"Should you be doing that?" Emmy asked Xander as she watched him continue to sign a number of permit forms spread over the coffee table. From time to time Xander would compare his own signature with that of a legitimate city document to ensure that he was reasonably close, but as far as Emmy could tell, he had no skill at forgery.

"Probably not," Xander admitted as he scribbled another falsified signature. "At some point, someone is going to ask questions about a major trenching, re-piping, and re-pressurization job for an exploded gas line, and when they do, they're going to realize that the guy who supposedly signed off on the work has never even heard of the project." He signed the last of the forms and glanced up at Emmy. "If not for an entire castle sliding into the Sunnydale Crater, I could never have gotten away with this in the first place. The building department is a bit busy."

"What happens when they find out?" Emmy asked.

"They'll strip my contractor's license, for sure," he replied as he stacked the papers on the coffeet table. "Maybe they'll charge me, although I'm not sure what they could do … other than make sure I never hold a license again. That's fine, I think I'm well and truly retired from the construction business.

Xander stacked the papers on the coffee table, stared up at Emmy with his mismatched gaze, then stood and approached her. The late afternoon sun streamed red through the windows, he was physically exhausted from a week of being wrangled into a solo contracting job that even with a super-powered left arm had been absolutely brutal to complete, and the honey-blonde young woman across from him looked gorgeous.

Emmy's hazel-green eyes were twitchy and nervous, she wrung her hands while she stood by the door, and the ridge of skin along her collarbone that Ryan Anderson had mutilated had healed to only a thin, white line that wouldn't even be noticeable if he didn't know exactly where to look. The spot on her cheek that he'd accidentally burned had healed well, whether naturally or by skin graft he couldn't tell. There was only a faint edge of wrinkled flesh maybe a quarter inch in length to give evidence of what had happened.

She saw where Xander was looking, reached up, and touched her cheek while a sad smile curled the corners of her lips. "Even without makeup, you can hardly tell."

"I'm really sorry about that, Emmy," Xander said with a wince. "It still bothers me what happened, I just …"

She waved her hand, shook her head, and cut short his apology. "Hey, you saved my life. And Angel's."

Emmy was as beautiful as ever, and a tinge of melancholy regret washed over him as he gazed at her. The last few months had been difficult, what with the near-end-of-the-world, the rampaging demon monsters, the threat of the First … and he felt old. He didn't think it was his imagination that the gray hair streaking his temples had begun to expand to the top and rear of his head, or that the pain in his lower back never quite went away. Emmy, meanwhile, was still in the bloom of youth. With a yellow blouse and low cut jeans draped over her slim build, she wouldn't have looked out of place on a college campus. He, on the other hand, could pass for a professor … assuming he cleaned himself up.

"Emmy, it's been months since I've heard from you," he said as he stared at her. "Not that it isn't great to see you, because it is, but … we were together for a while … it kind of hurt when you didn't even drop me a line to let me know you'd gotten out of the hospital." He gestured towards her. "I left messages."

"I should have reached out before now," Emmy agreed as she moved nearer still. "That's part of the reason that I wanted to see you in person. I feel awful about how we left things, and I feel even worse about the way I treated you."

She was close enough that he could feel the heat of her breath and the smell the faint aroma of whatever tropical-scented bodywash she'd used that morning. Her trembling had increased, though he wasn't sure why.

"You almost died," Xander reminded her, probably unnecessarily. "I think maybe that we, meaning all of us who work with Buffy, kind of take it for granted that we'll either die horribly or on a regular basis just barely avoid dying horribly. It was unfair of me to drag you into that, and even more unfair of me for wanting you to stay."

Emmy moved forward, grabbed his upper arms, and then, to Xander's surprise, stood on her tiptoes and kissed him.

. . . . . . . . .

Dawn turned away from the sight of what was transpiring in the lobby of Moonridge Investigations and fought back tears as she started her car.

How could he?

With a squeal of tires she tore between rows of parked cars and then pulled out of the lot. Her vision seemed to have been reduced to a tunnel in front of her, and a vise had clamped down upon her chest and made it difficult to breathe.

I feel like such a fool … and here I was worried about a replacement engagement ring.

