Giles' eyes were filled with unconstrained excitement as he cautiously, almost reverently, circled the simple stone arch. He could make out faint markings, lighter against the rocky formation. The pale lines looked as if a master artist had painstakingly laid the swirling designs over the craggy surface with the finest of brushes. So fine, that Giles had nearly missed the pale trail winding from the thick base of the arch towards it's heavy, rounded top. Now, they seemed to pulsate with a soft, almost unnoticeable light that reached into Giles' being, struggling to awaken something long dormant.
 

"That's it?" Cordelia's voice, loud in the confines of the cave's damp interior, cut through the subtle pull that the soft symbols were asserting over Giles.
 

He blinked behind his glasses, feeling a painful stab of loss strike through him as the spell of excitement and discovery was cracked, widening his perception into a wider circle so that the small group with him was once more part of his awareness. He fought back his annoyance, hiding the emotion with practiced ease before he turned away from the artifact.
 

Cordelia blinked beneath the glare of Giles' flashlight. "Lack of consideration for others much," she grumbled, a bronzed hand shielding her eyes from the beam of light.
 

Giles belatedly shifted the flashlight in his hand so that it was directed lower, bathing their feet with light rather than their eyes. "This, Cordelia," Giles said, his annoyance forgotten as his thoughts returned to his discovery, "is... magnificent," he breathed.
 

"Looks like a rock to me, G-man," Xander offered cheerily from the ground. He was sitting on an almost perfectly flat rock, his knees rising almost to his chest when he bent them. Buffy nodded her agreement from his side, her own legs stretched out before her, ankles crossed.
 

"It may be nothing but a rock to you guys, but I think it's pretty," Willow said, noting the strained look of Giles' mouth. "Right, Spike?" she prompted, nudging the vampire in the side with her elbow. 'Enjoy the rock!' her expressive eyes informed him. She'd insisted that there would be no Scooby field trip without Spike accompanying him -- a statement which Giles had been less than pleased with. The dangers of an unknown situation at night combined with a distinct lack of pleasure at the thought of several uninterrupted hours of Spike's company had spurred him into a vigorous argument against a nighttime excursion.
 

Had Spike been there when Giles vehement arguments against his inclusion had begun to crumble against the force Willow's resolve face, the vampire would have more than willingly come to the Watcher's aid. He was as unimpressed with the thought of a night poking at rocks as Giles was captivated by it. Even with Giles' reluctant agreement, Spike would have still insisted that he remain as far away from the cave as possible had Willow not smothered him in kisses and pleading, wide eyed gazes. 'I'm going soft,' he thought with muted horror.
 

"Yeah, great. Best damned rock I've ever seen," Spike muttered. It wasn't quite the response that Willow had been wishing for, but it was by far not the worst response that could have crossed Spike's lips. She rose on her tiptoes and gave him a pleased kiss.
 

Xander gagged. "Wills, could you please not lock lips with the walking corpse where I have to witness it?" he asked, exaggerating his mild distaste until he sounded like a caricature of himself. He'd gotten over his dislike of Spike more readily than he had Angel. Everybody knew that Spike was evil... or as Willow insisted, suffered from a lack of a firm grasp of a conscience. The vampire was more than eager to admit to his evil deeds himself. Which meant, that although he was an evil, soulless killer, at least nobody thought otherwise. And, as an added bonus, he didn't brood.
 

Giles sighed as his young charges and his older, sometimes equally immature vampire ally erupted into yet another round of good natured bickering. He just hoped that Spike wouldn't be so generous with the curses this time around... Xander had looked far too impressed with the inventive string of insults that Spike had acquired during his long lifetime. It really wouldn't do to have Xander possessing knowledge of words that he more than likely would never put a definition to.
 

Banishing all thought of the expanding vocabulary of those behind him, Giles turned back towards the arch that had captured his imagination. Unable to constrain himself, Giles reached out, his finger lightly tracing across the symbols marking the otherwise uninspiring rock formation. The cool surface seemed to warm beneath his fingers, and Giles quickly pulled back in surprise and a healthy dose of unease born from some four years of dwelling over the Hellmouth.
 

The faint light that had infused the delicate designs brightened, golden light flaring to such intensity that the light of the flashlights became obsolete. The Watcher distantly noted that the babble of voices and laughter that had been flowing behind him had come to a sudden stop at the sudden influx of light. Shielding his smarting eyes, Giles stumbled back a step, his flashlight falling unimpeded from nerveless fingers.
 

"What the fuck is that?" Spike growled, eyes that hadn't witness anything brighter than the electric glow of lightbulbs or the faint shine of moon and stars in over a century stinging beneath the intense light. He shifted in front of Willow, ignoring her startled protest. She was far more confident in her ability to handle certain situation than Spike thought that she had right to be. He found himself suddenly relieved that she'd convinced him to come with them, after all.
 

"Giles?" Buffy asked uncertainly, inching forward until she had placed herself squarely between her Watcher and the brilliantly glowing arch. A stake fell into her hand when the light burning against the stone pillars stretched outwards, filling the interior with a sheet of shimmering golden energy.
 

Xander gulped, stumbling to his feet. "I think that running is sounding good about now," he said.
 

Giles' heart was hammering, beads of perspiration forming at his hairline. "It's not going to hurt us, Xander," he stated. Reaching around Buffy, his hand stretched out towards the glowing portal. With a lurch, the flat surface exploded outwards, tendrils of warm energy winding about the cave's occupants. The Scooby Gang's struggles against the bands growing around them ceased only when another flash of light, brighter than the first, encompassed them.
 

Darkness crept back into the cave slowly, claiming dominance over the light inch by inch until the only brightness that pierced it was the soft glow of Giles' discarded flashlight.

***

Willow clung to Spike's arm, her cheek resting against the soft material of his duster. For a long, terrifying moment after her eyes had cleared, she had thought herself alone among the fog clouded forest, tiny and helpless surrounded by an impenetrable veil of mist and towering trees. She burrowed closer to Spike, strangely comforted by the altered form of his face and the demonic yellow eyes that somehow still managed to convey tenderness when they focused on her.
 

Cordelia wrapped Giles' jacket closer around her. Although Giles had abandoned his usual tweed armor when he had been dismissed from the Council, he still wore enough clothes that he could spare an item so that the cool air would not bite into the generous amount of flesh exposed by Cordelia's skimpy, if fashionable, ensemble. "I come back for one week, and I get transported to freako world," she groused, shivering. "Have I said that I hate you people recently?"
 

"More times than the poof's bemoaned his blood filled past," Spike growled, wondering how his soul-filled sire managed to get any work done in L.A. while the young fashion plate was nearby. Cold blue eyes moved from Cordelia's affronted face to Giles' thoughtful one. "And what the fuck happened to 'it won't hurt us'?" Spike said harshly, his arms tightening around Willow.
 

Giles jumped slightly. "Well, it hasn't," he said defensively. "We just have to get out of this fog and determine where we are. And more to the point, how we can get back home."
 

"Home is sounding real good around now," Buffy said, "even if mom's making meatloaf tonight." She looked around, biting her lower lip unhappily. "But I think that we should try to find Xander first."
 

Willow stiffened in Spike's arms, and she slowly lifted her head. 'Oh God! I forgot about Xander!' she thought with horror. "Maybe he didn't get sucked into the arch," she said hopefully. "We should look, though. Find Xander now. Right now."
 

"Sorry to disappoint you, pet, but we're not finding anybody in this mess," Spike said. He looked around their surroundings with acute distaste. 'I hate fog.' "We barely saw each other, and we weren't more than a few feet apart. I can't hear the whelp's heartbeat, either. So unless you're in the mood to be running face first into trees, we're not playing search and rescue."
 

Willow's lip quivered. "But he's out there alone! And who knows what kind of... things they could have out here? Lots of big, icky, dangerous things against Xander!"
 

"I'm sure that Xander will survive several hours without us," Giles said with forced certainty. "Once the fog clears, we'll be able to search for him -- and will have a much better chance of actually finding him."
 

Cordelia pushed a lock of hair behind one ear before hurriedly shoving her hand back into the pocket of the coat draped over her. "And you know what they say. Luck is kind to fools and children, so just think, it must love Xander!" She looked up, her eyes following the gnarled trunk of one of the trees until the fog hanging over head swallowed it. 'I hope.'

***

The sounds of the battle had barely reached them before the small, miserable group tumbled out of the fog covered forest and into the flat, grassy expanse of land. The fog wasn't as thick, but the layer of fine mist rising from the ground provided the scene with an atmosphere best suited to a horror movie.
 

"What's going on here?" Cordelia asked, her voice small and fearful. Her demanding, confident tone had been lost somewhere amongst the fog that they had left behind. She'd felt tiny in there, devoid of sight, sounds muted, the heavy air stealing the breath from her throat. Her hand tightened around Giles', painted nails digging into his flesh.
 

Although their eyes informed them all that they were alone, each of them heard the sounds of clashing swords and dying screams clearly. Horse hooves pounded against the ground.
 

Buffy shifted, her body tense and her senses straining. "Just like home," she muttered, "freaky." She looked back at her friends over her shoulder, her lips compressing tightly when she noted that Cordelia was still clinging to Giles... and that her Watcher didn't seem to mind the feel of her hand engulfed by his own.
 

"What do you think?" she asked.
 

"Do you think that Xander's hearing all this, too?" Willow asked at the same moment.
 

"I think that the next time you go to visit the natural wonders of Sunnyhell, you're leaving Willow out of it," Spike said with a low growl. He couldn't fathom why they all insisted on allowing Willow to get pulled into the dangers that regularly made an appearance in their lives. Shortly after his friendship with Willow had crept it's way into a romance, and after seeing the delicate looking young woman escape death for the fifth time in as many weeks, Spike had decided that the only thing to do with her was keep her safely locked up in his bedroom. He had yet to inform her of said conclusion, but he was sure that she'd come around to his way of seeing things once he showed her how exciting life could be within the confines those four walls.
 

