The hallway floor was slippery with ash and ooze, and demon corpses from the attacks still presented obstacles, but Buffy negotiated it successfully until Faith got her feet under her. By the time they reached the library, she wasn't so much supporting the dark Slayer as simply walking with someone's arm over her shoulder. Giles had the good sense to follow and remain quiet. They pushed through the library doors to hear Oz say, "Where's Willow?" A moment of stunned silence enveloped the group, then all eyes turned to the office door. Giles held out a hand, but it was unnecessary; no one rushed toward the door. The librarian walked softly to the office, twisted the doorknob, and looked in.
Giles turned, and the look in his eyes caused Buffy's heart to drop. He stepped inside the office as her breath caught in her throat. She heard his voice, low and soothing, then the Watcher reappeared in the doorway, his arms wrapped protectively around Willow as he guided her into the room.
"Her hair," Cordelia blurted.
A lock of hair, the width of two fingers and bone white, curved around the left side of Willow's face. Her eyes, wide and blank, looked at nothing, or, rather, looked at something, but whatever she saw was beyond the library. She neither resisted Giles nor made any move of her own volition. She simply went with him as he guided her around the counter toward the table. He caught Buffy's eye in passing.
She turned to Faith. "Are you okay? I'll be right back. Just wait here." She patted the other girl's arm, then hurried to the office door and looked in.
He looked like a bag of sticks, or a scarecrow removed from its pole and dropped carelessly in the field. He was the color of frost on a windowpane, except for his hands… his hands were black at the fingertips, shading to a sickly lavender midway up the forearm. He was small and skinny and very, very dead. Buffy backed away until her spine hit the counter, then turned and wheeled around it. Her head spun; she felt faintly sick.
"Buffy, what's going on?"
The Slayer turned and laid eyes on the person she least expected and most needed to see. She ran toward her mother, who reached out to hold her close. Buffy's mind flashed back… how long ago now? Nine months? Was that when her mother had stepped into the ER? Was that–?
"Buffy." Joyce held her daughter's shoulders and searched her face. "There are two burned cars in front of the school, there are… dead bodies? In the hall?" She looked past her daughter and saw Willow sitting at the table, still as the grave, Oz beside her, his hand covering her hand, Giles on one knee beside her. "What…?"
Matti Hollis limped past the embracing mother and daughter, grimacing and blinking as she hobbled to the table and carefully lowered herself into a chair. She held up a hand as Cordelia leaned toward her. "Please. I'm pretty shaky here." The surviving Knight turned to Giles. "So… is this what victory looks like?"
Giles looked at her. "Yes," he said in a sad voice, then turned back to Willow.
"Is Willow hurt?" Joyce asked.
"I don't know. I don't know anything, I just…" The Slayer's face crumpled like a used tissue. Joyce pulled her daughter close and stroked her hair, then her eyes fell on Faith standing there, face a crusted mask of dried blood, one sleeve of her yellow T-shirt dangling by threads, the front stained black in patches by who-knew-what, arms covered in cuts and scrapes. Joyce Summers hesitated for a heartbeat, then extended one arm toward the girl. Faith drew back, but Joyce stretched her arm to its full length and beckoned with her hand. Faith wavered, then, like a falling domino, toppled forward. Joyce's arm curled around the girl's back and she held them both as tight as possible.
"You shouldn't be here," Cordelia said, her voice scolding Matti in a tone that made Xander wince.
The Knight rolled her eyes toward the girl. "Child, I am full grown and seven-eighths dead. Do not fool with me, all right?" She turned back to Giles. "What's going on?"
"I'm not sure," Giles said, "but there is a dead boy in my office, and-"
"And enough damage to the school to qualify for FEMA relief," Matti said. Her face twisted in pain. "We've gotta be quick… the glamour is gone, anybody can see this place."
Giles looked toward the hall, his eyes panicked. "Is anyone…?"