Vowing to be strong despite the pain knifing through her heart, she found her cellphone and called Buffy.

"Dawn?" Buffy asked when she picked up. "I'm over at Willow's right now … I've got some unbelievable news for you."

She ignored Buffy's comment, blinked away tears, and skidded to a halt at a red light that she hadn't noticed until the last second. "Buffy, there's something I want to tell you."

"Dawn, are you okay?" Buffy asked, and from her tone it was clear that she had detected something amiss in Dawn's voice. "Where are you?"

"I'm fine," Dawn said through clenched teeth. The light turned green and she accelerated through the intersection. "I want you to know that I am totally, completely in."

There was a long pause, then Buffy asked, "In for what, Dawn?"

"What you need me for," she replied. "To defeat the First. No second thoughts, no doubts, you just do what you have to do to save the world, or all worlds, or whatever. I am ready."

The pause this time was shorter. "Dawn, has something happened?"

"We don't have time for the trials and tribulations of my life, sis," she snapped at the phone. She winced at the harshness of her tone, but she had no energy to apologize. "I just wanted you to know that you shouldn't worry about me or about anything except getting the job done. Do you hear me? All of your focus needs to be on winning. You do what you have to do, okay?"

"Dawn, I know that something is wrong. Talk to me. Whatever it is, I can help you."

"Promise me, Buffy," Dawn continued. "Promise me that you'll get this job done and do whatever you have to do."

"Dawn, are you driving right now? I want you to pull over and tell me where you are so that I can have Angel drive me there."

"Promise me!" she screamed into the headset.

"Of course," Buffy assured her, and Dawn did not appreciate the placating, calming tone that Buffy had assumed. "Of course I intend to win … and also to bring you back in one piece."

"Did you not listen to what I just said?" Dawn asked. "I am not the priority."

"Dawn, I want you to …"

She hung up the phone, ignored Buffy calling her, and headed home.

. . . . . . . . .

Emmy's lips were warm, soft, and familiar, and her touch, admittedly, created the involuntary reaction that he recalled very well from their time together, but the kiss had been a surprise and not one that he was willing to receive.

He hunched back, grabbed her shoulders, and gently pushed her away.

Emmy held a hand up to her lips and looked at him with hurt eyes. "A kiss seemed easier than giving you the big speech I prepared, but that wasn't the reaction I was hoping for."

"Emmy …" he started to say.

She shook her head and cut him off. "You're trying not to show how angry you are, is that it? I know I hurt you Xander, and if you're angry, you can tell me. Tell me, and I'll apologize as many times as you want. I should never have left, I realize that now. We had something real, and I threw it away because I was scared."

"I'm not angry at you," he told her. "Honestly, so much has happened these last months, I don't have the time or energy to be angry at anyone except the bad guys."

She approached again, raised a hand to lay it on his chest, and he backed up a step. Emmy froze in place and cast her eyes down to the floor. "We've only been apart a few months, and I think I know what you wanted to tell me in the hospital, Xnader. I think you wanted to say that you loved me. I should have let you finish … you have no idea how much I regret not letting you finish that sentence."

"Things are different now," he tried to explain.

How exactly do I coherently describe how my fiancee and I were trapped in a memory spell cast by an insane dragon hellbent on revenge?

"Different?" she asked as she looked up at him with a pained expression. "Are you telling me that you lost your feelings for me that quickly?"

He rubbed the back of his neck, realized that he was copying one of Angel's mannerisms, and put his hand down. "Look, I don't know what would have happened if you had stayed, but my feelings for you were real. You're right. We did have something. But you left, and then something happened. Someone happened."

The silence hung long between them, and finally she crossed her arms and turned towards the door.

"Someone else? Really? You must have been really broken up about us." She winced, put her head in her hands, and continued, "I'm sorry, that isn't fair. I'm the one that screwed up everything."

"There's nothing fair about any of this," Xander said. "And I really don't want you to …"

"Stop!" Emmy said as she raised a hand towards him. She began to move towards the door. "Hey, I heard what I needed to hear. You're with someone new. I mean, I do feel like a complete idiot …you couldn't have just told me over the phone?"

