For Angel, the weeks following the tournament passed in a haze of grief and loss. Confined again to his dungeon cell, the heavy manacles rubbing his wrists and ankles raw, his only means of telling time was by counting the number of times Oliver Smith came to his cell to give him his daily bag of blood. Apparently the improved rations had just been to prepare him and the others for the tournament, because now that it was over, they had him back on almost nothing. He felt his strength gradually ebb as hunger gnawed continuously at his insides. Smith had stopped punching and kicking him whenever he came, and Angel supposed that was because he was now too scared of him after watching him kill three other vampires to try anything. Despite the lack of abuse, however, his dreams of Buffy remained his only source of comfort, but even they were bittersweet now that he knew she was gone.

At first, he didn't know why they were bothering to keep him around. He'd figured out that his captors were Watchers, but what use could they possibly have for a vampire? The tournament was over; why not kill him? These questions were answered by a short middle-aged man who accompanied Smith one day not long after the tournament. After Smith tossed Angel his bag of blood, the other man had stepped into the cell and looked him over with a critical eye, nodded, and walked back out. Angel had heard his conversation with Smith after the door closed behind them and they walked back up the corridor.

"What do you reckon, Mr. Travers?" said Smith. "Is he what you had in mind?"

"Yes. I had my doubts before, but after his performance against Sophia and Erebus in particular, I am convinced that he is exactly what I had in mind. Yes, Oliver, Angelus will be perfect for the Cruciamentum."

Angel could only guess what that would be about. He knew the word effectively meant "torture of the mind". Though he was sure this Cruciamentum was hardly going to be fun, whatever it was, he was also sure that men such as Mr. Travers would never be able to come up with anything that could compare to what he'd already experienced.

[o]

Wesley paced impatiently around his small living room. Mr. Travers had kept him so busy with ordinary Council work ever since the tournament that he hadn't had much time to give more thought to the mystery surrounding Angelus. And what a mystery it had become! The century missing from the Council's records, his return from Hell, the ring, the concern for a human boy, and the look on his face before they'd taken him back to his cell—like that of a man who had just lost everything that ever mattered to him. What did it all mean? Wesley had gone through those records for what must have been the eighth time, but nothing whatsoever could account for any of these new factors.

As he rounded the edge of the coffee table for the fifth time, he smirked. Smith, along with Collins, would soon be replacing the members of Weatherby's special operations team who had been killed by Erebus. That meant he would be relinquishing his key to the dungeons to whoever was first to volunteer to assume the daily feeding and manacle-checking duties. It was the perfect opportunity.

[o]

Buffy sat up in bed and rubbed her face hard with her hands. The dreams were just as real as ever, but they had changed. The night after her SAT test, she had found dream-Angel much the worse for wear. His left arm had been caked in dried blood from a deep looking wound just below his shoulder and he'd been covered in nasty bruises. All of that, however, hadn't been as painful to see as the look on his face. He had just been staring at the wall opposite him, face blank and eyes full of anguish.

And he had been the same in every dream since. The wounds slowly healed, but still he sat in that corner, staring at the wall. The only times he seemed to know she was there were when he was asleep. The tension would leave him when her hand touched his face and he would say her name with such sadness and longing that it almost killed her not to be able to take him in her arms.

Buffy didn't know what to do anymore. Willow had joined Giles in the opinion that her dreams were just that: dreams. Xander had discovered the subject of their fruitless research a week ago, and was now giving Buffy so much crap about still caring about Angel that she was getting very close to snapping at him. And possibly giving him a black eye. Would it kill him to show some sympathy now and then? Even Cordelia was more sensitive than him! Something was very wrong with that picture.

In a way, Faith had been the most helpful of them all. She didn't know or care what was getting under Buffy's skin, but she was always eager to come along whenever Buffy wanted to take out her emotional distress on Sunnydale's ever abundant demon population. Sometimes it was nice not to have to explain things to anyone, and nobody was better at deflecting people she didn't want to deal with than Faith.

With a slight groan as she got out of bed to get ready for school, Buffy remembered about the unexpected addition to her, Faith, and Giles's patrol the night before. Faith had been helping her work out her issues; it was only fair that she help Faith deal with her new Watcher.