"Not yet," Matti said. "Traffic seems pretty light tonight, but…" She raised her eyebrows at Giles. "The Knights will be here tomorrow, but you need to get these kids out of here, quick."
"I, I, How-" Giles stammered. "The body of a student is in the library office… " He glanced at Willow, who stared blankly at the tabletop. "I don't know…"
"Speed, Mr. Giles, speed." Matti heard Cordelia gasp and looked up at her. The girl pointed at the towel around the teacher's upper arm; it was stained crimson. "Ah… Okay, let me think." The Knight pressed her good hand to her forehead. "Okay, Joyce, can you get the ambulatory kids home?"
"What? Oh, yes, of course, I–"
"I can walk home." Oz said. "Probably use the time to process… all this."
"Why aren't your clothes ripped up?" Matti asked.
"Story for another day," he said. "I can walk."
Matti studied him, then offered one weak nod. "Okay."
"Wait," Cordelia said. "You said get all the ambulance… or something kids home? What's that mean?"
Oz's chin jerked up. "'Ambulatory', means able to walk."
"I'm able to walk," Cordelia said. "Why do I need Mrs. Summers to take me home?"
Matti sighed and shifted her weight, gasping a little. "Because we have a dead student, a… comatose or catatonic one, dead bodies in the hallway-"
"Not human," Xander observed.
Matti gave him a hairy eyeball. "You think that makes it simpler? Dead bodies, extensive damage to the school, two burned-out vehicles in front of a busted front door… we need a good story, and here's what it's gonna be. You-" she pointed at Giles "-are going to call an ambulance, and the police, who will find all this, plus one… mmmmhhhh… badly injured teacher, who will spin a story of students working on an extra-credit project on a Saturday when…. " She stopped and gasped for breath "...when vandals broke into the school. Said students and teacher heroically resisted the vandals, but, tragically, one student was killed and one was… injured." She stopped, sweat beading her upper lip.
"You think that'll work?" Xander asked.
"Doesn't have to work for long. The Knights will be here tomorrow, and they'll handle damage control." Matti gasped, her face contorted in pain.
"The phones have been cut," Giles said.
"Then find a payphone, got-dammit!" Matti's torso twisted toward her injured arm. The Watcher blinked and nodded.
"No," Cordelia said. "I'm not going to the house, I'm not spending the night there alone, I'm not, I can't, I'll stay here, I can't–"
"Cordelia can come with us." Joyce spoke over Buffy and Faith's heads. "She can spend the night at our house."
Buffy pushed away and looked at her mother. "Mom, I'm not so sure–"
Faith wiggled out of Joyce's embrace. "Wait, so, I'm staying-"
"No, Buffy, it'll be fine." Joyce looked at Faith, then at Cordelia. "It. Will. Be. Fine. Right?" she said in her best Mom Voice as she raised her eyebrows.
Faith blinked, and Buffy realized that the dark Slayer was practically out on her feet. "Uh, yeah, that's… good," Faith mumbled. Cordelia looked at Matti, read what she saw in the Knight's face, then looked at Joyce.
"Thank you, Mrs. Summers." She ducked her head.
"Then we should go," Joyce said. "Xander, do you-"
Xander shook his head. "No, you guys go on… I'll go with Oz, then I'll just… walk home myself."
"Everyone be careful," Giles cautioned. "It is after dark."
"Giles, I'm pretty sure there won't be any more excitement tonight," Buffy said.
Florestan stopped at the red light, the last one before he hit the highway and put Sunnydale behind him. He watched the light, trying to take deep, regular breaths and tapping the steering wheel with his thumb. The flat-six grumbled beneath him.
The knock on his window startled him. He turned, ready to accelerate madly if need be, then touched the button to lower the window. "What are you doing?" he asked.
Josie leaned over, resting her forearm on the window sill. "Well, I figured you'd be hightailing it, but… there's one question I have to ask."
"Don't you know all the answers already?"
