DISCLAIMER: I have no rights to the characters of the television series "Buffy the Vampire Slayer" or "Angel". I'm not making any money doing this, but I appreciate the chance to play in Joss' sandbox.
SYNOPSIS: Buffy is brought back from the dead to a world where Angel's not exactly the guy she remembers....
RATING: R for violence, especially when Dru gets involved. :)
DISTRIBUTION: Fanfiction.net, Land of Denial, Spoonless Realm, Adult B/A list. Interested? Let me know.

Doyle looked up as the archway flared, Buffy flying out of the light and rolling across the flooring. He darted over to the Slayer, not quite touching her. He wasn’t sure if she’d put up with that sort of thing from a virtual stranger. To his surprise, the girl slowly sat up, pulling her knees to her chest and leaning her cheek against them. “Slayer?” he asked, then more tentatively, “Buffy? Did anything happen? You weren’t gone more than that.” He snapped his fingers in example.

Her sigh was deep and tired. “I saw the Oracles.” She sat still for a few seconds longer then raised her head. Her face was ravaged; her hair, so neat when she’d leaped into the portal just a few seconds earlier, mussed. She stared right through him to something else entirely and when she spoke, her voice seemed to come from far away. “Did you ever think that things just couldn’t get any worse and then, hello, they do?”

“All the time, princess.” Doyle squatted next to her, his elbows resting on his knees. “When first I got these visions. They’re like a giant nutcracker on your skull.” He tapped the side of his head and gave the girl an engaging grin. “I mean, fighting on the side of good, that’s all right, but I wish I didn’t have to deal with the migraines all the time.”

Her smile was weak and not at all convincing. Still, she tried and Doyle gave her points for that. “Did you find out anything?”

Buffy rolled her head, her neck popping. “I don’t know,” she said wearily. “I mean, they told me some stuff but….” Her voice trailed off and she raised a hand, only to let it drop again. “I don’t know how much it’ll help.”

“What did they say?” Doyle edged forward eagerly.

“A lot of things.” Buffy sighed, running her hands over her hair. Making a decision, she flowed to her feet. “I need to go home,” she said, sounding even more tired. She stood still, swaying slightly, her chin resting on her chest, contemplating, what? The ground? Then her shoulders lifted and her head came up and she focused her attention Doyle. “How do we get back to that hotel?”

* * * Jenny Giles walked swiftly through the corridors of the hospital, following the terse directions she’d received over the telephone from Oz. The colored lines on the floor reminded her of electrical wires, all pulling energy along them. Unfortunately, energy in hospitals was strange, at best. The dying had their own pull, the living felt completely different. And she truly, explicitly, hated hospitals. The dead within the walls of the building needed guidance and always tugged at her the instant she walked through those doors. She’d hated it when Buffy’s mother was here nearly as much as the Slayer had, not just because she might lose her friend but also because of the ghosts.

As she strode along, she wondered what might have happened to Riley. Oz had only said it was bad, typical of the taciturn young man. She had heard Dawn crying in the background. Jenny wondered if either of them had made any attempt to contact Buffy. She’d called the number Rupert had left her before driving here. Her husband was shocked to hear the word and insisted that she keep him posted. He also said that Buffy was busy, trying to get more information about the upcoming apocalypse. He had promised that they would be back in Sunnydale as soon as possible and rang off, probably to share the disturbing news with Xander and Willow.

Jenny followed the dark blue line that led her to Surgical Intensive Care Unit. As she walked into the waiting room, she took in the serious expressions of the people waiting in dark blue chairs against the walls. At first she didn’t see Oz or Dawn and her breath snarled in her throat, nearly choking her. A vision of telling Buffy and Willow about the loss of their loved ones flared through her mind and she shook her head hard to clear it. Swallowing a deep breath, Jenny paused near the nurse’s desk and looked more carefully around the room. This time she spotted Oz’s orange hair with the pale yellow spikes and Dawn, sitting next to him, her head bowed and her hands hanging between her knees.

She made her way towards them, Oz rising to his feet and tapping Dawn’s shoulder as she approached. Dawn flung herself from her seat and into Jenny, nearly knocking the slight woman over. She caught the girl and smoothed her hair, looking over her shoulder at the werewolf.

Jenny didn’t even need to mouth the words before Oz shrugged gently. “He’s in surgery,” he said. “No one’s told us anything yet.”

“He’s gonna be okay, isn’t he, Jenny?” Dawn asked, pulling back slightly.

She wanted to say yes, but it wouldn’t do to get the girl’s hopes up only to have something terrible happen. “Dawn, I’m sure the doctors are doing all they can,” she said, sliding her hands down the girl’s arms and squeezing them gently. Jenny fished into her purse, pulling out some money. “I saw a coffee machine on the first floor,” she said. “Would you mind getting Oz and I some coffee?”

Dawn flipped back her hair in a studied manner, rubbing at her eyes. “You’re just trying to get rid of me so you can find out what’s going on without me being upset.”

“Yes, I am,” Jenny said, pressing the bills into Dawn’s hand. “Now go.”

Giving Jenny an irritated look, Dawn sighed heavily, heading for the elevators. Jenny waited until the doors closed behind the girl before turning to Oz. “You’ve really heard nothing?”

Oz flicked his pale eyes towards the nurse’s station. “We came in,” he said, “they told us Riley was in surgery. That’s pretty much it.”

Jenny curled her hands into balls. She really, really hated hospitals. “All right,” she said. “I’ll see what I can find out.” Squaring her shoulders, she started for the nurse’s station. If need be, there was a minor spell or two she could use to sway the woman to give her the information she wanted.

* * * Giles peered into the rear view mirror of his car, barely able to make out Buffy in the back seat. The girl sat staring out the window, her arms folded, her expression distant. Since she’d arrived back at the Hyperion, she’d said very little, only that the battle was coming and that they all needed to return to Sunnydale.

He’d been surprised when Price spoke up. “W-would you like some assistance?”

Buffy had turned to stare blankly at her ex-Watcher. “What?”

“For the apocalypse.” Price waved his hand at his companions. “We have been fighting the good fight together for three years now, Buffy.”

She dropped her gaze to the floor, seemingly fascinated by the marble mosaic there. Finally, just as Giles felt it necessary to speak, she nodded. “Sure. The more the merrier.”

Wesley straightened, glancing at his staff. “We are at your disposal, Buffy,” he said as each of them made a gesture of assent.

“We can’t just leave right now, can we?” Fred asked, her hands moving nervously over each other.

“You understand we’ll need to get some things together, first,” Wesley said, draping a calming arm around Fred’s shoulders and giving her a comforting squeeze. “But we’ll follow before the night is out.”

Buffy had nodded. “Take your time.” The corner of her mouth curled in an approximation of a smile. “We’ve got a couple of days. In Sunnydale, apocalypses only happen on Tuesdays.”

“Sure,” Gunn said, giving the Slayer what might pass for a calm look.

“Giles,” she’d said, ignoring Gunn entirely, “We’re done here.” She turned to her friends. “It’s time to go,” she said, nervous energy sending her almost in a rush towards the door.

“W-wait, Buffy,” Giles had said, reaching out for her. “I-I have some news from Sunnydale.”

Buffy had turned, her blond hair swinging in an arc, her eyes wary already, as if she knew before he even spoke. And Willow and Xander slipped around, ready to offer her comfort as he told her about what had happened to Riley while they were in Los Angeles. Her hands knitted together oddly, her gaze dropping to them and Giles realized suddenly that her engagement ring was gone. A pang shot through him as he realized what offering she’d made to the Oracles. Her friends had tried to reach out, give her physical comfort, but Buffy had halted them both with one raised hand. “The sooner we’re on the road, the sooner we can check on him,” she’d said.

And that was it. An hour ago, they’d piled into the car and set off for Sunnydale. Xander switched the tuner on the radio as another commercial came on, muttering something about how many advertisements were played at night. “Can’t they go fifteen minutes without another one?” He settled the tuner on an oldies station. “Oh, god, the Monkees,” he groaned.

“Leave it,” Giles said, batting his hand away. “We can listen to this music for a little bit.”

“The Monkees are a little old even for you, aren’t they, Giles?” Willow asked from the back seat.

He fixed his glare on her in the mirror but the reflection of it had little effect on the redhead. “I mean, Oz said you had Jimi Hendrix and Jefferson Airplane and the Who in your record collection,” Willow went on.

“I’ll have you know that Jimi Hendrix opened for the Monkees,” Giles said huffily.

Xander’s head swiveled from the radio player to Giles and back again. “Now that’s the silliest thing I’ve ever heard.”

Giles asked, at his most urbane, “Do you even have any idea who Jimi Hendrix is?”

“Sure. He’s the one who sings, ‘Scuse me while I kiss this guy.’” Xander gave an all over body shiver.

“That’s ‘Scuse me while I kiss the sky,’ Xander,” Giles said dryly.

“Oh, sure,” Xander said, folding his arms, “that’s what they say now.”

“No, those are the actual lyrics. I’m sure Willow could look them up on that infernal machine of hers if you don’t believe me.”

Willow bobbed her head in agreement in the mirror. “Sure,” she said. “Any other lyrics you need me to look up?”

Buffy snapped, “I think I’ve seen enough lyrics today.”

The redhead shot her a hurt look but curled into her own corner. Xander halfway turned around, but Giles could see Buffy’s reflected glare, like a basilisk. Xander didn’t stand a chance and retreated to his own portion of the auto.

The radio station didn’t get changed for the duration of the trip.

* * *

Dawn stared blankly at the coffee dispenser. She couldn’t actually remember Oz ever drinking coffee. She wondered if hot chocolate would be more appropriate. She knew how Jenny took her coffee, black, with just a hint of cream. That didn’t seem to be one of the offered selections. She wanted to kick the machine. Maybe hot chocolate all around? Oz did drink hot chocolate. She drank hot chocolate. Jenny ought to, if there wasn’t coffee she’d like. And didn’t Riley complain about the coffee in the machine when they were at the hospital when Mom was sick?

