The table Willow and Tara had sequestered was near to the railing of the second story, providing an easy view of the dance floor and writhing bodies below, but neither woman seemed to be paying the activity any attention. Each sat on opposite sides of the table, shifting occasionally and finding something new to focus their attentions – provided that 'something new' was never the woman in front of her.

"Are you feeling better now?" Willow blurted out after a prolonged silence threatened to go on infinite loop without intervention.

Tara's eyes jerked toward the redhead, who appeared for a brief moment to want to look away again. But her resolve kicked in, and Willow held the gaze as she further clarified. "With the whole ..." Her hand flailed around as she searched for the right words. Unable to find them, she simply said, "With the everything."

Nodding, Tara also managed to maintain eye contact. "I'm okay," she replied with a bit more conviction than it she apparently felt.

"That's good. I worry all the time. I-I mean, about how you're doing." For a brief second, Willow looked panicked at having made the admission, but then she smiled sheepishly. "I want you to be okay. And you are! So ... so that's good."

"You worry?" At Willow's sincere nod of confirmation, Tara gave her a teasing smirk. "Maybe if you'd, you know ... talk to me, you wouldn't have to worry so much."

The redhead's eyes widened at the implication and she immediately protested. "I talk! I ..." Her brow crinkled in deep thought, and she thrust her finger at Tara triumphantly. "I asked you to pass the butter at breakfast!"

"Oh, yes, the condiment discussion," agreed the blonde wryly. "How could I forget?"

Despite the slight touch of sarcasm, Tara grinned. Willow happily echoed it. But the moment soon passed, the redhead again slipped into seriousness. "I just don't want to crowd."

"Maybe I like the crowd of you." As soon as she'd said the words, Tara's eyes darted away. Willow began to look distressed again, but Tara quickly reestablished their connection. "I know what you mean, though. I feel ..." She frowned, obviously having no small amount of difficulty in vocalizing her emotions. "I feel like it's—"

Suddenly, Kennedy was there. She stood to the side of the table, looking down meaningfully at Willow. Tara's mouth slowly closed as she regarded Kennedy with a confusion mirrored by Willow.

"Dance with me," Kennedy stated, fixating on the redhead as though she were the only thing in the entire universe.

Willow blinked. "What?"

"Dance with me," she repeated. Willow still looked confused and Kennedy rolled her eyes with a smirk. "Me. You. Dance. Now."

Willow glanced from Kennedy to Tara and back again. "But Tara and I—"

"One dance," the Slayer insisted. "Maybe two. I've heard nothing but talk all night. It's time for some action."

Before Willow could protest, Kennedy had tugged the witch out of her chair and was steering her toward the stairs. She winked to Tara as she made her way down, pushing Willow in front of her. "I'll bring her back," Kennedy promised with a twinkle in her eye. "Eventually."

Tara watched them leave, her expression stunned at the speed with which the situation had fallen apart. Her eyes drifted to the dance floor, where she watched Kennedy and Willow.

The Slayer immediately fell into the beat, but Willow simply stood there, her arms crossed and posture angry. Kennedy didn't allow it to phase her, however. She grabbed one of the redhead's hands and proceeded to dance with it anyway, heedless of the fact that the body it was attached to did not, in any way, shape or form participate.

Kennedy leaned over to say something, and a burst of laughter erupted from Willow. It was the opening the Slayer had obviously been waiting for, and Willow began to relax – just a little.

Taking in the scene unfolding below, Tara slowly began to transform from stunned to irritated. By the time Buffy had slipped into Willow's vacated seat, the blonde witch looked as close to furious as she ever had before. Buffy blinked in surprise at Tara's expression, but Tara hadn't yet acknowledged the Slayer's presence. Her clenched jaw twitched as she watched Kennedy spin Willow out and then back again, wrapping her arms tightly around the smiling redhead.

Buffy placed a fresh drink in front of Tara, studying the other woman's features with surprise and great interest. "Wow," she finally observed. "That's not a look we see on you every day."

Without looking up, Tara snapped, "Yes, well ... this isn't exactly a situation I'm in every day."

Forcibly tearing her gaze away, the blonde snatched the drink and took a deep swallow, which was immediately followed by an involuntary shudder at the taste. The sharp slap of alcohol seemed to douse Tara's anger somewhat, and while she still didn't appear to be on happy's Christmas card list, she no longer looked like she could set fire to the napkins by her glare alone.

