Disclaimers: Buffy the Vampire Slayer belongs to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy & Fox. Numb3rs belongs to Cheryl Heuton and Nick Falacci…I think. (NOT me!)

AN: OK, this time I'm going to recommend a PRIDE & PREJUDICE one-shot on called An Infamous Conversation by Chelsfanfiction to anyone who likes P&P fics. The author gives us an example of what the conversation between Lady Catherine and Mr. Darcy might have been like after Lady Catherine confronted Elizabeth at Longbourn and Mr. Darcy arrived there himself. And again, I'd still love any recommendations you anyone can offer me to read.

Warnings: Spoiler warnings really seem a little stupid to me, especially since "Revelations," the seventh episode of the third season of BTVS came out years ago, but it's still possible someone might've just started making their way through the series, so if that's the case: there's your warning. This part of the series takes place almost a decade before the first season of NUMB3RS, so the fact that it's still playing really isn't relevant. Though there may be some spoilers in the series, I've yet to see any. Nor can I think of anything else you might want to be warned about. But if I'm wrong and you see something you would've liked a warning on, please tell me so I can put it in here and keep it in mind for future reference. Thank you.

Thanks again to NeverTooOld for beta-reading! ^_^

And enjoy the long-awaited chapter! ^_^

A Call Away

Part II in Mathematics & Magic

By Jess S

Chapter 10: Frienemies

Part I

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Sunnydale, California – Monday, October 20, 1997

Buffy rolled her eyes at the younger Slayer's antics. "It really wasn't that funny."

"You think your Mom'll ever let you drive again?" Faith asked with a grin. But at least she wasn't laughing anymore. "'Cause you did a pretty good job of wrecking her SUV."

"I have high hopes that Mom will block everything related to the whole band candy thing out," the older Slayer sighed. "Including the accident after she gave me her keys."

"She and G-man acting like kids was pretty funny," the brunette commented, still grinning. "Not as funny as your mucho-Gestapo principal hitting on you and Red at the Bronze, of course, but pretty close. And I still say your Mom and G-man were getting it on."

"Ugh," Buffy winced. "I really am trying to forget all of that, you know. Especially Snyder in the Bronze, but Giles and my mom aren't that high up there either."

Faith laughed, shaking her head. "Whatever you say, B. Personally, I wish we'd at least taped some of it. Great blackmail, you know."

Again, Buffy rolled her eyes. "I guess," then she glanced at the entrance of the cemetery they were entering. Not that she really needed to. After years of nightly patrols she knew Sunnydale like the back of her hand, but it never hurt to check landmarks. "Though you might want to think of something else to talk about, since Giles is supposed to meet us here soon."

"Yeah, he thinks the whole gang that was buried today's gonna rise, right? Not that that's hard to figure, since they all 'bled to death' after being stabbed with 'barbeque forks.'" She shook her head. "You know, it's stuff like that that really makes me wonder how much the good people of Sunnydale are really able to fool themselves. I mean, with all the people that are supposedly killed with barbeque forks around here, you wouldn't think people'd use them."

"But they do," Buffy nodded. "I know what you mean."

Faith was smiling slightly as she shook her head. Then she frowned. "Why's G-man meeting us out here, though? We've handled staking out cemeteries on our own tons of times."

Buffy shrugged, "I think he might be trying to redeem himself, or something. Cause of the band candy."

"Oh," Faith nodded. "Makes sense. I guess."

They walked in silence for a moment, before Faith spoke up again.

"So how's Math-man?"

Buffy blinked twice in rapid succession, before raising an eyebrow and shaking her head a she replied, "Math-man?"

"What? I needed a better nickname then C-man. G-man works cause he's our authority figure guy. X-man because Harris is inta that kind of stuff. C-man didn't work, cause he's not an average kinda guy and I can't call him A-plus-plus-man, cause that's not a nickname." The brunette shrugged. "But math is, like, his super power. So Math-man fits. Especially after all the stuff he gave G-man to help with our patrols before he left. And that program he set-up for us to report our patrols on."

"Yeah," Buffy chuckled, shaking her head again, this time in agreement. Though she'd have to make sure Charlie didn't hear about this until she was there to see his reaction. With a camera. "It fits. And he's fine. Still a bit paranoid, but Wolfram and Hart hasn't done anything else."

"It's not paranoid if they're really out ta get ya, B." Faith pointed out quietly. "And he did prove that the weird line could be one of those mix-up-things for the lawyer-guy's name. Twice. Though I actually got it the first time."

"I know, I did too. But its been almost two weeks since we got that message and they haven't done anything. Not here, and not in LA since Charlie got back there a week ago." That was a fact that Buffy was honestly thankful for, but it still didn't make much sense to her.

Again, Faith shrugged. "Well, their threat was more of a 'don't cross us again, or else' then a 'we're gonna get ya,' wasn't it?"

Buffy blinked, then frowned as she went over the weirdly worded message again, for what was probably the hundredth time. Then she nodded, "Yeah. Yeah, I guess it was." Then they rounded the bend in the wall around the cemetery to where the plot of new graves they were supposed to be watching was and her eyebrows snapped together as an irritated frown stole her face. "Giles! I told you to wait for us at the gate or come after eleven!"

The Watcher sighed and shook his head as he set his travel-mug—that was undoubtedly full of steaming hot tea—down on the large grave he'd been sitting on. "I assure you, Buffy, I am quite—"

"If you wanted us to stake these graves out earlier, why didn't you say so?"

"Capable of taking care of myself," Giles continued and finished after her interruption. "There was no reason—"

"And what if all four of these guys came up at once?"

The Watcher shot a look at the still silent—but obviously amused—younger Slayer, before sighing as he returned his gaze to the irritated elder. "That is highly unlikely, Buffy. For it to occur, all four would need to have been turned at the exact same—or at least very near—time."

Before Buffy could answer that, Faith cut in. "Well what if their sires decided to come greet them? The older ones still tend to do that, ya know."

"The older masters do, yes. But we've had no indication of particularly dangerous master-vampires near the Hellmouth for quite some time." The Watcher told them, and Buffy frowned at the small amount of defensiveness she could hear in his tone. Though he actually hid it pretty well, by taking a sip of hi s tea immediately afterwards, she still sensed it quite clearly. "Now—"

A familiar, dirty, creepy-crawling feeling from her Slay-dar stole her attention, and Giles stopped abruptly as both Slayers stiffened, spinning towards the graves they'd come to stake the occupants of.

"Looks like we came just in time," Faith commented with a smirk.

"Looks like," Buffy agreed as four different pairs of hands started to claw their ways out of the recently laid graves. "And they're all comin' up at the same time, too."

"Yes, Buffy," Giles sighed. "I shall endeavor to be more cautious with my own well being in the future. Does that satisfy you?"

Buffy shrugged, "Little bit." Then she darted forward at the vamp on the far right as Faith went for the one on the far left, while the two in the middle kept struggling to get themselves out of the ground.

About a minute later, Buffy drew her stake back out of the last vamp, and shared a grin with Faith as the two vampires they'd just simultaneously staked back-to-back turned to dust.

"Still," Faith comments, grinning as she twirls a stake in her hand. "We're gettin' pretty good at the synchronized slaying, aren't we?

Buffy laughed, shaking her head. "Yeah, I—" she stopped, frowning in confusion as a vaguely familiar, itchy-dirty feeling hit her senses. At first she thought it was just empathetically, but Faith tensed a second after she did.

"Buffy, Faith what—" Giles stopped and turned as both Slayers focused their attention on an approaching figure.

Buffy didn't try to stop the frown that crossed her face, matched by the ones on Giles and Faith's as well. She couldn't sense the woman's emotions, which was never reassuring. According to Charlie, they could see through the shields she had up with physical contact, but the woman would probably be aware of her probing. At least, Collins had been able to. But her Slay-dar didn't like the woman because she stank of dark-magic. Cocking her head to the side as the woman reached them, she raised an eyebrow as she asked, "Can we help you?"

"Your senses are impressive given the vicinity of the Hellmouth," the woman commented, her British accent serving as another possible link to the distant Watchers Council. "Though your technique is a bit sloppy and over dramatic."

Buffy felt both her Watcher and sister-Slayer glance at her, but she kept her eyes on the haughty newcomer. "Can we help you, Ms—?"

"Gwendolyn Post, Mrs.," the older blonde replied smoothly, drawing her shoulders back as she glanced between the two Slayers. "Which one of you is Faith?"

Buffy replied before Faith could, "Depends, who are you?"

"I've al—"

"Your name doesn't mean anything to me." Buffy cut her off, locking gazes with the older woman when she looked her way.

Post looked away first, shaking her head slightly before turning her attention to Giles. "Does it not, Dr. Giles? You should have been told I was coming."

Buffy didn't need to glance at Giles to know the comment confused him a little, though she didn't doubt it wouldn't be showing on his face. Again, she replied before her friend could. "You're Council, then?"

"Yes," Post confirmed, turning her head slightly back towards her, though Buffy was a little amused when the older woman's gaze focused on her forehead instead of her eyes. "I'm Miss Lehane's new Watcher, now which of you—"

"I'm Faith," the brunette finally spoke up, coming forward a little to stand beside Buffy instead of slightly behind her, where she'd been since Buffy'd moved defensively forward, trusting the older Slayer's judgment. "But I don't need a Watcher. We've already got G—Dr. Giles."

"Dr. Giles is Miss Summers' Watcher, Miss Lehane." Post replied, drawing herself up again to face what was probably an expected argument.

"No offense, lady," Faith shook her head, glaring at the Englishwoman.

Buffy wasn't surprised to note that Faith's emotions were bouncing back and forth between fearful and annoyed. After all, Faith's former Watcher had met a pretty tragic end right in front of her. Buffy, herself, could remember how hard it'd been to get back into Slaying and accept Giles as her new Watcher after Merrick had died for her. She'd be the first to point out that her relationship with Giles had turned out for the best. But something about Post just bugged her too much to let her guard down.

"But I've got this problem with authority figures. They usually end up kind of dead."

"Faith," Giles interceded before Post of Buffy could say anything, "You may recall we'd agreed you would be continuing your normal education under the guidance of the Watchers Council, I'm sure Mrs. Post—"

"I am not here to play at teaching, Dr. Giles," Post snapped, her frown deepening. One of Buffy's eyebrows rose again as she continued. "I am here to provide technical and tactical support to Miss Lehane in her capacity as the Slayer, n—"

"And we told the Council that anyone assigned to Faith would have to help her get her GED and get into college," Buffy cut her off again, her frown not deepening just because her face wasn't used to that severe an expression and therefore protested the motion. "I was there when G—Dr. Giles told them that. If you can't fulfill that role, you don't belong here."

And Buffy would be more than happy to toss the pompous woman back across the Atlantic, probably with Faith's help. Even though Faith wasn't really into the idea of continuing her education, the woman definitely wasn't making a good first impression. Though the fact that she stank of dark magic, as they'd both previously noted, didn't help.

Post blinked, apparently surprised by this ultimatum.

Which only made Buffy want to frown more deeply again. Giles had said the Council was willing to 'oblige the request,' and that was why it was taking so long for the new Watcher to be assigned. Though apparently many Watchers also weren't 'too keen' on the idea of being stationed full-time on an active Hellmouth. But from the way Post was reacting, this was the first time she'd heard about their ultimatum. Which really didn't make any sense.

"I—um—I will, of course, be happy to do what I can to assist in Miss Lehane's proper education," Post finally acquiesced, bowing her head slightly before she did that drawing up thing again. "But my duty, first and foremost, is to assist in her role as the Slayer. Which, fortunately, is not up to any of you."

At that, both of Buffy's eyebrows rose and she suppressed a smirk as she heard Giles groan softly even as she raised a hand to forestall Faith's indignant reply. "Oh really?"

"It is not the Slayer's place to—"

"Think for herself? Think at all?" Buffy shrugged, shaking her head as Post glared at her. "Sorry. I never read the Handbook. Didn't even know about Vampires till after I was Called."

"The Council is well aware of your unique upbringing, Miss Summers. And regrets it's failure to prepare you for your destiny. But even Slayers who were Called without foreknowledge must—"

"Fight the good fight, yeah I know. Been doin' it for almost three years now." Buffy shrugged. "Didn't have much choice." Then she shook her head. "But that doesn't mean I have to give a damn about what you say. And neither does Faith."

"Now, really, Miss Sum—"

Buffy cut her off again, ignoring the woman's furious glare. At least she thought it was furious, it was really weird not being able to sense the woman's emotions and know for sure. "It's a school night, and I missed a bunch a days last week. Can't afford to miss more. So Faith and I have got to get back to work. If you wanna work towards earning your place with us, you can come to the High School library tomorrow afternoon. We'll be meeting then." She glanced at the cross the woman wore on a necklace around her neck, and added. "There's nothin' to worry about in this cemetery, but I don't recommend wandering into any more, or walking through alleys on your way back to your hotel."

"Miss Summ—"

"Good night, Mrs. Post." Buffy finished shortly, before spinning on her heel and moving towards the entrance on the opposite end of the graveyard, gently grabbing Giles' arm as she passed by him to drag him along with Faith bringing up the rear. Between the conflicting emotions of her sister-Slayer: both annoyed and cheerful, and her watcher: flustered and proud, Buffy wasn't entirely sure of where her own emotions were at the moment, but she was pretty sure it was closer to pissed off that anything else.

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TBIT, LAX, Los Angeles, California – Tuesday, October 21, 1997

Charlie smiled as the familiar form he was waiting for finally emerged from customs into the Tom Bradley International Terminal's baggage claim area. "Professor Fleinhardt!"

The physicist started at his call, and looked up from the airport map he'd been perusing. His surprised expression quickly melted into a smile as his gaze found the two people that were waiting for him as Charlie and his mother drew closer to him. "Charles, Margaret," he greeted them both with a warm smile. "It is a true pleasure to see you both," then he blinked as he noticed the brightly-colored bags they were carrying. "And I see you found my luggage."

"Well, your bags do kind of stick out," Margaret Eppes chuckled, also smiling as she drew the professor into a hug. "It's nice to see you again, Larry."

"Yeah," Charlie agreed quickly. "Thanks for coming. It, uh, it means a lot."

"Oh, it's no trouble at all. I was more than happy to oblige your request," his older professor told him, still smiling. "And as my contract with Princeton is up and now under revision during my sabbatical, I have plenty of time to spend a few days out here."

"Still, it's a long flight from London, isn't it?" Margaret asked, while slowly herding them towards the nearby doors.

"It is indeed," Fleinhardt agreed, nodding again. "Which makes the existence of pharmaceuticals for coping with airsickness a truly wonderful thing, as it meant I was able to sleep almost the whole time."

"Then it's a good thing you didn't have to switch planes in Boston."

"Yes, that could've been problematic. Fortunately the friend that booked my flights had the foresight to avert that possible dilemma. May I ask where—"

"Our car's in the parking garage, professor," Charlie cut in with a grin. "Number four."

"Oh. Yes, that makes sense." His old professor nodded again as he followed them, then he shook his head. "Though I haven't' been your professor for some time now, Charles. Please call me Lawrence, or Larry, if you prefer."

"Larry," Charlie nodded after trying his friend's given name out. "How was it at Oxford?"

"Cold, cloudy and wet," Larry shuddered, before allowing. "Though several of the lectures at the conference were quite stimulating."

Charlie's mom laughed. "I wouldn't think the weather in England would be that different from New England. It's cold there now, too."

"According to the weather reports, you are right," Larry agreed. "But our autumn was more of an Indian summer than a fall to the cold, thus I was not quite prepared for real winter when I arrived in London." He tilted his head to the side slightly as he continued, "Still, I am quite sure you would've enjoyed the conference, Charles. It's a pity you were unable to attend."

Charlie shrugged, "There'll be other conferences, and I'm sure I'll eventually read about everything that was discussed there."

"Oh undoubtedly," Larry agreed again as they reached their car. "A new car, Margaret? Or is this Charles?"

"No, this is Alan's car," Margaret Eppes replied as she opened the back to put Larry's luggage inside. "And, no, Charlie hasn't gotten his license yet."

Charlie grimaced, "I would if you and Dad'd let me." He groused as he closed the back up before moving to the front passenger's door.

His mother turned the key in the ignition, shaking her head while he put on his seatbelt. "After what you did to your brother's old car? We've had this discussion."

"I do believe I witnessed it," Larry agreed, a clear note of amusement ringing true as they came to a stop at the surprisingly line-less exit to pay the parking fee. "On at least three separate occasions, no less."

"Thank you," Margaret murmured to the toll-man before turning her attention forward, waiting for the gate to rise to let them out.

Charlie considered crossing his arms and moping for a time, but chose the more mature route instead. Though it was a little hard with Sineya snickering in amusement in the back of his head, and both of the older people in the car smirking slightly. "Do you want me to get the directions out?" he asked as his mother pulled out of the garage.

"No, Charlie. I've driven in and out of this airport more times than I can count. Your father is the one that needs those directions, remember?" she shook her head, "I may need directions when they start the renovations they've been threatening us with for several years now, but that time hasn't come yet."

"Yes, Mom." Charlie returned, grinning slightly as his mother worked her way through the light traffic to get to Sepulveda Boulevard or CA-1 S.

"I am looking forward to your presentation on the morrow, Charles." Larry offered from the back seat. "As are many of our colleagues I spoke to in London."

"At the conference?"

"Some. But I ran into many more at Heathrow, and several were on my flight here as well."

"Really?" Margaret shook her head, somehow following the conversation and the roadway with an ease that Charlie, himself, had found quite elusive when he'd been learning to drive.

"Oh yes." Larry confirmed, and Charlie fidgeted a little at the distinct note of pride and warmth he could sense coming off both of his elders. "The Eppes Convergence was received with quite a bit of enthusiasm when you published it not too long ago. And as it has now stood up to our peers scrutiny on paper—"

"They want to see if I can stand up to their scrutiny in person," Charlie finished, shaking his head in amusement.

"W-Well, yes, I suppose it's something like that." Larry sighed. "It threw you into very high standing in the world of mathematics, after all, Charles."

"Oh I know," Charlie agreed, shrugging lightly to alleviate the slight concern he could now sense both adults were feeling even as his mother merged onto I-105 E. "You did tell me to expect that," he reminded his old professor.