[o]

The scene in the library that afternoon was not a fun one. After spending five minutes in the presence of Gwendolyn Post, Buffy couldn't remember why she had ever thought of Giles—or her mother, for that matter—as being strict. She couldn't believe that the Watchers' Council would actually pick someone like that to be Faith's new Watcher. So far, Faith seemed too bewildered to object, but as Buffy watched her leave with Mrs. Post, she felt sure that wouldn't last long.

"Interesting lady," she said once the library door had closed behind them. Then, more brightly, "Can we kill her?"

"I think the Council might frown upon that," said Giles reluctantly. Buffy pouted. "Well," he went on, sounding more businesslike. "How would you feel about a spot of training?"

"Yes, please," said Buffy, "I'll just get my gym clothes."

[o]

When Buffy returned from the girls' locker room clad in Sunnydale crimson and gold, she found Giles bearing a slight resemblance to the Michelin Man with all the bulky padding he had strapped to his chest, hands, and head. It was only the memory of how Mrs. Post had belittled him that stopped her from laughing at the comical sight.

The training session was fairly routine; mostly a review of things Buffy already mastered. She was just working on a combo move when something occurred to her. "Giles," she began, punching him twice and then kneeing him in the chest, "do you think we should tell Mrs. Post about the dreams I've been having? You know, fresh brain to pick? Brain that acts like your library is the leftovers from somebody's garage sale?" Buffy scowled in indignation on Giles's behalf. She really didn't like that woman. But she was desperate enough for answers not to be picky about who she got them from. "If she's really got access to a bigger library, she might know something."

Giles reached up and bumped a thick glove against his temple, then looked at it oddly and put both hands to his sides. Compulsively cleaning one's glasses was a feat best accomplished when not wearing protective gear. "Erm, no, Buffy. I think it would be rather…unwise to tell Mrs. Post anything of the kind."

"Why?" she asked, frowning.

"Mrs. Post comes fresh from the Council, and you heard her say she would be reporting back to them on more than just Faith's performance."

"So?"

"Up until now, I have been the only one reporting to the Council on anything regarding you and the situation here. The Council is not an open-minded organization. In your interest, I have withheld…quite a lot of information from them for the past year and a half."

While waiting for him to elaborate, Buffy walked over to grab her towel from the table and wiped her sweaty face with it. Giles removed his pads, stalling for time, but eventually he was forced to continue. "They know nothing about your relationship with Angel. In fact, all they know is that he tried to awaken Acathla and that you sent him to Hell."

Buffy stared at him for a long moment, then looked away. "In my interest, huh? So, what would the Council have done if they'd known?"

"Well, er, best-case scenario? They would have sent their special operations team to hunt Angel, before putting you under much more careful observation."

"And the worst-case scenario?" asked Buffy, though she wasn't sure she wanted to know.

"Angel would have been killed either way, but they might have removed you from your mother's care and from school—possibly even taken you to England to be tried before their disciplinary committee."

"Tried? And they'd have killed him? But he had a soul!"

"They would only have seen him for what he was. For his past. They would have seen, pardon the expression, the Slayer in bed with one of the demons she was duty-bound to destroy. They are neither forgiving nor understanding, Buffy. I could never have done that to you."

"But even after Angel lost his soul—"

"It would have been no different. He may have…deserved their wrath then, but you did not, nor will you ever."

Buffy didn't know what to say. She couldn't believe the people who employed Giles would be so cruel, but she was deeply touched that he respected and cared for her enough to protect her from them. "Thank you," she said. She was surprised to hear her voice crack. Giles put a hand on her shoulder. "So, uh, no telling Mrs. Post."

"No. And we might do well to put a moratorium on researching your dreams. At least for the time being."

"Yeah, well, we weren't exactly getting anywhere with that anyway," said Buffy dully.

"I'm sorry my, er, garage sale leftovers and I haven't been much use to you," said Giles with a rather pained smile.

"I'm not gonna say I don't still want answers, but it's enough that you're trying. After…after what happened last spring…it's more than I could ever have asked you to do."

"And I plan to keep doing it—assuming we find a way to work around Mrs. Post." He cleared his throat. "Now then, this Lagos she mentioned…"

"Right," said Buffy. "Patrol."

"In the meantime, I'll see if I can't pin down the location of the Glove."

And thus begins the version of "Revelations" wherein Angel is stuck in a dungeon in London instead of being very sexy and shirtless while teaching Buffy tai chi. I'm just going to take a moment now to mourn the necessary loss of that scene from this version of events. *sigh* Oh well.