Josie tapped herself on the chest with her free hand. "I personally do not. Anyway, I want to know… did you have the invenire ready to go?"
Florestan smiled bitterly. "I did. Blood of a friend, blood of an enemy, everything in place. All we needed was the Seal, then I could go ahead."
"So close and yet so far."
"Yes. Very philosophical." He craned his neck to look up through the windshield to the light.
"Oh, don't get in a hurry." She tapped a finger on the doorframe. "You could just stop all this… you know you can."
Florestan tilted his head back and grimaced as he stretched his neck. "Why do you always have to be such a Girl Scout?"
"Gotta try." Josie stepped back and raised a hand. "Don't want to keep you. Asta lumbago." The light turned green and the Porsche's tires smoked just a little as it shot away. Josie watched the taillights grow smaller, then waved and turned away.
"Chickenshit," she muttered as she walked into the darkness.
Three figures climbed out of the Jeep, moving stiffly and painfully, bone-weary now that the adrenaline was gone. Joyce unlocked the front door and ushered the girls inside. "Are you all right?"
"Yeah, mom. The world is safe, and now I need a shower and some sleep." Buffy raised an arm and groaned.
Joyce shook her head. "I'm sorry, it's just, you all…" She made a gesture that encompassed the girls from head to toe.
"Look like hammered shit," Faith said. "Sorry about the language."
Joyce shook her head. "Just, just come on, and…" She held up her hands. "Let me think. I'll go lay out some towels, and… I'm pretty sure Buffy has some old pajamas or something that will fit you, Faith, and Cordelia… I'm sorry, you may have to wear a pair of my pajamas." She made a face.
Cordelia swayed slightly. "I don't care, I really don't."
"All right." Joyce nodded. "I'll let you decide who uses which shower… Cordelia, you can have the spare room… Faith, you can have Buffy's bed… Honey, do you mind sleeping on the sofa?"
Buffy blinked, an action that took about fifteen seconds. "Mom, at this point, I don't care if you drag out the bed of nails hidden in the basement."
"Yes, you're right… just get yourselves something to drink, and wait right here." Joyce hurried away, and the girls heard footsteps on the stairs.
"Your mom really can't get out of hostess mode, can she?" Cordelia asked, her hair stiff with dried monster splatter.
Buffy felt a near-hysterical giggle rising up inside her, a bubble that came up through her chest. "Hey Mom, Cordelia and Faith helped stop the apocalypse… is it okay if they sleep over tonight?" The bubble burst and swelled into a laugh, a strangely echoed laugh, then she realized that Faith and Cordelia were laughing, too. They looked at each other and laughed until tears rolled down their cheeks.
"Damn, B," Faith finally said. "Save the world, and your mom's worried about PJs."
Buffy wiped her eyes with the heels of her hands. "Priorities, I guess."
"What... what do you think happened to Willow?" Cordelia asked.
Buffy shook her head. "I've got no idea, but… she's alive, and I'm… I'm…" She sat down abruptly on the floor. "I'm so tired."
Buffy came awake with a start. Her hands and feet were bound and her mouth was stuffed with something harsh and scratchy. She was blindfolded, the world a dark and terrifying place. She twisted mightily…
And landed on the living room floor with a thud. The impact cleared her head slightly, enough for her to realize that her 'binding' was the sheet that had become entangled in her limbs, and the 'blindfold' the pillow that had gotten skewed around over her head. The drool stain on the sofa's nubbly fabric was both embarrassing and the source of the abraded feeling on her lips.
The Slayer extricated herself from the bedclothes and wiped her forearm across her mouth, then looked up to see her mother leaning against the corner where the living room turned into the kitchen. "I thought I heard you."
Buffy looked around, feeling sludgy and slow. "The light's wrong."
"That's because it's three in the afternoon."
"What? Wait, no, that's not right. I haven't been asleep for…" She started to do the mental math.
"Over fourteen hours? Yes, you have."
