Buffy awoke, her head no longer hurting, but thick and fuzzy, as though she'd been --

Drugged. She had been drugged.

She forced herself to sit up; she was on her bed, albeit dumped unceremoniously atop the covers. Pain snaked its way up her arm again, but Buffy ignored it. It was already dark outside -- Angel would already be in the Tower --

Buffy went to the phone, then hesitated before picking it up. Whom could she call? Whom did she trust?

Hell, she thought, I don't need someone I trust. I need someone who'll want to get Sky's real killer. That's just about anybody.

Settling on Frances, Buffy picked up the receiver. "Hello? Hello, um, operator?

No answer, and the dull hiss on the other end told her the line was inactive. She hung up and went to the door, but when it slid open, two burly Watchers stood guard. They glared at her, and Buffy put her hands on her hips. "Oh, yeah, like you can stop me --"

She went to shove her way through, but one of the Watchers pushed her back into her room -- easily. Buffy hardly had time to react before the door slid shut again. "What the --"

Memories of her 18th birthday surfaced, and Buffy groaned. Damn Council, she thought. Okay. No phone. No powers. But sooner or later, someone's got to talk to me. I only need a minute --

Buffy cursed her stupid hesitation before. It had just been so hard to get out the words, to confront the wave of guilt and grief and betrayal that welled up inside her every time she so much as pictured Sky's young face. When she got another chance, she wouldn't hesitate again --

The door slid open once more, and Markwith stepped inside -- shadowed by Sumiko, who was wearing her sword at her waist. "They told me you were up," he said congenially, as though they'd run into each other at the continental breakfast.

"I killed Sky," Buffy said. "Angel didn't do it. I did."

"I thought you'd say that," Markwith said without missing a beat. "Mind if I sit down?"

Buffy stared at him, then gestured toward the couch. "Have at it. I guess that's why you drugged me? Thought I'd haul off and kill you?"

"It seemed a distinct possibility, given the day you've been having," Markwith replied. Sumiko trailed after him, not sitting down, but remaining tightly by his side. "Though my vigilant bodyguard here is probably the best assurance of safety I could have."

Sumiko's eyes never left Buffy.

"So, fine, take me to the Tower. Or get me in front of Ishak. Just set Angel free."

"No," Markwith said. "I don't think I will."

She couldn't speak for a long minute. Finally, she choked out, "You -- you're the one behind all this -- "

"Buffy, you're behaving in a very paranoid fashion," Markwith said. "And I can understand why, considering the shocking behavior of your erstwhile lover."

"He hasn't done anything shocking," Buffy repeated. "I'm not trying to cover for him. I'm telling you the truth. My -- my fingerprints would be on the stake --"

"Stake?" Markwith raised an eyebrow. "I don't remember our team finding a stake. Poor Sky's body was in a condition no stake could ever have created."

Buffy shook her head. "That -- that was after --"

"Oh, that's right. You just happened to kill Sky, your friend, for no good reason --"

"I had good reason! She was killing people! Like you don't know that --"

"-- and, as fate would have it, vampires came along the body immediately afterward and destroyed the evidence of what you'd done. And Angel, a vampire whose murderous tendencies are written throughout our histories, just happened to go out at a few minutes to sunrise to stumble upon the body."

"He didn't just happen to go out," Buffy said. "He was trying to cover up what I'd done."

"Well, if that were true, Buffy, I'd say he'd made rather a good job of it."

Buffy ran her good hand through her hair. "This is unbelievable. You have to at least find out if what I'm saying is true -- but -- but you don't want to know, do you?"

Markwith shrugged. "Think about what the Council will think. What all those people out there will think. Your friends, Xiaoting and Agatha. Do they really want to hear that one Slayer murdered another? That doesn't make any sense. But a vampire, long-suspected by virtually all, finally breaking down and killing a Slayer? That makes more sense to me, certainly."

"You know the truth," Buffy said. "You know I'm telling you the truth. You just don't care."

