TUESDAY

10.42am

Willow was reciting words that she and Tara had worked out in advance and hoped would do the trick. Her eyes were closed, and there was a dull film of perspiration on her forehead. It was a long passage of Latin, and she prayed that she was doing it right. Otherwise, they could end up with a map that revealed the hidden locations of every frog in Sunnydale – spells were funny like that.

She also had an audience, which tended to bring out the worst of her performance-anxiety. Giles and Xander were standing a discrete distance away, near the door of the training room. Giles was sipping his tea at intervals, and through the heightened awareness that she’d cultivated to do the spell-work, Willow could hear every tiny slurp. She wished he’d put the cup down, or drink up and be done with it.

Then a firm hand clasped into her own. Tara’s presence was like a warm and comforting blanket, strengthening her will, supporting her. They were sitting opposite each other, angled a little to allow them to hold hands, with the map of Sunnydale spread between them.

Tara’s voice joined smoothly with her own. They were reciting the last part of the spell now, and here came the tricky bit.

As the final words rang out in the quiet of the training room, Tara held out one hand, and blew onto it. A silvery dust spun out into the air – it seemed to whip into a little maelstrom as it hung suspended above the map, gathering and whirling, until it seemed like more than a handful.

Tara’s other hand squeezed hers gently, and Willow knew it was the moment. She broke the contact quickly, and clapped both hands together The silver dust dropped, like the breeze that had held it aloft had suddenly disappeared, and it showered down onto the map, sparkling radiantly.

The two women looked at the map. The glittering sand seemed to slide and shimmer over the surface of the paper, like a living thing. At certain places the sand gathered and stuck, where it began to glow as it changed colour, from silver to deep red. The flow of sand was constant – Willow watched as a drift of the stuff slithered and coalesced over a place she knew was a vamp hang-out. She smiled with satisfaction, then looked up to meet Tara’s pleased nod.

Giles and Xander came closer tentatively. Giles examined the map and it’s sliding, glittering marker.

"Will it hold?"

"It should," Willow nodded, "We can hang it in a quiet place if you like, for future reference."

Tara motioned towards the map and gave instructions.

"The sand will move periodically – the areas it moves to and lights up should indicate places of demonic activity."

She glanced at Willow with an admiring smile.

"That was nice work."

Willow shrugged, and breathed out the tension she’d been holding in, expelling the last of the psychic energy she’d conjured for the spell.

"I was worried that I was doing it right. Didn’t want to end up with a map of useless info."

Tara nodded.

"The great thing about Latin is that it’s pretty specific – it’s just a matter of getting the pronunication." She winked at her girlfriend. "You did good, honey."

"I agree," Giles added. He used his tea-cup to indicate the map. "This is very advanced spell-work."

"Well, I’m totally impressed," Xander threw in – and he looked it too. "You guys are bitchin’ witches, you know that?"

Tara returned his smile. Willow shrugged again and tried to appear modest, in spite of the thrill she was feeling.

"Aw, shucks," she grinned.

Tara rose from her cross-legged position, dusting off her rear.

"Well, we couldn’t have done it without those herbs Xander – thanks."

"Hey, it was my pleasure. I gotta say, the results are pretty amazing. Who’d have thought you could do something so cool with pond-slime?"

"You used pond-slime?" Giles’ face bore an expression of professional curiosity.

"For the stickiness," Willow confirmed.

"Well, like Xander, I’m impressed. Excellent work, both of you. This map will be our most valuable asset over the next few days, I have a feeling."

With a nod and a smile, Giles wandered back to the front of the shop.

"How come he never hangs around for the cleaning-up part?" Willow mused, glancing over her shoulder at Tara.

Tara could only shrug. Xander was already standing, broom at the ready.

"At least I’m here – c’mon, you guys lift the map to someplace else, I’ll do the janitor-thing."

It was an easy tidy-up – a few herbs here and there, and the ash from the censer, and the candlewax on the floor. Tara was scraping at that with a knife, on hands and knees, when she looked back at Willow again.

"What time does Buffy get back from the hospital again?"

"About noon," Willow said, as she put away matches and candle-ends into a shoebox. "She wanted to drop Dawn at school first."

Xander frowned as he plied the broom.

"She’s making Dawn go to school? That’s a little harsh, isn’t it?"

"Buffy didn’t want her to be on her own in the house – she’s worried about the excess-demonage in town at the moment."

"What, she couldn’t have brought Dawn to the shop?"

"Well, Dawnie has less chance to mope around at school than if she came here."

Tara nodded, coming to standing with a stretch.

"I think it’s a good idea. It’s good for Dawn to stick to a normal routine."

Xander didn’t look convinced, but shrugged anyway.

"If you say so. Hey, Will – speaking of things scholastic, how was your exam?"

Willow made a disgusting face, and flapped her hands, as if to shoo something far away.

"Oh, yeah, that – well, it’s over with, anyway," she said, then shuddered. "Urgh. Xander, maybe you should’ve just let that demon kill me last night, save me the agony of exam-cramming."

Tara had gathered up a collection of books and was standing with a contemplative expression.

"And on the subject of demon-hunting, I’m wondering now how Spike and Buffy made out last night."

Willow grinned wickedly.

"’Made out’ being the phrase I’d also use."

Xander grimaced and rolled his eyes.

"Oh, god, please – yuck."

"I think you’ll just have to get used to the idea, Xander," Tara said with a smile.

"Even if you’re right – and here’s hoping you’re not – I think I could live without the gory details."

"But it’s the gory details that we’re waiting to hear," Willow said slyly. She and Tara grinned at each other, relishing Xander’s discomfiture.

"Please stop," he groaned.

"Xander, for someone who’s dating a Vengeance demon –"

" – that’s ex-Vengeance demon, thank you…"

" Regardless," Willow went on, "I think you’re showing a real lack of tolerance."

Tara’s expression showed that she agreed. Xander looked heavenward, and raised his hands.

"Oh, gee, I’m so sorry that I can’t find it in my heart to forgive and forget Spike’s earlier errors of judgement when he was attempting to kill all of us."

Tara could only shrug.

"People change."

Xander glared at her.

"People change, Tara – you’re forgetting that Spike isn’t people. He’s a vamp."

"Oh, details," Willow said airily, waving a hand.

"Details? Will, the guy’s a psychopath!"

"Well – apart from the psychopath thing – I think it’s romantic."

Xander groaned, set his broom aside, and began walking back to the front of the shop.

"Hey, where are you going?"

"Someplace where the atmosphere contains more reality, less Mills-and-Boon," he threw back over his shoulder.

Willow snorted and raised an eyebrow at Tara.

"Reality - sure, like he’s really gonna get that around here…"

oOo

Anya waved goodbye as the young couple she’d just sold an ‘enflaming passion’ spell to exitted the shop. Why they needed something like that, when they were both vaguely attractive and the spring weather was about, was anyone’s guess. She shook her head at human foibles, and got back to the real work – counting out the loose change.

She was interrupted by the feel of Xander’s arms sliding around her waist from behind.

"Hey honey," he murmured, kissing her on the ear, "How’s the cash flow going?"

"Oh, fine. But, you know –" she said quietly, lifting her chin towards Giles where he sat, enveloped in the books at the research table, "I’m wondering if being the proprieter gives you an excuse to slack off on the job like that."

Xander glanced over at Giles – the guy was completely oblivious to what was going on in the shop, frowning at the pages he was poring over from three separate tomes.

"Come on, An, he’s deep in research mode. Right, Giles?" he called out, knowing what response he’d get.

The Watcher looked up distractedly.

"Pardon?"

Amazed that he’d gotten a reply at all, Xander ventured a query.

"We were just wondering how the research was panning out. Any new leads?"

"Er, yes. I think I may have worked out who Buffy’s allies will be for this Gathering business," Giles said, removing his glasses and cleaning them with the corner of his tie, and not looking at his shop assistant or her boyfriend at all.

"Cool. That’s good news, right?"

"Yes – yes it is."

Giles thoughts suddenly coalesced, and he rose and collected his jacket off the back of the chair, still examining the books. Then he looked up at Xander and Anya, a perplexed expression on his face.

"Look, I need to go and get some supplies for something. Can you two hold the fort here?"

"Sure," Xander nodded.

"As usual," Anya added, sotto voce. Xander squeezed her gently, and her reproachful look changed to one of reluctant compliance.

"Thank you," Giles said. "I shouldn’t be long. If Buffy arrives in my absence tell her to wait here for me to get back."

And he picked up a slim volume from amongst the rest, and strode out of the shop.

Anya swivelled around and looked up at Xander with a pained expression.

"Do you see what I’m trying to work with here?"

oOo

12.23pm

It was kind of a Giles-avoidance strategy, she knew, but what the hell. Buffy slipped down the alley behind the Magic Box until she came to the back entrance, then eased open the door a crack, checked that the coast was reasonably clear, then stepped inside the training room.

She felt…jittery. Weird. She’d spent all morning with her mom and Dawn, pouring her emotional energy into being with them, and coping with the hospital stuff, but frustrated by the constant battle she was waging to fight the split in her concentration. The events of last night were still playing over in her mind in voyeuristic technicolour, plus every time she got a memory flash her palms would start to sweat. Which meant that she was wiping her hands on her jeans like, every two seconds.

Spike apologising…the demon…Spike…

She gulped, and blinked to clear her head, as her eyes adjusted from the brightness outside. Feeling a crazy mixed-up mess of excitement, jubilation, guilt…

She sighed. It was gonna be a long day.

She suddenly realised that she wasn’t alone in the room after all – Willow was standing over in the far corner, examining something. She took a breath – back to current events – and wandered over as casually as she could.

"Hey Will."

"Oh, hey!" Willow turned and smiled, then pulled her in for a quick hug in greeting. "How’s your mom?"

"Better. Awake, at least. They wouldn’t tell me much more than that, so…damn doctors, y’know?"

Buffy shook off the irritation with the hospital and decided to change the subject. She finally got a look at what Willow was examining, something that glowed and slithered over paper.

"Hey – is that the Demon Map?"

Willow looked happy with her creation, and smiled down at it.

"Yep, this is it. Tara’s gonna help me hang it in a sec."

"Wow, this is great." Buffy peered at the map, curious. "So the glowy places are where the nasties linger, huh?"

"Yeah – we think it’s pretty thorough."

"Well, there seems to be plenty happening in the sewers and cemetaries. And, oh, there’s the Bronze – no real surprises there."

Willow nodded, and pointed out a few other locations.

"We think that some of these other places are warehouses – and then there’s the woods, of course."

Together, they watched the sands shift and slither over the paper. There seemed to be a slow but steady trickle from around the rim of the map, moving inwards. Willow frowned and sighed as they both had the same thought.

"That’s a lot of vamps and demons."

"You said it," Buffy agreed grimly.

In the pause, Willow cleared her throat discretely, and decided to take advantage of the opening.