Buffy took in all this impassively. "Emotional yo-yo, huh? Been there," she commiserated with an understanding nod, before brightening. "Oh, but hey, at least you're feeling something. That's really good. I was sorta afraid you'd be, like ... you know, me."

Tara very deliberately looked anywhere but at the scene below. "Believe me, I'm feeling things," she replied, her voice bitter.

"Ouch." The Slayer paused then, to allow Tara to expand on said feelings. Tara clearly didn't, so Buffy continued instead.

"Will's really stuck right now, you know. She feels so bad because of what happened to you. Not that she isn't thrilled you're back," Buffy hastily amended, "just that—"

"I know." Tara's expression softened, and she ran a frustrated hand through her hair. "It's just so hard. It's like, I think I know what I want, but ..." Trailing off, the blonde's eyes drifted once again to the dance floor. Rather than anger, this time she simply looked miserable.

Buffy's expression showed nothing but sympathetic understanding. "But it seems like there's too much stuff in the way?" she supplied.

Glancing back to the Slayer, Tara nodded, just a little, then focused on the drink glass she clutched in both hands.

A minute or so passed with Tara lost in thought and Buffy watching silently.

After what she clearly felt was far too long, the Slayer decisively declared, "We should start a club. A sort of 'Resurrectees Anonymous'."

The witch smirked. "''Hello, my name is Tara, and I've been raised from the dead.'"

"'Hi, Tara'," Buffy responded in a flat monotone, eliciting a chuckle from them both.

"We can swap stories," continued the Slayer. "Like: 'I've been alive – again – for nine-hundred and sixty-four days.'"

Thoroughly amused, Tara shook her head at their silliness. "But there's only the two of us," she pointed out. "Who'll be our sponsors?"

Buffy considered this for a moment, then looked at Tara with a note of seriousness. "We'll sponsor each other."

The chuckling died away but not the smile, and Tara nodded. "Okay.

"Okay," Buffy repeated with a firm nod of her own.

Both women looked up as Faith walked past their table, paying little attention to either of them as she was intent on not spilling the many drinks she was carrying; Faith had clearly chosen to forgo the tray route that Buffy had chosen earlier in the evening, and seemed adamant that she manhandle the numerous liquid-filled glasses into submission. She made it to the main group of tables without dropping anything, and set them down unceremoniously. Hannah remained in her central position, with Dawn on one side and Hazel on the other. Faith sucked several drops of a spilled something-or-other from her hand and began distributing glasses appropriately, making sure to give Hazel a slight noogie as she walked behind the girl's chair.

Her hand flying to her head in protective protest, Hazel exclaimed, "Hey!"

"That's for being freakin' lazy and not gettin' your own damned Dr. Pepper," stated Faith, placing a glass in front of the younger Slayer.

Hazel glared at Faith, but it seemed more petulant than angry. "Well you were going anyway! It's not like I can make a drink run!"

"Still could'a come got your own." Faith considered the options for a moment before adding, "Or gotten believable fake ID like any respectable 16-year old."

With a derisive snort, Hazel turned to her drink. "Oh, and had you chew my ass?"

"Watch your damn mouth," the Senior Slayer warned in complete seriousness.

Hazel muttered a not-at-all heartfelt sorry and, with another slight glare at Faith, sipped her soda.

A highly amused Dawn watched all this with avid, exaggerated interest. "This is so cute," she said, gesturing to the two Slayers. "It's like a really dysfunctional episode of 'Leave it to Beaver'."

Fully ignoring Dawn, Faith claimed the seat next to Hazel and turned to Hannah. "So what comes next, Mrs. G? Sucked into late night demon slayage?" She grinned knowingly. "It's like a potato chip – you crunch one an' you just can't stop."

Hannah chuckled at Faith's analogy. "For a while, it did become something of a recreational activity," she admitted. "The interactions with the darker side of the world, that is. Actually hunting and killing demons was an activity I didn't take up until some time later. However after a while ..."

Oxford University – February 1974

Sprawled across the bed in her lodgings at the Wolfson Building, Hannah looked up and smiled broadly as her roommate entered. "What you got there, Olivia?"

"Bob Marley's 'Catch A Fire'," Olivia replied with a happy grin. She crossed the small room and popped open the cassette deck of Hannah's hi-fi system. Balancing a wicker basket of fruit on her head, Olivia sashayed around the room in time to the music.