Buffy blinked and used a finger to clean out the corner of one eye. "Faith? Cordelia?"
Joyce offered a small smile. "Oh, they're still asleep, too. Although I think I did hear each of them get up once to use the bathroom."
"Yeah, about that." The Slayer climbed to her feet. "I, uh, I'll be back in a minute."
"Well, that's better." Buffy wadded the sheets and pillow and dropped them on the sofa, then followed them herself.
"How are you feeling?" Joyce bent over and placed a hand on her daughter's forehead.
"Well, I don't have a fever. I basically feel like somebody beat me all over with a sock full of marbles."
"I want to be sure. Judging from the way it sounded, every one of you was fighting the battle again in your sleep."
"Really?" Buffy shook her head. "I don't remember anything."
"Doesn't matter." Joyce straightened up. "Are you hungry?"
A look of wonder passed over the Slayer's face. "Yeah, yeah, I am. Really hungry."
"Well, as luck would have it, I have lasagna warming in the oven. Come on." Joyce headed toward the kitchen.
"Wait, mom, what? Lasagna?"
Joyce's head popped around the corner. "Yes. I needed something to take my mind off of monsters and blood and… death. Cooking seemed best."
An anguished howl split the air from the second floor. Buffy shot up, senses on alert; Joyce visibly tensed. Running feet pounded down the steps, then Cordelia fetched up against the railing. The cheerleader wore a set of floral pajamas with a Peter Pan collar; she looked like she was playing dress-up as her own aunt.
"Whoa," Buffy said. "That's a real shiner." Indeed, the left side of Cordelia's face was a magnificent fan of purple-black from just beneath the eyebrow. The eye itself was barely open, but her right eye compensated. It was wild and borderline panicked. Joyce stepped forward.
"Cordelia, why don't you come with me? Come on. Just, just… yes, down here… we'll get some ice on that."
Cordelia stumbled down the remaining steps and went mutely into the kitchen. New footfalls drew Buffy's attention up as Faith staggered downstairs, her hair an absolute rat's-nest, a scabby patch at her hairline and a healing cut on her forehead (both courtesy of her last tango with Trick), the pajama pants she'd borrowed from Buffy askew on her hips. She stopped and scratched her stomach.
"Th' fuck?" she slurred.
"Cordelia saw her shadow and it had a black eye," Buffy said. "C'mon, Mom's got food."
"Behind that," Faith mumbled. Cordelia was at the table, slouched back in a chair, a dish towel full of ice held against her face. Faith stopped for a moment, then offered a thumb's-up. "Respect."
"This is such a disaster," Cordelia said, her lips moving very little. "Will this be gone by graduation?"
"Well, graduation's a little over two weeks away, so you should have plenty of time." Joyce motioned toward the table. "Everybody sit." Dishes were already on the table, and when Joyce pulled the lasagna out of the oven, everything else was forgotten.
"Mrs. S, that was awesome," Faith announced.
"Thank you," Joyce said. "Everybody get enough?"
"There's none left," Buffy pointed out, "so I'm guessing yes."
"All right," Joyce said. "I wanted you to eat before I mentioned this. Mr. Giles called earlier-"
"Mom, you didn't wake me– us," Buffy protested.
"I did not. There was nothing you could do." Joyce continued to speak while clearing the table. "Ms. Hollis and Willow are in the hospital. Ms. Hollis is having… wait… had surgery this morning and is, according to Mr. Giles, in good shape."
"What does that mean?" Cordelia kept the now-damp rag on her face, possibly as much to conceal her concern as to treat her black eye.
"I don't know, exactly, but he did say that the surgeon said the bone was nicked and there is probably some nerve damage."
Cordelia sucked in her breath and fell back in the chair.
"What about Willow?" Buffy could barely breathe.
Joyce stopped, plates piled in her hands. "Mr. Giles said there are no apparent physical injuries, so she's been admitted for observation. Her parents are there."
