Buffy awoke much later that night to a harsh jangling of her inner alarm system. Leaping nimbly out of bed, she grabbed the dagger she kept under the mattress and crept silently out of her bedroom. When she reached the head of the stairs, the door to her old room opened to reveal a disheveled, but equally alert, Oz. He had assured her earlier that he could crash at Devon's apartment, where all of the Dingoes lived, but she'd insisted that it was nice to have someone else around.
He'd accepted, grateful for the promise of some quiet and a comfortable bed. Apparently, the quiet part was too much to ask. Wordlessly, he fell into step behind her as she descended the stairs. Someone or something was on the other side of the front door, pounding incessantly.
He caught Buffy's eye and mouthed, "Barrier?"
Shaking her head, she whispered, "It didn't go off." She peeked through the eyehole of the door and gave a sigh of relief. Flipping the hallway light on, she swung it open to reveal a tall figure in jeans and a sweatshirt, hood drawn up to hide his partially demonic features. "Grach? What's going on, are you OK?" she asked worriedly. "Come in."
He closed the door quickly behind him and locked it. Peering around cautiously, and squinting in the bright hall light, he managed, "I don't think I was followed, but they just show up outta nowhere…"
"The Kuunchadri are out? Why didn't you call me?"
"Daryol borrowed my cell, they…and… I had to get here. It's Pan, he's a mess." His voice cracked in fear, causing Buffy to leap into action.
"Oz, there're two black duffel bags in my room. Get them both, please." He immediately complied, taking the stairs two at a time. Buffy ran into the kitchen and grabbed her purse and a few bottles of water from the fridge. The two arrived back in the front hall together and quickly pulled on shoes and jackets over their pajamas and raced out the front door.
"My van," Oz instructed, and they piled in. "Your place, Grach?"
"Yeah, thanks dude. Don't have a car, so I ran all the way here," Grach grumbled, still out of breath.
Buffy handed him a bottle of water, which he accepted gratefully. "What happened?" she demanded.
"Daryol, Sandri and some of the other guys went out lookin' for Pan. They found him in an alley, completely trashed and left to die. They brought him home. He can pass, but not in a hospital with all those tests and… We know what went down with the Initiative, Kyon. And even though you took 'em out, what says there aren't other groups just like 'em? Can't be too careful. So I came to you. I heard you healed Mergelin." He gave a desperate sigh. "Sorry I showed up at your house like this…"
"No, you did the right thing. We're friends, Grach. And not just when we're hiding in the dark," she replied firmly.
He smiled a little. "You're really something, Ky. Can you help him?"
"I can. I healed Mergelin."
"Yourself?" Grach asked curiously.
"Yes."
Oz wanted to ask Buffy about her healing capabilities, but decided it wasn't a good time. "Where should I park, guys?" he asked instead.
They all piled back out of the van swiftly, grabbed their supplies, and followed Grachen into his warehouse apartment. The lighting was dim in the main living room and Oz could barely make out the figures of what must be Pan's rescue team. They jumped up to greet the newcomers. Buffy ignored them, heading directly to the back of the warehouse where a bedroom had been created with partitions. Pan was lying on his back in a large bed, and if weren't for the intermittent moaning coming from his battered form, Oz would've assumed he was dead.
Daryol and Sandri stepped into the room after them, followed closely by their two companions. "Can you save him, Kyon?"
"I'll do the best I can, Dar," she replied, taking off her jacket. "Where'd you find him?"
"The alley by the Sunnydale Cinema," he replied.
"So they wanted him to be found," she inferred. "I need everyone but Grach and Oz to leave, please," she ordered. Daryol nodded, gave Grachen his cell phone back, and ushered the others from the room.
Buffy approached the bed and stood perfectly still, assessing Pan for several long moments. She placed her hands gently on his body, and inhaled sharply. Then she took charge again. "Oz, get the duffel with the blue ribbon on the handle and open it up. Grach, heat some water in the biggest pots you have and bring lots of towels or sheets." They rushed to obey.
Oz recognized some of the contents of the duffel. There were all the ordinary parts of a first aid kit, plus a few emergency room items like stitching equipment. Everything else was magical in nature, and unknown to him. "What do you need first?" he asked.