"Not interruptin' yer studyin' I hope, mon," she told Hannah along the way.

Hannah laughed. "Your accent leaves a lot to be desired and, I hasten to add, you're about as Jamaican as baked beans on toast."

Olivia gave a mock scowl. "Me father's family came from there originally, mon."

Hannah arched an eyebrow.

Olivia blinked innocently. "Well, they might have ... there or Trinidad or Barbados. Who the hell remembers?" She grinned. "Anyway, I could even be related to one of the Wailers for all anyone knows."

"My mother's family comes from Wales, but that doesn't mean I'm related to Tom Jones." Hannah shuddered. "Perish the thought."

Replacing the wicker basket on her nightstand, Olivia selected an apple and threw herself into the room's only comfortable chair. "Ah, he's not so bad," she commented slyly. "He moves pretty well ... for a white boy." She pitched the apple stalk at Hannah, who promptly returned the favor by smacking Olivia with a pillow.

Closing her economics textbook with a snap, Hannah sighed. "I'm beginning to wonder if this was the right choice." The blonde looked to her roommate and rolled her eyes. "Boring. Wish I'd taken anthropology like you."

Olivia shrugged. "The opportunities after graduation are pretty limited though."

A rap on the door interrupted the conversation. Shaking her head in response to Olivia's unasked question, Hannah went to the door and tugged it open to reveal a small brunette wearing spectacles. "Some young bloke downstairs to see you, Hannah," the woman informed her.

"Me?" Hannah asked with a note of feigned innocence. She shot a wink at Olivia as she closed the door behind her and followed the brunette along the corridor. "What does he look like?"

Upon turning a corner, she came to the main staircase and glanced down to see the figure of Giles standing there, hands behind his back and looking rather sheepish. "Ziggy!" Hannah exclaimed delightedly, quickly taking the steps two at a time and throwing her arms around him when she reached the bottom. She quickly stepped back and gazed at him with surprise. "Good lord, how long has it been? Your birthday back in November wasn't it? I tried to telephone when I was coming to London just after Christmas, but whoever answered said you weren't living there any more and didn't know where you'd gone."

He nodded. "I moved. Ethan and I got our own place. It was getting rather crowded at the old one. Seemed like every other week someone new was taking up residence. I meant to let you know but ... but what with this and that ..." He shrugged guiltily as his voice trailed away.

"Far be it from me to pry into your private affairs, other than what I already know," she smirked, her eyes twinkling. "Unless, of course, you feel obliged to reveal all."

Giles coughed instead and produced a bouquet of yellow roses from behind his back.

"I really prefer red," she smirked, accepting them with good grace.

"Well ... Given the circumstances and the length of time ..." he began, blushing a little.

She took his arm and gave it a squeeze, leading him into the main common room of the dormitory. "I'm just kidding. How have you been?"

Giles thrust his hands into his pockets. "Finally succumbed to pressure," he admitted bitterly. "I'll be going to Magdalen come the start of Michelmas Term, but got the old man to agree to fork out for a trip across Europe first. France, Spain, Germany. Ethan's coming and a few other good mates ... Nobody else you'd know."

"How exciting," declared Hannah with a sparkle.

"Yes," he admitted, though not sounding entirely convinced. "Something of a compromise, I suppose." He glanced in her direction. "Uhm, I- I was wondering if—"

"I'd love to," interrupted Hannah. "Can a bring a few friends too?"

"Of course," Giles grinned. "The more the merrier."

"When do we start?"

"Well, the year here will be over in what, June?" At her nod, he continued, "Beginning in July then? Catch the ferry from Dover to Calais and then trains from there. We won't have to be back until the end of September."

"Suits me," agreed the blonde amiably.

Smiling happily, Giles dug into his pocket and produced an envelope, waving it in the air. "In the meantime, I've got tickets to see Queen at the Rainbow end of next month. Care to join me?"

Hannah pouted. "I have to wait that long to see you again?"

Rupert pulled one of the tickets from the envelope and handed it to her with a grin. "My new number's on the back."

"Queen?" Faith sneered, the prospect of listening to the group clearly ranking high on the Slayer's personal Top Ten Least Favorite Things list.

The group of girls was complete now, save for the absence of Kennedy and Willow, and they had each clearly brought their own opinion of the group out that night.