"What about…" Faith rubbed her face with her hands. "What about the story?"
"He didn't say anything, so I'm assuming it… was believable?" Joyce took the dishes to the sink.
"Upside of pretending years' worth of vampire shenanigans were always a gas leak." Buffy licked her lips. "Mom, I have to go to the hospital."
"So do I," Cordelia said.
"I assumed you'd say that. Buffy, why don't you get dressed…" A thought occurred to Joyce and she turned to the other girls. "As far as clothing, you…"
"I know where she hides the key," Cordelia said. "If you don't mind taking me by the house, I can get dressed and do my makeup there. No offense, Mrs. Summers, but you and I aren't the same palette or-" she looked discreetly at the pajamas she wore "-style."
"No offense taken," Joyce said, sharing a sly glance with Buffy. "I'll be glad to wait. Now, Faith-"
"I'll just hang out here," the dark Slayer mumbled. "All, uh, all my clothes are back in Vegas. Were back in Vegas."
Joyce frowned. "Well, how about this… We'll find something for you to wear, drop Buffy and Cordelia at the hospital, then you and I will go to the mall?" Faith mumbled something. Joyce nodded. "Sounds good."
The Jeep crawled along the street in front of Matti Hollis's house. Three faces were pressed to the vehicle's windows. "I don't think you need to worry about the key," Joyce said. Three black SUVs were parked in the driveway, the front door was open, and men and women in dark suits were going back and forth between the vehicles and the house.
"Those look like some sort of federal agents." Joyce's lips thinned as she pressed them tightly together.
"Go ahead, Mom, turn in." Buffy unbuckled her seat belt. Joyce looked at her daughter, then spun the wheel.
"Let's go, Cordy," Buffy said, climbing down from the passenger seat. "Mom, why don't you wait in the car?"
"What about me?" Faith asked.
Buffy looked at her for a moment, then let a slow smile grow. "Sure, the more the merrier." She swung around toward the house as the doors slammed behind her. As she approached the porch, a tall man whose graying hair and lined face pegged him as slightly past middle age detached himself from the group and trotted down the steps. He held up a hand in friendly warning.
"I'm sorry, ladies, but this area is off-limits."
"Really? Says who?" Buffy stuck her hands in the back pockets of her jeans.
He laughed, amused at her brashness. "Well, I'm Special Agent Lechler, and the FBI-"
Buffy shook her head. "You're not the FBI."
His smile grew even more pleasant. "Excuse me?"
"The FBI investigates kidnapping, terrorism, bank robberies, that sort of thing. None of those are happening here." Buffy offered her brightest grin.
Lechler paused for a moment. "Well, the FBI's jurisdiction extends quite a bit farther than that, so you'll-"
"We need to go in," Buffy said. "You see, my friend-" she jerked a thumb toward Cordelia "-lives here, and needs to get some of her stuff."
The smile faltered. "She- she lives here? No, I don't think so."
Buffy clapped her hands. "Oh, you don't know." She turned to the other two girls. "He doesn't know. Okay," she said, turning back, "my friend got that hall-of-fame black eye last night doing your job because you couldn't be bothered to get here on time. Now, she needs to get her makeup on and find some clean clothes, because the ones she wore last night, when she was helping save the world, are, obviously, trashed, and then, we need to go to the hospital, because the lady who lives here-" she pointed at the house "-is in there because she took a knife through the arm, and we need to go visit her." The Slayer looked at him expectantly.
"I don't know what you're talking about, miss. We're the-"
"Please," Cordelia snapped. "You're the Chevrolets da Crow."
"Not quite, Cordelia." Buffy raised her eyebrows. "I won't try the French accent. You guys are the Knights of the Cross, and I don't know if you're here to help, or to erase any trace of you being here, or whatever, and, really, I don't care… but my friend is going in and getting what she needs."
