* * *

Riley Finn couldn't remember when he'd had such a string of bad days. You'd think that getting your girlfriend back from the dead, kind of like Orpheus going down into hell, would be a good thing. But Orpheus hadn't exactly rescued his girl from the underworld; he'd turned around and looked in her face and she'd had to stay behind. And this Buffy, this one whom Willow had brought from the other side, she wasn't his Buffy. She wasn't the girl he'd asked to marry him, not the girl who he'd been dating since maybe a third of the way through her freshman year in college. She wasn't the same girl he'd faced Maggie Walsh for, or ripped a chip out of his chest to help her fight Adam. His senses told him she was; she smelled right; she moved right; god, her eyes and her mouth and the way she tucked into those tight leather pants of hers, all of that was right. But the mind and the heart and the soul; hidden away behind flesh and blood and bone, they belonged to a different girl.

Tossing back a shooter of whiskey, Riley wondered again how he'd wound up here. Willie's bar wasn't the place for humans, at least not humans on the right side of the law. Still, it was the only place he could think of to wander in to, after walking around all night. It didn't quite surprise him as much as it should to realize Willie was open for business at eight in the morning. It did shock him a little that he could get booze that early. Too bad he didn't find that out 'til sixteen hundred hours.

Willie recognized him, even ponied up the first drink. Probably to keep me from tearing the bar apart, Riley thought, though he didn't complain. The whiskey was terrible, not that whiskey ever tasted particularly good; he was a brandy man when he had his choice but doubted anything even vaguely resembling decent liquor hid behind that bar. He couldn't remember actually drinking five shots but there were that many glasses in front of him, all empty.

He spun the most recent dead soldier in his fingers, debating whether he should call Willie back down from the other end of the bar where he stood with…something that obviously wasn't human. Riley squinted at the figure, not remembering seeing a big blue demon around here before. The stray thought made him snicker and he dropped his gaze back down to the bar top. "Papa Smurf," he said to the shot glass.

Willie made his way back down the bar, hesitating when he reached Riley. "You-you want I should pour another drink?" he asked timidly.

Riley gave him a lazy, pain-free smile. "Sure, Willie," he said. "Why don't you do that?" He pushed the shot glass towards the weaselly man. "In fact, why don't you just leave the bottle."

Willie's eyes got big and round, sweat gleaming off his upper lip. "Oh, I don't know," he said, his fingers wriggling nervously, "the Slayer, bet she wouldn't like that."

Snorting into his newest shot, Riley tipped the liquid back into his mouth, letting the alcohol burn straight down into his gut. "Like she cares," he said, setting the glass back on the bar.

The little man swiped at the bar in front of Riley. "She does," he said. "I mean, she came after you, nearly tore the place apart when you disappeared that time."

"Thanks, Willie," Riley said, looking at the empty shot. "But she's not the same anymore. She's not the girl I fell in love with."

"Well, no, probably not," Willie said, bobbing his head, "but all women change. I mean," he giggled nervously, "put a ring on their finger and bam!" He slapped a hand on the bar. Riley stared at it thoughtfully, wondering if he was supposed to jump from surprise. "They change."

"Yeah, well, there's a lot more to this change than an engagement," Riley said. He gestured towards the bottle.

Willie's fingers clutched around the base of it almost reflexively and he found another glass, pouring out another shot. He held the booze on his side of the bar. "Don'cha think you should maybe slow down some? I know the Slayer, she ain't gonna like you coming home drunk," he said.

"I don't need a conscience, Willie," Riley said, eying him, "and if I did, I sure as hell wouldn't pick you to be my Jiminy Cricket." Beckoning towards the whiskey, he tapped the countertop with his first and second fingers.

"Well, well, well."

The voice that drifted over his shoulder and cut through the buzz building in Riley's head made him smile. He snatched the shot out of Willie's hand and turned on his barstool. "Will you look at what the cat dragged in," he said.

Spike stood in the center of the floor, thumbs hooked through his belt loops, rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet. He smiled suddenly, companionably. "I'd say the same thing about you," he said, straddling the stool next to Riley. "Oi. Willie. Give me whatever he's having." Spike nodded at Riley. "If you're not too good to be drinking with the likes of me."