"'Bohemian Rhapsody', right?" queried Dawn.

"Among many other things," Hannah confirmed. "This was a little before that was released, however."

Tara drained the remainder of her drink, suppressing the accompanying, involuntary shudder. "Some of their stuff was pretty good. I always liked 'The Show Must Go On'."

"Mm, very poignant," agreed Hannah with a nod. "Though, of course, far beyond when we're talking about."

Shaking her head, Faith tipped her chair back and balanced it on two legs. "I just wanna know what's up with Giles and these groups," she wondered aloud.

"He liked Glam." Hannah shrugged and grinned. "I make no account for him otherwise."

Anxious to return to the story, Hazel leaned forward excitedly. "So the concert was good?"

"Quite. And I certainly abused my newfound telephone knowledge on a regular basis," Hannah added with a wicked smirk. "The rest of the term passed with relatively little incident ..."

Oxford University – July 1974

The sun was shining down brightly on St. Hilda's College as Giles and Ethan loaded the girls' baggage into the French Blue Morris Mini Clubman.

"That's all of it?" inquired a surprised Ethan.

"Not all women have to travel with four steamer trunks and a dozen hatboxes," replied Hannah dryly. "Some of us know how to pack light."

Olivia tossed a canvas satchel onto the pile. "That's me done," she declared, adding "Nice car," as Ethan slammed the door to the boot.

"Yeah," agreed Ethan. "Belongs to the family though. Not my personal property unfortunately. I'll drop it off at my parents' house in South Ken and we can take the underground from there to Victoria. The others are going to meet us in Dover. What about the rest of your crowd?"

"Same thing," Hannah told him. "Just seemed easier that way." She glanced at Giles who was leaning against the side of the car with his arms crossed.

"What's with you?" she asked with a frown. "You've got a face like thunder."

He scowled. "Beginning to wish I hadn't cracked under the pressure." He waved his hand as though encompassing the entire University. "Not looking forward to coming here in October, I can tell you."

Standing next to him, Hannah linked her arm with his. "We won't have so far to travel to see each other," she whispered, "and we've got the next three months to be footloose and fancy free." She grinned at him. "Well, I'll let you be footloose anyway. To a point."

He threw her a small smile and shrugged.

"Oh, come on," she urged. "Don't spoil things before we've even got started or I'll have to thump you one." She regarded him out of the corner of her eye. "Something I need to tell you," she confided softly, pulling him to one side, out of earshot of Ethan and Olivia. "Remember that night we went to eat at Top of the Tower to celebrate your parents' 25th Anniversary?"

Giles nodded. "Boring evening, but you would insist on coming." His scowl deepened.

"Well," Hannah began slowly. "You did say some of the Council members would be there."

"And they were," sighed Giles.

"Indeed," agreed Hannah, "and don't ask questions cuz I'm not going to answer them, but just know that I managed to make contact with one of them later."

Giles regarded her with suspicion. "And the purpose of that was ...?"

"To see if they could use another willing and able body," she stated, elbowing him sharply in the ribs. "Guess what, Ziggy?"

"You're not—?" he gasped – whether from surprise or the unexpected jab, it was difficult to tell.

"I am," she told him firmly. "I think this might be exactly what I'm looking for. And don't you see, that means we might be able to work together at some point." She squeezed his arm. "We'd make a great team."

Beaming, Giles gathered her up into his arms and swung her around. Then, his expression darkened as he set her back on her feet. "You don't know the Council like I do," he told her seriously. "There are things below the surface that I don't agree with ... and you certainly wouldn't agree with. I'm not sure about this, Hannah."

She brushed his objection away with a wave of her hand. "Cross that bridge when we come to it," she replied, her tone indicating that the topic brooked no further discussion. She gently pinched his cheek. "In the meantime, we've got an entire continent waiting at our beck and call. We'll worry about later when later comes."

With a deliberate stride, Giles marched along one of Trillium's darkened streets. His jaw was set in a rigid line and his expression hinted at many emotions. Happiness could not be counted among them. From around a corner behind the Watcher, Xander's head appeared, swiveling in both directions. Spotting Giles, the carpenter hurried after him.

"Giles!" he shouted as he ran, but still the Watcher continued walking. "Giles!!" he called again.