Lechler's smile was gone and now he examined Buffy more thoroughly. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"Just drop it already," Buffy said, holding out pleading hands. "You're busted like Hugh Grant." She shook her head. "Faith, you have anything to add?"
Faith shook her head slowly, eyes glimmering. "Not a damn thing."
Lechler licked his lips. "And who are you, exactly, miss?"
"Oh, I'm Buffy Summers… but you probably just call me the Slayer."
"You really are all-world with that shit." Faith leaned against the driver's side back door and looked at Cordelia. "I mean, you can still tell you got a wicked shiner, but it's not near as bad as it was."
"Thank you. Some of it's blending, but mostly it's doing full liner and shadow on the other eye and extending the wing to balance it."
"Yeah," Faith said. "Sure."
Cordelia stared straight ahead. "I could show you how to do it."
Faith bristled. "What's wrong with my eye makeup?"
"It's a little… strong." Cordelia offered the tiniest of shrugs.
"Ladies." Joyce looked in the rearview. "Don't make me pull over." Buffy covered her mouth with a hand to hide a snicker.
Faith offered up a sardonic smile and leaned back in the seat. "Tell you what, Chasey, when you give me a black eye, then you can show me how to do my makeup."
"Gee," Cordelia said drily, "I'll put that on my to-do list."
"Do you want me to pick you up?" Joyce asked.
Buffy leaned back in. "Let me call you, okay?"
Joyce nodded. "All right. If I don't hear from you, I'll see you at home." Buffy slammed the door, and she and Cordelia walked to the front entrance of Sunnydale General as Joyce pulled away, Faith in the back seat. The nice volunteer at the information desk smiled broadly.
"May I help you?"
"We need a couple of room numbers?" Buffy said. "Matti Hollis and Willow Rosenberg?"
The white-haired woman turned to the monitor on the desk. "We have a Mattison Hollis in 335."
"That's her," Cordelia said.
"And Willow Rosenberg is in 557. Are you family?"
Buffy shrugged. "Practically." They turned to go to the elevators.
"Oh, miss." The girls turned. The lady pointed at Cordelia. "I love your makeup. I used to wear mine like that in the '60s."
"Thank you." Cordelia walked to the elevators wearing a stunned smile. As they stepped into the car, Buffy looked up nonchalantly at the red floor numbers above the door. "Don't," Cordelia said. "Whatever witty remark you think you're going to make, just don't."
Buffy smirked. "Why would I add to perfection?"
The Slayer was much less cheerful when the bell dinged and the doors opened on the third floor. She walked down the hallway with Cordelia, the familiar hospital odor of disinfectant and sauerkraut lingering in the chilly air. The door to 335 was closed. Buffy stepped back and nodded to Cordelia, who stepped up and tapped on the door. When there was no sound, she pushed down the latch and swung the door inward.
Matti's bed was raised to about a forty-degree angle. Her head turned toward the sound of the opening door and a loopy smile covered her face. "Cordelia," she said, "and Buffy. Buffy and Cordelia, hey, how are you?"
"We're… okay," Cordelia said, stepping into the room. "How are you?"
"Me? Oh, I'm numb… and high. Really, really high… oh, and the numb part's not quite right." Her left hand pointed haphazardly at her right arm, swathed in gauze. "This thing hurts… it hurts a lot." The hand wandered away to point vaguely at Cordelia. "Did you know you have a black eye?"
Buffy leaned in behind Cordelia and whispered in her ear. "Why don't you stay here with Half Baked and I'll go see Willow?" Cordelia nodded and sat down in the visitor's chair. Buffy felt like a swinging pendulum when she stepped off the elevator: an hour ago she had faced off with the Knights of the Cross and felt like a boss, then she had giggled at her mom's stern warning to Faith and Cordelia, and now… now her heart was in her shoes as she looked at the wall placard to determine which way to go. The arrow pointed left, toward neurology, so she closed her eyes and took a deep breath, then turned.