"Don't expect me to spot you any booze, Spike," Riley said warningly, shooting another glass. He set the empty upside down on the bar. What did that make now, seven? The stray thought trickled through his brain that maybe drinking in a demon bar wasn't that great of an idea. He tapped his fingers on the countertop and turned to eye the vampire next to him. "I mean it."

"Psht." Spike tossed back his whiskey. "I got money."

"Stolen," Riley said.

"Not your concern, soldier boy. At ease," Spike said, still not bothering to face him.

"Well, hostile seventeen, sometimes things are my business." Riley folded his arms on the bar top. "You see, you can't have gotten that money legally. I don't think you know how to go about doing that sort of thing. You might've been selling information to Giles or Buffy-"

"But they ain't in town," Spike interrupted. "C'mon Willie, another round for me and," he waved a hand towards Riley.

"No?" Riley asked, a dull surprise flickering through his fogged brain.

"Nah. Went off to L.A. again. Sure you know all about it." If Riley had been a little less in his cups, he might've seen the smirk Spike tossed his way.

"The city of angels," Riley said.

"Huh." Spike accepted his shooter and tossed a wad of bills on the counter. "Willie, scare me up some blood. A pos, if you got it."

"I don't go selling no blood, Spike," Willie said, his eyes wide and focused on Riley. "That's illegal."

"Oh hell, Willie, give it to him. I know all about your little black market scheme with the interns at the hospital," Riley muttered. He cocked a finger at Spike. "Besides, anything to shut him up."

Spike smiled tightly, his cheeks hollowing. "You heard the man, Willie. Supply and demand. And I've got the demands."

Willie scuttled away, a human cockroach amidst the debris behind the bar top. Riley watched him, squinting a little to make his eyes focus. He hadn't actually known about Willie selling blood but it wasn't a real surprise. It just meant something more that he'd have to look into and make sure it stopped. There were plenty of humans who needed that blood and surprise, he could really care less what the local vampire population thought about it. Still, wouldn't do to alert the enemy yet. Cutting off a blood supply could lead to open hostilities.

A heavy mug thumped onto the bar in front of Spike, steam rising in slow tendrils from the opening. The vampire smiled, his dark eyebrows reaching for his bleached hair. "That's the stuff," he said, clinking his mug against Riley's glass. "Cheers, soldier boy." He tossed back his drink, his adam's apple bobbing with each swallow. Riley wondered that Spike's head didn't fall off his scrawny neck, tipped back as far as it was.

Smashing his mug down on the bar, Spike turned a sharp grin to Riley. "Hits the spot," he said, his teeth stained and lips carmined.

"You're trying to provoke me, Spike," Riley said, smirking back and shaking his head slowly so the bar wouldn't spin. "I'm too smart for that."

"Yeah?" The vampire grunted. "Guess you are, at that. Tell you what. I'll give you a walk home. Make sure you get to the Slayer's house. My good deed for the day." He clapped a large hand on Riley's shoulder, nearly toppling him into the bar.

"You just want to see if Buffy's home," Riley sneered.

"Won't lie and say it's not true," Spike said, shrugging. "But letting you go out there by yourself in that condition? Slayer'd have my hide. 'Specially if something happened to you."

Willie wagged his head from behind the counter. "It's a good idea," he said. "I don't want nothin' happenin' to no friend of the Slayer leavin' my bar."

"Oh, he's not a friend, Willie," Spike said, fixing the barkeep with an icy gaze, "he's special." He shook Riley's shoulder. "Right, mate? You're the one with the Slayer's heart."

Riley mumbled something and shoved at Spike's hand, nearly falling off his stool. The blond vampire rolled his eyes. "I don't need this," he said, "bloody nursemaid to a bleedin' soldier who helped put this chip in my head." He leaned into Riley's space, tilting his neck to peer up at the young man's face. "So, ready for home?"

"I don't need a babysitter," Riley said, slithering off the stool. He shook his head, squeezing his eyes shut and opening them again.

"Oh, I beg to differ," Spike said, curling his lips. "You need someone to watch you. A bad guy could take you out like that." He clapped his hands together in front of Riley's face for emphasis. Riley startled back, clutching at the bar top with a death grip. "See? Got no head for drinking, do you?"