"No, they are most certainly not!" Willow stated from the circle of his arms. She'd decided that Spike was entirely too cautious when it came to her. She didn't know whether it was a leftover from his upbringing in a different era, or whether his long association with Drusilla left him with the impression that women were delicate creatures that needed to be pampered. Or, it could have just been a sense of demonic superiority over weak mortal beings. But wherever Spike acquired his outdated, if rather sweet ideas, Willow planned to ensure that he learned that she was far from fragile.
 

Ignoring the silent contest of wills passing between the nascent witch and the vampire, Giles turned his attention towards answering Willow's question. "I'm sure that Xander is fine, Willow. He is a bright boy," Spike and Cordelia both snorted, "and is well accustomed to such strangeness. Do not forget that Xander does still have the knowledge he gained on Halloween." Seamlessly moving from one question to the next, Giles gathered his thoughts in preparation to respond to Buffy's muted plea for guidance.
 

Cordelia shrieked, jumping closer to Giles, her body practically glued to his. "Thing!" she said breathlessly, reaching around Giles to gesture towards a spot slightly beyond them.
 

Four pairs of eyes swung in the direction of Cordelia's quivering hand in time to see two figures break free of the mist. Neither man appeared to have noticed Cordelia's surprised cry. Their swords were locked together, the taller of the two doing his best the force down his broadsword on the other's head. His blue eyes were filled with a fanatical determination, the classically handsome face that would have been any actor's envy set with rage. His strong, muscled body was clad in armor that looked like it had been salvaged from the Xena set. The other man was clad in a blood splattered white uniform, his mismatched features showing as strong a determination as his fellow combatant.
 

"They're killing each other!" Buffy gasped, the Slayer's instinct to preserve life snapping into effect. In a smooth motion she broke away from her friends and sprinted forward, ready to tear the two men apart before either of them ended up irreparably damaged. Her gesture was in vain, for as Buffy reached them, hands extended, she passed through them. Not expecting the total lack of resistance, Buffy tumbled, well trained muscles acting on reflex to drive her into a roll.
 

Torn between the need to follow Buffy's movements and his curiosity at what they were witnessing, Giles eyes swung back towards the two enemies as the armor clad man finally gained an opening. Lightening quick, he struck out, the blade cutting into the smaller man's unprotected side. Although Buffy's actions had proven that they could not intervene, Giles felt the intense urge to reach for the injured man and offer whatever aid he could.
 

The victor was still not finished. Pulling his weapon free with a rush of blood, he prepared to bring it down on his foe again. The smaller man, weapon discarded and hands pressing against his sides, looked up. His eyes widened in terror before pupil and the chocolate brown of his iris disappeared beneath a twisting veil of gold. "Mother help me," he gasped, blood trickling past his lips as he spoke. Light flashed around him, and when the sword descended, the man was gone.
 

Not surprised, but obviously enraged, the remaining combatant stared at the spot from which his near-kill had vanished. Turning around, sword at the ready, his eyes seemed to pierce through his unseen observers before he faded out of sight in a less spectacular, although no less disconcerting manner.
 

Gagging slightly at the memory of the bloody and potential fatal fight, Willow nonetheless found the words to express what they were all thinking. "What in the Hellmouth going on here?"

***

"Someone's coming," Spike said, his extended palm motioning for them to stop. Slipping back into his demon's face, which had been fluctuation on and off with great frequency since they had disappeared into the ancient arch. "Three of them, with horses," he continued, scent and hearing working together to sketch an outline of the people drawing nearer with each second.
 

Their heartbeats were quicker than was normal in calmer circumstances. Not the frantic pounding that sang of terror, but a slight quickening that spoke of a certain level of tenseness. They smelt of unperfumed soap, horse and sweat, with the faintest trace of blood clinging to their bodies. They didn't speak, and had it not been for the soft, rhythmic beat of their horses hooves couples with Spike's exceptional hearing, none of them would have heard the three strangers approaching until they were already on them.
 

"Hide," Giles said, nodding towards the others. "I'll stay and see what I can gather from them. Should they prove hostile, Spike and Buffy will emerge to take care of them. If needed, Willow can use her magical abilities," he added. "Cordelia will stay out of sight until we determine that there is no immediate threat, or that they are neutralized, should they prove hostile."
 

"No," Cordelia replied firmly. "There's no way I'm crouching in the dirt. I'll stay here with you, Giles. I have a talent for communication, you know." Her eyes swept over her friends imperiously, daring them to argue.
 

Buffy gritted her teeth in annoyance. "They may be dangerous, Cordelia."
 

"It doesn't matter, now, Slayer. Let the chit stay if she wants -- we don't have time to argue," Spike grumbled, nudging Willow away from the two people who had elected to stay out in the open. He dropped a brief kiss on her waiting lips before slipping into his own position.
 

"Besides, I'm sure that Giles is more than capable of making sure that nothing happens to me," Cordelia said airily to Buffy's retreating back, smirking when the blonde Slayer's shoulder's stiffened. She moved closer to Giles, noting from the corner of her eye that he seemed more amused by her actions than flustered.
 

Buffy, Spike and Willow had barely disappeared amongst the fog and high, still grass when the three figures that had sent them into hiding took shape in the heavy mist. "Hello?" Giles called out tentatively, alerting the new arrivals to their presence before they saw them and found something suspicious in their silence.
 

The figure in the lead, clad similarly to the man in the ghostly reenactment that Giles had witnessed earlier, dropped a gloved hand to the hilt of his sword, his head swiveling in their direction. Giles carefully filled away his thoughts about finding another such costumed figure so shortly after viewing their first. The two others with him, a man and a woman, reacting at the same time as their apparent leader, also moved for the comfort of the weapons strapped at their sides.
 

"Hi!" Cordelia called out cheerily, offering a brilliant smile that had turned more than one of her male acquaintance's knees to mush in the white uniformed group's direction. Her smile didn't waver when neither male looked in the slightest bit weak kneed. "I was wondering if you could help us. My darling hubby here seems to have gotten us horribly lost. I love him dearly, of course, but he had no head at all for directions," Cordelia lied easily, a fond laugh completing the brief picture she had painted.
 

The leader's voice was gravelly when he spoke, filled with weariness so great that it could not be kept from his voice. There was no little suspicion in his tone, and he regarded them warily. The two behind him both stiffened, shifting in their saddles to better view their surroundings. "You shouldn't be out here," he said sternly. Although his eyes didn't roam in an open display of curiosity, Giles could feel the armed man examining the clothing that he and Cordelia wore -- obviously not the style that these people were accustomed to.
 

Cordelia sighed dramatically. "That's what I told _him_," she said, a sort of annoyed tolerance coloring her voice. "But Rupert here insisted that we had to get out tonight. He's a... tree scientist, you see. And apparently, there's some time of medicinal fungus that grows on the bark of trees, and you can only see it in a certain set of conditions. Which just happened to be tonight, but isn't that always the way? I personally would have much rather stayed in bed all night, but once he gets something into his mind... Heaven help us all!" she concluded, without a trace of unease showing on her face.
 

"Tree fungus?" the woman snorted in disbelief.
 

"That's _exactly_ what I said!" Cordelia said in the manner of someone who had just discovered a person with whom they shared a vast amount of common interest with. "I mean, I figure that most men would much rather probe _my_ crevices than some tree's," she ignored Giles' choked display of horror, quickly covered by a series of faked coughs that fooled no one. "Wouldn't they?" Cordelia inquired, bypassing the lead man to focus on the man behind him with wide eyed curiosity.
 

"Enough!" the first man said, his tone allowing for no argument. "I don't know what game you're playing at, but I want it to end now. Call your friends out, and follow us. It isn't safe to be out at night, these days." Ignoring the look of surprise that flashed across the pretend couple's faces, he spurred his horse forward. He didn't look back, obviously expecting that they would do nothing but comply with his polite orders.
 

And after a moment, they did.

***

He was lost. Utterly and hopelessly lost. He had escaped the overwhelming, sense numbing layer of breath-stealing fog some hours ago -- three, according to his watch -- but the sight of clear blue sky overhead had done little to displace the chill that had taken up residence within his body during the long hours that he'd wandered the fog enshrouded forest.
 

He was still alone, and someplace that was most definitely not within the scope of his experience. Xander gingerly rubbed at his nose, still smarting from his run-in with a stubbornly unmoving tree. 'At least the corpse or Cordy weren't there to witness my latest adventure,' he thought, knowing that neither the vampire nor his ex-girlfriend would have been capable of passing up the opportunity to comment of his mental facilities should they have seen him walk into the low hanging branch.
 

Xander had discovered the village he was currently circling shortly after he had left the fog, and quite possibly, his friends, behind. It was small, and somewhat to his surprise, bore very little resemblance to the quaint country villages that were painted on the front of the postcards that his aunt sent his mother every Christmas. There, the streets were clean, the houses small and tidy, and welcoming lights shone from behind the opened windows. His current location had no picture-perfect homes; and the streets were winding and covered with animal droppings rather than broad, sunny cobblestones. 'Another notion dashed by the Hellmouth.'
 

His first instinct had been to waylay somebody on those crowded, dirty streets and ask, demand, or grovel for information. That had been before he'd taken note of the townspeople's drawn, wary faces and the hunched, defensive manner in which they moved. He doubted that they'd open up enough to tell him to get out of their way, much less deliver a thorough explanation on where he was and how he could get somewhere more appealing. Especially considering that his clothes looked nothing remotely similar to theirs -- from the style of his hair to the tips of his sneakers, they screamed 'different.'
 

He had been skirting the edges of the villages' limits, dodging between narrow buildings and into pools of shadows to avoid notice until he didn't look quite so alien to his surroundings. It had been pure luck that had led him to find the still damp clothing draped over the windowsill of one of the few opened windows that he'd seen since slipping into the small cluster of homes. Xander had reluctantly discarded his outer-wear in favor of those that he had stolen: coarse pants, loose around the waist and short in the legs; and a shapeless shirt that Xander couldn't quite figure out how to fit around his own frame. Looking down at himself critically, he could only hope that he looked marginally passable -- the non-fashionable clod that Cordelia had accused him of being rather than a stranger to the ways of his new surroundings.
 

Offering up a quick prayer to whatever Gods were listening, Xander forced himself into a confident gait and for the first time that day moved to interact with other people.

