Chapter 21: Passion

February 21, 1998 – Saturday

The Alibi Room

Buffy walked into the bar with her head low and her hood up. She got a bottle of something blue and found a booth with low lighting where she could see most of the bar, near an exit. She was two drinks in when she heard her name.

"Buffy?"

Buffy groaned as Spike approached her, standing in front of her table. "Oh, God. You. Can we not, Spike? Can we not do this tonight? Can you just let me self-destruct in peace? Just this once? We can fight tomorrow, I promise."

Spike shrugged. "This is neutral territory, Slayer. You know that. I assume that's why you're here instead of a human bar."

"And demon bars don't card," Buffy muttered.

Spike barked out a laugh. "Yeah. Look, I don't want a fight. But maybe I could offer you some conversation instead?"

Buffy eyed him suspiciously. "Why would you want to talk to me? Aren't we mortal enemies?"

Spike took a sip of his drink. "Eh. What's a drink between rivals?"

She took a large sip of her own and stared at him.

"I reckon it's the same bothering you as it is me," Spike said, sliding into the booth across from her. "Everyone's favorite master arsehole. Who'd have thought one good shag would bring that git back? That's an object lesson in chastity if there ever was one."

Buffy snorted. "You really think he was celibate for a hundred years? It was more than that." She shook her head.

Spike looked pleased. "I suppose it was. Love's a bitch, Slayer, that's for damn certain. My Dru, well…I love the mad bint. Never knew I would love like that. But soon as Angelus is back, suddenly it's Daddy, Daddy, Daddy. Fucking git. I'd love to ram a stake straight through his heart."

"Why don't you? Save us both a lot of trouble. You could have your precious nutbag back, and my worst enemy could be a bleach blond lesser vamp who apparently fraternizes with his nemeses at bars." She took a long drink straight out of the bottle.

"Can't," Spike said. "Dru would never forgive me."

"Set it up for me to kill him then," Buffy said. "We'll plan it out. You can weaken him, I'll come in and finish it. Do you really want Angelus to get the glory of killing your third Slayer?"

Spike gave her a long look. "I might just take you up on that. Can't decide now. But I'll let you know if I change my mind." He laughed.

They drank in silence for a while. Buffy's vision began to blur around the edges and she laughed abruptly.

"What is it?"

She looked at Spike. "Just this. It's so weird. We've both tried to kill each other and here we are just drinking."

Spike laughed. "You are wasted, Slayer."

"I am not!" She glanced at her bottle, more than half empty. "Okay, maybe a little. Talk, blood breath. Tell me about yourself." She batted her eyelashes.

Spike grinned. "Not much to tell."

"Oh, come on! You're like a hundred and fifty years old! And you grew up in what was basically the Bronze Age. Tell me your story."

Spike talked about his turning, about Drusilla, about blood and violence and watching the world change. He looked at her. "What's your story, Slayer?"

Buffy shrugged and took another drink. "Not much to tell."

Spike scoffed.

She grinned. "Fine, fine. I grew up in LA. I always knew I was a girl, for as long as I can remember. It was what it was. I had a pretty normal childhood aside from the trans stuff, I guess. Got called when I was fifteen. I had a different Watcher then. It was…I can't say I was happy about it, but it was good to know that the universe agreed that I was a girl."

She kept talking and drinking, the night passing by in flashes after that. Spike snorting alcohol out of his nose. Throwing up on the side of the road. The sensation of leaning on someone, of making her way through her window as Spike hit the barrier. A kiss on the cheek. She awoke flustered and covered in sweat, and vowed not to go drinking again anytime soon. Apparently Drunk Buffy made bad decisions.

She kept wondering, though: 'why didn't he just kill me?' (A/N)

February 22, 1998 – Sunday

Summers Home

Buffy was alone, in her room. The window was open, and though she peered through the Venetian blinds as though she sensed something, she left all the lights on as she undressed and got ready for bed. She set her alarm clock and climbed into bed. Lying back into the darkness and closing her eyes.

When he was sure she was asleep Angel crept in through the window and sat on her bed. Studied her as she slept. The pulse in her neck beat rapidly.

February 23, 1998 – Monday

Summers Home

Brilliant sunlight streamed through Buffy's window. She slowly woke when she felt something or someone on her bed. She turned her head and stretched, opening her eyes to find Dawn sitting next to her holding a brown parchment envelope.

"This was on your pillow," Dawn informed her sister.

Buffy took the envelope from her sister and opened it, unfolding a thick piece of matching stationery.

It was a charcoal sketch of her, her eyes closed in peaceful, unsuspecting slumber.

Dawn's eyes went wide. "He was in your room?" she asked in realization.

"It looks like," Buffy said. She was wigged and Dawn knew it. "I'm going to talk to Giles. I want you with mom every day after school till Giles and I can do something about this. Your training is going to be suspended till then."

Dawn nodded in understanding. This wasn't about her; it was about their mother. Buffy wanted to ensure Joyce was safe.

Sunnydale High School

Buffy burst into the school library. Giles was stamping books, of all things, and Cordelia was chatting with Xander, who was perched on the back of one of the wooden chairs.

"He was in my room," Buffy said tersely.

Giles looked up from his task and asked politely, "Who?"

Buffy stomped over to the study table. "Angel. He was in my room last night."

Cordelia and Xander looked shocked. His rubber stamp in his hand, Giles moved from behind the circulation desk through his office, to join Buffy at the table.

"Are you sure?" he said, clearly astonished.

"Positive," she assured him. "Dawn woke me this morning. She found a picture he'd left me on my pillow."

Xander piped up. "A visit from the pointed-tooth fairy."

Cordelia frowned. "Wait. I thought vampires couldn't come in unless you invited them in."

Giles turned to her. "Yes, but if you invite them in once, thereafter, they are always welcome."

"You know, I think there may be a valuable lesson for you gals here about inviting strange men into your bedrooms." Xander wasn't joking.

"Oh, God! I invited him in my car once," Cordelia realized. "That means he could come back into my car whenever he wants!"