The physicist sighed again, "Yes. And the effects of your theory are so far reaching that it really did cause quite a stir. More than I was honestly expecting at first."

"The initial response was probably more from Charlie's youth then anything else," Margaret pointed out lightly. "That's why the paper he published with you at the end of his freshman year was so heavily scrutinized, wasn't it?"

"Yes, though I wouldn't call any of our colleagues as particularly partial to adultocracy of ephebiphobia, the role of professor—which most of our colleagues enter—and the length of time it usually takes to achieve—"

"Which I skipped," Charlie sighed and Larry nodded again.

"Yes, all are factors that do encourage a certain amount of adultism—both its stereotyping and the resulting discrimination—that you will undoubtedly need to face for many years yet." After a moment of weighty silence, speeding down the I-110 N towards downtown Los Angeles, Larry continued. "Though most of those I spoke with seemed rather enamored with your theory, Charles."

"So hopefully he won't be facing an inquisition tomorrow?" Margaret asked.

Larry sighed, "One can hope."

After several more seconds of slightly uncomfortable silence, Charlie asked, "So did you find anything in particular interesting at the conference, Larry?"

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High School Library, Sunnydale, California – Tuesday, October 21, 1997

Buffy couldn't help but raise an eyebrow as she watched 'Mrs. Post,'—who'd apparently rallied some of the arrogance she'd scared out of her the night before—as she perused some of the books Giles had on display here in the library.

"Dr. Giles—"

"You may call me Rupert if you'd like."

"Yes, well, I prefer to maintain the degree of formality the Council's protocols promote. You may call me Mrs. Post. Now, where do you keep the rest of your books?"

"I-I'm sorry," Giles finishes cleaning his glasses and slips then on, "The rest?"

"Yes," Post nodded, raising an eyebrow. Though Buffy was amused to note that the Englishwoman was very pointedly avoiding looking over towards Buffy herself. "The actual library?"

Giles just stared at the woman for a long moment, then Buffy and Faith exchanged a glance as a thin smile stretched across Post's face.

"Oh... I see."

Giles shook his head, frowning at the slightly younger woman. "I can assure you, Mrs. Post, this is the finest occult reference collection—"

"This side of the Atlantic, I'm sure. Do you have Hume's Paranormal Encyclopedia? Or The Labyrinth Maps of Malta?"

"It's on order," the librarian replied shortly.

Buffy frowned at the slightly subdued, almost depressed feeling her Watcher was now radiating, and quickly turned that frown on the older blonde woman. "Well, I gotta say, I hope your Council-buddies won't be too disappointed in you when we kick your ass back to England."

"Really, Miss Summ—"

"Oh no," Buffy shook her head as she cut the stuck-up woman off. She might be willing to put up with Cordelia's bitching for Xander's sake and with Giles duty-bound busy-work, but both of them had proven themselves. She wasn't going to put up with a combination of the two of them parading in to take over. "You don't get to 'really' me, Gwendolyn," she sneered, deliberately slipping as much disdain into the woman's name as she could. "I don't know who you think you are, but you're not here to take over. You're not here to evaluate me, or Faith, or Giles or—" she waved her hands, "anyone else."

"I am—"

Buffy vaulted over the table to land right in front of Post, who took several steps back as the Slayer advanced on her. "Nobody. Nothing."

"Buffy," Giles cut in gently, shaking his head when she turned towards him. "If the Council feels—"

"I don't give a damn about the Council's feelings, Giles. As Gwendolyn, here, just pointed out: they're on the other side of the Atlantic. Halfway around the world with their noses stuck in books and theories. Probably playing tea-party, while we do the actual work." She turned back towards the older woman, who was quivering with what was probably poorly-suppressed outrage that Buffy still couldn't sense. "And as far as I'm concerned, Gwendolyn is still on the other side of the Atlantic."

"I've never been so—"

This time Faith cut the woman off. "You don't seem to be listening, Mary Poppins. B doesn't care what you think. And neither do I."

"Right," Buffy nodded, leaning against the counter instead of stalking off after Post again. "You're nothing here, Gwendolyn. Giles has earned his place here. Faith has earned her place. Hell, I've died for this town already. You?" the blonde shrugged. "You've survived your first night here." She clapped her hands twice, "Bravo. That puts you a little higher on the totem pole than all of the uglies we hunt every night."

"So we can't kill her?" Faith frowned, and Buffy shook her head again.

"Nope, guess not." Buffy cocked her head to the side again. "Even if she does smell a lot like Ethan." She didn't respond when Giles stiffened a little. Neither one of the Slayers had told their watcher about that. "But Gwendolyn's still human. And supposedly on our side. So, no. We can't kill her."

"The Council would, most likely, frown upon that," Giles offered, even as he studied Post's furious form intently. "But would you care to elaborate on what you meant relating her to Ethan? The Post family and the Rayne's share no blood ties."

"Eeew, Giles," Buffy wrinkled her nose a little. "That wasn't what we meant. Vampires do that, not Slayers." She hurried on before he could chastise her. "But she kinda stinks of dark magic."

"...I-I beg your pardon?" Post demanded, but just a moment too slow in Buffy's book.

And apparently in Giles's, too. Because he was frowning at the woman. "The Council does not tolerate unnecessary forays into the dark arts, Mrs. Post. And certainly never to the extent that Ethan Rayne is undoubtedly guilty of."

"The Slayer can't—"

"We've fought against magic before," Buffy cut her off again. "And we don't forget what an enemy feels like."

"And voodoo's easy to notice," Faith spoke up again. "Specially since we got hit with some, the week before last."

"I wonder what the Council would say if they knew of your apparent indiscretions." Giles murmured, shaking his head. He then turned towards his office, and the telephone it contained. "Perhaps I should ring Quentin, to find out?"

"No!" Post immediately protested, her eyes a little wide as she took yet another step back towards the doors.

She jumped when Faith suddenly shot across the room: sitting with her feet propped up on the library table—which Giles had been glaring at her for off and on—one moment, then a foot behind Post in the next. Ordinarily the Slayers wouldn't be able to move like that, but they'd been on high alert since Post stepped into the room several minutes before, so their speed and reflexes were peaked just like they'd be while patrolling. It was a tiring state to maintain for too long—something Charlie and Giles had both warned them against—but seeing Post jump almost a foot made it more than worth it.

"Oh come on," Faith shook her head, one eyebrow raised sardonically. "You can't leave already. You just got here."

Of course, with practice the Slayers would probably be able to maintain that heightened state for longer periods of time. Possibly without the consequences the mathematician and the watcher both seemed to fear. But those were thoughts for another time, so Buffy shoved them to the back of her mind and focused on the startled woman once more as the older blonde turned around.

"And you haven't told us why you're here, either," Buffy pointed out, pushing away from the counter to move towards the weapons cage, pulling out one of the metal, slightly-padded staffs she and Faith would use when they really wanted to go at it. The wooden ones broke too easily when the Slayers let loose. Though they had to replace the metal ones every now and then too, when they'd destroyed the pads too much or dented the actual metal. Then she moved back around the counter, watching Post out of the corner of her eye as she started twirling the staff through some of the forms that were second-nature to her after so much practice, and therefore required next to no concentration. She smirked slightly as she saw Post's eyes following the staff. "We'd like the truth, please."

"I—um," Post glanced backwards towards the library doors, which Faith was clearly blocking with one hand on her hips and an amused smirk on her face. She seemed to sink in on herself, a little, as she turned back to watching Buffy practice.

"The Council doesn't know you're here, I take it?" Giles prompted, his gentle tone surprising Buffy as she could sense all of the negative emotions—anger, outrage, suspicion—simmering behind the real Watcher's neutral expression.

It was part of a reason she'd started twirling the staff. All the negative emotion in the air, her own, Giles', Faith's, combined with Post's fake-apathy and dark-magic-aura, all right on top of the Hellmouth, was making her more than a little edgy.

"N-No," Post shook her head, wetting her lips a little nervously for a second as she looked around. She blinked as her eyes landed on one of the books Giles kept behind the counter. "Y-You have Sir Robert Kane's Twilight Compendium?"

"Yes." Giles blinked, but then moved quickly towards the book her eyes were fixed on, pulling it off the shelf.

"What about it?" Buffy asked, flipping her staff up a little to change the position she was holding it in before going into a different set of moves.

"I b-believe Sir Robert included an excerpt on the Lagos demons?" Post continued before Buffy could cut in again, not that she was inclined to as long as the wanna-be-Watcher was talking. "One of the Lagos is coming here to the Hellmouth. It seeks the Glove of Myhnegon."

"I'm guessin' that's supposed to scare us," Faith commented, shaking her head a little. "But I'm not shakin' yet."

"What's the Glove of My-whatever do?" Buffy asked.

Post seemed a lot more comfortable with this line of questions, though Buffy herself couldn't help but picture the Watcher rehearsing everything she was saying about the glove. The way she said the words just kind of felt that way. "No record of this glove's full power exists, but we do know it is highly dangerous and must not fall into the hands of a demon. Lagos must be stopped."

"You said 'we' before," Buffy suppressed a smirk as the older woman flinched slightly while turning towards her again. "Who's 'we'?"

"The Council—"

This time Giles actually cut her off, earning blinks from both his Slayers. "As I already pointed out, the Council would never tolerate your forays into the dark arts."

Post shook her head, looking down a little. "N-No. They didn't. I was—" she swallowed her eyes still turned towards the ground. "I was dismissed from the Watchers many years ago for the misuse of magic."

"You were kicked out?" Buffy rephrased, not at all surprised when the woman flinched again.

"Y-Yes. But I," Post shook her head. "I still have friends among the Watchers. And my information is accurate."

"If that were the case, the Council—"

Now Post cut Giles off, "Is busy evaluating potential Watchers for Miss Lehane. Among other things."

Faith laughed. "So what, you thought you could get yourself mixed in with us before they could send someone? Get us to trust you and make the Council take you back?" she shook her head. "Well, I might give ya a ten for sneakiness, but you'd have to take a big-fat-zero for execution. Cause we'd have ta like you for your plan to work, and we don't. At all."

"I think," Giles cut in, his tone gentle again, "That it wasn't us Mrs. Post is looking for acceptance from."

Post finally looked up, nodding slightly. "If I can stop Lagos," she shook her head. "I might be able to erase the shame of my youthful transgressions from my family's name. Surely you can understand that, Dr. Giles?"

"Yes, I—uh, caused quite a bit of trouble as a youth myself," Giles agreed.

"No, really?" Buffy cut in with a grin, shaking her head a little even as her body flowed through another graceful, slightly-too-fast move. "And here I was, blaming it on the candy!"

Giles ignored her as he continued. "But I fail to see how you could still be tainted with dark magic so 'many' years after—"

Post cut him off again, seeming a lot more sure of herself as she did so. "I admit my forays into the dark arts went much deeper and continued for quite a bit longer than your own did, Dr. Giles." She looked down for a moment, but then straightened again, her expression firming as she continued before any of them could comment. "But, from the history of your group thus far, I should not think that too much of an imposition."

"So you think we shouldn't mind you 'imposing' yourself on us?" Faith drawled, her expression not quite mocking, but close.

Post didn't even look at Faith as she replied, her eyes settling on Buffy's form again, though again focusing on the back of her head rather than the front. "You might not be inclined to, Miss Lehane. But you, Miss Summers, certainly shouldn't."

Buffy blinked, abruptly stopping her kata by slamming one end of the staff into the floor, ignoring the flinches from both adults and Faith's amused smirk as she turned back to Post, glaring. "Excuse me?" She could sense Giles was unhappy about the broken floor. He never liked it when they destroyed anything in the library. But that was why they kept extra linoleum and tools on hand to fix it. And why all of the furniture had renewal spells on it, making it amusingly easy to fix them after a fight.

"Even at my very worst, I never wreaked the kind of chaos and suffering the vampire Angelus thrived on. And as bad as I've been, I have always been human. Angelus—"

"Was a monster," Buffy snapped, the glare she'd fixed on the Englishwoman intensifying even as she restrained herself from any more violent responses. The only body part she let move was the hand she had wrapped around the steel-staff, clenching it tightly. "No one here will argue that point. But Angel and Angelus were not the same person."

"The demon still—"

"Was there. Taunting Angel. Waiting to be released. Waiting for something like the stupid little loophole the gypsies left in the curse to happen."

"When you made love to the monster. You unleashed him."

"You're not listening!" Buffy shook her head. "Angel and Angelus were two completely different people. Sure, Angel had Angelus stuck in the back of his head, always taunting him. But Angel, himself, was as human as any of us. Yeah, he wasn't Liam O'Connor—the innocent human that the Council failed—anymore. He couldn't be, not after all of the things he'd seen and felt Angelus do with his body."

Post blinked, now looking honestly confused. A feeling Buffy could sense Faith and Giles shared. "The Council never—"

"I took care of a vamp in LA not long ago," Buffy cut in, still squeezing the staff as a physical outlet for her anger. She didn't want to risk moving in any other way yet, since her anger only seemed to be growing now. "A vamp that'd been living the high-life and killing girls there for decades. The Council said they hadn't gone after him cause he was harmless, since he only killed a few girls a year and bought most of the blood he actually needed."

"What does that—" Post tried to interrupt, but Buffy cut her off again.

"It got me wondering, just how many vamps has the Council labeled 'relatively harmless' before? I couldn't really think of a way to research it, but there was one I wanted to check. Darla, the vamp that Sired Angelus. The Council actually had a lot of info on her, even before all the Scourge of Europe stuff. First bit I could find on her was that the Watchers ran into her in London in the mid-1650s. But that they didn't want to try pursuing one of the Master of the Order of Aurelius's favorites at that time, cause they were too busy with politics."

"England's Interregnum* was a, um, rather dangerous time for the Council, Buffy." (1)

"Yeah, I got that." Buffy nodded shortly, her grip on the staff tightening a little bit again. "But that wasn't the only time they just let her go. She was spotted the following decades in Italy, France, Holland, Portugal and Spain. There was even a Slayer active in Spain when she was spotted, but her Watcher, again, said pursuing Darla wasn't necessary."

This time when Giles spoke up, Buffy let him, clenching her fist around the staff a little as she turned towards him. "T-They were probably focusing their attentions on The Master, Buffy. Who I'm sure you remember was a difficult opponent."

"Yeah," Buffy nodded again. "But you never told me to do something stupid like not hunt his minions down on the Hellmouth. And the Council did that. At least twice." She jerked her head towards his office. "I got it right out of the journals you have in there." Then she sighed. "Darla didn't kill Liam O'Connor to make Angelus until 1753, Giles. And Angel said she'd been around almost century and a half before that. Plenty of time for the Council to at least try to kill her. But they didn't. They let her make Angelus."

"They didn't neces—" Giles started, but this time Faith cut him off.

"B's right, G-man. They kinda did." Then her tone changed a little, and Buffy was a little surprised when she actually heard the clear concern the younger Slayer was radiating. Faith didn't usually let what she was feeling actually show. "Um, B? I know we were sayin' we might need new staffs soon, but you really didn't have to kill that one."

Faith's concern—along with the sudden rush of calmness that had started pulsing through the bond from Charlie a few moments ago—was enough to make Buffy physically start, turning a little to blink down at her own hand, which was clenched so tightly around the staff that her fingers had actually sunk down, compressing both the outer padding and the metal bar itself in almost a quarter of an inch.

"I'll take that, Buffy," Giles insisted gently as he came up beside her, giving her a moment to wrench her fingers free of their grip before taking the staff away, shaking his head as he put it back in the armory. He was still shaking his head as he came back out, though his gaze quickly fixed on Post. "As I'm sure you've noted, Mrs. Post, matters of the heart aren't wisest of weapons to try against us. And no matter what you've heard or assumed about Angel, you never met him. And unlike Buffy and myself, you were never tortured by the demon that killed him."

Again Buffy blinked, staring at her Watcher. She blinked several more times as she pushed back the surge of gratitude she felt at hearing the older man say those words.

There'd been times she'd wondered if any of her friends really realized that.

Even though they'd been willing to try the re-souling spell for her sake, after everything that had happened, the only one that had said much about it was Xander. And he, of course, hadn't had anything good to say about Angel. He never had.

So it was nice to hear the man that served as the closest thing she had to a father acknowledging the difference between the two.

She closed her eyes for a second to try and reassure Charlie, before opening them again. As she did so, another part of what Giles had said clicked, and she frowned. "Angelus didn't torture me."

Giles shook his head, and his eyes were gentle as he locked gazes with her. "Perhaps not physically, but the weeks of torment you endured do count as psychological torture, Buffy."

A heavy silence hung over them for several seconds, before Post spoke up, sounding a lot more reserved once again. "I apologize, Miss Summers. I was out of line."

Buffy nodded slowly as she turned back to the woman. "Yeah, you were," then she sighed. "But I guess I went a little over the top, too. Sorry."

"You have nothing to apologize for. You loved him, I should have expected such a response." Post shook her head even more slowly. "I h-hope you might still let me help fight Lagos?"

Buffy looked at her for a long moment, then nodded. "Sure. Like you said, I'm pretty big on giving people second chances." "Thank you."

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Cal-Sci, Los Angeles, California – Wednesday 22, 1996

Charlie glanced out at the part of the crowded auditorium he could see from behind the curtain, and shook is head, "I'm not nervous." Then—at Larry's too clear incredulousness: as visible on his face as it was palpable to the empath's sixth sense—he shrugged, "Well, maybe a little bit."

The older scientist smiled, "Admittedly, you really have little reason to be. You're more than capable of handling anything even the most critical of our peers might offer."

"Thanks," Charlie smiled in return, evading his mother's third unnecessary attempt at straightening his collar with the ease of long practice. "You guys should probably take your seats. Dr. Williamson will be starting soon."

"It's pretty impressive that you have the California Superintendent of Schools introducing you," Alan Eppes commented with a grin. "Especially considering how much effort you wasted in trying to talk him out of it."

Charlie rolled his eyes, "Yeah, Dad. You mentioned that already."

Instead of leaving right away, his mother gently caught his hands. "You don't have to be nervous," she murmured, her familiar voice warm and reassuring. "You'll do fine."

