Angel, and disappeared. Giles had never known pain such as that, not knowing where Buffy was. For months he waited for her to show up on his doorstep, and when she finally did, it was the happiest day of the Watcher's life. She had been a hero by the end of high school, honored by her fellow classmates. And then she had gone to college, and for a time Giles couldn't help but feel useless. Buffy spent more time with college friends and with Riley, but in the end, the Scoobies had bound together to save the world again. And then Buffy had wanted to learn more about her power as the Slayer, something that fell by the wayside as Glory made her presence known. And then Buffy was gone.
Giles sniffled softly as he drove lazily down the street. There was so much that Buffy still hadn't known...so much he sitll had to teach her. He would never have the chance now, and he regretted it all. She had so much power, so much potential, and now it was all over. Five years of work, pain, and tears, and what did he have to show for it? A lost "child", and the rest of his little "family" was imploding silently. Giles put this out of his mind as he pulled into the driveway of what had been Buffy's house, now occupied by Willow and Tara to secure Dawn's well-being. Stuffing his keys into his pocket, Giles sighed heavily as he climbed the front porch and knocked on the door.
Tara opened the door a moment later, and Giles knew by the look on her face that something was wrong. Her eyes were clouded with worry and with a low-key sort of pain, and he couldn't help but feel as though she was silently begging for help. Without a word, she opened the door wider, and allowed Giles inside. Before he could say a word to the girl, she was gone, almost sprinting into the kitchen. The entire house felt strange, and Giles stood just inside the front door for a moment before he closed it softly. Turning, he glanced into the living room. David Cromwell was sitting in a chair near the fireplace, and he looked angry. Faith was standing behind her new Watcher, arms folded, head down. Dawn was standing with her back to him in the doorway. Giles could hear Xander's voice, but he couldn't see the boy.
"...it wasn't all that dangerous. I don't think we should all be attacking Willow here. She did the right thing." Xander's voice was slightly angry.
"But you can't know that!" Cromwell cried. "How could you possibly think that something like this was safe, let alone authorized? You cannot bend laws like this, it's not your place. You've channeled magick that is more deadly than any person on this planet is equipped to deal with. Have you any idea what you could have caused? You could have leaked demon dimensions into our reality. You could have...imploded the planet. You could have resurrected the wrong being!"
"But I didn't." Giles heard Willow's voice, and he realized that something was indeed very wrong. Not wasting any more time, he moved to step into the living room.
"Giles." He froze. He stood motionless between the living room and the front door for a moment, knowing that it couldn't possibly be. He turned slowly, as did Dawn, now aware of the Watcher, to see standing halfway down the stairs a rested yet troubled looking Buffy. Giles felt his entire body go numb with shock. For a moment Buffy avoided his eyes, and Giles couldn't help but feel as though he couldn't breathe. He stood, numb and astounded, unable to speak. Buffy glanced up at him, and did her best to hide her bandaged and still painful wounds on her hands. The others had fallen silent now, each of them aware of the Watcher's presence as he surveyed his once-fallen Slayer. Buffy descended the stairs silently, and threw herself into Giles's arms. Giles felt tears coming without even realizing it. Buffy tightened her grip around her Watcher, and refused to let go. A single tear fell down the Watcher's cheek as he held her, unable to think and unable to move. He didn't understand how or why, but she was alive. Buffy was alive.
Finally Buffy pulled away from him, and silently wiped her eyes. She looked healthy and normal, like regular old Buffy. Yet Giles couldn't help but notice that she wore a sad and strange expression. Without a word, Buffy turned, seeing that all eyes were now on her. She glanced down at her feet for a moment.
"I'm gonna get some air. I'll be...outside." Her eyes shifted from person to person as she spoke, and without giving anyone a chance to reply, Buffy was out the front door.
Giles watched her go, and then turned back to the others. Dawn appeared shifty and frustrated now, and her arms were folded across her chest. Faith was still doing her best to avoid Giles's eyes, and she was now slowly crossing back and forth from one side of the room to the other. Cromwell was stone faced and angry, and as Giles walked into the living room, he saw Willow and Xander seated together on the couch. Willow was looking down at her hands, and Xander was glancing around at the others. The silence in the room was unbearable.