She shoved at her long hair in irritation. She didn’t want to think about Mom, not now. The problem was, the thought wouldn’t go away. The smell of the hospital just brought back that horrible feeling in her stomach, like she wanted to throw up and couldn’t. She remembered touching her mother’s cold skin. She remembered the sound of Buffy panting as she fought with the vampire.

Shaking her head hard, trying to dispel the memories, Dawn concentrated on the machine again. “Hot chocolate,” she said to herself. “We’ll all drink hot chocolate.” Feeding the bills into the proper slot, she punched the button for chocolate, waited for the cup to fill and fed another bill in along with the two quarters left over from the first payment.

“Got enough for me?”

Dawn nearly spilled the first cup at the voice coming over her shoulder. Spinning, she smacked Spike’s chest with her palm. “Don’t do that,” she said.

Spike gave her a lopsided smirk. “Why not? Little fear is good for you. Gets your heart pumping.” He neatly took the styrofoam cup from her and sucked down some of the liquid. “Oh.” His face squinching up, his mobile mouth forming new shapes of disgust, he said, “This stuff is terrible, little bit.” Glancing around, he spotted a trashcan and lobbed the cup into it. “Awful. You weren’t planning on drinking that, were you?”

Dawn stared at the still-swinging lid of the can and sighed. “Yeah, but it’s okay, if it really is that bad.” She took the next cup. “Here. Hold it. Don’t drink it.”

His lip curling, Spike did as he was told, allowing Dawn to buy the third cup of chocolate. “I heard what happened to,” he made an abortive gesture with the hand holding the cup, “Riley.”

Dawn pushed a strand of hair back behind her ear, dropping her gaze to the cup in her hand. “It’s really bad, Spike,” she said. “He’s in surgery.” Her head whipped back up as she realized. “How’d you hear?”

He looked beyond her, towards the doorway, out into the night. “On the streets, demons talk, you know? Hear he got beaten pretty bad.”

Dawn blanched. The nurses hadn’t even told her and Oz that much. She wondered if Jenny had managed to find anything out while she was gone. “I guess, I guess I’d better get this back up,” she said. She took the cup Spike held and started off then hesitated, turning back around to the vampire. “Do you know who did this?”

Spike spread his hands, too big for his compact body, Dawn thought. “Nah. I’ll do some nosin’ around for your sis, though.” He flipped his ear. “Keep this to the ground.”

“Thanks, Spike,” Dawn said, giving him a gracious smile. If anyone could find out anything, she had no doubt Spike could do it. “I know Buffy would appreciate it.” She glanced towards the ceiling, not really seeing it. “I hope she gets back from L.A. soon.” She couldn’t voice the “in case” that hung in the air. Shivering, she tightened her grip on the chocolate and started for the elevator. “Do you, uh, wanna come up and wait with us?” Turning, she wasn’t surprised to see that Spike was gone. With a sigh, she continued to the elevator, hitting the button with her elbow.

“Dawn, Dawn! Wait!”

She turned around to see Cordelia trotting along the corridor, her heels making a sharp clicking sound on the linoleum floor. The brunette caught up to her as the elevator opened and they both climbed inside. “Hey, Cordy,” Dawn said, ducking her head a little. “How’d you know?”

“Jenny left a message on the answering machine,” Cordy said, reaching out to squeeze Dawn’s shoulder. “How about you? Are you doing okay? I know Riley’s important to you.”

Something cracked gently at Cordelia’s words and Dawn felt her eyes fill with tears again. Riley was important to her. She loved him. He was funny and smart and sweet and he loved Buffy and her, so much. What other guy would stick around and offer to help raise his fiancé’s sister? She didn’t know any. But Riley was gonna do that.

“Oh, sweetie,” Cordelia said, taking the chocolate from her hands and setting the cups on the floor before pulling Dawn into an embrace, “things’ll work out. You wait and see. I promise.”

* * * The night was meant for driving. The California highway stretched out for miles, ribbons of asphalt with streaks of light and metal racing along its surface. Cruising was a way of life, coasting up and down the roads with friends. Sometimes the drivers actually had a destination in mind, other times, the simple act of getting into a car and driving was its own pleasure.

“It isn’t about the drive,” Michael shouted over the roar of the wind through the windows and the blare of the music. “It’s about the whole driving experience.”

Toad grunted from the passenger seat. He’d earned his nickname from his bulging eyes and huge lips, features that didn’t endear him to the opposite sex. Or for that matter, anyone. Still, he always had money, and was willing to pony up for gas, munchies and booze, an estimable quality in anyone as far as Michael was concerned. Sure, he provided the ride, but it got him out of the house and away from his yelling mother and brooding stepfather, not to mention a chance to show off his car.

Michael was proud of his 1969 Thunderbird, cherry red, with a chain steering wheel and glass pack mufflers. Other than that, and the mag wheels for street racing, it was cherry. Michael had replaced the old AM radio for a CD player first thing; now he had tunes to go with his driving. George Thorogood and the Destroyers blasted out “Bad to the Bone” from the speakers, the heavy bass beat throbbing through the night. The Thunderbird ticked away at ninety-five, the deep growl of the engine reverberating up through Michael’s legs. God, he loved this car.

“Hey, man, slow down,” Toad said, backhanding him lightly on the arm.

“What?” Michael obeyed. Another of Toad’s amazing abilities, aside from having deep pockets, was his unerring skill out picking out cop cars, even in the distance.

“Somebody on the side of the road.” Toad jerked his chin at the windscreen, his big eyes narrowing as much as they could. “Could be car trouble.”

Michael squinted. “Looks like a lot of people,” he said, a little dubious.

“You know any hoods cruising in Beemers?” Toad asked, tilting his head to one side.

Truth be told, the answer to that was no. Besides, Michael was of the belief that karma was a real and living thing and he could make out two girls standing at the back of the car. Michael set his foot on the brake pedal to slow the Thunderbird. It coasted up to the BMW and Michael hit the hazard lights.

Toad was already out the passenger door while Michael was turning off the engine. “Need any help?” he asked, swaggering up to the red convertible.

One of the girls, a redhead, spun around, eyeing Toad carefully. “Help?” she said with studied casualness. “Do we need help, guys?”

An older man popped up on the other side of the BMW, his light colored hair rumpled. He ran a hand through it, messing it up thoroughly. “Ah,” he said, eyeing Michael, then Toad, “we have had a bit of a problem.”

Another guy, the same age as the girls, dark hair, appeared next to the older man. “Flat tire,” he said, wiping his hands on a rag. “No, let me correct myself before you do it for me. Shredded tire. Tire that will never resurrect--” His eyes widened and he glanced at the blonde, standing a little ways apart from everyone. “Um. I mean, it’s a goner.”

“Yes, I could tell that myself,” the older guy said dryly.

“We can help you change it,” Michael offered, not sure of either man’s ability to even do such an easy task.

“Well,” the older man said.

“That’d be just great.” The dark haired man moved towards the open trunk. “But somebody—and I’m looking at you, Giles—hasn’t checked his spare in a while. It’s not only flat but dry rotted.” His dark eyes met Michael’s, humor flashing there like lightning. “We already tried Fix-A-Flat.”

“So, you call a tow truck yet?” Toad asked.

Giles, the eldest of the four, pursed his lips.

“Go on, tell him,” the other man said.

“Xander,” the redhead chided.

“Come on, Will,” Xander said. He spun back to Toad and Michael. “Someone also forgot to recharge his cell phone.” He glanced at the sky. “So, we’re stuck, in the dark, on a road to Sunnydale, hello, with neither a working phone or a car.”

“We’ll give you a lift,” Michael said, gesturing towards his Thunderbird.

The redhead, Xander and Giles exchanged a long look, with meaningful glances at the blonde, who was ignoring all of it to stare at something off the side of the road. Michael only hoped it wasn’t a carcass of something.

“Sure,” Xander said, nodding. “Sure, we can do that. If you don’t mind.” He and Giles looked at each other again. The redhead chewed her lip, her gaze straying to the blonde. “Right, Buffy?” Xander raised his voice. “We can get a ride into Sunnydale with these two nice human gentlemen, right?”

Toad made a strange little sound, turning to Michael. “Human?”

Michael shrugged loosely. “Maybe she’s little crazy,” he said, keeping his voice low. “She hasn’t said a word yet. Hasn’t even looked at us.”

The blonde spun, almost as if she heard his comment. Her hair swung around her shoulders and her glare raked them both. The hair on Michael’s arms stood up under the force of that expression. Whoever she was, she wasn’t a happy camper. Tossing her mane back, she tilted her chin up, like she was daring him to take a poke at it. “They’re safe,” she said, not taking her eyes off of them.

“Glad she thinks so,” Toad muttered, swallowing hard and shifting his feet.

“Okay, then,” Michael said, hooking his thumb over his shoulder. “We’ll all get in and drive to…where was it you said you needed to go?”

“Sunnydale,” Giles said, sounding more than a little distracted. “A f-friend is at hospital.”

“Hospital?” Michael and Toad exchanged frowns. “Then we’re burning moonlight. Better get a move on, before your friends? Families? Send out a search party.” He swept his hands toward the Thunderbird, gesturing the trio and the blonde to get in. “Someone will have to ride up front,” he said. “The back seat’s big, but not that big.”

“I will,” the blonde said, as if the two words were dredged up from six feet underground. Toad flashed another look at Michael.

“I, um, would like to thank you,” Giles said before the silence lagged too long. “For stopping. I-I would be happy to pay for your fuel.”

Michael swept open the suicide door to the back seat. “Okay, but it isn’t necessary. I’m Michael, by the way and this is Julio.”