"Thanks, Mo—" Charlie stopped abruptly as he caught sight of a familiar form entering the auditorium from the opposite side. "What the hell's that son of—"

"Charlie!" Now Margaret Eppes's tone was suitably chiding as she cut her youngest son off even as all three glanced towards the audience to see who he was talking about.

Margaret and Larry both groaned softly, while Alan frowned.

"Isn't that one of the guys that graduated from Princeton with you? Penbrook, or something like that?"

Larry replied before Charlie could. "Yes. Dr. Penfield received his diploma alongside Charles. He just got his doctorate at MIT, as well." Then the older professor shook his head, his gaze focusing on Charlie's. "Don't you think it's past time you two buried the hatchet, so to speak?"

"He's written three critiques of my theory in the last four months and two critiques of peer-reviews I've written in that same time. He's formally criticized my theory fifteen times since I published. Without any real grounds to do so!" Charlie shook his head as he started to turn a glare at the offensive audience member, but was stopped by his mother's firm hands, which were still holding his. "Which means he's writing them just to attack me. And that's all he seems to do! He's singled me out!"

"No, your status has singled you out." Larry shook his head again. "Which is surely something you're used to by now. You have been recognized as a remarkably gifted individual for more than a decade and a half, have you not?"

Charlie knew that was true, but Penfield had been a thorn in his side for the most recent third of that time. And probably would be for many years to come. It was really hard not to feel a little defensive.

But then a slightly worried poke from the bond shook him out of those frenzied thoughts, and that worry made him feel more than a little guilty.

Here he was, worrying the woman with the whole world always weighting down on her, and over a petty, academic rival no less. That her concern was shared, in varying degrees by his friend and his parents only made it hit a little harder.

Closing his eyes for a second, Charlie trying to send apologetic, reassuring feelings through the bond.

"Are you alright, Charlie?"

He had to blink back into focus, shaking his wayward thoughts away to respond to his concerned father's inquiry. "Yeah, Dad."

"You shouldn't let Marshall bother you so much," Margaret Eppes chastised her son again, her tone still gentle, but firm.

"I know, Mom," Charlie sighed, shaking his head again. "I'm sorry. I'll try to ignore him, OK?"

"Well I wouldn't go that far," Larry objected, frowning. "Avoiding any questions he might have at the end would be rather unprofessional."

"Just pretend he's naked like everyone else." Alan raised an eyebrow as his wife and both mathematicians looked at him. "What? That's what you're supposed to do with speeches, to overcome stage fright, right?"

"I, um," Charlie shrugged. "I never really needed that trick."

"I never understood how that could possibly make the speaker feel more comfortable," Larry shook his head, frowning in obviously confusion. "Logically, if you're the only person in the room still dressed, with hundreds of naked people watching you, wouldn't you still feel rather uncomfortable?"

"It's a technique that's supposed to make the speaker feel less vulnerable," Margaret shook her head again, "But that's hardly the point."

"I understand that theory," Larry continued, still frowning a little into the distance. "But then there are also many people I'd rather not imagine naked. So—"

Now Charlie's mother actually cut him off. "We're more than a little off topic, I think," she shook her head again, gently squeezing Charlie's hands for a moment before releasing them, to bring her hand's up to his head, which she tugged downward a little, to place a gentle kiss on his forehead. "Good luck, sweet heart. We'll be cheering for you."

She then moved towards the side of the stage a bit, to the stairs that would take them down to the audience level behind a curtain. Larry followed her after nodding, but both stopped to wait for Alan, who was frowning.

"Well, good luck, son," Alan clapped a gentle hand on the mathematician's shoulder, before his frown deepened a little. "Or should we be saying 'break a leg?'"

"Alan, he's not acting."

"I know, but—"

"Thanks, Dad. Mom. Larry," Charlie nodded to each of them, before indicating the man that was walking onto the stage from the other side, moving to stand behind the podium. "But my cue's gonna come up soon."

He shook his head a little as he watched his parents wander off, quietly bickering, with Larry tagging along behind them.

Then he took a deep breath as the auditorium's lights dimmed a little and the lights on stage brightened, illuminating much of his convergence work, which had been on display since early that morning. He let the breath out as Dr. Williamson started speaking.

"Ladies and gentlemen, good afternoon..."

Whatever else the California superintendent said immediately thereafter, Charlie didn't notice, as his empathetic senses—and more importantly Sineya—detected another familiar, unwelcome presence. His eyes went to the same door Penfield had come through several minutes before. Then he watched Lindsey McDonald walk into the slightly darkened room.

The lawyer's emotionless presence was no less disconcerting to his empathetic senses then it had been the last time he felt it, but somehow more manageable as he knew for sure that the man was only shielding his thoughts and emotions somehow. He still had them, even if Charlie couldn't sense it. That made it a little easier to tolerate his presence, even with Sineya growling at the man from the back of Charlie's head.

He blinked in surprise when the malevolent lawyer sat right next to his old classmate. But whatever else might have happened there, he didn't know, since Sineya suddenly jerked his attention back to the stage, just in time to hear Dr. Williamson finish calling his name.

"...Eppes!"

So when the California superintendent gestured to him, smiling, Charlie forced a small smile onto his face, also, and stepped onto the stage.

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High School Library, Sunnydale, California – Wednesday 22, 1996

Buffy glanced over at Angel, easily mirroring his elegant, familiar moves as they practiced T'ai Chi. Starting with their arms stretched high, hands together, they then gracefully lower their arms by bending their elbows. She glanced over at him again even as she crossed her right wrist over her left, looking away again as both of them then swept their arms out in a wide arc from left to right, before drawing their hands to their wastes and making a quarter turn to their lefts. This left her with her back to Angel as she slowly extended her arms, raising them again to complete the graceful movement with her hands held high, right back where they'd started.

As she slowly lowers her arms, she isn't surprised when she feels Angel's presence closer than before, right behind her. But she doesn't turn. "I shouldn't be here."

"But you are."

"I'm supposed to be moving on," Buffy shook her head, bring one hand up to rub her forehead a little. "This is probably just 'cause of what Post said."

"She upset you."

"Well, duh." Buffy rolled her eyes, then blinked as she noticed a familiar figure in the distance. Sineya was sitting in the boughs of one of the big trees outside the mansion, watching them through an open window.

"She's been there for a while." Angel commented quietly. "But she's not listening. She's only half here."

Buffy chuckled. "Listening to what? Us?" she shook her head. "We're not saying much." Then she sighed. "Is there a point to this?"

"You're resting."

"I know," Buffy nodded, "'Cause Post wants Faith and I at full strength when we go hunting the Lagos guy later, and Giles agreed, so we're takin' power naps while the others do the research thing."

Angel cocked his head to the side, "Lagos?"

"Some demon looking for some-all-powerful thingamabob, and I gotta stop him before he unleashes unholy havoc." She shrugged, "Just another weekday in Sunnydale, really."

"The, uh, all-powerful thingamabob, what is it?"

Buffy sighed again, "Something called the Glove of Myhnegon." She frowned at him, "Why? Ha—" she stopped abruptly as an old book suddenly appeared in Angel's hands.

"Go to the Mansion." Angel ordered, setting the book down in front of the fireplace. "You'll find what you need there."

Buffy frowned, then started to move towards the book, stopping as it disappeared. She sighed. "No, it couldn't be that easy, could it?" She turned to glare at 'Angel,' "This isn't as cryptic as you guys usually are, but couldn't you just—" She stopped abruptly again, as ugly, ancient-looking glove appeared on Angel's arm.

As the vampire-with-a-soul raised the glove above his head, she could see it was made of leather, chain and plate mail, with small spikes along the plates tiny, hinged claws that look like sharp crab legs made of steel, which were digging into his flesh.

"Once you put it on, the glove can never be removed," Angel—if that's who he was—told her.

"Check. No putting the world's ugliest fashion accessory on." Buffy nodded, then blinked again as an urn appeared where the book had been moments before, and a ruby-red flame rose out of it.

"Living Flame." 'Angel' told her. "It's one of the few things that can destroy Myhnegon's creations."

"Check, find Living Flame, too." Buffy shook her head, glancing at Sineya's watching form in the tree before looking back at her source of information.

"Beware The Fallen."

Buffy blinked, "Huh?"

Then the mansion was gone, leaving her and Sineya in the same, strange, foggy realm Buffy remembered from not too long before. In the distance she could hear Charlie's voice in the distance, but she couldn't quite make out what he was saying.

"Wake now," Sineya told her.

Buffy blinked at her, a little surprised to see the ancient spirit's lips moving to form the words, and then everything went dark.

But it took her barely a moment to remember where she really was, and that it was only dark because she was looking at the insides of her eyelids. She slowly pushed herself up, stifling a yawn as she opened her eyes and looked around.

"Have a good power nap, B?" Faith asked, her clear amusement washing over Buffy's empathetic senses, reassuring in that it told her she really was awake again and surrounded by real friends.

"Yeah, I uh..." Buffy nodded slowly, but then paused as she remembered the events she'd just dreamed.

If that was a vision, it was a hell of a lot clearer than the PTB usually were.

And for some reason seeing Angel as the messenger didn't upset her nearly as much as she thought it should have. Was that because a part of her knew it wasn't really him? Or because a part of her knew it was him?

"B, you OK?"

Buffy blinked, and nodded quickly, offering a small smile to alleviate her sister-Slayer's concern before looking over towards her Watcher. "Um, Giles?"

"Yes, Buffy?" the Watcher replied immediately, though his eyes remained fixed on the contents of the book he was speed-reading through.

"Um, at the mansion. On Crawford Street," she stopped as her Watcher looked up with a frown, wincing as she sensed a poignant wave of remembered pain shake the Englishman's form.

"Angelus's mansion?" Xander spoke up, drawing both Slayer and Watcher out of their thoughts.

"Yeah." Buffy nodded again, continuing with all eyes fixed on her. "There was a library there, wasn't there?"

Giles blinked, but then nodded slowly. "Yes, I believe there was. Angelus appeared to have amassed a very impressive collection there, despite the relative briefness of his stay. I, uh," he took his glasses off and began cleaning them with practiced ease, his eyes locked on his own hands as they worked their way through the motions. "I'm afraid I haven't yet had the opportunity to analyze all of it properly."

Of course he hadn't. Buffy really couldn't blame him for not wanting to go back there. She avoided it, too. For very different reasons, of course. He was held prisoner and tortured there, while she was forced to kill her first love. But still, she could sympathize with his dilemma. Especially with the remembered-pain that had been inflicted on him by his girlfriend's murderer still haunting him.

"You think we should check it out?" Willow asked quietly, shifting slightly as all eyes turned to her before relaxing again as they went back to Buffy.

"Yeah," Buffy rose, nodding slightly. "I'll go now."

Giles started to rise too, "I should—" but he stopped when his Slayer shook her head.

"No, I'll be fine alone. I think I know what I'm looking for." Buffy nodded to all of the books that were piled up on the table for their perusal. "You guys should keep researching. You might find something." Then, to Faith, "And you should stay here—"

"In case they find something while you're gone," Faith nodded. "Got it, B."

"Buffy, you don't—"

"Glove ofMyhnegon, Living Flame and The Fallen," Buffy smirked slightly as both Watchers looked at her in clear surprise while moving towards the doors. "That's what the PTB want me to look for, and they already gave me pictures, too. I'll be back in a bit."

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FBI Headquarters, Los Angeles, California – Wednesday, October 22, 1997

Don shook his head and reached for his phone, frowning as he scrolled down to the phone number he wanted to call. A number that he'd put in his phone book some time last week, but hadn't had the time to call because he and his partner had been even more buried in work now then they'd been earlier.

The annoying part was it wasn't really work they'd normally be hit with. True, it wasn't outside of their jurisdiction to be sent after convicts who broke parole, but the last guy they'd dragged in hadn't even left the state and his only violation had been a missed appointment less than twenty-four hours before. Granted, said appointment was a requirement for his parole, and yes, he'd been planning to run, but he hadn't even left yet! He'd still been staying in the apartment that he was registered to when they'd found him. It was more than a little ridiculous. Still, they'd done their job and brought him in.

And since this one had been so easy, they now had a little bit more time to spare then their norm for the last several days. Time during regular working hours, which meant that there was no reason he couldn't make the calls he'd been wanting to make for several days now.

"You sure you want to do that, Don?"

The elder Eppes brother glanced up from his phone, to meet his partner's serious gaze. "What?"

"Check up on your brother." Billy Cooper shrugged, "Make the calls you've been wanting to make for more than a week." He raised his hands in mock-surrender as Don's frown deepened a little, shaking his head. "I'm just saying. I like the chase as much as anyone, but HQ is running us a little ragged lately, while most of the other teams aren't gettin' much work. That kinda tells you something, doesn't it?"

Don sighed, "They don't want me investigating anything in Sunnydale, apparently."

"Well, since it was only after you started poking into that whole fiasco that they started burying us in work, yeah. Looks like it." The senior agent shook his head. "And I'm not sure their orders on all that could've been any more explicit."

No. 'Fucking drop it!' was a pretty clear command.

"But it doesn't make sense! Why—"

"Life doesn't always make sense, does it?" Coop shook his head again. "I mean, the guy that we just brought in a few weeks ago taking flowers to his wife's grave when he's the one who murdered her didn't make much sense to me, but—"

"She was still, technically, his wife. Even though he killed her," Don pointed out, shaking his head also. "But this is more than that. I mean, my mom's contact at the LAPD said the armed-robbery that my brother was hurt in—and it sounds like he was hurt pretty badly, I mean he was in the hospital for more than a week—and the cops didn't even interview the girl that found Charlie—"

"Annie, right?"

"Yeah, her. They didn't even interview her until after Mom called to ask about the case. And they had to take the case out of cold cases to do that. Then the apparently put it right back into cold cases!" Don snapped his phone shut, shaking his head in frustration. "I mean, who does that?"

"Pasadena PD, apparently."

"But LAPD and the agent I talked to in Violent Crimes, neither of them were willing to even look into it. I had to badger them into even making a few calls about it. And they still haven't sent me the file on the case, which they were supposedly going to do."

"So someone told them to back off, too. Probably the same some one that's been burying us in work."

Don glared at his friend, the comment something that had crossed his mind, but he really hadn't wanted to accept it. The idea that someone high up in the government could be burying or completely stopping the investigation into his brother's near-death was more than a little horrifying to the over-protective big brother. "Doesn't this bother you at all?"

Coop sighed, and shook his head. "Sure it does. But there's not much we can do about it, is there? We chase after fugitives. Convicts. The only investigating we have to do is whatever it takes to find them. And both of us are still pretty new. We don't have anywhere near the pull it'd take to open an investigation into something like this." He waved his hand when Don opened his phone again. "And if you make another phone call about it, we're almost definitely gonna be buried in even more work. For months."

"What are you complaining about?" Don raised an eyebrow, "I thought you liked working."

"Well, yeah. But busy-work sucks. And we've been gettin' too much of it." Coop sighed. "But seriously, Don. There's not much you can do about something like this now. You've already made the calls you can make. Any more calls will just hurt you. You wanna get to the place where you can do something about this kinda shit? You have to keep your head down for a few years, keep workin' hard and doin' your job. Move up the totem pole, collecting favors as you go. And in about a decade, maybe less if you stay half as lucky and determined as you've always been, you'll probably be the guy on the other end of the phone, gettin' harassed by a clueless junior agent that—"

"OK, OK, I get it." Don sighed, closing his phone again. This time he slipped it back into the holder on his belt. After another moment of thought he looked up again, "What about you?"

Coop raised an eyebrow again, "What about me?"

"Where are you gonna be ten years from now?"

Coop laughed, "Right where I am right now, probably." He shook his head. "You know me, you're the career-path guy. I just like the chase. And the money's good enough for me, so..."

"Don't think your ever gonna settle down, then? Meet someone special, maybe?"

The slightly older agent shook his head. "Got no plans for that kinda thing, really." He shrugged as he continued. "Maybe I'll meet someone that's worth settling down for, then I'll consider it. But there's not much sense in trying to settle down for anything less, is there?"

"I don't know," Don shook his head. "Sure, fugitive recovery can be exciting, but—"

"But you're the career-path, eventual-family-guy. I know. I've said that already, haven't I?" Coop grinned, "And yet I haven't seen you with the same girl, or even heard about the same girl for any length of time since we were teamed up."

Don sighed, "When, exactly, have I had the time?"

As if on cue, the older agent's phone rang.

Coop groaned, but obediently slipped the irritating device off of his belt and opened it right on the second ring, bringing it up to his ear, "Agent Cooper." He listened for several seconds, nodding a few times, before finally saying, "Yes, sir. We'll be there." Then he hung up, shaking his head as he returned his phone to its holder.

"New fugie?"

"New busy-work, I think." Cooper replied, sounding suitably forlorn even as he led the way out to their vehicle. "But I can still drop you off at Cal-Sci if you want."

Don shook his head. He felt a little bad, missing his brother's first presentation of the theory that that supposedly won him his place in the field of mathematics, but at the same time, he couldn't just leave his partner hanging. "No, if we've got a new ca—"

"It's not a case." Cooper cut him off as he turned the car on, waiting for Don to get in beside him. "Just busy work. And you were granted leave for this afternoon off weeks ago, remember? That's why HQ sent us out here in the first place. Now get in."

Don sighed, slightly disgruntled. But he gave in, nonetheless.

He wasn't all that interested in listening to Charlie prattle on about math in front of a room full of people, but he didn't want to hurt his brother's feelings either. Firstly because he didn't want to and secondly because it would both disappoint and annoy his parents, which was something both of the Eppes children tried to avoid doing.

No matter how much he wanted to go grab Charlie, drag him over to a corner and keep him there until he said something that made all the troublesome thoughts of Los Angeles and Sunnydale make sense to him, Don knew he couldn't. It could ruin what was probably a big event for Charlie, and according to Cooper might hurt his career. And, again, his parents probably wouldn't react well to it either.

So Don pushed those thoughts to the back of his mind as he slammed the passengers' door shut and clicked his seatbelt into place. It wasn't easy, with all the instincts of being an older brother for almost two decades combined with those he'd picked up as an agent—something many claimed he was a natural at—all those instincts in agreement that something wasn't right.

But he told himself to wait anyway.

For now.