Xander wore a regretful expression. "Yep. You're doomed to having to give him and his vamp pals a lift whenever they feel like it. And those guys never chip in for gas."

"Giles, there has to be some sort of spell to reverse the invitation, right?" Buffy insisted. "Like a barrier—'no shoes, no pulse, no service' kind of thing?"

"Yeah, that works for a car, too?" Cordelia chimed in.

Giles was already in motion. "Yes. Well, I could check my—"

Xander stood as two underclassmen types wandered into the library. "Hel-lo," he said gruffly. "Excuse me, but have you ever heard of knocking?"

One was a boy, the other a redheaded girl. The boy said, a little defensively, "We're supposed to get some books. On Stalin."

Xander pointed an accusing finger at them. "Does this look like a Barnes and Noble?"

"This is the school library, Xander," Giles reproved quietly.

"Since when?" Xander asked, as if this was news to him.

Giles took over. "Yes. Third row, historical biographies."

"Thanks," the boy said. He and the girl student walked past the silent group and went up the stairs to the second level.

Xander gestured for the group to go into the hall. Together they tiptoed out, just as the boy student emerged from the stacks and said, "Uh, did you say that was…Hello?"

They walked down the corridor and out into the sunshine. Giles resumed. "So, Angel has decided to step up his harassment of you."

"By sneaking into Buffy's room and leaving stuff at night?" Cordelia said bluntly. "Why doesn't he just slit her throat or strangle her in her sleep or cut her heart out?" At a disbelieving, ironic grin from Xander, she held out her arms and said, "What? I'm trying to help."

"Yes." Giles spoke directly to Buffy. "It's classic battle strategy, to throw one's opponent off his game. He's trying to provoke you. To taunt you, to goad you into some mishap or something of that sort."

"The 'nyah, nyah, nyah, nyah' approach to battle," Xander, the soul of helpfulness, explained.

"Yes, Xander," Giles said, with the tiniest, most British bit of sarcasm, "once again you've managed to boil a complex thought down to its simplest possible form."

Buffy was having nothing to do with banter mode. This was deadly serious stuff. "Giles, Angel once told me that when he was obsessed with Drusilla, the first thing he did was to kill her family."

Xander got it at once. "Your mom and Dawn."

"I know. I'm going to have to tell mom something. The truth?" She turned and looked at Giles.

He shook his head in deadly earnest. "No. You can't do that."

"Yeah. The more people who know the secret, the more it cheapens it for the rest of us," Xander riffed, as Cordelia rolled her eyes.

"I've got to tell her something," Buffy said urgently. "I have to do something. Giles, Angel has an all-access pass to my house and I'm not always there when my mother or Dawn is. I can't protect them."

"I told you, I will find a spell," Giles reminded her.

"What about until you find a spell?" she pushed.

"Until then, you, Dawn and your mother are welcome to ride around with me in my car," Cordelia said, full of graciousness.

Giles stayed with the topic. "Buffy, I understand your concern, but it is imperative that you keep a level head through all this."

Buffy was frustrated with him. "That's easy for you to say. You don't have Angel lurking in your bedroom at night."

"I know how hard this is for you." She blinked. "All right," he admitted, "I don't. But as the Slayer, you don't have the luxury of being a slave to your passions. You mustn't let Angel get to you, no matter how provocative his behavior may become."

"So, what you're basically saying is 'Just ignore him and maybe he'll go away.'" A statement Buffy uttered without conviction or joy.

Giles considered. Then he nodded. "Yes, precisely."

"Hey, how come Buffy doesn't get a snotty 'once again you boil it down to the simplest form' thing?" Xander grumbled. "Watcher's pet," he flung at her.

Buffy looked at Giles for a long moment knowing that Angel wasn't going to leave her, Dawn or their mom alone. And all she had to protect her mom with was her little sister who unless something happened to Kendra, and maybe not even then, wouldn't be called as a Slayer.

0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0

Ms. Calendar's computer science class was winding up for the day. "Don't forget I need your sample spreadsheets by the end of the week." Over the peal of the bell, she added, "Oh, and I want both a paper printout and a copy on disk." As Willow began to leave, she reached out a hand and said, "Willow?"

Willow stopped at her desk. "Yes?"

"I might be a little late tomorrow. Do you think you could cover my class 'til I show?"

Willow was flabbergasted "Really? Me? Teach the class? Sure!"

"Cool," Ms. Calendar said offhandedly.

"Oh, wait…but what if they don't recognize my authority?" Willow fretted. "What if they try to convince me that you always let them leave class early? What if there's a fire drill?" She escalated. "What if there's a fire?"

Holding her coffee cup, Ms. Calendar leaned slightly across her desk. "Willow, you're going to be fine. And I'll try not to be too late, okay?"

Willow calmed down. "Okay, good. Earlier is good." She brightened as possibilities opened up. "Will I have the power to assign detention? Or make 'em run laps?"

From the doorway, Buffy said in a strained voice, "Hey, Will."

"Hi, Buffy," Ms. Calendar said tentatively. "Rupert."

Giles looked uncomfortable as Buffy ignored Ms. Calendar and focused on Willow. "Willow, I thought I might take in a class. Figured I could use someone who knows where they are."

Chagrined, Willow ducked her head and crossed over to Buffy. They left the room together, as Willow murmured, "Sorry. I have to talk to her. She's a teacher, and teachers are to be respected. Even if they're only filling in until the real teacher shows up. Otherwise, chaos could ensue and . . ."

Ms. Calendar wilted at the slight. She took a breath, picked up her mail, and began thumbing through it. Then she realized that Giles had stayed behind. Now he crossed the threshold and entered her classroom, looking as uncomfortable as she was. It was the first time they had been near each other since he had told her to get out the night Buffy destroyed the Judge.

A little hopeful, a little flustered, she said to him, "How've you been?"

"Not so good, actually," he admitted. "Since Angel lost his soul, he's regained his sense of whimsy."