Employing a little more speed, Xander managed to catch up with the older man, whose step maintained its determined course.

"Giles, c'mon," panted an out-of-breath Xander. "What's the matter?"

Giles refused to favor him with so much as a glance. "You wouldn't understand," he muttered.

Xander matched the Watcher stride-for-stride. "Try me. I'm a great understander," he urged.

The carpenter's request was met with silence as Giles' pace increased. Reaching out, Xander laid a hand on the Watcher's shoulder, but it was roughly shrugged away as Giles spun to face the apparently unwanted company. Instinctively, his arm pulled back as his hand clenched in a tight fist. The eyes behind the glinting lenses were cold and angry.

"Would you just—!" he snapped. Then, the infuriated outburst died as quickly as it had materialized. Sighing, Giles tugged off his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. "I'm sorry."

Obviously, Xander harbored no ill will. "Hey, not sportin' any bruises here, not feelin' the need for an apology," he responded cheerily. "Tell me what's wrong, and we'll call it even."

Thrusting his hands into his pockets, Giles moved to the side of the pavement and leaned wearily against a nearby wall. His shoulders drooped and he treated the carpenter to a glum smile.

"I don't think I'm doing a very good job," he murmured ruefully. Xander quirked an eyebrow. "As head of the Council," Giles clarified.

"What?" Xander's tone was incredulous. "Giles, this is, like, the job you were born to do."

Giles emphatically renounced the statement. "No, it really isn't. Or, well, it was never the job that I wanted." He laughed, but it was a bitter and mirthless sound. "Truth be told, it's not the job that I especially want now. Only someone has to do it, don't they? And it seems that someone is me."

Confusion crossed Xander's features. "But you're, like ... Mr. Council. In a good way. Mr. Council, now in low-arrogance, more-heart formula. Look at how well everything's moving now," he tried to reassure. "We've got the Slayers, we've got the Watchers ..."

Giles shrugged dismissively. "But I'm still no closer to having any answers. We've known now that Slayers were disappearing for- for months, and despite my best efforts, I'm no closer to finding out what happened to them or where they may be now. We've suffered multiple, devastating attacks that we were virtually unable to repel, and are no closer to preventing in the future. And ... And everyone needs solutions a-and suggestions, it's up to me to provide them, and I keep coming up empty!"

Xander's head nodded sagely. "Ah," he commented wryly. "The Buffy Syndrome."

The Watcher frowned. "I'm sorry?"

"The Buffy Syndrome," reiterated the carpenter firmly. "Come on, you've known the girl as long as I have. How many times did we have to hear it? Blah blah, destiny, blah blah, Chosen One, blah blah, alone me alone, blah. I love the girl to death, but I swear – she may have had to bear the burden of Slayerhood alone, but at least she never had to bear the burden of listening to her go on and on about it."

Giles appeared to be appalled. "Xander!"

"I exaggerate to make a point," he replied. "See, Buffy had this huge thing she had to carry on her teeny little shoulders for years and years, and I think we can agree that it really got her down. But now, she's one of ... what? At least a couple hundred of 'em. And look how much happier she is. I haven't seen her this generally relaxed in years. Sharing the burden has been good for her."

The Watcher considered this for a moment. "Yes, I suppose it has."

"So great, yay for Buffy," Xander continued. "But now we come to you, and I see we didn't dispel the Syndrome, it simply shifted hosts." His tone grew more serious. "This Council thing, yeah – it's a huge deal. This is, like, benevolent Illuminati stuff. An' you've taken on the whole thing. D'you ever think maybe if you shared it a little, it wouldn't ... I dunno, suck so much?"

"So basically you're just telling me to delegate," Giles summarized in a flat tone.

"In lesser words," agreed Xander.

Giles shook his head doubtfully. "But I'm still responsible. Xander, every life that is lost when I dispatch Slayers to certain areas, or- or don't send them to where they should be is—"

"—is a tragedy," the carpenter readily admitted. "But you can't know everything."

"I just don't know if I'm ready for the responsibility of all these lives."

"Would you ever be?" asked Xander quietly.

Giles apparently had no answer to that. His eyes focused on Xander.

"I appreciate your concern, I really do," the Watcher told him, his tone genuinely grateful. "But I think I'd like to be alone for a while."

Pushing away from the wall, Giles resumed his walk - a lone figure being rapidly swallowed by the surrounding darkness. Xander made to follow and then stopped.