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Cal-Sci, Los Angeles, California – Wednesday 22, 1996

Charlie couldn't help expelling a breath of pure relief as the curtains dropped down in front of him, cutting him off from his applauding audience.

"Excellent show, Dr. Eppes!"

The mathematician turned to meet California's smiling Superintendent, a small smile settling on his own lips in response as he accepted the older man's handshake. "Thank you, Dr. Williamson." Charlie licked his lips slightly as he gently withdrew his hand, "And, um, thank you for—"

"I already told you that you didn't need to thank me for the introduction, Dr. Eppes," the Superintendent shook his head, the smile on his slightly round face reminding Charlie a little bit of the Cheshire Cat in Alice of Wonderland.

Though the younger professor immediately wanted to hit himself for thinking that. Dr. Williamson was a very nice man, who'd been very helpful over the last several weeks. And, really, Williamson's friendly grin was nowhere near as blinding or eerie as the character in Lewis Carroll's book was often depicted. The vague resemblance was only just enough for his mind to latch onto it, and he blamed Sineya—who now seemed to be almost giggling, clearly amused by the image—for getting the likeness truly stuck in his head as he took a step back.

"It was quite an honor, really," Williamson continued easily, that same wide grin still fixed on his face. "And if it does it's job, and helps you ease your way into this community, so much the better."

That was part of the reason he'd acquiesced to the older man's request in the first place. Though he hadn't really wanted the Superintendent to introduce him, thinking that would look a lot like favoritism or something of the sort. But his mother had talked him out of backing out on that regard, reasoning—as Dr. Williamson did—that it could only help him. That the presentation would still be Charlie's and it would be up to him to make it memorable. Theoretically, the superintendent's presence merely made sure a lot more people would come to it, which could only be a good thing.

Still, Charlie had a few more things he wanted to thank the older man for.

"Actually, I've been meaning to thank you," Charlie had to fight the urge to look down, meeting the other man's curious gaze as he continued. "For helping my friend, in Sunnydale."

Williamson blinked, an honest bit of surprise coming off him before he shook his head, still smiling. "Well, that was a pleasure, too. And, of course, my job. Though I'm a bit surprised you followed up on it." He shook his head and continued before Charlie could reply. "That little town has a lot of problems. Problems that no one seems to notice. Hell, I hardly even notice them." Now Charlie could sense a definite bit of shame and guilt leaking into the older man's psyche. "Not as often as I should, anyway."

Charlie shook his head, not entirely sure he should push at all, but also sensing that the older man really wanted to talk about this. And knowing the problems Sunnydale did have, including how determined most people were to ignore the supernatural, there probably weren't that many people Dr. Williamson could talk to. "What'd you mean?"

Williamson was silent for several long seconds, but Charlie didn't need him to talk to keep his attention on him. The man's emotions were roiling turbulently through a disturbingly wide range of extremes, easily drowning out the static-background of the much more common emotions flying around the auditorium on the other side of the curtain as the audience disembarked, most being redirect to the lounge for refreshments. Finally he shook his head, "You know, when I took this job, I expected to see things I didn't like. Kids dying in the inner city's due to gang violence, drugs, crime." He sighed, "But Sunnydale's this nice, relatively small town with one school and what I assume is a rather devout religious community, given the number of churches they have. I mean, considering its size, it actually has much more, um, attractions I guess you could say, then one might expect. But the bottom line is that Sunnydale's population is only a little more than one percent of LA's, but the High School paper has weekly obituaries that always report at least one death among the student body and sometimes has as many as a dozen. A week!"

Charlie nodded easily in response. He'd already seen the numbers and done numerous calculations himself. "And you can't do anything about it?"

The state Superintendent shook his head. "I've called the Sunnydale Police Department many times these last few weeks, they say it's simply gang violence. I've called the Mayor, he says the police are doing a fine job considering the circumstances, whatever that means. I called the FBI and got bounced from one official to another, until someone finally told me it was being looked into but that everything pertaining to the investigation is classified and I don't have clearance for that kind of thing. I even sent a formal complaint to the Department of Education and called Richard Riley's* office myself, but as soon as I mentioned Sunnydale he wouldn't even talk to me. Me! I'm the Superintendent in charge of the education of one of the largest populations in the country, and when I mentioned the name of a small town I was responsible for that might have a very serious problem, he all but hung up on me!" (2)

By the end of the tirade it had become just that, a long-winded rant about a problem he could not fix or, obviously, talk to anybody else about.

Charlie could help wincing in sympathy to the man's plight. The so-called 'supernatural syndrome' that plagued the human race, hiding the supernatural form prying eyes with the easy, desperate cloaks of humanity's fear and ignorance was not an easy thing to overcome. And even more difficult to understand even having done so, whether it was completely overcome or just partially. Still, he couldn't really explain much of this to the older man, no matter how much he wanted to.

"I really don't know what to do." The superintendent continued after he'd caught his breath, though he was quieter now as the calm of a fast growing depression seemed to settle over him. "I mean, to prevent teen pregnancies and the spread of STDs we have sex-ed and condoms. We try to combat gang violence by giving the kids another place to go, things to do, lives to prepare for. We cooperate with the police as much as possible to fight drugs. But this is one school in a small town, even with Mr. Walters' offer—"

"Offer?" Charlie asked, seizing onto what was hopefully a more positive topic, as the man's deepening depression was really starting to hurt his own psyche, and scare him a little, too.

"Oh, uh, yes. You remember, I sent one of my assistants down to try to reign Principal Snyder in a bit?" Williamson shook his head again and continued without waiting for a response. "Well, that was George Walters. Apparently he's willing to stay on down there. And after reading his reports I really am inclined to just fire Snyder and let Walters take over there."

"Well that's, um, good. Isn't it?"

"Yes." Williamson agreed, though he was shaking his head. "Though I wasn't all too surprised to learn that he'd recently started dating one of the schoolteachers there, a Miss Glenn, I believe. Ordinarily I might say something about that, relationships in the workplace can get so messy after all. But that seems to be the kind of thing it takes to keep educators in Sunnydale."

"Really?"

"Yes. Since I became Superintendent I've had a horrible time getting good teachers to agree to stay down there for even short contracts. Before I really started looking at the stuff like the obituaries and all, I couldn't for the life of me understand why. It seemed like such a nice little town when I visited it. I was a little disturbed by the notions of gang violence when it was brought up, but when I was down there for a day I didn't seen any signs of it. At least half-a-dozen people warned me against staying out after dark, but that was about it. Really, I can't imagine where these gangs supposedly are." Williamsons sighed, "But I've had teachers who taught in inner-city New York quit after working down there for only a week or so."

Seeing as the conversation wasn't going to take a more pleasant turn until Williamson got all of this out of his system, Charlie gently asked, "Do the, um, gangs, attack the teachers, too?"

"I suppose they must. And from looking at some of the coroners' reports down there, their weapon of choice appears to be barbeque forks." Dr. Williamson sighed again. "I had noticed that, too, of course. When I actually thought about Sunnydale. Before it was just a mild annoyance that I occasionally had to throw money and people at every now and then. I don't understand how I could just ignore the fact that, of the thirteen teachers in my employ that have died in the last three years, only one was of natural causes: a heart attack here in LA. Another was hit by a drunk driver in San Francisco, and one was drunk driving himself in San Antonio when he went off the road. But the other ten were all weird deaths in the little town of Sunnydale."

"That's..." Charlie swallowed, uncomfortable with the picture the man was painting even though he'd already had a clearer, comprehendible image of it in his head. "That's horrible."

"Yes, yes it is." Williamson agreed with a grave nod. Then he sighed again, "But hopefully Walters will be able to fix some of the problems in the school. He supposedly has some ideas that might help, so we'll see how that turned out." Suddenly he seemed to come back to himself, as he shook his head again, almost like he was shaking the negative thoughts away. "But enough of all that. I don't know what came over me, I certainly wasn't planning on bothering you with all of this."

"I don't suppose there are that many people you can, um, talk to about Sunnydale?"

"It's true that most really aren't interested, as I've already said," but Williamson shook his head yet again, clearly shaking the thoughts away this time. "But that's no excuse. We're here to start off your career as an educator here in California, after all. And again, that presentation was a fantastic start."

"Thank you, sir."

"Don't thank me," the superintendent chastised him mildly, clapping one big hand down on his shoulder. "It really was! My PhD's in general education, and math has certainly never been a forte of mine. But I actually understood a lot of what you were saying out there. You're gonna be a great teacher."

"That he is," another familiar voice agreed.

Charlie couldn't help but stiffen as he watched as the lawyer who's presence had made him more than a little nervous throughout the entire presentation—too nervous about the lawyer's presence, in fact, to be at all worried about the presentation itself—came up behind the superintendent, stopping at the older man's side.

"Ah, there you are, Mr. McDonald," Dr. Williamson greeted the lawyer with a warm smile, nodding towards him as his glance returned to Charlie, his hand falling from the younger man's shoulder as they turned. "Dr. Eppes, this is Mr. Lindsey McDonald of the law-firm Wolfram and Hart. His firm has been exceedingly generous to the Los Angeles school systems these last few weeks, so when he expressed an interest in your work I invited him to attend this presentation with me. I hope you don't mind?"

With Sineya snarling in the back of his head and McDonald somehow-smirking-just-so-slightly-as-to-be-unnoticable-to-anyone-else, it was more than a little hard for Charlie to nod his head. But recognizing the dangerous arena of intrigue he'd dropped down into, he forced himself to, trying to push Sineya further back in his mind while he replied, hoping his tone would come across as calm. "N-Not at all," he shook his head, suppressing a wince at the stutter he'd started with as he pushed on, "though I'm not sure what use a law firm could have more my work."

"I believe you said in your paper that math can be used everywhere and for anything, Professor," McDonald replied, a surprisingly friendly smile on his face as Dr. Williamson watching his exchange. "And the idea intrigued me." He shrugged, "Like Dr. Williamson, I'm no mathematician, but all of the real-world examples you kept slipping in made it surprisingly easy for me to follow your presentation. For the most part, at least." Now his smile became more of a grin, "Some of it, I'm sure, will always be over the heads of those of us that don't live and breathe math, but it's still very interesting."

Charlie was blinking at the lawyer, more than a little surprised by the friendly air the man seemed to almost wear around himself. It wasn't at all what he was expecting when the lawyer had entered the auditorium.

The probable change of tactics from the evil law firm bothered him. Not because he didn't expect it, but because he was almost falling for it.

There were only three reasons he didn't. One, the lawyer's emotionless presence made irritated his sixth sense far too much to let him fall for the act. Two, Sineya was still pissed at the man for the third reason. Three, supposedly this man had hired professional hit-men to kill—or at least hurt—him and/or Annie and Faith. They'd obviously failed. Though they knew a vampire called Mr. Trick had actually organized the so-called 'Slayer Fest' and weren't entirely sure how much the representatives of Wolfram & Hart had simply tweaked the situation to their advantage. But it still wasn't something Sineya or Charlie were going to forget any time soon.

A ping of puzzled concern from Dr. Williamson forced Charlie's thoughts back to the present, and he quickly shook his head. "Thank you. I'm glad you enjoyed it."

Not liking the strangeness of the situation more than anything else, the genius was more than a little pleased when several more familiar presences registered on his empathetic 'radar'. While he couldn't really tell everyone apart, his sixth sense still recognized people he was close to. With all the time he spent with his mother and father, it wasn't surprising that he could recognize them approaching. And the slightly flustered, excited but contemplative presence with them could only be Larry. The fourth person that was with them he hadn't spent much time with since he became an empath, but he still recognized his older brother's cool, calm and focused presence right away. Despite the fact that his brother was also worried and annoyed about something, while focusing on the more positive emotions of pride and happiness that their parents were also feeling.

Charlie was about to turn around, towards the other end of the stage where he knew his family would be entering from, but his body froze suddenly, refusing to move. It took him almost a whole second to realize that Sineya didn't want him to turn around, and was in fact, not going to allow it.

He barely kept a puzzled frown off his face as he turned his attention back to the two men he was already talking to, just in time to hear the end of the superintendent's question.

"—ou alright, Dr. Eppes?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine," Charlie shook his head again, "Sorry. It just hit me that I finished my first public presentation." He almost winced at the lameness of the excuse, certain that the lawyer would see right through it, but the innocent older educator bought it.

But then again, he had no reason not to. Despite the company he was presently keeping, Charlie knew from following and researching Dr. Mark Williamson's career after the educator became responsible for all of the schools in the state of California that Williamson was a good man. Charlie's empathetic senses, and Sineya's slight protectiveness of the innocent while near the less-than-innocent man only confirmed that.

Williamson was chuckling, "Understandable." The older man clapped one big hand on Charlie's should. "I'm sure you'll get used to it over the next few years, but the first few will undoubtedly be nerve-wracking."

Actually, this wasn't the first time Charlie had presented himself to the public with mathematical theories. He'd needed to as a grad student, after all. But though this was the first time he'd publicly presented The Eppes Convergence since he published it a little over a year prior, Charlie was fairly certain none of the future presentation would be anywhere near as nerve-wracking as this one had. Presenting to an audience that contained someone who'd tried to kill or maim you and your friends had to be hard to top, after all.

"I guess," Charlie replied, releasing a small of relief as he heard footsteps and familiar voices behind him, and Sineya finally let him turn—though only a little—to smile at his approaching family. One look at his mother, though, reminded him of why he'd avoided Wolfram & Hart in the first place. His mother had been quite adamant, and while he would have avoided them anyway, he didn't want her to think he'd ignored her. So he quickly turned back to the other two men, nodding towards the side door that led to the staffroom that had been converted for a reception, where he could sense most of the members of the audience were already mingling. "Please excuse me," he offered a small smile to Dr. Williamson, and forced the smile to stay in place as he also nodded to McDonald. "I think there's supposed to be refreshments through th—"

"Of course, of course," Dr. Williamson cut him off. "We were just saying hello. Though I do hope we'll be able to talk later?"

"Um, yeah. Yeah, sure." Charlie nodded again, before taking a step backward and then turning around to meet his family halfway across the stage.

"Hey Chuck, what's that about?" Don asked, his eyes following Dr. Williamson and McDonald's departing form.

"J-Just someone that was interested in my work," Charlie shrugged, forcing a smile as his brother's eyes came back to him, even as he wanted to wince at the slight worry and suspicion his brother seemed to be feeling. "Dr. Williamson—he's the—

"Superintendent of California, I know," Don cut him off, seeming to rein his protective instincts in—since the wariness Charlie was sensing from him suddenly disappeared—as he grinned. "Yeah, Mom already told me. Pretty cool, getting him for your introduction."

"Very cool," Larry agreed with a nod. "And may I compliment you on an excellent presentation, my friend?"

"Uh, you may," Charlie nodded quickly, more relieved then he wanted any of them to see that none of them seemed to be paying any more mind to Lindsey McDonald. "And thank you."

He wasn't sure how, but Don always had seemed to know when Charlie felt threatened by something, or someone. When they'd been in high school, and Don hadn't wanted much to do with him, he'd still always been there when Charlie had really needed his help. Protecting him from bullies and even a few scornful teachers.

But Charlie didn't want Don to protect him now. Because he didn't want his big brother going anywhere near Wolfram & Hart and its dangerous associates.

Sensing Don was still a bit too interested in Lindsey McDonald, Charlie shuffled slightly to the side, hoping it wasn't too obvious that he was placing himself between his brother and the lawyer till the man had left the room, even as he waved towards the door the pair was already headed towards. "There's supposed to be refreshments for us in the lounge—"

"And you must mingle," Larry nodded, smiling at the younger scientist. "For that was rather the point of this entire event, was it not?"

Don raised an eyebrow at that. "I thought it was about selling his theory. The convergence-thing?"

As his brother honestly seemed a bit confused—which was good as it meant he hopefully wasn't thinking about McDonald anymore—Charlie tried to push his own disappointment back. "I published my paper months ago, Don. Most of the people here read it already."

"But since Charlie's going to be teaching here," their mother took over with a warm smile, "This helps him start out here as a recognized professor."

His family—particularly his father and brother—had really never fully understood Charlie's world. Most of the math that he worked with was way above the heads of most of the world's population. And though all of his family members were very smart in their own rights, they didn't see the world the way he did. So the numbers were beyond them.

"What? Are you worried about the age-thing?" Don asked.

Charlie nodded ruefully, replying even as his mind continued wandering a little. "There'll probably still be some people that'll think I'm a student most of the time. Or a fake, I guess." He finished with a grimace. He'd seen both reactions to varying degrees at Princeton. Earning the respect of a bunch of undergrads who were all older than him hadn't always been easy.

Charlie's genius had set him apart that way for most of his life. And despite his loved-ones best efforts, it'd led to Charlie feeling more than a little ostracized. Cut off and unable to connect.

Though college had helped, as he'd been thrust into a more mature crowd where more had been willing to give him a shot. Though he'd definitely still run into a lot of jealousy.

Still, this summer had helped even more.

When an odd twist of fate had led to his introduction to another part of the world his loved one were totally unaware of. When he'd met Annie. When Sineya's acceptance of him, of both of them, had created the bond they now shared. And given both of them the ability to sense the real emotions of almost everyone.

Except for those who's thoughts and/or emotions were magically guarded. Larry, Don and his parents were not among those spiteful people.

'Spiteful' because even the witches that admitted to shielding against telepaths didn't believe in shielding against an empath. It was a level of dishonesty most of the magical community frowned upon. Though, at the same time, he and Annie had both noticed that those very same witches had much greater control over their emotions then most people did.

None of the Eppes wore their emotions on their sleeves, or really openly displayed their feelings the way Larry kind of did. But to Charlie's new empathetic abilities, all three were open books as long as he was able to focus on them enough, individually, to be sure he was reading only their emotions with the hubbub of everyone else's emotions echoing in the background like static.

Now he knew Don was honestly confused, but still proud and happy to be there. Which went a long way towards soothing his own slightly hurt feelings.

And, he apparently understood the dilemma Charlie would be facing here, too. Though he was grinning as he pointed out, "Well, you'll show 'em. And, on the bright side, at least you'll be older than most of your freshmen and some of your sophomores."