"Buffy?" She stopped short in the hall and looked around. "Over here." She turned to her left and saw Xander, standing in the door of a waiting room. Oz was just behind him.
"What are you guys… When did you get here?"
"Not too long ago," Xander said. "I, uh, I just woke up a little while ago."
Oz held up a hand. "Likewise."
Buffy leaned back and looked at the room numbers. "But… isn't Willow farther down that way?"
Xander stuffed his hands in his pants pockets. "Her mom and dad are here and we… I'm not that good a liar."
Buffy exhaled. "So, they're just sitting there?"
"No, no." Xander held up a hand. "Giles is here."
"Giles?" Buffy tilted her head forward. "Giles is with them?"
"I think he's been here all night," Oz said.
"Yeah." Xander hunched his shoulders. "He looks like Wino Giles."
"I went with Bizarro Giles," Oz offered. "Seemed nicer."
"Okay," Buffy said. "I'm going. You coming with?"
Xander shook his head. "I'm not… No." Oz shook his head in the negative.
The Slayer huffed out a breath. "Well, if you get tired of sitting here, Cordelia's down in 335 with Ms. Hollis. Wish me luck." She walked away, stomach fluttering.
Buffy's steps slowed as she drew near the neurology unit; she wasn't sure how to handle this at all. A wall of frosted glass appeared on her left; it was a smaller waiting area. She could see silhouetted figures within the room, but the thought of facing Ira and Sheila Rosenberg was just too much of a lift; she hugged the right-hand wall and skirted past. Room 557 was three doors down, on the left. The door was closed, and the Slayer stood there flat-footed, unsure of what to do.
"Can I help you?"
Buffy jumped, then swallowed to give her heart time to climb down out of her throat. The speaker was a woman of medium height, dark hair worn short and slightly out of fashion (Buffy remembered the 'Hamill Camel' from her skating days), gold rectangles in each earlobe, and brown eyes that punched the Slayer right in the chest. She wore a white coat and carried a clipboard. Buffy gestured toward the door. "This is, uh, my friend's room… are you a doctor?"
The woman tapped the name tag pinned to her coat. "Dr. Charbonneau. You are?"
"A friend of Willow's." Buffy felt a prickle along the back of her neck.
"Buffy?"
The Slayer looked past the doctor to see Giles's head poking out of the door of the waiting room. Xander's epithet had been accurate: unshaven, shirt an avalanche of wrinkles, eyes bloodshot to a nice pinkish hue, her Watcher at that moment looked very much like a man who would enjoy a bottle of Thunderbird. He glanced over his shoulder, then came striding down the hallway.
"You two know each other?" Dr. Charbonneau asked, bringing her clipboard up.
"Yes," Giles said. "Buffy's also a student at the high school and a good friend of Willow's-"
"Giles, this might not be the time to be chatty." Buffy's eyes narrowed.
"What? I don't–"
Buffy held up a finger to the doctor. "Excuse us… just for a minute." She grabbed the librarian's sleeve and pulled him further along the hall, aware that the doctor was watching them.
"Buffy, what are you…?"
"Giles, tell me everything that's happened since we last saw each other."
"What? I, I went to a pay phone, as Ms. Hollis suggested, and notified-"
"Did you do it in your regular voice? The one that screams 'only English guy in town'?"
Giles's jaw tightened. "Do you think I'm an imbecile? I… I actually had Xander make the call. He, um, he insisted on… altering his voice."
"Oh, God," Buffy moaned. "Did he do Cletus? He did Cletus, didn't he? Never mind. Call's made, then… ambulance comes, right?"
"Yes, the ambulance and the police… federal investigators arrived very shortly thereafter."
"Wait, feds?" Buffy squinted one eye.
"Yes, yes, they showed identification to the local officers and pretty much took charge."
Buffy shook her head. "They aren't feds."
Giles looked completely flummoxed. "How… why are you…?"