Riley suddenly wished he hadn't drank however many shots he'd had. His stomach clenched in the after-effects of cheap booze and cigarette smoke and the proximity of a vampire he'd never trusted, despite what Buffy and her friends thought. "I'm fine, Spike," he said, sneering, hoping it was true. He brushed past the vampire, carefully setting his feet with each step, holding his body upright and stiff. Just like those long drills he'd had in boot camp. He could do this, easy. Just walk out into the night and home to Buffy's place.

He blinked, staring at the streetlights.

The night.

Oh, shit.

A cold chill wiped out his buzz as Riley forced himself to double-time it. He had no weapons on him, hadn't even thought of weapons earlier. Abso-fucking-great, to be in this section of Sunnydale without even a stake. What the hell was he thinking, that he was impervious?

He spotted a pallet and trotted over to it, stomping on one of the boards to splinter it. Hefting the shattered one-by-four in his hand, he glanced around. Exactly how far did he have to go to get home? Gritting his teeth, he strode out of the alley, only to find Spike waiting for him, cigarette in mouth, lighter flaring high.

"What's your hurry? Think she's at home?" Spike asked around the cigarette, his eyes sheening green from the flame.

"I don't think I have to answer to you, hostile seventeen," Riley said.

"No?" Spike grinned mirthlessly, shoving the lighter back in his pocket. "You know, the Slayer's too quick for you. She's really got it all, don't she? Super strength, super speed, tight little body."

"Not that you'll ever know it, Spike," Riley said, showing his teeth back in a mocking smile. "She won't even let you get near her, will she? And that just eats you up inside, doesn't it?"

Spike took a long, slow drag on his cigarette, slowly releasing the smoke into the sky. "Now that's the funny thing, innit? I mean, Slayer back from the dead, not quite the same girl, having different reactions and all? Don't think I don't know all about your little fight. And you haven't slept with her since she's been back; haven't got into that sweet puss, have you?"

Riley grabbed the vampire by the jacket and shoved him into the wall. "Stop talking about her that way, Spike," he snarled down into the blond's face.

Spike giggled. "Makes you feel all tough, don't it, shoving me around. 'Course, your girl did it before you stuck this chip in my head." He puffed smoke out into Riley's face.

"You think I care?" Riley asked, leaning his improvised stake against Spike's chest.

"I think it eats you up inside," Spike said, knocking the wood away. It clattered across the sidewalk, crashing into a building. "And I think you hate it, don't you? Always being second best to a little. Bitty. Girl."

Riley thumped him harder into the wall. "That's where you're wrong, Spike. I'm proud of Buffy. I always have been. Sure she can kick my ass. But she can kick yours, too and that's what's really important." He studied the expression on the smaller man's face, wondering at the unholy light in those pale eyes. Spike's mouth twisted into a wicked smile. "What?"

"She tell you about that vampire in her other world?" Spike laughed in Riley's face as it twisted. "Guess she did. Don't it just kill you, to know that in her world, a vampire got there first, where you took your pleasure? Don't it just twist your guts, knowing she's pining for him, that she's probably in L.A. right now, looking for him?"

"You know," Riley said through clenched teeth, his hands knotting in Spike's shirt, "I really despise you. Not just like Buffy and her friends hate you, I mean you're really, truly despicable."

Spike winked slowly, a bare closing of one eyelid. "Better than being boring any day." He grabbed Riley's shoulders and kneed him in the groin.

Riley whooped, doubling over and connecting with that same knee that threw him into the street. Curled into a fetal position, his eyes watering, he wondered what had happened. Spike was chipped. He couldn't hurt humans. Unless he really was drunker than he thought and he'd accosted another short blond vampire. Blinking through his tears, Riley craned his head back in time to see Spike striding lightly towards him. The vampire squatted next to him, his long black coat pooling on the tarmac, cigarette held loosely between his fingers.

"You see," Spike said, his voice conversational, "I may not be the Big Bad around the 'dale anymore but even being laughed at and being called 'Slayer's Pet' is better than being what you are." He took a puff on his cigarette and let the smoke escape his mouth and nose, licking up his face like a lover before stubbing out the butt on the asphalt next to Riley's head. "And that," he patted Riley's cheek, "is dull."

