Author's Note: Two of the original five things in this chapter have been changed. "Thursdays" and "In Flight Conversation" have been changed to "Where To?" and "Family Issues". If you like the original two, or want to read them, they can be found on my website, which you can get to by clicking the homepage link in my profile.

Chapter 2: Jenny

1. Here Lies Jennifer

After what seemed like hours, Jenny finally broke through the earth, into the cool night air. She was annoyed, and being annoyed made her hungry. Who decided to bury her in Sunnyhell anyways? Couldn't they at least have had the courtesy to ship her body back to her family? Then, at least she wouldn't have had to dig herself out of six feet of wormy earth.

Jenny inspected her nails. Ruined. Natch.

It was probably the same schmuck who did such a half-assed job on her tombstone, she thought, glancing at it. No date of birth, no date of death, and…

"Jennifer?"

Her name was officially Janna. They could at least have used the anglicized form of Jenny. But she had never, ever gone by the name of Jennifer.

"That's it, someone's going to bleed. Honestly, 'Jennifer'… ugh…"

2. Where To?

"This is ridiculous." Jenny tossed aside the issue of Wired that she was reading, got to her feet, and began pacing across the the floor of the hotel room she was sharing with Joyce.

Joyce turned her attention away from the TV to watch her roomate with concern.

"I can't believe I let Rupert talk me into running away," Jenny went on.

"You can't really blame him for being worried," Joyce tried to sound soothing.

"Of course he can be worried. He's always worried. But... this isn't fair!"

"Maybe you should try to calm down."

"I am calm!" Jenny snapped.

"Look, if you don't relax you could induce labour."

"Well it wouldn't be my fault. I'm not the one who wanted to come here." Nonetheless, she flopped down into a chair. "I'm sick of this."

"We could order a movie," Joyce suggested.

"You know, after the thing with Angel ended, I thought, 'That's it! I'm in charge of my own life now!' But here I am again, other people deciding where I go and when." She paused. "I know it's not just me I have to worry about, but... I just thought it was over." She noticed Joyce watching her uncertainly. "Jeez, talk about emotional vomit. I didn't mean to spill all that on you."

"Hormonal overload will do that." Joyce smiled. "I've been there

Jenny smiled back, gratefully. The silence that followed wasn't quite awkward.

"It's hard," Joyce said finally, "Not knowing what they're doing."

"They'll be fine, they've done this before," Jenny said. "I just wish I could be there with them."

Joyce stared at the TV a moment longer before turning to Jenny again.

"I can't be in this room anymore. You want to go out somewhere?"

"Sure. Where to?"

3. Family Issues

Willow smiled as Jenny collapsed in the chair opposite her at the Espresso Pump, relief plain on her face.

"Sorry I'm late."

"'Sokay," Willow said, passing her the chai latte she'd ordered for her. "I imagine you had to stage some daring escape to make it here."

"Not really. I just had to tell Rupert how much I miss these get-togethers of ours."

"And he understood? That's sweet."

"Well, no," Jenny admitted. "Then he went on about how he's stuck at home with the baby all day, and wouldn't mind going out himself some time. At which point I asked him if he thinks I enjoy my mindless, soul-sucking job."

"Standard argument?"

"Version one-point-three." She sipped her coffee. "Then I told him that you'd promised to look after Anastasia on Friday evening, and he was all, 'be gone with you!'" Jenny was suddenly serious. "You will, won't you? I would've asked you first, but I was desperate."

Willow smiled reassuringly. "It's fine. I love hanging out with Ani. She's one cool baby."

"Thank you!" She exclaimed gratefully. "You don't know how much this means."

"You and Giles have a standard catalogue of fights. It's pretty clear you need some time off," the younger woman scooped some whipped cream off her mocha.

"I guess so..." Jenny took a thoughtful sip of her latte. "He's always so snippy by the time I get home. It's annoying, 'cause I know he likes being Mr. Mom, he just won't admit it because he's too British, or it's an affront to his masculinity, or something."

"Men," Willow scoffed.

"Mm hm, kinda makes you wonder why we bother."

"Actually..." the redhead fiddled with her spoon. "I don't."

Jenny blinked. "What?"

"Not anymore," Willow continued. "Not since... I-I haven't told anyone yet, but... well, you met Tara, right?"

"I think so... quiet girl, but she seemed pretty smart."

"Yeah."

"Hm," she nodded with approval. "Seems like your type."

"So, you're-you're okay with it?"

Jenny shrugged. "Of course."

"A-and I can still look after Ani?"

"Why couldn't you?" the older woman looked puzzled.

"I dunno, I guess... It's stupid."

"Willow..."

"I-I was kinda afraid that you wouldn't want a gay auntie Willow hanging around."

Jenny quirked an eyebrow. "You thought I'd be afraid you'd turn my daughter into a lesbian?"