"How?" Giles asked softly, removing his glasses and cleaning them with his shirt as he glanced around the room. "Why don't we ask Miss Rosenberg about that, Mister Giles?" Cromwell asked, shooting Willow an angry look. Willow glanced up at the young Watcher, a look of utter contempt stretched across her tired face.
"It wasn't just her, buddy," Xander shot back, coming to Willow's defense. "A whole bunch of us got involved, including your Slayer there." Xander nodded to Faith, who had said nothing this entire time. Cromwell paused and glanced back at Faith, who was standing near Dawn now. Faith stared at Xander for a moment, and then turned to meet her Watcher's slightly surprised gaze. "So don't go getting all high and mighty on us."
"We didn't do anything wrong," Willow began, cutting off Cromwell as he opened his mouth to speak. Willow glanced around the room. Tara and Anya had made a hasty exit earlier, and she was unsure of where they now hid. Tara had been absolutely at a loss when she awakened earlier in the day to discover a very alive, albeit confused, Buffy. All day, Tara had carefully avoided Willow's words and glances, and had kept to herself. Willow wasn't sure that Tara had said a single word the entire day. Which was probably, she decided, of little difference, because everyone else had been talking twice as much today, giving her a pounding and ferocious headache. Every few minutes she would feel a little dizzy, and she would steady herself silently. So far, no one had noticed that something was ailing Willow, and this relieved her to no end. It would have given the plucky and obnoxious new Watcher even more ammo against her if she admitted that she didn't feel all that well. And yet at the same time, she felt powerful. While Spike had battled within the dimension to retriever Buffy, Willow found herself with more power at her disposal than she'd had in a great while. It was the same feeling, she recalled, that she'd had when she had given Angel back his soul. As though she wasn't really the one doing the magic, but instead acting as a vessel for a higher power. Whether that power was wholly good or not, she still couldn't decide.
Willow glanced at Giles. Almost six years she had known this man, and never once had he doubted her. She often looked fondly back on the beginning, back in high school. How she had looked up to Giles, and had known how much she had to learn from him. She had looked at him with a child's admiration then, as she still sometimes did. But with age came knowledge of her own. And she decided the minute that David Cromwell saw Buffy that no matter what, she wasn't going to let him turn everyone against her. No Watcher that was barely old enough to shave was going to step on Willow's toes, that much she knew.
"Then what did you do, Willow?" Giles asked, turning to her. The others turned to Giles, waiting for him to react in some other way than his reserved state of calm. He was obviously still reeling from the shock of seeing Buffy alive, but his mind was obviously weighed down by other things. Willow glanced around at her cohorts.
"We brought her back," Willow said softly. "I found a spell in one of Tara's books, one that was a little difficult, but not much trouble. And I managed to open up the dimension where I'd located Buffy, and we sent someone in to get her." Giles stared at Willow silently.
"Tell him who you sent, Miss Rosenberg, please," Cromwell said softly, "I'm sure he'll be thrilled to hear that you let an evil and soulless vampire into that dimension to find your friend."
"Man, why don't you shut the hell up?" Everyone turned. Faith was standing away from her Watcher, wearing a look that suggested that not one person in the room could stop her if she was going to go on a rampage right about now. Cromwell turned to glance at the Slayer, who stepped forward suddenly. "You act like a kindergartener, busting your ass to make teacher happy. Get a life, dude. Get laid. Something. Whatever's in your bottle that needs uncorking, work it out." Everyone waited, and Faith stopped. She stood there motionless for a moment, unsure of what to say. She had spent more than a year in prison, learning to control her anger. And now, for the first time in quite a while, it was about to bubble over. Not just with Cromwell, but with everything and everyone.
"You sent Spike into a demon dimension?" Giles spoke up before Faith could truly lose her temper. There was a note of anger in his voice, and only Xander fully picked up on it. Faith had retreated to her spot near the door, and was staring daggers at the young Watcher. Willow was staring at Giles, waiting for some sort of response. "I thought you would have shown better judgement than that."
"Judgement? Giles, something had to be done. We couldn't just...leave her there. We need her!" Willow said earnestly. "I know we have Faith here, but there's no telling how long she'll go without snapping and killing us all. I think she just demonstrated that well enough. We need Buffy."