She crossed her arms as she took in what he was telling her. "That sounds bad."

"He's been in Buffy's bedroom. Dawn found a picture he had left for Buffy on Buffy's pillow. I need to drum up a spell to keep him out of the house."

She reached for a weather-beaten book on her desk. "This might help." She handed it to him. "I've been doing a little reading since Angel changed." Glancing at the cover, she mused, "I don't think you have that one."

He was obviously touched. "Thank you." He opened it, scanned a bit.

As he perused the book, she tried to strengthen the whisper-thin connection. "So, how are Buffy and Dawn doing?" Besides, she really cared how the sisters were.

He shut the book, looked down for a moment, and raised his chin. Coolly, he replied, "How do you think?"

Ms. Calendar sighed. Of course, she had some idea how they were doing. After all for Buffy, Angel was her first real love who hadn't cared that she was either the Slayer or transgender. And Dawn, well Dawn had seen Angel as friend for that very reason. And now they were both hurting as a result.

Summers Home

There was baked chicken, salad, bread, potatoes. Buffy ate none of it.

Finally, Joyce said, "Okay. What's wrong?"

Buffy was caught off guard. "It's…nothing."

"Come on, you can tell me anything," Joyce pressed. "I've read all the parenting books. You cannot surprise me."

Buffy and Dawn glanced at each other knowing that Buffy could in fact surprise their mother. She looked back at her mother as she lay down her fork. "Do you remember my boyfriend, Angel?"

"Yes," Joyce answered.

"We…" Buffy smiled uneasily. "We're going through a serious 'off again' phase right now."

Joyce gave her son a knowing look. "Don't tell me. 'He's changed. He's not the same guy you fell for.'"

"In a nutshell. Anyway, since he changed, he's been kind of following me around. He's having trouble letting go."

Joyce's face clouded. "Rutherford, has he…done anything?"

"No, no, it's not like that," Buffy said quickly. "He's just been hanging around. A lot. Just sending me notes. That kind of thing. I don't want to see him right now. I mean, if he shows up, I'll talk to him." She had to say that to keep her mother from worrying. She tried to toss in casually, "Just don't invite him in."

Rosenberg Residence

Willow was on the portable phone with Buffy. She was in her PJs, and she was shutting down for the night. "I agree with Giles," she told Buffy as she moved around her room. "You need to just try and not let him get to you. Angel's only doing this to try to get you to do something stupid. I swear, men can be such jerks sometimes…dead or alive." Firmly, she closed her laptop.

On the other end, Buffy admitted, "I just hope Giles can find a 'keep out' spell soon. I know I'll sleep easier when I can…sleep easier."

"I'm sure he will," Willow said, sprinkling fish food into her new aquarium. She'd gotten it for Hanukkah. "He's, like, Book Man. Until then, try and keep happy thoughts and…"

Willow lost track of what she was saying as she noticed a brown parchment envelope, just like the one Dawn had found on Buffy's pillow, on her colorful block quilt.

"'And what?" Buffy prodded "Willow?"

Willow slowly opened the envelope. There was a piece of fishing line inside; frowning, she started pulling it out, realizing just at that moment that there were no fish in her aquarium.

Because they were all dead, and hanging from the strand of fishing line in her hand.

Summers Home

A short time later, Willow was at Buffy's. Strings of garlic hung everywhere in Buffy's room and she Dawn and Buffy sat together on Buffy's bed in their pajamas. When Dawn had heard what had happened with Willow's fish, she had become frightened that Angel might target her next. So, when Willow arrived, she had asked her big sister if she could sleep with her tonight.

Willow kept a very tight grip on a very sharp stake. Her frightened gaze swept the room as she said, "Thanks for having me over, Buffy…Dawnie. Especially on a school night and all."

"No problem," Buffy and Dawn assured her.

"Hey, sorry about your fish," Dawn added.

"It's okay," Willow said sadly. "We hadn't really had time to bond yet." She wrinkled up her face. "Although, for the first time, I'm glad my parents didn't let me have a puppy."

The words hit home. Her eyes downcast, Buffy murmured, "It's so weird. Every time something like this happens my first instinct is to run to Angel. I can't believe it's the same person. He's completely different from the guy that I knew."

"Well, sort of, except…" Willow trailed off.

Buffy looked at her. "Except what?"

"You're still the only thing he thinks about."

Dragon's Cove Magic Store

The brass bells hanging over the door tinkled as Ms. Calendar entered and looked around. The store was filled with beads, suncatchers, and bottles of murky liquids containing fetal pigs, curiosities, and monstrosities. Black candles burned, glowing scarlet, and spicy incense permeated the air.

"Welcome," the balding store clerk said. Looking and sounding vaguely Middle Eastern, he wore a white shirt and pants, an amulet, and strings of yellow beads around his neck. "How may I serve you today? Love potion? Perhaps a voodoo doll for that unfaithful—"

Cutting him off, she said, "I need an Orb of Thesulah."

Immediately he dropped his act. "Oh, you're in the trade." His accent disappeared, too. "Follow me. Sorry about the spiel, but around Valentine's Day, I get a lot of tourists shopping for love potions and mystical revenge on past lovers." He shrugged philosophically. "Sad fact is, Ouija boards and rabbits' feet—that's what pays the rent here."

He went behind a case of white china decanters filled with herbs, pulled back the curtain to a spacious pantry, and started searching the shelves. "So, how'd you hear about us?"

Idly she examined a display of crystals and runestones. "My uncle, Enyos, told me about you."

He glanced at her as he picked up a mahogany container. "So, you're Janna, then. Sorry to hear about your uncle."

"Thank you."

"He was a good customer," he added frankly. He set the box on the glass counter. "Well, here you go, one Thesulan orb." With a flourish he took the lid off the container, revealing a small, crystal sphere nestled in a blanket of velvet. "Spirit vault for the Rituals of the Undead."