"I didn't know why you wanted to see me," he replied, "and to be honest, if you wanted closure, I'd rather do it in person." He sighed and stared at her with a look of regret on his face. "Emmy, you were … you are … important to me. Don't just take off."

"Why not?" she asked as she opened the door. "I got my closure, and now I think it's time for me to go."

"C'mon, does it have to be like this?" he pled with an outstretched hand. "We went through a lot together ... in my admittedly out-of-the-norm social circle, when break-ups happen, we don't just vanish from each other's lives."

She shook her head. "I didn't come back to Moonridge so that you and I could be friends, Xander. You let me down easier than a lot of guys would, so thank you for that, I guess."

"Emmy …" he tried again.

"Goodbye," she said as she closed the door behind her.

. . . . . . . . .

Emmy hurried through the parking lot then stopped when she realized that she had completely forgotten where she had left her car. She found a shadowed spot along the building housing Moonridge Investigations, far enough away that she couldn't see into the lobby, and tried to remember where she had parked. It was difficult not to cry, but there was absolutely no way that she was going to let herself break down into the tears in the parking lot outside her ex-boyfriend's office.

"Conversation didn't go as you'd hoped?" a feminine voice rang out.

A brown-haired curvy brunette stepped out of … somewhere … she couldn't tell where, put her hands on her hips, and smiled a cold, grim smile as her blue eyes narrowed in anger.

"Dawn," Emmy said. "I didn't see you out here."

"But I saw you, in there, Emilia," Dawn said as she stepped closer. The edges of her skin rippled in an odd fashion, almost as though her form was rippling with shadow. Dawn's eyes were the blue color that Emmy remembered, but at times, a black film danced over them. "Making a move on my man is low, even for a golddigger like you."

"Your man?" Emmy asked as she backed away from Dawn. "What are you talking about."

Dawn laughed, and it was an ugly, shrill, thing. "Just messing with you," she jested in a tone devoid of mirth. "I know you're about as innocent as they come." Dawn moved to the side and Emmy realized that the wall of the building blocked her escape. "I bet you taste delicious." Dawn extended a hand towards her, and it was if reality bent and warped around the outstretched limb.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" Emmy asked as she pressed her back against the wall.

A tall, hooded figure wearing a black overcoat and sunglasses stepped into view behind Dawn. Red hair poked from the edges of the cowl, he wore dark gloves and black pants, and the faint aroma of burning wafted off him.

"That isn't who you think it is," the young man informed her. "You're in a lot of danger."

Dawn … or the thing pretending to be Dawn … whirled around.

The man had increasing amounts of what appeared to be smoke pouring from the sleeves and hood and the sight seemed to upset Dawn.

"What are you doing?" the creature asked, and its voice had a polyphonic, cacophanous quality to it now. "Daylight is no longer safe for you."

"You should run," the man said to her without taking his eyes off the not-Dawn. "You should run now."

He moved forward, reached his hand for not-Dawn, and the thing leapt out of the way.

"What?" the man asked in surprise. "You afraid of me?"

Not-Dawn shook her head and smiled. "Afraid of you? Quite the opposite … you're my favorite. Without creatures such as you who walk this plane in defiance of the natural order of this world I could not be." Not-Dawn turned to stare at her. "What is this one to you? Nothing? Less than nothing?"

The man used his body to separate her from Not-Dawn.

"Leave," he said without turning around. "Leave Moonridge and never come back."

Emmy moved away at a walk, then at a jog, and within seconds she was sprinting towards the far side of the lot where she had just remembered she parked her car.

Joshua watched her run for a few seconds, then turned back to the First to discover that it had vanished. He pulled a crumpled business card out of his pocket, stared first at the text of the card, then at the front door to Moonridge Investigations, then dropped the card onto the ground and retreated into the shadows.

. . . . . . . . .

"Fred, is it really you," Angel asked.

Fred stretch moved away from the couch and smiled at him. "Angel, it's really me." She glanced around the living room and gave Willow a small, cheery wave. "Willow, it's been a long time."

"Fred, it's good to have you back," Willow replied as she stared at Fred with a look of confusion.