Charlie blinked, then laughed as he grabbed his big brother's arm and dragged him towards the room where all of Charlie's new peers were gathered to welcome the young mathematician into their midst.*(3)

Surrounded by his family, he was smiling as they entered the crowded, busy room.

2 2 1 6 6 2 5 0 1 9 0 0 0 1 6 1 5 9 1 4 2 0 0 0 0 1 5 6 0 0 0 2 2 9 5 2 3

Angel's Mansion, Sunnydale – Wednesday 22, 1996

Buffy glanced up to look at the big, old book Faith was holding up. She sighed and shook her head as she turned her attention back to the crate she was sorting through. "No."

The two Slayers had probably gone through a couple hundred crates like this. And after nearly four hours, they were only about halfway through the master vampire's hoard.

And that was only the hundreds of boxes down in the vault he'd installed in the basement. Buffy was pretty sure that Faith had a point in saying that the vampire had probably stashed a lot more stuff all over the mansion, and not just in the obvious place with a bunch of other semi-valuable possessions. It'd only taken the two Slayers about twenty minutes to get through all of the heavy locks on the massive door. The door itself had been enchanted to be unbreakable, but the locks, for some reason, weren't.

Buffy still wasn't sure what she should say to Faith about just how fast the brunette could pick the locks that they couldn't just break through with super brute force. She knew Faith had essentially raised herself before she'd been taken from her mother's alleged 'care' by Dr. Dormer and the Watchers' Council, and as it didn't sound like Faith's mother had worked much, if at all, and Faith legally couldn't, it wasn't entirely possible she'd developed the skill, along with many others, as she struggled to support herself and her worthless mother.

Nonetheless, once inside the only protection for the valuables seemed to be the little surprises in the boxes themselves. Which really wasn't that much protection for a supernatural treasure trove. While a Slayer was generally stronger than most vampires, even master-vampires, four or five minion-vamps or more than three master-vamps could still make it through the door. And some demons were physically stronger than Slayers.

Still, after several hours going through a couple hundred crates, they'd yet to find the one important book the PTB wanted her—or at least Giles—to look at. Or the ruby red urn-thing that could produce the so-called 'Living Flame' they'd need to destroy the glove.

So far they'd found about two dozen different urns that weren't the one they needed. Plus hundreds of tomes and even more scrolls. Apparently Angelus was a bit of a bibliophile, and had been very into collecting/shopping during his terror-spree here in Sunnydale. Maybe even before. Spike and Drusilla were, after all, part of Angelus' 'family', so they could've kept a watch over some of this stuff, or something like that. Maybe collected some of it themselves. Honestly she had trouble imagining Spike doing such a thing, since he seemed to hate Angelus even more than he hated Angel, but he'd do anything for Drusilla, who might've wanted to carry on her 'Daddy's' collection.

Buffy honestly didn't think Angelus could have accumulated this massive collection all on his own in the few months he was loose in Sunnydale. Granted, Angelus hadn't been stalking and taunting her and the Scoobies the whole time he was at liberty. And maybe he had traveled a bit. Gone to supernatural estate sales and the black markets Giles had mentioned every now and then. Hell, maybe he'd bought a lot of it on e-bay*. (4)

But however he'd managed to acquire everything they were going through, it wasn't like Buffy could really say anything about shopping. One of her favorite pastimes was buying shoes of all colors, designs, shapes and shades. And even before they'd found the armory here, she'd already known that Angel, at least, had had impeccable taste when it came to weaponry. Most of her favorite weapons had been gifts from him. Apparently he bought a lot of books and magical artifacts.

All that aside, though, they really needed this break through on the glove. According to both Giles and Post the books they had at their disposal here in Sunnydale just didn't seem to have the necessary information. Which was more than a little ridiculous, since the glove was supposedly buried here in Sunnydale. She really should start making a list of all the complaints she had for Giles' bosses. But right now they were kind of stuck relying on whatever help the PTB were willing to give them.

Of course, looking at the books she and Faith had already dug up, it almost looked like the Powers That Be had actually sent them here to improve upon the 'best collection of mystical texts on this side of the Atlantic,' since they'd already found more than a hundred different books. And better in their hands then in their enemies', right?

Buffy sighed again as she deftly angled around the weird little statue with tons of little arms, all with claws at the end. When its little red eyes lit up and its arms started to move, claws reaching for her, she threw it towards the fireplace, where Faith had stirred up a roaring fire more than an hour before.

Its irritating, nails-on-chalkboard shrieks turned into pitiful whimpers as its surprisingly fragile body shattered on impact with the back of the fireplace, before its remains joined the remnants of similar little-stone-monsters in the fire's hot coals. A few seconds later the whimpers died away, and she knew that if she'd looked its eyes would be dark, too. As she and Faith had already killed dozens of the little monsters in a similar fashion.

To anyone less physically adept and gifted then a Slayer, the little monsters might be able to do a lot of damage. But most vampires and demons would still probably be able to overcome them, so it just lent credence to the idea that anything really important would almost certainly be better hidden.

"What about this one?" Faith asked, and Buffy looked up to glance at the big book Faith was holding up this time.

The older Slayer shook her head again as she moved two more books out of current crate and onto the ever-growing pile of books for Giles to go through. "No. The cover was metallic, but it looked dull like steel."

The shiny silver cover of the book Faith was holding up was actually rather pretty. But not the one they wanted.

Faith sighed as she tossed that book towards the pile, too.

A hundred-and-some-odd books ago, both had found this action amusing. Neither had any trouble imagining just how horrified Giles would be if he saw them throwing his old books around. But he wasn't here, and the unspoken joke had gotten old.

"Any luck remembering the symbol?" the brunette asked as she carried another empty crate over to the door, to set on the stack with all the others, before moving over to the side of the room to grab yet another crate to go through.

Looking at the stack of still-full crates, Buffy though they might be more than halfway done. Still, she couldn't help but sigh again as she replied. "No, I don't think so," she shook her head. "I still think it kinda looked like a claw—"

"But a lotta these old symbols do," Faith nodded as she set the box down and knelt beside it to tear the top off and immediately caught another shrieking statue to chuck at the fireplace.

As helpful as their super-strength was for the heavy lifting, and their senses, speed and reflexes for the nasty surprises Angelus had littered his treasure trove with, to Slayers this was still wicked boring.

"Hey, B, check out this one."

Buffy almost didn't look up, but sighed as she forced herself to do so. And her eyebrows immediately clicked together in irritation as her eyes fell on the book in question. "Faith, the cover's green."

"I know, but—"

"We're looking for a dull metal cover, with something red on it. Or a little red urn like one of those except really, really red. Nothing green."

"I know, but wasn't Poppins annoying G-man for not havin' this one already?"

Buffy blinked, then looked a little more closely at the book, and was only a little surprised to find that the title was The Labyrinth Maps of Malta. "Huh. Cool," she nodded, then winced as another thought occurred to her. "Though maybe we shouldn't give it to him right away."

"Why?" Faith frowned as she set the book down a little off to the side from the main stack of tomes. "He's gonna go through all of these anyway. And he'll know where they came from," her nose wrinkled up a little in a physical show of the slight confusion Buffy could sense from the brunette. "Not sure what good maps of Malta will be for us, here. Isn't Malta near Italy?"

"Yeah, I think. Mom got some stuff shipped from there a few weeks ago, actually."

"Oh yeah, the glass stuff, right?" Faith grinned as she followed Buffy's example and went back to sorting through her box, though Buffy heard the younger girl shake her head—heard the whispery sound of her hair swaying back and forth with the motion—a moment later. "But I still don't get what good maps of a place in Europe are going to do for us in Sunnyhell."

"Maybe they're not actually maps of Malta?" Buffy guessed half-heartedly, shrugging slightly. "Maybe they're just a collection of maps that were, um, collected in Malta, I guess?"

Faith didn't say anything right away, though Buffy could sense the speculative reply had succeeded in amusing her. When she got to the bottom of what was apparently a very lightly packed box—compared to the others that sometimes took at least ten minutes to go through without breaking or missing anything—she stood with a sigh, moving the box over to another stack that contained crates that still had some stuff in them for the Watchers to look at later. "I'm gonna head downstairs again."

"We already brought most of the boxes up," Buffy pointed out, before raising an eyebrow at her sister-Slayer as she looked up. "But you just want to get out of this room, don't you?" She hurried on when Faith shrugged, keeping her tone gentle, "You don't have to help me, you know. The sun'll be setting soon. One of us should probably be resting up for patrol."

Faith rolled her eyes, "I may not be that good at math, B, but even I know it'll take you twice as long to go through all this stuff by yourself. And it's not like it's actually tiring. Boring, definitely. I'm just gonna stretch my legs a bit, bring a few more boxes up, then I'll start helping you sort through G-man's dream-come-true."

Buffy laughed and waved a hand towards the door that led down into the basement, where they'd found most of the crates. "Stretch away," she was still smiling as she turned her attention back to her crate while Faith left the room. She even kept grinning, a little, as yet another little monster came to life and tried to tear her eyes out, easily catching the little menace and tossing it towards the fireplace with all the other troublemakers.

After a few moments of quiet, broken only by her shuffling through the crate, combined with the distant sounds of Faith looking around downstairs and various, blocked sounds from outside, Buffy sighed. Taking into consideration all of the little, breakable-looking things that had been in this particular crate, she picked it up and carried it over to the go-through-again-later-pile, before turning back to the pile of crates they still had to go through up here.

But she paused halfway there, frowning in slight confusion as a twinge of intense confusion hit her from the back of her mind. From where the bond was, but it didn't feel like Charlie.

It took her a moment of though to realize that it must have come from Sineya, then. The ancient spirit had been more and more active lately, but she still didn't seem to really be there, listening in or whatever, all the time. If anything, it sounded like she paid a lot more attention to Charlie then she did to Buffy.

Maybe because Charlie really needed more protection than Buffy did. Or maybe the ancient Slayer just liked Charlie's frequently more mature mindset. He was only a little over a year older than Buffy, but he'd already finished college and gotten his first doctorate. He was going into a career that would enable him to help people all the time, while Buffy was still stuck in high school during the day and slaying at night. Maybe the Hellmouth bothered her more than she let on. Still, the ancient spirit was always 'there', in the back of Buffy's mind, whenever the modern slayer needed her.

So what had caught her interest here? If going through all this stuff was boring to Buffy, she'd think that Sineya—who couldn't read and had never had a Watcher—would be bored to death.

Looking around, Buffy didn't see anything out of place from what she already knew was here. And didn't see anything interesting, either.

But a slight movement in her peripheral vision made Buffy turn rapidly, looking upwards a bit to look out a window. The same window, in fact, that Sineya had been watching her and Angel through in her vision/dream-thing.

The blonde Slayer's eyes widened as they settled on that same tree branch Sineya had been perched on before, watching them.

Because there was a young woman watching her now. A woman with dark skin, hair and eyes, who looked oddly familiar. Her head was cocked to the side as dark eyes studied Buffy in turn, and another wave of curiosity hit the blonde through her bond, making her start.

Buffy blinked as she started to move towards the woman. But she stopped again when she opened her eyes.

Because the woman was gone.

A moment later, Faith meandered back into the room with a couple of crates in her arms. Though the Slayers could easily lift more than that, it was a little difficult to safely balance more than two or three at time. And they didn't want to risk breaking anything valuable to setting off any really dangerous booby-traps.

The brunette stopped almost immediately, to frown at the older Slayer, "You OK, B?" she asked as she took the last few steps to the right stacks, and set her new stack down beside it. "You kinda look like you've seen a ghost?"

"I..." Buffy stared at the window for a few seconds more, shaking her head slowly. Finally she turned back to the pile, deliberately not looking towards the window as she picked out another box. "Yeah, I'm fine. Just a little...bored, I guess."

Telling the other Slayer she might be seeing things shortly before a patrol didn't seem like a great idea.

But was she? She really thought a woman had been there. Her eyesight hadn't been blurred by anything before she blinked. Still, even a Slayer couldn't move fast enough to have been gone from the tree without even displacing the branch in her flight in the blink of an eye.

And she hadn't sensed her, either.

The woman hadn't registered at all on her Slay-dar. So that meant either she definitely wasn't demonic in any way, or that some kind of demon that could take a human-guise could also fool a Slayers senses. Which was a scary thought all its own.

And the only emotions Buffy'd been feeling at the time were Faith's wandering ones, her own bored ones, and Sineya's curiosity. Nothing else.

"Yeah, well. We don't have all that many more boxes to go through. Though I'm gonna be a bit pissed if that book doesn't turn up after all this," Faith jerked her head towards all of the crated they'd already gone through even as she jerked the lid off a new crate and smoothly grabbed another little demon out of midair to throw it into the fireplace.

Buffy nodded in easy agreement. "Well, I'll be sure to pass the message along first chance I get."

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Cal-Sci, Los Angeles, California – Wednesday 22, 1996

"So is that guy with the school or something?" Don threw the possibility out there, even though he highly doubted it.

Everything about the man, from his stylish suit and slicked back hair to his equally slick attitude didn't scream geek or nerd. No, Don thought something more along the lines of a cut-throat businessman seemed to fit the man much better. With an emphasis on the 'cut-throat' part.

The genius frowned at his older brother, "What guy?" he asked, but his reply came just a little too slowly for Don to believe him honestly ignorant.

And while Don Eppes was only just starting out as a law enforcement officer, with a little more than a year under his belt since he'd graduated from Quantico, he didn't need more experience as an agent to read Charlie. No, he'd had all of the genius's life to learn how to read him. Though he might never understand most of the mathematics and scientific theories Charlie wrapped his mind around with ease, Don did understand his brother. At least enough to know when Charlie was lying. Now if only he knew why. "The one you didn't want us to talk to. The superintendent introduced you to him?"

Charlie blinked and shook his head, looking away as he replied, "Oh. No, he's not."

Don's brow had furrowed slightly when the mathematician pointedly avoided eye-contact, but as he took in his brother's slightly hunched, defensive posture, he didn't want to attack him for it. He didn't want to push him too hard, but at the same time he had to push at least a little. "So? Who is he?"

Charlie frowned slightly, and offered an uncomfortable looking shrug as he took a large sip of the cup of water he was nursing. Then, after swallowing the gulp of water, he replied, "He's just a lawyer."

Don couldn't help but raise an eyebrow at that. "A lawyer?" Honestly, he didn't know what he'd been expecting. But that hadn't been it. And 'just a lawyer' really didn't explain the dangerous vibe he was getting from the man while wandering around his brother's welcoming party to Cal-Sci's ivory-tower community.

"Yeah. I—uh—I guess some of his clients want to hire me for something. Maybe."

"Huh." Don nodded slightly, mulling that over as he took a sip of his water.

It kind of made sense. Big companies hired high-level mathematicians for all kinds of stuff. And Don knew that Charlie had been approached by a bunch of banks and computer companies before he'd even graduated from college. Apparently the teen being a recognized genius, a child prodigy, had out-weighted the fact that he hadn't yet completed his education.

But, Don realized as he swallowed a second sip of water, that wasn't quite the vibe he'd gotten from the man. Or from his brother. "Who's he representing?"

Charlie was looking away again. "I don't know," he took another gulp of his water. "You know, I really sh—"

"Why didn't you let Mom handle him?"

Their mother had always handled Charlie's legal affairs. All his contracts with these companies and whatnot.

"What?"

"I was talking to Mom before I interrupted you two. She went to find Dad. But she didn't know who he was. I asked."

Charlie frowned at him, "Why?"

"Just curious," Don took another sip of water. "Though I gotta say, straight-forward answers would satisfy my curiosity a lot more than this half-answer, evasion crap."

Oops. So much for the not pushing hard.

Still, with all the worrying Don had been doing recently, he couldn't help but want more answers. And seeing as he'd never known Charlie to be any good at keeping secrets, the fact that he was obviously hiding something only made his big brother more curious. And protective.

"She, uh—Mom—She's been really busy lately. I didn't want to wor—bother her."

"Uh-huh. What didn't you want to worry her with?"

"Really, Don. I'm gonna be so busy here at CalSci, I'm not all that interested in new contracts." Charlie frowned at him, almost glaring as he continued, "I can say 'no,' and turn down jobs on my own, you know."

Don stared at his brother for another long moment, before reluctantly forcing himself to back down. "If you say so," he finished off his water and tossed the paper cup into a nearby trashcan. "How's 'Annie' doing?"

"She says she's feeling a lot better," Charlie's eyes finally stopped darting around like he was looking for an escape, and a small smile blossomed as he finally met his brother's eyes again, no longer glaring. "Though I think she's still a bit unhappy about not making it to her homecoming dance."

"Yeah," Don winced sympathetically, "That does kind of suck." Then he shook his head. "How did you end up with two dates to this thing anyway? Was it a just-as-friends-thing?"

"I thought so. Faith just kept saying I had to be Annie's date and her date. And Annie didn't think Faith would go without a date, so," his little brother shrugged, "The two of them are kind of hard to say no to, too."

"No kidding," Don shook his head, grinning slightly. "Still, that would have been a pretty great entrance if you'd made it." Then he frowned as he remembered just how late Charlie and the two girls had been to the dance. It'd been in full swing at least an hour and a half before they would have show up if they hadn't been shot at. That was more than a little fashionably late. "Why were you guys so late, anyway?"

Charlie blinked at him, then looked away again as he replied. "The, um, chauffer took us on a, um, really long scenic route. He took us out by a bunch of parks and, uh, stuff. Annie and Faith were pissed. He, uh, didn't seem to understand that we really just wanted to get to the dance."

"Yeah, I'd be mad too. I guess. Maybe." Don frowned, shaking his head. He could think of several reasons a long ride in a limo with two beautiful girls could be considered a good thing, but the ideas obviously hadn't entered his little brother's head. Or his 'dates' heads.

Still, he didn't think Charlie was telling him everything.

Which didn't make sense.

It wasn't like Summers knew there was a bunch of hit-men looking for her. Because if they'd stayed away so long for that reason, they probably wouldn't have come at all.

And Charlie would've told him if it was something like that...

Wouldn't he?

"I'm sorry, Donnie," Charlie started, only to stop abruptly as the distinctive sound of a cell phone ringing broke the air.

Don's hand immediately went to his, and he sent an apologetic wince to his brother as he flipped the phone open. "Eppes."

"Hey, you need to come back in," Cooper's distinctive voice came over the line.