"You're sure?" he called.

Noting the deliberate nod of the head, Xander felt compelled to give it one more try. "If you wanna talk or something ..." He waited for a moment until Giles nodded again, his stride never faltering.

Soon, even the echo of the Watcher's footsteps had faded into the shadows.

Elbows resting on the railing, Buffy looked down onto the first level of the Vortex and skimmed the sea of bodies. Her eyes seldom remained in one area for more than a second before moving on. She sensed rather than saw Faith join her. The dark-haired Slayer also leaned over the banister, a glass cradled in her hand. Turning her head, she watched Buffy for a moment and then united with the blonde in her scrutiny of the crowd.

"Scannin' for vamps?"

"Uh-huh," Buffy confirmed.

Faith nodded. A brief passage of silence passed.

"We got girls out on patrol, y'know," Faith informed her. "This is your night off. Should be relaxin'."

Buffy shrugged. "Maybe this is relaxing."

"You're a workaholic, B.," replied Faith, giving the blonde a poke in the rib cage.

"Eh," the blonde acknowledged. "It's a habit. Besides ..." She waved a hand over the heads of the masses below. "Someone's got to make sure they can keep dancing like that."

Faith tilted her head critically. "Think a few of 'em could do with dancin' a bit better'n that, personally." She tapped Buffy on the arm and pointed. "You see that one guy?"

Following Faith's finger, Buffy chuckled and then resumed her surveillance. In tandem, the two Slayers maintained a silent vigil until Kennedy took up position at the rail on the other side of Buffy.

"Vamp scan?" she queried.

"Yup," affirmed Buffy and Faith in unison.

"Cool," nodded Kennedy. "No rest for the wicked, huh?"

"None for the vamps, neither," responded Faith dryly.

This earned her a chuckle. Another period of tacit observation reigned until Hazel joined the group, moving to stand on the other side of Faith.

"What are we doing?" asked the Junior Slayer.

"Looking for vamps." Buffy, Faith and Kennedy might have been sharing the same voice, so immaculate was their synchronization.

"Ahhh," replied Hazel wisely. She too leaned over the railing and began to survey the multitude below. Suddenly, with one fluid movement, all four pointed to a woman wearing a rather slinky scarlet dress. She was draped over an unsuspecting male who, undoubtedly, would soon have the privilege of providing her with sustenance for the evening.

"There's one," came the simultaneous declaration in quadruplicate.

"Jinx," murmured Buffy.

Hazel frowned. "Who gets her then?"

"I say we make it a group effort," proposed Kennedy.

"Oo, see?" remarked Faith, shoving Hazel with her shoulder. "Sharing can be fun."

With a unanimous grin, they all headed for the stairs.

Sitting at a nearby table, Hannah, Willow, Tara and Dawn, watched them go but didn't question their departure.

Tara turned her attention to Hannah. "I've always wanted to go to Europe."

"It has its good points, no denying that," mused Hannah. "Its bad points too, though I suspect things have modernized considerably since my time. Those trains." She shook her head and shifted uncomfortably in her chair. "My behind doesn't miss the trains, let me tell you."

"Still, though ..." Willow's eyes adopted a dreamlike quality. "Just travelin' around, going day to day, nothing much to worry about ..."

"I dunno. Buffy did the whole 'go through Europe' thing. Didn't seem too impressive," scoffed Dawn.

Hannah shrugged. "It depends on how you do it. And although we were blissfully relieved of much, it wasn't entirely trouble-free ..."

Foix, France – August 1974

Followed by Hannah and Giles, Ethan led the way down the narrow aisle as the train lurched away from Foix Station. Hannah took one last glance out of the window at the castle that dominated the town.

"Impressive," she murmured. "I'm really glad we got to see it."

"Much like every other drafty lump of blood, sweat and stone in Europe," griped Ethan. "And you took so long looking around that we nearly missed the bloody connection." He peered into the compartments that lined one side of the carriage. "There's hardly any seats left and lord knows where the others are."

"They probably got in further up," Giles remarked in something of a bad temper. He glanced at Hannah. "This is the end one and the rest of them did leave about 20 minutes before we did."

"We made it, didn't we?" sighed Hannah. "What's the point in taking a trip like this if we don't enjoy the sights along the way?"

"Can't understand all this interest in the Parfaits," muttered Giles.