"Ahem – speaking of vamps…" She looked sideways at Buffy inquisitively.

Buffy tried to frown reproachfully at her, but it came out all wrong. Came out more like an embarrassed grin. Under Willow’s interested gaze, Buffy found herself blushing and looking away, unable to think up a witty riposte. Willow’s smile only ripened into full-blown mirth.

"Wow. Is that an afterglow I see?"

"God, Will! No!"

Buffy couldn’t help it, the heat rising to furious life in her cheeks. She tried to compose her face into a semblance of gravity, as befitted the situation. That didn’t work either.

"No afterglow," she stated firmly, until self-consciousness took over again and she went on in a kind of mumbling confession. "More like a pre-afterglow-glow."

She looked over at Willow, shame-faced and somewhat wary of the reception she was going to receive. She needn’t have worried. Willow’s face was exuberant in it’s pleased-for-her-ness.

"Well, hey, that’s great. Really. I’m happy for you, Buf."

"But?"

Willow raised her hands.

"No buts – no anything. I’m glad. Less with the moping and pining is all good, in my books."

Buffy looked vaguely vexed.

"I wasn’t too heavy with the moping and pining, was I?"

"Nah," Willow reassured, then cast her a mischevious glance. "Well, a little, but hey, it’s fine. And you’re happy now, right?"

"Yeah – well, I guess," Buffy said, looking flustered and pleased at the same time. "But still, kind of…bizarro, y’know? It’s kind of confusing. I mean, it’s Spike – and it’s great, but it’s still, y’know, Spike…"

Her hands made a muddled maze in the air as she tried to illustrate. Finally she stopped blathering, and sighed, giving Willow a look that conveyed a wealth of dizzy emotion. Willow shook her head and smiled at her, patting her friend on the shoulder.

"I think I get it. Just relax, Buffy – it’ll work itself out."

"I hope so," Buffy breathed fervently.

Willow’s eyes narrowed at her.

"Y’know, Buf," she said gently, "I have this funny feeling that he really cares about you."

Buffy stopped and stared a little at that idea. Then she grinned and snorted, bringing things back to a more elemental level.

"Well, he’d better – I let him growl in my ear in an alleyway last night."

"Really?" Willow’s eyes lit up in giggling surprise. "Ooh, more details."

"Sorry Will," Buffy replied, shaking her head ruefully, "not yet. This all feels a bit too new and weird right now."

"I bet it does," Willow said with a grin, then she shrugged. "Ah well – but next time, all the goss is mine, ‘kay?"

"I promise. Oh, and please – nothing to Giles yet, okay?"

Unseen behind them, Tara grinned and tilted her head.

"Are we talking about what I think we’re talking about?"

The other two women whirled and smiled at the sight of the blonde witch. Willow extended an arm in invitation.

"Welcome to the Mills-and-Boon-atmosphere room."

She took notice of Buffy’s querying expression.

"Oh, just something that Xander said."

"And how’s Xander taking this?" Buffy asked with a worried look.

Willow shrugged.

"Oh, Xander is…y’know, Xander."

"But don’t let him bother you," Tara added with a grin. "The rest of us are cool."

"Except Giles, of course," Willow nodded, "but we’ll leave that little conundrum up to you."

"Thanks," Buffy said drily.

Tara had walked into Willow’s embrace, and was now looking at Buffy as she settled a box of thumbtacks and a hammer near the corner of the Demon Map.

"How’s your mom?"

"Okay. Well, improved. She was awake this morning – she says to say hi."

"And Dawnie’s at school?"

"Yep," Buffy nodded, "– and she put up plenty of resistance too. But I told her to come straight here after."

"Great."

"So," Buffy firmed her tone as she looked around at the training room. "What’s on for now?"

"Well, Giles is out front," Tara said, "But beware – he’s deep in the books."

Willow looked up from where she was opening the box of tacks.

"Oh, but hey – after we fix the map, we can go through all the new weapons that Xander requisitioned."

Buffy nodded enthusiastically, relieved to have something to take her mind of things.

"Cool."

oOo

3.17pm

The bell sounded brightly as Dawn slipped into the shop, and Anya looked up from the cash register.

"Hello – oh, Dawn, it’s you. Well, hello anyway."

"Thanks." Dawn dumped her backpack in a corner beside the counter and moped on over. "How’s things?"

"A bit boring," Anya confessed. "You caught me in the middle of the afternoon lull."

Dawn nodded, then peered around the empty shop.

"Where is everybody?"

"Buffy’s out back, practising with the new weapons, and Xander’s advising." Anya kept her head down, focussing on not losing count.

Dawn crooked an eyebrow at her.

"Xander’s advising?"

"Well," Anya said, waving a hand, "he’s in that puffy suit again, so I guess he’s doing less ‘advising’ and more ‘avoiding internal damage’. Willow and Tara have gone for snacks, they should be back any minute. And Giles is out. Somewhere. Again. He said something about getting a book."

"Oh. Okay."

Dawn shrugged a little and then, for want of anything better to do, she began picking at the bits and pieces scattered across the counter. Anya glanced at her, irritated that someone was fiddling near the place she considered her lofty domain – then she remembered. Her expression changed from annoyed to unassuming as she watched Dawn crumble a stray piece of mugwort into the small clay bowl that Anya usually liked to think of as her tips-jar.

"And I should ask you how you are. So…how are you?"

Dawn shrugged again, looking intently at her fingers.

"Oh, fine. I guess."

"Did you see your mother this morning?"

"Yeah," Dawn sighed, meeting Anya’s gaze at last. "She was still a little dozy."

Anya tilted her head, watching Dawn’s reaction.

"And did you feel better after you talked to her?"

"I guess."

"But you still seem worried," Anya said with a confused frown.

"Yeah, well…" Dawn looked up and confronted Anya’s curious stare with a somber face. "She’s pretty sick, you know."

"I know."

Anya nodded slowly, thinking about the discussion she’d had with Spike. She knew it wasn’t proper to talk about things like that with Dawn – her lessons in human etiquette hadn’t covered the topic of family grief, but she still knew that it would be wrong somehow. She thought about what an acceptable response would be, then she smiled at Dawn sympathetically.

"I’m sorry your mother is sick, Dawn."

It seemed to be the right thing to say – Dawn nodded quietly in response.

"Me too." Then she veered away from the topic. "So – can I help count the money?"

Anya’s eyes widened – it was a breach of her normal protocol to allow something like that, but something in Dawn’s expression told her that it wasn’t totally out of order. The Slayer’s sister looked like she needed a bit of distracting, and counting cash was certainly cheery, so…

"Sure."

Anya made room for Dawn as the girl moved behind the counter to take up a position beside her, and together they began fiddling companiably at the till., They were just beginning on the paper notes when Willow and Tara came back from their soda-run.

Willow’s smile was broad, and she was juggling an armful of snacky things.

"Hey!"

Tara looked up as she closed the door behind her girlfriend, and grinned at the sight of Dawn and Anya behind the counter.

"Dawnie!"

"Hey guys."

Dawn came around the counter for a hug from Tara, while Willow put the bounty on the table.

"Here’s supplies – what’s happening?" Willow asked, looking at Anya questioningly.

"Oh, Dawn was helping me with the cash."

Willow raised her eyebrows.

"Geez – Dawn, you should consider yourself privileged." She added, in a stage whisper, "Just don’t sneak any quarters, or she gets pissed off."

"That’s true," Anya acknowledged with a shrug.

"How was the hospital?" Tara asked.

"Okay." Dawn replied noncommittally, then skirting the question she looked up at the witches. "So have you two made any progress with that Demon Map?"

Willow nodded as she took straws out of her backpack.

"Yep, we did it this morning – wanna come see?"

"Buffy’s training," Dawn informed her.

"No I’m not - I’m here."

The others turned to see Buffy in a black crop top and yoga pants, puffed and sweaty, and swinging a large metal-tipped staff as she brought it upright. Behind her, Xander staggered into the doorway of the backroom, looking somewhat ridiculous in the fat suit, his hair plastered to his head with perspiration. He looked over at Buffy imploringly.

"Are we done?"

"We’re done," she said, smiling at him.

"Phew." He pulled at the collar where the suit met his neck, scratching at the dark sweat stain there. "My god, this thing is hot."

Anya came around the counter, and started removing the lids from the soda bottles.

"Then take it off, honey. Come and have a soda."

Buffy snagged Xander’s eye before he got distracted by the snacks.

"So, am I up to standard?"

"Well, I think you’re doing great, but my standards are notoriously low. And hey, watch where you’re swinging that pikestaff." He spied Dawn over by the table. "Hey, Dawnie! Wanna come punch Uncle Xan?"

"No, I’m cool," Dawn replied with a grin.

"That’s probably a good thing – I think I have my quota of bruises for the day anyway." He glanced at Anya, trying to scrape hair out of his eye. "Honey, did you say ‘soda’?"

"Yes." Anya said, then made a wincing face as she waved a hand at him. "But first…"

"Oh - sure."

He trundled backwards awkwardly and headed off to change. Anya made a face again as she took a swig of her own drink.

"Always gives me the creeps when he wears that thing."

Dawn grinned and picked up a bottle.

"Then here’s hoping he doesn’t bloat out in his old age."

"Blech," Anya said, frowning. She began helping Willow pass out drinks and cookies.

Buffy leaned her staff against the display case, took her soda with grateful thanks, and pressed the cool side to her forehead, before gulping down half the contents. When she’d recovered a little she looked over at Dawn.

"Hey, how was school?"

"Oh," Dawn shrugged breezily, "okay. Short, so that’s good. Can I go to school at lunchtime every day?"

"Ah, let me see…" Buffy looked up at the ceiling, pretending to contemplate the idea. "That would be a ‘no’."

"So, Dawnie," Willow threw in, enjoying the banter between the two sisters, even if Dawn did look a little glum, "any cute guys in your classes?"

"Or girls," Tara added, giving Willow a grin.

"Or girls," Willow amended.

Dawn put on her best expression of horrified shock for their benefit.

"Please!"

Buffy perched herself on the edge of the research table, and grinned at Dawn mercilessly.

"Oh, Dawn, don’t give us that! Come on, spill. You know you want to…" she added in a wheedling tone.

"Well, there is one…" Dawn relented, her face colouring slightly at the memory. She looked up at Tara and Willow apologetically. "He’s a guy though, sorry. In my art class."

"Mmm. Description?"

"I don’t know," Dawn shrugged, looking suddenly embarrassed. "Curly brown hair, nice eyes, kind of intense."

"Sounds interesting," Tara said, sipping her soda and smiling.

"Yeah," Dawn acknowledged with a grin, "he has this kind of Heath Ledger thing going on…"

Buffy and Anya grinned at each other. Tara raised her eyebrows and looked theatrically at Willow, who proceeded to slap one dainty hand to her forehead, and gaze, moony-eyed at the ceiling as she swooned back into her girlfriend’s arms.

