The sky was just starting to change; the sun nowhere to be seen, the moon in hiding, but the entire world seemed to glow from a kind of internal light.  The white house across the road began to get brighter, defining itself starkly against the hedges that crouched against the sidewalk.  Xander was used to this time of day – it was his favorite. 

He’d long since given up on black and white.  They had seemed to be so solid, indestructible – right and wrong, up and down, good and evil, love, hope, death.  And then down had become up, good things went bad, people you loved died and then didn’t, and somehow?  Everyone else had adjusted, or expected it, or something.  And he been left behind somewhere, lost in the shuffle.  Because when everything did go to hell, it seemed like he was the only one who felt like he needed to sit down, put his head in his hands, and wait for the world to stop spinning.

Of course, the world never stops spinning.

Xander looked down at the basket between his feet, then sighed and leaned back against the porch swing.  It swayed a little, with a familiar, comforting creaking sound. It had become a ritual of sorts, sitting on this swing at this hour.  Usually when he was bruised or spattered, which explained the lack of cushions.  He’d veneered the wooden slats as well, to make them easily washable.  A porch swing that you could rinse blood off of easily.  Which, he knew, was a thought that should be wrong.  But in his world, it was just wise.  He felt a headache coming on.

No, this time of day was perfect.  There weren’t any shadows, and no sharp edges.  The light came from all around, as though it was terrestrial and not solar after all, sneaking through gardens and wrapping homes with an insulating glow that seemed safe and promising.  What promise, he didn’t know – but something good, something helpful.  Something hopeful.

He sighed and rocked, letting the peace of the moment soothe him.  He didn’t believe that things always turned out as they were intended.  But this morning, of all mornings, he needed to remember that the world had its moments when it was beautiful and gentle and calm.

Then he heard her coming.

Immediately, Xander thrust himself out of the swing, making it screech angrily against its chains.  Her speed was incredible; in the amount of time it took her to get to the mailbox, he’d only managed to get to the top of the steps.  Instinctively, he held his arms up and out, hands flat towards her.

“Buffy, it’s fine!”  The first shout might not have registered, he realized, considering the frantic look on her face as she took in the state of the house’s exterior.  Xander gamely stepped directly between the oncoming Slayer and the door before trying again.

“Dawn’s fine, everything’s fine, they didn’t get in!”  The combination of Xander’s deliberate obstruction and the mention of her sister’s name brought Buffy up short.  She grabbed his arms desperately, to either throw him aside or hold him still, he didn’t know.  But the sharp shocks of pain that arrowed through his shoulders nearly blinded him, and he let out a loud groan as he felt muscle and sinew crushing against bone.  She was going to break his arms, he realized – and she had lost control.  His vision went black.

“Buffy!”  At once, the pain was abruptly gone; Xander cleared the stars from his eyes just in time to see Spike beside him, facing the Slayer, the girl’s wrists imprisoned in his hands.  Spike’s expression was shocked, or reprimanding, maybe – but whatever unspoken communication passed between the two, Buffy calmed.  And then she shook off his grasp, and Spike stepped back again.  Watchful, but not interfering.

“Are you okay?  I’m sorry...” she started, but Xander could see her eyes flicking towards the door as she spoke.  He shook his arms out quickly, feeling the familiar dull ache of massive bruising. 

“Don’t worry about it, Buff – and Dawn’s fine, she was all safe and locked in when we got here.” He saw Spike’s head tilt slightly at the plural, but he continued.  “She says there were noises outside, she got freaked out, we were on the phone the entire way here.  She’s fine.  But,” he quickly added as Buffy tried to sidestep, “there’s more.”

“You said she wasn’t hurt,” Buffy began warningly.

“And she’s not.”  Xander hesitated before continuing.  “But there’s more going on here.”  Suddenly, he jolted.  “Wait – why are you here?  Like this?  How did you even know something was happening?”

Buffy’s face hardened.  “In a roundabout way, Kane.  That guy who went after Spike.” 

“Riiiiight....”  Xander looked to Spike, but the vampire’s focus had drifted.  His expression was suspicious as he approached the swing, though he was trying not to be conspicuous.  Briefly, he leaned towards the basket, then rocked backwards again with his eyes closed.  He spoke quietly, his voice rough.

“And this?”  He gestured at the ground, his eyes locked on Xander’s. 

“That’s what I needed to tell you about,” Xander explained, turning to Buffy.  “It’s...”

“It’s something we can handle, for now,” Spike interrupted.  His posture had changed; far from inconspicuous, he was now ramrod-straight, almost magnetic to the eye.  Xander felt resentment building in his gut, tried to ignore it.  The other man gave him an inscrutable look before continuing.  “You and I can talk about this situation, Buffy can check on her sister for a bit.  Works out all round?”

Xander nodded and, chameleonlike, Spike suddenly relaxed again.  As though he hadn’t a care in the world.  Strange, strange man.

“Are you sure?”  Buffy’s tone was hopeful, and Xander reluctantly realized that Spike’s solution was a good one.  She wouldn’t be rational until she’d talked to Dawn, seen her intact. 

Her eyes shifted to Spike, who shrugged.  The smile she turned on Xander was brilliant.  “Thank you,” she whispered, and disappeared into the house.

Spike coughed, a little awkwardly.  “Your arms all right?”

“I’m used to it.”

“Fair enough.” 

The basket lay half-under the swing.  From this distance, Xander supposed, it could almost look like someone was going on a picnic.  The edge of a front-yard flag was folded coyly over the top, and it flapped a little in the breeze.  It didn’t look out of the ordinary at all.

“You could smell it, couldn’t you?”  That particular talent of Spike’s still made Xander a little queasy. 

Spike just nodded.  “You look inside yet?”

“Yeah.”  Xander walked over to the basket and picked it up by the handle.  It had no heft at all; the contents barely shifted inside.  He placed it on the banister and swallowed.  “There’s going to me more of this, somewhere.”