"Scissors." She began to carefully cut the clothes from Pan's body, revealing a severely mangled torso. His arms were broken in several places, he had a dislocated shoulder, a busted knee, and his eyes were swollen shut. His chest was a mass of blood, and it looked like something had been carved into his flesh. And those were just the visible wounds. "Help lift," she instructed, catching Oz's eye. He bent down and mimicked her position, sliding two forearms under Pan's midsection and lifting so she could remove the clothes.
Grachen returned ten minutes later with a pot of warm water and a stack of clean towels. "Anything else?" he asked.
"Not right now, but I'll need more water in a bit. Oz, get the vial of green powder." He complied, and she shook the contents into the pan of water, using a towel to mix with. "Jar of sand, please." She cast a circle around herself and the pot. Then, she placed her hands in the water and began to chant under her breath. Her eyes flashed, and the green liquid started to glow.
"What is it?" Grach wondered aloud, fascinated.
Buffy filled a water glass with the contents of the pot and set it aside. Then, she began to clean Pan's wounds with the remaining green liquid, using the towels to gently scrub away the blood and grime. "The powder is sorta like a magical conductor. The chanting was a ritual to pass my Slayer healing power into the liquid."
"What does it do to you?" Oz asked, concerned.
"Not much. Just leaves me temporarily without it," she hedged.
Grachen frowned. He wanted Pan to get better, but not at Buffy's expense. "How temporarily?"
She sighed. "Depends on how much I take out."
"And this time?" Oz prompted.
"About two weeks," Buffy mumbled.
"What?" they both exclaimed.
Oz ran an agitated hand through his hair. "Buffy, that's a lifetime on the Hellmouth. Especially with the Kuunchadri. Why did you do this?"
"Isn't there another way?" Grach added.
She turned on them, eyes glowing fiercely. They both took an involuntary step back. "I only do it when it's necessary," she growled. "Don't you dare judge me."
"But…""He'll die otherwise," she said softly. "It's the only way." She turned to finish cleaning Pan's wounds, and let out a small gasp as she got a good look at the carvings on his chest.
"What is it?" Oz asked, moving to stand next to her by the bed. Feeling sick, she simply pointed.
"Leave Sunnydale," Grach read aloud. "They left him there on purpose for us to find!" he sputtered. "What do we do, Ky?"
"I'll have more news by tomorrow night's meeting," she promised. "Until then, don't go anywhere alone. Call everyone you know and spread the word." He nodded and left the room to speak with the rescue team.
They turned their attention back to Pan as another loud moan escaped him. "I think he's waking up," Oz murmured.
"Pan?" Buffy called gently. "It's Kyon. You're going to be OK, but I need your help. Can you help me?"
"Kyon the Glamazon?" he croaked, lips swollen and bruised.
She smiled and a tear ran down her cheek. "That's me. I came to ravish you, but I guess you're busy tonight. Listen, Pan, my friend Oz is here and he's gonna help me sit you up. OK?"
"K."
She nodded to Oz and they grasped Pan's body around his shoulders and waist and eased him to a semi-sitting position. He groaned pitifully, but tried to help by digging his heels into the bed for leverage. "That's great, Pan, thanks." She grabbed the glass of green liquid and held it to his lips. "I need you to drink this now. It's very important. I made it up special, and it's gonna help you heal." She tilted the glass and he swallowed dutifully.
"Woah," he rasped, and stared at her in amazement. "How'd you do that, Ky?"
"What does it feel like?" Oz asked.
"It's you," whispered Pan, watching Buffy closely. "Your aura and the power that crackles around you --- it's like I drank some of it."
"That's about the it," she replied with a small smile, refusing to elaborate. Grach returned to Pan's bedside, and she directed him to get more warm water. "Oz, get the purple powder from the duffel."
"On it," he replied, wedging a pillow against the patient to keep him upright. He looked curiously at the clear container of purple powder, wondering if it was going to strip some other portion of Buffy's power away, and if he should try to stop her. Grach brought another pot of warm water in and set it in front of Buffy. When she held her hand out for the powder, Oz stared intently at her, refusing to back down from her intimidating gaze. Wolf and Slayer leaped forward to regard each other through their eyes.
"Later," she pleaded softly. With a curt nod, he gave her the powder, which she quickly mixed into the water. She repeated the ritual from before, but Oz could tell the words were different. Her eyes and the liquid both glowed, and she repeated the process of bathing Pan's wounds, and then had him drink a glassful.
"Thank you," he whispered. "The pain is fading."