"Ah, young love…"

Dawn, of course, began blushing furiously and protesting.

"It’s not love! Ew! I mean, he’s just…nice."

"Nice is good," Buffy said contemplatively as she sipped. "I go for nice."

She noticed the other women looking at her, and shrugged helplessly.

"Well, sometimes."

"Yeah, right," Dawn replied drolly, nibbling a cookie.

"I do!"

Xander suddenly appeared behind her shoulder, and unceremoniously swooped on the sodas.

"Ah, thank you god."

He slurped noisily as Anya brushed at his damp hair. Everyone looked up as the doorbell chimed, and Giles entered, walking quickly and looking a little flustered. There was a chorus of hellos, which he acknowledged with a nod, putting his books down on the table.

"Ah, hello – hello Dawn. What was I interrupting?"

"We were discussing Buffy’s preference for nice men," Anya pronounced, grabbing a cookie for Xander and fielding Buffy’s glare with a look of ‘What?’.

Giles just nodded absently.

"Ah, well, pleased to hear it."

He refused a soda from Willow and cleared a little of the debris from the research table so he had enough room to open one of the books he’d been carrying, a small but old text with a stiff binding and a brass clasp. He looked at the Scoobies standing gathered around the table, to catch everyone’s attention.

"Well, now we’re all here, there’s something I wanted to discuss regarding Buffy’s allies in the Gathering."

He stopped suddenly, and peered from Dawn to Buffy with an unspoken query. Buffy nodded, placing her empty soda bottle on the table.

"It’s cool, I filled her in."

"Yeah, Buffy told me about the Gathering and the demons and stuff," Dawn said, reaching for another cookie, "Sounds like a shit-fight."

"Dawn!"

Buffy glared at her sister, thinking that she knew where Dawn had picked up that term.

"Well, it does," Dawn replied with an innocent shrug.

"Ah, yes, quite," Giles said, a little put-off, but getting back on track. "Anyway, apparently Buffy won’t be completely alone in this, er…"

"Shit-fight," Anya provided.

"Anya!"

Buffy scowled again at the ex-demon.

"What? She said it first!"

"…upcoming battle." Giles stared them both down and then went on. "I think I’ve discovered who Anya’s shiny people are."

Willow perked up at the news.

"Really? Are they ghosts or something?"

"No, not quite." Giles removed his glasses to clean them. "They’re angels."

Xander snorted against the lip of his soda bottle, his expression disbelieving.

"Angels. You mean, with robes and wings, and little harps…"

"Not really, no," Giles countered, wondering why the idea of angels seemed so absurd, yet the concept of daily battles with demons, vampires and other supernatural entities was prosaic.

Tara frowned.

"I thought that angels were…well, religious icons."

Giles nodded, pleased to have the opportunity to explain.

"They are – angels are iconic in many religions. But although you may find the idea amusing," he cast a look at Xander, before addressing Tara again, "there seems to be a grain of truth in the old legends of angels as supernatural representations of the Forces of Good."

"Hence the shininess, I guess," Willow suggested.

"Yes. But we won’t know for certain if my theory is correct until we summon them."

Buffy looked frankly incredulous at the notion.

"You wanna summon an angel?"

"Well, if Anya is correct, there should be angels, plural."

"So how do we do that?" Tara was captivated now, tilting her head in interest. "Do you use some kind of spell?"

"In this case, no." Giles picked up the book with the clasp. "Well, it’s a kind of spell, but of a different nature. It’s a prayer."

"We’re praying now?" Buffy said, brows raised.

Xander cut in, gesticulating with his soda bottle.

"We should be praying – praying for relief from demon armies and apocolypses."

"I’ve been known to pray for customers," Anya threw in.

Giles cleared his throat.

"Yes, well, I’ve gathered the things I need, and I’ve had a chat with one of the local priests about the proper forms, so if we’re all agreed we can proceed."

Buffy shrugged, echoing similar reactions from the rest of the Scoobies.

"Sure, I guess."

Tara was looking excited at the idea.

"So what do we need to do? Are there special herbs, or…whatever?"

Giles shook his head.

"No, Tara – I need holy water, and a censer, and frankincense…this whole concept is new for me as well. It’s not like magic – when I said ‘summoning’, I should have said ‘calling’. The prayer is a request for aid, and asks the beings to reveal themselves, but they aren’t under any compulsion to come."

"So, these angels may be a no-show," Willow said with a frown.

Buffy’ expression indicated that she was ready to try anything, at this point.

"Well, I guess we say the prayer-thingie and find out."

"Exactly."

Giles rubbed his hands together and began giving instructions.

"Alright – ah, Dawn, if you could get me some frankincense, and Anya – that censer behind the counter. Willow, the door sign – could you..?"

"Sure."

Buffy waved a small vial from over by the display cases.

"I’ve got the holy water."

They moved back to the center of the room, standing in front of Giles as he began a last-minute read-through of the text in his hands. Xander shifted uneasily from one foot to the other.

"Okay – now what?"

"Now we, ah, form a circle."

"Do we have to kneel down?" Buffy said, waving a hand like she was in a classroom.

Giles shook his head, and took up his position, with the collection of items on the floor at his feet.

"Just a meditative posture is fine."

Everybody took their places, sitting in a rough circle on the cold floor of the shop. Giles lit the censer and added the incense – the heady scent of the smoke wound it’s way through the Scoobies’ nostrils. Buffy, sitting in cross-legged position, found herself a little dizzy with the smell, and the slow build-up of energy as each person’s mind began to focus, and their breathing became strong and deep.

Willow cracked open one eyelid, to see Giles find his place in the book, and lift a hand to scatter droplets of holy water around the circle. Then he straightened his glasses, coughed nervously and began intoning.

"Nomine Dei, et Filius, et Spiritus Sancte. Ecce, Dei contueor adfulgere mundus…"

With a strange mental shift, Tara’s awareness kicked in – she recognised the Latin. Giles’ voice was even and mellow-toned, and his pronunciation was fluent, making a mellifluous stream of words, a lilting rhythm. Even as a part of her mind realized that she she didn’t know the language well enough to understand, another part began a steady, mysterious translation.

Giles’ voice continued, a steady warming hush of Latin, until finally he pronounced a concluding blessing, and then splashed holy water around the circle again to finish the prayer. Then he sighed out, releasing the participants from their reverie, and closed the book he’d been holding.

"It’s finished – you can open your eyes now."

Dawn blinked as she peered around at the others.

"Wow."

Tara was nodding, and stretching her shoulders.

"That felt…powerful."

"A different kind of magic," Willow agreed, "but still magic."

Giles nodded his head, watching as the others emerged from their respective states of concentration, and began picking themselves up off the floor.

"Yes. Religious magic and prayer is very strong, when it’s used and performed correctly."

"But it’s operating on a different level to Wicca," Tara said. She was thinking about how she’d been able to understand the Latin, and the feeling inside her that the prayer had generated.

"Well, Wicca is about the balance of nature, and nature manifests forces of both Dark and Light. How the magic comes out depends largely on the forces called on, and the motivations of the practitioner. But the Church is bequeathed to the Light alone – it’s a peculiar kind of one-sidedness. A bit too purist for me, actually. But I suppose you could say that it’s balanced out by opposing forces in the world who are aligned to Darkness."

Xander was wiping dust off his jeans.

"So, when do the angels come?"

"Yeah," Buffy added, both of them looking more interested in the outcome than reverent of the procedure itself, "I want to meet who’s fighting on my side. Y’know – talk artillery, and swap fighting styles and stuff."

Giles smiled at her gently, wondering if she’d ever learn any patience.

"Well, that’s entirely up to them. Assuming that I conducted the prayer correctly of course."

"Oh. Okay. Bummer."

With a disappointed expression, Buffy picked up the pikestaff ffrom where she’d left it leaning, and shrugged at Giles before heading out back to return it to the training room.

There wasn’t much else that anyone could add. It seemed like it was just a matter of waiting for the angels to show up – if they ever did. In the absence of anything more exciting to do, and as it was getting late in the afternoon, Anya began tidying up the shop in preparation for closing. She was poking around at the till, as Dawn came over with the censer and the jar of frankincense. Willow and Tara also wandered over to loiter.

"That wasn’t very interesting," Anya said as she finished doing the till and began dusting, "I wanted to see the angels."

"Yeah," Dawn agreed, tipping the contents of the censer into the trash, "I thought they’d, like, pop out in the center of the circle or something."

Willow grinned at her.

"Wings a-flappin’, huh?"

Tara put away the jar and the holy water, looking back at the overheard conversation.

"I don’t think that’s quite how it works, honey."

Giles was sitting at the research table, glancing at Xander as he swept up, and looking over the prayer again to check that he’d done everything correctly. Unlike Buffy, he’d had some experience of the cause-and-effect nature of such things, and knew that they might have to wait for a while. Still, he hoped that the prayer was effective. Hoped that it wasn’t just a wild goose chase that he’d gone on in the afternoon, finding books and talking to priests…that would be more than disappointing, it would be a terrible waste of time. And time was the only thing that they had in short supply at the moment.

He sighed as he looked over the old prayer book. It was simpler when you just did the spell, and found out immediately whether you’d used white sage for common sage, and made soup instead of a potion…

The doorbell chimed, and he raised his head. There was a figure in the doorway – someone he recognized, in fact. The man from the other day, Mr Salter. Still dressed in his long coat and smiling congenially, he stood in the open door and looked around the shop for Giles’ face.

Giles stood to attract his attention, and put the book down on the table.

"Ah, Salter – hello again. You’ve caught us out once more, I’m afraid – we’re about to close."

"Oh, I’m sorry."

"No, that’s alright," Giles waved him to encourage him over. "I’m glad you dropped by actually. I found that book you were asking about, ‘The Apocrypha’…"

Salter, still standing in the entrance, inclined his head.

"I haven’t come about the book, Mr Giles."

"You haven’t?" Giles said confusedly.

Salter shook his head.

"No."

Then he held the door open wider, and Giles saw the figures standing behind him. They began to file into the shop, and suddenly the other Scoobies started taking notice.

Buffy emerged from out of the back room in time to see a familiar red-headed person wander through the door. Her eyes went wide, and the words tumbled out of her convulsively.

"You’re from the hospital – the orderly, I remember…" Her words trailed off and a look of horror dawned on her face. "Oh god – is it…is it my mom?"

Michael looked at her compassionately, and shook his head to ressure.

"No, Buffy – your mom’s fine."

Dawn heard the exchange, and looked around wildly, seeing the new faces on the stairs. She baulked and did a double take, then called out.

"Gabriel!"

A young man with dark curling hair and hazel eyes gave her a slightly self-conscious wave, and a grin.

"Hi, Dawn."

Tara had heard the chimes too as Salter arived – now she was staring at the figures, frowning. As the last man walked through the door, she nudged Willow with one elbow, whispering.