"Nothing that's happened in the last two days is a federal crime, so unless Mulder and Scully got out of a van, they're not feds." She nodded to herself. "They're the Knights."
"What?" Giles said. "Excuse me?"
"The Knights. They're here," Buffy said. "We already met the Cigarette Smoking Man."
"The… the who?" Giles seemed to be falling further behind.
"Nothing," the Slayer said as she gave an abrupt nod. "Just stay behind me."
"I say…" Giles was already hurrying to catch up as Buffy quick-walked to the doctor.
"Okay, who are you?" the Slayer demanded.
"I'm Doctor Elizabeth Charbonneau, and you still haven't told me your name."
"I don't think I'm going to tell you my name until we're straight on your name… see, your tag says 'Charbonneau', but that's not a Sunnydale name tag. So… who are you?"
"No, the tag says 'Sunnydale General', see?" The doctor held out the tag, tenting the lapel of her coat.
"Yeah," Buffy said, "but it looks kinda generic, I mean, it's about a step-and-a-half up from making your own with a Dymo machine… So, who are you?" She snapped her fingers. "Better question… who do you work for? And did Lechler tell you to be on the lookout for me?"
The woman laughed and shook her head. "He said you were a firecracker."
"Firecracker?"
"His exact words," Charbonneau straightened her coat. "I am Elizabeth Charbonneau, and I am a fully board-certified neurologist, albeit one who has a… broader knowledge of how the brain works than many of my colleagues."
"So… what are you doing to Willow?" Buffy's hands balled up.
"Take it easy. We're not doing anything to her. She is legitimately in the hospital for observation. In fact, after you've visited with her, I'd like to ask you some questions."
"About what?"
Charbonneau gave the Slayer a wide-eyed, duckmouthed look. "She's not here with a concussion, all right? Don't play all junior Jessica Fletcher with me and then try to act dumb."
"I'm not acting," Buffy said. "I didn't see what happened."
Charbonneau looked at the Slayer, taking her measure, then nodded. "All right. Go ahead, I'll talk to your Watcher." She jerked her head toward Giles.
Buffy's eyes widened in alarm, then she shook her head. "Yeah, you guys know about… okay." She pushed open the door. Willow sat in a chair facing the window, dressed in a robe that Buffy knew Sheila thought was 'darling', but that Willow didn't wear herself. The Slayer bit her lip and crossed the room, hooking the visitor's chair and pulling it up beside her friend.
She took a moment to steady her voice. "Hey, Will." Buffy searched her friend's face, but found no clues. Willow did not appear to be in distress, or tired; if her eyes had been closed, she would have seemed to be in a deep, dreamless sleep. "Everything's okay now… Trick's dead, or as dead as he can get, and the Mayor is… gone… somewhere, somewhere… pretty sure he's not enjoying."
Willow remained unmoving, the chair pointed toward the window. She did not register the passersby on the sidewalk below, nor the cars humming by in the street. Buffy sniffled and wiped at her eye with one hand. "So, uh, last night, funny story, after everything was over, Cordelia and Faith ended up at my house. Nobody got killed, but Cordelia had to wear my mom's old pajamas…" The Slayer talked until she couldn't think of anything else to say, until her lips were sore and chapped, until her dry and scratchy throat demanded relief. Through the entire monologue, Willow did not blink or flinch or smile or frown; her hands lay in her lap where they had been placed and did not twitch or flutter. Buffy finally wound down, tears spilling over her cheeks. She reached up to touch her friend's face, and her fingers brushed the bone-white streak of hair. A half-dozen strands broke off and fell in Willow's lap. The Slayer reached over and tried to pick them up, but the brittle locks broke into smaller pieces. Knowing a metaphor when she saw one, Buffy got to her feet, then bent down and whispered in Willow's ear.
"I will come back every day until you're better." She leaned over and gently kissed Willow's cool, dry cheek. "You're my best friend, and you saved the world… and you saved me. I love you, Will."