Chapter 2

Buffy woke up slowly. She felt so rested, like she had slept for years. And good dreams. No nightmares, no waking up in coffins underground or in bed with Spike. Nice dreams.

Without opening her eyes, she stretched and yawned. No pain, she realized, pausing in mid-stretch. That got her eyes open.

She found herself looking into the very worried green eyes of her Watcher. Startled, she jerked back from him.

"Giles? What are you doing in my room?"

"Buffy, we need to talk."

"Okay, what's with the serious doom and gloom voice? Not more Potentials…hurt?"

Giles snatched off his glasses and began cleaning them, looking anywhere but at his Slayer.

"Willow did a spell last night, to heal your injuries from the fight with the Turok-Han," he began.

"Well, good for Willow. I knew she had it in her to do magic again. I feel fantastic." She scooted backwards on the bed to sit against the headboard. Lying in bed talking to her Watcher felt weird. Not BAD weird. Just weird, weird.

"There was a…. Giles said, still not looking it her.

"Oh-oh. What kind of small complication? Is Willow okay?"

"Willow is fine. It's just…" He continued to look somewhere over her head. Buffy grabbed Giles' hand, surprising him into looking at her. "Giles. Spill it."

Silently, he handed her a mirror. Buffy looked into it, confused.

It was her face, but it wasn't. Her skin was rougher. Small wrinkles fanned out from her eyes. Laugh lines, she thought irrelevantly. She released Giles' hand to raise one hand to touch her cheek, then looked at the hand. Her veins and tendons seemed to show more. The skin, like on her face, wasn't smooth and poreless.

"What the Hell did she do to me? I'm my mother!" Buffy shrieked, dropping the mirror and hiding her face in her hands.

"Buffy, it's all right," Giles said, patting her on the knee beneath the covers. He replaced his glasses with the other hand. "I think it's reversible. The coven….."

She yanked her hands down and stared at him open-mouthed. "You think it's reversible? You think! Oh my God. She made me old."

"Buffy, you're hardly old. I'd say you are still younger than me."

"Gee, that's a relief," she said sarcastically. Giles stiffened and withdrew his hand. She grabbed it before he could turn away. "Giles, I'm sorry, I didn't mean that the way it sounded. You're not old. So, I guess that means I'm not old."

She picked up the mirror and looked into it. "But I'm not 22 anymore, either," she told herself. "And I do look like my mom."

"I have a theory," Giles said, not letting go of her other hand as she stared into the mirror. They so rarely touched anymore. She pulled her hand free, smiling at him absently and alleviating his disappointment, and began poking her nose.

"Is my nose bigger?" she asked, fascinated. She turned her head and stared at the sagging line of her jaw. "That's new."

Giles gave up trying to make any kind of explanation, and watched in fascination as she explored her aged face. He had expected tears and hysteria, not this frank appraisal of her changed appearance. Apparently the shock had helped remove her from her funk.

Buffy's eyes dropped to her top. Ignoring her Watcher's indrawn breath, she pulled it open and looked down the front.

"That's it," she said, torn between giggling and rage, "I'm gonna kill her."

Giles finally got up from the bed and turned away when she reached under her tank top to grab her apparently now-faulty breasts and squeeze, then weigh them in her palms.

"Buffy, I am still here," he said in a strangled tone over his shoulder.

"Oh, sorry," Buffy said. She was surprised both by his reaction and hers. Somehow, she wanted him to be checking out her…She shook her head violently, trying to clear the thought. "It's not like you haven't seen 42-year-old breasts before, Giles."

"Buffy!"

She giggled, and he turned around, catching her gaze with his most severe Watcher glare. She attempted to look suitably chagrined, but giggled again.

"I'm going to leave and let you get dressed. Come down when you're done and we'll discuss my theory. Hopefully we'll have heard from the Devon Coven by then."

"Are they sending an owl?" Buffy asked hopefully.

Giles didn't bother to glare at her, nor did he look confused. Dawn had insisted that he read the Harry Potter books. And see the movie. "No, my guess is they'll be making a telephone call."

"Bummer," said Buffy. She leapt out of the bed, flinging the bed clothes aside. She felt great.

"Well, if nothing else, she did heal me," Buffy said. She strode over to the full-length mirror and looked at herself, hands on her hips. Grasping the hem of her shirt, she glanced at Giles, biting her lip. "I'm gonna take this off. You gonna stay and watch?"

Snatching off his glasses, Giles backed out of the room, hearing Buffy's quiet "Damn," as he closed the door firmly.

He stared at the wood of the door, briefly raising his hand to touch the wood. He hadn't heard Buffy laugh so much since his dramatic return from England to contain Willow. He had missed it, he realized. He had missed her.

He paused on the staircase, lost in thought and completely unaware that Xander, Willow and Dawn were staring at him while the confused Potentials huddled in a corner.

Someone grabbed his arm. "Giles?" He shook off the hand and looked at Xander. By the pinched look on the young man's face, he was expecting the worst.

"She's well, Xander," Giles said, patting Xander reassuringly on the shoulder and heading down the stairs. "She's….better than I could have guessed. Then any of us could. I need to call the Coven, and Willow, I need you to make sure you write down exactly the wording you used, but she's fine."

"She most certainly is not," said a woman's voice. Everyone turned to see a tall, heavyset woman framed in the doorway. She was wearing flowing clothes of crimson and white. Her long white hair pooled on her shoulders.

"Giselda!" Willow and Giles said together. Willow threw herself at the woman and hugged her.

Giselda peeled the younger woman off of her, smiling down fondly. "We will catch up later, Willow-child. Now I must see the Slayer."

"Then look up here," said Buffy. Once again, everyone turned, this time to look up the stairs. The suddenly older Slayer was standing at the top of the stairs, dressed in a black T-shirt and sweatpants. She smiled, one hand on the banister. "I'm guessing there's a problem with my miraculous healing and less than miraculous aging."

Willow flushed.

Giselda nodded slowly.

"There is indeed a problem, Slayer. You are dying."