“Are you aware your door opens the wrong way?” Xander asked, studying the backwards-opening door.

“Part of the charm of the Thunderbird,” Michael said as Buffy slid into the front seat.

“I’m Willow,” the redhead said. She pointed at the others. “This is Giles and he’s Xander.” Xander grinned in almost cheerfulness and Giles nodded abruptly, his brow creased as he stared at the girl in the front seat. “And Buffy.”

“And thanks again, man,” Xander said, climbing into the back seat, “for stopping.” He scooted all the way across to make room for Willow and Giles. “You don’t know how much you saved our lives. Er.” A nervous chuckle burst from him as the redhead glared.

“Glad to be of service,” Michael said, favoring Buffy with a reasurring grin. She didn’t smile back, just wrapped her hands around each other. Must be someone she cared about in the hospital, he thought. With a mental sigh, he started the engine, the eight cylinders roaring to life. Thorogood blared from the speakers and he hit the volume, reducing it quickly. “My bad,” he said, glancing at his passengers. The trio in the back waved his apologies away and he twisted around, checking to make sure there were no cars in his lane before he pulled out. He brought the Thunderbird up to cruising speed. “Won’t be long now, Buffy.”

Her eyes glittered up at him and flicked away. Toad and Xander discovered their high schools had competed in sports and were discussing, as much as they could remember, various team games. Willow and Giles’ reflections were mirrors of concern, their attention focused on the girl in the front seat. Willow, in particular, seemed jumpy, her fingers toying with the lapel of her jacket, the pendant on her necklace, the fringe of her hair. Buffy seemed oblivious to everything, her head lowered slightly, the only sign of her disturbance the tightening of her hands’ grips on each other.

At one point in the drive, her head lifted, a slow scowl forming. She tracked to the left, her eyes narrowing as a late model car roared up in the passing lane. It held even for a few seconds with the Thunderbird. Michael glanced over into the black convertible, seeing a bunch of people out on a joyride. The driver’s sneer registered as the convertible pulled away. Michael freshened his grip on the steering wheel, forcing himself to raise his right foot off the pedal and not chase the convertible down.

“Man, he just walked away,” Toad said, surprised. “You gonna let them get away with that?”

“We’ve got something else to do,” Michael just managed to keep the snap out of his voice. “Let’s get these folks to the hospital first.” He glanced in the rearview mirror. The trio in the back seat didn’t seem to be paying attention to Toad’s comment but he felt he had to explain anyway. “My car, it’s pretty fast.” He patted the dash affectionately. “Sometimes, we race.”

Buffy’s voice was nearly lost under Thorogood’s “One Bourbon, One Scotch, One Beer.” “Sometimes,” she said, “you just can’t run fast enough.”

* * * “Tell me about Sunnydale.”

Sahjhan glanced at his fellow passenger. “This could make for a long story,” he warned.

Holtz spread his hands. “It seems all I have is time.”

The demon nodded abruptly, quietly delighted that the human had not been taken with the amenities of the limousine. He’d rather explain the Hellmouth than the complexities of power windows.

“Sunnydale sits atop a Hellmouth. It is a mystic convergence to all dimensions, though most of them are not particularly compatible with humans. Many have attempted to control it over the years; most notably a vampire known as Nest who called himself ‘The Master’,” Sahjhan rolled his eyes at the pretentiousness, “and a creature who survived on the Hellmouth for hundreds of years. He posed as the mayor of the city, though he never aged and no one, for reasons unknown, seemed to suspect he was anything other than human.

“Surprisingly, they both attempted to tap into the power of the Hellmouth within the past six years. What is not a surprise was that both were thwarted.” Sahjhan paused, letting that word roll around in his mind. It was perfectly suited to what had happened to both Wilkins and Nest in his own opinion. “Thwarted,” he repeated, “by the Slayer.”

Holtz shifted slightly, one hand reached up to stroke his beard. “You’ve mentioned the Slayer before, a girl chosen to fight vampires.”

“She who stands between all the forces of darkness and the world,” Sahjhan said encouragingly.

Frowning, Holtz shifted uncomfortably. “Why would a girl be chosen, not a man? Men are stronger, better able to think. Their minds are not cluttered with the vapors of a woman.”

Folding his arms, the demon thought his protégé had much to learn about the modern female. “I think you need back story, Holtz,” he said. “Permit me to explain.”

Holtz’s face folded into a peculiar mask of concentration. “Please.”

And so Sahjhan did, of the world inhabited by demons, of mankind’s emergence and inability to face against the stronger masters of the earth. He told about the human spell casters and mages gathering together to pour all their hopes and powers into a successive line of girls, brought forth only to protect the world from the predation of demons. He spoke of the generations of Watchers, the Council formed to guide and train these girls in their sworn duty; the brains behind the girls’ strength.

Holtz listed politely though his dubious expression settled even more firmly into place. When Sahjhan finished speaking, Holtz said, “I still don’t understand. Young girls, fighting demons? Surely a man would be better suited.”

Sahjhan bit back a retort at Holtz’ patriarchal notions. “At the onset of their menses, girls are more developed than young men of the same age. Their reaction times are faster. They are somewhat more biddable than young men in the throes of their hormones. Their aggression is more easily guided and redirected than a young man’s, who feels he must prove himself to the world.” Sahjhan rolled his eyes. “Besides, I’ve yet to meet a male of any species during that time of his life that thinks with his brain and not his reproductive organ.”

Holtz’s eyebrows raised but he settled back into the leather upholstery. “The Slayer,” he said, after a little time had past, “should we contact her about the pack of vampires converging on the Hellmouth?”

“I thought you’d rather destroy the vampire yourself,” Sahjhan said.

“I plan on it.” The man’s teeth showed brightly through the fringe of his beard. “But with her hunting skills she might be an excellent ally.”

“She and her Watcher would not trust the intentions of one such as myself,” Sahjhan said, gesturing at his appearance. “Slayers have a tendency to strike first, question later. Makes them good warriors but a little quick with their trigger fingers. If you believe she could be of use to you, by all means, contact her.” He glanced out the window and continued in a thoughtful tone, “She does destroy vampires. She will destroy those you seek out of hand. They won’t pay for their crimes against you. She will simply eradicate them as she does all their brethren.”

Holtz folded his arms, obviously digesting this information. He wanted to be the one to stop the leader of the vampire pack and his blond mate, Sahjhan knew. It was one of the reasons he’d sought out Holtz and offered to bring him to the current time. The Slayer and Holtz would chase the vampires. The vampires would chase them in turn. It was a continuing cycle and Sahjhan knew how it would end. He just had to make sure the timing was right. If the child wasn’t born, he’d never complete the task of opening the Hellmouth. Still, with the spells cast, it was only a matter of time before the child destroyed its carrier. Sahjhan almost smiled at the serendipity of the vampires leaving L.A. for the Hellmouth. Saved him carting the child there himself.

“So?” he asked Holtz when the man remained silent. “What will you do?”

Meeting Sahjhan’s eyes directly, Holtz said, “What needs to be done.”

* * *

Samael braked the GTX in the middle of the road, the rear of the car slewing slightly. Standing up, he leaned his elbows on the windscreen, taking in the sight of the sign stating in cheerful colors, “Welcome to Sunnydale!” “Well,” he said, “this looks very….”

“Dull?” Penn asked, screwing up his face.

“Boring?” James added, leaning into the front seat to thump Penn’s shoulder.

“Oh, it sings,” Dru said, swaying in the front seat, her eyes half-lidded.

Samael grinned down at her, stroking her hair. “My point exactly, boy. Always listen to your woman.”

Darla scowled at him, huddled into the back seat, her arms crossed over her stomach. She didn’t feel at all well. Surely it couldn’t be something she ate. Samael had hurt her earlier. He’d given leave to Drusilla to play with her. Darla snarled to herself. She had once chased that batty thing over half the continent when Dru had taken off with Spike. Samael had punished both of the wayward children to the point of their actual deaths. Now Dru was the favored one. She watched as Samael sifted his fingers through Drusilla’s dark hair.

“Darla’s being mighty quiet,” Penn said, twisting around to give her a lascivious look.

Baring her teeth at him, Darla growled. “I’m not your woman.”

“Quiet,” Samael said cheerfully, half-turning to look into the back seat. His dark eyes glittered in the light from the streetlamp overhead. Darla sulked, showing him her throat, proclaiming his mastery over her. Penn hooted but said nothing, his glee more obnoxious than words would actually be.

“What are your plans, Samael?” Darla asked when his attention returned to the city in front of them.

Samael dropped back into the driver’s seat. He cocked his head, listening to the engine’s growl. So much power, all under his control. Gripping the steering wheel with one hand, he popped the clutch and the GTX roared down the street. Penn howled his pleasure while Elizabeth shrieked in delight. Dru half-crawled over Penn to hang her hand out of the car, the draperies of her sleeve whipping back from the speed of the car. Her laughter, like silver bells, chimed through the air. “Let’s take a tour of the town,” Samael said over the rush of the wind. “Reconnoiter.”

“And maybe we’ll find my Spike on the way,” Dru said, dropping back into her seat between Penn and Samael, her blue eyes on her sire. “I can track him, my star, find where he is and drag him from that naughty Slayer.”

“Later, Dru,” Samael flicked a lazy grin her way. “But if we come on him, you do have the right to claim him again.”

Dru’s narrow fingers spun together, her smile totally wicked. “Can I punish him? Can I punish him for leaving me?” She drew her knees up under her, nearly bouncing in her excitement. “Can I, my star? Ooo, such good times we’d have, I’d hurt him until the Slayer was burned from his mind.”

He reached over and cupped her cheek briefly. “We’ll see, Dru, we’ll see.” Spinning the GTX around a corner, Samael pressed the gas pedal to the floor, feeling the rumble of the tires on the streets. Oh, it was going to be a good night.