Ms. Calendar gave it a quick glance. It was exactly what she wanted. She handed him her credit card as he continued chattering. "I don't get much call for those lately. Sold a couple as 'new age' paperweights last year." He ran the card through the machine. "Yeah, I just love the 'new agers.' They helped send my youngest to college."

His tone became a touch more businesslike as he wrote up the bill of sale. "By the way, you do know that the transliteration annals for the Ritual of the Undead were lost. Without the annals, the surviving text is gibberish."

She looked up from signing the receipt. "And without a translated text, the Orb of Thesulah is pretty much useless. I know." She tore off his copy and handed it to him.

"I only mention it because I have a strict policy of no refunds."

"It's okay." She put her copy in her purse and he replaced the lid for her. "I'm working on a computer program to translate the Romanian liturgy to English, based on a random sampling of the text."

He folded his hands on the counter. "Ahh. I don't like computers. They give me the willies."

She picked the container up and cradled it against her chest. "Well, thank you."

She was almost out the door when he called after her, "By the way, not that it's any of my business, really, but what are you planning to conjure up if you can decipher the text?"

She took off the lid and lifted the orb to the sunlight streaming through the window. "A present for a friend of mine."

"Really?" He was interested. "What are you going to give him?"

In her hand, the orb began to glow. It cast a warm glow against her skin and gleamed in her eyes. Jenny answered simply, "His soul."

Sunnydale High School

Xander caught up with Willow and Buffy as they joined the reluctant morning saunter toward the school. He smiled brightly and said, "Well, good morning, ladies. And what did you two do last night?"

"We had kind of a pajama-party-sleepover-with-weapons thing," Willow informed him.

"Oh," he said rather wistfully. "And I don't suppose either of you had the presence of mind to locate a camera to capture the moment?"

Buffy smiled faintly.

Willow was too on purpose to even register a reaction. "I have to go. I have a class to teach in about five minutes and I have to arrive early to glare disapprovingly at the stragglers." Then her face fell as she spotted Ms. Calendar walking briskly across the lawn. "Oh, darn. She's here. Five hours of lesson planning yesterday down the drain." She trudged off.

Buffy kept her attention focused on Ms. Calendar as she murmured to Xander, "You know what? I'll see you in class." She moved away from him and intercepted Ms. Calendar. "Hey."

"Hi." Ms. Calendar looked surprised, a little on guard, a little hopeful. "Is there something…did you want something?"

Buffy took a breath. "Look, I know you feel badly about what happened and I just want to say…" She trailed off. 'I can't do it,' she thought. 'I can't pretend I forgive her.' "Good. Keep it up."

The hurt on Ms. Calendar's face made Buffy feel ashamed. So did her words. "Don't worry. I will."

"Uh, wait. Um…" Buffy pulled it together. And she said something that was true. Gazing steadily at the Gypsy, she said, "He misses you. He doesn't say anything to me, but I know he does. I don't want him to be lonely." She paused. "I don't want anyone to."

It was a moment. Their moment. Ms. Calendar softened, relaxed. "Buffy, you know that if I have a chance to make this up—"

"We're good here. Let's just leave it."

0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0

Giles was talking about some flyers with a couple of students. "Yes, so, could you hang those up? Thanks so much." He brightened as Buffy approached. "Buffy, so how was your night?"

"Sleepless," she said honestly. "But no human fatalities."

"I found a ritual to revoke the invitation to vampires," he announced.

Cordelia stepped up with total relief. "Oh, thank goodness. I actually had to talk my grandmother into switching cars with me last night."

Giles blinked in astonishment at Cordelia, then continued on with his explanation. "The ritual is fairly basic, actually. It's just the recitation of a few simple rhyming couplets, burning of moss herbs, sprinkling of holy water—"

"All stuff I have in my house," Buffy drawled.

"Hanging of cross…" Giles went on as they walked.

Rosenberg Residence

Willow finished nailing a crucifix in place and covering it with her plaid bedroom curtains. She said to Buffy and Cordelia, "I'm going to have a hard time explaining this to my dad."

Buffy frowned slightly. "You really think it'll bother him?"

"Ira Rosenberg's only daughter nailing crucifixes to her bedroom wall?" Willow nodded with weary affection. "I have to go over to Xander's house just to watch 'A Charlie Brown Christmas' every year."

Buffy grimaced. "I see your point."

"Although it is worthwhile to see him do the Snoopy dance," Willow allowed, this time with affection but no weariness.

Cordelia, who was wandering around Willow's room, piped up. "Willow, are you aware that there are no fish in your aquarium?"

Willow whimpered.

Buffy stepped in. "You know, Cordelia," she said, "we've already done your car. Call it a night if you want."

"Right. Thanks. And you know I'd do the same for you if you had a social life." She picked up her coat from Willow's bed. There was an envelope beside it.

A brown parchment envelope.

"Oh." Cordelia picked it up and handed it to Willow. "This must be for you."

Willow and Buffy exchanged looks. Nervously, Willow opened the flap and pulled out the by now familiar stationery. She opened it. She tensed and looked hard at Buffy. "It's for you," she said meaningfully.

Buffy opened it. Inside were two sketches by Angel, they were perfect likeness of her mother and Dawn, asleep. Or not asleep

"Mom and Dawn," Buffy blurted.

Summers Home

Angel was waiting at the side of the driveway when Joyce finally drove up. She and Dawn weren't even out of the car when he approached. He held Joyce's door open through the opened window as Joyce turned off the engine.

"Mrs. Summers," he said in a rush, pouring on the anguish, "I need to talk to you."

Joyce was polite but wary, Dawn on the other hand was only wary. "Angel," the said in unison.

Angel beamed, shutting the door for Joyce. Both Joyce and Dawn were carrying a bag of groceries each, which he did not offer to carry. It would slow them down, just a little, if they needed slowing down. "Did Rutherford tell you what was going on?"

"He told me he wants you to leave him alone." Joyce's voice was firm, her look steady.

"I can't," he said, smiling. "I can't do that."

Joyce did not smile back and she noticed that Dawn was glaring at her son's former boyfriend. "You're scaring him."