"Willow – the guy in the hat…"

Willow was nodding, watching too, and wondering what was going on.

"Yeah, I see him. The homeless guy in the park."

They looked at each other, then back at the group on the stairs.

Xander had stopped his sweeping, and was watching the play of events with confusion. When the four men formed a group at the top of the stairs, and closed the door behind them, his eyes narrowed.

"What the hell’s going on here?"

Giles nodded, his face firming at the idea of possible danger.

"I could ask the same question." He looked at Salter, his voice low. "Are these people friends of yours?"

"More like…family," Salter answered, looking at him calmly.

Giles looked from the African-American man to the others and back again.

"Family." His tone was incredulous, distrusting. "Perhaps you’d better explain yourself."

Salter shrugged nonchalantly.

"What can I say? You called – we came."

There was a pause as Giles groped for understanding, then gaped. His voice came out as a shocked whisper.

"What?"

Salter straightened his shoulders, and took a step down, pronouncing words that Giles had heard before.

"’Babylon the great has fallen, and has become a dwelling place of demons…’"

"’…and a haven for every unclean and hated thing.’" Giles finished the quote softly, lookinng dumbfounded. He frowned at Salter. "You?"

Buffy was standing with hands on hips, a smile beginning to lift her lips.

"Ah, this is cool. You’re them," she interjected, feeling unnerved but vaguely excited at the same time.

Xander’s mouth dropped, and he blinked at the group on the stairs.

"You’re them? The angel guys?"

"The servants who sat beside the throne of heaven," Tara murmured, her face softly amazed.

Salter moved slowly down the remaining stairs and took a step towards Giles.

"Perhaps we should introduce ourselves again." He extended one hand. "Uriel Salter."

"Salter…" Giles walked forward tentatively and took the other man’s hand, feeling again the frisson of energy there. His mind was reaching…then he smiled as he remembered, a gentle grin of amusement. "Oh – you mean, with a ‘p’."

Salter smiled in return, and nodded.

"With a ‘p’."

Xander had moved around to a spot beside Anya and put down the broom. He frowned at the word-play between the two men.

"Come again?"

Anya glanced over at her boyfriend, way ahead of him.

"A psalter is a book of common prayer."

"Oh."

"Indeed." Giles looked again at the man before him – not a man, he remembered. "I never thought…I mean, rather, I just assumed…"

Psalter shrugged it off good-naturedly.

"I usually let people assume. It’s easier."

Then he recalled the men standing above the steps behind him.

"But I’m forgetting my manners. This is Michael…"

The red-haired ‘orderly’ came forward. He was dressed in non-hospital issue – jeans and a shirt – and he smiled at Buffy as he made his way down the stairs.

"We’ve met," Buffy said to Psalter drily. She narrowed her eyes at Michael, not sure whether she should feel gypped at the deception, or glad that her mother had an angel watching over her…

"I really was looking after your mom," Michael said placatingly. "It’s okay though – someone’s taken over my shift now."

"Is she alright?" Buffy asked, a little imploringly.

Michael seemed to consider his words before replying.

"She’s…getting stronger. You should go see her this afternoon."

"You really work at the hospital?" Buffy said with a curious look.

Michael grinned.

"For the moment."

Psalter cut in, catching the eye of another of the group as he began moving down the steps - a casual lope, to match his casual look. He was wearing scruffy jeans and a yellow t-shirt with a brilliant tie-dye pattern in the centre. He smiled at Dawn as he wandered closer.

"I believe Dawn has already met Gabriel," Psalter said with a droll expression.

"Well, yeah," Dawn answered. She frowned at Gabriel. "No wonder I couldn’t remember your name."

He shrugged and looked apologetic. Dawn had a sudden thought and peered at him suspiciously.

"Have you been watching me in school?"

Gabriel grinned at her.

"I’ve been keeping an eye out."

Dawn blinked, dumbfounded, and tried to fight the blush that was spreading over her cheeks. She looked away, and heard Anya’s voice sound quietly beside her.

"Heath Ledger, huh?"

Dawn scowled and gave her a quick elbow in the ribs.

Psalter was already focussed on the last member of the group as the man raised his battered hat to his audience.

"And this is Ray."

"Hi all." He looked over at Willow and Tara, replacing is hat on his head and pulling at his grubby streetwear. "I didn’t scare you yesterday, did I?"

"Not really," Tara replied with a smile.

Willow frowned and looked at the group of new faces, then back to the dumpy guy who’d just introduced himself.

"Wait a second – so that’s Uriel, Michael, Gabriel and…Ray?"

Ray waved a hand in the air in a blasé fashion.

"Short for…" He left it hanging, sure that somebody would have enough nouse to fill in the blanks.

"Raphael," Tara finished happily. "I get it."

"You got it."

Ray grinned mischeviously at her, fumbled a packet of cigarettes out of his pants pocket, and lit one up with an expression of relish.

"I didn’t know angels smoked," Anya said, squinting at him in curiosity.

Ray shrugged.

"Whatever." He took a closer look at her. "Anyanka, right?"

Anya suddenly got nervous.

"Ah, yes. But I haven’t been a demon for at least a whole lot of months now."

Xander angled in front of her protectively.

"That’s right – she’s with the Good Guys now."

Psalter spoke up and drew his attention.

"It’s alright – we know."

"You’ve been observing us, I gather," Giles interjected. The older man looked back at him with a soft smile.

"Discretely – but yes. We know who you are." His eyes skimmed the room, stopping over each face in turn, starting over to his right. "Willow Rosenburg, Tara Maclay…"

"The Witches," Ray added with a conspiritorial grin.

"Anyanka, former Vengeance demon…" Psalter continued.

Anya straightened self-consciously.

"That’s big on the ‘former’."

Psalter went on with his list, seemingly unbothered by the interjections. He skewered Xander with a serious look.

"Alexander Harris – Heart-Protector."

Xander pulled his shoulders back with a pleased grin, and looked over at Anya with his eyebrows raised – check me out, Heart-Protector guy!

"Dawn Summers," Psalter intoned.

Dawn looked up at him, then turned when Gabriel spoke.

"The Key," he said, looking at her with a speculative expression.

"That’s me," she shrugged, trying to look casual, but obviously proud of herself.

Psalter’s eyes travelled from the two young people back to Giles, who was standing with an expression of perplexed interest.

"Rupert Giles – the Watcher."

Giles’s eyes were amused, and he dipped his head to one side in a gentile, old-world greeting.

"At your service."

Psalter nodded his reply, then cast his gaze around to settle, with an expression of finality, on Buffy. She was standing with her arms crossed, her usual posture of determined will, still vaguely sweaty from her workout. Psalter smiled.

"Buffy Summers."

She raised an eyebrow and unfolded her hands to rest them on her hips.

"Then I guess you know what I am."

Psalter inclined his head with a smile that checked her natural suspicion and disbelief.

"It’s a pleasure to meet you finally."

"Likewise," she nodded, conceding a grin. "So, you guys are working with me on Friday?"

"In a nutshell, yes. But we probably need to go over a few details."

Giles interrupted smoothly.

"Then perhaps you should, er, come in and sit down."

"If you don’t mind," Psalter nodded. He looked back at the other three men, who began stepping closer to the center of the room, towards the table.

Giles stood, momentarily overwhelmed by the prospect of doing a huddle with a bunch of angels, then dithered between table and office.

"Right. Well, I’ll just…" What do you offer to your guests when they’re heavenly beings? His mind settled on the familiar. "…make tea."

Then he gestured for the men to sit, and headed towards the office, leaving the other Scoobies to bustle about in his wake. Anya moved around the counter quickly and dashed to clean up the remains of the sodas and snacks. She wiped the table down roughly with a counter-rag, exhibiting a faint house-wifely blush as she met Psalter’s genial gaze.

"Sorry the place is such a mess…"

"It’s fine," Psalter replied with a smile, trying to set her at ease.

She backed away, and bumped into Xander as he leaned in to whisper loudly.

"Do we have enough chairs?"

Willow and Tara pitched in to put things away, removing books and bottles, and Buffy began rearranging chairs. Ray plonked down heavily into a seat with a happy sigh, and cast his eyes around, his cigarette balanced in his fingers and threatening to spill it’s debris onto the table.

"You wouldn’t have an ashtray, would you?"

Dawn nodded towards him as she pushed off for the counter.

"I’ll get it."

Grabbing an empty censer, she almost bumped into Gabriel on her way back. She looked up at him with a wry grin.

"So, I guess this means you won’t be handing in your report on the Cubists to Miss Mackeltie tomorrow?"

"Sorry," he grinned in reply, with an apologetic shrug.

Dawn just shook her head, amused at the turn-around. She peered at him with interest.

"You’re really an angel, huh?"

"Guess so," he replied, giving her the same curious look in return. "And you’re really a ball of energy?"

"Guess so."

They stared at each other, weighing up and considering, then settled for just smiling. The moment was interrupted when Michael plucked the collar of Gabriel’s t-shirt, and directed him to a seat at the research table, giving him a faintly reprimanding look in the process.

As it turned out, there were enough chairs for everybody – well, almost. Giles, Buffy, Anya and Xander took up places opposite Psalter and Michael around the table. Willow stole the armchair, and Tara balanced on the armrest. Dawn perched herself on the low bureau behind Buffy, leaving Gabriel to squeeze in next to Ray on the opposite side.

Giles had settled the pot of tea on the table and was busying himself making cups for himself and Psalter – everyone else had declined. With the tea ritual concluded, he sat himself back in his chair, blowing on the surface of his cup. Psalter helped himself to sugar and led off.

"So I suppose the first question is – what do you already know?"

"A good deal, actually – thanks to Anya," Giles said, nodding in the ex-demon’s direction, where she beamed back at him. "She was at the last Gathering, in her…earlier capacity."

"So you understand the nature of the event?"

Giles nodded.

"As a point of confluence for the Forces of Good and Evil, yes."

"There are rules," Psalter pointed out gently.

"Yep, we know," Willow added. "No humans, no hybrids."

"That’s right," Gabriel concurred. "Just demons, vampires, zombies, and non-ethereals."

"And the demons can’t fight each other," Buffy slipped in, seeing that it was an open discussion.

"Correct," Psalter affirmed.

"So apart from Buffy being human," Xander said, "are there any other loopholes in these rules?"

"That we’re aware of, no."

Giles sat forward, noticing his cue.

"But we still don’t know the most important detail…"

"What’s the Balance?" Buffy concluded for him, somewhat impatiently.

Ray was the one who replied, with a broad grin.

"Ah, right – you need a history lesson."

"Please," Giles nodded. "Educate us, by all means."

Ray looked at Psalter, as if asking permission to usurp the lead role.

"May I?"

The older man inclined his head gracefully, giving way. Ray turned to the group and rubbed his hands together, obviously enjoying the chance to exhibit his knowledge.

"Okay. Well, first you have to understand a few things about universal forces. There’s three."