***

Abandoning the rough wooden bench that she'd been sitting on for the last several moments for the comfort of Spike's lap, Willow allowed her eyes to travel the lengths of the room they'd been led into one more time. Her eyes had moved from the narrow window -- tightly shuttered -- at the far end of their stone cell towards the heavy wooden door -- locked -- across from her by the time that Spike's arms wound around her waist, pulling her closer to him. She'd already watched the curious interplay between Cordelia, Giles, and Buffy -- seated beyond the closed door, before Spike's lips began to nuzzle at the base of her neck.
 

Willow's eyes fluttered shut, blocking out her three friends. Her head fell to the side, offering more of her neck to Spike's mouth. Cool lips, tongue and teeth nipped and kissed their way across her skin in wordless reassurance and highly effective mode of distraction. In most other situations, Willow wouldn't have allowed herself to get caught up in the sensations that Spike was so adept at creating within her, but it was either that or pull away and waver between worry and mind numbing boredom.
 

Spike's hands traced soft patterns against Willow's sweater covered stomach, the steady pressure of his fingers slowly easing the tensed muscles they encountered. Willow went completely limp against him, lolling back into his arms and letting him support her. Willow sighed and felt Spike smile against her neck.
 

"They're worse than you and Angel!" Cordelia exclaimed, cutting through the haze of weariness and sensation that had been clouding Willow's mind. Her eyes peeled back open reluctantly, and Willow began to straighten. Spike firmly pulled her back against him, his hand solidly planted against her stomach holding her in place.
 

Spike spoke over Buffy's huff of irritation. "If, by worse, you mean actually capable of doing more than exchanging melodramatic glances and sighs..." he said, fighting back the irritation that threatened to swamp him everything that he heard himself compared to Angel -- in either of his forms.
 

Buffy stiffened, her glare moving from Cordelia towards Spike. "Hey! We were more than sighs and glances!" she protested hotly, tired of everyone's comments about how unpalatable her relationship with Angel had been in the eyes of everyone around them.
 

"Right. You're one 'magical' night together," Spike sneered, "so exciting that the poof went bad rather than receive a repeat performance." He ignored the message behind Willow's jabbing elbow, catching her arm and holding it still.
 

Giles' mouth tightened slightly. "I think that we have more important matters to worry about than Buffy and Angel's relationship," he said sternly. He wasn't sure whether he wanted to wholeheartedly agree with Spike's initial assessment of his Slayer's doomed relationship, or stake his dead heart for putting the injured look in the young woman's eyes. He settled for silence, and a comforting pat on Buffy's stiff shoulder.
 

Cordelia nodded vigorously. "Right. There's nothing worth discussing about them anyway," she said breezily. "And I'm sure that after being tortured and all, you'd rather not have to hear about how your Slayer screwed the soul out of him so that he was evil enough to do that," Cordelia said, oozing sympathy. She reached out to pat Giles' hand, balled up against his thigh.
 

Buffy stared at Cordelia over Giles, her mouth working in soundless protest. Her face was flushed with mingled shame and anger, and she looked ready to bat Cordelia away.
 

The heavy silence was broken as the door, closed and locked since they'd been led through it, swung open. Spike carefully lifted Willow from his lap, placing her beside him. His arm wrapped around her shoulders, ensuring that she was close and in contact with him, but leaving him free enough to move quickly.
 

The woman who stepped through the door was dressed in the same style of white uniform as were the three people who had led them out of the fog. Her dark hair was cut short and was streaked with wide shots of silver. Pale blue eyes, surrounded by a pronounced network of creases, swung over each of them consideringly. She stood straight, outwardly relaxed, although Spike recognized the look of someone capable of the quicksilver shift from placidity to action. Her fingernails were short and blunt, and her steady hands callused.
 

"What's going on here?" Buffy demanded, rising to her feet and stalking a few steps closer to the older woman. Her head tilted back slightly as she glared into the uniformed woman's eyes.
 

"That's what I was here to discuss," she said, unfazed. She motioned for Buffy to sit, and after a long moment, the Slayer reluctantly moved to obey. "My name is Maighdin," she said, her head tilting slightly in greeting. "You were brought here as it was obvious to my fellows that you are strangers to our land. It is not safe outside, especially for those unaware of the dangers."
 

"We got that part," Cordelia grumbled. "You didn't have to lock us up though. In my book, that doesn't go a long way in convincing anyone that you're there to help."
 

Maighdin's lips curved, the smile comfortable on her face and lightening her dour expression. "I apologize. It was required that we investigate the possibility that you present a danger to us before we could allow you free passage within these walls."
 

"So what did you decide?" Buffy asked warily, wondering what their hosts would do had they decided that she and her friends posed a danger to them.
 

"You have been touched by the light," Maighdin said simply, as if her words explained everything. She looked around the room, and her lips pursed. "These are certainly inappropriate quarters for our guests! Come along, let us discuss matters in a more pleasant atmosphere."
 

"I hope that means that we get padded benches," Cordelia added before rising to follow the others out of their temporary holding cell.

***

Xander awoke slowly, the world coming back to him in tiny little bursts of awareness. Pain arched through his head, moving from his left temple and streaking towards the base of his skull. He grunted in pain, the vibrations stemming from that sound sending new bolts of agony slicing through him. He was laying flat on his stomach, a headache raging through his throbbing head. 'What is a blow to the head, Alex.'
 

There was a firm mattress beneath his cheek, informing him that after his encounter with his attacker's massive fist, he'd been moved from the floor of the murky tavern that he'd entered mere moments earlier. By the protests his body were firing at him, his transition from sticky floor to bed hadn't been comfortable. 'Move!' his mind commanded. His body rebelled, and stayed motionless, sprawled out in the same position in which he had landed when first dropped there.
 

Xander's eyes peeled open reluctantly, blinking in protest at the light that met them. When the tears cleared from his still smarting eyes, the displaced young man found himself staring across well scrubbed floors towards a setup that looked like it had been taken from a cheap film complete with dungeons and monsters. 'Should have kept my eyes closed,' Xander thought distantly, unable to close his eyes against the sight of the chains and the wavering blood red circle painted on the floor around them.
 

His eyes rolled, new agony blossoming in his head as a heavy hand clamped onto his shoulder and awkwardly forced Xander from his stomach and onto his back. A pair of cold gray eyes stared down at him, surrounded by the kind of handsome-vicious face that immediately screamed 'villain!'
 

"You don't belong here," the man said shortly, wasting no time with the blend of smarminess and threat that Angelus had cultivated.
 

'So much for my disguise...' Xander thought, wincing at dangerous gleam in his captor's eyes. "No," Xander answered meekly. There was no comfort to be found in the fact that he had been allowed a bed, rather than an immediate trip into the chains.
 

"I can _feel_ the magic on you," the man growled. Grey eyes, the same color as gathering storm clouds, narrowed. He leaned forward until Xander could see the tiny specks of darker color within them. There was a look on his face that Xander was well accustomed to seeing on his father's -- danger and rage and frustration too long denied and in need of release. On his father's face, that look was the only warning that brutal words and fists were coming his way.
 

"How did you get here, boy?" the man demanded, blunt fingernail digging into Xander's neck.
 

'He's just another thug,' Xander told himself. 'I've been through some rough shit before, I can handle this, too.' "Your goons knocked me out and dragged me here. You really should debrief them better if you don't know --" his words ended on a pained yelp as strong hands tightened around his neck. Xander found himself comparing his current condition with the last time he'd nearly been throttled.
 

The man's hands loosened suddenly, and he pulled back. Xander's world once again consisted of more than an uncomfortably close view of his captor's face. The man turned, his shoulders held stiffly and his gait strained as he stalked several feet away. When he turned back, he looked both composed and amused. "You're new here. Thus, I will give you one more chance to give me the answers I want willingly before I force you to comply." His eyebrows arched, and his lips pulled into a dangerous smile. "I've broken stronger spirits than you, boy," he said, fingers lovingly tracing a path down the contraption that had first attracted Xander's attention.
 

'Okay. Let's try humoring the nut.' Xander cleared his throat. "What was that question again...?"

***

After leading the Scooby Gang into a larger and significantly more comfortable room, Maighdin pressed goblets of clear, fruity smelling liquid into their hands, quickly followed by thick slabs of crusty bread slathered with butter. With the exception of Spike, the rest eagerly attacked the first food and drink that had passed their way since over an hour before being drawn through the arch.
 

Noting that Giles was busy with a mouthful of the still-warm bread, Spike took it upon himself to begin questioning Maighdin. He avoided the cautious, diplomatic dithering that the Watcher would have indulged in, favoring the direct demon tested and approved method of question and threat. "I want answers now, or I'll tear your bloody neck apart," Spike growled.
 

Maighdin laughed, her legs stretched out before her and crossed at the ankles, and her strong hands laced together across her stomach in a pose of utmost unconcern. "Charming," she said. Her eyes moved towards Willow, and her grin stretched further, "you must have your hands full with him, my girl."
 

Willow started and blushed furiously. "He takes some getting used to," Willow mumbled, avoiding looking in Spike's direction. She cleared her throat nervously, taking a cautious sip from her drink. "Although I would have put it in a slightly... okay, very different format, I second Spike's request. Answers are good."
 

"I am a Light Bearer, as are all others that you will encounter within these walls. We are servants of the Great Mother," Maighdin began.
 

"Oh great," Cordelia sighed, delicately wiping at the corner of her lips. "Don't tell me that we've stumbled into another cult," she said. "Because I am so not about to be sacrificed to some icky monster type thing!"
 

"Cordelia!" Giles growled, aghast. He cast a quick glance in Maighdin's direction, his relief evident when he saw that the woman did not appear to be offended by Cordelia's tactless commentary.
 

"We are teachers, healers, guardians of nature and the populace. And when times require, we serve as warriors." Her fingers danced against the hilt of her sword, pale eyes distant and thoughtful. "These days, we are needed as such," she said finally. "Our Goddess directs us in the righteous battle against the dark mage, Daemon."
 

"Dark mage?" Buffy echoed, her arms crossing before her. "Well, that one's a first."
 

"He destroys the land, kills indiscriminately, uses his gift for his own means. He seeks to rule our world... if he does not destroy it first." There was no obvious emotion in her voice, but Spike could clearly hear the fear and anger that underlay her flat words.
 