"I just left," Don protested, definitely not wanting to leave now, when it looked like he might be getting somewhere close to the bottom of all the questions surrounding his little brother.

"I know, but the boss wants us to head up north to run another guy down. And he was last seen crossing into Nevada an hour ago, so we've gotta get going."

Don bit back the vulgar words he wanted to say to that, seeing as his mother was on her way over, and just shook his head. "Fine, I'll call a tax—"

"I'm halfway to Cal-Sci already, I'll meet you out front in ten minutes, alright?"

The younger agent sighed, "Yeah, fine." Before hanging up on his partner and returning his attention to his little brother, who's expression had fallen slightly. "Sorry, Chuck. I've gotta go."

"Go where?" Both Eppes's boys turned in response to their father's question, to see that both of their parents were frowning at the elder. "I thought you were coming home for dinner tonight? I was grilling rib-eye."

"Sorry Pop," Don grimaced, shaking his head. "I really wish I could, but," he shrugged halfheartedly. "Duty calls."

Charlie nodded slowly, but spoke before either of their parents could say anything. "I understand, Don," he bit his lip. "But stop by again soon, OK?"

Don was nodding in response even as his arms came up automatically when their mother pulled him into a gentle hug.

"Stay safe," Margaret Eppes murmured softly into her eldest's ear. "And come home soon. You don't have to wait for a special occasion as an excuse, you know."

"I know, Mom," Don sighed as he gave her slender shoulders a gentle squeeze before he pulled away. More than anything else, his family was a major part of why he didn't want to stay in fugitive recovery for too long. Another year or two, maybe. But he knew their worry for him increased with the length of time between his visits and that even the phone calls he tried to make on a regular basis—not that he always could, as he sometimes didn't have enough free time to sleep and eat without doing it in shifts with his partner, never mind calling home—only helped so much. Add to that how difficult it was to maintain a steady relationship and the fact that you could only go so far up in the bureau, could only do so much, as a fugitive recovery agent, and he knew he was meant to be elsewhere. But for now, he had to run after the scum bucket that was trekking through Nevada. "I'll see you soon." Then he nodded to his father and brother, before walking away, his feet flying across the floor as he hurried towards the main entrance.

Even if he didn't have to come back relatively soon to keep his mother from worrying too much, Don knew he'd be back as soon as he could anyway. If only to figure out what the hell was going on with Charlie!

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The Streets, Sunnydale, California – Thursday, October 23, 1997

Buffy frowned and raised an eyebrow at the younger Slayer. "What'd you mean?"

When Faith had said she'd been wanting to ask something for a while now, Buffy really had expected something about herself, or maybe more about Charlie. Or possibly something about Angel/Angelus. If only because Faith had asked for permission to ask, something that was still rather out of character for her even though the brunette often avoided subjects Buffy had much emotion invested in. Whatever the case, she really hadn't been expecting a question about Xander and Willow.

"I don't know," Faith shrugged, glancing around as she took a deep breath. They were actually out a bit early this evening, so neither expected to come across vampire or demons any time soon. Still, they were on a patrol so not looking wasn't really an option. "They've just been kinda edgy lately. If I didn't know X-man was dating Cordy and that Red's dating Wolf-man, I'd almost think they'd just broken up and were in the 'lets still be friends phase.'"

Buffy considered that a moment. She supposed Willow and Xander had been a bit nervous around each other lately. She'd honestly just assumed it was nervousness about the demon and glove that Post had them looking for, but then again it was kind of hard for her to notice anything outside of Slaying when she was around Post. The woman's weird apathetic-presence bugged her, and the dark magic that still clung to her skin like a really nasty perfume didn't help at all.

"They've never dated?"

"Wh—Willow and Xander?" Buffy shook her head. "No. Best friends from kindergarten and all that. Willow had a crush on Xander for awhile, but he was always hitting on me and glaring at Angel. Then she met Oz. And Xander and Cordelia ended up together. Somehow."

"Somehow?" the younger Slayer asked again, a little bit of the amusement Buffy could sense empathetically also leaking into the inquiry.

"I think something happened between them when Spike sent a bunch of demonic assassins after me. And Xander mentioned something about a closet," Buffy shook her head. "I never asked for more information."

"Ah." Faith nodded, smiling slightly. Though the small smile disappeared as she continued, "So Red used to crush on X-man?"

"Oh yeah," Buffy nodded, sighing softly. "Tons. And of course Xander never noticed. If he wasn't hitting on me or glaring at Angel, he was running off after some other girl." She shook her head again. "Willow kept coming to me for advice and stuff, but there really wasn't much I could help her with. Whenever I tried to give her suggestions for make-over kind of stuff, she'd shy away from them." A smile worked its way onto her face as she recalled one such occasion. "Like the Halloween I told you about, remember? When Giles old-not-so-much-a-buddy made us all turn into our Halloween costumes?"

"Yeah. You turned into a damsel-in-distress, X-man became some kind of soldier and... Red was a ghost, right?"

Buffy laughed, "No, actually. I gave her the lecture on how Halloween was supposed to be 'come as you aren't night.' I spent, like, at least an hour helping Willow into this really hot rocker-babe outfit. Make-up and everything, which she really wasn't used to. Then when Xander showed up as GI-guy, Willow hid inside the ghost costume from Ethan's store."

Faith laughed, "So when black-mojo-guy cast his spell, Willow turned into the ghost of a rocker-babe?"

"Yup. Giles musta been really confused when she showed up." Buffy grinned back, then she shook her head, "But even seeing her like that didn't make Xander notice her. I mean, he didn't know her as the army guy, but he said he was stuck in his head watching how army-guy did everything just like I was. So he did see her."

"And still didn't notice her," Faith shook her head too. "So X-man's not the most observant of the bunch," she shrugged. "Still, maybe it was a 'don't want to date my best friend cause she's my best friend' sort of thing? I mean, they grew up together like sib's, right?" Then she shook her head again. "But I guess he's noticed. While they're both dating other people. Thus the edginess."

Buffy sighed, "I'll... Do you think I should talk to them about it?"

"You know I'm not really much for the touchy-feely kind of stuff, B." The younger Slayer shook her head yet again. "But this sorta thing could go real sour, real fast. Screw everything up."

"Yeah. I guess I'll talk to them," Buffy nodded, giving the area another semi-lazy scan as she finished. "After we get rid of the glove."

With a ton of more books to go through, several of which apparently even the Council didn't have overseas—so how Angelus got a hold of them was anybodies guess—Giles and Post were confident that they'd be able to locate the glove soon. And both agreed with the use of 'Living Flame' to destroy it.

Still, the Slayers were making their way through cemeteries, paying a little bit more attention then they would on a normal patrol. They could, after all, still get lucky and run into Lagos looking for the glove. Get rid of the demon and finding the glove, while still a good idea, wouldn't be quite as important.

"Right." Faith smirked as they entered Sunnydale's fifth cemetery. "Still think we should dragged Mary Poppins out with us."

That made Buffy roll her eyes, "You just want to mock her for thinking there's only one graveyard in Sunnydale."

"Don't you?"

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Caritas, Los Angeles, California – Thursday, October 23, 1997

Charlie shrugged slightly, forcing a small smile as he turned to meet his friend's eyes before replying, "I thought you had everything covered?"

Apparently Gunn felt that was worthy of a mild glare. "There's only so much we can do here, Charlie." He shook his head. "And somehow I don't think your Slayer knows about this."

Charlie shook his head, "She's not my Slayer."

Now Gunn just raised an eyebrow at him.

After a stretched second of silence the mathematician sighed. "No. Annie doesn't know." Then he felt the need to add with a frown. "I don't talk to her about everything, you know. I mean, I'm the legal adult with a doctorate here. I start teaching as a college professor in just under three mon—"

"Yeah," Gunn was shaking his head and smirking slightly as he cut in. "But she's the Slayer. And she's only a little over a year younger than you."

"And she's the Slayer," Keenan, another one of the massive members of The Watch added from a few feet to Charlie's left.

"He said that, Keen," Devon insisted from just behind Charlie's right side.

"What are you guys doing here?" Charlie asked with a slight smile. After about a dozen of Gunn's make-shift defense classes, with two of these guys and occasionally a few other members of The Watch helping out, the mathematician had a hard time feeling any fear of either man. Oh, he knew that both could probably kill him a dozen different ways if they needed to. The ever-silent, but extremely patient, Rye could literally throw him around without breaking a sweat. Devon was almost a foot taller than him and was apparently considered one of The Watch's most skilled fighters, but he was also one of the most energetic and cheerful twenty-something-year-olds that Charlie knew. And Keenan—or Keen' for short—wasn't a member of Gunn's gang, but the professional boxer and UFC* fighter also regularly took part in The Watch and he'd come to every one of Charlie's 'Math for Dummies' classes at Angel's House. So while Charlie was absolutely certain he wouldn't stand a chance against any of the three—or any of the fighters who took part in The Watch—in a real fight, he also knew that they'd never intentionally hurt him unless he gave them an unforgivable reason to. Everything, from helping to teach him how to defend himself, which still mostly consisted of learning how to fall correctly, ducking, some blocking and a lot of running to get him in shape, to why they were here tonight, was done to protect him. (5)

"We're watchin' yer back, Doc," Devon replied, and Charlie was sure the giant was grinning. Though, at the same time, he empathetically knew the cheerful man and all for the other Watch members that were here were entirely alert. Waiting for something to happen.

They were friends. Friends Don would probably have a hard time accepting and his parents might have a hard time accepting the actual gang members, too. But friends, nonetheless.

And really, most of the guys he knew weren't involved in some of the horrific violence that tore apart and destroyed lives as surely as the supernatural evils did. They knew the people that were in those gangs, even had friends amongst them, but Gunn's group and the guys that he'd called back to LA—like Keenan, who'd moved to Las Vegas a few years back and had just returned a month ago—to help.

The Watch were quite different from the real gangs that fought for control of LA's streets. They were fighting to protect everybody. They didn't sell drugs or rob or hurt people.

So the other gangs left them alone. And the few gangs that had made the mistake of causing even the slightest trouble for them quickly found themselves the targets of almost every other gang in the city.

"Like we're s'posed ta be," Keen added.

Gunn shook his head slightly. "You're s'posed to be keeping your distance, remember? So it doesn't look like has guards."

"And we would," Keen replied slowly, his gravelly voice holding a distinct note of amusement. "If this place wasn't so damn crowded."

"Yeah, man," Devon cut in. "We can't watch from across the room. If somethin' happens we wouldn't be able ta help. There's no way we'd be able to mow through these monsters fast enough."

"I do hate to interrupt, my dear Cocoa Puffs and Meringue," the club's owner interrupted with a small smile as he brought Charlie and Gunn seconds of their nonalcoholic beverages, continuing softly before his frowning human guests could reply. "But many of said monsters have excellent hearing, several do eat humans and many more are just happy to kill them for sport. So insulting them isn't really the Devil's Food kind of ideas, it's more like the Peanut-Butter-Thing*: crunch, gooey, sticky, sickeningly sweet, messy and otherwise bad. Even for dear friends of The Slayer." (6)

Charlie had started looking around when Lorne mentioned his other guests, as the others probably had, too.

He hadn't been surprised to see many inhuman eyes glaring at them, which was bad as they did need to leave later and even though his not-quite-professional guards were undoubted armed to the teeth, it still felt dangerous. And undoubtedly was.

But it also wasn't surprising that most of the monsters looked away when Lorne finished his long winded, food oriented rebuke with a comment associating them with Buffy.

"Thank you for the advice, Lorne," Charlie replied quietly as he forcefully returned his attention to his drink.

"Yeah, thanks, m—"

It took Charlie a moment of though to figure out why Gunn had stopped so abruptly. And so uncomfortably, too.

It hadn't been easy, convincing Gunn and several of the other Watch members that not all demons were evil. That they couldn't afford to go to war with all of them. That they really needed to focus their efforts on those that were truly a threat to humanity in some way or another. And it'd been even hard getting them to accept that some demons were actually friendly and worth knowing.

Lorne was the clearest example of the latter that Charlie could imagine. Buffy claimed the only other clear example of 'harmless demon' she presently knew was a demon named Clem who ate kittens but was otherwise alright. But it was clearly something the hunters would have trouble with for a while. Still, the fact that Gunn's instinctive response to the demon's assistance was positive had to be a good thing.

"Not a problem, Pudding, it is the humble host's duty, after all, to ensure that—"

"Wait," Charlie stopped him with an incredulous frown. "Did you just call us Cocoa Puffs and Meringue? And Pudding?"

"That I did," the host grinned.

"How am I—"

"The delicate combination of perfectly whipped egg-whites with gradually added azucar* and the oh-so essential bit of cream of tartar?" (7)

"Uh, yeah. I think."

"Well, I should think that'd be obvious, but I suppose I shall elaborate nonetheless—"

"I believe," Lindsey McDonald cut in as he took the empty seat in between Charlie and Keenan with an aplomb that Charlie didn't want to be impressed by, his tone was indulgent as he continued. "That the egg-whites are the human essence that evolution had whipped to the highest level available, empowered by the tartar, or the knowledge your predecessors left for you to learn from the system of education that behaved so sweetly for you. Mr. Deathwok* may also be implying that you're a little stiff and shiny, but for meringue that's a good thing." The lawyer held out his hand with a friendly smile. "Good evening, Dr. Eppes. I'm glad to see your could make it." (8)

Charlie ignored the pro-offered hand, taking a long sip from his drink instead. Though it was a little tempting to try to read the man's emotions by shaking his hand, Collins had sensed Charlie's empathetic ability the instant it'd tried to read him from skin-on-skin contact, and he'd claimed human empaths were exceedingly rare and valuable for that reason. And the genius didn't want to risk giving McDonald any more of a reason to take interest in him.

"You bake, Mr. McDonald?" Lorne asked after a second of tense silence, his tone superbly polite.

"No, Mr. Deathwok." McDonald replied, smoothly lowering his hand as he turned to answer the host. "But you are not alone in your fascination with human cuisine. And we at Wolfram & Hart feel knowledge in such areas can be invaluable every now and again. I'll have a No Regrets*, please." (9)

"Coming right up," Lorne nodded, hurrying away.

"I must admit I'm a bit surprised to see you here, Dr. Eppes," McDonald told him as he turned back to him with a smile, completely ignoring Gunn and the others. "You were so cold at your little welcoming party at CalSci, I half expected you to ask big brother to bite me. Not that that'd be good for his career as a federal officer, any more than all the digging he's been attempting as of late, of course, but he looked like he might just be protective enough to do it."

Charlie glared at him, "I still have no interest in any consulting of any kind for your company, Mr. McDonald. And your threats against my friends and family are more likely to make me more contrary to the idea, rather than amiable."

Both of McDonald's eyebrows rose and his tone was a bit sardonic as he replied, "I'm not sure I know what 'threat' you're referring to, professor. While Wolfram & Hart has plenty of resources at its disposal to handle such instances, we haven't, to my knowledge, made any real moves against you. The little bit of advice I gave you at your—uh, Angels' House, isn't it?—Was just that, a friendly bit of advice."

"I'm very good at codes and ciphers, Mr. McDonald. Always have been." Charlie shook his head, still more than a little disorientated at not being able to read the lawyer's emotions. "And your anagram was more than a little obvious."

The lawyer nodded in a show of politeness when Lorne set his drink in front of him, then took a long, considerate sip before he met Charlie's accusing stare with a small smirk. "Obvious is not something people in my line of work can afford to be. Especially at my firm."

Charlie frowned, "What does—"

"Furthermore, the Senior Partners are still interested in wooing you. They haven't authorized any real threats, yet."

"But the note—"

"I don't believe you've ever seen me write anything, Professor, so how could you possibly recognize my handwriting?"

"I d—well, it wasn't hand written, but the message—"

"Was undoubtedly unnerving, I understand. And while I have written some frightening and unpleasant correspondences before, and even delivered a few myself in the past, I've never written or commissioned one to you. Or Miss Summers."

After a moment of conflicted silence, Charlie shook his head. "Why would I—"

"Believe me?" McDonald shrugged. "Because you're one of those sweet, innocent people that likes to believe the best of people. Innocent until proven guilty, and all."

Charlie flinched a little at the reference. That such an important ideal could be twisted around in such a way was more than a little sickening. But, considering the company McDonald worked for—dubbed 'Hell Incorporated by Lorne and Buffy—there had to be some degree of truth in the reference.

"Although, if it'd make you feel better, I'd be more than happy to sing for our host?" the lawyer offered with a clearly amused grin.

Gunn spoke before Charlie could, "Why would that—?"

And was promptly cut off by the lawyer. "Because Mr. Deathwok, although different from most of his clan in his interests, still has the same innate mystical senses that allows him to read us. Particularly when we sing for him. Our emotions, auras—as a result of our history—and to some extent our future, are visible to him. Good seers of his sort can even seek out the answers to specific questions. And Mr. Krevlornswath Deathwok is very good."

"Wait," Devon was frowning as they turned towards him, and he shook his head. "All these, uh, demons, know he can do this and they still come here and—"

Everyone in the group winced as the squeaky-voiced, scale-skinned demon on stage singing some kind of opera hit a note that probably wasn't really in the song.

"Why?" Devon finished incredulously.

McDonald shrugged. "Why does anyone do Karaoke? It's entertainment. Those of us that are really good get to show off and everyone else can get drunk and fool around. Those who want Mr. Deathwok's advice get it. Many of those that don't do too." He took a long sip of his drink, shaking his head rapidly as though to clear t, before raising an eyebrow at Charlie again. "So? Shall I sing?"

Charlie stared at him for several long seconds, not able to think of where the lawyer might be going with this, but then nodded slowly. He supposed getting Lorne to do a reading of the man might be helpful, even if he didn't know why the man was willing to have it done in the first place. He slowly nodded his head.

"Great." McDonald nodded, before raising an eyebrow at Lorne. "My guitar—"

"Is in the closet back stage, right where you left it," the host nodded to him, his red eyes following the lawyer as the man made his way to the stage. Watching as the sea of demons that generally looked down their noses at humans when they were in a good mood, respectfully made way for a high-ranking employee of Wolfram & Hart. Then he turned his gaze to Charlie. "So other than the threat, what do you want me to look for here?"