"Three?" Giles cut in quizzically.

"Right. I’m gonna use your terms here, so’s you understand. There’s the Powers That Be, which are aligned with Good, and the Down Below, which is it’s Evil counterpart –"

"Making you guys PTB, presumably," Xander added.

"Guilty as charged – servants of heaven, etc etc. So, you’ve got the PTB and the Down Below. Then there’s third force - Primordial Power…"

Anya leaned forward and raised a hand.

"But I thought Primordiality stayed out of things – like the Oracles, and things like that."

"Well, that’s usually true," Ray contined, glancing at her.

"Why does it stay uninvolved?" Giles asked confusedly.

"Primordial Power is non-aligned," Michael inclined his head to explain. "It’s neither Good nor Evil – it just is."

Gabriel caught Dawn’s eye across the table.

"You’re Primordial Power."

"I am?" Dawn said, looking both pleased and surprised.

Michael nodded.

"Pure energy." He glanced at Giles again. "It rises from the universe, and is the universe itself."

Giles looked contemplative.

"The energy that forms the matter of all creation…"

Everyone stared at Dawn, impressed. She just raised her eyebrows and shrugged. Ray leaned into the table again, wondering if anyone was going to let him finish.

"Exactly. So, anyway, you’ve got the three Powers, but Primordial Power is supreme."

"How come it gets to be the head honcho?" Buffy asked with a frown.

Michael took over the narrative again, to Ray’s chagrin.

"Because Primordial Power contains both Dark and Light within itself."

Tara shifted on her seat on the armrest, and ventured a question.

"Then magic is Primordial?"

"Yes," Michael affirmed with a nod towards the witches. "Magic is unalloyed power, shaped by the one who wields it to good or bad purpose. There’s certain magic that utilises aspects of Dark or Light…"

"But, that’s a whole other topic, and we’re getting away from ourselves here," Ray finished for him with a remonstrating glare. He shifted himself to assume the story again, looking around the table to catch people’s attention. "So, as I was saying – at particular times, down through the ages, Primordial Power asserts itself to maintain the natural order. Hence the Gatherings. Both the PTB and the Down Below focus their forces in a place of ritual conflict…"

"I guess the Hellmouth qualifies," Buffy added, deadpan.

"Perfectly," Ray said, acknowledging her with a wink. "So, the forces Gather, and then at a certain moment, Primordial Power stops time to make it’s assessment. That’s the Balance."

"And how does it make such an assessment?" Giles inquired.

Ray shrugged.

"Hey, don’t ask me – I just work here. I’m kinda low on the Power hierarchy."

Psalter gestured with his teacup.

"Can I interject? Thank you." He caught Gile’s attention to explain. "Primordial Power has a totally black and white view of the world – it’s the ultimate judge, because it’s mercilessly impartial. When it stops time to make the Balance, it examines the division of power amongst the Dark and Light aspects of the Gathering. Depending on it’s judgement, the world can go one of three ways."

"Go on," Giles prompted, feeling uneasy.

"The world can continue as it is, in balance. Dark and Light will continue their battle. Life, as you know it, goes on."

"Or?"

"The Forces of Good overwhelm that of Evil," Psalter said, smiling gently at the thought. "The world becomes a haven of peace. Evil is banished to it’s old, earlier realm, an alternate universe. The earth is ruled by harmony – conflict ceases to exist."

"No demons?" Buffy queried, seemingly amazed by the very idea.

"No demons."

"Wow," Xander said, thinking of all the years they’d spent battling the baddies and looking flabbergasted, "it sounds like one long holiday!"

"And I haven’t had a holiday in a very long time," Psalter nodded, grinning at him. He sat back in his chair, relishing the concept of peaceful world.

Of the whole group, only Anya’s face bore a frown.

"So…there’s no worldly conflict, of any kind?"

"Nada," Ray replied, "that’s kind of the point."

"Doesn’t that make life kind of…well – boring?"

"Well, that depends on your perspective," Michael said with a smile.

"I like boring," Xander added. "Boring works okay for me."

Giles nodded at him in agreement, sipping his tea.

"Yes, I must say a spot of boring would make a nice change."

But Willow had caught Anya’s drift suddenly, and she looked at the angels with a confused frown.

"But I thought that…well, isn’t life kind of motivated by conflict? Y’know, the ole inertia theory thing?"

Michael leaned to make eye contact.

"In this world, yes. But in a world of Good that’s not how it would work."

"Life would be…static?" Tara said with a trace of disconcertion. The idea sounded okay, but she wasn’t sure if it was the kind of world she wanted to live in.

"Exactly."

Michael, at least, looked keen on the prospect. He smiled at her, sounding very convincing. Buffy saw the look of unease that passed between Tara and Willow, and moved in smoothly to continue the discussion.

"Anyway, the third option is, presumably, a life in Hell."

"Pretty much," Psalter confirmed. "The world would be ruled by Chaos."

"So you’re talking a world over-run by demons, in total Darkness," Ray reiterated, looking around the table to ensure that everybody was aware of how bad such a situation could really be.

"Well, that doesn’t sound too hot," Xander mused.

Psalter nodded gravely.

"It would be a world lost to Evil."

The very concept sent a pall of silence over the entire group. Watching the Scoobie’s depressed faces, Buffy huffed out a breath and straightened her shoulders, determined to break the mood.

"Alright. I think we’ve got the general picture now. So – what do we do?"

Psalter’s gaze firmed as he looked at her resolute posture. Lot of spirit, this one – she’ll do. The thought made him smile a little, as he returned her stare with a nod.

"We fight."

oOo

7.32pm

Buffy checked the windows as she collected her things, and indicated that Dawn should do the same. It was getting late, and she had stuff to do before patrol – Mom-stuff. She felt a frisson of guilt, that her mother had been relegated to second fiddle in the wake of all that was happening, but Michael’s words earlier had reassured her somewhat.

That had to be a good thing. She glanced over at Dawn, then at Willow and Tara, who were also preparing to leave. Michael and Gabriel had already disappeared, and Xander and Anya had gone home to drop off their stuff before their stint on Dawn-duty for the evening.

Tara was standing ready at the door, being entertained by some no-doubt off-colour joke that Ray was telling her as he stood nearby, hat in hand, looking incongruous in his scruffy threads. Willow handed her the backpack, then walked over to Buffy near the counter.

"So, we’ll see you tonight?"

"At nine-thirty, at the Bronze – right," Buffy nodded. "You don’t think Xander and Anya will mind staying with Dawn?"

"Nah – she’s better with them at home than at Giles’ place. Okay, we’re gonna kick off home – sorry to bail on you, but me and Tara still need to eat."

"Will you be okay walking back to campus? It’s already dark."

Willow shrugged and smiled reassuringly.

"It’s cool – Ray has offered to walk us home."

She indicated the angel, who was putting on his battered hat and lighting up another smoke as he charmed Tara.

"I feel a lot safer with an angel at my shoulder," she said with a grin.

Buffy returned the grin.

"Okay. Well, I’ll see you later."

Willow turned to go, then had a thought and swung back. She lowered her voice with a discrete look in Giles’ direction.

"Uh, Buffy? Is you-know-who gonna be there tonight?"

Buffy’s eyes also flicked over to Giles, but she tried to pass it off with a nonchalant shrug.

"I left a note outside the crypt this morning. So…yeah, I guess."

Willow’s eyebrows raised.

"Should be an interesting evening then."

"Maybe," Buffy said, trying to sound indifferent. "Maybe he’ll chicken out."

But her half-grin told another story. Willow rolled her eyes and snorted.

"Yeah, right. If he’s as fired-up as you were telling me earlier…"

She caught sight of Buffy’s warning glare, and the way the Slayer’s eyes darted over to her Watcher,and took the hint.

"Oh, right. Well, like I said – interesting. See you tonight." She whirled to leave, glancing over at Dawn as she moved to the door. "Bye, Dawnie."

Dawn looked up, as she stuffed her sweater into her bag and closed the zip, hefting the bag over her shoulder smoothly.

"Oh, bye Will." She glanced over at her sister with a hint of impatience. "Buffy, I’m ready, let’s go. Visiting hours finish at eight."

"Sure," Buffy countered, "I’m okay to go – just let me talk to Giles for a sec."

She walked over to the research table, where her Watcher was deep in discussion with Uriel Psalter. The two men looked up at her arrival.

"Oh, Buffy, you’re leaving?"

"Yeah, we’re stopping by the hospital on the way home. Michael said he’d let us stay a little late."

Giles nodded, the reminder of Joyce making his face soften.

"Will you give my love to your mother?"

"Of course I will, Giles," Buffy said with a warm and appreciative smile.

"And you’re patrolling late, yes?"

She nodded in reply.

"With the others – we’re starting at the Bronze and working our way out from there. Willow took some details off the map."

"Very good," Giles said approvingly. "Well, good luck, and I suppose I’ll see you tomorrow."

Psalter leaned forward and caught Buffy’s eye. He really did have an honest face, she thought – kind of like your favourite grandpa. And his words only made her feel more comfortable.

"You know, Buffy, that if you ever need us…"

"I know," she said with a grin, "- just put my lips together and blow. Thanks. Catch ya later."

With that, she spun on her heel and took Dawn’s side, and the two of them made their way up the stairs and left the shop. Psalter contemplated her as she strode out, shaking his head at the enormity of her task as the bell on the door tinkled closed.

"She’s an amazing young woman."

"She certainly is," Giles agreed with a small, proud smile. "She’s the longest surviving Slayer, that I know of."

"And that must certainly be thanks, in part, to you," Psalter amended, looking at the Watcher with interest.

Giles shook his head, demurring quickly, as was his nature.

"Definitely no thanks to me. My part has actually been a very minimal one."

Psalter allowed him his modesty, then studied again the air through which Buffy had passed as she departed.

"It can’t be easy – being father to such an independent daughter."

Giles’ face took on a surprised expression – the man had fathomed so quickly the inherent condition of the Watcher-Slayer relationship, and what’s more, accepted and understood it, in a way the Council never could. It was gratifying, and also a little unnerving, to be so perceptively judged. He shrugged, and tried to make light of the feeling.

"Buffy is a law unto herself. But I try my best."

"Handling a teenager can be difficult," Psalter agreed. He looked at Giles intently. "You don’t worry about how her extra-curricular activities impact on her Slaying?"

"Pardon?"

Psalter leaned back in his chair, sipping his tea.

"Well, she still a human girl, with human interests and desires – study, social life…boyfriends."

Giles met the man’s gaze squarely.

"I prefer to leave that her discretion, and hope that she trusts me enough to let me into her confidence."

"Hm," Psalter nodded. He went on casually. "So, she’s told you about the vampire?"

Giles started, but recovered quickly. He reached out to pour himself another cup from the cooling teapot, thinking about how to phrase his reply.