Willow's eyes went round and she glanced at Maighdin fearfully. "Our friend, we lost him in the fog... Do you think...?" Her voice trailed off, unable to put her fears into words. She leaned into Spike, her fingers winding with his as she awaited the other woman's response.
 

Maighdin looked at them, sympathy in her eyes. "It is quite possible, I'm afraid. Daemon is in full control of the lands beyond those woods. If your friend wandered there... he would have most likely been picked up. Either because of your clothing, which would most likely attract the attention of even the most dimwitted of guards, or because of the touch that I can still sense on each of you."
 

"Touch?" Giles questioned, latching onto the word through his worry about Xander. 'I shouldn't have asked any of the children to accompany me. I had no right to bring them into contact with an object that even I do not fully understand!' Giles blinked and looked sideways when a warm, feminine hand clasped at his. Buffy was looking at him, love and understanding shinning in her eyes.
 

Maighdin nodded. "You have been touched by the Goddess," she stated with certainty. "Daemon, too, would have been able to feel Her aura upon you. If your friend was also brought into contact with the Goddess..."
 

Cordelia chewed at the last morsel of bread thoughtfully. "I don't see when we could have possibly come into contact with this Goddess of yours," she said. 'Trust Xander to wander into enemy territory, just screaming to be killed,' she thought. She had been deeply hurt by Xander's betrayal, but she had no desire to see him suffer any permanent damage. Even her wish to see her former boyfriend suffer humiliation as great as she'd been forced to endure had faded over time -- helped by his purchase of her prom dress and his silence on her new, less than impressive monetary status; and even more so by the vast distance she'd put between them by moving to L.A.
 

"Perhaps you should tell me how you and your companions came to be here," Maighdin suggested.
 

Giles complied with her request, delivering the account with the excruciating detail that he wished from his Slayer but rarely received. When he was finished, Giles took a deep sip from his goblet, and leaned back in his chair, waiting for Maighdin's opinion on what he had just told her.
 

The reluctant warrior clamped down on her lower lip, her eyes narrowing slightly. "The golden light that you spoke of, that which you saw when being drawn through the portal, that was most likely when you encountered the Goddess. Her power often manifest visually as such a display," she explained. "But there is something more here... something that I remember distantly but can not quite grasp..." Maighdin murmured.
 

She twisted in her seat, calling out to the white clad young man unobtrusively lurking by the open door. "Find Ishamael and bring him here immediately!" Maighdin commanded. The boy nodded once before darting out of the door on silent feet. She turned back to them. "Ishamael is our resident historian. It is possible that he will be able to offer some insight as to what this mysterious gateway of yours is."
 

"That was quick," Buffy murmured when the boy who had left in search of the historian only moments earlier stuck his tousled head back into the room.
 

"He will arrive in a moment, Maighdin!" the boy said cheerily, not at all sounding out of breath. He ducked back out after the woman's answering smile.
 

They all turned at the sound of heavy footsteps, and each of them froze in shock. In the doorway stood the same long, narrow nosed; wide mouthed; beady eyed; and pudgy faced man who they had witnessed being killed as they wandered among the fog. Oblivious to their stares, the man shuffled towards Maighdin's chair. Only when he stood at her side did his eyes drift over their guests, and surprise flare on his face as he noted the look of shock and horror with which he was being regarded.
 

It was Spike who finally broke the stunned silence. "Well what the fuck is going on here?!"

***

Xander lay curled in a ball, attempting to make himself as small a target as possible. Not, he thought through the shards of agony stabbing through him, body and mind, that his captor needed flesh and bone to strike out at. When his responses to Daemon's harsh questions had not been quick enough nor complete enough in the mage's eyes, he had struck out in a completely different manner. A dull red glow had flickered about his hands as he had rested them over Xander's chest. A moment later, the young man had felt a bolt of fiery pain explode under his skin where Daemon's hands rested, and spiral outwards to claim the rest of his body from there. It had been worse than his father's most vicious attacks. And it seemed as if the agony, unmatched by anything he had ever felt before, had lasted forever.
 

By the time that Daemon had allowed the intense, world shattering pain to recede, Xander was on the brink of unconsciousness, his throat raw from screams, his eyes wet with tears, and ready to give every single detail of every moment of his life if only to make the pain stop. Disgusting, his mind sneered. But that voice was soft and so very far away. It could barely be heard above the need to make the pain stop, and to make the pain stay gone. There was no honoring his beliefs here, no dying valiantly to save his friends, only the burning need to stay alive.
 

He had grown up a lot since meeting Buffy and willingly following her into the world of demons and death she inhabited. He had expected and received pain, he had acknowledged that there was a great possibility that he might one day die at the fangs, or claws, or tentacles or whatever the demon du jour's specialty was. He had never dreamed that he could be tortured -- dreams and goals and dignity stripped away beneath a single, agonizing touch that lasted forever and made every nerve in his body scream.
 

It hadn't taken long at all. In the world outside the pain filled confines of his mind, it had been but a mere moment before his barriers had crumbled and the pleas and sobs had began to pour past his lips. He had given up everything that Daemon had wanted from him, and more, the information emerging with hitching breaths, between his sobs and screams. And even then, his captor had held his hand to him, made the pain continue until the world went red behind his eyelids and he teetered at the edge of consciousness, and beyond that, death.
 

The most terrifying thing was, Xander knew that what had so easily broken him wasn't even close to the worse that Daemon was capable of. The mage's words, cool and amused, with an undercurrent of malicious delight, had washed over Xander's shattered nerves as he was slowly, unwillingly, drawn away from the blessed darkness waiting to claim him. His tormentor spoke of the torments that he had inflicted upon others as easily and casually as Xander would have discussed the weather -- from the most exotic and intricate forms of instigating pain to the most basic. All of them vile.
 

That tiny, distant part of him that could still grasp concepts beyond his own pain and fear wondered how Giles had ever managed to survive Angelus' torture, mentally or physically. He didn't think he was strong enough for either.

***

Ishamael's voice was low and scratchy, as if his life had been spent with a lit cigarette at his wide lips. Callused, ink stained hand shung limply at his sides; small, dark eyes darting around to briefly rest on the faces of each of the members of the Scooby Gang. "I'm afraid that I don't understand," he said. "Have we met before? I don't recall seeing any of you, but I do admit to having a better memory for books than I do for faces."
 

Blinking slowly, as if expecting the mismatched man to disappear, Buffy finally spoke. "Well... before we were brought here, we kinda saw you get stabbed to death. We thought. Since you obviously aren't dead, "Buffy said choppily. People came back to life as vampires, evil and demonic. They didn't get gutted and come back to life, awkward looking and uncertain.
 

The man's eyes went wide. "Oh," he said simply, the word conveying a vast amount of information that the strangers were incapable of deciphering. Ishamael pawed at an empty chair, pulled it back from the table it had been placed at, and limply dropped into it. "Oh," he repeated. He blinked and looked at Maighdin.
 

"Unless you'd like to see if you can survive a second brush with death, I suggest that you talk," Spike growled. He didn't like not knowing what was going on. An occasional bout of chaos was fun, but he preferred being the one causing it. This total lack of control over his situation, and the resulting inability to properly shield Willow from whatever dangers lurked nearby was wearing on his nerves.
 

Maighdin cleared her throat, drawing five pairs of eyes away from Ishamael's slumped form and towards her own. "You were seeing an event that took place some weeks ago."
 

"One does not recover from such a grievous wound in such a short period!" Giles exclaimed, trying with little success to keep most of his disbelief from emerging in his voice. He had seen many strange occurrences in his life, but had never witnessed anything which would have led him to believe that someone could emerge from such an incident without any obvious ill effects so quickly. Even Buffy with her Slayer's healing abilities would have had difficulty in recovering from a blade through her abdomen with such speed.
 

"And how did _we_ see it?" Willow questioned, looking at Maighdin intently.
 

The woman sighed. "The area in which we found you was the site of an intense and highly costly battle between the Goddess' forces and those of Daemon. It was visible because of the vast amount of energy we channeled during said battle. To better serve our Goddess and protect the innocent, She had granted us the gift to pierce time and space," Maighdin said, to the dubious glances of her guests.
 

She lifted her hand. The golden light that she had earlier revealed to be the visible representation of her Goddess' power flickered to life around her hand. It grew from a thin outline of her hand into a longer and brighter fire. It looked almost as if her hand was encased in aflame. Her eyes shifted from their faces to study the steadily pulsing light that she had summoned. "More deadly than conventional blades; immensely powerful; capable of great injury... and healing. A gift from our Goddess."
 

Ishamael took over, his voce wavering slightly. "When I was injured, I called upon this gift. Our merciful Mother heard my call and brought me into the light. She cradled me there, held me in the place of light and color that we pass through when we use our gift to travel. I remained there, safe, as my wounds were healed."
 

"Oh. Well. That's cool," Cordelia said. "But if this light sword thingy of yours is so powerful, how come you haven't been able to defeat your bad guy?"
 

The light around Maighdin's hand flickered and dissipated. "Because, child, Daemon has power enough to counter our gift. For now, the forces of good and evil are in balance. We can only hold Daemon at bay and hope that he does not find a way to disrupt the equilibrium that serves to keep our world stable."
 

She turned to Ishamael. "But this is not what I called you here to discuss. Our new friends spoke of an arch, a doorway through which the Goddess drew them from their world into ours. I thought that perhaps you had knowledge of it."
 

Ishamael scrubbed at his eyes with his knuckles. "It seems vaguely familiar, Maighdin. I need time to research, though. There may be information in my books."
 

Giles' eyes lit up. "Books? Would you be opposed to some help in your research, Ishamael?" he inquired while his young friends grinned at his unconcealed eagerness.
 

Ishamael was immediately aware that he was in the presence of a kindred soul, and he grinned in delight. "Certainly! There are distressingly few of my fellows here who appreciate the value of my texts." He shook his head sadly.
 

"I'm all too aware of said deficiency in our fellow men, and women," Giles said, rising behind his fellow scholar. "It is only by threat of death and world destruction that most of these children approach my books without whining."
 