“Right,” Spike replied absently, and peeled back the top layer of fabric.

At first, there seemed to be no rhyme or reason to the pieces within the basket.  A huge hank of hair, long and brown.  It might have been smooth once, but now, matted with gore and dirt, it hung in limp tangles from what could only be an enormous segment of scalp.  The strands trailed messily across two off-white lumps; Xander waited as Spike prodded at one, and winced when it rolled over, revealing a perfect, beautiful, green-blue eye.

“Ruined the other one,” Spike commented absently as he moved to the other orb, which had been badly damaged and was oozing.  But just in case, he turned it over.  “Matching color – same owner, I’d wager.”

“Dawn’s color,” Xander supplied.  Spike nodded grimly, and Xander continued.  “The hair’s the same too, and the other thing...”

“Lips,” Spike said, “Mouth.  Whatever.”  It resembled a thick ring of discarded rubber, distended and obscene; it probably shifted when the basket was moved, he thought, and he reached in to rearrange it. 

Xander couldn’t tell if he was fascinated or repulsed by the way Spike so casually handled the pieces of dead flesh.  Strictly speaking, he admitted, Spike kind of WAS dead flesh – but so calmly moving the mutilated pieces into a semblance of life?  He shuddered and looked away.

“Looks like her too,” Spike finally muttered, having finished his arrangement.  Against his better judgment, Xander looked – sure enough, the lips were uncannily reminiscent of Dawns’ full mouth.  Out of the corner of his eye, he caught Spike’s bloodied fingers brush across the legs of his jeans.  Wiping the dead blood away like dirt.

“So,” Spike started.  “We agree that they’re all Dawn-like, in some way or other.”

“There’s this, too.”  Xander held out a scrap of paper, bearing one neat word.

“’Almost’,” Spike read.  He tucked the note into the wicker of the basket and pressed his lips together.  “Right.”  He paused, scanning the yard, then turned back to Xander.  “And the rest are around the side.”

“I only got a quick look before you got here, but yeah.”  Xander gestured towards the sun, just peeking over the horizon.  “I’d show you, but...”

“That side of the house has shade ‘til around ten,” Spike said absently, his eyes still on the basket.  He took a deep breath, and Xander couldn’t tell if it had to do with what he had seen.  “We’ll have to take care of it before the neighborhood wakes – someone’ll have to,” he amended, glancing at Xander, who nodded curtly. 

Suddenly, Spike changed topics.  “You checked Dawn, though – she’s fine?”

“Freaked out, heard a lot of noises – but she’s fine.”

“She’s a strong girl,” Spike stated, in a way Xander thought almost self-satisfactory.  “I’ll take a look, come back with her sister, all right?”

“Put this away first.”  Xander handed over the basket, discreetly covering the contents once again.

“What, you want me to just leave it on a table?” Spike asked incredulously.

“No,” Xander answered flatly.  “Put it in the fridge in the basement, where we keep all the spare body parts.”

Spike looked as though he might sneer, but Xander’s face stayed serious, and his smirk gradually died away.  “As the man says, then – fridge in the basement.”

“Thanks.”

*

Willow’s subconscious registered the footsteps first.  It took her a few confusing seconds to sort out the twinge in her stomach, the way her entire body tightened and her head began to buzz, and she nearly called out for Xander.  But then the sound reached her ears – the oddly light steps of someone navigating the Summers house expertly, but so, so quickly.  Almost as though the feet didn’t need to touch the ground. 

“Buffy?” Dawn spoke before she was properly awake, the tempo of the walk having roused her from her exhausted state.  She pushed her hair out of her face, blinking madly.  “Where’s Buffy?”

But Willow couldn’t respond.  Her throat had seized up.  Buffy had reached the door now, and Willow responded viscerally to the prospect of only one thin wooden door between herself and the Slayer.  Swiftly, she stood up, almost dumping Dawn onto the floor in her haste to get away.

She was halfway across the basement before she realized what she was doing.  And then she stopped, stock still, as though nailed to the floor.  Instinct warred with sense, and as the door opened at the top of the basement stairs, Willow’s entire body trembled. 

She could feel it: the panic prompted helplessness, which was followed by anger, and then determination, a burning, bubbling force that lay dormant in every other situation.  Sometimes she thought it was magical residue in her blood, a physical taint that she would carry with her for the rest of her life.  A slick and slimy feeling that boiled in her veins and made strange languages lurk on her tongue, made her hands itch to form symbols in the air.  Sometimes she would catch a whiff of spice or herb, and how bitter it was that she used to be proud of this talent, this skill!  And now all she could do was hold on, try not to let the terror and panic override her. 

Also, she thought wryly, she’d rather not faint in front of Buffy.

Willow was straining so hard for control that she almost missed Buffy’s entrance.  She was nearly unrecognizable – her hair, her stance, even some of the clothes.  But more than that, the way she interacted with Dawn... Willow was amazed.  No histrionics, no fussing; Buffy just held her sister close, but not too tight, and smiled.  They both did, while speaking low and quickly, flashes of humor and feeling exchanged comfortably.  Buffy wasn’t treating Dawn as a child anymore, it seemed, and the sisters obviously thrived on their new relationship.  And then Dawn’s glance darted straight at Willow, and her blood shocked cold as she waited for Buffy to turn on her.

“Willow.”  Buffy’s voice wasn’t warm by any stretch; but it was civil, and Willow could see Dawn’s fingers tighten encouragingly in Buffy’s grasp. 

“Will stayed on the phone with me for almost an hour, Buffy.”  Dawn spoke lightly, smiling widely at Willow over her sister’s shoulder.  “She and Xander came flying down, as soon as I called, and Willow let me talk to her.  She told stories too, really distracted me.  The entire time.  It really calmed me down.”

