"Lie down, my sweet," Ma'at cooed, a basin of fresh water gripped in her strong, but delicate hands. Placing the bowl on the bedside table, she gently pressed Isfet into the bed. With a sigh, she picked up the cloth from the basin and wiped at the slowly widening open wound across Isfet's face, hearing him hiss in agony. "It will all be over soon," Ma'at said, her voice tinged with sadness. This is the only way to save him, she tried to reassure herself. Thinking of the poor woman held captive, the woman that would have to die to save the man Ma'at loved, she shuddered. Sighing and shaking her discomfort, Ma'at continued to clean the rot away from Isfet's body, staying silent until he finally spoke.

"You seem upset," Isfet said. "More so than usual."

"You know how I feel about this ritual," Ma'at shrugged gracefully, focusing on her duty before folding her hands in her lap. She knew it was futile, but she needed to try to convince him that Buffy didn't need to die. She was growing fond of the woman and Ma'at didn't need the Slayer's death on her conscious.

"And you know how I feel about rotting to death," Isfet replied with a sneer.

"I could speak to my father. If the Children could reverse it someway-"

"We spoke on this already. I am not going grovelling to your father." Isfet sat straighter in bed, a sharp gasp escaping his lips, before he squared his shoulders. "We will solve this on our own. And we're halfway there already." They had discussed the possibility of finding other options multiple times before, but Ma'at suspected that Isfet had other motives for completing the ritual, thus her pleas fell on deaf ears.

"Of course, my love." With a bow of her head, Ma'at finished cleaning his wounds and stood up to leave.


"I don't like this plan," Wesley complained, his carry-on gripped tightly to his chest as he weaved through the crowded aisle on the passenger plane. He checked his ticket, spotting that he was in seat 37, and made his way to his seat.

"Well, luckily, you don't have to," Giles said, bemoaned to find that he was seated besides Wesley, in seat 38. "And you didn't have to come along," Giles said under his breath.

Prepared to brood, Angel slipped past Giles and, ignoring his seat number, made his way to the back of the plane to sit in one of the single seaters.

"Too good to sit with the rest of us?" Faith asked as she slid into the window seat across from Giles, with Spike right behind her.

"Of course he is. The poof is always too good for us." Spike said.

"Ladies and gentlemen, please take your seats as we prepare for takeoff." came over the speakers as the seatbelt light came on above everyone's heads. Within a few minutes, they were up in the air, the cool night winds buffering at the windows. "You are now free to move around the cabin."

Spike smiled as the attendant walked down the aisle towards him, prepared to order himself something to drink.

"It's completely impossible to get drunk off of these damned things," Spike muttered to himself, thirty minutes later, a tiny bottle of whiskey in his hand. Spike drank down the contents of the bottle and lined it up on the tray in front of him with the other seven empty bottles. "Another one, hostess," he slurred, clearly intoxicated.

"I'm afraid I have to cut you off, sir," the hostess replied, pushing the cart of beverages past him and further down the center aisle of the airplane. The airplane lurched slightly, suffering from a bit of turbulence, and Spike gripped the seat tightly, hearing the plastic groan in protest.

"What d'ya mean, you have to cut me off!" Hearing a muffled chuckle from the seat beside him, Spike turned to glare at the brunette Slayer to his left. " 's not funny," Spike said, petulantly.

"Oh, yes, it is," Faith laughed aloud this time, a broad smile across her face.

The plane lurched again and a child across the aisle screeched loudly, kicking the seat in front of him-the seat in which Giles happened to be seated. "We'll be in Mykonos soon."


Ma'at casually walked down the hallway to Buffy's chambers, a short sword at her waist, a spear tied across her bad, and a tray of food once again held in her hands. Her hair looked a mess and her clothing was disheveled. She reached the doorway and smiled beautifully at the guards.

"Isfet commanded that you not be allowed in with the Slayer," one of the guards said, standing up straighter despite the fear clearly etched on his face.

Ma'at made eye contact with him and continued to smile. There was nothing either of the guards could do to keep her from getting into that room. "Drop your weapons and go find something else to do," Ma'at ordered to both of them, her voice quiet, but stern. At her command, they both dropped their weapons and turned to walk down the hallway and around the corner.

Ma'at knocked on the Slayer's door politely and entered without preamble. She swiftly walked to the table and put the tray down.

"How dare you-" Buffy began.

"Be quiet," Ma'at hissed, her voice edged with fear. If this was going to work, they would need to be as quiet and as quick as possible. "We need to get you out of here," Ma'at whispered, her hand going to her belt to draw her sword before handing it to Buffy.

Buffy hesitantly took the sword and eyed Ma'at warily. "What made you change your mind?"

"Isfet did," Ma'at said cryptically, removing her cloak and handing it to Buffy. "Follow me, but not too closely. If I get into trouble, don't risk your escape. He needs you to end the world. Do what you can to get out."

Buffy nodded and prepared to face whatever was to come next.