Fred leaned towards Willow and put a hand up to the side of her mouth. "Sorry about the casual nudity and the innuendo for the last week … that wasn't me at the wheel."

"Don't worry about it," Willow said as she leaned in, gave Fred a hug, and stared with wild, questioning eyes at Buffy and Angel.

"Ms. Burkle," Giles said as he moved closer. His face was a mixture of puzzlement and concern, and Buffy noticed that he had already taken off his glasses.

"Ms. Burkle," Fred replied to Giles in an artificially deep, solemn manner. In a normal voice, she continued, "Just Fred is fine …" she deepened her voice again, "Mr. Giles."

"Fred," Giles said. "You have had a singular experience that, if I understand it … has now resulted in your being restored to your body?" He stared at Buffy, who was herself staring at Fred with a decidedly unhappy expression. "How is this possible?"

"I'm back," Fred stated firmly, loudly, and with a touch more force than was needed. "That's what's important."

Buffy stepped towards Fred, folded her arms, and opened her mouth to speak.

"Buffy," Angel said as he put a hand on her shoulder. "I know what you're about to say, and maybe now is not the time?"

Buffy shook her head. "We have to make time for conversations like this," she said as she continued staring at Fred. "We have to do the right thing, Angel, even when it isn't convenient … or when it hurts."

"Buffy, what exactly happened in Illyria's mind?" Giles asked. "For that matter, where is Illyria?"

Before Buffy or Angel could reply, Fred tapped her head. "She's in here. I can feel her … talk to her, if I want to." Fred tilted her head and shuddered for a moment. "Right now, Illyria is rummaging through reading material." She shuddered again. "That feels really, really weird. Like, turbo-weird."

"It didn't need to happen that way," Buffy informed Fred. "We could have talked about options, given Illyria some time to adjust, you could have heard her pitch to merge consciousnesses, and … I don't know … you two could maybe have worked out a timeshare arrangement."

Fred's eyes narrowed to an angry squint and her jaw tightened into a glower.

"Buffy," Angel said as he rubbed her shoulder again, "I get it, just maybe … not right now?"

"Or maybe never, Angel?" Fred asked as she strode over to him. "You are tickled pink my body is my own again, aren't you?" She plucked at her oversized, Willow-provided sweater, cast her eyes downward, and in an instant became nothing more than a young, frightened woman. "You should be ecstatic." She seemed near tears as she continued. "All those years when I was just fragments floating around in someone else's mind, and now I'm here, standing in front of you? You grieved for me Angel, I have scattered bits and pieces of Illyria's memories, and I know you grieved … why can't you celebrate for me now?"

Angel rushed forward and swept her up into a hug.

"Oh, Fred," he said as he held her tightly against his chest. "Buffy's right, we do have to talk, but it so good to see you again."

"Angel," Fred squeaked.

"What?" Angel asked as he rested his chin on the top of her head.

In response, Fred managed to croak, "Can't. Breathe."

"Oh, right," Angel said as he stepped back. He patted Fred's arms and smiled at her. "There's some shock in this room …" he glanced at Buffy, who looked angry rather than shocked, "but having you back is one of the best things that has ever happened."

Fred smiled at him and a tear appeared in a corner of her eye. "That's what I was hoping you'd say." She glanced at Angel's chest. "You're warm. That's weird. I mean, like I said, I have some of Illyria's memories, and I know you aren't a vampire anymore, but it's weird." Fred glanced at Buffy. "And nice. I'm glad it worked out for you guys."

"Thank you," Buffy said, "but we so have to talk, Fred." Buffy's cellphone began ringing just as she opened her mouth to continue. She fished it out of her pocket, glanced at the screen, and began backing towards Willow's front door. "That's Dawn, I have to take it." She looked at Angel as she accepted the call. "Talk to her."

Angel mouthed, I will in response.

Buffy excused herself, and Fred turned to Angel, walked closer, and grabbed his hands. "I'm me," she whispered. "Or as much of me that's left after that demon swam around in my brain. I need you in my corner, Angel."

"Always," Angel replied. "But if we can do something for Illyria without it hurting you, then we …"

"Don't," Fred said as she pulled her hands back and shook her head. "Don't sit here defending that demon. Not after what she did."