“What about?”  Buffy’s face was impassive, which could mean a couple of things.  One, she could’ve become a better actress in the past two years and could now stop her emotions from coming across in her expression.  Or secondly?  She could actually have no feelings whatsoever towards Willow.

Willow wasn’t sure which option she preferred, and quickly distracted herself by answering the question.  “England stuff?  Um, slang, customs, the time I went to Hastings when it was being invaded by reenactors....” She faltered and looked to Dawn.  “Did I tell you that Big Ben means the bell, not the tower?” 

At that, the corner of Buffy’s mouth twitched a little, and Willow tentatively tried to return the smile.  No such luck – by the time she got up the courage, Buffy’s face had fallen again, and Willow was left grinning at nothing, like a fool.  The silence was heavy in the air, and Willow’s heart began to pick up tempo again.

“If you’re going to stay, you can sleep in Dawn’s room,” Buffy suddenly announced, then looked surprised at her own voice.  Dawn, on the other hand, let out a laugh.

“Oh, that’s nice!  Given anything else away while I was gone?”  She elbowed Buffy and the older girl looked back at her with a raised eyebrow.

“No!  I’ll get a place in town, or...”  Willow stuttered to a halt.

“Yes, with our myriad hotels and boardinghouses here in Sunnydale,” Buffy finished dryly. Willow flushed.

“Oh, stop it, both of you - she’s only teasing,” Dawn sighed as she loped over to Willow, casting a deliberate arm around her shoulders.  “Anyhow, I always sleep in Buffy’s room my first night home, it’s kind of like a tradition.  Besides, have you seen the size of the BED in there?!?  It’s like four of my dorm beds in one!”

Willow let herself be guided upstairs by Dawn, listening to the girl chatter steadily all the while.  As she passed Buffy, she allowed herself a brief look into the other woman’s face; her expression was appraising, perhaps a little suspicious... but open, at least.  If she had ever let herself dream about a second chance in Sunnydale, this was its realization.  She took a breath, smiled, and began to climb out of the shadows.

“Was just coming to get you.”

Buffy was paused in the hallway, her head tilted to look up the stairs where she’d left her sister with a witch.  Spike’s voice brought her out of her daze quickly, though; she still wasn’t used to his way of materializing out of nowhere.  How long ago had it been since there were all these people here, she thought to herself.  And did she really want them all back in her life now?

But these were questions to be dealt with later.  She rubbed at her eyes vigorously and pushed away from the banister.  “What you got?”

“Basket of goodies that are better heard of, not seen,” Spike replied as they headed for the porch.  “And then, a bit of a bigger problem.”

“Meaning...”  Buffy glared.  She hated when he got theatrical this early in the morning.

But Spike didn’t rise to her jibe, instead looking unusually uncomfortable.  Xander jumped into the breach instead.

“Did you show her the basket?”

Spike shook his head.  “She was headed off with Dawn when I went in, didn’t think it appropriate.  It’s stowed out of sight.” 

“Yeah, okay.  The basket,” Xander explained, “had human parts in it....”

“Eugh!”

“I know.  But - and here’s where it gets really creepy – they seem to be some kind of FrankenDawn gag, or something.”

Buffy stared at him.  “Come again?”

“They were Dawn-like bits of girls,” Spike cut Xander off before he could start.  “A long, brown-haired scalp trophy; pair of eyes in Dawn’s colour; and then a set of lips, all quite professionally done.”  Buffy recoiled a little at the clinical tone of his voice, but he didn’t react.

“And now, there’s something bloody in your side yard,” he finished, looking to Xander.  “Did you look again?”

“Yes.”  And finally, Buffy really looked at Xander.  He was pale, ashy under his builder’s tan, and his hand shook as he took her arm.  Together, they walked around the corner of the house, Spike skirting by in the thick shadows under the eaves.  Whatever lay in wait, it had Xander almost physically ill.  And Spike was getting more wired with every step.

And then they were there.  Up against the side of the house, between one of the basement windows and the garden hose, lay three bodies.  They were propped up in casual poses, as if they were just three highschoolers playing hooky on a sunny day.  Bone from a skull was clearly visible on one girl; another wept blood and fluid from empty sockets, while the last’s ruined mouth...  Buffy unconsciously clapped both hands over her own lips as she took in the ragged tears where skin had been roughly ripped away.

In their GAP sweaters and carefully chosen jeans, their color-coordinated scarves wrapped jauntily around their necks or around the straps of their messenger bags, they lolled against the siding and offered their hosts rictus -grins.

TBC

Usually, she found cocoa achingly sweet, too much sugar cutting the drink like a knife, stinging her tongue.  But this – this was perfect.  The sweetness hit the roof of her mouth and spread warmly, waiting until it left her tongue to declare the hint of chocolate beneath.  And all around, milk, which somehow gentled and refined the other two ingredients.  She swallowed again, gratefully.

“Good?”  Dawn asked from the other side of the couch.  Willow nodded, cradling the mug close to her chest.  She had never thought that she would sit on this couch again, feeling the warmth seep through this mug and into her palms.  There were some wishes that were too precious to really hope for, and this had been one of them.

“Good.  Because I need to set some things straight with you.”

The tone of voice was enough to set her pulse racing.  Willow looked up, startled.  Dawn was watching her calmly, but with a sort of determination in her gaze.  Dawn had set her own mug on the coffee table and was so poised, so controlled – Willow suddenly got the taste of iron on her tongue, and it made sense.  There was something incredibly steely about the teenager’s attitude. 

That was new.

“You do?”  No, that sounded too weak.  She cleared her throat, tried again.  “Is this something I should be discussing with Buffy?”

Dawn’s lips twisted wryly.  “Yeah, well, she talks tough, but Buffy doesn’t really like discussions like the one we’re about to have.”