"I know what I believe. Angel's a danger to this Council, to the work that we do here. That danger is finally believed by all."

"The work that we do here?" Buffy snapped. "Are you the one who sent Sky out after the witches? Did you fuck up the Museum raid?" She stepped forward, getting in his face; Sumiko responded by moving closer to Markwith.

"Watch the language, please. Sumiko's bound to start picking up words sooner or later." Markwith looked at her carefully, dropped a bit of his facade. "Yes, I sent Sky out that night. She was a good solider, the executor of the Council's most secret purposes. And she did her job well. I wonder if she knew how much we appreciated her --"

"Why?" Buffy cried. "Will you tell me that much? Why would you want the Museum raid to fail? Why would you want the witches dead? Why? Did -- did you just hate Angel so much that you wanted to screw him over --"

"You've caught this disease from Angel of taking everything so personally."

"Oh, yeah. No idea where he came up with that."

"I was very happy when you began, shall we say, revamping Angel's image," Markwith continued. "Honestly. At first I thought to leave it at that. People's attitude toward the entire Council changed, once the vampire among us started proving himself again. And the Underground burnouts -- those were pushing the limits. But they encouraged the populace so much. It seemed little harm to let you continue. But the Museum raid -- that I could not have allowed."

"You still haven't told me why," Buffy said.

Markwith shook his head. "That was the best thing about Sky," he said. "She didn't ask such questions. Neither does our Sumiko here, who will soon take up the duties Sky has abandoned. Without language, she may take some persuading. The actions required are often not the traditional work of a Slayer. But she is -- so -- perfect." His voice was getting dreamy. "The perfect warrior, uncomplicated, unquestioning. Efficient and deadly. Ours to command."

"Yours, you mean," Buffy said. "And that's about the only person you could get to love you. Somebody who couldn't understand one word that comes out of your mouth."

His eyes flashed at that. "I'll put my taste in companions up against yours at any time."

"You thought you'd make Angel break, when you brought me back," Buffy said. "But he was stronger than you thought he was --"

"I never for a moment meant to break Angel," Markwith said. "Other, better men than I have tried that, to no avail. He's a cautious, secretive creature, and he hadn't put a foot wrong in a century. But you -- reading your history, your many mishaps, your endless rebellions -- you were bound to revert to your old patterns eventually."

Buffy sat down in a chair, her knees weak. "You knew I'd screw up," she said in a tiny voice. "And you knew Angel wouldn't let me go down alone."

"It seemed likely," Markwith said. "Of course, from all appearances, things have turned out quite differently. His demonic instincts got the better of him after all."

"Appearances don't have anything to do with this," Buffy said. Tears were welling in her eyes now. Markwith shimmered and blurred. "People are going to learn the truth. People are going to learn that you sent Sky out to kill innocent --"

"Witches? The people who matter already know. The people who don't -- they'll believe the worst of witches easily enough. And they'll believe what they want to believe about Angel. They already do. And no protestations from a tearful, lovestruck girl are going to make any difference."

"Ishak," Buffy said, grasping at any hope now. "He may have lied to Angel, but I know he does care -- at least some --"

"A sentimental old man," he said. "He did like to hear Angel's song about the Council's true duties -- as Angel saw them. He always made Ishak feel very noble and good. But Angel's ideas were those of another age. I always thought it very appropriate that those ideas existed only in the heart of a dead man." Markwith put his hands on his knees and leaned forward. "Angel's a lost cause, Buffy. His trial is scheduled for tomorrow afternoon --"

Trial. The word made Buffy's stomach spin and her head reel; if she'd eaten in the past day, she knew she would have thrown up. Instead she clutched her gut, doubling over as if struck.

Markwith was watching her, a flinty spark in his eyes, but he continued on. "Rather a long list of crimes, I'm afraid. Promises to be a messy business. We'll get half the city crowding in here to see that."

