Okay, this time the slight delay in posting was due to me working on the update for "Season 9" instead--which has been posted, by the way. This chapter is extra long, though, so hopefully that will make up for it. Enjoy!

Xander strolled into the Bronze, but was disappointed to find neither Buffy, Willow, nor Cordelia inside. Even Oz was apparently elsewhere—though, considering what he and Willow were doing behind the guitarist's back, it was probably best that he didn't spend more time with him than he had to. He headed for the pool table and began to play alone in a resigned sort of way. He hadn't even finished the first game, however, when he was joined by Faith.

"What's up?" she asked.

Xander shrugged. "Nothing. Already found the Glove, and since Buffy's not here, I'm sure she's getting a fistful of Lagos about now." He thought for a moment. "It's probably a bad sign that I'm bored at a club, isn't it?"

"Hey, I'm bored too," said Faith. Her expression became slightly resentful. "It'd have been nice if B. had told me she was going patrolling again." She snorted. "But I guess she wouldn't have had the chance, thanks to my all-day training session with Mrs. Post."

"Is she really as anti-fun as Buffy says?" asked Xander.

"Yep. I've gotta give her points for sticking out the training, though," said Faith with a wicked smirk. She'd drawn a great deal of amusement from running her tightly wound new Watcher ragged. And, hey, training had been the lady's idea, hadn't it?

"Faith," came an urgent British voice from behind them. They turned to find Mrs. Post, who looked absurdly out-of-place, standing there in her carefully pressed skirt and blouse, surrounded by energetic teenagers. In spite of this ridiculous juxtaposition, her expression was so urgent that neither Xander nor Faith laughed. "You have to come with me at once." Her body was angled in such a way as to exclude Xander from the conversation, but she was still talking loudly enough for him to hear. "We have to stop Buffy from getting to the Glove."

"What are you talking about?" Xander interjected before Faith could voice her own confusion. "I found the Glove last night." Mrs. Post turned to look at him in mingled surprise and irritation.

"Yeah, I thought we were stopping Lagos," said Faith.

"Buffy has been corrupted by Lagos. She was careless, and now he has her in his power. She knows where the Glove is, and if she gets it, she'll take it to him, and then we won't be able to stop him." Faith and Xander stared at her, thunderstruck. Faith was the first to regain the power of speech.

"But Buffy—how do we get her out of Lagos's power?" she asked. Xander continued to gape, uncomprehending.

"We can't, Faith," said Mrs. Post, putting a sympathetic hand on Faith's shoulder. "I'm sorry."

"But if I kill Lagos—," Faith began desperately. This couldn't be happening! She and Buffy had patrolled together less than twenty-four hours ago! And she'd fought Lagos herself! If she hadn't been so careless—if she'd only killed him when she had the chance…then this could never have happened. But there had to be a way to fix it!

"It's too late for that," said Mrs. Post. "The Buffy you know is gone. The thing that took her place already attacked Mr. Giles. Now, quickly, we haven't a great deal of time." Unable to think of any way around this, Faith followed her Watcher from the club.

Xander continued to stand by the pool table, staring at the place where Mrs. Post had been. He didn't believe it. He couldn't believe it. What did Mrs. Post know, anyway? Buffy couldn't be…and what about Giles? He had to get to the school.

[o]

"Um," said Willow as she nervously paced back and forth in front of the bench on which Buffy sat, "not to downplay my own slaying abilities, which in some circles are considered formidable, but shouldn't Faith be here?"

Buffy shrugged. "I tried calling, but no one was home. Look, if you're feeling any demon-o-phobia, please, splitting is totally an option. You're not the one whose slaying abilities are required to prove that Giles is Watcher Number One around here."

"That's true," said Willow, still pacing.

"Ugh! It's not fair!" Buffy burst out, throwing her arms up in frustration. "This lady's been the Watcher of an actual Slayer for all of two days, and she thinks she can just pick away at the guy who actually knows, from experience, what he's doing! I mean, I do my job and I haven't died yet—well, not permanently, anyway—so you'd think she'd tell him he's doing a bang-up job training me and ask him for advice!"

"Is she really that bad?" asked Willow, who hadn't actually met Mrs. Post in person, but had been hearing Buffy rant about her almost nonstop all day and couldn't help thinking that she must be blowing things out of proportion.

"Maybe not," Buffy conceded reluctantly. "It's just, Giles has been there for me so much since the dreams started—not that he wasn't before—, but he's more than just my Watcher, you know? I can tell him anything, like I can with you and Xander. Maybe I should have tried that instead of running away. I don't know what I'd do without Giles." Her expression hardened. "Which is why anyone who messes with him is gonna have a very angry Buffy to deal with." She glowered at a nearby headstone as if it too had been slighting Giles.

"It must be really nice to share those burdens, huh?" said Willow, "I mean, 'cause keeping secrets is a lot of work." She froze. "One could hypothetically imagine," she added quickly, but Buffy, who was still scowling at the tombstone, hadn't noticed the near slip-up anyway.