The two men walked away, still engrossed in their horrified discussion of their friends lack of academic fervor.
 

"Well," Buffy said. "It certainly looks like Giles had made a friend."

***

After being shown to the rooms that they would be staying in until away back to their own world was discovered, and donning clothing more appropriate to their new surroundings, the four remaining members of the Scooby Gang met in the dinning hall.
 

"You almost look respectable, Spike," Willow giggled when she spotted the vampire, stripped on his customary outfit.
 

"Well then, I'll have to make up for that by acting my most boorish," he grinned. "And you, pet, look absolutely lovely as always." One arm wound around Willow's waist, his free hand winding in her hair, and pulled her towards him.
 

A long moment later, Willow pulled back, gasping for air, her cheeks flushed. "_Very_ nice!" she purred, ignoring the amused look Buffy was casting in their direction. "And as long as you keep on doing that, I don't care how you act," she grinned.
 

"I like your priorities, luv," Spike smirked, before swooping back down to claim Willow's waiting lips again.
 

Cordelia settled down next to Buffy, and cast a single indifferent glance in Spike and Willow's direction. "I suppose watching is as close as you come to that, these days," she said.
 

"Go insult someone who cares what you say," Buffy grumbled. Her hand clamped onto Cordelia's wrist, and she leaned in towards the other girl. "Just make sure it isn't _my_ Watcher, get it?"
 

Cordelia gritted her teeth, and glared at Buffy hautily. "I can talk to whoever I want to. And from what I can tell, Giles is more than eager to talk to me. Unless I'm mistaken, I doubt he'd be opposed to doing a quite a bit more with our lips, too."
 

"Are you trying to seduce Giles?" Buffy hissed.
 

"I thought that was perfectly obvious," Cordelia replied. "You have to be with Giles. Otherwise he goes that whole noble self-denial route, sweet but tedious."
 

"What exactly are you saying?" Buffy demanded, her fingers tightening around Cordelia's wrist.
 

"Exactly what you think I did." She pulled her arm free and looked at the Slayer pityingly. "Poor, unobservant Buffy," she sighed. "I'd almost pity you if you weren't trying to compete with _me_."
 

"Compete? With you? I'm not after Giles!"
 

"Whatever. Just remember, I got there first." With that, Cordelia rose and regally swept from the room, not bothering to hide her pleased smirk from Buffy.
 

"What's _that_ about?" Willow, who had pulled away from Spike long enough to draw in another breath of air, asked. They'd been too faraway for her to make out her two friends' words, but she had clearly seen the interaction between them.
 

"Both chits are after the Watcher," Spike said with a complete lack of interest, too caught up in the sight of Willow's blood red hair gliding across her shoulders as she moved.
 

"Oh," Willow replied, flushing slightly as she remembered her own infatuation with the Watcher. Her eyes narrowed. "Since when, exactly?" she demanded, unable to place Giles into the love life timeline of either young woman. Cordelia had been with Xander, and after him, she'd remained as far removed from their small group as possible. Buffy had been so caught up with Angel that Willow could hardly believe that the Slayer had been able to notice another man, much less take an interest in him.
 

"And how come Buffy didn't tell _me_!" she added indignantly.
 

Spike caught Willow's chin in one cool hand, turning her face back towards him. "Pet, I think I'd much rather that you concentrate on _our_ relationship, and leave them to figure their bloody mess out for themselves."
 

"Spike!" Buffy yelped suddenly. "Sun! Sun!"
 

A young woman who had wandered into the dinning hall mere moments before had taken it upon herself to throw open the shuttered windows that lined the dinning hall. Sunlight streamed into the room, stretching across the stone floor to bathe Willow and Spike in it's warm light. The woman watched in confusion as Spike stumbled backwards, Willow frantically nudging him out of the patch of light.
 

"Close the damned windows!" Buffy cried, rising to her feet and rushing to do it herself when the other woman merely looked at her blankly. 'With reflexes like that, this girl isn't going to make it past one confrontation with an enemy!' The thick shutters slammed shut beneath Buffy's hand, and she swirled around.
 

Willow was standing before Spike, her hands patting over his face and chest. "You okay? Are you hurt? That was _sunlight_! Poof inducing sunlight!" Her hands flittered against his chest, worried and helpless, until Spike's hands clamped around them.
 

"I'm fine, Willow," Spike said, surprised. "Not even singed."
 

Buffy blinked at them. "But... you were standing right in that patch of sun. You moved fast, but not _that_ quickly that you wouldn't get burned." She paused thoughtfully. "I think that we should have another talk with Maighdin and see if she has any idea what just happened here."
 

The young woman who had inadvertently created the flurry of activity among three strangers stared after them uncertainly. "Is it safe to open the window, now?" she asked to no one in particular as Spike, Willow and Buffy hurried out of the long, cavernous room.

***

"Fascinating," Giles and Ishamael murmured in concert. The both looked up from their respective texts as they realized that the other had spoken.
 

"You first," Giles said, leaning back in his chair. He peeled off his glasses and scrubbed at his eyes.
 

Ishamael leaned forward, his hands clasped before him. "I believe that I found what Maighdin was thinking of!" he stated with excitement. "It appears that our distant ancestors once used gates such as the one you discovered, blessed by the Goddess, to travel between worlds! This practice ended many centuries ago, or, I assume so, as there is no more mention of using the gates after the Breach."
 

Giles nodded. "I found what appears to be a portion of a journal which speaks of the same thing. Unfortunately, it doesn't provide any details beyond what you just recited." His eyes were wide and just as excited as were the historian's. "Imagine!"
 

"I would not have believed that such gates were still intact, and _active_!" Ishamael exclaimed. "It is utterly amazing." His excited chatter came to a sudden stop, and his fleshy face fell. "But this may have dire consequences, as well. It these gates can be used to travel, not just by servants of the Goddess, Daemon may finally have found that which will upset the balance between us. Should he have found your young friend and discovered how he arrived in this world, Daemon, too, may now know of their existence."
 

"Bloody Hell," Giles breathed.

***

Her hair seemed to burn in the sunlight. His hands reached out, running through her unbound tresses, watching the play of light against the red strands as they slid through his fingers. She seemed to glow beneath the sun, as glorious beneath the sun's bright light as she was beneath the moon's gentle glow. "Beautiful," Spike said, his voice low and awed.
 

Willow smiled and ducked her head, almost shyly. "You aren't so bad yourself!" she replied, looking up into his face, seeing it in full, natural light for the first time.
 

Spike held out his hand, "Walk with me, pet."
 

Willow smiled brilliantly. "Gladly." Her smaller hand was wound up in his, and the couple, under the sun together for the first time, moved further away from the other people who were outdoors.

***

He didn't much look like a Child of the Light at the moment, Marcus thought wryly. Thick blond hair that sprouted from his head in wild curls was limp and matted, suffering from a lack of washing. Water hadn't touched his hair in any form other than rain in over two weeks, and soap in an even longer time. A ragged looking beard had claimed his usually clean shaven chin; dirt was lodged solidly under his nails; he was clad in garments that appeared long past ready for the rag heap.
 

As unpleasant as his current appearance was, Marcus knew that it was necessary. Had he gone beyond the borders of their keep dressed in the uniform of his fellows, he wouldn't have made it into Daemon's territory... or had he somehow managed to slip past the mage's defenses, he would have had very little chance of slipping back out to deliver his news to Maighdin.
 

Even had he remained unseen by the soldiers that scoured the territory for enemies and those blessed by the Goddess, it was likely that the wary, broken people of the towns and villages he passed through would have reported him. Although there were none of the older generation who cared for Daemon and what he had made of them and there land, hunger, fear, and a chance for profit in a poor economy were powerful motivators even for the mage's most ardent detractors. The younger generation were even more likely to betray an enemy hidden among them. Having grown up under Daemon's control, they knew nothing concrete of the world that had once been. More than their parents, they were likely to be swayed by what the right information would bring them.
 

"Jorin," Marcus said, nodding slightly towards the withered man hunched at a nearby table, skeletal hands wrapped possessively around a full tankard.
 

The old man peered up at him suspiciously, watery blue eyes remaining fixed upon Marcus' patiently waiting form until the memory of who he was seeing tumbled into place within his mind. "Marcus," he acknowledged, his voice loud and raspy. "Sit down, my boy!" Jorin said, a bony arm swinging about to point at the lone free chair left at the table he had claimed.
 

Marcus sat. He'd known Jorin for a long time, and made it a practice to visit the old man whenever he passed through the town where the old man had lived his entire life. More than once, Marcus had gathered interesting information about their enemies during his conversations with his old friend. Considering how often Jorin sprinkled his rambling speeches with information of great value to the Goddesses Chosen, Marcus suspected that among all of those he encountered during his long travels, Jorin suspected that he was far more than a downtrodden travelling merchant.
 

"It's been a long time, boy," Jorin began. "You missed quite the ruckus just the other day. Two of 'em soldiers of Daemon's wandered inhere the other day and dragged out a whelp."
 

"I pity the poor fool," Marcus replied, his tone lower but easy. Whispering was more likely to gain attention than was Jorin's booming, wavering voice.
 

Jorin's rounded, balding head bobbed on his scrawny neck. "Carted the boy off to see his Lordship himself," he stated. Frail hands brought his tankard up to dry lips, and the old man drank greedily, smacking his lips noisily as he finished. "Stranger around here, so no one much cared. Not that they ever do, these days." Narrow, bony shoulders lifted into a careless shrug.
 

His clouded blue eyes shared suddenly. "Enough about that boy," he said, leaning forward on his elbows and peering at Marcus expectantly. "D'you get me those goods you promised you'd find?"
 

Filing away his friend's carelessly delivered information for later perusal, Marcus bent down to riffle through the stained brown sack resting at his feet. "That I did."
 

Another day or two here, Marcus thought, and then he'd head out towards home. He'd see what Maighdin would think of the information that he'd gathered this time around.

***

Maighdin sighed. Alone now, her shoulders slumped wearily. Her head dropped to rest against the cool stone in which the window she was looking out of was set in. It was rough against her cheek, uncomfortable. Maighdin didn't move. Her eyes remained fixed on the world beyond her opened window -- light and colorful, alive and beautiful. She remembered, once, being able to delight in nature's gifts. Now, she saw what had once been peaceful to her, and knew only frustration and a weariness that threatened to bring her to her knees.
 