"We don't have to do this now," Angel replied. "I really, absolutely, am totally thrilled you are here." He extended his hands and Fred hesitantly embraced them again. "Everything about Illyria we can discuss later."

"I am not going to kill her or her suffer," Fred promised. "That will have to be good enough." She gave a slight shake of Angel's hands.

Angel hugged her again, and while he did so, he noticed that Willow and Giles's confused looks had become stares of concern.

. . . . . . . . .

"I won't be long," Angel said as he glanced across the car at Buffy. "I just need to catch up a bit with Connor."

She nodded, stared at him, and reached out to grab his knee.

"Angel," she said. "Fred really did say that she wouldn't hurt Illyria, right?"

Angel frowned. "I think you and I need to trust each other, don't you?"

Buffy shook his knee for a moment. "It's not about trust, it's about remembering exactly what she said."

"She said she wouldn't kill her or make her suffer," Angel said. "Those were her exact words.

"And you believe her?"

Angel nodded. "I do. Besides, you heard her in Cordelia's mind-construct, she wants Illyria for something … old languages, I think she said."

"And casting spells," Buffy added. "Fred wasn't a witch was she?"

Angel shook his head.

"Then what spells does she want to muck around with?"

"I don't know," Angel admitted. "Fred bled into Illyria, and it's pretty obvious that Illyria bled into Fred. I'm not so sure that either of them exist anymore … not completely."

"Angel, I don't know if she should be wandering around, not until we know more."

He reached down removed her hand from his knee, and turned to stare at her. "It's Fred," he said in a firm, loud manner. "It is a good thing that she is back. What's happened to Illyria may not be acceptable in the long run, but in the short term, well … at least she's safe."

"I don't like this, Angel," Buffy said. "I know that if it was someone I was closer with, maybe I'd feel differently, but you saw what was happening in that cave. If we hadn't been there, who knows what Fred might have done to Illyria. Illyria may be a demon goddess with a bad reputation, but she bailed us out of a jam when nobody else would have helped. This isn't right."

"Illyria is not going anywhere," Angel reminded her. "How about we save the world and then worry about getting her a new body, or something."

"Fine," Buffy said as she swung open the door. "But we need to remind Fred now and then that Illyria isn't her plaything."

Angel winced. "I'm sure Fred doesn't think of her that way."

Buffy slammed the door and disappeared up the steps to their townhouse. For a few moments, Angel enjoyed the sight of her legs and bottom working while she climbed the steps, then he put the car in reverse and maneuveed out of the spot. Within seconds he was driving towards Connor and Colleen's apartment.

I should have made time to talk to my son before now. He's down two fingers and added a girlfriend … I don't care how old he is, I need to be more involved in his life.

He maneuvered down the appropriate streets, stopped when necessary for traffic signals, and when he parked outside the apartment building housing Connor and Colleen's home, he found his son leaning on the outside of the building seconds after exiting his car.
"That looks suspiciously like lurking," Angel said with a smile as he stepped across the grass. "Guess I don't need a paternity test."

Connor chuckled and gave him a hug which he enthusiastically returned.

""Thanks for coming, Dad," Connor said. "I wanted to chat with you in person."

He called me Dad!

"Let me see your hand," Angel replied as he beckoned towards his son's arm. "C'mon. Give me."

"Must we?" Connor said. "It's almost entirely healed."

Except that two fingers are missing … those won't be growing back.

"Connor," Angel said in a patient but determined manner, "let me see your hand."

Connor pulled off a leather glove and extended his left hand. Angel moved closer, grasped the palm, then leaned down to check the damage. He had to close his eyes for a moment as his heart lurched in sympathetic pain at the sight of his son's injury. More of the ring and pinkie finger of Connor's left hand was missing than he had thought … there couldn't have been much more than an inch of finger remaining. He turned Connor's hand over, asked him to squeeze it, and his son's grip seemed firm enough despite the missing digits.

"Yeah," Connor said as he pulled back his hand and slid the glove back on. "It's not good, Dad."

Angel hugged Connor close, told him that he wished it was him, issued a few epithets, and when he had finished, Connor's hand was still maimed. He concluded with, "I am so sorry."