"Eehyuh-huh."

"You're right. That is stupid." Willow looked abashed. Jenny reached across the table to place a reassuring hand on her arm. "You're like family now. I'd never want you not hanging around." Willow smiled. "And I'm sure the others feel the same way."

"Thanks."

Jenny smiled mischeviously. "Anyways, who else would I get to babysit Friday nights?"

4. Far From Heaven

Jenny tipped the cab driver, and turned to face the building she still thought of as home, not sure of what she would find inside, of how he would be so soon after…

It was difficult to gauge how he was feeling when they spoke on the phone. He sounded very… distant. He hadn't even argued when she said she and Ani were coming down and staying for the funeral.

Her hands too full to search for keys, Jenny knocked, shifting her sleeping daughter's weight to her hip as she did so. After what seemed like too long, he opened the door. He looked wretched: clothes wrinkled, messy hair, unshaven, eyes red. He had been drinking, she could tell. He looked absolutely heart broken, as if he had lost a child, or a Slayer.

Jenny was about to say something when her two-year-old daughter stirred and opened her dark eyes, squinting in the light spilling from the doorway. Upon seeing her father, she immediately reached out for him.

"Daddy!"

Giles took Anastasia from her mother's arms and hugged her tightly.

"We missed you," the girl said.

"I missed you too," Giles whispered to keep his voice from cracking.

"Daddy! I can't breathe!" Ani protested.

Giles immediately loosened his hold. "I'm sorry dear," he said, as if he could have done nothing worse than hug his daughter too tightly. He shifted her weight so he could look at her.

"Read to me?" she asked.

Giles was about to answer when Jenny broke in. "Daddy is too tired to read right now, honey," she said, taking back her daughter and going inside. "And it's time for you to go to sleep."

"I don't wanna go to sleep. I want Daddy to read to me."

"I know, but it's late." Jenny started up the stairs. "And don't you want to see your old room again?"

"It's too small, I like my new room more."

Anastasia's room was tiny, more of a walk-in closet than anything else. It still held her old crib and a stuffed animal or two. When they reached it, Jenny set her daughter on the floor and began to change her into her nightclothes.

"Why does Daddy smell funny?" Ani asked.

Jenny sighed at her daughter's inquisitiveness. "Because that's what happens when he's sad."

"He's sad 'cause of Buffy? 'Cause she died?"

"Yes, that's right," Jenny answered, somewhat preoccupied with getting a nightgown over Ani's head, trying not to get the buttons tangled in her curly hair.

"Did she know she'd make Daddy sad?"

Nightgown on, Jenny regarded her daughter seriously, and tried to answer her questions in as much an adult manner as possible. "Yes. Buffy loves – loved – your Daddy very much; as much as you do."

"Then why did she die?"

Jenny thought about how to answer. Should she explain the nature of death? How Buffy died? Should she try to shield her daughter? She knew that Ani was extraordinarily intelligent, but how much could she really understand about something like this?

"Mommy?"

"Because it was the only way to save the rest of us." She simplified.

The toddler thought this over. "But if she didn't, we would all be together in heaven, an' Daddy wouldn't be sad, an' we wouldn't hafta take the plane to see him."

Jenny smiled at her daughter. "But you still have so much living to do."She envelopedthe girlin a tight hug, lifted her off the ground and swung her around, and Ani squealed with delight before she was set down in her crib.

Ani smiled up at her mother. "I'm gonna be a Watcher when I grow up."

This was not the first time Jenny had heard this pronouncement, nor would it be the last. She smiled, somewhat sadly. "You think about what a good Watcher you'll be as you fall asleep, okay?" Ani nodded and lay down. "And remember that I love you."

"Love you too."

Jenny turned and started to leave when she heard her daughter, "Mommy?"

"Yes honey?"

"Buffy is in heaven, isn't she?"

Jenny didn't stop to consider her answer to this question, nor even to wonder how her daughter had developed such a biblical view of the afterlife. "Yes. She is."

She found Giles standing in the same spot where she had left him, at the foot of the stairs. He was leaning against the banister, staring into space. She touched his arm, and when he looked up at her, he seemed so very lost and alone. Jenny wrapped her arms around him. She wanted to tell him that everything would be alright, but she knew full well that it wouldn't be, so she said nothing. They stayed like that for a long time, Giles leaning into her, Jenny stroking the back of his head, thinking.

Part of her had known that this day would come eventually – Buffy would die in battle, and she would have to help Rupert cope with the loss, and from that point on he would be different; there would be a chasm in his life that neither she nor her daughter would be able to fill. She would have prepared for it, even planned what she would say and how she would act, if the part of her that knew what was coming had not been in constant argument with the part of her that insisted that Buffy would always be there, fighting the good fight.