* * * Buffy stared at the imposing edifice of Sunnydale General, hearing as the rest of the gang got out of Michael’s car. Julio of the toad-like face joined her. “This is the place?” he asked.

Giles fiddled with his glasses and tossed a look at Buffy. She ignored him. “We, ah, we need to check in.”

“Do you want us to go with?” Michael asked, climbing out of the driver’s seat. “I mean, we can donate blood, or--”

“Blood.” Willow whipped around to Xander, grabbing at his arm. Her worry communicated itself to her best friend.

“Uh, not to sound really peculiar or anything,” he said. Buffy could feel his eyes brush against her. She shifted but didn’t turn. “Sunnydale’s kinda a rough town. The sort of place where you shouldn’t get out and walk around after dark.” He coughed, it sounded as if Willow had elbowed him in the ribs. “Ow. Um, it’s dangerous.”

“We’ve been in situations before,” Julio said, giving Xander a once-over.

“Probably not like the kind we have.” She could just hear the sarcasm in Xander’s voice and wonder if the others did as well. Squaring her shoulders, Buffy gathered them all with her glance.

“I’m going in,” she said, wondering if it sounded to anyone else as if she was heading for battle.

“Y-yes, of course, Buffy,” Giles said, “we should all go inside. And thank you again, M-Michael, Julio, for the assistance.”

“No trouble,” Michael said and Buffy could tell he meant it. A sharp pain snared in her throat. A part of her wanted to climb back into that car and tell him to drive, just get her out of here. This wasn’t her world. She could disappear; let someone else handle the upcoming end of the universe. But if she did that, people like Michael and his friend would die. They didn’t deserve that, right? Right?

Squeezing her eyes shut to blot all of them out didn’t work, either. She blinked to clear her vision and ducked her head. Her home was gone, her world was gone, her friends were gone, all because someone needed her here to fight a battle that their Slayer wasn’t equipped to handle?

“Buffy?” Giles’ voice was gentle. “Sh-shall we go inside?”

“Sure.” She nodded abruptly and turned to face the pair who’d driven them the last twenty miles into town. “Thanks a lot, guys. I appreciate what you’ve done.”

“We all do,” Willow chimed in, rising to her toes and dropping again.

“Yeah,” Xander said, “I don’t know what we would’ve done out there if you hadn’t stopped.”

Michael’s easy grin was startlingly white in his tanned face. “Someone would’ve stopped eventually.”

“Yeah, but the probabilities of them being nice people are pretty out there,” Xander said with a shake of his head.

“What can I say, we’re good Samaritans,” Michael said. “What goes around, comes around.”

“Ooh,” Willow said, “the law of three. Anything you do comes back to you, threefold.”

Buffy swallowed at the lump in her throat. Save the world three times, get pushed to another one and have to do it all over again. Did it mean she’d have to die one more time, too, to finally be at rest? Finding her voice, she said, “I’m going inside.” The words cracked and screeched but she forced them out and started walking towards the main entrance to the hospital.

She had to steel herself to go through the sliding glass doors. Hospitals never meant anything good, no matter what anyone said. Too much bad spilled out of them, even if they were supposed to be healing. Hospitals didn’t help her mommy, just prolonged her life a little. Buffy bit her lip, that horrid sound of her mother’s ribs cracking under her hands flashing through her memory. Her cousin Celia died in a hospital. Faith…her memory flashed an image of her sister Slayer, bruised and bedridden by her hands. Now Riley was in the same situation.

Giles caught her, stretching his long legs to keep up. “Riley is in the S.I.C.U. ward,” he said, his breath puffing at the exertion. “At least, he was there when last I spoke with Jenny.”

Buffy nodded abruptly, pausing next to an elevator. Willow and Xander caught up before the elevator appeared. “Then I guess we’ll try there first,” she said, watching the numbers show the elevator’s descent.

They got lost twice trying to find the ward before they were told the dark blue lines would lead them to S.I.C.U. Xander’s patter had run out long before then. Willow had offered to do a seek spell but Giles had advised her in his most British tones that it wouldn’t be a good idea. Buffy just walked, trying to block that antiseptic smell and its accompanying bad memories from her mind. It wasn’t exactly working but they finally found their way to the right place. Buffy hesitated as the hall opened up into a waiting room, automatically glancing around. Dawn’s head was pillowed against Cordelia’s shoulder. Oz simply sat, staring down at his black enameled fingernails. Jenny was the one who paced, fairly flickering with nervous energy. She spotted them first, her face lighting with a kind of relief. As she made her way towards them, the others noticed as well and eased themselves out of the uncomfortable chairs.

Giles hugged Jenny close, whispering into her dark hair. Oz gathered Willow to him, rocking her. Xander went to Cordelia and Dawn, draping an arm around either of them. Buffy watched as if it happened behind a pane of glass. They were all together; they’d functioned without her, without their Buffy. They could do this, she thought, and then Xander looked over his shoulder at her and offered her a weak smile and released Dawn. The girl dodged around the couples to fling herself at Buffy, nearly overwhelming her. Buffy closed her eyes against the intrusion though her arms automatically came up to hold her—not hers, damn it!—sister. Her sister was dead in her world and she was here, not with them, not with her Dawn, not with her Willow. Her family, her friends, they were all gone and it wasn’t fair that she was here without them.

“Buffy, I’m so sorry,” Dawn was saying, crying into her shoulder.

She opened her eyes, feeling someone draw close. Jenny’s warm eyes held only sorrow. “Buffy,” she said, holding tightly to Giles.

Buffy nodded, carefully pushing Dawn away, trying hard not to hurt the girl. It wasn’t Dawn’s fault that she’d been pulled into this world. Swallowing, she folded her arms tightly around herself. “What happened?”

“Riley never came back to the house,” Dawn said, her voice clogged with tears.

“Someone found him,” Oz said, his voice careful. “He was attacked.”

“Beaten,” Jenny said, reaching out towards Buffy. Buffy avoided the touch and Jenny’s eyebrows drew down. “He was taken directly to surgery when the ambulance brought him here.”

“Is he…you know,” Xander asked, his adam’s apple bobbing.

“He’s still alive,” Oz said, glancing up at the taller man. “They’re not sure how. He lost a lot of blood.” His pale green eyes flickered towards her again.

“He’s out of surgery,” Jenny said, “Oz managed to get in to see him.”

The young man shrugged. “Can’t you see the family resemblance? They didn’t let me stay long, but I got a good look at the marks on him.” Oz pressed his lips tightly together for an instant then he said, “Buffy, I hate to say this, but he’s got bites all over him.”

She tried to keep from flinching but somehow, she knew it was true. Riley had been attacked, or maybe this Riley had turned to the vampire whores and once they found out he was the Slayer’s fiancé, they turned on him. “So.” She swiped at the strand of hair that fell into her eyes. “How bad?” She glanced from Jenny to Oz to Cordelia and back. Cordelia’s head lowered. Jenny tilted her gaze to her husband.

Oz cleared his throat. “Alive. He’s still out of it, though.”

“How out of it?” Willow asked nervously, plucking at the sleeve of Oz’s bowling shirt.

“He’s unconscious,” Jenny said. She squeezed closer to Giles, her expression concerned. “He was severely beaten, Buffy. He,” her lips pursed and she went on. “They’re not sure if he’ll….”

“They’re not sure if he’ll wake up, Buffy,” Cordelia said. She sighed. “I’m sorry.”

* * * Spike hunched his shoulders as he walked towards Revello Drive, wondering if the Slayer and her little Scooby gang had made it back from L.A. yet. He figured they’d stop by the hospital, check on Riley first. No one would come by and check on him, he knew that. Oh, the Slayer would be by, all bluster and fury that some vampire dared to put teeth into her lover. She’d probably beat him up out of habit and he’d tell her what he’d done, gone out of his way to offer to walk Riley home but the boy shrugged him off. It wasn’t his bloody job to watch over G. I. Joe, after all. The sooner the Slayer knew that, the better.

He puffed out a breath of smoke from his fag, the tendrils riding the air behind him like a comet’s tail. “Even have an alibi,” he said with a sharp laugh, “Willie saw me offer to take Riley home. Make sure he got there okay. Wasn’t my fault he took a poke at me and left me behind when I was howling ‘cause I tried to hit him back.” Of course, he hadn’t howled in pain but with laughter when he’d finished the deed. Nearly ripped country boy’s throat out as many times as he’d bit into it. Vengeance blood was nummy.

What was even more fun was the boy played right into his hands. He needed a distraction for Buffy and that boyfriend, even if she didn’t love him the way she used to, laid up in hospital would do it. Her guilt would be riding her hard, her not being here to protect cornshucks from the big bad night, and he’d be able to use that to his own advantage.

Adjusting the lapels of his duster, Spike glanced each way before crossing the street. Wouldn’t do to get smashed by not taking the proper precautions. He caught sight of a black car, something big and old, racing down the street and spinning around a corner out of sight. Eyebrows lifting, Spike said, “Huh.” There weren’t that many cars dragging around Sunnydale most nights.

Shrugging, he crossed the street, heading for the Slayer’s house. He needed to make sure his story was heard first.

* * *

Buffy stared at the clock across the waiting room. Two hours ago, the nurses had requested them all leave the I.C.U. area. Something about rules of the hospital, that I.C.U. didn’t allow many visitors. Buffy wondered at that. They’d all hung around while her mother was in surgery but maybe that was different. At any rate, they’d all gone to the main lobby. One of the nurses told them that one of them could come back up later to check on Riley. So here they sat, in the main lobby, with cups of machine coffee and wrappers of machine dispensed treats scattered around like offerings to the god of bad snacks. The last time she’d run up to check, the nurse told her that Riley was still resting peacefully. Whatever that meant, since he’d been out of surgery for four hours now.

“Maybe you should go home, get some rest, Buffy,” Giles said.