"Hey, at least I'm not left-handed," Connor said. "And Dana, Jess, and Faith ended up a lot worse."

"You know, we're about second chances," Angel replied, "but Joshua … man, he's a whole different kettle of fish."

Connor smiled a sad smile. "Let's worry about saving the world first."

Now it was Angel's turn to chuckle. "Good point." He glanced up at the second story door that led to Connor's apartment. "Should we chat inside?"

Connor shook his head. "Colleen and I had an argument. That's why I wanted to talk to you … she doesn't me to come back inside until I've made up my mind about something. This is important, Dad. She's important to me … and that means I don't want to lie to her. I wanted to talk to you in person, because I need advice."

Angel's heart lurched in his chest. He'd been hoping for more moments like these over the years, but they were few and far between. As of late, with his son looking older than him, he had begun to feel a tad bit silly hoping to play the paternal figure.

"Ask me anything," Angel said. "Please."

"When Colleen went after Joshua on her own, I kind of lost it for a while."

"I was there," Angel reminded him. "I remember … and if you can remember, a few months ago, I kind of lost it with Buffy. Or a lot lost it, actually. She came really close to leaving me for good, and you know what, I would have desrved it. Whatever your problems with Colleen, at least you haven't chained her to furniture."

"It hasn't gotten that bad yet, but that's the way it's heading," Connor admitted. "Colleen wants to be with me, and I want to be with her. I like her, I really do … and honestly, I don't run into many women who could handle, or survive, the way we live our lives."

"But?" Angel prompted him.

"But," Connor continued, "Colleen wants me to promise that I'm not going to act like that again. She says, and she has a point, that if we're worried about each other all the time, we can't do our jobs."

"She's right," Angel said in a low, quiet voice. "If you're worried about Colleen, that means your attention isn't on the sword that's sinking into your chest or the axe being swung at your skull. You know this, son."

"I do," Connor replied. "But that doesn't make it any easier to ignore that my girlfriend is constantly in danger. How do you handle it? How do you keep from going insane with worry? I don't want to go in there and just tell Colleen what she wants to hear so that the fight is over, I want to really know if I can do this. How do I stop feeling this way?"

"Honest answer," Angel said. "You don't."

Connor blinked in surprise. "What?"

"No one can handle it," Angel said. "When it's the woman you love, or your child, you can't stop worrying." He raised a hand, "But what you can do, is ignore it. You just … keep going. One foot in front of the other, one dead vamp at a time, you keep moving forward and you focus on what's right in front of you and you squash your terror for Colleen into some corner of you and you don't let it out until the two of you are safe at home. The concept is called compartmentalization … it isn't necessarily healthy, but it works."

"I don't know if I can live like that," Connor admitted. "And Colleen isn't like Buffy. She needs help, Dad. I mean, she's a slayer, I get that, but there's a reason why Faith and Dana insisted that Colleen always work on a team."

Angel nodded. "Then let her go."

"I … lo … I really like her," Connor replied.

"Then you'll be afraid for her," Angel said with a shrug. "That's the way it works. You can't promise not to be afraid, but you can promise that you'll focus on the job."

Connor nodded. "I think that, I could maybe do … with practice."

"If you two do work it out, could you do your old man a favor?" Angel asked. "I may not have been the best parental figure, but this is advice you should take."

"What?"

"If we win, take Colleen and go do something else for a while. I'm not going to say something silly like go lead normal suburban lives, because I know that you both have a sense of duty, but for a while … be together. Make time to be a full human being. In the end, it'll make you better at what you do."

"And you and Buffy?" Connor asked. "You're alive, she's a twenty-something slayer again, and you two have been fighting non-stop for the past year. Would you take your own advice?"

Angel walked forward, put his son on his hand's shoulder, and said, "Absolutely."

Connor tilted his head as he pondered whether his father meant what he said, then finally he nodded and smiled. "I've mentioned this before, but I'll never get over the sight of you standing in sunlight."

Angel glanced up at the setting sun. "Me neither."

"Oh, that reminds me," Connor asked. "You and Buffy rushed over to Willow's … what happened with Illyria? Is she alright?"