And suddenly, Willow realized how the dynamics in the house had shifted.  Buffy had always been the impulsive one, reined in only by her friends and her mentors.  When she (and the guilt dug at her again, though she managed to ignore it) had destroyed much of that, someone had needed to step in, to become Buffy’s compass.

The whiny child could not have assumed that role.  But this woman she was seeing now – she could. 

And clearly, she had.

Dawn spoke calmly, but the change was remarkable.  She placed her cocoa on the table and turned to face Willow, her face impassive. 

“I’m very sorry about Tara, Willow.  I think I said that at the time, but I’m not sure it got through.”  Willow winced slightly, but Dawn continued.  “I don’t want to draw this out, but I need to know what’s going on with you.  Because if you’re unstable at all, we’re going to have to fix that before there’s a situation when we have to rely on you.”

It was odd.  Willow had imagined this question, but she’d always seen it asked in an accusatory manner.  Dawn’s voice was smooth and even, her expression frank.  There would be no judgment here.

And so the tale tumbled out.  The blackouts, the temptation, the triggers, the guilt, all in one constant stream of confession that wove in and out of the room.  And little by little, the words didn’t sound so bad.  Dawn nodded and sympathized, the cocoa was slowly finished, and the light began to fill the room so that even the shadows of memory were chased away. 

*

Buffy laid down the shovel and rubbed her hands together.  Her palms rasped against each other, dry and rough from digging so long, the familiar maroon welts of blood-blisters rising in swollen contour.  The needling pain the friction caused felt good.

“Just can’t get away from the cemeteries, can I,” she breathed, watching Xander as he carefully evened the freshly-turned earth.  Spike had retreated into the house when the sun got too high to bear – by then, they had excavated a sizeable chunk of the backyard.  Buffy and Xander hadn’t missed his company; he’d silently taken the handling of the shrouded corpses upon himself, not allowing the others too near, and hadn’t communicated in more than grunts until the girls were laid in the ground.  And then he’d vanished. 

Maybe he’d had enough of cemeteries too.

Xander looked over at her, his face streaked with dirt, and rested his wrists on the handle of his shovel.  “I’ll go to the garden center, get some plants – something pretty.  It won’t look any different from other flowerbeds; I’ve picked that much up from the site landscapers.”

Buffy shook her head.  “I’m not worried about the cemetery look – though, god, how many bodies do we have buried out here?”  She stopped short when Xander’s eyes flew open in alarm, his head twitching towards the neighboring houses.  She sighed, censored her speech. “I guess I just don’t think it’s worth getting creeped out about at this point – what’s a few more?  Not to mention, no more pesky dragging – finally, a nemesis who delivers.”

She’d retreated to the shade of one of the trees, and now leaned against the cool, smooth bark, closing her eyes.  She heard Xander meander over, then felt him settle down beside her.

“Hey – sometimes, things just go wrong.”  Xander cupped her cheek, and the scent of the dirt caked on his hands was almost heady.  “You have to stop thinking of yourself as someone who can prevent all bad things from happening.  Sometimes, you can.  Sometimes we’re ahead of the game, and those are the good days.” 

“So this would be a bad day,” Buffy said.  She tried to say it lightly, but her tone fell short of the mark, and Xander didn’t let it slide.

“Buffy, you let the bad days get to you too much.  You’re not psychic, and you’re not invincible.  But sweetie,” he pulled her closer, and she allowed her head to fall onto his chest.  It felt safe. “On your worst day, you do more things right than most people do on their best.”

Buffy smiled ruefully, still tucked under his chin. “Xander, you never look at me as anything else but human.” 

“That’s because you ARE human.”  The words rumbled through his chest, a comforting vibration against her cheek.  “You may be harder to break than the rest of us, and there are a couple of other bonuses thrown in, but...”  He broke off, frustrated.  “You don’t see it!  You think that you have to be more, all the time, when you don’t.  Human is your resting state, and it’s what you should return to – not some higher thingie!

“Thingie?”

“You knocking my heartfelt speech?  Besides, it’s better than doodad, which was the original choice.”

“Nah, I like thingie.  I like you.”

“I like you, too.”

*

The attic was hot, but also windowless.  And to tell the truth, the blistering heat was kind of welcome. 

Spike had seen many things in his time.  Gore and destruction, entire periods of history when atrocity was the order of the day.  But they’d always been at arm’s length before.

Maybe he was too close, because his imagination was working overtime.  Those girls, without their lips and eyes and hair – every time he had touched them, he had seen Tara, or Alicia... or, of course, Dawn.  Dawn without her eyes, with a raw red wound where each one had lain, now sightless and...

Kane had meant this to hurt Buffy.  Spike could only hope that his own weakness hadn’t been spotted as well.

Spike was a fidgeter.  His hands flitted over various boxes and suitcases as he brooded, peering inside each one with idle curiosity.  It was a bizarre experience – each new container was like a time capsule, bursting with the strangest things.  Macaroni art.  Old elementary school t-shirts.  A fishing pole covered in Barbie stickers.  A tie-dyed hat that read “Camp Piney” in purple puff-paints.  A photo album of the Summers family, before that father of theirs left.

Sometimes he wondered if these were artifacts from before or after the Slayer legacy.  He wondered if it made a difference.

The fact that he cared about these relics from a human life, that they meant something to him...  Once he might have disdained this as a weakness, as clinging on to humanity.  He would have told himself to stop forming these attachments to a life that was no longer his, to leave it behind and advance to that higher, vampire plane.

Today, though, he feared the emotions Dawn and her family raised in him for different reasons.  Now, rather than worrying about how he would be hurt in the exchange, he was obsessed with the way his presence would affect those he loved.  

Briefly, he peered out of one of the ventilation slats into the garden below.  Buffy was huddled with Harris under a tree, their faces obscured by the angle of branches.  His heart froze for a moment – she’d blame herself, she always did, she’d tumble down into some sort of guilty morass and wallow there...