"And you broke every law of nature and magick to get her here. Do you have any idea what kind of rules you've broken, what lines you've crossed?" Giles asked her.
"Hey, here's an idea," Xander snapped. "Let's all gang up on Willow!"
"I'd say the occasion calls for it!" Cromwell shot back. "You sit here defending her as though she saved a baby from a fire! But she ripped a human soul out of a dimension she knew nothing about, all so she could sleep better at night!"
"You don't know the first thing about this," Dawn spoke up. She had been silent for a long while; she had been silent for most of the day. And now, she stood at the coffee table, a safe distance between the arguing parties, arms folded across her chest in an angry yet strong sort of way. "You don't know the first thing about Buffy, or Willow, or even Faith." This was directed to Cromwell, who sat perfectly still, looking absolutely furious. "I thought maybe you guys could handle this like mature adults. But you guys keep arguing and blaming stuff on each other, and I don't understand why. Buffy's back. Shouldn't that be all that matters?" Dawn glanced around the room. "You guys have your best friend back." She nodded to Willow and Xander. "You have your Slayer back." She glanced at Giles. "And I have my sister back. And maybe Faith can be off the hook a little now."
"Amen to that, Mini B," Faith said quietly. No one heard her, at least they pretended not to.
Outside, Buffy sat on the bench on the front porch, knees hugged close to her chest. Wet tears threatened at the corners of her eyes, and her chest felt tight and hot with anger and fear. She had heard it all, and everyone's words were sticking with her. She didn't know what to do when the Scooby Gang fought. She hated it when Giles and Willow came to blows. Three days she had been gone, and in that time the entire world as she knew it had been thrust violently upside down, and she hated it. Constantly playing in her mind were the painful fights with demons, each wearing the face of one of her loved ones. And now, she was back in her world, the real world, and she felt more lost here. It was a cool night, unusually cool for the end of the summer, and Buffy closed her eyes for a moment to listen to the chirping of nearby crickets. Detecting a noise a moment later, she opened her eyes to see Spike standing at the base of the front steps, stamping out a cigarette on the ground. She could tell that his wounds were healing already.
"Bad time, Slayer?" Spike asked, slowly and hesitantly climbing the steps to join Buffy on the porch. "Sounds like Red's under the magnifier. Over what we did?" Spike leaned against one of the porch's columns. Buffy looked at him. "Easier to be out here, isn't it."
Buffy glanced at the vampire. "I'm not exactly sure what's easier," she told him softly. "I just know that it's a little quieter out here."
"That's the way I see it," Spike said, slowly climbing the steps to join the Slayer. Buffy glanced down at her hands for a moment, still rather raw from her bout with her coffin not too long ago. Time had gone by slowly in these hours, and she could tell little difference between minutes and hours. She felt as though she had been awake for centuries. She felt old and tired, something that she knew Spike could identify with. Spike hesitantly slid down alongside Buffy on the bench that rested on the porch. Detecting the tears that were now subsiding in her hazel eyes, Spike sighed. "You all right?"
"Yeah." Buffy's voice sounded distant and hollow, and she found herself gazing at the visible wounds that she had inflicted upon Spike. The vampire didn't notice, as he busied himself by staring out at the dimly lit street in front of them. "I hurt you." Her voice was soft and barely audible, and Spike glanced at her after a moment.
"Didn't matter. You did what you had to do, saving your sister and the world. Blood of the lamb and all that. You jumped because you had to, and no one blames you. Hurting me means nothing, because you saved the world...again." Spike's eyes wrinkled as he smiled softly. "Those three days were the longest of my life, but you died for a reason."
"I meant your cuts," Buffy said plainly.
"Oh."