Angel pondered the question for a moment as he stared at Connor. "That's a tough one to answer," he finally said, "but I'll try."

. . . . . . . . .

"Dawn?" Xander called out as he closed the front door to his house behind him. "You home?"

He checked the kitchen, the living room, the downstairs bedroom … no Dawn.

"Dawn?" He called out. "Sweetheart?" He kicked off his shoes, climbed the stairs, and headed into the master bedroom. The lights in the hallway were off, the bedroom lights weren't on either, and he saw no signs of movement. "You home?"

He noticed a lump beneath the blankets on the bed, so he sat down on the mattress and reached out to rub Dawn's side. She stiffened for a moment beneath the blankets, then relaxed and her breathing eased. He checked his watch and confirmed that it was still a few hours before they usually went to bed.

I really wanted to talk to her …

He headed to the bathroom, discarded his soiled clothes, and turned on the tap of the shower. Behind him, he didn't notice when Dawn pulled the blankets further over her body.

. . . . . . . . .

"Thanks for letting me stay, Will," Fred said as she lingered outside the entry to the kitchen. Fred wore shorts, and she plucked at the drawstring protruding from the bottom of her thin white t-shirt as she added, "To be honest, I don't have anywhere else to go."

"Oh, don't be silly," Willow replied as she finished slipping into the dishwasher the plates they'd used to devour delivery pizza. "Angel would absolutely give you a place to stay, and Giles has basically been running a home for wayward souls this past year."

"Maybe," Fred said as she brushed a lock of hair away from her eyes and moved closer. "People weren't quite as happy to see me again as I'd hoped."

"We're happy to see you, Fred," Willow said as she stepped closer and rubbed Fred's arm. The young woman shot her a shy smile in response. "It's just … Illyria was a friend, too, and nobody knew this would happen."

Fred's smile vanished. "Do you have any idea what she would have been like if she hadn't used pieces of my soul like a jigsaw puzzle to complete herself? She'd have been a monster … I mean, she was an Old One, and you know what they were like."

"She changed," Willow explained in a patient, sympathetic tone. "Yeah, you changed her, but the important part is that she wasn't the merciless demon lady any more."

"You feel sorry for her, too, don't you?" Fred asked as she stepped back and folded her arms.

"Yes," Willow admitted in a matter-of-fact tone. "But I also feel sorry for you. I feel a lot more sorry for you, actually. And your body .." she gestured at Fred, "you were there first."

The smile returned to Fred's face. "Thank you for remembering."

Willow closed the dishwasher, grabbed her still-steaming cup of tea, and stared at Fred. "Don't you want to get some sleep?"

Fred shook her head, winced, and her face blanched. "I've been asleep for a few decades now, I'm not in a rush to go back."

"I get that," Willow said as she sipped again at her tea.

"What I was hoping to do, actually, is help," Fred said. "I know Angel and Buffy want me to kind of take it slow and re-adjust, but honestly, I remember a lot of what Illyria knew. The First is out there, I know what's at stake, and I think I can help."

Willow sipped again at her tea and fought back the tingle of nervousness racing down her spine. "Help how?"

Fred pulled a slip of paper out of her pocket, walked across the kitchen, and handed it to Willow. "Hopefully Buffy's plan works, but if it doesn't, we might be able to slow the First for a while … at least for some worlds … and buy some time." She tapped the piece of paper. "These books have information that might help me with my research."

Willow's brow furrowed and she frowned as she looked at what Fred had written down. "That doesn't sound like a bad idea, but Fred, how do you even know about these works?" She held the list up and fixed Fred with a questioning gaze. "Also, you do know that these are all in written in languages that went extinct thousands of years ago, right?"

"Of course!" Fred said as she stood on her tiptoe and smiled. "Ancient linguistics is one of the perks of having a demon at your beck and call."

Willow glanced down at the list again. "Some of these contain spells that aren't part of the natural-order-of-things, white magic, good-witch-of-the-west type stuff … these are dangerous, Fred."
"It's just research," Fred assured her as her smile intensified. "And maybe it'll go nowhere." She shrugged. "Not to toot my own horn, but Wesley and I …" her face twisted with pain at the mention of her dead love's name, "together, we were kind of like the Los Angeles version of, well, you."