"You have to help me," he said in a rush. Joyce and Dawn brushed past him and he whirled around to keep up with them. "Joyce, I need to be with him. You can convince him. You have to convince him." He talked fast, aiming for slightly incoherent. Whatever gets the job done.

Dawn quietly set her bag of groceries on the ground; she could return for them later when he was gone. She moved between her mother and Angel. "Leave us alone," she stated, her hand poised to pull her stake out of her inside jacket pocket.

Angel pushed harder ignoring Dawn for the moment. "You have to talk to him for me, Joyce. Tell him I need him."

"Mom, open the door," Dawn instructed as she and Joyce moved around him, practically about to break into a run.

Angel caught up; he 'accidentally' bumped Joyce's grocery bag. It tumbled out of her arms, oranges rolling like pool balls. "You don't understand." He gathered up one or two. "I'll die without Rutherford. He'll die without me."

Joyce bent to retrieve her bag of groceries, froze, and looked at him. "Are you threatening him?"

"He is," Dawn informed her mother as she moved once again between Angel and Joyce.

Joyce's fear was mounting. "I'm calling the police, now." She got up quickly and she and Dawn took the porch steps quickly. Her shaking hands fumbled with her keys; she was trying hard to get the door open, but she was too freaked to do a good job of it.

Joining Joyce and Dawn on the porch, Angel smiled as he watched her awkwardness. It was time to deliver the final blow. "I haven't been able to sleep since the night we made love," he said sadly. Joyce's head whipped toward him. Gotcha. "I need him. I know you understand."

Joyce was stunned. Speechless for a beat. Then she got the door opened and she and Dawn darted inside.

"Just leave us alone," Dawn instructed.

As he tried to cross the threshold, his way was blocked by an invisible barrier. He gasped in surprise. Buffy and Willow were walking down the stairs. Willow had a spellbook open, and she was reciting an incantation in Latin. "His verbes, consenus rescissus est."

Buffy stared at him with pure hatred on her lovely face. "Sorry, Angel," she said. "I've changed the locks." She slammed the door in his face.

Sunnydale High School

Like any good computer person, Ms. Calendar lost track of time as she continued working on translating the annals for the Rituals of the Undead. She sat in the darkened computer room, oblivious to everything except her keyboard and her screen. As she hit Select All and pressed Save As, she fiddled anxiously with a pencil and talked to the screen.

"Come on, come on," she murmured.

The right-hand side of screen began filling up with new text. She skimmed it and, in that moment, she knew she had it. "That's it!" She allowed herself a joyful laugh as she copied her achievement onto a diskette. "It's going to work. This will work."

She started a printout and then rolled on her chair over to the old-fashioned tractor-feed printer and watched the characters printing.

Then she raised her line of sight just slightly and jumped up in sheer fright.

Angel sat at a desk with a smile on his face, watching her.

"Angel." She struggled not to panic as she slowly backed away. "How did you get in here?"

"I was invited," he said innocently, shrugging as if it were obvious. "The sign in front of the school? Formatia trans sicere educatorum."

Jenny said breathlessly, "'Enter, all ye who seek knowledge.'"

He chuckled and got to his feet. "What can I say? I'm a knowledge seeker." Holding out his hands, he started walking toward her.

Her panic level rose, but she kept herself composed. "Angel," she tried, "I've got good news."

"I heard." He sounded as if he were speaking to a child. "You went shopping at the local boogedy-boogedy store."

The glow on her desk attracted him. He picked up the crystal sphere and his voice dropped. "The Orb of Thesulah. If memory serves, this is supposed to summon a person's soul from the ether, store it until it can be transferred." He held it up. "You know what I hate most about these things?" he asked pleasantly. Then he hurled it against the blackboard, shattering it dangerously close to her head.

Ms. Calendar ducked and screamed.

He laughed. "They're so damned fragile. Must be that shoddy Gypsy craftsmanship, huh?"

She made herself move, made herself glance over her shoulder, in search of the doorknob.

He turned his attention to her computer. "I never cease to be amazed how much the world has changed in just two and a half centuries."

She reached the doorknob. It was all she could do to keep from screaming.

The door was locked.

"It's a miracle to me," he told her, wide-eyed. You put the secret to restoring my soul in here…"

Savagely, he flung the computer to the floor. The monitor smashed against the linoleum and burst into flames. "And it comes out here." He ripped the printout off the printer. "The Ritual of Restoration. Wow." He chuckled. "This brings back memories." He tore it in half.

"Wait! That's your—"

"Oh. My 'cure'?" He grimaced an apology as he kept ripping. "No thanks. Been there, done that. And déjà vu just isn't what it used to be. Well, isn't this my lucky day." He held the pages over the burning monitor. "The computer and the pages." He set them on fire and dropped them. Then he crouched low over the flames and made a show of warming his hands. "Looks like I get to kill two birds with one stone."

Her heart was thundering. She was so terrified she was almost blind. She started edging toward the next door, which was parallel with Angel. But then he turned to her, in full vamp face, and drawled, "And teacher makes three."

She raced for the door. He sprang up and caught her easily, and she screamed. With the supernatural strength of his kind, he flung her toward the wall. With bone-crunching force, she hit the door, and slid down it even as the momentum of the impact pushed it open.

She was momentarily dazed, but the adrenaline in her system propelled her on. Slowly, he advanced.

Her forehead bleeding, she got to her feet, panting with fear, and flew down the corridor.

"Oh, good," Angel said dangerously. "I need to work up an appetite first."

She raced for her life, her heels clattering as she reached the first set of swinging doors in the corridor.

Then she ran to the right, past the lockers, and to the exit.

The door was locked.

She doubled back and saw his shadow looming through the panels of glass in the double doors. She took another exit. Down the breezeway she ran, arms pumping, looking back to see him shortening the distance between them. Light and shadow played on his monstrous features.

Like a quarry run to ground, she was forced to another entrance into the school. For a few horrible moments, she thought that door was locked too, but it finally gave way under her frantic pushes.