Los Angeles, California
"So this is the kitchen. We use it sparingly, as you can tell. None of us are big on cooking," Wesley said as he turned on the lights of the hotel's kitchen. Behind him stood Fred, who mousily busied herself by tucking her behind her ears. She was silent and jumpy to this point, and Wesley knew that it was understandable. It was hard to say what the girl had experienced in Pylea, and he wasn't sure that she would ever fully recover from her experiences. Yet something made him hopeful that she would, and by staying with Angel and company, he knew that perhaps he and the others could help her. Not at the moment, of course, because Angel had maintained a silent and sad demeanor ever since Willow Rosenberg had appeared inside the hotel to deliver the news about Buffy Summers. The souled vampire seemed quite heartbroken, and Wesley knew the truth. Even two years later, Angel still loved Buffy Summers. And now, she was gone from his life forever. Pushing this from his mind, Wesley nodded to the refrigerator near the corner. "And of course we have Gunn's favorite commodity, the fridge. Fully stocked with fat filled treats. Over there, a microwave. Great for Hot Pockets." Wesley managed a weak smile.
"There's something wrong with Angel, isn't there. Something happened to a girl. And now he's even more brooding than before," Fred said quietly, dismissing the kitchen items quickly. She was hungry, yes, but more importantly, she desperately wanted to know her rescuers. She wanted to make friends, silly and childish as it was. She was fascinated by Angel, the vampire with the soul. She was intrigued by Wesley Wyndham-Pryce, the dashing young Englishman. She was slightly unnerved by Charles Gunn, the rough around the edges young black man. She badly wanted a connection with Cordelia Chase, the young woman with the visions, and former princess of Pylea. Wesley studied Fred's face for a moment, unable to think of what to say.
"It's complicated," was all he could think to reply. Fred stared at him for a moment.
"Angel lost a dear friend a few days ago. And he will more than likely never get over it completely."
"Sounds like more than a friend to me," Fred said.
"At one time she was. And now she's gone, and that's not the sort of thing Angel can merely deal with, and then forget about. He loved her very much. Right until the end, I'd believe."
Sitting alongside Gunn in the lobby of the Hyperion, Cordelia felt restless. Too much had gone one in the past few days, and for the first time in a great while she had nothing other to do than just sit, drinking soda and listening to music as the night dragged on and on. Taking another drink of root beer, Cordelia cast a sidelong glance to Gunn, who was busying himself by sharpening a stake silently. Angel had been locked away in his office all day, and hadn't said a word. From what Cordelia understood, he hadn't slept and he hadn't fed. He had merely been sitting. She knew deep down that he had known that one day Willow would show up with that news, and that he would have to deal with the death of the Slayer. Cordelia had given this much less thought. Yet at the same time, she was sad. She had spent all of her time in Sunnydale being a mean rich girl, and along the way she had come to scorn Buffy because of the company she kept. And even so, Buffy had been compassionate. Eventually, they had become friends, in their own strange and dysfunctional way. A family, almost. And now, Buffy was gone. Cordelia hadn't seen her in a great while, and yet she still remembered Buffy well. Their first meeting, the death of Jenny Calendar, the Slayerfest that she had battled through alongside Buffy, all of it. And part of her missed those simpler, nightmarish days.
It came in an instant, in that painful and biting way that it always did. Francis Doyle's lasting gift to Cordelia Chase, visions that were like a migraine with a few accompanying snapshots, ripped through Cordelia's brain suddenly and painfully. Crying out Cordelia jerked back, and Gunn jumped, startled, as Cordelia's glass of root beer fell to the floor and shattered, and Cordelia jerked around for a few moments before the seizure-like motions passed, and Cordelia was left gasping for breath. When she opened her eyes again, they were wide and stunned.
Angel sat alone in his office, surrounded only by silence and a thick air of grief and guilt. Two years ago he had left Buffy standing in the road alongside what remained of Sunnydale High School. She had been so beautiful and young in that moment. Her whole life had been ahead of her. Her face was smudged and cut, and she wore a look of sad acceptance on her face as she had walked with Xander and then Giles through the maze of firetruckes and policemen. She, Buffy Summers, no more than eighteen, had destroyed another attempt at an apocalypse. She had seen too many by the end of high school, and she wore each bruise and scar with pride nonetheless. She had been powerful and confident that day, and Angel had loved her still. He had stood for a moment in the midst of the smoke and chaos, and their eyes had met. They had said their goodbyes silently, without a final kiss or a final word. And then he had gone, weeping as he drove out of Sunnydale for what he thought would be the last time. He had never wept like this in his life.