Willow couldn't take it anymore. The guilty bubble in her stomach was growing every day, making her feel almost physically ill, and if Buffy could confide deep, dark secrets not only to Giles, but to her and Xander as well, then she could surely tell Buffy her own in return. Rigid with anxiety, she turned to face her best friend. "Okay," she said. "There's something I have to tell you."

"What?" asked Buffy, looking up at Willow, trying to shake off her moody thoughts about Mrs. Post.

"Okay," said Willow again, swallowing hard, trying to reassure herself. "This will make me feel better, right? You know, I always considered myself a good person. Floss, do my homework, never cheat. But lately—and please don't judge me on this, but I want you to be the first to know that…that—there's a demon behind you."

Buffy turned, then kicked to spin herself around the bench, and launched herself at Lagos, who had evidently decided that the perfect time to attempt to raid the Von Hauptman family crypt would be in the middle of Willow's moment of truth. Willow watched—worried, tense, and unsure of what to do with herself—as Buffy fought the tall, armor-clad demon. But even though it appeared that Lagos had a monopoly on the upper hand, the tables quickly turned when Buffy seized his axe, and, seconds later, his severed head tumbled onto the grass, where it was soon joined by the body.

"Yes!" cried Willow, half relieved, half triumphant.

Buffy walked smugly back to join her, idly swinging the axe. "Sorry about that," she said. "So, what were you saying?"

Willow faltered. "Oh, I…," she began, but whatever nerve she'd had before was gone. "I opened my SAT test booklet five minutes early," she invented lamely. Buffy raised her eyebrows. "Just doesn't seem important now, does it?"

"Your secret's safe with me," said Buffy, amused. She looked back at the head and body of Lagos. "Come on," she said, shouldering the axe, "let's go bring Giles some happiness."

[o]

Xander reached the library at last, only for things to instantly go from bad to worse. Giles lay barely conscious on the floor of his office, the side of his head covered in blood. Xander didn't want to believe what Mrs. Post had said, but it seemed like the only explanation for what had happened. He postponed having to deal with the idea that one of his best friends had been irreversibly corrupted by a demon by calling an ambulance for Giles.

The paramedics arrived a few minutes later, and just after they put Giles on the gurney, Buffy and Willow entered the library too, looking cheerful. Their smiles died almost instantly, however, when they registered the scene before them. Xander, who had jumped backward in alarm upon seeing Buffy, watched with increasing confusion as she dropped the axe she'd been holding and ran to Giles's side, looking terrified. Something definitely did not add up.

"Giles," said Buffy, her voice high and cracked and her vision blurring with tears. "What happened?" she asked the nearest paramedic, but his curt reply only increased her fear. They started to wheel him away, but Giles suddenly surfaced from his delirium, focusing on Buffy's face with what seemed to be a great amount of difficulty.

"Buffy," he said weakly, "you must…destroy the glove." The paramedics started moving again. "Use…Living…Flame," he said before he was borne away through the swinging doors. Buffy rounded on Xander.

"What happened?" she asked.

"Buffy," he said, "you're okay! You're you!"

"What are you talking about?" she tried to ask, but Xander interrupted her by throwing his arms tightly around her. She was too surprised to react, and when she looked at Willow, the redhead seemed just as astonished as she felt.

"Mrs. Post said you'd been corrupted by Lagos," said Xander, his voice weak with relief.

"But Buffy just killed Lagos," said Willow, frowning. "We were coming to tell Giles about it."

Xander released Buffy, who took a step back from him. "Then why would Mrs. Post say that? She and Faith went to Giles's place to get the Glove, and Faith's all set to attack Buffy if she tries to—if she," he trailed off, his eyes widening. "Oh, my God."

Buffy and Willow had realized it at the same moment he had. "How much of a head-start do they have?" asked Buffy, whose hands were balled into fists.

"Fifteen minutes," said Xander, the color draining from his face.

"Giles said something about Living Flame. You two go through his research, see if you can find out how to destroy the Glove," said Buffy, now in full Slayer mode.

Xander and Willow nodded mutely, and Buffy turned, grabbed the axe from the floor, and left the library.

[o]

Mrs. Post smiled to herself as she watched Faith break open the door to Mr. Giles's apartment. Despite a few minor snags along the way, everything was going according to plan. "Good work," she said, "you wait in the courtyard in case Buffy comes, and I'll look for the Glove." Faith nodded and did as she was told.

It took about five minutes for Buffy to arrive, carrying an axe. "Faith!" she said loudly.

"I won't let you get the Glove," said Faith, already in a fighting stance.

"No!" said Buffy, running closer, dropping the axe, and holding up her hands, palms out imploringly, "this isn't what you think!"