"Yes. Well, I believe there may still be some old attachment there, but now that he’s in Los Angeles I think there’s enough distance now for –"

"Los Angeles?" Psalter cut in with a frown. "Well, he’s either relocated in a hurry or my eyes are playing tricks on me, because I’m fairly certain that I saw him last night."

"Last night? But –" Giles began, then he had a worrying thought and looked at Psalter sternly. "We are talking about the same vampire aren’t we? Tall, broody fellow, dark hair…"

Psalter was shaking his head slowly.

"Lean, swaggering fellow with blonde hair…"

"No…no that’s not –" Giles suddenly looked aghast. "Are you sure?"

"Very sure. She hasn’t discussed this with you?"

Giles’ face had assumed a quietly thunderous expression.

"Not in enough detail, apparently."

Psalter looked apologetic.

"I’m sorry – I thought you knew."

His mind stewing with unpleasant thoughts, Giles could only nod grimly.

"So did I."

oOo

9.46pm

Sweaty flesh, perfume, and dry-ice smell…Buffy inhaled it all with less than her usual relish, and sipped at her soda again. She and Willow were sitting on stools at a high table, waiting for Tara to get back from ‘powdering her nose’, and trying to make themselves heard over the standard wail from the band.

The place was packed, somewhat uncomfortably, to the rafters. Almost like everyone had heard that the world was about to go up in smoke, and had decided to party on down to the last cymbal clash. Buffy cast her eyes around the place nervously, for the umpteenth time, and tried not to bite her nails.

"He’s not coming," she muttered darkly.

"He’s coming."

Willow rolled her eyes (also for the umpteenth time) and sat up straighter on her stool – damn things always made her feel like she was slumping. She heard Buffy’s murmuring voice again, and prayed to the Goddess for patience.

"He’s not coming. Goddamn wimp-assed…"

"He’s coming. And I’ll say it again in another five minutes. Finish your drink."

Buffy sipped obediently, and perused the stage. Just a normal band tonight – no weird blind girls with guitars and apocolypse messages. At least that was something.

"No sign of the Courier-chick," Buffy said, nodding towards the stage.

"I guess she said her piece," Willow replied, glad that the topic of conversation had changed.

"Guess so."

"Still, some funny vibes around tonight…"

Buffy nodded her head, agreeing with. Funny vibes…and where the heck did all these people come from anyway? Well, the management would be happy, booming business and all. It was a sight better than the usual ‘mysteriously disappearring customer base’ - she snorted at the thought. Which only made her mind stray again to the obvious. She sighed, blowing bubbles into her soda with her straw.

"He’s not –"

"He is." Willow’s voice was a tad too emphatic – Buffy looked up at her. "Look, over near the back stairs."

Buffy turned – way too eagerly, a part of her mind warned – and looked in the direction her friend was indicating.

And there he was. Spike was in his usual uniform of black, but his tousled peroxide hair stood out like a beacon. He was threading his way rapidly through the crush of patrons, with a glowering expression that made most people move out of his way in a hurry.

Something was up. Buffy had some space in her brain to register the fact, somewhere behind the rest of the crazy mish-mash of thoughts that flooded in at the sight of him. Her heart started doing a funny little gallop, and she told herself to put a lid on it.

Spike made it to the table, nodded a perfunctory greeting to Willow, then leaned in close to make himself heard.

"Look, there’s something dodgy going on –"

Buffy looked at him with a dry grin.

"Well, hello to you too."

"Sorry, pet, but there is." He gave her a querying look as he slipped a cigarette behind his ear. "Have you been on patrol already?"

"No – why?"

He shook his head, frowning and looking around the Bronze.

"I sniffed out three dead demons on the way here, and there’s a mess of dust in the alley out back. If you haven’t been out staking and baking, then who has?"

Buffy and Willow wore identical confused frowns.

"Yeah, that is weird," Willow agreed.

Spike ploughed on, nodding towards the back of the club.

"Look, I’m having a quick chat with someone – a demon-someone – who might have some info. I’ll be back in a minute."

He pushed off the table to leave – Buffy hardly had time to do anything but nod. She opened and closed her mouth like a fish, and blinked at Willow disappointedly.

Then she gave a sharp gasp, as Spike had a thought, and reached back to snake an arm around her waist from behind. He gave her a quick squeeze, and nuzzled her ear.

"Save us a chair, eh?" he murmured.

Then he was gone, as suddenly as he’d arrived.

Buffy turned back to Willow, and sighed happily, a stupid grin stretching across her face. She knew that stupid was the perfect description for it too, but she just couldn’t help herself.

Willow’s eyes were wide, and she looked impressed.

"I’d say ‘wow’, but I don’t think it would be a strong enough word."

"Hmm."

Buffy was busy revelling in the brief contact. She turned her head to watch Spike slip away, trying to decide whether the back view was equally as titillating as the front…

Willow was taking in her friend’s face with a wry grin. Oh boy, she’s got it bad.

"Buffy, your hair’s on fire."

"Yeah," Buffy murmured absently, before returning her gaze to Willow. "Sorry, what did you say?"

"Nothing."

Willow’s laugh met the smiling face of Tara as she finally managed to fight her way back to their table.

"What’s so funny? Hey, Buffy, was that Spike?"

"You’re looking at her and you need to ask?" Willow answered with incredulity.

Buffy gave Willow an ostensibly disapproving glare, and nodded at Tara.

"He’s coming right back."

"Yeah," Willow added with a grin, " for some more nuzzling."

Tara looked suitably intrigued.

"He nuzzled?"

Willow nodded, her eyes wide and her mouth still smirking.

"Wow. What did he say?"

"He’s talking to a contact – seems there’s been a sudden increase in dead demons tonight."

"Not your work?" Tara asked, dipping her soda in Buffy’s direction.

Buffy shook her head.

"Not that I know of. But congratulations to whoever it was."

"Maybe it was the angel-guys," Willow said speculatively.

Tara frowned at the idea.

"Do they do that?"

"Well, guessing they do – for the Gathering at least."

Buffy gave the whoever-it-was a short salute with her drink.

"No complaints here – that’s a few demons I can cross off my list, anyway."

Tara still looked uncertain.

"But they’ve been in town a while now. They’re just getting started with the demon-killing?"

"Maybe," Buffy said – then she stopped short. "Oh wait – Spike doesn’t know. About the angels, I mean."

Willow shrugged.

"Guess you can tell him when he comes back."

oOo

The table was at the back of the club, in a suitably dark and gloomy corner. Spike had ordered a beer, and was absently picking the label off the bottle with one fingernail, trying to stop thinking about how great Buffy had smelled, trying to keep his mind focussed on the current task while the guy in front of him talked.

"…all I’m saying is that there’s something funny going on. Us demons gotta stick together, under the circumstances, right?"

"Right."

Spike voice was droll. He perused his contact again – a young guy, tall, skinny, pale, wearing a loud satin shirt. The kid was watching the patrons hungrily, tipping his head at an attractive girl who passed the table, and a shock of blonde-tipped hair fell across his face.

Spike sighed and ashed his cigarette – all the demons these days just seemed so…immature. It made him feel like a bloody pensioner. He tried to catch the guy’s eye again, wondering if this information would be worth the bother.

"What do you mean, ‘funny’?"

"Well, not ‘funny-ha ha’, if that’s what you’re thinking."

The guy’s eyes were a piercing green, and as he spoke, they blinked curiously. It wouldn’t have been curious except for the fact that his eyelids didn’t move. Instead, the nictating membrane on each side of his eyeballs flickered sideways, across and back.

"I mean, I don’t really know anything, except what I’ve heard. Somebody new in town – arrived this afternoon. Well, at least, that’s when the killing started. Heavy with the artillery, and works fast, you know what I’m saying?"

"Got it."

Spike nodded – he was having a hard time with the guy’s accent. An odd lisping sibilance cluttered the words.

Bloody serpent demons, Spike thought with distaste. Can’t trust ‘em further than you can throw ‘em. Which in his case would probably have been a fair way, but he ignored that fact. He sighed, and tried to focus the demon’s attention away from the patrons.

"So, that’s all you know – someone new who’s hunting demons… Mate, I think I’ve already figured that part out. Piles of dead demons – kind of a giveaway, y’know?"

"Sorry," the young guy said with a shrug. "But the only other thing I heard is that it’s a woman."

"A woman?"

"Yeah. And she really doesn’t like our kind. Takes a sort of ‘kill on sight’ approach. If I had any more details I probably wouldn’t be here talking to you now, know what I’m saying?"

"Sure."

Spike was contemplating the concept of another demon-killer in town – above and beyond the one he was already familiar with. Interesting – and a little disturbing. His eyes returned to his contact to see the guy perusing the passing circus of Bronze customers once again. A particularly cute-looking brunette wandered past, and the demon’s gaze swerved to watch the view.

"Mmm…these post-adolescent human girls are lovely aren’t they?"

The demon hissed with enjoyment, sniffing the air. His face had taken on a dreamy quality.

"They smell like sex, and taste…delicious."

Spike watched with barely-disguised revulsion as the guy’s forked red tongue flicked out quickly as he licked his lips.

A one-track mind…what a wanker. Spike sighed - this really wasn’t worth the effort - and shrugged diffidently at his contact, looking away.

"If you say so, mate. I wouldn’t know"

He butted his cigarette out on the side of the table, and rose to leave – this conversation was well and truly over.

But the demon wasn’t about to let that slide. He looked up at Spike with a lascivious grin.

"That’s not what I’ve heard…"

Shocked by the audacity, Spike simply stared at him.

"Come again?"

The demon was looking at him with a sly expression. He’d heard the gossip – about a chipped vampire, who’d wormed his way into the Slayer’s inner circle. Word was that it was all a set-up – that he was just waiting for the right moment to sink his teeth in…

"Heard that you’ve got your hands on a tasty little morsel… So, what’s the deal, friend - you biding your time or what?"

As the words tumbled out of the guy’s mouth, Spike’s brain barely registered a thought - in a smooth, instinctive movement he jerked out with one hand and grabbed the demon by it’s satin shirt, moving his face in close enough to be threatening without causing a scene. His narrowed eyes cut through the other man like a razor, and his voice was low, each syllable enunciated with cold precision.

"Perhaps you’d like to rephrase that."

The demon’s grin almost faltered - but he just couldn’t help pushing the envelope.

"They say the blood of a Slayer is the sweetest."

There was a brief pause, as they looked at each other nose to nose. Then Spike snapped.

"Right – that’s it."

He punched the demon in the face, fist moving like a blur, without disturbing the bottles on the table. Then on the recoil he reached out and grabbed the guy’s tongue in a vice-like grip, pulling it out a good fifteen inches. His voice didn’t change though – still cool, self-possessed. He ignored the gagging noises from the demon and spoke with a murderous grin.

"You’re obviously new around here, so I’ll go easy on you. But if you ever speak to me like that again, you’ll wake up one day to find your tongue doing double duty as a neck-tie – capeche?"