She lost time and he was practically on top of her by the time she got the door open. He growled like an animal, anticipating the kill. She slammed the door in his face and ran on.

The bright overhead fluorescents cast an eerie, cold blue glow over the two of them as she lost more ground. Then she saw the janitor's cleaning cart and pushed it at him. It slammed into him and he was flung over it, landing hard on the floor.

While he was down, she took the nearby flight of stairs. On the landing, gasping for breath, she looked over her shoulder as she darted past a semicircular window—streetlamps and passing cars, the unsuspecting and uncaring normal world of suburban night—and ran right into him.

Her eyes widened as he put his chilled fingers to her lips, urging her to silence. His laughter was inhuman. She couldn't breathe. Couldn't blink. Couldn't breathe.

"Sorry, Jenny. This is where you get off," he said in a low, gentle voice. And then he grabbed her head and twisted.

Her neck made an interesting crack.

Her body tumbled to the floor.

A little winded, Angel took a couple of deep breaths, and then he cocked his head. Invigorated, he said, "I never get tired of doing that."

Without another glance at the dead woman, he moved on.

Summers Home

There was a chipper rap on the door, and Willow quickly answered it. It was Giles. "Willow," he said with brisk British pleasantness. "Good evening."

"Hi. Come on in." She was cheery because she had just seen firsthand that the ritual worked. "Here's the book." She held out the volume that contained the de-invitation ritual.

"Right. I guess I should do my apartment tonight." He glanced down at the book, then up at Willow. "Did the ritual go all right?"

"Oh, yeah. It went fine." She made a little face. "Well, it went fine until the part where Angel showed up and told Buffy's mom that he and Buffy had…" she trailed off and looked away, a bit embarrassed. She tried again. "Well, you know, that they had…you know." She still couldn't come right out and say it. She asked hopefully, "You do know, right?"

He blinked and said, "Oh, yes, sorry."

"Oh, good." She heaved a sigh of relief. Then she went on to explain, "Because I just realized that being a librarian and all, you maybe didn't know."

He seemed just the tiniest smidgen indignant. "No. Thank you. I got it."

"You would have been proud of her, though. She totally kept her cool," she informed him. There was a silence. She moved her shoulders and smiled. "Okay. Well, I'll tell Buffy you stopped by."

He glanced up at the ceiling, gesturing in the direction of the stairs and said, "Do you think perhaps I should intervene on Buffy's behalf with her mother? Maybe, say something?"

"Sure. Like what would you say?" she asked helpfully.

He mumbled around for a few seconds. Willow realized he was stuck, so she opened the door to give him a graceful exit. For which he appeared grateful. "You will tell Buffy I dropped by?" He sailed through the door.

"You bet," she assured him, and shut the door.

0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0

The tension in the room was thick and jumpy. Buffy sat on her bed while her mother paced. "That stuff with the Latin and the herbs, he's just real superstitious," she informed her mother.

"Oh." Looking thoroughly unconvinced, and disappointed that Buffy would even say such a thing, much less believe it, Joyce crossed her arms and slowly sat on Buffy's vanity bench.

So, Buffy tried again. "We just thought if—"

Joyce put her hands on her knees and took a deep breath. "Was he the first? No. Wait." She got to her feet and paced again. "I don't want to know. I don't think I want to."

"Yes," Buffy said heavily. "He was the first. I mean, the only."

"He's older than you."

Buffy was too upset to laugh at the irony. "I know."

"Too old, Rutherford," Joyce said reminding Buffy of what she had said two months previous. "And he's obviously not very stable. I really wish…I just thought you would show more judgment."

It hurt badly not to be able to defend herself. To explain what they had gone through. Almost dying.

Knowing that the world might soon be over.

"He wasn't like this before."

"Are you in love with him?"

"I was."

"Were you careful?"

Buffy reeled. That was so much a question for another kind of life. "Mom, this is no time—"

"Don't 'Mom' me, Rutherford," Joyce said sharply. "You don't get to get out of this. You had sex with a

Boy who could have had any number of sexually transmitted diseases."

Almost by rote, Buffy said flatly. "I made a mistake."

"Well, don't say that just to shut me up because I think you really did."

"I know that." She was about to burst with the unfairness of it. "I can't tell you everything."

"How about anything?" Joyce said, frustrated. "Rutherford, you can shut me out of your life. I am pretty much used to that. But don't expect me to stop caring about you because it's never going to happen. I love you more than anything in the world." She took a breath and sat down next to Buffy. For the first time she noticed that Dawn had been watching silently from the door. In a sad, uncertain voice, she said to Buffy, "That would be your cue to roll your eyes and tell me I'm grossing you out."

Buffy's eyes were welling. Quietly, she murmured, "You're not."

They both struggled for a moment. Then Joyce lifted her head slightly and said, "Oh, well." She considered. "I guess that was the talk."

Buffy took that in. "So, how'd it go?"

"I don't know." Her mother smiled faintly at her. "It was my first."

"You didn't?" Buffy started glancing at her sister.

"Not yet," Joyce answered as she looked over at her younger child. "I guess I just had the talk with you too."

Giles' Apartment

There was a long-stemmed red rose angled between the knob and the jamb of Giles's front door. The corners of his mouth twitched slightly. He lifted the rose and inhaled its lovely scent, his smile growing. Then he opened the door, poking in his head and called, "Hello?" He shut the door and set down his briefcase. "Jenny? It's me."

To the passionate strains of Puccini's La Boheme, he took off his coat. That was when he saw the bottle of wine cooling in the bucket and the note on parchment paper. Upstairs, it read. He smiled, a bit flustered, and looked upward, in the direction of his loft bed.

He put down the envelope and took off his glasses. Smoothed back his hair. He felt years younger, lighter; he felt himself to be a man quite in love with a beautiful young woman, who wanted him.

Unable to give voice to the emotion rising within him, he let the soaring opera music do it for him.