"Oh, God --"

"Buffy, listen to me. Angel is beyond your help now. Even if we did accept your version of events, he'd still be an accomplice -- which would condemn him just the same. You can only save yourself. You can continue making accusations nobody will believe and marginalize yourself. A dangerous move," Markwith said smoothly. "Or you can get back to work. Go back to slaying by the Council's rules. Frances will patrol with you. You'd never be asked to perform, shall we say, special duties. You could continue to do a great deal of good, enjoy your years here in the safety and comfort of the Keep. After all -- isn't that what Angel would want you to do?"

Buffy slapped him as hard as she could. Her Slayer strength may have been damped down, but she knew she hit Markwith hard enough to hurt. He pulled back and glared at her, and for one moment Buffy thought he would hit back. Sumiko put her hand to her sword.

Markwith held up a hand toward Sumiko. "We're all right here," he said distantly. He got to his feet. "The people adore you, Buffy," he said. "They'll adore you even after this, maybe more. A young girl betrayed by love -- very sympathetic. So you're still of value to this Council. So far."

He turned to go, Sumiko trailing behind. Just as the doors swished open, Buffy said desperately, "Can I visit him? Talk to him?"

"I don't see what purpose that would serve," Markwith said. "If you want to see Angel, come to his trial."

The door slid shut, sealing Buffy alone in her room.

She got slowly to her feet and shuffled to her bedroom. Buffy opened one of her drawers and pulled out Angel's tunic, held it close to her face. No good -- it was fresh and clean, and nothing of his scent lingered there. Only her own.

Buffy let herself fall onto the bed.

Don't think -- don't think about it --

But that wouldn't work this time. There was no running from the fact that Angel going to die, and she had gotten him killed, and it was all useless. Worse than useless.

Why? Why would the Council want to stop the Museum raid? Wasn't there anything she could do? She looked at her window, wondered about the drop to the ground. Thought about the stakes and arrows in her supplies. Wondered about knotting Angel's tunic up into a rope that could go around her neck.

If she left a note, maybe --

Who was to say anybody beyond Markwith would get the note? Or believe it if they did?

She began to cry in earnest. Oh, God, she thought, I wish I just understood why.

Buffy sobbed until all the strength was gone from her body, until her mind was blank with misery, and finally she fell asleep.

**

"I do not care for nightclubs."

Buffy lifted her head from the pillow, looked around. Her bed was in the middle of the Bronze dance floor, which seemed an odd place to put it, but, whatever. The Propellerheads, with Shirley Bassey's voice as lead, were booming from the speakers. Watchers were milling about, mingled with the dancing teenagers and the panda bears. Noor was at the foot of the bed, complaining as usual. "They are noisy, and the food is expensive and tasteless, and these displays of dancing are very vulgar."

"If you want to leave, why don't you go?" Buffy said.

"I tried to go," Noor said. "They would not let me leave. But you, you could leave."

"You should leave, Buffy." Buffy turned around; Angel was at the head of the bed. "You should get out while you can."

"I'm not leaving without you," Buffy said. "You're in danger, Angel."

"It's sunny outside," Angel said.

"The -- the shroud. Don't you have the shroud?"

Angel thought about that for a moment. "I left it in the Council Chamber."

"I'll go get it," Buffy promised. "Just hang on, okay?" She climbed out of her bed to go, then turned back and touched his face. "Okay?"

"I told you," Angel said. "You might have to go without me."

"I'll be back." Buffy ran up the steps to the stage, went to the exit sign. The door was there, finally. She tugged and tugged, but it was locked. "Frances gave me the key. Oh, God, where did I put that key?"

Noor was suddenly beside her again, the ornate key in her hands. "I gave you this long ago," Noor said. "I thought you would remember."

Buffy shook her head. "Frances gave the key to me."

"We both did." Noor motioned toward the door. "Go to the Chamber. You will find what you are seeking in the Chamber. But you must watch carefully. And you must listen."