It was the same voice that told her that she would always live in Sunnydale, gathering stories and experiences with which to astound her technopagan friends, proudly defying her family's demands that she follow Angel to Los Angeles, and having the Scoobies over for research and on holidays. That Ani would grow up there, aware of the danger but somehow immune to it, until it was time to go to England to start her Watcher training – because she would, of course, be a Watcher, just like her father, if something of an unconventional one. The same voice told her that their current living arrangements were only temporary, that the Seattle branch of the Magic Box, somewhat more tech-oriented than the original, was simply taking advantage of an opportunity for growth, and Jenny's cousin would be taking over soon, when she and Ani moved back to Sunnydale for good.

Jenny didn't bother to silence this voice. It wasn't the one she was worried about. There was a third part of her that she put all her effort into repressing. Right now it was angry at Buffy for dying, and for having such a strong hold on Rupert in the first place. He was in love with her, the father of her child, yet his world still revolved around Buffy, even in death. This was the voice that Jenny tried to shut out as much as possible. It was bad enough to think that way in the first place, but to think ill of the dead…

The dead. Buffy was dead.

Every time the fact occurred to her over the past day, it was a shock, as it was now, when she pulled back from Giles.

"You could probably use some sleep too, y'know."

"I-I'd rather not. Don't much feel like it." His voice was soft and distant.

"Well, sit down. I'll make some tea."

He made a grateful expression that might have been considered a smile, and went to the couch.

On her way to the kitchen, Jenny noticed a bottle of scotch sitting on Giles' desk; she put it away without commenting on it. She had hoped that, knowing his daughter was coming, he wouldn't have started drinking. Then again, they usually drove down, so maybe he didn't expect to see them so soon. And if he wasn't drinking, he would have just worked himself into a giant ball of repression, so as not to worry them, or for some other ridiculous, British reason.

Jenny took the tea out to where Giles was sitting on the couch and sat next to him. He didn't drink, just gazed into the depths of his mug.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Jenny ventured.

He took a sip of tea and set the mug down on the table, opened his mouth as if to say something, then stopped, and stared at his hands instead. "Maybe later." He answered with an apologetic glance.

Right. Repression it is, then.

Jenny moved towards him. She placed a hand on the back of his neck and drew him towards her, so that his head rested on her shoulder. He wrapped his arms around her waist and drew a long, shuddering breath. They stayed that way until morning.

5. The Good Thing About The Apocalypse

Bread. Mustard. Meat. Lettuce. Tomato. Mayo. Bread.

Repeat.

There were twenty potentials, two Slayers, a kid sister, a twice-ex-vengeance demon, a hostage-turned-cook who currently wasn't cooking, a carpenter, a witch, and a Watcher to feed. Twenty-eight. And herself. Twenty-nine. And Anastasia, but all she would eat lately was peanut butter and jelly.

Jenny had lost count of the sandwiches. She turned to Anya, who was slicing tomatoes. "How many are we at now?"

"Fourteen." She did not sound happy. Jenny would have asked what was wrong, but Anya supplied an answer first. "No other apocalypse required this much manual labour. Not to mention the servitude. Why can't these girls make their own lunch?"

"Can you imagine what this kitchen would look like after twenty hungry teenage girls have been through it?"

Anya shrugged dismissively. "It's not my kitchen." A pensive look crossed her face. "Actually, that would be a good way of getting back at Buffy for putting us on sandwich detail."

"Anya. Always with the vengeance," Xander remarked as he passed by on his way to the fridge.

The knife Anya was using must have been getting dull, because she was struggling to slice the latest tomato. She stabbed it violently, and tomato juice spurted out, all over her white shirt. "Ugh! I hate this apocalypse!"

Jenny's mouth twitched as she tried not to laugh.

Xander's voice sounded from the depths of the fridge. "Anya, since when has there ever been anything to like about the end of the world?"

Anya considered this seriously for a moment before answering, "Well, pre-apocalypse sex is highly exhilarating."

Xander turned to Anya with a mixture of exasperation and horror. "Anya! Other people in the room!" He gestured towards Jenny.

"What? I'm not just talking about our sex, although it was very good. I'm sure everyone else has good pre-apocalypse sex as well." Anya turned towards Jenny for confirmation.

Taken aback, Jenny said nothing, but found herself looking back on all those "last times": half an hour stolen away from last-minute preparations or research, in Rupert's office at the school or at the store, against a wall or on top of a desk. Fear and desperation driving the need to feel alive, feel connected. And then all the times afterwards, having collapsed into bed after the initial we-saved-the-world high, waking up together, content and a little giddy, spending the next few hours oblivious to everything but each other.

"Am I right?" Anya asked, snapping Jenny out of her reverie.

"I have to agree with Anya on this one," she answered. "Although, personally, I prefer the post-apocalypse kind."

Anya turned to a slightly green Xander with a victorious smile. "There, see?"