"And researching portals might help us slow down the First?"

Fred nodded. "I think so." She moved forward again and took Willow's hand into her own. Her voice lowered, and she tilted her head downward and then cast her eyes up at Willow. "I really feel like I can't just sit around." She stroked Willow's hand. "Do you get what I mean?" Fred moved in closer so her torso was ever-so-slightly grazing against Willow's arm.

"Of course," Willow squeaked as she pressed herself against the counter. "I have most of what you're looking for here in the apartment. I can gather them up …"

"Tonight?" Fred prompted her.

Willow swallowed a cup of tea and nodded with eyes that were opened wider than normal. "Sure."

"Thank you," Fred whispered as she leaned forward to give Willow a kiss on the cheek. "I'll just settle in at the dining room table, maybe get started on some notes."

Willow had almost finished gathering the tomes Fred had requested before she began to suspect that she was being manipulated. After reaching that realization, she'd wracked her brain trying to think of what harm Fred's research could possibly cause, and then decided that any new ideas about fighting the First should be encouraged.

Fred hugged her and given her another peck on the cheek after all the volumes had been gathered, and then Willow had excused herself for bed and retreated to her bedroom. After showering and changing into pajamas, she video-called Oz. When his red and gray-haired head appeared on the screen of her phone, she smiled and tried to keep from tearing up.

"Hey," she said. "Miss me yet?"

Oz chuckled for a moment, then frowned at her. "Very funny. Ellie and I miss you very much."

Willow wiped at her eyes and nodded. "I miss you, too. Is she awake."

"No," Oz informed her. "But I don't think I'll wake her up if I bring you in to take a quick peek."

"Thank you," Willow whispered as she pulled the phone closer to her face. Even though they were hundreds of miles apart, Oz felt near enough that she should be able to reach right through the phone and touch him.

"Here she is," Oz whispered as he tilted the phone over the lip of a bassinet.

The baby light cast only the softest of glows over Ellie's face, but nevertheless Willow cooed and soaked in every detail of her swaddled, peacefully sleeping child. Tears fell freely from her eyes and she wiped at her nose.

When Ellie yawned, which was basically the cutest thing she had ever seen in her life, Oz whispered good night and moved the phone back into the bedroom. Willow teared up when her daughter vanished off the screen, but she managed to compose herself by the time Oz settled back into bed. He was wearing pajamas himself, and his hair looked washed and his beard freshly trimmed.

"Thank you," Willow said once Oz was settled into bed. He turned himself sideways and propped the phone on the bed so that he was looking at her sideways. Willow laid down on her own bed and positioned a phone in a similar fashion so that they were looking at each other while they both lay in bed. He was right there, so close, and she so desperately wanted to be holding him.

"The least I can do for saving all of us," Oz replied. "Speaking of which, are you guys doing alright? Are things looking good?"

Willow shook her head. "Same as ever."

Oz grimaced. "That bad?"

"We'll see," Willow said. "Buffy's plan is less out there than normal, but there are so many moving parts."

Oz propped his head on an elbow. "Then you guys figure out a way to work through them one by one."

"Let's not talk about work," Willow said. "How about … literally anything else."

Oz laughed and settled back onto the bed. "Fair enough."

Willow stretched on the bed and ran her hands down the sides of her body. "Oz, I know we've got a lot on our plates, but it's been what, a few weeks now? I miss you."

"I miss you, too." Oz blew her a kiss through the phone screen.

"But I also miss you, miss you, sweetheart," Willow said as she fixed Oz with a meaningful look. "I mean, in that way."

She moved her hands to the waistband of her pajamas and hoped Oz might catch the hint.

He seemed confused for a moment, then his eyes widened at the realization of what his wife was hinting at. "Oh … oh. Well, Ellie is asleep, but sweetie, we haven't tried the long distance thing in years."

"That's cause you stopped traveling for work," Willow said as she snuggled closer to the phone, lidded her eyes, and slid her hand down the front of her pajama bottoms. "What do you think? Are we too old and parental-ly for this sort of fun?"

"Absolutely not," Oz said with a crooked grin.