"I have to reset your shoulder, now," she informed him. Oz held Pan firmly in place while Buffy quickly popped the shoulder back into its socket. He didn't seem to register the pain. Working quickly, she stitched his gaping wounds closed and rubbed a healing balm into his chest before covering it with bandages. Finally, she set the bones in his arms and splinted them. Dissolving a final small vial of maroon powder in a bottle of water, she had Pan drink. He fell immediately into a deep and healing sleep.
They were silent as they cleaned up the bedroom, though there was no fear of waking the patient. Before they went to join the rescue crew, Buffy turned to Oz and Grach, saying quietly, "This stays between us."
"What do you mean?" Grach asked.
"You can tell anyone you like that I helped Pan, and that I have a lot of medical expertise from being injured so often. Just don't tell them about the healing mojo. OK?"
Grachen regarded her carefully. "I get it."
"Do you?"
"Yeah," he replied. "You can't do your job if you've got every demon on the planet banging down your door to heal their stubbed toe. Plus, with the government types running around, you gotta keep a low profile."
She hugged him in relief. "I wish I could fix everyone's stubbed toes. I wish I could just be a healer. But I have to be the Slayer, too, so I need to pick my battles carefully. Just don't ever be afraid to call me for help, OK?" Oz reached out to squeeze her hand gently, and she smiled at him, happy once again for his presence. When they reached the living room, the rescuers immediately leapt to their feet, hoping Buffy wasn't packed and leaving because Pan had died.
"How is he?" Sandri asked anxiously.
"I think he'll heal," she replied. "I reset all his broken bones, fixed his shoulder, and stitched up the open wounds." She handed Grachen the container of balm. "It's kinda like Neosporin," she said, for the benefit of the others. "It wards off infection and promotes tissue growth. Every six hours, put another layer of this on his chest and torso. I couldn't do anything for his knee since nothing's broken, but hopefully it'll heal itself. I gave him something to help him sleep, so don't be alarmed if he doesn't wake up for at least twelve hours. I'll check in tomorrow on my way to work. Call me if anything happens."
Grach reached out and captured her hand in his. "Thank you so much, Ky. We really appreciate this." The rescue team nodded and murmured their thanks. Grach pulled her into a hug, and whispered, "I'll tell Pan to keep quiet when he wakes up."
Buffy grinned secretively. "Oh, he already knows…" On that note, she and Oz left the warehouse, duffels in tow.
"What's in the second bag?"
She gave him her characteristic half-smile. "Weapons."
"Quick sweep before bed?" he offered.
"Yes, please."
They drove around Sunnydale, searching for some hint of the Kuunchadri, but none was to be found. Wherever they were, their work for this night was finished.
The following evening, Buffy and Oz were making an early sweep around the warehouse district before that night's meeting. Buffy paused in front of a small brick building, not far from Bert and Ernie's bar. A symbol was painted on the door, and once again Oz had the feeling that only supernaturally inclined beings would see it. The Slayer smiled brilliantly. "I've got an idea," she informed him. She grabbed his hand and headed for the door. "Trust me," she implored, so he nodded and let her drag him along.
"Kyontar!" a voice called out happily when she pushed open the door. "How wonderful that you are here!" There was a pause, and then a slightly worried, "Are you not happy with your look anymore?"
Buffy pulled Oz with her into the building, closing the door behind them. "No way, Jezza, I love it!" she laughed. "But I brought a friend."
A tall, striking woman approached from the back of the shop, literally floating across the floor. Her hair was long and straight, evincing every color of the rainbow. Eyes of a bright, glowing purple pinned Oz in their gaze. Once his own eyes had adjusted, he noticed that the ceiling was covered in the same twinkling lights as the sanctuary bar.
The interior of the shop was surprisingly lavish and comfortable. The floors were wood, and the walls were covered in beautiful mosaic tiles whose painted scenes actually moved and changed. Couches ranged the large space, save for the back section, which was occupied by a single barber's chair. Soft, ethereal music could be heard, although he saw no evidence of a stereo or speakers.
"Welcome Master Zebinchak," she intoned musically.
"Thank you. Your shop is beautiful," he said honestly, breathing in deeply as though he could absorb the atmosphere and take it with him.
Jezza laughed throatily. "Ooh, I like this one, Kyon. Come on over here and sit in my chair," she instructed Oz. Buffy went to stand beside him, ensuring with her eyes that he was OK with this. He nodded slightly, and the breathtaking smile on her face told him he'd passed some internal test.