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High School Halls, Sunnydale, California – Friday, October 24, 1997

Buffy shook her head as she made her way through the school's hallways, biting back the urge to swear heatedly.

Who'd have thought that an empath—even an only just newly empowered one—would have such a hard time talking to two of her best friends about feelings?

But so far she hadn't been able to get word one out of Willow or Xander. Somehow both had managed to evade talking about anything substantial in the few instances that both of them were alone with her in the library, while Giles had been on the phone in his office. Then Oz had shown up, only a few minutes before Cordy'd breezed in.

So here she was, storming through the hallway about an hour after school had ended. Supposedly she was heading over to the hotel Post was staying in. Giles had said that Faith had already volunteered to walk the woman over, but Buffy wasn't overly fond of the idea of leaving her sister Slayer alone with the ex-Watcher. No matter how clean the Englishwoman had supposedly come with them, Buffy still didn't trust her.

Still she really hadn't needed to leave yet. Faith wouldn't be going over to the hotel for at least half an hour, but Buffy hadn't wanted to stick around in the library with Giles frantically scrounging for even the slightest clue on where the glove might be, while Xander and Willow kept glancing at each other while their significant others weren't looking.

Buffy stopped abruptly as a wave of concern hit her from slightly behind her, and was already turning when a familiar voice met her ears.

"Miss Summers?"

The Slayer blinked in surprise, then smiled warmly as she met the school guidance councilor's gaze. "Mr. Platt. Hi." She tilted her head to the side slightly as she looked him over, raising an eyebrow. "I, uh, I didn't know you were coming—uh, welcome back!"

"Honestly I wasn't sure myself until just a few days ago." Platt shook his head slowly. "I used up most of my vacation time visiting my sister's family in San Diego. Spent a lot of time just thinking in between playing with my nieces."

Buffy nodded slowly, half her attention pulled in by all of the conflicted emotions she could feel behind Platt's primary emotion, which seemed to be concern. Concern for her, maybe right now. But just concern in general too. "And?"

Platt smiled slightly, shaking his head again. "And I remembered all the kids here that needed me. That I can help. Figured that comin' face to face with the kinds of stuff that a lot of them want to talk about isn't a reason to run out on them. I always assumed some of the scary monsters they talked about were just, I don't know, fantastical facsimiles for the real problems in their lives, or something like that."

The Slayer nodded again, "Most people don't want to believe the monsters are real. Even when they've seen 'em." She cocked her head to the side a little more. "Most people run away when they do see what really goes on. Then they pretend it never happened or leave town."

"Yeah, well. I grew up in the Bronx. Spent a lotta times dodging gangs and all that sorta human crap." Platt sighed, "When I read about all the gangs on PCP stuff around here, I was expecting to see those sorts of problems here in school."

"But you haven't seen any gang members yet."

"No. No, I haven't. Just all the kids that are afraid of them but even more afraid of admitting it. Took a heck of a lot of effort to get any of 'em to talk at all. You were actually easier than most, even though you barely said anything substantial when we did talk."

"Yeah," Buffy shook her head. "Well, I got used to dealing with Sunnydale's monsters a while ago. It's kind of my job."

"But you're...you're just a girl." Platt was frowning as he shook his head again. "You haven't even finished high school yet."

"Yeah. But most people can't handle what I deal with almost every night." Buffy shook her head suddenly, frowning as she glanced outside. "If you're gonna stick around and help people, that's great. But you should be real careful about it. Don't draw too much attention to yourself. And please don't stay late again." She shook her head in response to the clear confusion she could feel her words stirring up. "This school is about the worst place you could be after dark."

Platt stared at her for a long moment, then shook his head yet again. "You and your friends are here a lot after hours. Almost every time I've stayed late the lights in the library were still on when I left. I've driven by here not long before midnight a few times and seen 'em on."

"We can't do too much research during school hours. And most of the monsters don't come out while the sun's still up, so we do most of our work at night."

The counselor nodded slowly. "I suppose that's when most of these gangs come out, too?"

"Yeah, you could say that." Buffy frowned at him. "Don't get any ideas about them, though. They're all lost causes."

"But—"

"They're not human. And they kill humans." The Slayer shook her head again. "Mr. Platt. A few weeks ago you saw me jump out your window to go after two real-life monsters. That's not something most people could do. And definitely not something you could do."

"Oh I know. I know. But—"

"You can't talk to any of them, either. Can't get them to talk their problems out or anything like that. They might find you amusing enough to listen to for a few minutes. This isn't like those super-hero-cartoons where the villains kidnap innocent people and the heroes rescue them but no one gets hurt. Once they've grown bored with you, if they were even willing to hear what you had to say in the first place, they'll just kill you. You come face to face with any of them and you're dead. With maybe a few minutes left if they want to toy with you." Buffy stared at the older man for several long seconds before shaking her head again. "Just do me a favor, okay? Please don't do anything stupid. If you want to stick around and help some of the kids that have to live here, great. But don't try to deal with the monsters. That's my job. Please let me do it."

Platt stared at her again for several long, long seconds, before he nodded slowly. She could sense he wasn't all that happy about it, but he wasn't all that surprised either.

"Why the long face?"

Buffy blinked at him.

"When you were storming by here before, you looked like you had something on your mind. Obviously it wasn't anything to do with me, since you weren't expecting to see me again, but maybe it's something I could help with?"

"I..." Buffy sighed and shook her head again. "I don't think so. Not really." As his concern towards her seemed to get a little more intense, she shook her head yet again. "It doesn't have anything to do with the, uh, monsters. I mean, we do have a monster problem to take care of this week, that's kind of the norm, but it's not—I'm not really worried about that."

"I don't suppose it has anything to do with your being in the hospital for several days early last week?" When she blinked at him again, Platt elaborated. "I think you'd be surprised how many of my students look up to you. Care about you." He shook his head. "I think they know about everything that you do for them, or know enough to be grateful to you for it, even if they won't talk about it."

Buffy looked down for a moment, blinking rapidly to suppress the surprised tears that wanted to well up at this revelation. She swallowed, and drew in a deep breath before looking up again. "Thank you, but no. It's not that, either... I'm just trying to keep some of my best friends from doing something stupid, and I'm not sure how to do it."

Now Platt blinked, clearly surprised, but then he smiled warmly. "Well, that's a bit more normal than I'd honestly come to expect from you."

"Typical teen angst?" Buffy laughed slightly as he shook his head. "Yeah, even I see a bit of that."

Platt nodded, "Have you tried talking to them about your concerns?"

The Slayer sighed, "My sis—my foster-sister, she pointed it out to me last night." She shook her head, deliberately not thinking about how Faith fit into all this. Though she would have to worry more about her sister Slayer's education soon, if the Council didn't send someone who was actually equipped to help out. "I've been trying to talk to them about it all day, but we don't have that much time to talk in class, I think they're avoiding talking about the issue when I try to bring it up, not that I'm sure on how to do that, and I can't talk about it when their, uh, when some of my other friends are there." She blinked as she finished. "And now I'm kinda channeling Willow..."

Mr. Platt laughed, then shook his head, still smiling. "Well, if you can't talk to them about it while your other friends are around, you might want to set up a way to talk to them when those friends aren't there."

"Yeah. But how?"

"Tell them you needed to talk to the two of them. Name a time and an at least somewhat private place." The counselor shook his head. "If nothing else, it's a start, right?"

"I guess. But—"

"When they're there, you called the meeting so you'll be calling the shots. Tell them of your concerns and then listen to what they have to say." Platt shook his head, "It's not rocket scientist, and you're a very smart girl, Miss Summers. You'll do fine."

Buffy looked down again for a moment, smiling slightly as she hoped she wasn't blushing at yet more unexpected praise. Finally she looked up again. "Thanks." She glanced at the clock she could see over his shoulder and winced, "I've gotta go soon, are you—?"

"Sunset's not till after six, at least. But I just came in to tidy up a bit and get these notes," he nodded to the notebooks he was holding. "I have to review them before my meetings tomorrow."

Buffy nodded, reassured, but blinked again as what he said registered. "You keep notes on us?" she asked, frowning slightly.

Platt laughed. "Of course I do. It'd be impossible to keep track of every one's problems and help them if I didn't. I talk to between two and four dozen people each week on a semi-regular schedule. A lot of them have the normal concerns about grades and college, but there are other problems, too. Obviously. But while someone like you or poor Debbie is memorable enough to stick with me, I don't want to forget the quiet ones that I have to drag little answers out of either."

"That makes sense, I guess," Buffy agreed, nodding slightly. But she kept frowning as something else occurred to her. "Snyder doesn't get—"

"Patient confidentiality. Mr. Snyder doesn't get more then the barest answers from me about anyone, if that."

"Like whether he can kick me out of school for being unstable?"

"Yes. Something like that." Platt agreed, and for some reason that made him grin. "But I don't think you'll have to worry about that much longer."

Buffy blinked, then raised an eyebrow. "About Snyder kicking me out the first chance he gets? Or tormenting me at every available opportunity? ...That's kind of the norm since he got here."

"Yes, but a lot of the faculty I've spoken to today seem to be under the impression that he won't be around much longer."

Buffy's eyes widened, "He's getting canned? Xander'll be thrilled!" She finished with a wide grin, then shook her head. "Actually, forget Xander. I'm thrilled!"

Platt laughed again, "I thought you might be. Don't go spreading any rumors yet, I'm not sure it's finalized. But it sounds like the Superintendent has been trying to replace Snyder anyway, and the man he sent to monitor Snyder is actually more qualified then he is, and apparently open to the idea after spending some time here."

Buffy blinked again. "The guy that's dating Miss Glenn?"

That made Platt blinked. "I hadn't heard about that. Though it explains why he might be more willing to stick around." He shook his head. "Still, it makes me think there might actually be hope for this school."

"Yeah." Buffy nodded in agreement, looking down for a moment. She bit her lip, then shook her head again and looked up. "You know, you don't have to think about all the crazy stuff going on in this town to help the kids that are living here. You can suppress, too. It's OK if you want to."

Platt stared at her again for another long moment, then shook his head. "It might be OK to want to, Miss Summers. But I don't think it's OK for me to do so."

"But—"

"Even though I don't know much about what's going on, I know enough to try and help, I think. Enough to know that Sunnydale High School probably needs competent counselors more than any other school in the country... I can't say I want to know that much more about what's going on." He grinned a little, "Though I might appreciate some tips on how I might stay safe, how my students can stay safe. But I'll still always be willing to listen, alright?"

Buffy blinked again, "What—"

Platt reached into one of his inner coat pockets and withdrew a little card. "I had these made before coming back. My office number and hours are on there. My mobile and house phones are too. You can call me any time you want to talk, OK? You might need an appointment during my work hours, but I'll always try to accommodate you as best I can."

Buffy looked down, a little surprised at just how relieved the card she was holding in her hand made her feel. She could call Charlie any time to talk about anything. Or talk to Giles about the supernatural stuff. Or her mom about the drama of being a teenager. But talking to Platt had really made her feel better not too long ago. She hadn't openly said anything, really, but talking to someone who knew nothing about Angel and had no real connection to her had been a lot more helpful then she'd expected it to be. She shook her head a little as she slipped the card into one of her coat pockets before looking up again. "Thanks."

"No, Miss Summers. Thank you... For saving my life, and probably many others." Platt shook his head. "Sunnydale has a horrifically high death rate for such a small town, but it's dropped considerably in recent years. And I'm pretty sure you've had something to do with that."

The Slayer nodded slowly. "I guess I have." She winced again after glancing over his shoulder at the clock again. "I've gotta go... I'll try and drop off some safety tips for you soon, OK?"

"OK. Thanks."

"Your welcome," she replied, smiling slightly as she turned and started hurrying down the hallway at a fast walk that was still a lot more relaxed then before.

It almost seemed like Charlie had started some kind of 'thanking her for the life-savage thing'. Cause a lot more people had done it since then, compared to her first few years as the Slayer.

She already knew the basic tips she'd be writing up for Platt.

A lot of obvious ones like the not going out after dark. Especially on foot. Wearing a silver cross what generally a good idea. Staying at home, indoors, after sundown was a very good idea. If you had to go out, don't go alone and cars are good things. Stopping for strangers, or even acquaintances you haven't seen in a while, isn't.

The kind of things a lot of Sunnydale residents kind of subconsciously knew to do anyway. But hopefully they'd keep her new friend and his students even safer.

3 8 1 1 8 1 2 9 5 0 1 9 0 0 0 1 6 1 5 9 1 4 2 0 0 0 0 1 5 6 0 0 0 2 2 9 5 2 3

Eppes' House, Pasadena, California – Friday, October 24, 1997

Charlie glanced at his phone, then took a long sip of his steaming herbal tea, letting it wash soothingly down his throat even as he knew the tea couldn't stand a chance against the worries that plagued his mind. Worries that, hopefully, weren't troubling Annie.

She had more than enough on her plate.

And she'd been thinking of Angel. And Angelus. Again.

Several times this week, actually. Though the worst 'episode,' he supposed he could call it, was on Tuesday. Apparently the ex-Watcher/witch that had come to warn them about the glove had made some kind of derogatory remark about the ensouled-vampire, and of course Annie wasn't going to allow that.

She'd told him about that without even being asked. She'd known that he would have felt her intense emotions at the time, and had obviously felt an explanation was due when they'd spoken later that day.

He hadn't asked her about the other times she'd thought about him. Or even asked Sineya about the little wisps of sadness that still occasionally drifted over their bond. He didn't need to ask to know what that was about. He just knew.

Personally, he wasn't entirely sure just what he felt towards the ensouled vampire. But with his own ties to the Slayer that had loved—and probably always would, to some extent, love—the dark-creature-turned-hero, he couldn't think of them as one and the same. The vampire and the human-soul were separate in his mind. Even more so than Annie, herself, was able to see them.

While Annie certainly separated them in their actions and didn't blame Angel for his demon's deeds, still, when faced with the vampire himself, she couldn't help but see the face of her first love.

Of course, the empathetic abilities that had been born from their bond, and Sineya's constant presence in their lives, certainly might make a difference in any future confrontations between them. For Angelus did not love. It was a fairly well established fact that a soul was needed for that.

And there would be a future confrontation of some sort.

He didn't know why he was so sure of it. But according to Dr. Giles, the dimension that Angel had been banished to would be horrendous for him, but as one of the undead Angel would not die of old age. He could come back. Perhaps not with his mind fully intact, but back nonetheless.

And for some reason Charlie was sure that this would happen.

Ever since Lorne's reading of Wolfram & Hart's ruthless lawyer.

Who, surprisingly, had in fact that nothing to do with the whole Slayer Fest fiasco. Lorne had been sure of that. But just as sure that the lawyers of Hell Incorporated were planning something. Something that the helpful demon couldn't quite see, but both Lorne and Charlie had still sensed it.

Charlie had been a bit surprised to learn that his empathetic abilities were a bit like Lorne's, in that a singing individual really was easier to read. So perhaps the notion of 'pouring your heart out' into a song had some basis in empathetic fact.

But he'd been seized by this certainty then, too. That Angel/Angelus would be back. And so had Sineya.

Now, the connection he'd made to Angel may've been more related to Annie still wanting him back then anything else. Wanting his forgiveness. Because they definitely influenced each other. And Annie had been thinking about the vampire recently.

But somehow Charlie was sure that that wasn't it. And so was Sineya.

Wolfram & Hart was planning something. Even as they 'wooed' him, or tried to. And somehow Angel/Angelus was involved.

Charlie glanced at his phone yet again as he finished those contemplations. He'd glanced at that phone many, many times already this evening.

Wondering all the while: What was he going to tell Annie?

"What are you still doing up?"

Charlie started slightly, wincing as some of the hot liquid in his cup splashed over the edge and onto his hand. He then set the mug down on a coaster before turning around to look at his father, who was coming carefully down the stairs.

Alan Eppes was stepping lightly and avoiding the steps that creaked, because his wife was very light sleeper. The older man raised an eyebrow at his youngest son as he reached the bottom, shaking his head slightly in disapproval. "It's almost midnight and you're drinking tea?" their was a trace of disapproval in his voice, too, despite how softly he spoke as he entered the living room.

Charlie rolled his eye, before shaking his head. "It's the herbal stuff that mom likes. There's no caffeine in it."

"I don't know," Alan shook his head. "It wakes your mother up awful quickly. There has to be something like caffeine in it."

That made the genius chuckle warmly. "That's just mom. She's a morning-person, remember?"

"Yes, yes," Alan agreed as he sat down across from his son. "That's not the sort of thing I'd be likely to forget is it? 'Specially since she was always a bit disappointed that neither of you boys took after her on that trait." He shook his head again after glancing at the clock, "Though with the hours you kids keep, it really doesn't surprise me that you need at least one good cup of Java to get you goin' in the morning at something resembling a reasonable hour."

Charlie nodded slowly. He remembered reacting to an off-handed comment his mother had made about it when he was younger. She hadn't even said that she'd wanted them to be morning-people, just jokingly bemoaned her lot in life, being the only morning-person in her family. He'd tried to pretend he was a morning-person by forcing it. But that hadn't worked. Then he'd made himself get up before everyone else and drink lots of juice—since he hadn't been allowed coffee or tea as a child—so that he was wide awake by the time his mother got up. But his family put a stop to that rather quickly, as it meant he was just sugar high and hyperactive for a few hours, until the sugar rush ended and he collapsed in the middle of the day in desperate need of a nap. In the end Don had actually figured out why he'd been doing it and then their mom had a long talk with him about it.

"I don't see any math books out."

Charlie blinked again, looking up to meet his father's concerned gaze. "What?"

"Are you working on something?"

The genius shook his head again. "No. Just thinking."

"About?" When Charlie didn't immediately reply, Alan glanced around again and his eyes fell on the cell phone sitting next to the coaster Charlie's set his tea down on. "Calling someone?" He raised an eyebrow, smiling slightly when the genius blinked at him. "Annie or your brother?"

Charlie blinked again, "What?"

Alan shook his head. "Those are the only two people you'd really want to call at this hour. And you just saw your brother a few days ago. He was fine. So you must be worried about Annie?"

"A little bit, I guess," Charlie nodded slowly. "She's been having a hard time lately."