And then a vision from Doyle had sent him back to Sunnydale. Buffy had been in danger, and he had watched her silently and stealthily, speaking with her friends and her Watcher but never with Buffy herself. She had seemed weary and older by this point, and desperate for some sort of connection with those around her. She had been obsessing about Thanksgiving this time, understandably wanting some sort of order in her new "adult" life as a college student and a Slayer. And then she had come to Los Angeles, and it was this that pained Angel most. She had found him out after he left, and she gave him what he would always remember as the most painful moments of his life.
For a short while, he had tasted freedom. He had tasted that chance at a normal life with Buffy, as a normal human with his slightly abnormal girlfriend. He remained that strange sensation of a heartbeat in his chest after more than two centuries, and the way it felt to hold Buffy in his arms without worrying about the loss of his soul. There were other memories that went with this, but mostly, there was Buffy. And then this he had allowed to be torn away from him. He had seen Buffy after that both as she chased Faith into Los Angeles and when her mother died. After the death of her mother had been the last time she had seen him. He remembered with pangs of pain the taste of her lips and his sense of her desperation. She wanted to know what tomorrow was supposed to be like. How she was supposed to behave. Angel was wondering the same thing now.
His thoughts were interrupted as Cordelia burst into the office, her skin white and her eyes wide. Wesley was close on her heels, and both were grave and shocked expressions.
"Now isn't really a good time. I'd kind of like to be..." Angel began.
"It's Buffy." Cordelia cut him off quickly. Cordelia saw a flash of something in Angel's eyes that she had never seen before, and it could only be either pure and utter joy or all out terror. Angel swallowed, unable to speak, and asked her with his eyes to continue.
"Now we don't have all the details, but-..." Wesley began.
"Tell me," Angel said, cutting him off.
"Angel, something's happened that we...didn't expect." Cordelia said softly, unsure of how Angel would react.
Buffy wasn't exactly sure what had possessed her to volunteer to join Faith on patrol, and she wasn't exactly having the time of her life on this night. She didn't doubt that the Scooby Gang was back at her house fighting while Spike hovered around outside the house smoking. No doubt by this point Dawn had retreated to her room, and was busy listening to whatever boy band CDs she could find to drown out the noise. Tara had probably retreated to her room as well, and was probably doing her best to drown out the sounds by covering her ears with her hands. Buffy didn't doubt that the others were still arguing, particularly Willow and Xander versus the two Watchers. Buffy sighed heavily as she walked alongside the other Slayer, the one whom she despised so much. Faith seemed to be concentrating a bit too hard on the darkness that surrounded them.
"You seem involved," Buffy muttered, her voice full of haughty observance. Faith glanced at her for a moment, but said nothing as they continued to walk. "Don't recall you being this mellow the last time we patrolled together."
"That was a long time ago," Faith said softly.
"Yeah, and you were still playing Benedict Arnold at the time, too. It's hard to hide guilt when you're being quiet, I suppose," Buffy told her. Faith said nothing to this.
"I'm not here to fight," Faith said.
"That's interesting, because that's what I thought a Slayer was supposed to do. Or has that gone and changed on me in just a few days too?" Faith glanced at her. "I come back, and everything's different. Willow and Tara are boarding at my house. You're out of jail and playing Slayer. There's a new Watcher in town who frankly seems about as stable and capable as the good Doctor Lecter. Everyone's fighting. I was gone for three days, and this is what I come back to? It's not exactly the best welcome home present I've ever gotten."
"That's not my problem, B. I don't want anything to do with this miserable little town. Life was good for me before I made the mistake of coming here, before I made the mistake of looking for you. And you think I'm any happier to be here than you are?" Faith shot back. Here was one of those old parts of Buffy she had hated: the unjustified complaining.
"You don't know what I went through." Buffy's voice rang cold. "You think I'm not happy to be back?"
"All I'm saying is that for someone who supposedly went through unspeakable torment in a hell dimension, you don't seem to happy to be out." Faith stopped, and turned to Buffy. "If it were me, I'd be turning cartwheels on the lawn, having just escaped Hell. But here you are, same old B. Always with the pity and the weight of the world bit."
