Buffy let herself in the back door of the house, into the kitchen. Her mother was bustling around the kitchen, starting coffee and mixing pancakes for breakfast. "Hi, honey. I was about to come get you up." Joyce looked her daughter up and down, noticing the newly washed hair and the oversized oxford Buffy was wearing. Her patience snapped. "But, you weren't up there were you? Where have you been? Have you been sneaking out again?"

"It's called patrolling, Mom, and, yes, I went out last night." Buffy reached for a slice of bacon off the platter on the island. "Mmm. Yummy, Mom. If I didn't already have plans for breakfast, I'd eat the whole plate."

"Buffy, I know I didn't buy that shirt for you, so maybe you'd like to tell me what you are doing in a man's shirt? You're not back with that Angel boy, are you?"

Buffy paled at the mention of Angel's name. "No, Mom, I'm not with that "Angel" boy. It's Giles' shirt. I got hurt last night, wound up at his place, and my shirt was ripped to shreds."

"Why didn't you come home and let me help you?"

Buffy rolled her eyes and lifted her shirt to show her mother the healing scratches on her back. "I was mauled by a werewolf over by his house. It was closer. Bleeding Slayers attract vamps like piranhas; I needed to get inside. If I'd been near home, I would have been at home. Any more questions?"

Joyce blanched at the deep scratches on her daughters back. "Did you kill it?"

"Kill what?"

"The werewolf."

"No, I don't kill werewolves. I'll try to go find it tonight and tranq it. If I find it, Giles and I will talk to the poor devil in the morning. That reminds me, I need to call Willow."

"You don't kill a beast that does that to you?"

Buffy turned to head out of the kitchen and up the stairs. "No. Not if I don't have to. It might be Oz. If not, it's someone's husband, or wife, or child, or parent. Now, I need to get back to Giles' with some books for a study session."

"Oz is a werewolf?" At Buffy's nod, Joyce shuddered. "I never would have thought. He's seemed like such a nice boy."

"Oz is a nice boy. He got bit by his three year old cousin and voila, instant werewolf. It's a disease, not something evil."

"Buffy, I just want to know what's going on with you. You've been back for six weeks now, and I hardly know whether you are coming or going. You had a relationship with Angel, and I didn't meet him until it was long over. I don't understand your life, and I'm your mother. Can we work something out? Meet halfway?"

Buffy stopped halfway up the stairs and looked back at Joyce. "Like what? What do you mean?"



"Well, maybe you could leave a note when you patrol, when you might be back. Then I can at least call Mr. Giles if you aren't in your bed in the morning. We can have a rule that you return from patrol by ten on school nights. I worry about you. I'm afraid you're going to disappear again, and I won't know if you are dead or alive. Thursday night I was petrified you wouldn't come home, and you arrive, past midnight, looking as if was completely normal."

Buffy sighed, and headed back down the stairs. "Thursday night I was at church. I didn't leave to patrol until nearly ten-thirty, and I found a vamp nest in the warehouse district. That's what brought me home past midnight." She pulled up a chair at the kitchen island and looked her mother in the eye. "If you truly want to, meet halfway or something, maybe the three of us can work something out. I'm just as tired of the sneaking and lying as you are of wondering where I am. So let me think about it today, maybe talk to Giles, see where it goes. Okay?"

"You were at church? I'm not sure I believe that." Joyce folded her arms across her chest, giving Buffy an appraising look. She finally relented. "If you say so, we said we were going to meet halfway. Would you like me to drive you back over to Mr. Giles' apartment?"

"That would be nice. Thanks, Mom." Buffy grabbed a piece of paper and pen from next to the kitchen phone. She handed her mom the slip of paper. Joyce read it; it said "Father Michael Patrick O'Hara" and had a phone number on it. "What's this?"

"My alibi for Thursday night, check it if you want." Buffy headed up the stairs.

--------

The phone rang. Giles walked from the kitchen to the living room to retrieve it. "Good morning, Rupert Giles here."

"Rupert? It's Quentin Travers."

Giles rolled his eyes. "Lovely to hear from you, Quentin. How may I be of service?"

"Wondering when we might be receiving another report from you. Your Slayer appears to be missing in action."

"She's on duty. I'm expecting her in a few minutes, in fact. I sent a report out three days ago."

"Very good, very good. I'll look forward to reading it. They are always so... entertaining."

Giles was impatient to get off the phone. "Well. Good then. Talk to you another day." Giles bent over to remove the scones from the oven while balancing the phone between his shoulder and ear.

"Rupert."

"Yes, Quentin."

"Rosita Morales was killed last week in Brazil."

Giles' hand touched the oven door, burning his fingers. "Oh, bloody hell! Just a minute." He dropped the phone, pulled the scones out of the oven, and put them on top of the stove. He picked up the phone again, putting his fingers under cold running water. "Sorry, burned myself cooking. Rosita is dead? Do we know how?"

"Correct. It appears to be the work of our old friends William and Drusilla."

"Another has been called, then?"

"Yes. A daughter of a friend of yours, I think."

Giles left the kitchen and sat down on the sofa, drawing a deep breath. "Oh, really? Who?"

"Susan Amesbury's daughter, Hannah."



Giles ran his hand through his hair; Susan had been a sometime lover and a powerful witch. Susan Amesbury, yes, I know of whom you are speaking. Lovely woman. How can I help?"