"How did you choose the colors for Kyon's hair?" he asked curiously. Reaching out to touch a strand, he added, "It fits her perfectly."
The Sorceress laughed again. "I peek inside and see what one needs reminding of. Our Kyon, she needs reminding that her power is equal parts dark and light, and that both are beautiful."
The girl in question smiled at them both, and then said, "I'm gonna go call Wes. I don't want to take the chance that he won't be at the office on Saturday." She looked searchingly at Oz again, silently asking if he wanted her to stay. His lips quirked slightly, so she left to use her phone, wondering idly how they could read each other so well.
Wesley hung up the phone fifteen minutes later, confused. Buffy was visiting on Saturday? In all their years of collaborating, she'd never come to L.A. just to chat. Two years ago was the last time he'd seen her. Wolfram and Hart had kidnapped Angel, and no one could find him. Buffy came to their aid, and then left the minute he was rescued. She'd been professional and distant with them the entire time. Even Cordelia's cracks about her steadily darkening wardrobe didn't faze her.
At first he'd thought she was eager for information about the Kuunchadri, and had assured her he could share it over the phone. She said, instead, that she and Oz were taking a small road trip for the day just to see him, and that there was something she wanted to discuss. She gave no hint as to what it might be, but she seemed cheery enough, so he was probably safe in assuming that it wasn't apocalyptic. He was brought out of his thoughts by the brooding vampire that entered his office.
"Who was on the phone?" Angel asked, casually.
No 'Good morning, Wes,' or, 'How's your day, Wes?' Just, 'Who was on the phone?' Wesley knew, of course, that the question was nowhere near casual. His place at Angel Investigations was contingent on him sharing every piece of information he came across, and being constantly watched. Even his phone calls were not private, and someone would inevitably come in and ask who was speaking with. They just wanted him to know, unequivocally, that he would never be back inside their circle.
Wesley couldn't help but latch on to this chance to cause some mischief for the almighty boss. So, for the first time since the Connor debacle, he deliberately chose to withhold information. "I've found a source that should be able to provide texts that mention the Kuunchadri," he said, allowing Angel to assume that said source had been on the phone.
"That's good," the vamp replied, puffing up at the chance to help 'his girl'. "Maybe I should take the texts to Buffy." Angel was always looking for excuses to see her, although she'd gone out of her way over the past few years to avoid him.
"Take what to who?" Cordelia interrupted, poking her head in the doorway. Her tone was just sharp enough that Wes could tell she'd heard everything and knew exactly whom Angel was itching to run off to.
"Buffy," the ex-Watcher informed her, barely able to hide his smile. Cordy was just too predictable. Her jealousy and constant rivalry with Buffy seemed to have grown over the years, rather than waned. And it was a one-way rivalry; the few times the two had interacted in person, the Slayer refused to rise to the bait, and clearly found the other girl's transparent marking of Angel and ill-humored jibes amusing. Wesley suspected that Buffy didn't think about Cordelia at all, which just made the former cheerleader's obsession all the more entertaining.
"We're super busy right now, Angel," Cordy insisted. "There's no way you have time to go to Sunnydale. Send him." She gestured at Wesley with her hand as though he had no say in the matter at all. Which of course, he didn't.
"I was about to tell Angel that he jumped the gun," he inserted smoothly. "There is no need for him to go rushing off anywhere. I will look over the books and discuss my findings with her over the phone."
Cordelia was annoyed at the obvious implication that Angel was just looking for an excuse to see the Slayer. "If there are any prophesies involved, I'm not responsible for how much you screw up Buffy's life." She paused briefly before exiting. "You are charging her, aren't you Wes? I haven't seen an invoice yet."
"Charge Buffy?" he asked incredulously.
"Duh, Wes," she snarked. "That IS what we do here; charge our clients."
Angel stepped in then, the subject of Buffy being, of course, the only one that he would disagree with Cordelia on. "We can't charge her. She's helped us, too. Plus, we didn't charge her the other times she asked for Wes' help. Why now?" he concluded reasonably.
"But we did," Queen C announced triumphantly. "I mailed the invoices to her house, and she paid every time."
"What?" Both men shouted at the same time. Angel was outraged that he'd been unknowingly charging his soul mate, and Wes was outraged that his hopes for having slowly built up a friendship with Buffy had been destroyed by the bill she got each time they talked.
"We are not charging her anymore, Cordelia," Angel growled.
"Whatever," she huffed, and they both left Wesley, blessedly, alone.