He took up the wine and the two glasses that were beside the bucket. On each step which led to his beloved, a votive candle glowed. The stairs were strewn with roses. Softly, he ascended, as the opera duet crescendoed, the full, throaty voices rising in desperate yearning.

She was lying on his bed, her dark hair piled on the pillows like a filigreed frame, her exquisite features a study in heart-stopping beauty.

His heart rose; he felt the glow of the candles in his skin. So beautiful, lying so still . . .

So still. . .

Her eyes, staring, as if she were. . .

As if . . .

The wine bottle crashed to the floor.

0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0

So still, Giles stood against the wall. His eyes staring, as if he were dead.

The blue and red lights of the police cars flashed across the walls of his apartment; the dispatcher's crackling voice buzzed crazily, like a hornet.

He did not look as a police officer and a man in a blue jumpsuit marked Coroner wheeled the loaded body bag past him.

Then the officer in charge said, not without compassion, "Mr. Giles, we're going to have to ask you to come with us. Just to answer a few questions."

It was then that he felt a flicker of what might pass for life. Rousing himself as best he could, he murmured. "Of course. Yes. Procedure." Giles looked at him. "I need to make a phone call, if that's all right."

Summers Home

Buffy was walking with Willow through the dining room. Willow asked, "So, was it horrible?"

"It wasn't too horrible," Buffy replied.

The phone rang. "I've got it," Dawn called from the kitchen. She picked it up. "Summers Residence, Dawn speaking."

"Dawn, is Buffy there?" came Giles' voice from the other end.

"Buffy," Dawn said as she looked into the dining room. "Giles is on the phone for you."

"Thanks, Dawn," Buffy said as she joined her sister. She took the receiver and put it to her ear. "Hello? Giles." She leaned against the wood and plaster wall. "Hey, we finished the sp—"

And then, as she listened, she went slack.

Summoned by the sobbing, Joyce and Dawn ran into the room. Joyce embraced Willow as Buffy buried her head against Dawn.

0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0

While Willow and Buffy waited numbly at the curb outside the Summers' house, Cordelia and Xander finally pulled up in Cordelia's garlic-and-cross-laden car.

"Where's Giles?" Buffy asked as soon as Xander got out.

Xander said, "No luck. By the time we got to the station, the cops said he'd already left. I guess they just wanted to ask him some questions."

Buffy looked down, frowning. Then she said, "Cordelia, will you drive us to Giles's house?"

Cordelia inclined her head. "Of course."

Willow looked at Buffy. "But do you think maybe he wants to be alone?"

Buffy gazed back at her. "I'm not worried about what he wants. I'm worried about what he's going to do."

They climbed into the car.

Giles' Apartment

Giles's wooden weapons chest was open. He drew a sword and tested its strength and sharpness. He decided against it. Then he loaded the gas can on top of an open sling bag crammed with weapons, from a crossbow to a mace to an old dueling pistol to wooden stakes.

His eyes were filled with icy rage. His face was stony, impassive.

He picked up the bag and left.

On his desk, a brown parchment drawing lay in the diffuse light of an Arts and Crafts lamp: Ms. Calendar, her head lying on Giles's pillow, her eyes open.

In death.

0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0

There was yellow police tape across the door. Buffy stood just behind Xander as he opened the door and called steadily, "Hello? Giles?"

He ducked under the tape. Willow followed, then Cordelia, and last, Buffy. Xander noted the wine bucket. "I guess Giles had a big night planned tonight."

Buffy picked up the sketch of Jenny Calendar. "Giles didn't set this up. Angel did. This is the wrapping for the gift." She handed the sketch to Xander.

He shut his eyes as Buffy moved past him and headed up the stairs. "Oh, man. Poor Giles."

Willow walked over to the empty weapons chest. "Look. All his weapons are gone."

Cordelia came up beside Willow and glanced inside as well. "But I thought he kept his weapons at the library?"

"No. Those are his everyday weapons." Xander looked up from the sketch. "These were his 'good' weapons. The ones he breaks out when company comes to visit."

Buffy came down the stairs and paused on the landing.

Willow said, "So he's not here?"

"Well, then, where is he?" Cordelia asked.

"He'll go to wherever Angel is," Buffy said flatly.

Willow looked at Buffy. "That means the factory, right?"

"So, Giles is going to try to kill Angel, then," Cordelia said.

Xander's voice was acid and bitter. "Well, it's about time somebody did."

"Xander," Willow said, shocked.

"I'm sorry. But let's not forget that I hated Angel long before you guys jumped on the bandwagon. So, I think I deserve something for not saying 'I told you so' long before now. And if Giles wants to go after the fiend," he turned to Buffy, as if he wanted to make sure she heard him use the word, "that murdered his girlfriend, I say, 'Faster, pussycat. Kill. Kill.'"

Buffy said simply, "You're right."

Xander did not take the moment to garner credit. His voice was low and calm as he said, "Thank you."

Buffy came the rest of the way down the stairs. "There's only one thing wrong with Giles's little revenge scenario."

"And what's that?" Xander asked, in a slightly challenging tone.

Buffy's face clouded with worry.

"It's going to get him killed."

The Factory

Angel was loving the look of disbelief and anger on Spike's face.

"Are you insane? We're supposed to kill the girl, not leave gag gifts in her friends' beds."

Drusilla leapt to Angelus's defense. Carefully, diplomatically, she said, "But, Spike, the bad teacher was going to restore Angel's soul."

"What if she did?" Spike shrugged. "If you ask me, I find myself preferring the old, Buffy-whipped Angelus. Because this new improved one is not playing with a full sack." He pressed on, staring at Angel while he spoke to Dru. "Hey, I love a good slaughter as much as the next bloke, but his little pranks will only leave us with one incredibly brassed-off Slayer."

"Don't worry, Roller Boy," Angel bit off. He folded his arms across his chest. "I've got everything under control."

Almost before the words were out of his mouth, a Molotov cocktail hit the table and burst into roaring flame. Angel and Drusilla ran past the table and the wooden high-back chairs, Spike wheeling up behind.