Buffy slid the key into the lock; as she turned it, the door simply vanished. The Bronze's back alley was brightly sunlit, and Buffy took a moment to realize she'd never seen it like that before. But at the end of it, right where the Dumpster was supposed to be, were the doors to the Chamber.

"Hurry," Noor said. "Find what you seek. And tell Xiaoting she is still a frivolous cow."

"Gotcha," Buffy said. She took off running, moving as fast as her feet would carry her. The alleyway seemed to stretch out, getting longer and longer as the sun got hotter and brighter, almost blinding. Eventually she could see nothing but light, but she kept on -

Her hands slammed into the doors, pushing them open, and she stumbled into what seemed to be total darkness. Buffy took a deep breath, grateful for the cool air, and blinked as she tried to adjust to the dimmer light. She was in the Council Chamber, all right -- and she wasn't alone. A dark form came up to her, and she strained to make out the features.

"Buffy? Good heavens, what's been keeping you?"

Buffy gasped, recognizing the voice even as the features became clear. "Giles?"

"We've been waiting," Giles said. He quirked his mouth at her. "You weren't off shopping again, were you?"

"Oh, God, Giles!" She flung her arms around his neck; he smelled like aftershave and the incense at the Magic Box, and his old tweed coat was rough against her hands. He hugged her in return, patting her on the shoulder.

"I'm glad to see you too," he said. "But we have business to discuss."

"Yeah, Buf, get with the program," Xander said. He was sitting at the Sunnydale High library table, now in the middle of the Chamber. His hair was mussed, and he had spackle all over his work jeans and Minnie Mouse t-shirt. "If you run late for meetings, you miss out on the good stuff. For instance, we are already out of jelly doughnuts."

"My fault," Willow said, raising her hand sheepishly. "They were just, you know, more yummy than usual."

"Guys --" Buffy reluctantly let go of Giles and ran over to her friends. "I missed you --"

"We missed you too," Xander said, giving her a quick hug around the shoulders. "We didn't want you to go."

"I mean, we know you had to leave Dawnie with us," Willow said, embracing Buffy in turn. Her oversized black sweater was fuzzy against Buffy's hands. "But it felt like -- like you wanted to go."

"I did," Buffy confessed. "It wasn't because I didn't love you. You know that, right?"

"Yeah," Xander said. "We know. We always knew. So stop worrying about that, 'cause you have got way bigger stuff on your plate."

"And stop imagining me disappearing in the fog," Willow said. "Because, you know, morbid."

"Excuse me!" Anya folded her arms and looked stern. "It's meeting time. All the successful-business books say that meetings should be short and productive."

"Yes, yes, Anya," Giles said. "Do get on with it."

Anya motioned at a large pile of cash that was in the center of the table. "This," she said, doing her best Vanna-White hands for display, "is our money. We want to keep this money. We don't give money to other people. Why? Because it's ours."

"You might consider moving the money elsewhere," a voice called from the higher levels. Buffy craned her head up to see Wesley standing there in a suit, shovel in hand. Next to him was Cordelia, in Sunnydale High cheerleading wear, rolling her eyes as she balanced an unpotted fern in her hands. "It's going to get in the way of the landscaping."

"Landscaping. Very important aspect of home building and remodeling," Xander said sagely.

"I just had this place looking the way I wanted it," Wesley said, sounding very put out. "Then they went and ripped up all the foliage. Of all the cheek."

"Excuse me, Shovel Man, but do you mind getting back to the digging?" Cordelia said. "I'm stuck here holding a fern."

"Oooh, check it out!" Buffy turned again to see Dawn playing with Ishak's chair. She was in her pyjamas, her hair in two braids on either side of her head, and she looked like the little kid she'd never been. "It goes up and down, see? Like the dentist, only without that creepy fluoride smell."

Buffy went to hug her sister, who tugged her into the chair with her. "Look, see -- going up!"