But then Harris said something, and she laughed.  A clear, happy laugh that made Spike jealous and delighted and heartbroken all at once.

And he didn’t know how to explain that reaction at all.

*

Dawn didn’t recognize the sound of the front doorbell at first.  To be fair, she wasn’t used to it – people usually entered their house with their own key, or by hammering on the door, and every so often someone was launched through the window.  So it wasn’t surprising that she didn’t look up from her conversation with Willow until the third ring, a long, insistent tone that indicated someone was leaning on the buzzer.

Hard.

“Alistair, cut it out.”

“They might be in the back yard!”

“Yes, they could be, but give it a second.  We don’t want them sending us off as soon as we’ve arrived.”

Dawn hesitated as the voices came through the door, then suddenly it all came flooding back.  Giles.  Giles sending people. 

Weird people?

“Dawn?”  Buffy murmured from the end of the hall, her face dirt-smudges and sweaty.  “Are you going to open it?”

But she didn’t have to – suddenly the door swung inward, nearly knocking her off her feet, and leaving her face to face with an incredibly tall redheaded man.  A man who was only on a level with her because he was crouched down, apparently jimmying the lock to their home with the complicated metal wands arrayed between his fingers.

A man who, with a guilty smile, offered one word:

“Turnip?”

“Turnip?” the figure said again, his speech jumbled around the penlight clenched between his teeth. He rose to his feet as he spoke, a process that only emphasized the length of him. It was like watching a giraffe stand up, long expanses of unbending limbs that gracefully pushed him to a height of well above six feet. Which, of course, immediately brought his head in contact with the doorframe.

“Fucking hell!” The penlight clattered to the wooden floorboards, slipping through a crack. And in one movement, he had darted out of sight, tapered fingers clutched tight over his skull. A guttural cry was interrupted again with the plea, “Turnip!”

Dawn blinked. “No? But… I’m Dawn. What?” This felt stupid, talking to open air. She edged closer to the door, carefully staying out of reach, but angling to try and catch sight of the stranger again.

“Can you see him?” Buffy’s voice was low and tense behind her; Dawn could sense her sister beginning to assess weapons in the hallway. Faint murmuring sounds floated in from the porch, punctuated every so often by a loud “faugh!” sound.

“No. But daylight, so… not vampire.” Dawn reached out and picked up a set of keys from the table, the metal cold and solid in her palm. “Giant redheads just don’t vanish, do they?”

“Not that I know of.”

Dawn cocked her head towards the open door, hefting the keychain. “Well, what do you think? Should we… just…”

“No!” A woman suddenly darted into view, both hands held up in surrender. Far from the bizarre figure from before, this person was about as average as could be imagined: medium height, medium build, dressed like any woman Dawn might pass in the street. The only thing that truly set her apart was a rather amazing head of brown hair, currently exploding in a halo-like burst around her head. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry – I’m Mina.” Her hair wisped into her face as she spoke, and she irritatedly swept it back behind her ear.

Buffy didn’t move. “That’s nice. Now, who are you?”

Mina froze for a moment, then let out an explosive gust of air, her palms smacking against her thighs dramatically as she brought her arms back down. She leaned slightly to her right, hissing “You didn’t even tell them?” before turning her attention back to the sisters.

“I’m sorry, I’d started to go around the back, we don’t usually pick locks, we were told this job had a time limit…And frankly, judging from the door, we thought we might be too late.” She shrugged apologetically, gesturing towards the splintered and scarred wood. “We’ve been sent by – well, sort of by your Council, though it’s a little more complicated than that. I think your contact is Giles? Or… Is that his first or last name?”

“Last,” Buffy replied automatically. She came closer to the door, clearly curious. “And… why would Giles send you? Are you…” Buffy peered past Mina. “There was someone else here, right?”

“OH! Me!” Dawn’s voice burst out. “Turnip! Yes! Yes, you can come in, and they’re okay, and Giles called!” She shut her eyes and waved her hands in the air, trying to ward off the confusion, and opened them to find her sister staring at her as though she’d lost her mind. “I forgot!”

Buffy snorted, turning to Mina. “I’m sorry, she sometimes goes insane. But apparently you’re kosher, so hi. I’m Buffy. Welcome to our happy hovel.” She gave the woman a wry grin and gestured inside.

Mina chuckled, her hand going to her wild hair again. “Delighted to meet you. Well, if we’re introducing our personal mental patients,” she said, her eyes darting mischeviously at Dawn to take away the sting, “then let me introduce mine, Aled. Ali, are you bleeding?”

“Internally, maybe, but don’t you bother yourself, it’s only my brain.” The giant hove into view again, one hand still cupped protectively against the top of his head. Dawn started a little as she recognized a thick Scottish brogue; she wouldn’t have expected this lanky man to speak like Sean Connery at all. He winced at them amiably as he came to stand behind Mina in the doorway, slinging a lanky arm over and around her shoulders. “Sorry to have startled you, I honestly thought something had attacked the house and we would have to break in.” Mina elbowed him, and he coughed. “Perhaps a little overzealous on my part. Apologies.” At Buffy’s gesture, they both entered the house and made their way into the living room.

Dawn closed the door behind them. “I’ll get you some ice for your head,” she called after the couple.

“And backup, please,” Buffy muttered as she walked past. Dawn nodded, and went in search of Willow and Xander.

“I have to admit, I have no clue why you’re here. Or what you do.” Buffy perched on the armrest of Xander’s chair, watching the two arrivals on the couch. Unexpectedly, they both seemed to be around her age, maybe a little older. Aled leaned back in the cushions, clearly happy to let Mina do the talking as she perched on the edge of the couch, her eager and open face turned towards her host. The can of soda Buffy had offered lay unopened on the table; she got the impression that Mina planned to talk too much to waste time drinking it.