"When Susan found out, she took the daughter into hiding. We cannot find her. I suspect she is using magic to conceal her whereabouts from the Council."

"Well, I have just exhausted my personal resources searching for my own Slayer, only to have her turn up on my doorstep six weeks ago. I'm not sure I can help you find this other one."

"We need to locate the father. Then perhaps we can find the child."

"How old is Hannah?"

"Twelve."

"Twelve. Good God, Quentin, if she were mine, I'd be hiding her, too."

Giles could hear the audible sigh on the other end of the phone. "Is she yours? Are you hiding her? We know of the nature of your relationship with her mother."

Giles thought back over his times with Susan. "I doubt it. I'm not hiding her, Quentin. Susan wouldn't need my help for that. I suppose I could do a little research and see if I'm the father. Susan never indicated that Hannah was mine. I can look through my diaries. And there are certain spells which may reveal..." Giles trailed off. "I admit I'm a bit loathe to attempt to locate a child called that young."

"Please make the effort. We have a few other ideas on paternity, but as galling as it is, you would be the easiest to handle."

Giles removed his glasses and began cleaning them. "Yes... Well... Do you have a birth date for this child?"

"September twenty-first. Rupert, since your little Eyghon incident last year, most of Susan's other lovers have been eliminated, making it quite impossible to use them for tracking the Slayer."

Giles pulled off his glasses and began cleaning them, remembering a few pleasant meetings with Susan 'for old times sake.' "Ah, I see. And so you believe that it is one of us."

"Yes. And I sincerely doubt that Ethan would be cooperative. Quite the opposite, in fact."

Giles imagined that Travers was correct. "No. I don't suppose Ethan would be cooperative at all."

"Giles, I must ask you, do you have any more information about what happened prior to Buffy's departure? Or while she was gone?"

"No. She will not speak of it. I have tried."

"We have lost three Slayers in as many months, I must know if Angelus is alive, if he is responsible."

"I will explain to her the importance."

"Very good. I will look forward to hearing from you. Thank you, Rupert."

The phone went dead. Giles looked at the phone, "Pillock."

-------

"Anne." The name was whispered gently in her ear. Buffy felt two cool arms wrap around her waist, reaching under Giles' shirt. "What did you think you were doing last night?"

"Getting the crap kicked out of me, I guess." Buffy leaned into the embrace, hearing a soft chuckle. "Kind of stupid, huh?"



"Unnecessary. It wasn't Oz, you know. Think about the smell of him." Buffy considered the scent of the previous night's werewolf and nodded. The werewolf had not smelled anything like Oz.

"Hungry. Hurts." Buffy watched as a clawed finger raked across the opposite wrist, drawing blood. The wrist was brought to her mouth, and Buffy sucked on it, hungrily gulping the cool coppery blood. "Mmmm." She could feel the broken skin on her back knitting itself together as her strength returned.

"If you had just come home, I could have helped you sooner."

"Too weak, threw up my supper in the bushes." Buffy returned to her suckling, feeling the contentment of being nearly satiated.

"This is hard for you, the changes? Did the Watcher take care of you?" A hand snaked between her legs, indicating his meaning.

Buffy dropped the wrist and looked into the face of her companion. "Giles? Take care of me? You must be joking. He doesn't think of me that way."

Buffy heard a clucking noise in her ear. "Good Lord, what do they teach those Watchers these days? In my day, we were told that the Slayer came home hungry and ready for a good shagging. And from what I can tell, that was good advice."

Buffy flashed an impish grin at her lover, tugging at his belt buckle. "You've taken care of the hungry part, some of it, anyway. Want you. Now." Giles' shirt was quickly pulled over her head, and clothes went flying as the two dived quickly into the bed. Time passed, as contented murmurs changed into quiet urgent pleas, and, finally, a pair of muffled shouts echoed in Buffy's room.

Joyce's voice echoed up the stairs. "Buffy? Honey, are you okay?"

"Yeah, Mom! Just can't find a book. Wait a minute." Buffy pulled the covers back over her legs and trailed a hand along her lover's stomach. "I was going back to Giles' with some books. Mom is going to drive me." She propped herself up on one elbow, studying his face. "I miss home."

"I know. But there was no place for us there. It was time to leave."

"But Rose." A slender finger was pressed to her to her lips, stopping the next words.

"Was grown, and married, and had children of her own. She didn't need us anymore." Her lover trailed a finger along her hipbone, tracing small circles. "You must either do your best to adjust to this life, or we can leave, and make a new life elsewhere."

"I know, I know. But it's still hard."

"You're not doing yourself any favors keeping all your secrets so close. The strain is killing you."

"I don't remember anyone here. Only faces and images. I don't know how to be a child again. How can I trust them?"

"By taking small steps. Pick someone, your mom, your watcher, the little witch. And talk to them, really talk. These people used to be your strength. If someone was gunning for you, they first went for them. They may surprise you. Oz took everything well, didn't he?"

"But Oz, is well, Oz. Nothing fazes him." Her lover gave a knowing chuckle and tickled her gently. "Hungry, Sweetie?" She turned her head to one side, offering her neck to him.

"Always hungry for you, love." The human visage was dropped as the vampire bit gently into her neck, cradling her close in his arms.