An entire world beyond this small room; people beyond price; all of it resting upon her shoulders. Hers to guard. Hers to protect. She looked outside, and saw only the potential loss that awaited any one of her decisions.
 

A callused hand rose to pinch at the bridge of her nose. She could still hear their voices ringing in her head, horrified and disbelieving. As if she were a monster.
 

"Maighdin?" a low, feminine voice called out.
 

The woman's shoulder's stiffened, her arms dropping back down to her sides. "What is it, Layla?" she asked, already suspecting what had driven the remote young woman to seek her presence.
 

The younger woman remained in place, hands clasped behind her back, booted feet apart. She looked stiff, formal. It was better that way, least she betray her unease, and the emotions that roiled inside of her-- threatening to erupt. "About the boy... why are you leaving him in Daemon's possession?" she asked, her voice flat, even when she spoke the mage's name.
 

"You should know why, Layla. The boy is most likely dead by now. And even if he is not, there is nothing to gain by retrieving him. Daemon would have already forced out any information the boy has about the Gate," Maighdin said, repeating the words that she had met their otherworld guests with after hearing Marcus' report. "I will not risk more lives for one."
 

Layla's fingers twitched. "We can't leave him. He may yet be alive."
 

Maighdin turned. "We can't send anyone after him. You should realize that! They would not escape with the boy, even if they managed to penetrate Daemon's defenses."
 

"It isn't right," Layla insisted.
 

"And you are trying to make up for something that cannot be altered," Maighdin responded. "There will be no attempt at a rescue. We must concentrate all of our attention on locating the remaining Gates, and ensuring that Daemon does not reach them before we do."
 

Layla dipped her head slightly, thin red braids dancing before her face. "If that is what you think is most important, I will not attempt to sway you," she said, barely a ripple of emotion to be heard in her voice. She waited for Maighdin's acknowledging nod before turning on her heel and slipping out of the room.

***

Willow was deep in guilt-mode. She'd been able to banish Xander to the back of her mind when she hadn't known where he was. And while he had been a niggling worry at the back of her mind while she enjoyed her new surroundings, he had been the captive of an evil mage who seemed to have an unhealthy enjoyment for torturing information out of people.
 

"I can't believe that Maighdin wants us to just forget about Xander!" Willow exclaimed hotly, her feet pounding against the floor with each heavy step she took as she paced the confines of the room that they had retreated to after their session with the woman.
 

Giles cleared his throat nervously. "Willow, it does make sense." He fought the urge to shift away when Willow rounded on him, her eyes blazing and her small fists clenched at her sides. "He may very well be dead, and Maighdin does have to consider the long term advantages and disadvantages of the choices she makes..."
 

Willow's lips parted, her eyes narrowed. "I can't believe that you're siding with her!" she hissed. Her eyes swung towards Buffy, who dropped her eyes immediately; and Cordelia, who met her eyes with a blend of pity and sorrow. "We've survived demons, monsters, Ascensions, near brushes with the end of the world together, and now we're going to ditch Xander!" Willow bit out, tears burning in her eyes.
 

'We should have looked for him immediately! We shouldn't have left without finding Xander. We should have insisted that Maighdin gather a search party the first time we talked to her...' her mind railed helplessly. They should have done anything other than what they had done -- forget about their friend, wandering lost and alone in strange surroundings.
 

"Pet --"
 

Willow swirled to face Spike, her balled up hands resting against her hips. "Don't you dare 'pet' me, Spike! I will not be soothed, or handled, or reassured! I'm angry, and I'm worried and I like it that way fine!" she growled. Drawing in a deep breath for her next round, Willow suddenly paused as an idea struck.
 

"I'm going after him," she stated, Resolve Face firmly in place.
 

"Did you hit your head on something on the way over here, Willow?" Cordelia snapped. She lifted a well manicured hand, counting off each of her points, "We have no idea where we are; there's evil out there; Xander won't be sitting on the gate waiting for you to grab him and run; and Maighdin doesn't want us to go."
 

Buffy nodded slowly, as if reluctant to agree with the former May Queen. "She's right, Wills. It would be pretty near impossible for us to get to Xander..."
 

Willow waved off Buffy's concerns with a flip of her hand. "We've beat worse odds than this before, Buffy! We can't just leave Xander to die in this place! And if you can't understand that --"
 

"Of course we understand that," Giles cut in, louder than he had meant. It was times like these that he most regretted that the 'Slayerettes' had been drawn into the dangerous lives of Slayer and Watcher. "None of us are eager to leave Xander, Willow. We all care for him, and are worried for his safety." He, perhaps more than any of them had reason to worry. The children were his responsibility, and more than that, he had some idea of what Xander was up against.
 

The solid rap at the room's closed wooden door interrupted the new round of ultimately futile arguments and counter-arguments that had been occupying the Scooby Gang for the last several minutes. At Giles' invitation, the door swung open to emit a young woman. She looked stiff, but there was no hint of uneasiness or doubt in her bearing.
 

"And you would be?" Buffy prompted.
 

"Layla," the woman responded. She looked at each of them in turn before speaking again. "If you would have me, I will guide you to Daemon's keep to retrieve your friend."

***

Xander woke to find a small hand patting at his face. He blinked, the world swimming crazily beyond the safety of his closed lids. His head lolled to the side so that he came face to face with the child kneeling next to his bed. "Wh--" Xander began. His throat was raw, and the word came out garbled. "What's going on?" he tried again. His voice still sounded ages away from his own, but at least the words sounded like more than inhuman grunts.
 

The child smiled sunnily. "You're awake! Your voice sounds funny...do all other worlders sound like that?" Wide gray eyes watched him curiously as the small hands continued to probe at his face. The child jumped in surprise, backing away quickly at Xander's yelp when the small fingers encountered the tender bruise blooming over his cheekbone.
 

When Xander made no effort to move, the child cautiously crept back. "My name is Jarid," he said. "I live here. You don't though, do you?"
 

Xander managed to smile slightly. "No, no I don't. Wouldn't want to, either."
 

Jarid nodded his understanding. "Lots of people don't like it here." He lowered his voice, "I don't either. But I'm only staying here until get useful enough." The child shrugged, neither looking particularly concerned nor too pleased with the prospect of his usefulness.
 

"Useful how?" Xander questioned. There was no plans to gather information in order to better his position or potential for escape. He could no longer imagine that he possessed the strength to attempt either. His question was meant only to provide a means to momentarily escape the lingering twinges of pain arching through his motionless body.
 

"'Til I'm old enough. Then I'll either be a Source or a sacrifice," Jarid said. "That's what all of us get to be."
 

"Sacrifice?" Xander echoed, wondering how the child could be so calm about his own death.
 

Jarid nodded, absently plucking at the sleeve of his shirt. "If I don't have the Power, I'll get killed so that my blood can't be used against him. If I do, he'll keep me here and tap into it. A long time ago, my mummy told me that she wouldn't let me be either. She tried to get us out, but they found us. Father was very angry. I don't see mummy anymore."
 

Xander winced. "I'm sorry, kid."
 

Jarid shrugged off his sympathy without comment. "He isn't going to kill you. Except for the girls, he usually kills everybody he brings into here. You're going to help him find something."
 

Xander turned his head away, drawing in a ragged breath. He didn't want to help that monster find anything, but he knew that he wouldn't do anything else. Jarid's small hand landed on his face again, warm and sticky against Xander's clammy skin.
 

"You don't want to help," the boy said. "I won't tell. Promise."

***

Willow's burst of enthusiasm was tempered by Spike's immediate suspicion. "Why would you help us hunt down the whelp?" he asked, studying Layla through narrowed eyes.
 

She didn't hesitate in her answer. "Daemon tears people from their homes and families, and they do nothing to resist him. Even when the potential for victory is with them, the people do not fight to save those who depend upon them. I am helping you because you dare to fight." She smiled humorlessly, one shoulder lifting in a slight shrug. "And I would not be opposed to the chance to gut Daemon."
 

"Works for me," Buffy said. "Guys?"
 

One by one, each member of the Scooby Gang nodded in agreement.
 

"I must gather some supplies. We will meet at the front gates later tonight," Layla said.
 

Giles cleared his throat. "I'm afraid that I won't be going with you." He raised his hands to cut of the surprised explosion of protests that met his announcement. "I think that I would be more useful staying here and aiding Ishamael in research about the Gates and how we can return home."
 

Cordelia nodded quickly. "I'm staying, too."
 

Buffy glared at her in annoyance. "Don't tell me that you're going to research while we're gone."
 

Cordelia's nose wrinkled in distaste. "Of course not! But I'm not liking the odds against this little mission of yours. I'd rather stay cooped up in this place than go running into the waiting arms of a madman, thank you very much!"
 

Buffy looked between Cordelia and her silent Watcher. "Fine," she ground out finally. "It's not like you would have added much to this, anyway!"
 

"We will leave in another hour. Prepare yourselves," Layla said curtly before slipping out of the room to make her own arrangements.

***

His palms flat against the windowsill, Giles leaned forward, tracking the rapidly shrinking forms of his friends. They looked so small and vulnerable and... helpless from his vantage point, like nothing more than tiny smears of color upon the winding dirt road. The fear that he would never seen any of them again, that he was watching them march towards their deaths, sprang to full life in the fore front of his mind. His shoulders stiffened, and he bit back the desire to lean further forward and call them back to him.
 

He could feel Cordelia's warmth at his back as she peered around his braced arms. "Aren't they gone yet?" she said incredulously. "They've been plodding along over there forever! At this rate, they won't need to rescue Xander -- he'll be dead of old age before they reach him!" she huffed, the edge of fear to her voice keeping Giles from snapping at her insensitive words.
 

She moved away again, the bed-springs squealing as she dropped onto the bed. Pulling her knees up against her chest, Cordelia watched Giles' stiff back. "They'll be fine, Giles," she said, her voice soft and stripped of all vestiges of her rich girl, May Queen persona for the briefest of moments. "You don't have to worry about _her_, you know."
 