“Our contact – we work in collaboration with the Council sometimes, so he got the call through official channels from them – well, he said that your sister is experiencing a level of physical and possibly mental dissonance.” Buffy’s expression didn’t change, so Mina plowed ahead, her hands moving animatedly as she spoke.

“We specialize in tracing energy patterns, or more specifically, energy leaks. The pattern of each person is different, of course, so we can’t promise an immediate fix – we’ll have to spend some time sorting out what’s going on with Dawn, but hopefully we’ll have her mended and back as she was in no time.” Mina checked herself, noting Buffy’s obvious confusion. “We know that Dawn is experiencing lost time, in a way that is very clearly affecting others in her environment. We need to find the catalyst, and either stop it from setting Dawn off, or figure out a way for her to deal with it inside herself.”

“And… this happens a lot? To other people?” Willow asked hopefully, her eyes flickering between Aled and Mina. That seemed very unlikely, and Buffy’s doubt showed on her face.

Mina shrugged. “Often enough. I mean, usually we’re called out for people who are…” she cleared her throat delicately and gestured towards Buffy, “not connected like you are. It’s usually something that happens to civilians. You know: electricians, people who work in nuclear plants, physicists who work in actual experimentation – not so much with the theory.”

“They have no idea what we’re doing, obviously,” Aled put in from deep in the couch cushions. “You’re the first people we’ve been able to approach openly, so hopefully we can get to the root of it without faffing about.”

”And how long does it usually take?” Xander asked pointedly.

Mina shrugged apologetically. “We can’t give you a timeframe. As I said, we don’t usually work with people who have your sort of connections to alternate energies. And Dawn is a very, very special case. The root of her energy is an unknown quantity, which was fine until recently – but now there are problems, we’re going to have to look into those roots.”

Dawn arrived with the ice and handed it to Aled, who accepted it with a pathetically grateful sigh, and then settled next to Willow to listen.

“But we don’t work with electricity,” Buffy said. “We’re an axes-and-crossbows family, there’s not much technology floating around at any given time, and I don’t think any of us have been zapped recently.” She turned to Dawn. “Did anything happen while you were at school?”

Dawn shook her head. “Nope, no zappage at all.” She shifted uncomfortably, and Willow placed a reassuring hand on her back. She peered back at Mina. “So this is all about me and the knock-out effect?”

“In a way, yes. It’s got more to do with where your energy is going – energy doesn’t just disappear into thin air, especially life energy. So we need to find out what’s making you fail.”

“You make her sound like a machine.” Spike growled from the hallway. Mina froze, her open expression clouded by uncertainty, though Dawn felt it had more to with Spike’s unexpected appearance rather than self-doubt. Compared to Aled, Spike was slight, but he made up for it with a threatening aura that seemed to expand around him, shadowing his surroundings. Next to Buffy, Xander audibly repressed a sigh. Dawn closed her eyes, hoping Spike wasn’t preparing for a protective rant.

Then Aled’s voice rumbled up from the recesses of the couch. “The human body is very much like a machine, you know.” It would have been near-impossible for his presence to have gone unnoticed, had he not been crouched down with his ice pack, but Spike’s surprise was evident as Aled unfolded himself and stood at his full height in the small room. “The mind is as well, in many ways. It’s just a matter of getting the balance right before all the circuitry fries.”

Spike eyed the newcomer. “Dawn’s not going to ‘fry’.” He drew out the last word, warping it.

“Exactly. That’s why we’re here.” Aled smiled calmly, then turned to Dawn. “I don’t want to melt all over your sofa – is there somewhere I can put this?” He gestured to the towel Dawn had wrapped the ice in, already soaked through. She jumped up to take it from him, and began to turn towards the kitchen as Aled sat down again, but paused at the doorway.

She could feel Spike behind her, the suspicion radiating off of him. It wasn’t his fault, it was just how he was. But she turned back to the group, and with Spike’s watchful gaze on her, she went to stand next to Aled.

Aled looked up at her, completely unruffled, and nodded. He bowed his head and Dawn lightly ran her hand across the top of his head, his hair smoothing down under her touch. She found the lump quickly, and carefully parted the shock of red strands.

“No blood,” she commented, and Aled lifted his head again. “But it’s a pretty huge goose egg. Want more ice?”

“Thanks, love. You’ve been more than kind,” he replied. Mina beamed at Dawn, her fingers lacing with Aled’s reassuringly.

Across the room, Spike caught Dawn’s eye, a smile twitching on his lips. He raised both eyebrows and dipped his head, the closest to “point taken” he was going to give. He pushed away from the doorjamb and entered the room properly, settling in front of the fireplace, ready to listen.

Buffy took a deep breath. With the ice slowly melting through her fingers, Dawn walked into the kitchen, as the familiar and confident sound of her sister’s voice began to echo behind her. There would be a plan, she knew.

Dawn put the ice in the sink and turned back to the room that held her family. There would be a plan, and this time, she would be part of it from the start.

“It’s certainly an interesting hobby…”

Dawn closed the door and looked over to Mina, who was studying something with great focus. In the corner farthest from the window, a delicate tangle of brightly-coloured paper cascaded down from what looked to be the cannibalized remains of wire hangers. On closer inspection, each tiny construction proved to be a tiny paper animal, frogs and swans and bulls, an origami menagerie suspended on a network of thin filaments of fiber. The entire structure shuddered at the slightest movement within the room, making the animals look as though they were breathing.

Mina touched a dove gently, and it bobbed, causing all the other connected animals to take flight as well. “Some of these are incredibly elaborate – I’m always envious of people who can do things like this, I’m all thumbs.”

“Oh,” Dawn laughed a little, biting back a smile. “Those aren’t mine. At least, I didn’t make them.” She crossed the room, seeing the origami again for the first time. They really were spectacular. “A friend made them for me. He was cooped up for a while, I guess he needed something to do.”