She blinked. Had he repeated himself? Did he say those exact words a few minutes before? She wasn’t quite sure when she’d stopped listening to everything around her, but she was sure it was a while ago. Was it only last night that Spike confronted her in her bedroom? Had Jenny told them about the prophecy yesterday? Surely it was only a few minutes ago that what’s-his-name, the turncoat attorney said that he’d met Angel.

Buffy squeezed her eyes closed at the thought of him. Lindsey, that was his name, said a vampire, tall, dark, vicious; with Drusilla on his arm, showed up at Wolfram and Hart, unexpected. That a pack of vampires had been waiting for him to appear. That he was the catalyst. Wasn’t that it? And the Oracles agreed that there was a vampire who would play his part with the child born of nothing and the woman back from the dead and the man from the past. No one mentioned anything about the woman’s boyfriend, or one-time boyfriend, laying in a hospital unconscious.

But then, she’d been the only one who believed Angel actually existed until Lindsey blurted out his name.

“Buffy?”

Slowly she raised her head, slouching deeper into the hard chair. The back of her skull dropped against the wall and she stared up at Giles. His mouth was pulled tight and his eyes narrowed in concern. She wished she could tell him not to bother but it was too much of an effort.

“Are you all right?”

Stupid question. Of course she wasn’t all right. Her friends and family died because she couldn’t go home, because she was needed here. She wanted to go back to the Oracles and scream at them some more. How dare they, whoever ‘they’ were, bring her here? Her place was home, not in some world where things didn’t quite match up to what she knew. She wasn’t supposed to fight and die on her world, then come to a new one and pick up all over again. It wasn’t supposed to be that way. If she had to be brought back from the dead, couldn’t she have gone to her own world?

“Buffy?” Giles’ voice was sharper, cutting into the thoughts that chased each other around her mind. He squatted in front of her, removing his glasses to peer into her face. Buffy let him, meeting his eyes. She wondered if he could see the pain in them. She wondered if he’d care.

“I heard you, Giles.” The words escaped her before she realized it. Turning her face away, she got to her feet, forcing the Watcher to avoid her as she stepped past him. Jenny shot her a concerned look that she ignored. Slowly, she walked a circle of the room, finally pausing near the others. All of them stared at her with varying degrees of interest. “Dawn,” she said, nearly barking out the name, “go home. Xander and Cordelia can take you.”

“Oh, no,” Xander said, rocketing out of his chair, his hands jigging from his intensity. “I’m staying here.”

“I want to stay, too,” Dawn said, flanking Xander. “I want to know what happens to Riley. You let me stay when Mom was sick.”

“That was different,” Buffy said.

“No it isn’t.” Dawn folded her arms, flinging back her hair in a movement that would make Cordy proud. “Riley’s family.”

Buffy sighed, chewing her lower lip. She eyed the rest of the Scoobies. None of them seemed willing to leave. Willow was gnawing on her lower lip, shooting glances around at the others. Buffy knew if she confronted her, Willow would argue that she was needed. And Oz wouldn’t go if Willow didn’t. Cordelia might be willing to leave, she and Riley…well, Buffy wasn’t sure how well they got along. She ought to be able to coax Xander to leave and take Dawn home but Queen C had her jaw set and her eyes blazed. No go on that one.

That left Giles and Jenny. Buffy knew better than to argue with either of them. Jenny would insist that they’d stay for Dawn, for support, whatever. Buffy just knew it. And Giles, well, Giles was too worried about his Slayer to leave her alone.

“All right,” she said, the words tearing from her throat, “everybody stays. At least until we find out what’s going to happen to Riley.” Slumping back into her chair, Buffy folded her arms around herself.

They all took seats again, Dawn flopping down and leaning on her, a solid weight of warmth against her shoulder. “I’m sorry about Riley,” she whispered in Buffy’s ear.

“Yeah. So am I.” Her fingers moved involuntarily over the place where the engagement ring no longer was. Guilt struck. What if it was an heirloom? What if Riley’s mother had sent it from Iowa in one of those gift boxes Riley loved so much, full of Pride of Iowa cookies and those funny pink candies made in Sioux City, what were they, Twin Bings? What if it had been passed down from his grandparents?

Dawn didn’t miss a thing. “Buffy, did you lose your ring?” Her voice rang out through the waiting room, catching everyone’s attention and focusing it right back on the Slayer.

Cringing under the force of all those eyes, Buffy nodded then said hesitantly, “Not really lost. I…the Oracles expected a gift. It-it was the only thing….”

“Oh, Buffy, I’m so sorry,” Willow said, reaching over to her. “I know what that ring meant to you.”

She dropped her head. “Yeah.”

“Well, we’ll just have to go back to L.A. and storm those Oracles’ castle,” Xander said eagerly. “I mean, after taking on the Master and Adam, what’s a few, um, whatever they are?” He sank back into his chair. “What are they, exactly?”

“P-perhaps you should tell us what the Oracles said to you, Buffy,” Giles said gently, settling into the chair across from her.

She twisted out a shrug. “I’d rather wait, until everyone gets here. I don’t really want to have to tell it twice.”

“Everyone gets here?” Cordelia’s voice rose. “Who’s everyone?”

“Buff invited Wes’ team to be part of the fun, honey,” Xander said.

“Wesley? Wesley’s coming here?” Cordelia rolled her eyes expressively. “What good does he think he can do?”

“He has a seer and some very good fighters on his team,” Giles said, “and I can’t believe I just defended Wesley Wyndham-Price.” Jenny patted his forearm in a consolatory manner. “At any rate, they will be arriving shortly. And one of the team has met…er, faced might be a better word, one of the main participants of the upcoming battle.”

“That’s news,” Oz said. “Anyone we can do research on?”

Giles fixed Buffy with the force of his stare. “I’m afraid we already have and turned up nothing.”

Buffy spread her hands, her smile brittle. “He met someone who doesn’t exist. He met a vampire who called himself Angel.”

* * * Lindsey heaved a duffle full of weapons into the back of his truck as Fred checked off her list. Gunn’s truck was similarly loaded. They’d decided to only use the two vehicles though Lindsey wondered if someone wouldn’t change her mind before they actually left L.A. He couldn’t really see Kate riding with him, nor could he imagine that she or Gunn would willingly allow Fred, Wes or Doyle in his vehicle, either. It was an interesting corundum. They didn’t trust him and they were the warriors. Leaving any of their, well, was weaker a proper term, he wondered, companions alone with him, without protection had to be driving them nuts. He wouldn’t be surprised if Kate ran off to get her car and claim that Wolfram and Hart might be able to get one or two of them but not all if they took different vehicles.

“Well,” Wesley said, appearing at Lindsey’s side, a stack of books in his arms. “Where might these go?”

Lindsey took half of them. His truck had an open bed—no way was he going to ruin the classic lines of it with a topper—and there wouldn’t be that much room in the cab. “Too bad you don’t have a bag for these, too.”

“We have one,” Fred chirped, happy to be of use, and she scampered back into the hotel.

Wesley stared after her, then set the books into the bed of the truck with a sigh. “I am wondering at the advisability of taking Fred with us on this little jaunt. She only recently returned from Pylea.”

“From what I hear,” Lindsey put his stack of books on top of Wes’, “she did pretty good over there.” He clapped a hand on Wesley’s back, nearly staggering him. “She’ll do fine.”

“She’s not exactly a fighter,” Wesley said worriedly, adjusting his glasses, knocked askew by Lindsey’s exuberance.

“So? Keep her on the back lines. Let her come up with tactics.” Lindsey leaned back against the side panel. “Leaving her here isn’t a good idea, Wes and you know it. Wolfram and Hart might take an interest in looking her up. Those vampires would make short work of her.” He folded his arms. “That pack…you’ve heard of them. You know how vicious they are.”

“Yes, except for the one you called Angel.”

“Trust me, Wes. He ranks up there.” Shrugging, he said, “Took a lot out of your Slayer, to hear that name.” He wondered at that. She seemed more affected by that name than by the threat of the vampire or the pack. “Any idea about that?”

“Too many,” Wesley said, his mouth pinching into a thin line.

“Not going to share?”

Frustrated, Wesley said, “I’m not sure how much there is to share. Buffy is not our Buffy; she was brought here from another dimension. In the dimension she’s from, there was a vampire whom was her lover, a vampire with a soul, named Angel.” His blue eyes narrowed sharply. “How do you think you would feel, if one whom you had trusted, loved even, became someone else?”

He wondered what Wolfram and Hart would pay for that information. A Slayer brought forth from another dimension? Shaking his head, Lindsey sighed. “Wesley, I’m an attorney. I don’t trust anyone. And I’m used to people not trusting me.”

“Surely, at one point in your life,” Wesley began.

Fred skipped up abruptly, holding an open duffle. “Found something for the books so they won’t fly away,” she said proudly.

“Thank you, Fred,” Wesley said. “Maybe you could assist Lindsey in placing the books inside. I have…there are a few more things I’d like to gather to take with us.”

“Don’t take your time,” Kate said, passing him as she carried another loaded duffle to the curb. “Moonlight’s wasting.”

* * *

“What do you think they meant, the town’s dangerous?” Toad asked, peering out the window of the passenger door at the passing scenery.

Michael shrugged. “Looks pretty average to me. Nice houses, great lawns,” he whistled, lawns meant money in California. The bills for water alone could bankrupt some people. “Quiet.”

“Too quiet,” Toad said, his pendulous lower lip shoved out. “I only saw that one club in town.”

“It isn’t big, that’s for certain,” Michael said, swinging the Thunderbird around a corner. “Let’s fill up and get on the road for L.A.”

It took a little doing, finding an open gas station at night. Michael was beginning to think they were a rare species in this town when Toad managed to spot a brilliant light off to the right. Circling the block, they found a convenience store, strangely enough, nowhere near the highway off ramps. After filling the Thunderbird’s tank and loading up on snacks for the ride home, Michael pointed the nose of his car towards the interstate.