Riley bit back a groan, trying to escape that touch. Spike just smiled at him, rising to his feet. "You know, I didn't really plan for this to happen. Dreamed about it a few dozen times, before." He tapped the side of his skull with his second finger. "Didn't think you'd ever just waltz into my hands like this." He drew back and kicked Riley in the stomach.

Gasping, Riley tried to pull some air back into his body. He twisted, trying to escape the next blow, taking it on his side. Forcing his large frame to move, he managed to get to his knees.

"Glad you're not taking it lying down," Spike said cheerfully, hauling back and striking at Riley's face. Somehow, he caught Spike's boot, twisting it hard. The vampire followed the movement, his body spinning, the hem of his jacket swirling like a pinwheel. Landing on his chest, Spike pushed back to his feet before Riley could regain his. "Glad you did that, soldier boy," he said gleefully. "Shows you've still got some fight in you. And I'd hate to not have a coupla bruises on me when I tell the Slayer what happened to her boyfriend."

He advanced on Riley, his white-blond hair sickly orange under the dim streetlights. Riley tightened his hands into fists, forcing himself to his feet. He wavered there, watching as the vampire eased forward, an evil grin plastered on his mouth. "Can't tell you how long I've been waiting for this."

"Are you gonna talk me to death?" Riley spat out.

Spike's grin broadened and he rushed forward, a swarm of black darker than the night. Riley managed to land two blows, maybe three before he went down under the vampire's onslaught. He tried to protect his vital areas but the vampire moved too quickly, punching, thrashing, kicking. Finally, the beating stopped and Riley, surprised to still be alive, unfolded his body. One of his eyes opened with effort and he wasn't quite surprised to see Spike squatting over him, cigarette dangling from his mouth.

"Still alive?" His eyes twinkled. "Can't tell you how glad I am to know that." He sucked on the cigarette and blew out the smoke skyward. "I mean, I'd hate for you to be dead." With a movement too quick for Riley to follow, Spike grabbed his hair and hauled him up. Throwing an arm around his chest to support him, Spike pushed Riley's head to one side. "Wouldn't do for you to die, when I can use you to throw the Slayer off the scent." His face changed, the demonic side showing. Licking his fangs, Spike whispered in Riley's ear. "I'll have your Slayer, right where I want her. And there's not a damn thing you can do about it."

Saying that, he buried his fangs into Riley's flesh. The pricks made him jerk but he couldn't move any more, just lay there in the vampire's arms while Spike slurped at his throat.

He wondered, as he lay dying, if Spike wasn't sending him on to his Buffy. A pang rippled through his chest as he thought maybe this was for the best. His Buffy was gone. This one didn't need him. And then, everything slowly faded out and he didn't think of anything else at all.

* * *

Telephones.

An odd invention, to say the least, but when on Earth….

Sahjhan dialed the number he'd acquired, listening to the internal clicks and beeps of connections being made. Suddenly, a somewhat perturbed voice came on the line. "Holland Manners," it said.

"Good evening," Sahjhan said.

"Who is this? How did you get this number?"

Allowing a hint of amusement to filter into his tones, Sahjhan said, "You'd be amazed how much you can find out by doing a little of research. This is Sahjhan, Holland."

"Oh. Oh." The more familiar, oozing with good humor voice returned. "Sahjhan. I'm sorry, there seems to be a bit of a mix-up here. Nothing to really concern yourself over. Still. How can I be of service?"

"You can tell me what it is that I needn't concern myself over, for the first part," Sahjhan said sternly. Something in the human's voice alerted him.

"The vampires. They've left the building." Holland Manners hesitated. "From our recordings, they're on their way to Sunnydale."

That wasn't supposed to happen, not yet at least. Sahjhan unconsciously paced as the human prattled on. "We did attempt to stop them," he said, "but the one known as 'Angel' swept aside all objections. And a few of our local guards." Manners chuckled, though the laughter sounded a bit forced. "Bodies out of a fifteen story window are not easily covered up."

"I'm sure you can handle it," Sahjhan said absently. His attention sharpened again. "The female vampire. Is she pregnant?"

"We…were unable to ascertain that," the human hedged.

"She went with the others?"

"That she did. As I said, we were unable to stop them. The entire pack sailed off in a large black car. Older model. Convertible."