Mina suddenly bent down, eyebrows raised, and pointed to a spindly black-and-green creature. “That’s isn’t a Knavroth spider?” Her tone of disbelief was understandable; very few people even knew of Knavroths, never mind could fold one from an origami sheet.

“Yeah, watch this.” Dawn placed her hand underneath it and let the many legs rest on her palm. Then, just as the string above the creature began to slacken, a previously-unseen spike of paper descended violently from the spider’s centre, jabbing into her palm.

“Good god!” Mina had jumped back a bit at the sudden motion, then laughed at herself, embarrassed to have been startled by a toy. “That’s worryingly accurate! But not too accurate, thankfully, or you’d be a deep shade of purple at the moment. And on the floor. In liquid form, if I remember rightly.”

Dawn grinned and carefully removed her hand, and the spider swung idly from the string again, lost in the forest that, upon closer inspection, Mina realized was far more varied than the usual flora and fauna found in origami books.

“So this friend – he’s one of you?”

Dawn shrugged. “Sort of.” She darted a quick, wry smile at the older girl, who was still carefully eyeing the spider. “When I first took that one out of the box, he’d made sure the spider’s spike was sharp enough to give me a paper cut. Right there.” She fingered her palm, now gazing past the mass of folded figures. Something sad was under her expression, Mina saw, and her unfocused gaze indicated she was deep in thought or memory.

“It must be nice to have someone to talk to about all of it,” Mina ventured carefully.

“He didn’t talk, really.” Dawn’s brow creased a bit. “He lived in LA with his dad, who…” And suddenly, she snapped out of her reverie, an almost audible break in her thought. She smiled brightly at Mina. “Doesn’t matter. We didn’t really know each other. He was a bit of a psycho, actually.”

Door closed, then, Mina thought to herself. She allowed Dawn to avoid her gaze, and promptly became business-like again.

“Okay – do you feel all right to get started, then?” Mina said brightly.

“Sure. Is there anything that I have to do, anything that I should…?”

“Well, it’s best if you’re relaxed and just kind of drifting, mentally,” Mina suggested. She glanced around the room; an office chair sat in front of a small desk, a low blanket chest with pillows piled on the top formed a makeshift window seat, and the bed were the only places to sit. Mina briefly wandered over to the window and peered out, but the sight of freshly-churned earth in the garden quickly convinced her that this would not be most relaxing viewpoint.

“How about we take some of the pillows from here, and you can sort of half-lie on the bed?” Mina suggested. “If you drop off to sleep, that would be just as good – I’ll have to wake you up if you go into REM or start actively dreaming, though. I won’t be able to see your dreams,” she quickly added as Dawn looked alarmed, “It just would screw up the flow of things.”

Dawn was quickly settled on the bed, propped up comfortably against the headboard. Mina drew the office chair up to the side, carefully positioning herself facing Dawn. Although she made no mention of it, Mina was very aware of the origami structure that would be right in Dawn’s eyeline – it had managed to draw Dawn into a bit of a trance before, it might be able to do the trick again.

Dawn looked very slightly apprehensive. Mina patted her hand briefly.

“It’ll work just like we said downstairs. You just breathe and let your mind wander, and I’ll sit here and wait. All I’m doing is looking, so I won’t touch you and you shouldn’t feel anything odd at all. Nothing is going to be messing with you in any way.”

Dawn nodded, still a little wary. “What are you looking for again? I mean, energies, I know, but how can you tell?”

Mina exhaled. “It’s so difficult to explain, because I honestly don’t understand myself. There’s not exactly a science to this voodoo. But…” She glanced over at the window again, where afternoon sun spilled into the room in a long golden stream. “Do you see how, when you look at that sunbeam, there are tiny bits of dust glinting? Not that your room is dirty, it happens in even the cleanest room – tiny motes of matter that catch the light in just the right way. And they move with the air currents, so if I do this,” she said, and took a huge breath of air before exhaling towards the light, “See how the eddies and currents change? And the tiny motes make that invisible air movement visible, right?”

All of this made sense to Dawn. “So… energy is like air? Invisible, but you can see tiny bits of stuff in it?”

Mina nodded smartly. “Yes. Except, just like sunbeams, you can only see it if you’re looking at exactly the right spot, at the right time, from the right angle. It’s really a pain in the ass.” She made a face, so honestly disgruntled that Dawn laughed out loud.

“But YOU can see it, right?”

“Sometimes,” Mina sighed. “I’m better at it now than I used to be, but you know how people say only twenty percent of the human mind is actually used consciously? Well, whatever this ability is, it’s tucked well away in a section that I can’t access easily. Most people can’t access it at all, even unconsciously,” she ceded, “But that doesn’t make it any more comforting when I’ve been trying to see something for ages and it just won’t kick into gear.”

Dawn had relaxed considerably, her frame easy as she reclined on her bed, torso and head on a mass of cushions. Mina’s explanations had been hesitantly accepted by the rest of the group downstairs, and though Dawn had been willing from the start, it was much easier that Mina was so ready to answer questions. The quiet of the room was beginning to sink in, the lazy way the dust floated in the sunlight, the gentle movements of the origami mobile in the corner – a crystallizing moment, as though they were all stuck in amber, able to sleep forever.

A chuckle bubbled out of Dawn; her eyelids were drooping a little now, the languor of the moment taking over completely, so she was almost half-conscious already. “I still can’t quite believe my sister let us do this without her hovering.”

Mina’s voice was low and warm in response. “It’s the blonde vampire I was more worried about, actually. The energy coming off of him alone – trying to block those two is hard enough to do when they’re in a different part of the house, they’d put me in a coma if they were in here the entire time. But I left them the Jolly Red Giant as collateral. Which I’m sure they’ll find interesting.”

“Is he your boyfriend?”

The textures of Mina’s voice changed ever so slightly, an echoing resonance that struck true in Dawn’s bones. “He’s my everything, forever, and from before forever existed.”