"By her, I assume that you mean Buffy?" Giles sighed, turning around to face Cordelia as the tiny forms of his charges and friends disappeared into the tree line. He looked at her with thin-lipped disapproval. "I do wish that you would stop needling her, Cordelia."
 

She looked at him, almost guiltily. "I happen to insult everybody. It's not my fault if Buffy can't handle it." Cordelia sighed softly, stretching one hand out before her, fingers extended and spread. She carefully inspected for any chips in her flawless coat of nail polish as she spoke. "I mean, Buffy won't hurt from a bit of that. I suppose she's nice enough, for queen of the freaks, but... it just annoys me, you know? I worked hard to be as popular as I am and to gather my sheep. Buffy comes in, snubs us and manages to gather a group of _real_ friends, a boyfriend who was absolutely crazy about her, and gains the appreciation of the whole damned school."
 

Giles blinked, equally surprised at Cordelia's words and that she was willing to lay her feelings out before him. "So, you dislike Buffy because you see her as better liked than yourself?"
 

"No! Yes... God, I don't know! She can do anything and everybody still adores her. Turn Angel evil, send him to Hell, lie to you, put Faith into a coma, and you all still see her as this shinning example of perfection. I date a looser, and my 'friends' turn on me. I speak my mind and happen to care about keeping my body parts intact, and all of you look at me as if I'm some sort of monster." She bit her lip, surprised at the anger that had leaked into her words.
 

Giles abandoned his post at the window in favor of a seat on the bed next to Cordelia. "None of us think badly of you, Cordelia," he protested. "I know that they all appreciate having you as a friend."
 

"But I'm not. Not really. They keep me on the outskirts of everything... I'm there, but I'm not one of them because they can't see me as anything other than the self-absorbed rich girl." Cordelia laughed suddenly, startling Giles with the unexpected sound. "I'm bemoaning the fact that the losers don't want me to the school _librarian_!"
 

Hearing himself being put so neatly in a category that Cordelia evidently thought so little of, Giles eyes narrowed slightly. "And your _games_ with me are merely to annoy Buffy, then?" he asked mildly.
 

"Talk about your self-esteem problems!" Cordelia exclaimed. "As much as it annoys Buffy, I wouldn't be hanging around you if you weren't at least mildly appealing."
 

Cordelia rose to her knees and shifted closer to Giles. She placed a tanned hand on his chest, over his heart, and looked into his eyes. "You, Giles... you have love and passion and devotion for Buffy and the others. I just have to look at you when you see them or hear their names mentioned and it's there. I want to know what it would be like to have that focused on me... to get drawn into you and be safe and loved." She smiled brightly. "And besides that, you have a nice butt for an old guy."
 

Out of all the younger members of the Scooby Gang, Cordelia had the most experience with a wide variety of kisses. Giles', after a softly sighed "Cordelia..." was one of the chart toppers. It wasn't the hungry, blindingly intense kisses that she had shared with Xander; nor the sloppy, desperate ones that any number of the drunken jocks out for a good time had offered. It was the lightest brush of his lips against hers -- tender and for _her_.
 

Cordelia slumped against Giles, not even protesting when he ran his hand through her carefully coifed hair. "Now _that's_ going to make Buffy go crazy."

***

Time seemed to have slowed to an impossibly slow crawl. Xander couldn't have guessed whether Jarid had been gone for mere minutes or for days -- but when the child settled back down on the floor next to his bed, he was dressed in clean clothes and his small hands had been cleaned free of the sticky substance that had clung to his skin earlier.
 

Xander smiled at him and pushed himself into an almost comfortable half-sitting position. "What's up, little buddy?" he asked, glad to have the child back. Being left alone had offered Xander nothing else to do but contemplate his future and catalogue his various pains. Neither of those paths had offered much in the way of comfort -- the former making his stomach clench and sweat spring to his skin, and the latter serving to accentuate every twinge and ache he felt.
 

Jarid frowned, his mouth bunching into a tiny pink bow. "Morurin made me take a bath again," he stated with great distaste. "She says it isn't good for the master's son to be as dirty as a peasant. She always rubs too hard, and gets water in my eyes. When I get older, I'm never going to take baths!"
 

"Once we get to that point, you just remember to sit on the other side of the room, okay?" Xander answered, determinately ignoring the thought that he wouldn't be around when the boy was old enough for that. 'If I can't think positive, at least I can do my best to ignore the rest.'
 

Jarid's plump, child's arms crossed on the thin mattress, his round chin resting on them. "I don't like Morurin," he confessed. "I don't think she likes me either -- I heard her call me a 'horrid child' once. It sounded mean. I won't tell on her, though. The last nanny that I got into trouble had to go play with father's soldiers. She went all white and started to cry when he told her that. I think that's why Morurin is so mean. I can't have any fun or she'll get in trouble. I don't know why she wouldn't want to play with the men, though. They have lots of interesting words... but they always stopped talking with them when they see me," he said in a rapid fire barrage of words fast enough to rival Willow at her most flustered.
 

Xander's horror had evidently seeped into his expression, for the child stopped and looked at him with grave concern. His small hand patted at Xander's forehead, miming an action that Morurin did whenever he felt ill. "Maybe... do you want to hear a story about my mummy, instead?"
 

Xander smiled in agreement. "Would you?" 'As long as she doesn't get raped or tortured or killed in it, I think we'll be fine. God, how could a child grow up here and still be so... _cute_?'
 

Jarid grinned brightly and clambered onto the bed. "My mummy came from a place that's really far from here. It's almost beyond where Father can go. She talked about it to me all the time before I went to bed so that I would have nice dreams. Mummy lived by the water, and she loved it..." the boy said. His eyes shone as he spoke, happy to be sharing the stories that had lulled him to sleep with an appreciative audience.
 

The stories were blessedly devoid of any further horrors.

***

"Goddess grant me strength," Maighdin sighed as Marcus stepped into her room. She barely waited long enough for the door to latched shut before speaking again. "Layla has left. She is brining three of the otherworlders to Daemon to rescue the boy." Her voice was brittle with anger and fear.
 

Marcus' thick blond eyebrows furrowed together. "_Layla_? I wouldn't have thought that she'd be the one to go up against him. That takes more bravery than I thought she had..."
 

"It isn't brave, Marcus! It is foolish. She's placing herself within that monster's reach and putting _everything_ at risk." Casting her mind back to the brief conversation between them, Maighdin had the uncomfortable sensation that she should have seen the younger woman's actions coming. 'I'm getting too old for this position. I can no longer balance the needs of my people with the constant upsets that claim my time and attention. There was a time when I could have dealt with Layla, Daemon, the otherworlders, and the discovery of the Gates without everything threatening to come crashing down upon us all.'
 

She took a deep breath and reached inwards, tapping into the soothing flow of energy that marked her as one of the Goddess' chosen. "I want you to find her, Marcus."
 

He blinked. "Am I the best person for that job, Maighdin? You know that she isn't overly fond of me, so I doubt that she will listen to reason. And there is little chance of me being able to force her to return with me."
 

Her face was composed when she answered. "I know that there is little chance of either. Go with them, and should the worst happen, kill her if she cannot do so herself. I just pray that the rewards are worth the risk she is putting us all to."

***

"Damn it!" Spike growled, "doesn't the bloody thing ever turn off?!"
 

"I've never seen it just flicker off mid-day, no," Willow answered calmly. "Unless this world is drastically different than our own in more ways than the obvious, we have another hour or two of this before it starts to cool down."
 

"A few hours?" Spike said incredulously. "My brain is frying _now_, and the light is hurting my eyes. I can barely see, there's so many spots dancing in front of me. I can't remember why I wanted to see the bloody sun again!"
 

"Oh, stop whining Spike!" Buffy grumbled. "These shoes are killing me," she said, her chin jutting in the direction of the shapeless brown boots that Layla had shoved into her hands when they first set out. "My clothes itch and _smell_, and we've been walking non stop all day!" the last was pointedly offered to Layla's back. "I'm _this_ close to snapping, and if I have to hear you gripe about your problems one more time, I'll stake you!"
 

Willow sighed. "He isn't whining, Buffy. Spike hasn't been out in the sun for years. Give him a while to get used to it." She looked at Buffy seriously, "and I understand your frustration, but I'd appreciate if you'd stop threatening my boyfriend with death."
 

"Oh, so he can't stand up for himself anymore, is that it?" Buffy snipped, tugging at the suffocatingly long sleeved shirt that was a more formidable adversary than Spike and Angelus rolled into one. At least they had shut up every now and then, her clothes, on the other hand, were itching non-stop.
 

Layla turned around, her eyes chilly as she pinned each of them in place with a withering glare. "Do the three of you wish to free your friend, or would you prefer to spar out here until it is far too late to save him?" she inquired in a tone more suited to chiding parent than a woman who barely looked older than either of the two other females in their small group.
 

"I'd prefer breaking her neck," Spike said, sneering in Buffy's general direction.
 

"_Spike_!" Willow protested, her own simmering temper bubbling into that one word. "If Buffy can't threaten your life, you can't threaten hers. And yes, we do want to save Xander, Layla. _Without_ these two if need be!"
 

Buffy and Spike looked at the fuming red-head in surprise.
 

"I love you both, but don't think that I won't go on without you! You'll both still be around later, but if we don't start moving, Xander won't be." She drew in a deep breath, letting it out in a slow hiss. "Now, are you two willing to cooperate, or are we going to have to send you back?"
 

"Pet, I'm not about to let you wander off without me," Spike answered.
 

"And I'm not going to let you scamper off with him. Besides, I'm the Slayer around here -- rescuing is part of my job description."

***

They had left the dust clogged road hours earlier. The forest in which they now walked had crept ever closer to the rutted, dusty ribbon of road shallowly cut across the earth's surface, until the thick foliage of the encroaching trees had tempered the sunlight which stung at Spike's sensitive eyes. The scent of decay hung almost tangible on the still air beneath the immense trees' arching branches. Every footstep made the scent of rotting leaves and damp earth burst forward with renewed urgency.
 