“It’s been a slow night, huh?” Toad asked around his microwave burrito.

“Aside from our good deed, yeah.” Michael forced himself to remember that it was a good thing they stoppped and helped those people, even if he did possibly miss out on a race with that old convertible. Besides, that Giles guy had paid for the trip, even when he tried to wave it off.

“Kindness should be rewarded,” he’d said, handing a twenty over with an implacable expression. Reluctanctly, Michael had accepted the money, though Giles had then repeated what Xander’d said earlier, about the town being more dangerous than it looked and it would be best if they got back on the highway and went home.

A stoplight flicked over to red and Michael touched the brake pedal, easing the big car to a halt. The speakers rang out with the Rolling Stones’ “Wild Horses,” Jagger wailing they couldn’t drag him away. The sound distorted with a heavy rumbling and Toad slewed his head around, his eyes popping wide.

“Mikey, it’s that car,” he said, an evil grin spreading across his face.

Michael glanced out his window as the car pulled up alongside them. Partiers, he thought again, three girls, three guys, out for a drive. One of the women, the brunette in the front seat, smiled toothily over the passenger at Michael. He nodded back.

“Nice car,” he said.

The stocky man in the passenger seat tossed a haughty grin. “We like it,” he said.

“Does it run?”

The stocky man turned his attention to the driver. The driver leaned forward a little, meeting Michael’s eyes, his smile slow and lazy. “I think so.” His gaze raked the Thunderbird. “Didn’t we pass you on the highway?”

The insult was blatant. “Only because we were helping someone,” Michael said.

The men in the car laughed, the brunette joining in. One of the women in the back seat folded her arms up and glared a hole in the skull of the driver. “Are you helping anyone now?” the driver asked, his voice as deliberate as his smile.

“Just myself to your wallet,” Michael bragged.

The brunette chirped in delight. “A race,” she said, clasping her hands together. “With prizes!”

The driver stroked her hair indulgently though his gaze never left Michael. “There’s a street, two blocks over. Runs east-west. We’ll drop off our passengers and you and I’ll…race.”

“Just lead the way,” Michael said, feeling the familiar tingle in his hands.

“He plans on it,” the beefy guy laughed, thumping his palm on the convertible’s side panel. The light changed and the black car took off.

“Man, what is that thing?” Toad asked, eyeing the car in front of them.

“I think it’s an old Plymouth,” Michael said.

“You gonna win?”

His teeth flashed as Michael said, “Gonna smoke ‘em down.” He pulled up next to the convertible and Toad climbed out, slamming the door. “Watch out for yourself.”

Toad gestured at the people climbing out of the black car. “All the pretty ladies, I’ll be in good company while you race.”

“The blonde doesn’t look happy,” Michael said, nodding at the woman who argued with the driver.

“Maybe she just needs a change in scenery.”

“Ambitious, aren’t you?”

Toad winked. “Gotta keep myself entertained somehow while you race.” Pulling out of the window, he sauntered over to the others. The two men welcomed him with handshakes and backslapping. The brunette oozed up on a pair of high heels that should’ve given her a nosebleed. The arguing blonde gave up, pulling herself away from the convertible and the others.

The other blonde ambled over to lean into Michael’s window. “He asked if you’re ready,” she said, hooking a thumb towards the convertible.

“Just looking at that stoplight,” Michael said.

“Afraid of a little light?” The blonde wound a strand of his hair around her forefinger.

“More worried that my car would get t-boned.”

“Don’t worry. No one travels this road.” Her fingers slid along the back of his neck and he wondered at their chill. It wasn’t that cold of a night. “Are you ready?”

Michael glanced from the stoplight, gleaming green, back to the blonde. “Willing and able.”

The blonde laughed. “I like your enthusiasm,” she said, edging closer. “I think you’d fit in with us.” She nipped his ear and slithered out of the window before he could react. With a saucy wave, she joined the others, lacing her arms around the thinner of the two men. He kissed her soundly and they both turned to watch the proceedings as the bulky man walked between the two rumbling cars.

“There’s a loop towards the end of the road,” he said, loud enough that Michael could hear him. “Once around the loop and back. Elizabeth? Wanna start us off?”

The flirtatious blonde flounced away from her boyfriend, stepping up to the stocky man. Reaching the front of the cars, she raised her arms. “Ready?” she shouted over the roar of the engines.

Michael revved his motor, feeling the vibrations through the steering wheel. The CD switched over to “Paint It Black” and the music pooled around him, trapped by the noise of the engine.

“Steady,” Elizabeth sang out, her fingers drumming on the air.

The Plymouth growled like a thunderstorm. Michael could hear it even over the sound of his own car. A trickle of sweat rolled down his spine.

“Go!”

Michael popped the clutch and the Thunderbird screamed down the street, the convertible pacing it. They sped through the light and towards the loop at the end of the road.

* * *

On Buffy’s second trip to the I.C.U., a nurse took pity on her. “Fifteen minutes,” one said, tapping her watch face for emphasis. “And be sure to talk to him.”

“Talk?” Buffy blinked at her.

“Just because he’s unconscious doesn’t mean he can’t hear you.” She smiled at Buffy. “It might help to know he’s got something to wake up for.” Buffy swallowed down the retort that formed in her mouth and entered the room.

The first thing that struck her, aside from that particular hospital smell was the silence. Oh, there were sounds, hums and beeps and a peculiar shushing noise. But those were all mechanical. Not natural. Not like voices or snoring, even. Buffy walked carefully across the floor, her spine feeling as if it were made of ice. She pulled a chair over to Riley’s bedside, wincing at the awful scraping sound it made as she dragged it. Dropping into the chair, she laced her fingers together, feeling that space where the engagement ring wasn’t.

Fifteen minutes. Right.

She couldn’t even force herself to look at him directly. She kept stealing glances at him, seeing him as puzzle she had to fit back together.

Wrist, in cast. Blink.

Head, shaved. Bandage wrapped around it. Blink.

Eyes, blackened. Blink.

Nose, broken. Blink.

More bandages peeping out from under the blanket pulled up to his ribs. Blink.

Fingers braced against one another, pins sticking out of their tips. Bandages wrapped around all of it. Blink

A tube, running from the chest bandages with red fluid dripping through it.

Buffy focused on his hand, the one closest to her. Some sort of sensor was wrapped around his index finger. A memory popped into her head, of Riley telling her he’d flicked off a football player in his high school chemistry class when the teacher wasn’t looking and the football player swearing at him, out loud. Riley had said the teacher hauled the jock out of the classroom and that he’d paid later that day on the football field. Buffy had laughed along with him but really hadn’t gotten it. Riley thought it was funny and Graham, whom he’d been telling the story to, slapped Riley’s shoulder and called him a dog. They’d both laughed, Buffy joining in politely, though she’d thought at the time there was a part of Riley’s life she’d never understand.

He didn’t really talk about his past around her specifically. If the guys were around—his, not the Scoobies—they’d get into bragging matches about high school football or basketball teams; about racing cars down highways and back roads in the middle of the night, about girls they’d dated or bedded. Riley was polite enough to leave out the girls when Buffy was around, though she knew he’d dated his school’s prom queen for two years. He’d shown her his yearbook photos.

“What happened there?” she’d asked when he told her about it. “Is she still in Iowa, waiting for you to come back?”

Riley had stroked her hair, tugging gently on the ends. When he did that, it always made her scalp tingle in this incredible way. She wondered then if he’d learned that from the prom queen. “Not unless she wants to give up living in New York and flying all over the world. I’d say she’s happy being a stewardess.”

Buffy glanced up at his face, nearly unrecognizable after the beating. Stitches clung to his neck over wounds Buffy knew all too well. She turned her attention back to his hand and sighed. “They, I mean, the nurse, she said you might hear me. That I should talk to you. But I don’t know what to say.” She laid her hand on top of his, careful of the I.V. tube.

“You always said you’d take me to Iowa, back to Spirit Lake, remember?” She paused. “We laughed. Spirit Lake sounds way spookier than Sunnydale.” Licking her lips, Buffy went on. “Giles is gonna call your commanding officer. They’ll probably,” her voice petered out. Buffy had no idea what the military would do. Would they take Riley away? Surely he wasn’t well enough to move. Would they fly his parents in from Iowa? They’d expect to see her, wouldn’t they? And she so didn’t have time for that, not with the end of the world. “Anyway, um, we’ll call your parents, too. I’ll bet your Mom will send you those Bings candies you love. And we’ll…we’ll all go on a picnic when you’re feeling better. Out in the sun. No monsters or—or anything.” She chanced a glimpse at his face again and jerked her gaze away, trying to fix it on their hands.

“Oh. I—I forgot to tell you,” she said, her voice soft. “I lost the engagement ring you gave me. It, um,” she caught her lower lip in her teeth and sighed before going on. “I saw some people today and they wanted payment for the information they gave me. There wasn’t anything else I could give them, Riley. Not money or blood. Just that. I’m sorry.” She sniffed, trying to hold back the tears that threatened. She’d failed Riley in this universe, like she’d failed Riley in her own. “I’ll bet you’ll hate me when you wake up.”

“Maybe he won’t.” The voice was achingly familiar, rich and low. “I know I wouldn’t.”

Buffy jerked upright, nearly out of the chair, staring around the room. “A-Angel?” The thought sickened her that maybe Lindsey’s vampire had somehow managed to track her down, had made his way here, to Riley’s room, where she had no weapons except herself. “Is that you?” There, a shadow, a dark pooling of not-light. She readied for the attack.

“Come with me, Buffy.” The shadow whisked out the door, barely moving the curtains dividing the room.