Faith's answer was a fist to Buffy's jaw, followed by a series of kicks that knocked her to the ground. Buffy had no choice but to fight back, and the two Slayers were soon locked in brutal combat. This continued for several minutes, Buffy making multiple unsuccessful attempts to either enter the apartment or convince Faith that Mrs. Post was the real culprit. Ultimately, however, she didn't have to. Mrs. Post emerged from Giles's apartment with the Glove.

Both Slayers froze, mid-fight, to stare at her. Their eyes widened, though for different reasons, when she put the Glove on, a triumphant expression on her face. The metal hooks around the cuff of the Glove plunged, one by one, into the flesh of her forearm, and she looked up at them, a truly evil smile stretching her lips.

"Faith," she said mockingly, "A word of advice? You're an idiot." She raised her gloved right arm high into the air, and began to chant in Gaelic.

"Oh, no you don't," said Buffy. She rolled forward, caught up the abandoned axe, and hurled it through the air. The blade cleanly severed Mrs. Post's right arm an inch above the elbow, just as lightning crackled through the Glove. Mrs. Post let out a blood-curdling scream of agony as the Glove's power turned against her, and a second later, she had been consumed by the blinding electric energy.

Two seconds later, Xander and Willow came bounding into the courtyard, panting heavily and holding plastic bags full of colorful powder. They stared back and forth from Faith, who was looking furious at having been duped, to Buffy, who was glaring in cold satisfaction at the place where the woman who had hurt her Watcher had last been.

[o]

It required all of Wesley's self control to maintain a calm, dignified gait as he walked down to the dungeon. Once there, he opened the icebox, which now contained a fresh block of ice, and pulled out one of the containers from within, then fumbled one-handed with the ring of keys to find the ones that would open the outer door and then the door to Angelus's cell. Shortly thereafter, he stood before that second door, and paused to quickly go over his plan again in his mind. He would not ask all of his questions today. There would be plenty of time for that; no need to seem desperate by showing all of his cards at once. With a deep breath, he pulled the heavy door open at last.

[o]

As always, Angel had known since before the icebox door was opened that his food was on its way, so he did not react when Wesley opened the door. At least, not until he caught sight of, not a bag, but a glass bottle of blood in the young Watcher's hands. There had to be a whole quart in there, if not more. Wesley tossed it to him, and he caught it automatically.

"This is at least five times more than what that other guy, Smith, was giving me," he observed warily, making no move to drink the bottle's contents, even though his mouth was already watering at the prospect of the first decent sized meal since…well, since before Hell. Even the pre-tournament rations hadn't been anywhere near this good.

"It's the amount you would normally drink in a day, yes?" said Wesley.

"Yeah, but I thought the idea of the rations was to keep me weak and starved."

"It was an idea. But it just so happens that it was not mine."

Not taking his eyes off Wesley, Angel uncorked the bottle, lifted it to his nose, and sniffed it. "It's clean," he said, perplexed. Then his eyes widened. "You trust me," he realized, shocked.

"Well, I'm not sure I'd go directly to trust just yet," said Wesley, clearing his throat. Technically, what he was doing now would be better classified as bribery, but to admit that would quite defeat the purpose. "However, despite ample opportunity—and, knowing Oliver Smith, provocation—of late, you don't bite the hand that feeds you." He paused and closed his eyes, the corners of his mouth twitching slightly at the unintentional humor in his choice of words. "And, as a vampire, I imagine that's saying something. I may have yet to put a respectable amount of field experience under my belt, but I've read everything in the Council's archives on you, and I am rather curious to know why your behavior from the moment of your arrival here has been so out-of-character."

"I'm sure your honorable colleagues would beg to differ," said Angel, the faintest trace of a growl in his voice.

"Oh, quite. Which is why I don't plan to tell them about this." He indicated the bottle of blood in Angel's hands. "What Mr. Travers doesn't know will neither hurt him nor needlessly starve you."

Angel considered the closest thing he had to an ally in this place for a moment. "Thank you," he said, suddenly feeling overwhelmed. This was the first time someone had done something nice for him in a century, and he couldn't help feeling touched by it, but Wesley looked very taken aback by Angel's sincerity and manners.

"You're welcome," he said eventually, feeling suddenly that he couldn't do any more of this at the moment. "Now," he cleared his throat again, awkwardly and more loudly than before, "I, er, I expect that you'll be wanting a bit of privacy while you drink that."

"If that's alright with you," said Angel, almost chuckling at the young Englishman's antics.

"Yes, well," said Wesley, his voice trailing away feebly as he departed stiffly.

And thus concludes my alternate version of "Revelations". While I am proud of the way I reconstructed the plot around the absence of Angel, I'm more proud of the scene with Angel and Wesley. I love chipping away at what Wesley believes to be true about Angel. And I love that he's simultaneously rebelling against the Council's traditional method of dealing with captive vampires and attempting to play a mind game with Angel. It's sad that Wesley's still mostly doing this for selfish reasons, though, because Angel really needs a friend. And...that's my cue to stop babbling.