Sahjhan tapped his fingers on his viewscreen bank. "No matter," he said, decision made. He took a deep breath. "Arrange for transportation of myself and one other to Sunnydale."

"Of course," Holland said, eager to please. "It will be ready within the half-hour."

"Excellent." He informed the human of the location for the driver to meet him and broke the connection. A flicker of irritation stirred him but it passed. The vampires believed in their free will. Of course they would take off for the Hellmouth. It pulled at them like iron did a lodestone. It was only to be expected. He would have preferred proof that the female was pregnant. Still, he doubted the male would put off mating with her again, if she were not. And with the magics wrapped around her, it was only a matter of time.

Time he had, not necessarily in plenty, but definitely more than enough to complete his mission. With a pleased expression, he went to collect Holtz. The vampire hunter sparred with a Capedochi demon in another room. The bearded demon bounced around like a flea. Sahjhan watched, impressed that Holtz had the ability to keep up. "Holtz. Finish up here. Playtime's over."

Holtz drew back, thrusting his sword into the Capedochi's leg, hamstringing it. The demon fell with a wail and Holtz swung the sword. The blade passed above the demon's head. Its clawed hand reached out and Holtz neatly avoided it, decapitating the Capedochi with the backswing.

Wiping the sword on the demon's thick red fur, he turned to Sahjhan, his expression hard to read beneath that beard. He smelled of sweat, nothing more. "What you've been waiting for has come to pass, then?" he asked, making sure there was no blood remaining on the sword.

"As much as is going to happen at this point," Sahjhan said. "It's time to get you into position."

Holtz nodded, sheathing the sword. "I've been waiting for this for some time," he said, a slow smile curling his moustache up.

"So have I," Sahjhan said, dropping a companionable hand on the man's shoulder. "So have I."

* * *

Buffy sniffed, rubbing at her nose. She blinked hard, squeezing the last of the tears from her eyes. A voice came over her shoulder. "Slayer? Buffy?"

"I'm okay," she said, her voice wobbling only a little. She ran a hand over her face, wiping her palm on her pants. "Just a little nerves." Somehow, she wasn't surprised when Doyle offered her a handkerchief. She wiped her face with it. "Thanks."

"Couldn't let you go to the Oracles all teary-eyed," Doyle said, waving off her thanks. He carefully took her arms in his hands and squeezed. "Are you up for this?"

"Guess I have to be," Buffy said, offering him a watery smile. She sniffled again and blew her nose on the handkerchief. "Sorry."

"No problem, princess." Doyle moved away to let her have some time to compose herself. "I'm sorry," he said in a completely different voice. "About your friends, you know? And your family. It must be hard."

"You have no idea," Buffy said. "It's like I'm living in the Twilight Zone. Everything's the same, except…" She shook her head. "I mean, Angel not being here, I'd never have thought that he'd affect us all so much."

Doyle cleared his throat. "It's like that butterfly."

"Huh?"

"You know," he flapped his hand in mimicry. "That butterfly that flaps his wings in the rainforest that changes the weather in New York? Maybe your friend was like that."

Buffy studied the toes of her shoes thoughtfully. "Maybe," she said, hesitant to agree. In her own heart, she thought maybe Doyle was right but would her friends back home believe it? Would Angel? She shook her head at herself. They were gone. She'd never get to see them again. Buffy bit her lower lip, trying to fight back the tears that threatened to spill. "Okay," she said, firming up her voice, forcing her feelings aside again. "What do I do?"

"You just go through the portal," Doyle said. "You'll find the Oracles there. If they're in a good mood, they'll answer your question."

"If they're not?"

"You'll know it," he said grimly. "Ready?"

Buffy crumpled the handkerchief and tossed it aside. Smoothing her hands through her hair, she nodded. "Ready as I'll ever be."

"Good luck," Doyle told her and lit the herbs. "We beseech access to the knowing ones."

The archway in front of Buffy glowed. She turned towards Doyle, who gestured her on. With a grimace, she walked through the doorway.

* * *

"Where are they?" Dawn asked, folding her arms and circling the living room. "They ought to be home by now. I mean," she swung a hand at the door, "it's dark outside."

Oz, sitting on the sofa, just raised his eyebrows. "Maybe they ran into something in L.A."