She stared at where it had been and, with a backwards glance, stole out of the room. Carefully pulling the door closed behind her, she turned—

--and nearly stumbled over the rock right in front of her. Frowning, who’d put a rock in a hospital hallway; anyway, Buffy spotted the shadow, disappearing into a cleft in a rock face ahead of her. Jogging, she reached the face, laying her hands on the warm red stone. She panted, peering into the cleft. Was she supposed to follow him through here? With a cautious glance around, Buffy slipped into the crevasse.

Inside it was dark and cool, though not so dark that she couldn’t see the walls of stone around her. She walked carefully, wishing again that she had some sort of weapon. Somehow, she knew this was not where she was supposed to be.

“Are you sure?”

Buffy stared down at the dog walking beside her, a lovely Golden Retriever that was more red than gold. “I’m sorry,” she said, her sense of humor rising inexplicably, “did you say something?”

The dog rolled its warm eyes up at her. “Of course I did,” it said—she said, Buffy realized, in Willow’s voice. As the cave widened, the dog swept in front of her abruptly, sitting down in front of her and raising a paw. “Don’t be afraid, Buffy. This is important.”

“Yeah, it’s the only way we could get through to you.”

Buffy stumbled backwards, hearing Xander’s voice coming from…an otter? “Okay, this is just getting really freaksome,” she said, wondering how she could get out of this dream.

The otter balanced on his hind legs and tail, whiskers wriggling. “I told you she wouldn’t believe this, Will.”

“Shh, you’re not supposed to use my name!”

“Dear lord, enough arguing.”

“Giles?” Buffy swung around, spotting a blob of orange fur blending into the wall way too well for her nerves. “You’re a monkey?”

“An orangutan,” the monkey said in Giles’ most huffy voice. “The old man of the jungle.”

“Uh, huh.” Buffy wondered if she really had gone crazy. “I think I’ll be going now.”

Willow the dog scooted in front of her, blocking her path back out of the crevasse. “No! I mean, Buffy, we went through a lot of trouble to get you here, to get us here.” Her head cocked to one side, her ears lifting and lowering, her tail wagging slowly. “Please? At least hear us out.”

“I can just imagine what Freud would say about this.”

“Sometimes a cigar is just a cigar,” Xander the otter quoted.

“Cute.” Buffy glared at him, then the orangutan and flung up her hands in defeat. “Okay. So you got me here. What is it you need to tell me? I already know you’re all…” her breath hitched. “You know.”

“We’re not completely dead,” Willow said.

“Yeah, there are the mirror us-es.” Xander undulated up to her and stood on his hind legs again, leaning a paw against her knee. “They aren’t bad, are they?”

Buffy squatted down to be on eye level with him. “They aren’t you,” she whispered, afraid her voice would crack.

“Buffy,” Giles the orangutan said, moving towards her, “there are things you do not know.”

“Not more prophesies, Giles, I can’t deal with that sort of thing right now!” She rose to her feet, stomping past Willow.

“Nevertheless, you shall want to hear these.”

Wiping her eyes, she didn’t bother turning around. “Yeah? What makes you think that?”

“Because they could help you.”

She did spin at the sound of his voice, staring at the puddle of black sitting next to Giles, the shadow that had led her from Riley’s room, a huge cat with eyes that she would recognize anywhere. “Angel? Why—why are you all here?”

“We couldn’t let you give up the fight, could we?” Xander asked.

“But,” Buffy took a tentative step back, her hand reaching out of its own volition to touch the cheek of the panther. “But you aren’t you.” He rubbed into her palm, eyes slitting closed, a slow, rumbling purr rising from his chest. “You’re all animals.”

“Spirit totems,” Giles corrected as she collapsed in front of him. “The wheres and whyfores are something you don’t need to concern yourself with.”

“Oh, good.” Buffy stared dazedly at each of them. “Who else is here? Dawn? Mom? Oz?”

“Just us,” Xander said, nuzzling her, his stiff whiskers tickling her skin.

“But that is beside the point,” Giles said. His long fingers drew something in the red sand she sat on. “You cannot give up hope, Buffy. We’re here to remind you that.”

“Why?” She dropped her hand into Willow’s fur and listened to the retriever’s tail thump affectionately. “This isn’t my world. I don’t want to fight for them. It’s because of them that I’m not with you now.”

“But you are with us,” Willow said, laying her chin on Buffy’s thigh and rolling her eyes up.

“She’s not you, Willow. She brought me back to the wrong place. I should be with you, all of you.” She spat out the words as if they would corrode her mouth. “You all died because I was brought back to life here. Do you think I could ever forgive them that?”

“We have,” Angel said.

“Well I haven’t, okay?” Buffy wanted to climb to her feet and yell at the panther but the weight of the dog—Willow—and the otter—Xander—on her forced her to stay put. “I can’t! It’s my life that’s screwed up! Mine! I’m not where I belong, I’m in some screwed up world where their Buffy wasn’t strong enough to face the big bad!”

“We know,” Giles said soothingly. His shrewd monkey eyes met hers. “And it does hurt us, to know that we’re separated. But we’re also together.”

“Don’t tell me, they’re you and you are them,” Buffy snapped. “Xander already tried the ‘I am the walrus’ speech.”

“It’s true, Buffy. She is me,” Willow said, nudging her hand. “Maybe less powerful as a witch, not in love with Tara, but she’s me. I’m a reflection of her. All of us are just reflections, like the Oracles said.”

“You’re screwing with my brain,” Buffy said, slapping her palms over her ears. “I won’t listen. I can’t hear this.”

“You need to, Buffy, if you expect to survive.” Angel’s voice made it past the barricade.

“I don’t want to survive,” she said, choking on tears, “All I want is to be with you.”

The animals looked from one to the other. Angel leaned closer, rubbing his velvet cheek against hers. “You are. Always.”

She looped an arm around his neck and sobbed, feeling the others draw nearer, a hairy arm around her back, a warm, sinuous weight in her lap, a tongue lapping at her tears. “Buffy,” Giles said, “I know this is hard for you. Harder than anything you’ve ever faced. But they…we are with you.”

“What kind of pity party is this?”

They all broke apart, Buffy landing on her backside as the animals scattered. She stared up into a face she knew too well, a face twisted into something like amusement. “You,” she breathed.

“Did someone forget my invitation?” Angelus smiled, leaning down to chuck her under the chin. “Cause I hate to miss a celebration.”

“Don’t touch her,” the cat snarled, swiping at Angelus’ hand. The demon jerked back, blood welling from four scratches.

“Temper, temper, pussy cat,” Angelus said, licking the blood away. “I’m not gonna hurt our girl.” His grin, if anything, got broader. “Yet.”

“Stay away from her.” Xander leaped between Buffy and Angelus. “I beat you once, I can do it again.”

“Ooh, cause I’m just so afraid of an extended rat,” Angelus sneered.

“Back off!” Willow barked.

“Guys, this is my battle,” Buffy said, pushing to her feet. “Get out of the way.”

“See? Even she knows it’s just gonna boil down to the two of us.”

Giles flung sand into Angelus’ eyes. The demon screamed, pawing at his face. “Not if I can help it,” he said. “Buffy, leave, now! He knows we’ve spoken to you. It’ll make it that more dangerous for you to stay.”

“But--”

“Go!” Angel roared, leaping onto the vampire, taking him to the ground. Buffy stood still, staring as the floor erupted into a war zone, inhuman sounds rising from the crimson dust that hid too much from her view.

“No! I can’t leave you!”

“It isn’t your choice to make, Buffy,” Giles shouted from somewhere within the red cloud. “Go now, before he breaks free!”

“Buffy, run!” A glimpse of a face, Willow’s true face, appeared. “Remember, we love you!”

“I love you,” Buffy cried back, spinning on suddenly weak legs and racing towards the entrance to the crevasse. It was like running in a nightmare, she didn’t seem to move and the violence of the battle behind her didn’t dim. She half-expected Angelus to suddenly grab her shoulder and wrench her back around. Somehow, she made it to the exit, shading her eyes from the sunlight that poured into the opening. Carefully stepping outside, she blinked. Something huge and glowing was just ahead of her.

A fire whipped into a spiral, shooting towards the sky. It covered the entire landscape in front of her, devouring massive logs in its hunger. Buffy squinted, making out something in the flames. It glowed white hot, gold, that strange blue that only fires put off. It shimmered and shivered with the flames licking around it. “Slayer,” the fire said, or sang, she wasn’t quite sure which. “Slayer.”

“This is a trick,” she shouted at it. “One of his tricks!”

“Slayer,” the fire sang again. “Become born again in the blaze.”

“No!” She shook her head. “I won’t!”

The inferno roared at her rejection, licking out at her with flames that somehow smelled of cinnamon and sandalwood. Buffy batted at them, trying to fight them off. “No! Stay away!”

One brushed against her shoulder and she flung herself away, crashing into the rock face. “No!”

“Ma’am, you have to leave now.” The voice was stern, unrecognizable.

Buffy lowered her arms from their defensive posture, staring into the stern face of a nurse. The sterile world of the hospital fell into place and she nearly dropped from displacement shock. “There…there was a fire,” she mumbled.

“You were dreaming,” the nurse said sharply. “And flailing around. You could have harmed Mr. Finn.”

She swallowed, peeping at him. He looked the same, none the worse for her nightmare. “I’m sorry.”

“You have to leave. Your fifteen minutes are up,” the nurse said firmly. She herded Buffy out of the room, not even allowing a backwards glance. Once at the nurses’ station, she softened. “You should go home, try to sleep. It would be better for you than staying the night here.”

****

Buffy nodded in defeat. Slowly, she made her way back to the main lobby, noting that no one had left. Giles started to his feet as soon as he saw her, Willow and Xander getting up and coming over, too. “Buffy,” Giles said warmly and she could hear an echo of his voice in her dream, “how is Riley?”