The young demon nodded then, looking like he’d had an epiphany of judgement. Satisfied that they’d achieved an understanding, Spike released the guy’s tongue, wiped his hands on his jeans with a disagreeable expression, and stalked off.

He headed back to Buffy’s table, mind still boiling from the altercation, just as a new band threatened to hit the stage. The lights began dimming even further, if that was possible, and a muted roar of applause and satisfaction rose from the crowd.

The joint was jumping tonight – it made him oddly nervous. Too many people, too little information…

He felt strangely exposed. He knew very well that the best place to take a mark was in the middle of a crowded room – everybody distracted, attention unfocussed, noise, smoke…

The air was humming with energy and talk. Something was up, and he wished he knew what the hell it was. He slipped throught the crowd and made it to the table as the lights from the stage began to flicker.

The Slayer turned as he arrived, sensing his presence. He met her eyes as he squeezed in, squashed against the table by the crowd. For a brief moment, he felt a pure jolt of brilliant awe – Buffy’s beautiful face, staring up at him, her eyes clear and focussed intently, questioningly, on his face. He felt her hand slip around his arm and forgot, for a second, what he was going to say.

"Hey, what happened? You get info?"

"Any good news?" Willow added.

Spike shook his head, a ‘no’ to both questions. He decided not to tell them about the demon’s insolence and give them the edited version.

"Not much. All I found out was that there’s a new demon-killer in SunnyD, and it’s a woman."

"A woman?" Tara looked at Buffy with a mix of query and fear. "Buffy – Faith’s still in jail, right?"

Buffy nodded.

"As far as I know, she’s still out of the picture."

"So, who’s the new girl in town?" Willow asked with a trace of worry.

"Guess we’ll find out soon enough," Buffy countered. "If she’s taking on demons around here, we’re bound to bump into her eventually."

She remembered something, and snagged Spike’s gaze again.

"Oh, hey, there’s something you should know."

"About the angels," Willow added with a nod.

Spike’s face immediately went dark.

"Angel’s here? Now?"

"Not Angel," Buffy said, shaking her head, then frowning. "Well, actually, he’s due to arrive tomorrow, but…"

"Oh, joy," Spike said drily, rolling his eyes.

Buffy poked him in the arm good-naturedly – she’d deal with that situation when she came to it.

"But hey, not the point. Willow’s talking about angels – you know, ‘angel’ angels."

Spike frowned a little incredulously.

"Angel-angels? What, with wings and little harps?"

Buffy sighed and turned to face the other two women.

"Why does everybody always think that?"

"It’s the Disney generation," Tara replied with a shrug.

Spike gave her a look.

"Not, as you already know – but, look, what the hell are you talking about?"

Buffy took over the explaining.

"Giles summoned the guys who are supposed to be my back-up in the Gathering, and they turned out to be angels. Real angels."

"Yeah?"

Spike raised his eyebrows, looking impressed at the idea. Willow grinned at him.

"Cool, huh?"

"So – no wings?"

"Not that we saw," Tara said, shaking her head.

"Hm. Pity."

Spike seemed almost disappointed. Then he switched his attention to their surroundings as people started to dance. The new band had a trancey feel – combined with the strange anxiety he was feeling, and the irritating memory of the encounter with the serpent-demon, it was making him antsy. His body started fidgetting, wanting movement, action. He looked around the women at the table again.

"So, you lot ‘bout ready to go hunting?"

Buffy stared hard into his face – Uh-oh. Spike had that hyperactive look in his eyes, which she knew was a sign that he was edgy. She’d seen it before, when he was over-bored, or over-stressed. She had a feeling that this time it was the latter.

Trying to chill him out a bit, she grinned up at him.

"Ready for some action, huh? Give us a sec – it’s gonna be a long night, and these two want to do a bit of caffeine-loading first."

She nodded towards Tara and Willow, who were polishing off their sodas. Spike shrugged, appearing to be none too pleased about the delay. Buffy suddenly had a happy thought, and beamed up at him.

"Hey – you wanna dance? Give these guys time to finish up."

Spike lifted one shoulder diffidently – dancing wasn’t fighting, but it was better than just standing around.

"Why not?"

With a sigh, he let her lead him out onto the dancefloor. Buffy’s body started to sway against him before they hit the crush of the crowd – tantalising, very distracting, and a hell of a lot better than just standing around. The part of him that wasn’t focussed on worrying about a new threat to his person suddenly woke up, and he realised that this dancing business was actually an excellent idea.

Bodies around them began pushing into his personal space, and he slipped an arm around Buffy’s waist possessively. She was wearing the backless red halter-top which he secretly loved, and black leather pants – a tempting combination – and when she turned in his arms her eyes were inviting.

It was on the tip of his tongue to say it, but when she smiled at him, all power of speech slipped away.

He was even more amazed when she slid her arms up around his neck, and pressed herself close, for all the world to see. This was beyond the earlier flirting they’d shared – this was blatant, open. She was stamping him hers, and he couldn’t quite believe it.

He knew they were being watched, and not just by the witches. He was as aware of the gossip, as much as any half-formed serpent whelp…the chipped vampire, the Slayer’s pet. And suddenly he just didn’t give a toss. Buffy’s face was aglow, grinning up at him, his body was responding in the most interesting ways, and his poor undead heart was leaping in his chest. He felt oddly bewildered, and awe-struck, and thankful…and strangely blessed.

And anxious. Try as he might, he just couldn’t relax. He knew it was ridiculous, but his eyes kept flicking around the crowd. Looking for something…if he only knew what.

Buffy was as aware of him as he was of her – the tension in his shoulders, the darting of his eyes. She stared up at him, watching his face.

"You’re jumpy."

Spike tried to shrug it off, then nodded.

"Yeah." He grimaced as he looked around them. "Something’s out there…I just don’t know what it is."

"Okay." Buffy inclined her head gracefully, then narrowed her gaze at him. "But if you need to focus then you should slow down – relax."

She moved her hips against him in encouragement. Spike looked down at her wryly.

"That’s your advice, huh?"

"It usually works for me," Buffy said.

The tempo of the song was sultry, and their dancing had evolved into a sensual sway. She was close enough that Spike could feel her heart beating – it made him shiver. He was beginning to feel slightly dizzy with arousal, and he grinned down at her ruefully.

"This isn’t exactly helping me slow down, pet."

"Really?" Buffy answered coquettishly. She batted her eyes at him. "I always find dancing relaxing."

They pressed closer, dancing practically nose to nose. Spike, still nervous, glanced around the crowd, feeling eyes on them.

"We’re being observed."

"I know."

Buffy was ignoring the people around them, staring solemnly into his eyes, capturing them. Spike felt like a wave was crashing over his head – then a shocking blast of desire as she leaned in and slowly pressed her lips to his.

He felt like he was on fire. The kiss was soft, their lips kneading gently – his eyes closed in pleasure, and when the kiss deepened, mouths and tongues slicking together, his brain gratefully dissolved.

oOo

Willow tugged at her straw with her teeth, then baulked at the sight of Buffy and Spike on the dancefloor. She swallowed, fought a rising blush and cleared her throat to speak.

"Whoah. I mean, I knew they were both heavy with the old ‘Unresolved Sexual Tension’ thing, but this is like…"

"Like you feel you shouldn’t be watching?" Tara suggested.

Willow glanced at her girlfriend, returned her gaze to the dancing couple, then quickly dashed her eyes away as they began to kiss. She finished her soda with a noisy, distracting slurp and then, reluctant to raise her eyes and watch the hot-and-heavy scene on the dancefloor, she tugged on Tara’s sleeve.

"What are they doing now?"

"They’re pulling each other’s clothes off."

"What!"

Willow’s gaze jerked up, and met Tara’s laughing face.

"No – I’m kidding, sorry. Actually, I’m watching something else…"

Tara’s eyes were following something in the crowd, and she had a speculative half-smile on her face. Curious, Willow tried to follow her line of vision.

"What is it?"

"Not a what – a who. Wow. Now that girl’s got attitude…" Tara said, her voice trailing away as she stared.

"Where? Let me see."

"…and a body to match," Tara ruminated. Her eyebrows were raised and her face was blatantly appreciative – then she glanced down to see Willow frowning up at her.

"Oh. Sorry, hon, I didn’t mean…"

"Stop perving," Willow replied, a little waspishly.

"I’m not…" Tara countered, her eyes straying to the girl again.

Willow glowered, and searched the crowd. It wasn’t like Tara to be so…easily distracted, but when she spotted the girl, Willow understood why. A slim, slight figure with a long cascade of dark hair from a high ponytail, the girl had Asian features and quite an ensemble – black leather everything, from the thick-soled knee-high boots, mini-shorts and halter-crop, to the fitted jacket that swayed into an elaborate fall of material at the back. Willow couldn’t help but be grudgingly admiring.

The girl was moving towards the dancefloor rapidly, cutting a swathe through the Bronze customers. She was carrying something, but it was on her other side, and Willow couldn’t quite see beyond the press of bodies around her.

Willow frowned. There was something not right about this…

"Tara, what’s that she’s…"

The girl had almost made it to the place where Buffy and Spike were dancing, oblivious to their surroundings. Her eyes fixed on them firmly, undistractedly, the girl’s arm slowly rose as she pushed her way through the crowd, and Tara got a single dreadful glimpse of what was in her hand.

"Oh god – it’s a sword! Willow!"

Too far away to do anything, Willow could only watch in horror – she found her voice suddenly, and called out.

"Buffy!"

oOo

She was smiling up at him, and he was so damn sweet and sexy, and out of the corner of her eye she saw movement over Spike’s shoulder, and heard Willow’s anguished voice…and holy shit. A girl in black was raising her arm to full height, with a massive sword, and then before Buffy could think, she swung it down with incredible force at Spike’s unprotected back.

Instinct and anger flared into life. Buffy pushed herself and Spike sideways, away from the deadly sweep, onto the floor. The sword went wild, hitting someone else in the crowd – people began to scream, and there was a metallic scent in the air which Buffy recognized. Blood. The crowd on the dancefloor began a chaotic dispersal, to the sounds of more screaming, and the dropped chords of the band, who were still playing and hadn’t had a chance to realise that their great gig had suddenly gone to crap.

Buffy rolled to upright, keeping her eye on their attacker, and then had to swerve sideways quickly to avoid another jab from the sword. She had a better view of the girl now as the dancefloor and the stage began a sudden clear-out – dark eyes, a silver nose-ring, long dark hair, and god, she was fast. Buffy took a punch in the face, and lost sight of Spike as she moved in for the attack, punching and whirling.

The girl moved so damn fast, she was like a blur - it was all Buffy could do to avoid being skewered. She let her instinct take over from her thought-processes – kick, punch, jab, all on automatic. She felt her muscles loosen as she fought, knowing that this was a better way to win – don’t think, just do. There was even a lingering memory of Giles giving her that piece of advice, a long time ago, but it was back somewhere in her conscious brain, as another part of her took over.