"Maybe," Dawn said, walking back to him and dropping heavily onto the sofa. "I mean, no phone calls, no messages, nothing." She pushed out her lower lip, knowing it was childish but not able to stop herself. She'd just gotten her sister back and she didn't like not knowing what was going on. "Maybe I should call Jenny, see if she's heard anything." Bouncing back to her feet, she spun into the dining room and reached for the telephone.

It rang.

Dawn only hesitated for a second before snatching up the receiver. "I'd better be hearing you're on your way home, young lady," she said.

Oz cocked his head to one side.

"What?"

He rose from the sofa, walking slowly towards the girl. Something in her tone alerted her, maybe even the way the phone rang just before she picked it up.

"Yes, I know who he is." The pitch of Dawn's voice raised. "Why?"

Oz paused in the doorway to the dining room, watching her impassively as she twisted the phone cord in her hands. "What do you mean, attacked?" Dawn asked. She slapped her hand over her mouth, nearly dropping the receiver. Oz grabbed it before it hit the floor, looping an arm around Dawn's waist and tugging her closer. The taller girl wrapped her arms around him, choking out, "Riley, it's Riley," over and over into his neck.

"Hello?" Oz asked the person on the other end of the receiver.

"Hello? May I ask who I'm speaking to?"

"I think I'd like to know that first, before I answer that question," Oz said. "You've done a good job of upsetting my friend. And what does Riley have to do with it?"

There was an irritated sigh, then the voice asked, "Can you come to the hospital, please? There's been an…accident."

* * *

The room was cool, a little dim, though Buffy could see the columns like marble and a hall that seemed to disappear into forever. She ran her hands up the opposite arms, darting glances this way and that. There wasn't much to it; just steps leading down to a circular floor, white stone everywhere and that hall.

"Welcome, lower being."

She jumped, startled, turning to face a pair of…well, they looked like humans, except for their blue and gold skin. "Uh, hi?"

The woman, a brunette with curly hair pulled into some elaborate coif, smiled at her. "What have you brought us?"

Buffy goggled. "Brought you?" she asked.

The man, blond as the woman was brunette, his hair short and nearly glittery, said, "Traditionally, those who call us forth give us an offering."

She thought quickly. Why hadn't Giles mentioned an offering? Or Doyle? She wasn't used to this sort of thing, confronting…whatever these two were. This was more Willow's deal. "I, uh," she said, stalling for time, glancing down at her hands, "I brought you," she tugged at the ring, mentally apologizing to Riley, "I brought you this." With an inaudible grunt, she pulled the engagement ring from her finger and held it up. It seemed like it was yanked from her grip, sailing across the room to land in the woman's hands.

"Lovely," she said, turning it in her fingers. "A gift of love unwanted." She smiled at Buffy. "Well? What is your question?"

Buffy shuffled her feet for a second, not really expecting this directness. "I, uh," she tilted her chin up, finding her ground, "I understand that there's something big coming. I wanted to know what you could tell me about it."

"Define something big," the male said curtly.

"End of the world," Buffy replied, just as quick.

"The end of the world comes, you are the warrior, you are to face it," the woman said, sliding the ring onto her finger and admiring it.

"Yeah, but I understand this is really it, the real end of the world. That there's some sort of prophecy about a woman dying and returning to life as someone different." She spread her hands. "That's me."

The pair exchanged a long glance, the man's eyebrows lifting. "It's that time?" he asked, surprised.

"It appears so," the woman replied.

"I thought that wasn't for another century yet," the male said.

Buffy cleared her throat and waved at them jauntily when they turned to her. "Hey. Remember me? I'm prophecy girl, here. I just want to know what I should expect, if there's a chance I might win, you know, that sort of thing."

They both stared at her, making her feel uncomfortable. She hated long silences, felt like she was being judged and found wanting whenever they happened. Especially if someone was looking at her. She wriggled uncomfortably, biting her tongue to keep from speaking, anything to fill in that long gap of quiet.

"She's the one?" The man's voice came so suddenly Buffy nearly jumped.

"It appears so," the woman said.

"I thought she'd be taller."

"Hey, no Snake Pliskin jokes," Buffy said sharply. She crossed her arms. "Can you help me or not?"