As they fled, an arrow pierced Angel's shoulder. Gritting his teeth from the pain, he stopped to pull it out. He looked up to see Giles advancing calmly on him, a baseball bat in his hand. Giles dipped the bat into the fire and kept advancing. Before Angel had time to defend himself, the Watcher hit him square in the face with the flaming bat, then backhanded him the other way.

"Geez, whatever happened to wooden stakes?" Angel got out, grimacing as he hunched over in pain.

Giles slammed the bat down on him yet again.

Drusilla bolted forward to help, but Spike wrapped his hand around her forearm and said, "Ah-ahhh. No fair going into the ring unless he tags you first."

Giles got off a half-dozen more blows before Angelus got up to his feet, rose to his full height, and blocked the downward arc of the bat. He grabbed Giles by the throat and dangled him above the floor. The baseball bat clattered to the floor as Giles lost consciousness.

"All right, you've had your fun," Angel raged. "But you know what it's time for now?"

Suddenly he was pulled away and thrown backward. Then, Buffy kicked him brutally in the jaw, she shouted, "My fun."

Though their movements were masked by spreading fire, Angel was aware that Drusilla and Spike were making their escape as the Slayer threw him to his knees. She got in one more strong kick before he recovered and flung her over his shoulder. While she steadied herself, he ran up the stairs. Grabbing a metal reinforcing rod, she tripped him and he began to slide back down the stairs.

He kicked her and she fell backward. He got up the stairs and headed for the gangway. But she jumped up some wooden crates and met him on the catwalk.

The fire was growing below them as he swung at her. Flames glowed on the walls. She dodged and clipped him behind his knee. He grunted and collapsed, and while he was down, she looped a rope around his neck and slammed him from side to side, battering him mercilessly. Then she slammed her foot into his midsection and rammed him backward. As he got to his feet, she leaped up, held on to a pipe, and kicked him in the chest again.

He staggered and fell, taking barrels and pipes with him. The flames rose up, adding an interesting new dimension to their battle. She was most definitely gaining the upper hand. He charged her again and she threw him down again, and started whaling on him. He laughed as if it were all a big game and said, "Are you going to let your old man just burn?"

Buffy ticked her glance from Angel to the bottom level of the burning factory. The flames were rushing toward Giles, who lay unconscious on the floor.

'Oh, no,' she thought. The decision was too horrible, too unfair: Angel's life for Giles's. If she didn't drag Giles out of the way, he would surely die. If she didn't kill Angel now, she might never get another chance. And more people would definitely die. He had already threatened everyone she loved. And keep-out spells in houses were not enough. Any time any of them went outside in the dark, he might attack. Buffy couldn't be everywhere, protecting everybody.

Angel took advantage of her distraction to toss her over the side. She caught herself, then jumped the rest of the way down. As Angel got away, she forced Giles to his feet and half-carried, half-dragged him out of the building.

The fresh air roused him. "Why did you come here?" he shouted at her, pushing her away. "This wasn't your fight!"

Her answer was a solid roundhouse to his jaw. He collapsed face down on the ground. "Are you trying to get yourself killed?" she screamed at him.

The hard tears came. She fell down beside him, clinging to him as they both wept. He shook with his grief and rage; she with her desperation, hopelessness, and fear.

And sorrow for him.

Her very deep sorrow.

"You can't leave me." It was a plea. "I can't do this alone."

Together, they wept.

February 27, 1998 – Friday

Restfield Cemetery

It was a cold, gray day. In the cemetery, leaves floated on a small pond of gray water not far from Jenny Calendar's gravestone. Leaves had fluttered down on it as well, like the butterfly kisses Giles had once dreamed of brushing against her temples and cheeks.

Giles knelt on one knee, as one might when proposing marriage, and laid roses on the rectangle of sod newly draped over the freshly dug grave. For a moment, he stayed there, and there was something noble in his grief. Something strong.

It communicated itself to Buffy.

He rose and put his hand in the pocket of his raincoat. "In my years as Watcher, I've buried too many people. Jenny was the first one I loved."

Beside him, in her gray raincoat and boots, Buffy said with all her heart, "I'm sorry. I'm sorry I couldn't kill him for you…for her…when I had the chance."

They both looked down at the simple headstone. Jennifer Calendar, was all it said. Nothing of Janna.

Nothing of curses and betrayals.

Nothing of passion.

"I wasn't ready," Buffy admitted, "but I think I finally am. I can't hold on to the past any more. Angel is gone. Nothing's ever going to bring him back."

0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0

Dawn stood next to a tree some distance away from her sister and Giles. She had skipped school to pay her own respects to the teacher who had tried to save her just a month before from Angel when he had turned. She waited till they were heading toward Giles' car before she moved to the grave.

As Dawn laid the flowers on the grave, she heard her sister call out her name. "I just want to say thank you," she said with a sigh. "You tried to save me from Angel and now your gone. I wish I could have said this in person when you were still alive. But thank you."

Dawn felt two hands on her shoulders and looked up to see Giles and Buffy on either side of her. "I'm sorry," she said looking up at Giles who nodded.

Sunnydale High School

Miss Calendar's computer science students were utterly silent when Willow walked in, her notebook and text in her arms. She said, a bit shyly, "Hi. Principal Snyder has asked me to fill in for Miss Calendar until the new computer science teacher arrives. So, I'm just going to stick to the lesson plan she left."

She walked around the desk and put down her things. Unknowingly she knocked a yellow diskette off the desk. Sliding between the desk and the portable storage cart Miss Calendar had drawn up beside it, the disk clattered to the floor.

It rested there, at an angle.

Waiting.


Author's Note: Zedpm's story that this is based on had a Buffy/Spike pairing. I'm not going to do a Buffy/Spike pairing. I'm actually thinking of doing a Buffy/Faith pairing. That said I'm thinking of making Buffy and Spike Frenemies.

Side Note: I'm skipping the next three episodes. I might see about redoing Killed by Death for season 3 though. Anyways, the next chapter will be Becoming Part 1