"Trouble catching up in school?" There was a clear note of worry from the Eppes' family patriarch at that thought. The older man had become just as fond of the small blonde as his wife had. "I thought she wasn't hospitalized that long? And that her friends helped—"

"They did. They did help her." He paused for a moment, before sighing as he went on. "And I don't think she's having any problems academically right now. With the Superintendant's assistant watching over the school all the time the principal can't harass her and the teachers are all nice to her now, too."

"Harass—? Surely he wasn't that—"

"He tried to expel her at every chance he got before Mr. Walters was sent to rein him in."

"That's what he was officially sent there for?" Alan asked, slight skepticism and a bit of outrage peeking through the clear concern still hovering around the tired man. He usually rose around six on weekdays to be at work around seven-thirty. Normally he was in bed between nine and ten. And almost never up at midnight. He wouldn't be working tomorrow, since it was Saturday, so he'd sleep in a bit, but normally he was so tired on Friday nights after the whole week of work that he crashed early. And he certainly wasn't up and about at midnight or near to.

Charlie shrugged, "He was probably supposed to be evaluating Snyder's job performance, or something like that." Then he grinned. "But apparently he's willing to stay down there, so the Superintendent's firing Snyder and making Walters the principal."

Alan blinked, definite surprise now ringing over his concern. "He can do that? Doesn't Mr. Snyder have some sort of contract, or..."

"No, apparently not. For some reason the State's always had a hard time getting educators down to that school. And no one's willing to tie themselves down to a contract there."

Yet another example that the 'normal' people of Sunnydale weren't totally oblivious to the dangers that lurked around their homes.

"Hmm, that's strange. It seemed like such a nice little town when we were there. Specially since it still had a lot of the amenities you'd expect from a small city with the population still too low to be considered that. And the contracts are usually to protect them more than anything else, right?"

"Yeah. But that's just another one of Sunnydale's quirks, I guess."

"I guess so." Alan paused in pensive thought for several moments before raising an eyebrow at his son again. "I suppose you could call her. She seemed to be a night owl like you. She'd probably be partying at that club—Bronze something, wasn't it?—since it's a Friday."

Charlie nodded. "Yeah, she's probably still up."

Mainly because she would have only just started patrolling some time in the last hour, and was usually up until two or three AM for that. But the excuse of Friday being teen-party night worked too.

But he really didn't want to interrupt her and Faith while they were on patrol. Especially since he wasn't even sure on what he wanted to talk to her about.

"You gonna call her?" his father asked gently.

Charlie shook his head. "No. We're supposed to talk some time tomorrow morning." Then he sighed. "And I'm not sure on what I want to say, anyway."

"What are you so worried about?"

Charlie let his father's warm, affectionate concern wash over his empathetic senses, letting out a small sigh of relief despite the fact that it did nothing to disperse or organize his own rather chaotic worries. Then he shrugged again. "I don't know." It was kind of hard to talk about his problems when they were so tied up in the supernatural world that his parents knew nothing about. But there were still some things he could talk to them about. "I mean, Snyder's not going to be a problem much longer. Dr. Williamson said Mr. Walter's is officially taking over on Monday. And Annie really seems to be doing pretty well with school."

"She's studying for the SATs and all, right?"

"Yeah," Charlie nodded again. "Her friends meet in the library a lot. And she's been studying in her spare time."

"...Is that all you're worried about?"

The mathematician shook his head. "No. I think Annie's a bit depressed, too."

"Why d—"

"She's been thinking a lot about Angel. Her, um, ex."

"Oh yes, she mentioned him a few times, didn't she? Angel. Strange name for a boy."

That made Charlie laugh and he shook his head at the amused grin his father sent him. "I'm not sure I'd mention that around Annie."

"No, I suppose she has the market cornered on somewhat strange names." Alan Eppes shook his head. "I almost asked her mother why she picked it while we were down there, but the two times I tried to bring it up your mother glared at me."

"Why?"

"I was just curious, but your mother seemed to think asking would be tactless."

"It is tactless."

Both Eppes men started slightly, before turning their attention to the stairway, where the Eppes' matriarch was making her way down, a clear smile stretched across her face.

"Mom..." Charlie blinked at her, more than a little surprised. True, his back had been to the stairs and his attention split between his father and his own thoughts, but he'd gotten used to empathetically knowing when people were approaching him. Even people who were somehow shielded against empathetic reading still had a clear presence that he could feel coming.

So why hadn't he sensed her coming?

The only thing he could think of was that that specific part of his new abilities were tied somehow to the Slayer. To Sineya. Who probably didn't consider his mother to be even a remote threat, and therefore hadn't felt the need to alert him to her approach.

"I'm sorry, dear, did we wake you?"

Margaret Eppes smiled slightly, shaking her head as she came up alongside her son's chair. "No," she replied, while resting a gentle palm on her son's forehead for a second, before withdrawing it as she stepped around him and took a seat on the couch. "I couldn't hear you upstairs. I'm not sure what woke me." Then she raised an eyebrow at her son. "What's wrong?"

"Noth—"

"He's worried about Annie," Alan spoke over his son's feeble protest.

"Annie?" Margaret blinked, the same warm, affectionate concern her husband was gently radiating rising off her, too. "You still miss her, don't you?"

Charlie shrugged.

"Of course he does," Alan shook his head. "With how close you two grew over the summer, I was honestly surprised you didn't try to push her into staying in LA. Or trying to get us to rent a condo in Sunnydale, or something like that."

"You two were very close," Margaret agreed, smiling warmly as she added. "And probably always will be, I don't doubt."

Charlie blinked at her again in slight surprise. "Friends grow apart. Especially when they don't see each other." He wasn't expecting that with Annie, not with the bond that still seemed to be growing between them, but he was more than a little surprised that his mother sensed that, too.

"Yes, some do. But I don't think you two will."

"Me neither," Alan nodded in agreement, before continuing curiously. "Has she started looking at colleges, yet?"

Charlie shrugged again. "A little. She's not sure she wants to leave Sunnydale, though."

That surprised both his parents, though they didn't show it nearly as much as he felt it.

"Really?" his father shook his head. "She seems like such a big city girl, I'd think she'd jump at the chance to go to school here in LA. Or in another city."

Charlie shrugged again, saying nothing. It wasn't like he could tell them that she felt duty-bound to the Hellmouth and that she wouldn't be leaving unless Faith was definitely up to handling it on her own. Which she wasn't, at least not yet. Still, if she did end up leaving for school, he knew LA was about as far as she'd be willing to go. "I've been studying a lot of the school's around her, trying to find one that'd be a good fit for her."

His mother raised an eyebrow, smiling slightly. "You don't want her to go to Cal-Sci?"

Charlie shook his head, but his father spoke before he could reply.

"Of course not. He couldn't really start dating her if she was one of his students."

"Th-That's not, um..." Charlie felt his cheeks warm even as he blinked at his parents in surprise, watching his mother lightly hit his father's shoulder.

"Alan."

"What?" the elder Eppes protested innocently. "It's true!"

And it was. Though that wasn't why he'd discounted Cal-Sci for Annie. Subconsciously, he knew—particularly with Sineya currently snickering in the back of his mind—that he may very well have considered that. But Cal-Sci was really a school for the Sciences, while he was pretty sure Annie'd be more comfortable with a school focused on the Arts.

But maybe not. He was still comparing programs, information on classes and teachers, activities and a wide array of other statistics needed to find the best school for his best friend. Cal-Sci might be on the list, he really didn't know yet.

"I, uh, Annie, actually, said she was thinking of majoring in psychology." Charlie offered in response to his mother's initial question. "Cal-Sci has an introductory class, of course, since most major's require it, but not the actual major."

"That makes sense," Margaret replied, smiling slightly as she nodded, before gently continuing, "Is that all you're worried about? Is Annie having trouble w—"

"She's doing fine academically," Alan smoothly brought his wife up to speed. "She's just a bit busy and stressed. And she's apparently still thinking about her ex."

"Oh, yes. Angel, right?"

Charlie nodded slowly, trying not to frown at the confusion that seemed to generate from his mother.

"Did Annie tell you what actually happened with him, Charlie? All Joyce would tell me is that he was too old for her and that it was a very messy break-up."

Charlie deliberately pushed the worry he felt about his mother talking to Joyce Summers about Angel/Angelus aside. Annie's mother had known, after all, that only Charlie knew about the supernatural. He shook his head. "She doesn't like to talk about him that much." And she honestly didn't, though she had talked to him quite a bit more then that statement implied. He was pretty sure she'd talked to him more about Angel then anyone else.

Because none of her other friends seemed to understand anything about Angel. Xander jealously refused to acknowledged that the vampire was capable of feeling, completely ignoring the facts that the vampire had his human soul and that Annie loved him. Willow seemed to appreciate how deep Annie's feelings for the vampire had been, but was rather focused on the idea that Annie should move on and get past them. Oz understood, though he didn't say much about it. Cordelia'd apparently had a crush on the vampire and been completely terrified of him at the same time. And Angelus had killed the woman Giles loved and tortured the Watcher himself, so it wasn't surprising that the Englishman hadn't moved too far past that emotionally. In fact, it'd impressed him that the man had been willing to speak kindly of Angel at all.

Still, none of them seemed to appreciate the fact that Angel was more like Annie, more like a Slayer, than any of her other friends. Not only because he could physically handle the fighting, but because he had no real choice. He didn't have the choice that the humans did. He'd had even less of a choice than Buffy and Faith did, because he was always stuck as a creature of the night. He couldn't live like a human. Couldn't walk in sunlight. And had to drink blood. Had to put up with the demon in his head, taunting him. But he still chose to fight.

And Buffy Summers had known that Angel had chosen to fight for her. Yes, he'd wanted to atone for his past sins. For the evil deeds the demon had done with his body, but he'd also wanted to reclaim his humanity. For Buffy. Because he loved her.

And she'd had to send him to hell to save the world.

Charlie shook his head again, frowning slightly as he saw both his parents eyes were still on him. He blinked at both of them. "Don't you guys have to work in the morning?"

His parents blinks were practically in synch.

"Tomorrow's Saturday, Charlie," Alan reminded his son with a small smile. "I'm afraid you're stuck with us hanging around for the next two days."

"Oh," Charlie laughed. "Yeah. Sorry, forgot."

"Actually," his mother cut in with a small smile. "We'd been talking about going into see the shelter you and Annie helped Lily start up. We're both free this weekend, so we could go on either day."

"Oh, um—"

"You have one of your 'math for dummies' classes there tomorrow afternoon, right?" his father cut in, giving a fond shake of his head as he continued. "I love that name, by the way."

Charlie grimaced, "It's not—"

"It may sound insulting to you, Charlie," his mother cut in this time, smiling slightly. "But Lily says it makes your class more approachable for people that aren't that comfortable with math. She said you've had a full house for every one of your classes?"

The mathematician nodded slightly, "Well, yes, but isn't it a little insul—"

"I think everyone understands it's a joke." His mother reassured him. "And if it helps get everyone in the door, all the better, right?"

"I guess," Charlie sighed.

"Doesn't hurt that it's funny. What?" Alan spread his hands when his youngest and his wife looked at him. "It is."

Charlie slowly let himself be pulled into his parents teasing conversation, relaxing a bit as the worries that were plaguing him fell to the back of his mind. For the moment, he'd let thoughts of Lindsey McDonald, Gwendolyn Post, and everything else that was wrong in Annie's world cool down. Just like his tea, which he didn't feel the urge to drink while cocooned in the warm concern and affection his parents surrounded him with.

He'd have to face it all, again, in the morning. But for now, he'd let it rest.

End of Chapter 10: Frienemies – Part I.

AN: FINALLY! It took me

forever to finish this chapter! And it was particularly annoying, since it was really just the last two scenes that I had trouble with. _
Anyway, sorry for the wait. Hopefully Part II doesn't take as long. I don't think it will, since most of the action comes out then, but I guess we'll have to wait and see.

NOTES FROM CHAPTER:
(1) An interregnum is "a period of discontinuity of a government/organization... [Like] the period of time between the reign of one monarch and the next." (Latin = "inter" + "rgnum" or "between" + "reign").
There were actually two interregna that Giles was referring to when he mentioned the "English Interregnum" as an excuse for why the Council wasn't more diligent in the 1600s. The first was 1649-1660, after the regicide of Charles I to the restoration of Charles II, when Oliver Cromwell and the Protectorate were in charge of England. The second was considerably shorter, following the deposition of James II on December 23, 1688 in the Glorious Revolution, until "the installation of William III and Mary II as joint sovereigns on February 13, 1689 pursuant to the Declaration of Right." (URL: .org/wiki/Interregnum)
This is relevant because Darla was Sired in 1609, but wouldn't kill Liam O'Connor and Sire Angelus until 1753. If the Council had killed her before that, theoretically, Angel wouldn't have come into being. And, also theoretically, the political turmoil in England during the interregna and all the historical drama in between could very well have threatened the Council.

(2) According to Wikipedia (URL: .org/wiki/Richard_Riley), Richard Riley was the U.S. Secretary of Education under President Bill Clinton, and he held the post from 1993-2001, so he would have been the Secretary in the timeframe A Call Away is set in. Other than what's offered on Wikipedia, I know nothing about the man and don't mean to be insulting towards him at all here. I just threw his name in to add some historical context to the timeline and show just how high up the CA Superintendent tried to go to get some help with Sunnydale, only to have the 'supernatural syndrome' and possibly someone high up in the government —*cough*Initiative*cough*— shut him down. Something I've no trouble imagining at all, and it fit into the story well, so... *shrugs* But, again, I meant no disrespect to Mr. Riley himself. Though with the Initiative context in mind as I was looking up the man's name, I was a little amused when I saw his last name. Then adding Sunnydale's not-so-lovable Mayor to the same thought process didn't help. -_-*

(3) I thought I should mention here that Charlie is NOT A Cal-Sci graduate in M&M. Mostly because it wasn't something I'd worked into the storyline. Here, he got both his bachelors and his doctorate at Princeton. And he's starting as a Professor before his 20th birthday. Perhaps a bit illogical, but Charlie's special. And no ones complained about this already, so I assume it's not too much of a stretch.
What about England and the time he's supposed to spend there with Susan Berry? He's twenty-nine going on thirty at the start of NUMB3RS and nineteen right now. So I have ten years to fit something of that sort in. Though, honestly, a relationship with Susan Berry isn't likely.

(4) I made a technical error when I had Charlie use Google for research in 1996. Since it didn't exist then. I did appreciate being told as much, especially since everyone was so nice about it, but decided to leave it anyway, writers license. But, as a result, I wanted to check when I threw e-bay in, just to be sure I could. And I was very happy to learn that "the world's largest online marketplace…was born over Labor Day weekend in 1995." Its "initial public offering" was in 1998, which I believe means that's when the company started selling stock and the like, but Pierre Omidyar's auction website did exist in 1996. (URL: .)

(5) The Ultimate Fighting Championship (or UFC) is a U.S.-based mixed-martial arts (MMA) organization. "Estimated in 2008 to be worth $1 billion while controlling 90% of the mixed martial arts industry, it is the largest mixed martial arts promotion in the world…" It's owned and operated by Zuffa, LLC, from its headquarters in Las Vegas, Nevada. "The UFC focuses on the heavier weight classes in MMA... [it] began as a single-event tournament to the find the world's best fighters, irrespective of their style (including boxing, kickboxing, wrestling, karate, and Brazilian Jiu Jitsu, among many others). Although there were a number of rules, promoters marketed fighting in the UFC as no holds barred, and contests were often violent and brutal. Early UFC fights were less sport than spectacle, which led to accusations of brutality and "human cock fighting" by Senator John McCain and others. Political pressures eventually led the UFC into the underground as pay-per-view providers nixed UFC programming, nearly extinguishing the UFC's public viability."
In response to the intense political pressure, "the UFC reformed itself, slowly embracing stricter rules, becoming sanctioned by the state athletic commissions, and marketing itself as a legitimate sporting event. Dropping the no holds barred label; and carrying the banner of mixed martial arts, the UFC has emerged from its political isolation to become more socially acceptable, regaining its position in pay-per-view television... UFC programming can now be seen...in the United States and Canada, as well as 34 other countries worldwide." (URL: .org/wiki/UFC)
In other words, Keenan really knows how to fight. Since he's been fighting in the UFC events before the reforms that occurred around 2000. Honestly I don't know that much about this event, but when I was looking for possible backgrounds for some of the Watch members, my cousin recommended trying to fit an older member into this, so Keenan was born. Yes, most of the other members of Gunn's gang definitely know how to handle vampires. Especially since I've changed his age around a bit, making him a little older than he was supposed to be when Angel met him, which means he'd been fighting them for a while before he met Charlie and joined the Watch. Nonetheless, this was just an interesting note to add into Keenan's background, which also made Lindsey's decision to completely disregard him kind of amusing.

(6) The Peanut Butter Thing is a dessert served at the restaurant Not Your Average Joe's. Since it's been on the menu forever, obviously people like it. I don't particularly dislike it, though I'd be much more likely to order some kind of chocolaty-dessert. Nonetheless, its inclusion in Lorne's tirade really wasn't meant to offend anyone. It just seemed to fit. And I like the idea of Lorne going to different, public restaurants to try stuff like that. He could probably get away with it, just saying he was an actor in costume, etc. I don't think Not Your Average Joe's has made it to the West coast yet, but maybe Lorne's travelled a bit. *shrugs*

(7) Azucar = sugar in Spanish. It just sounded better. And I don't think it's a stretch to imagine that Lorne would know Spanish. Don't ask me where the whole meringue analogy came from. I made lemon meringue pie a few days ago and this just seemed to fit in with Lorne's food obsessive nicknames. I really can't think of anything else to explain it.

(8) Lorne's full name is Krevlornswath of the Deathwok Clan, so Deathwok could be considered his surname. And Lindsey McDonald would know it. (URL: .org/wiki/Lorne_(Angel)).

(9) A No Regrets is ½ oz Gold Tequila and ½ oz Bailey's Irish Cream. I honestly couldn't think of a drink that Lindsey might favor, so I started looking through for drinks with fitting names, and I liked this one. And the name certainly fits, doesn't it?

Bye for now!
Jess S

NEXT: Chapter 11: Frienemies – Part II.