They eyed each other again, leaving her to stew in her own bad thoughts before the woman spoke abruptly. "You are the one called from the other dimension," she said.

"Yeah." Buffy forced a smile that screwed up her face. "That's me."

"You don't understand why you were brought here. You are in pain." The female's voice changed, becoming less strident. She took a step closer to Buffy, nowhere near enough to touch, but reached out her hand, palm up. "Am I right?"

"Yeah," Buffy said, lowering her guard a little. "I mean, my friends tried the same thing back home, didn't they, that Willow and Xander did here?" She bit her lip, trying to keep from crying again.

"Yes," the male said, his voice softening. "Your friends did attempt to bring you back to the living." He almost sounded human. Like Cordelia. "But you were needed here."

"I what?"

"This is not known by many of your people," the woman said, "those who do know are often thought mad." She fixed Buffy with her bright gaze. "You are the Chosen One."

Buffy rolled her eyes. "You don't think I know that? The one girl, yadda, yadda, I got the badge and the secret handshake down." Both Oracles frowned at her word choice and she gestured desperately. "Please. What is it I don't know? What's so important, that I'm needed here," she waved her hand around, meaning the world outside this strange marble room, "rather than my own home where my family died because I didn't come back?"

"You are already aware there is more than one world," the male said. "That is good."

"What you are unaware of is that some worlds, some dimensions, you might call them, are the true dimensions and all others are replicas off that first. This world, where you were called back, is one of the true worlds."

Buffy swallowed hard. "W-what?" she said softly, feeling her heart thudding in her chest. "What do you mean?"

"Your world, your original world, is only a reflection of this one," the man said. He laid his hand on the woman's shoulders. "In that world, our reflections were destroyed over two of your years ago."

"But we live in this one, because things that occurred there did not happen here." The woman gave Buffy what might be considered a sympathetic smile.

She thought on it, Doyle, Los Angeles, these Oracles. A connection. "Angel," she said hesitantly, then plowed on. "Because of Angel? He-he's not a good guy here, so things that should've happened didn't?"

They exchanged another of those looks. "You were brought here," the male said, "because the original Slayer, the one you are a reflection of, did not face the same challenges you did on your world. Because she wasn't required to make the same decisions."

The woman took up the list. "Because she was not made as strong as you."

Buffy choked on a harsh laugh. "Because of Angel? He started all the hard decisions," she said. "Because this world didn't have a vampire with a soul, I got dragged here and my world died?" She felt her forearms aching, her hands were fisted so tightly. "My friends, my family? They all died because your 'original'," she spat out the word, "lived a life without any conflicts? And now you need me to come here and make it all better because she wouldn't be able to handle it?" She spun around, looking for the doorway out of the marble prison. "What if I quit, huh? What if I decide not to do this? This isn't my world," she turned back around, "these aren't my friends, Dawn isn't my sister-hell, she never really was, just some blob of energy that some monks sent to me to keep protected so my world wouldn't be destroyed." She didn't stop the laugh this time, hearing it echo around the small room. "Do you expect me to die, just so your world can go on?" Her chest heaved and her stomach felt as if it might empty itself all over the floor and she couldn't remember the last time she'd eaten.

The Oracles stared at her.

"You do, don't you?"

"You are the Slayer," the female said.

"Damn it!" Buffy stomped the floor, hearing the sound of her bootheel striking the stone echo. "I am a person!"

"You are first a warrior," the male said, wagging a finger at her.

Buffy remembered how she'd felt when she heard the prophecy that she would die at the hands of the Master. Her throat hurt and she couldn't swallow and she couldn't breath and she wasn't even sure if she could talk any more without screaming. She knew it wouldn't matter. These two already had her life planned out, what little of it there would be left. She'd fight and die and maybe this time, someone wouldn't bring her back and she could have a little peace.

Tossing her head back, she smiled a bitter, fragile smile, likely to break when her lips moved. "So. I'm a warrior. Tell me where I'm going to fight so I can get this over with."

"The Chosen One. Truly," the woman said, her expression softening more than Buffy had seen since her arrival here, "we are in the presence of the Chosen One."

"Sure, whatever." She blinked, willing her eyes dry. "What else has to happen before I face the end of the world?"

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