“Still unconscious,” Buffy said, nearly in a whisper. “I talked to him a little.” She tilted her head to meet the blue eyes of her Watcher. “But I had a dream.”

“A dream?” He pulled back a little, his brows knitting together.

“What kind of dream?” Willow asked.

“My fr—you were all in it,” Buffy said, her tongue twisting. “Except you were,” she screwed up her face in memory, “totem animals? You were an orangutan, Giles, and Willow a dog.”

“A dog?” Willow asked, disappointed.

“What was I?” Xander asked, shoving his hands into his back pockets and leaning closer. “Something really strong and cool, right?”

“An otter.”

Xander’s face fell as Giles, peering at her, said, “Yes, well. Do you think it might have been a prophetic dream?”

“I-I’m not sure,” Buffy said. “I…they…you said some things. About the battle. And then, he, Angelus, showed up and you all fought him for me. You told me to run. So I did. And…there was a fire, a really big fire, singing ‘Slayer’ over and over.”

“A fire?” Giles pushed his glasses up his nose. “A singing fire?”

Buffy sagged and Xander caught her around the waist. “Whoa, there, Buff. Don’t you go fainting on us.”

“We should get you home,” Willow said as the others drew near in concern. “You’re probably exhausted.”

“Come on, Buffy,” Dawn said, worming her way under Buffy’s arm. “It’s time to go home. We’ll come back and see Riley tomorrow.”

She allowed Dawn and Xander to guide her to the parking lot and into Oz’s van. “I’ll make sure they get home safely, Giles,” Oz said.

“Thank you, Oz,” Giles said, his voice muffled as the door closed, shutting out the rest of the world.

Willow took shotgun, turning around to meet Buffy’s eyes levelly. There was something there, almost hidden in the blue-grey of that gaze, something familiar, like a whisper of a friendly ghost in an old house. “A dog?” she asked again.

A feeling bubbled up inside her, one she hadn’t felt in far too long. “A smart dog,” Buffy assured her. “Like the one on the Bush’s Baked Beans commercials. A Golden Retriever.”

“Huh?” Dawn asked, scrunching up her face, looking from one woman to the other.

Oz climbed into the van and slammed the door. “Ladies, your beds await.” Starting the engine, he glanced in the mirror. “Everything okay back there?”

“Yep,” Dawn said, “except Buffy and Will are talking in some weird dog code.” She folded her arms and pouted.

“Dog code?” Shaking his head, Oz backed the van out and followed the taillights to the other two cars leaving the hospital parking lot.

“Ooh, maybe you’re gonna get me a dog?” Dawn asked, bouncing in her seat.

“Highly doubtful,” Buffy said. “Puppies and slayage don’t mix well.”

“But I want a dog,” Dawn said wheedling.

“I wanted a pony and I never got one of those,” Buffy reminded.

The stoplight ahead of them flicked from amber to red and Oz started braking the van. Cordelia’s car vanished under the light. No surprise there, Queen C was still a speed demon at heart.

“Dogs are easier to take care of than ponies,” Dawn argued. “They don’t take up much room.”

“They still cost money, which we don’t have.”

The light changed to green and Oz started the van across. Buffy shouted, “Oz, no!” as headlights bored down from her side of the van. The vehicle jerked to a stop as two cars flew across the intersection. Dawn tracked them out her window, her mouth dropping open.

“They could’ve killed us!” Willow said, staring after the cars.

“Everybody okay?” Oz asked.

“What’s going on?” Buffy leaned over Dawn’s shoulder, seeing the two cars slew to a stop about two blocks away. “Hey, Will, isn’t that Michael’s car?”

“Who’s Michael?” Dawn asked. “Is he that guy who gave you the ride to the hospital? Xander was talking about his car.”

“Oz,” Buffy said, ignoring her sister’s questions, “drive down there.”

“What’s going on, Buffy?” Willow asked as Oz followed Buffy’s order.

“Something,” she said, her body almost humming with a sudden tension. “Do we have weapons?”

“Behind your seat, in that big chest,” Oz said and Buffy unhooked her seatbelt and dove over the seat, letting Dawn’s questions fill the interior of the van. Pulling out a couple of stakes, she leaned over the seatback to thrust one of the crossbows into Willow’s hands. Picking up another weapon, she gave it to Dawn. She found the quarrels for the weapons and handed those over, too.

“Are you letting me fight?” Dawn asked eagerly.

“That’s for Oz,” Buffy said sharply and when her sister opened her mouth to protest, went on. “Dawn, no matter what happens, stay in the van. Willow and Oz will protect you.”

“But, Buffy,” Dawn began.

“Listen to me, Dawn. Stay here.” Buffy stared her down then, when Dawn nodded her reluctant agreement with her sister’s command, Buffy turned her attention to Willow and Oz. “Stay sharp.”

“Okay, Buffy,” Willow said, looking up from loading her crossbow. “But be careful.”

She nodded abruptly and climbed over the seat again, sliding open the door. Oz slewed the van sideways, blocking the road and Buffy leaped out, rolling across the asphalt. Getting to her feet, she made sure she still had her stakes and ran towards the two cars at the end of the street. Her heart thundered in her ears, her gut tugged its warning that there were definitely vampires ahead. “Michael! Julio!” she shouted. “Get out of here!”

The young man turned towards her and one of the vampires pounced, lifting him off the ground and burying its teeth in Julio’ss neck. Buffy swallowed a curse and raced towards the two cars. Another vampire hauled Michael out of the Thunderbird. The young man didn’t have time to scream before his life drained down a vampire’s throat. Buffy could hear Dawn’s shriek behind her but forced down the desire to turn, to comfort. Her feet pounded along the hardtop and she ran up the back of the red car, flinging herself off the room and onto the vampire feasting on Michael.

They rolled, Buffy managing to land on top of a corpse-vampire-Slayer sandwich. Jerking her stake, she thrust it home into the blond vampire’s back. Tumbling away, she heard the familiar wail as the vampire turned to dust. A screech alerted her and she tried to avoid the kick aimed at her stomach. She caught it on her ribs, hearing a snap. Rolling again, Buffy scrambled to her feet, pressing her elbow against her side to provide support, stake held ready in the other hand.

“You killed James,” the vampire sobbed.

“Don’t worry,” Buffy said, “you won’t miss him for long.”

The vampire charged in, swinging wildly. Her claws caught in Buffy’s hair and yanked. Buffy punched her in the face twice, not able to get the right angle to stake her. The vampire twisted a leg around Buffy’s knee and jerked. As the Slayer fell, a clump of her hair ripped out. Wincing, Buffy managed to kick the vampire in the stomach, sending her reeling back. Snapping to her feet again, Buffy waited for the next charge.

“Do something, do something,” Dawn moaned, her face pressed up against the windowpane.

Willow aimed the crossbow out the window, sighting along the barrel. “That’s it,” she said, releasing the safety. “Just stand there.” She squeezed the trigger and the bolt shot out, catching the stocky vampire as he turned. He roared his surprise as he turned to dust, alerting the rest of the vampires that the Slayer wasn’t the only person they had to worry about. “Oops,” Willow said, frowning a little, “I think I got their attention.”

“Hang on,” Oz said, climbing half out of his window and firing his own crossbow. It struck the second blonde vampire in the shoulder. She snarled at them, striding towards the van. “Now they know we’re a threat.”

“Is it me or does that vampire look a little weird?” Dawn asked Willow, who was rapidly reloading her weapon.

“Not now, Dawn,” Willow said.

Dawn turned back to the window and shrieked as the blonde snarled at her. Grabbing the cross on the seat next to her, Dawn thrust it at the glass, sending the blonde back. Oz slithered through the window into the driver's seat, revving the engine and laying on the horn. "Did Buffy hear?" he asked, twisting around to look past Willow.

"Little busy right now," Willow said, splashing the vampire with holy water. The blonde cried out in pain, her skin smoking where the drops struck. Bolting, she raced away from the van, disappearing into a line of trees.

The pair of vampires standing next to the convertible simply stared at the battle, looking for all the world like spectators at a sporting event.

"What are they waiting for?" Oz asked, turning the van to face the battle. He watched as Buffy took an uppercut on her chin, her head snapping back.

“I don’t care as long as they stay there,” Willow said, leaning out of the window to sight her target.

“Be careful, Willow,” Dawn whispered.

“Diana guide my flight,” Willow chanted softly, stroking her fingers along the bolt. She closed her eyes briefly then opened them, tracking the blonde with Buffy. The Slayer fell back from the onslaught and Willow spoke, as if directly in her friend’s ear. “Duck.”

Buffy dropped to the ground and the crossbow twanged, sending the bolt flying. There was a howl above her and dust showered down on her head. Pushing up to her hands and knees, she faced the three remaining vampires, pushing a strand of hair out of her face. “You just don’t learn, do you,” she said, slowly walking onto the asphalt. “Sunnydale’s off limits to vampires.”

One of the vampires peeled off from the other, the pale light darkening her scarlet dress to nearly black. “It’s her, my star. The Slayer.”

“Drusilla,” Buffy said, stretching her arms behind her back, palming her second stake. “Come back to pick up your little Spike?” She tilted her head to one side. “And you brought friends.” Smiling coldly, she said, “Didn’t do you much good, did it? Just like the song says, three of ‘em are already blowin’ in the wind.” As if she’d called it, a breeze whipped her loose hair into her face.

The male vampire pushed off the hood of the car. The gust caught his duster and his ponytail as he crossed in front of the vehicle. Buffy’s stomach lurched, nearly throwing itself out her throat. The vampire paused, hands tucked into the pockets of his jacket, legs apart, one shoulder a little higher than the other, but only if you looked closely. Her heart tripped and shuddered as a little smile crossed the vampire’s face.

“Hello, Slayer,” he said, his voice a rough purr.

She tilted her chin up; daring him to cross the distance, take his punch. “Hello, Angel. Things just weren’t the same without you.”

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