The dense formation of trees thinned suddenly. The proud trees, roots buried deep with the past of the world, reaching hungrily towards the sky, had been shattered. They had not merely fallen, trunks and branches catching and twining together, each tree tearing free from the earth which sustained it by the weight of its fellows. An entire stretch of the forest had been completely demolished down to the very grass. Those halfhearted, beaten trees which still clung stubbornly to the edge of the charred circle burned into the heart of the forest were blackened, entire chunks torn free from their wide trunks.
 

The scents which had been assaulting Spike's senses since they had abandoned the road took on new layers -- charred flesh, the scent excrement as the dying lost control of their bodily functions, the odor of despair... it hung upon the air, a mark of the violence this place had seen which refused to dissipate.
 

He felt Willow's shaking hands clutch at the material of his duster, her face burying into his back as she attempted to drown out the smells in the leather. "Oh, Goddess," she choked, her voice muffled against him. "Isn't there anything _not_ horrifying around here?" Willow whimpered.
 

Buffy nodded absently along with Willow's words. "I'm totally agreeing over here, Wills. Whatever happened to heading out of town for sun, beaches, and men?" She scrubbed at her mouth with the back of her hand, silently thanking whatever Gods, 'sorry, Goddesses,' this world had that more visual reminders of the human element weren't in place.
 

She looked over her shoulder in Layla's direction. Their guide was standing stiffly, hands clasped behind her back. Her face was carefully blank, though the corner of her lips looked pinched. Her blue eyes were clouded, focused on the center of the unnatural clearing.
 

"What happened here?" Buffy asked the other woman.
 

Layla's lips twisted soundlessly for a long moment. "Nothing," she said shortly.
 

Spike had turned around, gently shaking Willow loose from her desperate clutch on his back. She stood in her circle of his arm, her face now buried against his chest. "Nothing?" Spike echoed, a scarred eyebrow arching upwards. He had seen worse than this... he had _participated_ in worse than this looked, but the scene laid out before them certainly wasn't nothing.
 

Her breath came out as a low hiss. "It was... years ago. Some of Daemon's forces met with the Home Guard of the town which stood in this area."
 

"Town?" Willow inquired hesitantly, unsure as to whether she wished to hear of whatever fate befell the people who had inhabited it. "In the middle of the forest?"
 

"It wasn't a forest, then," Layla replied.
 

"But these trees -- they're huge! They've been growing for centuries at least," Willow protested.
 

Layla nodded. "For those powerful enough, time is of no consequence. This place reaches back into the days before Daemon was even known as such... powerful, bloodthirsty, but still nothing more than a man." She let her eyes flutter shut, wearily. "There was another mage here, the protector of this town. His magic met Daemon's... and the former failed. But Daemon did not take his prize, for the magic unleashed was strong." Layla's hands pulled apart behind her back. She stepped forward, her hand thrusting forward, beyond the wavering line of brown grass edging the blackened remains. Golden light immediately flickered to light about her hand, wavering and bending beneath some unseen pressure.
 

"Even now, it lingers here, power great enough to rend the flesh from the bones of those without protection. Some say that the Light mage's blood, as it soaked into the ground, called up the trees around us -- isolating this area and serving as a deterrent to those who would search it out." Her hand pulled out, the light dying around it. Her breath came out in short, shallow gasps.
 

"Not much of one," Spike muttered. "We found it easily enough." He cupped the base on Willow's skull, thumb moving along the silky strands of her hair.
 

The woman's eyes flickered towards him, something flashing in them.
 

"Note, no more sightseeing," Buffy said, turning her back. She took several determined steps away from the area which had halted their progress. She spoke without turning around. "Now lets get moving again, I really don't feel like spending the night here."
 

For the first time that day, nobody felt like arguing.

***

Xander could see why Jarid held little love for Morurin. The woman was in Xander's age range, but every bit of youthful vitality had been drained from her. Her face was dark with exposure to harsh sunlight, drawn and fearful. Her lips were plump but held so tightly that they narrowed into a thin line. She was short and rounded in figure, and she moved in an odd shuffle and jump motion - attempting both to hurry and avoid notice.
 

She spared no tenderness for Xander as she bathed him. Callused hands ran the wet cloth over Xander's bare body, quick and harsh, scrapping painfully over bruises and split flesh. Her breath came out in quick, high wheezes. Morurin's eyes rolled, jittering beneath her eyelids as she fought not to continually glance back at the door through which she had entered.
 

The cloth fell back into the heavy bowl Morurin had carted into the room. Swirls of blood lifted from the material, joining the remaining water left in the bowl. Morurin rocked back on her heels, lips pursed, eyeing Xander critically. He was too tired, too stripped of who and what he had once known himself to be, to care about her appraisal of his naked body. Morurin nodded sharply to herself, evidently satisfied with her job.
 

Xander winced when the woman spoke for the first time. "Stand," she commanded.
 

Xander sought out Morurin's eyes. "I _can't_," he ground out from behind clenched teeth.
 

Morurin leaned down until her breath washed over Xander's face. "You will stand and you will dress, or the Master will be most displeased. Do you wish to court further pain by your self-pity?" Her hands clamped onto Xander's shoulders and heaved. Xander swallowed a scream, closed his eyes and fought back a wave of nausea.
 

"Okay, okay, just give me a minute," he panted. Xander cautiously completed the journey Morurin had forced him into. His body screamed its protest every inch of the way. His muscles twitched and pulled as Xander painstakingly lowered them to the ground. Xander rested his forearms on his thighs, bent his head, and tried to recall how to breath normally.
 

He watched Morurin's stout form from beneath lowered lashes. "What's this all about anyway? Daemon doesn't really seem like the kind of guy who'd offer a guy one last bath before death, you know."
 

Morurin looked at him, and there was no compassion in her eyes. "It is not my place to say, even were the answer known to me." Her eyes flickered away, a clear dismissal. She stood still and silent as Xander struggled into the clothing with which he had been provided, carefully guarding her own thoughts and voice least she put her life on the line with thoughtless speech. One learned to appreciate such precautions early in Daemon's realm.

***

They had finally stopped walking. Willow bit the inside of her lip sharply, cutting off her whimpered sigh of relief. Compared to Slayer, vampire, and one Goddess blessed warrior, Willow felt depressingly out of shape. Her feet were aching, blisters forming along her feet due to the constant rubbing of the rough material of foreign boots against soft skin. A little known fact amongst her friends was that although Willow rarely spent time and energy upon makeup, hairstyles and clothing, she pampered her feet shamelessly. She doubted they would ever recover from this hellish march.
 

The steady agony centered on her feet and along her muscles was nothing compared to her mental state. She was worried about Xander - terrified. Fear for Xander alone was enough to draw her stomach into a heavy knot. There was more than even that. There was something niggling at the back of her mind, a constant shadow drawing at her attention and energy. She was caught between the urge to scream, to cry, or to give up all action and simply collapse. She looked between Spike and Buffy - both of them smotheringly overprotective - and she thought of Xander. And she kept her teeth locked together and walked.
 

Layla finally allowed them to stop as darkness began to descend. She led them to a spot she deemed suitable and let her bag drop to the ground. Willow lowered herself to the ground, wincing behind a veil of hair. Time blurred. Willow blinked, brushed back her hair and found that someone had set up a small fire. Layla was talking between careful bites of her meal. Willow blinked again and looked down, noting with dim amazement that she too held food. Buffy was nodding, and Willow's eyes followed the movement as Buffy's blonde head shifted up and down.
 

"Pet?" Spike murmured. "You should be eating."
 

Willow scowled at the vampire, at her food, and at Spike once more. "I'm not hungry," she stated firmly. His eyes narrowed and Willow heaved a mental sigh. He was like the mother her own had never wanted to be, on occasion.
 

Gold flickered beneath the blue of Spike's eyes. He took Willow's meal from her, surveyed the various items with unconcealed distaste, and finally settled on a sliver of overcooked meat. Pale fingers dug into the meat, tearing it apart bit by bit. He selected a piece, caught it between his fingers and raised it to Willow's firmly clamped mouth. "_Eat_."
 

Buffy and Layla had stopped talking and the Slayer nodded. "I hate to agree with him, Wills, but you really should..."
 

Willow sighed. "I can do it myself," she growled, taking her meal back from Spike. Her lips curled as she looked at her smaller but still equally unappetizing bits of meat. She popped some into her mouth, chewed once, and swallowed. It took more willpower than Willow thought necessary not to throw up. Shadows wavered at the back of Willow's mind. She briefly debated fighting them off. Darkness was the better option than finishing off her food. Her eyes fluttered shut and Willow collapsed.
 

She woke to the sight of Spike's demon face. "Ow?" Willow ventured. "What happened?"
 

Spike's voice was a growl and Willow nearly shrank back from the sound of it. 'Worried. He's worried about me,' she thought. "You fainted," Spike said, his hands on her face as if testing the reality of her.
 

Buffy nodded, her face appearing over Spike's shoulder. "A real attention grabber, Willow. A bit too exciting if you ask me, though. Maybe you should take it easy on the collapsing and scaring everyone thing, huh?" Buffy's face tightened and she took a wavering breath. "You are okay, aren't you?"
 

"Yes," Willow said firmly. She considered her options and opted for a limited version of the truth. "I'm fine. It's just that I'm hot and thirsty and tired. We've been walking all day and I'm not possessed of the same superhuman gifts as the rest of you. Mere mortal, here. One who hasn't been to the gym in way too long at that."
 

"You should have said," Buffy exclaimed. "We would have stopped earlier, or for a break, or something!"
 

Willow's face set. "No time, Buffy. I'll be fine. Xander _won't_ if we don't hurry." She let her eyes flutter. "Just let me sleep now and I'll be okay in the morning."
 

They unrolled their blankets and settled around the tiny fire. Layla offered to take the first watch and no one argued with her. Buffy pulled her blankets up to her neck, rolled onto her back and threw herself into sleep with the same determination she did with everything else.
 

"Spike?" Willow whispered.
 

"I'm not moving, pet," he informed her, slinging an arm around her waist. He allowed enough space between them to secure Willow's comfort, but remained close enough that she could feel him at her back.
 

'Wow, we're sleeping together,' Willow thought. Exhausted, she fell asleep, still flushed.
 

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