As Ishak's chair rose, Buffy got a better look at the room. Giles, Willow, Anya and Xander were all standing around the money, debating over where to move it. Cordelia put her fern down, and Wesley tapped the ground with his shovel. Tara was there, too, she realized, napping in a chair; she briefly opened her eyes, waved lazily, then drifted off again. And there, in the outskirts -- "Spike?"

He finished lighting his cigarette, stepped out of the shadows. "Been trying to think of what to say," he said. "Turns out I'm not much for this fruity dream-metaphor crap."

"Here, Spike," Dawn called, tossing him a gray mass of fabric that Buffy recognized as Kean's shroud. "Take that to Angel."

"Why would I do a thing like that?" Spike held the shroud up appraisingly. "Could come in handy, this."

"He's in the Bronze," Buffy said. "Along with the guys who killed you. Take it there, and you get your chance to kick their butts."

"Now you're talking," Spike said with a feral grin. "Angel will get his rag in a jif." He slipped it on, ran out the doors into the light.

"Going down," Dawn said, lowering the chair. She scooted against her sister, pushing for more sitting room; Buffy pushed back playfully and heard Dawn's giggle.

"Now, you may be thinking, why not give away some of the money?" Anya said as Buffy got back on her feet. "We could still keep some for ourselves, right? To that I can only say, what kind of lousy capitalists are you?"

"I could've gotten you in that Museum, Buffy," Willow said. "Easy as pie. Well, okay, the last time I tried to make a pie, the crust did this Playdoh thing, and there was a lack-of-sugar factor. So the Museum would actually have been easier than pie."

"Oh, no," Giles said, holding up his hand. "The Council doesn't like pie."

"In my day, the Council loved pie," Wesley called as he carefully planted a philodendron. "We couldn't get enough."

"I believe it's gone out of favor," Giles said. "Too common."

The doors swung open again, and a shrouded figure came through. Angel pulled back his hood and smiled at Buffy. "Made it," he said. "I shouldn't have doubted you."

"Duh," Buffy said with a grin. "C'mon. We're talking about --" she frowned. "We're talking about pie."

"The Council doesn't like pie," Angel said.

"We covered that," Xander said, crossing his arms.

"Where's Spike?" Dawn asked.

Angel smiled grimly. "Let's just say the Bronze is going to be shut down for repairs for a while."

"Last one!" Cordelia cried happily as Wesley finished patting down the earth near the philodendrom. Suddenly, the Chamber seemed to come alive with plants -- vines curled their way up the walls. Trees sprouted from the seats, grew leaves and bore fruit in moments. The floor went soft with grass.

"Good show, Wesley," Giles said with a smile. The others were beaming too -- including Tara, who was suddenly wide awake and bounding down the steps to join them.

"It's just like the gardens," Buffy said.

"Not just like," Wesley warned. "We have to let the sun in."

Dawn punched a knob on Ishak's chair. The ceiling split in two -- but instead of revealing the rest of the amphitheater, it was parting to reveal a sunny sky. "Angel, quick!" Buffy cried. "Your shroud!"

A band of sunlight cut the Chamber in half. Angel shook his head. "No more shrouds, Buffy. You have to let the light come in."

"Angel, please!" she pleaded, pulling at his tunic and looking around desperately for the shroud, which seemed to have disappeared.

She heard a small crash behind her, like something breaking. Buffy spun around, then put her hand to her mouth. Tremulously, she said, "Mom?"

Joyce knelt on the ground, picking up a cup. "Well, would you look at that," Joyce said. "I thought this was broken, but turns out it's good as new."

The light was streaming in now, filling the room, coming closer and closer to Angel. Buffy tried to push him back without stepping away from her mother. "Mommy, I love you."

"I love you too, dear," she said, smiling. She stood up and held out her hand to touch her daughter's face. Just as the blinding sunlight overtook them, Joyce said, "You have to know what to see --"

Buffy woke up. She opened her eyes slowly. Her bedroom was pale with dawn light.

Good, she thought, I have time.

She knew once again that she was just where she needed to be. And doing exactly what she needed to do.

*

continue