Buffy could feel that old anger bubbling up inside her once again as she glared at Faith, and managed to say through clenched teeth, "Well you're not me, F. You don't know what I've been through. And since when do you care how I'm feeling? You didn't care when you tried to turn Angel against me and get him working for the Mayor. You loved that, I remember."
"That was a long time ago," Faith murmured. Of everyone in the Scooby Gang, it was Buffy who was the most justified in her anger and hatred. Faith knew that she had done horrible things to Buffy and to her family, and that Buffy would probably never forgive her. Still, Buffy's words hit her hard.
"Or when you tried to kill Willow. My best friend. And Xander too, don't forget about that. And then you tried to kill Angel. You're a killer, Faith, and nothing else. You love being a Slayer because it gives you an excuse to take lives. But it wasn't enough, was it? You didn't see that line between being a Slayer and being a killer." Buffy's words were cold and came quickly.
"Oh, and you think you're different?" Faith said. Counting to ten and "What Would Buffy Do?" weren't going to stop her now. That white hot anger that she had once known all too well was now surging through her once again as she stepped closer to the shorter Slayer. Buffy didn't step away, and her gaze further hardened as she watched the brunette Slayer closely. "You tried to gut me, remember? You would've killed me and fed me to Angel, and you know it."
"And you would've killed me if you'd had the chance. You would have destroyed every one that I loved, all because you were too jealous of me to see past it all. You had no family, so you tried to kill mine. You didn't have a man, you try to steal mine. You don't trust people, you hurt my friends. What makes you different now?" Buffy struggled to restrain her urge to punch Faith in the face.
"You're right. I was jealous. And now I get it. I come here because Angel sends me, and I see how things are here. Being the only Slayer blows, I get that. And now I see it. You took that plunge off that tower, and you said it was because you loved Little Sis. But you know what I think? I think you wanted it all along. You wanted to rest, and you wanted to dump this all on me. Because you're too self-centered to worry about-..." Faith's tangent was cut short as Buffy punched her in the jaw. Faith's head snapped to one side, and the assaulted Slayer froze. Her body went numb with that old rage, and for a moment she was back on that rooftop, handcuffed to Buffy and desperate for an escape and a victory. Without a word, Buffy turned and began walking away from Faith. Faith stood there for a moment, stunned and angry. Buffy was about a three yards away from Faith when she heard it: sailing through the air with a soft whistle directly toward Faith was some sort of dart. Without warning, Buffy ran and tackled Faith to the ground just as the dart whirled by where the brunette Slayer's neck had been moments before.
Both women fell to the ground, Faith grunting and cursing as she hit the earth. Buffy gasped and lay there for a moment: she could hear voices calling out around them, and she jumped back to her feet as Faith, dazed, climbed to her feet as well. Faith went to say something, but Buffy hushed her with a silently raised hand. They were not alone in the cemetery, and Buffy was beginning to get the distinct feeling that they were being hunted. A moment later, she spotted the culprit. Tucked down low behind a crypt was a man dressed in black. At this moment Buffy felt her Slayer senses beginning to repair themselves, and she saw them all: there were five men visible in the immediate area, each with a gun. And they didn't seem friendly.
"Run," Buffy whispered softly to Faith.
"What? Why?" Faith asked, perplexed.
"Just...run." Buffy said. The two Slayers sprinted out of the cemetery amidst shouts from behind them, and they could hear the snapping of twigs as their hunters scurried along behind them. Buffy felt odd, using her body again like this, when for the past three days she had been lying in a grave. She ran as fast as she could, she and Faith, across the street and over a fence and into the backyard of a hapless elderly couple watching TV, all the while listening for those men that chased them. As Faith ran alongside Buffy she understood: the Council was on her trail again. But this time, Angel and his friends weren't here to protect her. Faith gasped for air as she and Buffy finally made it back to Buffy's street, and the two Slayers sprinted up the driveway and up the steps quickly. Buffy flung open the door and Faith followed.
Slamming the door and locking it, Buffy whirled. Giles was standing in the doorway, looking confused. Willow was now standing near the fireplace, and Xander was still on the couch. Cromwell was nowhere to be found, nor were Dawn, Tara, or Anya. Those present turned to stare at the two Slayers, sweating and gasping for air. Buffy turned to her Watcher.
"I think the Council just found out where Faith's-..."