"Probably because they let birds become priests as well as blokes," sneered Ethan. "You know how your girl here is about equality of the sexes." He jerked his thumb toward a compartment where sat one elderly woman, huddled in the corner. "Look," he grinned, sliding back the door. "This is almost empty."

The old lady, swathed from head to toe in black despite the hot weather, regarded them solemnly with dark brown eyes as they entered. "Réservé," she murmured, waving an arthritic hand.

"'Réservé' my arse," Giles informed her, taking a seat. Ethan chuckled and stuffed the backpacks into the small overhead storage area.

"You might show a bit more respect," Hannah told them with frown. She smiled at the woman and inclined her head. "No other seats," she explained. "The train is full ... complètement," she added hopefully and then grimaced, apparently not sure she'd chosen the correct word.

The old crone nodded.

Ethan threw himself down next to Giles as Hannah sat beside the old woman, who scuttled even further into the corner.

Giles indicated the pamphlet Hannah was holding, "Let me see that."

She handed it over. "A 'please' might be nice," she snapped. "What's up with you anyway?"

Giles shrugged.

"We wanted to stay longer in Paris," sneered Ethan. "Go to the Folies Bergere. Have a butchers at the lovely ladies." He nudged Giles in the ribs. "Right, Ripper?"

Giles' eyes glinted with devilment. He leaned forward and tapped the crone on her knee with the rolled-up pamphlet. She shrank from the touch. "You ever in the Folies Bergere, my old love?" He turned and winked at Ethan who sniggered loudly.

"Laissez-moi seul," the woman muttered, her eyes narrowing.

"Stop it, Rupert," ordered a frowning Hannah. "I don't know what's got into you today."

Giles sighed. "Just a bit of fun. Need something to liven up an otherwise boring day." He turned back to the old woman. "Well?"

"Paysan irrespectueux," she replied, brushing away his hand.

"Old biddy," countered Giles. He glanced at the covered wicker basket by her feet. "What you got in there? Any food or wine?" He reached down as the old woman snatched up the basket and held it tightly to her chest.

"Why don't you just leave her alone?" snapped Hannah. "She's not doing you any harm."

"I thought it was usual for the locals to be hospitable to travelers," responded Giles sourly. "Share what they have ... make us feel at home." His eyes returned to the crone. "Forget our manners did we?" He reached out again for the basket.

"Pouvez vous savoir la persécution," she croaked under her breath, gnarled fingers twitching.

"What?" queried Giles. He looked suspiciously from Hannah to Ethan. "What?"

Ethan leaned back and laughed. "I think she said something about persecution."

"You find me funny?" Giles growled, his hands curling into fists.

Ethan blinked and rapidly slid further along the seat. "Hold on a minute, mate," he began, but before he could complete the caution, he jerked his head to one side, only just avoiding the punch that Giles was attempting to deliver to his jaw.

Leaping to her feet, Hannah moved toward Giles. "Rupert, what's the matter?"

Giles regarded her warily. "Don't touch me," he ordered sharply. Mistrustfully, he scoured the compartment. "Where are you taking me?"

"We're on a train, Ziggy," Hannah stated, a frown crossing her features. "There's nothing to be afraid of." She laid a hand on his arm but he shoved her aside roughly and she fell heavily to the floor.

"I won't let you do this," he vowed.

"Do what?" asked Ethan, looking to Hannah in confusion. "What the hell ...?"

Hannah shook her head in bewilderment as Giles rushed toward the door and pulled it open. He peered outside cautiously before exiting the compartment. Ethan and Hannah quickly followed.

Hannah's eyes opened wide with horror as she spied a small boy standing halfway down the aisle. He was waving a toy gun at the fast-approaching Giles.

"Vous êtes en état d'arrestation," the child piped in his shrill voice.

Skidding to a halt, Giles turned. His mouth twisted into an ugly snarl as he noticed Ethan and Hannah close behind. Crouching, the small boy crept forward, the toy gun now pointing at Giles' back.

"Mangez la poussière," the lad shouted gleefully.

Giles was motionless for a second and then he spun to face the boy. The child blinked at the malevolent expression and his lips trembled. The gun dropped with a clatter as he whispered in dread for his 'maman'.

"No!" yelled Hannah watching Giles' fingers begin to curl, but he paid her no heed as he lunged viciously for the boy's throat.