She flipped over the sword, and high-kicked to get the girl in the back of the head, then whirled to land a punch, but found she was hitting vacant air. Wind whistled past her ear as she jerked her head away just in time to avoid another thrust – she looked up in surprise, and met the girl’s kohl-dark eyes. They were intense, and emotionless.

Man, this chick is like ice…when their gazes separated suddenly, Buffy felt a cold gap in her stomach. She went to move in with a block and a punch, but suddenly the girl wasn’t there anymore.

She heard a slithering hiss behind her and swivelled, barely able to avoid the sword as it slid past her stomach. She gave the girl a look then – oh, you are so pissing me off now…

Willow and Tara were fighting their own battle – against the flow of the crowd as the Bronze patrons began to panic and crush each other in the rush to get out of the way of the two crazy combatants on the dancefloor. Willow stumbled, and would have fallen except for Tara’s hand. She kept her eyes focussed on Buffy, though, and when she managed to right herself, immediately slipped the pack off her back and began fumbling inside for a weapon.

Come on, anything. Her hand closed over something solid and wooden, and she started pulling out the stake.

Spike scrambled to his feet, pushing people out of the way, feeling a faint prickling on the back of his neck. He reached behind – and touched a thin scratch across his nape. The smell of his own blood scented the air delicately, and his fingers, when he looked at them, were faintly stained with red.

He looked up, watching Buffy and a strange, petite Asian girl going at it hammer and tongs. Buffy was giving it her all, but the girl was moving so bloody fast, moving like a flash of electricity, sizzling on the air. As he watched, Buffy came in with a barrage of punches, and the girl suddenly flipped, soaring over Buffy’s head and coming up behind her, to kick her with full force in the back.

He heaved a body or two out of the road, and moved towards the battle. But before he could take two steps, the battle suddenly came to him – the girl had whirled away from Buffy, and threw herself through the air at him, both feet forward. Two thick bootheels connected sharply with his face. He staggered back, in time to avoid a swipe across the chest with the sword.

He tried to parry, but found that he was forced to move backwards and sideways to avoid cutting thrusts from the sword. His undignified retreat brought him up against a table – he ducked under it, then heaved it up into the air at the girl. It smacked her hard in the face and chest, sending her rolling back onto the dancefloor, into Buffy’s arena. But he realised that it was the first contact he’d made since the fight began, and somewhere deep in his mind he worried.

Buffy took over, not waiting for the girl to recover fully, but plunging in immediately with a series of kicks. The girl took it stolidly, her head whipping back with no discernible effect, and then she executed another cat-like leap, to begin a run of backflips that took her halfway across the room. When she came out, it was to emerge into a poised martial-arts stance – leaning back on one bent leg, one foot forward, balanced on the toe, her left hand outstretched into a warding posture and her other arm raised, sword pointed tip down, directly at the Slayer.

Buffy groaned and put her hands on her hips.

"Oh great – it’s Kung-Fu Girl."

She heard Willow’s voice calling from behind her.

"Buffy!"

She looked over quickly, and caught the stake that Willow threw in her direction, giving it a disparaging glance.

"Is that all you’ve got?"

"Sorry," Willow shrugged helplessly.

Well, it would have to do. Buffy returned her gaze to the girl, who had just performed a sweeping, no-hand cartwheel, and was now somersaulting back in her direction – nice. Buffy would have been more appreciative of the gymnastics if she knew she wasn’t the intended target of the attack, but there was no time…stake in hand, she launched herself at the oncoming fighter.

Spike took a few rapid strides, which brought him to the edge of the dancefloor, watching for his moment to enter the battle. But it was like the girl knew he’d arrived – she suddenly spun away from Buffy mid-charge, and came screaming down at him, sword forward.

The abrupt assault put him off – he swerved and rolled to avoid the sword, and grabbed a broken chair-leg to parry. Blocking the sword brought him face-to-face with the girl, who glared at him chillingly. He narrowed his eyes at her, and his voice was gruff.

"Come on, love – it’s not a tickling competition now, is it? Let’s you and me have a little go…"

They broke apart, enough space between them for each to assume a fighting stance. Then the force of their clashing together seemed to send echoes around the room.

It was the wildest display of martial arts that Buffy had ever seen – stuff she wasn’t even aware that Spike knew, a series of lightning-quick blows and ripostes. Punch, block, parry, kick, grab…a whirling exhibition of graceful, brutal combat. Spike’s coat leather was flying behind him, and so was the girl’s – it was like two black butterflies, dancing…

But in spite of his skill, he was being pushed back. He found himself trapped against a pillar, and sprang up in a glorious somersault over the girl’s sword blow as it cut half-way through the wood. In the moment it took her to pull the sword free, he’d landed a kick to her back, but it was like she was made of stone – she simply turned, swung the weapon in a massive arc and attacked again.

Willow and Tara stood, awe-struck, on the edge of the dancefloor in the other corner, watching the furious battle and knowing it was way out of their league. Willow had a terrible feeling that Spike was out-matched.

"She’s not even breaking a sweat," she murmured, eyes fixed on the combatants.

"She’s not human," Tara nodded in reply.

"Thanks – got that," Willow said drily, then gasped at a near-miss. "Oh, Spike – look out!"

He ducked, barely in time, but couldn’t avoid the sword’s counter-strike – it glanced off his upraised chair-leg, splintering the wood into uselessness, and bounced onto his upper arm. With a cry, he rolled into a crouch.

Buffy saw what had happened, and took the moment to engage, throwing herself at the girl in an effort to distract her. Their desparate fighting gave Spike a chance to check his wound – the cut was deep, but his arm was still on. A lucky thing, though.

Ignoring the stinging pain, he jumped to his feet and launched into the fight from the other side. Between him and Buffy, the girl was being forced back. The question was whether she would tire before they did…and at the moment, she didn’t seem to be tiring at all.

We’ve got to do something – can’t just stand here… Tara groped in the backpack, and drew out a short crossbow. Her fumbling, nervous fingers managed to fix a bolt in place, and then she raised the weapon and aimed.

The first shot went dangerously wild. Spike jerked his head and snatched it out of mid-air before it hit him.

"Bloody hell!"

Tara winced in apology. Spike’s quick glaring glance almost put her off entirely, but she was committed now, and she struck another bolt into place. The second shot hit the girl in the abdomen.

See, that’s how I planned it… But then Tara’s grin disappeared, and her face blanched, as the girl merely paused, reached down and pulled the shaft out of her stomach, throwing it down on the floor without a look.

Buffy and Spike, shoulder to shoulder, backed off. They exchanged a glance as the girl began advancing again, Spike’s brow knitting in concentration.

"The sword…"

"I’m on it."

Buffy grabbed up a piece of broken wood from the floor – more chair-debris – as Spike began the fight. As the girl strode forward, he dashed in to deliver a few rapid kicks, a distracting manouever that opened the girl out. When she raised her sword to reply, Buffy was there, slamming her make-shift wooden club into the girl’s sword arm. It was a full-power blow, and it had the desired effect – the sword spun out of the girl’s grasp, her surprised eyes following it as it clattered onto the floor and slid away. Before she could make a dive for it, Spike lunged in with a barrage of punches and spinning kicks.

Buffy scrambled for the sword. It felt light when she hefted it up off the floor – strange, because it looked as heavy as lead. It was double-edged, with an undecorated hilt, and made of some odd metal that glinted matt-black in the lights of the club. Buffy frowned at it, swung it once to get a feel, then returned her attention to the fight, relieved that she now had a decent weapon.

But that wasn’t going to help Spike any. He was staggering back from a succession of head-shots, the girl belting him across the face smartly with a final high-jumping kick that sent him tumbling to the floor. As Buffy watched, he landed flat on his back with a painful thump, and the girl sprang forward to jump on top of him, straddling his waist with her legs.

Before he knew what was happening, the girl was staring down at him. And in an instant, she’d slapped one hand down on his chest, over his dead heart. He grimaced, then –

Heat rose – he gasped. The girl’s dark eyes were piercing through him, and he felt a strange surge through her hand. His heart, long inactive, gave a sudden agonising lunge inside his chest, as if under a defibrilating pad – oh god, that hurts…

The pain gushed through him in a massive flood, and he cried out and threw his head back. It drummed against the floor, and his mind flashed, a lifetime of memory rolling in front of his closed eyes…

Buffy saw Spike gasp - he let out a strangled cry, then his body started convulsing on the floor. The girl above him had her hand pressed to his chest – something was drifting up, a waft of smoke rising into the air… For a terrible moment, Buffy couldn’t move, a single thought crashing into her mind, the intensity paralysing her.

Oh god, she’s killing him…

A second time was enough. Her reflexes kicked in again with a choking breath, and she lifted the sword and ran at the girl with a crescendo-ing yell.

Eyes blazing, she swung with all her might, and as the girl was distracted by her task, she didn’t have time to see it coming. The sword arced down, and sliced through the girl’s side –

The girl looked up, dark straight hair falling around her face, and her hand moved in a blur, releasing Spike and with the same action reaching up to catch the blade after it passed through her. It was like the sword had hit a block of granite – Buffy felt a jarring in her shoulder, and could only stare down at the girl’s hand, closed in a fist around the metal.

There was only enough time for her eyes to widen. Then the sword was wrenched from her grip, and the girl favoured her with a single wintry glare, before she seemed to resolve something in her mind – then Buffy was pushed away as the girl flew up, leaping like a frog, high into the ceiling beams.

The girl cast down her eyes for the briefest moment, over-looking the scene, and the havoc she’d wreaked – then she sprang away, leaping from beam to beam, until she’d disappeared.

Buffy watched her go, shocked and breathing hard. Then her awareness returned – with a cry of anguish, she scrambled over, on hands and knees, to Spike’s side.

He was unconscious, his body trembling in convulsive spasms, the smell of burnt flesh rising from his chest. Buffy reached out a shaking hand to touch his arm.

"Oh god, oh god – what did she do…oh god, Spike…"

She shook him gently, became angry when she felt the hot tears on her own cheeks, and swiped at them with one hand. Still shaking him, she dimly heard the rustle behind her as Willow and Tara came up to help.

Willow was looking up at the roof, still amazed by the girl’s dramatic exit.

"Goddess…" she breathed.

Then she realised that the situation required more than just an audience. Buffy was huddled over Spike’s body, and her attempts to wake him were becoming more urgent. Willow knelt down, looking over Spike’s pale form quickly, and putting an arm around her friend’s shoulders to still her.

"Buffy. Buffy, he’s not dust. Come on – we have to get him out of here."

"Before she comes back," Tara nodded grimly in agreement. She glanced at Willow, concern etched on her face, and a query. "Giles?"

"Yeah – and tell him to hurry," Willow shot back.

Tara dropped the backpack at Willow’s side, and sprinted for the phone.

oOo