Buffy's words were interrupted when the sound of a door busting open blasted through the room. The entire group leapt to its feet, and Buffy glanced back at Faith, unsure of what to do. Giles's eyes narrowed, and he hurried to the weapons trunk in the living room, and Willow and Xander hurriedly followed after him. Buffy stood near the front door for a moment, unsure of what to do. The Council wanted Faith. Sunnydale had no use for her. What made more sense than handing Faith over to someone that could deal with her? The Council would almost certainly dispose of her, and while a little extreme, Buffy knew that it was probably the best thing. Yet something made her stop when she considered this, for she knew that perhaps it was a little much. Buffy could only stand for a moment and watch as Spike entered from the kitchen, looking flustered.
"We have to mount up. Now." Spike's voice was full of equal parts excitement and concern. "There's a caravan of soldier types outside looking to party. And they don't look like they're here to spread the word of the Lord, either." Spike glanced into the living room, where Giles was already distributing weapons. "Good, then. You already know about them."
No one had a chance to reply, for suddenly the glass of the windows in the living room violently shattered as a man carrying a large pistol crashed through the window, tucked himself into a roll, and landed on the floor near the coffee table. Without hesitation Giles flung a small ax at him, and the man screamed as he fell over backward, ax embedded in his arm, pinning him against the floor. Upstairs Buffy could hear sudden screaming: Dawn. Leaving Faith and Spike to fend off attackers downstairs, Buffy found herself rushing up the stairs as fast as her legs could carry her, all the while praying that Dawn was all right. Stumbling as she made it to the top of the stairs, Buffy slammed into a short man wielding a rather large knife. Reacting quickly, Buffy slammed her knee into the man's stomach and flung him down the stairs, and watched as Spike promptly punched the man, knocking him unconscious. Buffy sprinted to Dawn's room and flung open the door, and found her sister lying on the floor, crumbled in a sleeping heap: she had a dart sticking out of her neck.
Tara tried to scream but failed as she struggled to wrench herself free of the stranger's grasp. A man in a ski mask and high-tech looking black clothes had crashed through her window moments ago, and not being one for fighting, Tara found herself basically defenseless. The stranger covered her mouth with his hand while he attempted with his other to handcuff her to the lower part of the bed post. Tara squirmed, almost succeeding to get free of him, but found herself unable to. She tried to scream again, but still could not. A moment later, there was a shattering sound, and the man fell away. Glancing up, Tara found herself staring into the face of Anya, who moments before had been in the bathroom. Tara glanced at the remnants of the large oriental vase that had once belonged to Joyce Summers which now lay beside the head of the unconscious attacker, and climbed to her feet shakily.
"I've always wanted to do that," Anya said absently. "The whole house is under siege. Being useless as we are, I believe it would be our best bet to remain, as always, locked away in the bathroom, where no one would ever think to look for..."
"Where's Willow?" Tara interrupted.
Willow screamed as one of their attackers came toward her, knife drawn, a stern frown stretched across his face. Giles was doing battle on the other side of the room, and Xander was unconscious on the floor as a result of a gun butt to the head. That same guy had then gone searching through the house, leaving Xander with a head wound on the floor. Willow blindly searched for something to defend herself: her own weapon, a crossbow, had been lost early on, and she had reacted with much screaming and running and ducking. Now, she was cornered against the fireplace, and she had nowhere to go. She stood there, and for a brief moment she thought she was going to die. And then, it came to here.
"Conicere!" Willow cried, flinging her hand up. To both her surprise and that of he who held the gun, he went flying backward and slammed against the man who battled with Giles. Both men slammed against the wall, knocking pictures to the ground with them. Both gave unconscious groans of pain as they slid down against the wall, leaving Willow to stand with a shocked and outstretched, albeit trembling, hand. Giles turned to her, stared incredulously for a moment, and said nothing. After a moment, Willow lowered her hand and rushed to Xander's side.
Faith knew it was cowardly and terrible, but she ran. As she watched Spike fend off another attacker, she had bolted. She had no place here. Her being here had caused this, and she understood that. There was no time to retrieve her borrowed clothes, and she would just have to wing it, she knew. She had to get out of Sunnydale, and it had to be now. She couldn't be responsible for the destruction of the Scooby Gang, she just couldn't. Not after everything that had happened. She ran through the dining room and made it to the kitchen, and it was there that she found her new Watcher, David Cromwell, in the process of beating one of the attackers about the head with his own gun. The man was unconscious already, and bleeding.
"Dude, what the hell?" Faith cried, horrified and more than a little surprised. "He's out cold. Give it a rest."
"Why bother? He'd do the same to me if he had the chance. Wouldn't you, Nigel?" Cromwell knelt beside the bloodied man, who was wavering back into consciousness now. "Tell her what a swell fellow you are. Tell her how you feel about me. And Mister Giles. And Wesley Wyndham-Pryce. You'd kill us all if you could, right?"
"Please..." Nigel begged, spitting out blood as he struggled to form the words. Faith stepped around to see exactly how much damage her "Watcher" had done, and she knew straight away the the man had at least some broken fingers, quite possibly some missing teeth. "...don't..." Nigel continued to struggle.
"Give me the gun," Faith said. She stared at the young Watcher, who had traces of blood on his hands. Buffy's words suddenly echoed in her head, but a moment too late, as she recalled it. Deputy Mayor Alan Finch had died, and her blood had been on his hands. Faith shook it away quickly, and moved quickly in knocking the gun from the Watcher's hand. "What's your problem? You're supposed to watch over a Slayer, not play Serpico." Without a word Cromwell brushed past her and out of the kitchen, back into the living room to join whatever fight was left. Faith stood there for a moment, unsure of what to do with herself. Finally, cursing under her breath, she went back to help the others. Tomorrow, she told herself. Tomorrow she would leave.
Buffy slid down onto the couch alongside Willow, who had just finished picking the shards of glass off of the furniture. Xander had yet to go to work on fixing the windows, as he was too busy sitting in a chair allowing Anya to nurse his brand new head wound. It wasn't major, really, just painful. Buffy sighed wearily as she watched Anya wrap gauze around Xander's head. Tara was sitting nearby, fidgeting with her hands. She had a bruise on her wrist, but seemed unscathed otherwise. Giles was pacing near the fireplace. Spike had long gone, once again thankless and with a cigarette in his mouth. He had said goodnight to Buffy claiming that he'd now had his "daily spot of violence", and could now go out for a drink. Dawn was upstairs sleeping off whatever sleeping drug had been in the dart with which she had been shot. Faith was upstairs in the shower, and the other Watcher was in the kitchen on the phone: he had been that way for nearly an hour.
Buffy was exhausted. It was as though the forces of darkness already knew she was back. The Council had come at them full force, and now all of them were on their way to the Sunnydale General Hospital, where not one of them would say a word about what had happened for fear of exposing the Council. Such was the trend, and Buffy knew that it would hold up flawlessly.
"I'm beginning to ask myself how many times this place has been trashed," Buffy said softly. "I'm beginning to feel how Mom felt when some demon crashed through that door. Ever splintered piece of wood, I hear a cash register making that annoying little clanging noise."
"We'll fix it, Buffy. Don't worry," Willow told her friend. "Just after a nice, long nap. And possibly some drugs."
"I know, Will," Buffy told her.
"Buff, are you okay?" Willow asked suddenly.
Buffy turned to her: "Yeah. Why wouldn't I be?"
"You seem a little...distant. Are you okay?" Willow studied her friend closely.
"I'm fine. I'm still a little thrown off, and a little dazed. Nothing a little sleep and peace and quiet can't fix. And besides...now I know I'm not in Hell anymore, because the bad guys had little interest in me." While she meant it as a joke, just to keep things light,
Buffy could see the effect these words had on her friends. Giles stopped his silent pacing and stared at his Slayer. Xander and Anya both glanced at her, waiting for more. Tara looked down at her feet, and Willow's eyes went slightly wide. For a moment no one moved: it was as though this entire time they had all been fearing that Buffy would not speak of her ordeal again, and now here she was joking about it. Though none had the courage to ask, all wanted to know what it had been like. They all waited patiently, staring at Buffy silently, making the Slayer feel about three inches tall. As Buffy opened her mouth to speak, her front door opened.
All eyes were on Angel as he quietly entered.