And Dawn had only a moment to puzzle about that odd declaration before she felt herself slip into a light and absent-minded sleep.

...

“How’s the head?” Xander asked, joining Aled outside where the taller man stood amongst the freshly-made graves.

“Ah, I’m six foot seven, I’m used to occasional brain damage by now. Or perhaps it just isn’t that noticeable in the first place,” the man responded affably, accepting the drink Xander offered. Both men stood silently for a while, looking out at the garden full of turned-over earth.

“I’ll assume this hasn’t much to do with planting,” Aled dryly broke the silence.

“In a way, yes. But mostly, no.”

“Mmm.” The manly silence ensued, and Xander realized how rare this situation was for him. Not since… well, Riley, actually, had there been another guy in this house who hadn’t wanted to kill him, or hated him, or whom he hated, or – well, there was Giles, he supposed. But Giles hadn’t been able to do this silent guy-thing, either. And frankly, he wasn’t exactly sure that Giles liked him too much.

Ah, well. Can’t have everything.

The light bounced off of Dawn’s window and caught his eye, and he turned to Aled, only to see that the redhead was also looking up at that window, a twist of a smile on his face. “Mina’s getting frustrated,” he commented, in a half-indulgent, half-sympathetic tone.

“You can feel that?”

Aled shook his head. “No – but they’ve been up there for an hour. I’ve been with her for long enough to know where her thresholds are: one hour, she’ll start getting tetchy; two hours, she’ll have to take a break and argue with herself inside her head for a good ten minutes; three hours, that’s usually when everyone gets hungry and she can take a break for a while. Then the entire cycle starts again.” He sighed. “She’s very hard on herself.”

Xander frowned. “What about Dawn?”

“She’s either asleep, or thinking, or bored,” Aled shrugged. “Imagine if someone were telekinetic, and they were trying to lift a weight with only the power of their mind. It’s the telekinetic who’s going to go mental trying to do it, not the weight. The weight has no idea it’s happening at all.”

Xander was mollified, a bit. Mina, and to a lesser degree Aled, had tried to explain fully what was happening in the room upstairs, but they had a habit of speaking in a lot of metaphors. Apparently a lot of this was intuitive, and could not be interrupted by other… “energy signatures” nearby, but Xander had become used to dimensions, to numbers and diagrams and things he could calculate, touch, feel. After Mina’s explanation, he had almost expected Mina to pull a dreamcatcher and crystals out of her satchel – this was all a bit too new-age for him.

Suddenly, Aled’s head jerked up, startling Xander.

“Mina needs to see Buffy. Where is she?” Aled’s tone was so casual, it was hard to reconcile with his words.

“Is something wrong?”

“No, Mina just needs her, and it would be better off if Mina needn’t leave the room to fetch her.” Aled began to lope towards the house, his progress abruptly halted when Xander grabbed his arm.

Xander was stockier than Aled, and for a moment it struck them both that they might be evenly matched, if they were ever set against each other. It was a brief thought, but one borne out of the intensity radiating off of Xander as it dawned on him that there was more to the Aled-Mina relationship than they’d been told.

But Aled spoke quickly and quietly, answering the unspoken question as he had a hundred times before. “Yes, there’s more to the story. There’s more to every story. And we will tell you, as we have told many others, including your Council, who know we’re no threat at all to you. But right now, I need to get your Slayer to my wife.” And he turned Xander’s grasp so that now he held Xander’s shoulder, not forcefully, but in an earnest gesture.

Xander stared at him for a moment, then rolled his eyes before striding towards the house. “One day,” he muttered, “I will not be the last one to know things.”

...

“Mi.”

Aled’s voice was soft and low, exactly the right pitch to catch Mina’s attention, but not enough to wake Dawn. He waited as she pulled herself together, like someone trying to wake from a very heavy slumber. Her cheeks were flushed, her hair had been hurriedly pinned back with the hundreds of bobby pins she kept tucked in a pocket, so it now twisted in tens of little tendrils all channeled down her back. She’d taken off her cardigan in the chilly room, and the freckles that dusted her shoulders and arms were vivid against her skin. Her eyes, when she finally looked up at him in the doorway, were dilated fully, deep and black.

His heart exploded in his ribcage, or at least it felt as if it had. A languid smile touched her lips gently, and he saw her chest lift as she breathed it in, the wash of emotion that came off of him, the strength of it making her skin tingle. She felt the beauty he saw in her, and he saw her blossom even more under it.

Buffy, of course, saw none of this. Ushered into the room just prior to Aled, she merely saw an exhausted-looking, plain woman with messy hair before her eyes darted to Dawn, comfortably reclined in bed. She’d been warned to stay silent, to not wake Dawn at any cost, and so she moved silently to the place by the bed Alec indicated.

Mina’s movements were far from the brisk efficiency she’d shown earlier on. The woman’s back was bent, her elbows on her knees and her forearms hanging loosely between them. Everything about her was slack as she gazed at Dawn, then Buffy, then back to Dawn again. Minutes passed as she repeated this circuit, again and again, and Buffy only barely held in the questions she felt ricocheting around inside of her. Then suddenly, Aled was moving, silently, his long legs taking him out of the room in two massive strides, though he stepped so lightly that Dawn didn’t even stir.

It was maddening, this waiting. Dusk would be falling soon, Buffy noted, her glance flicking over to the window. She didn’t have time for all of this. She needed results, and quickly, and nighttime was too precious to spend it cooped up in rooms with witch-doctoresses and their lanky sidekicks. She could keep Dawn safe, she knew. Why did Giles have to send these two, anyhow? Weren’t there others? Couldn’t he have come himself? At least then she would have known that Dawn was safe when she left in the evening, as she would certainly have to do tonight. Kane was still out there, still creeping around, and she didn’t want to plant any more girls in the ground tomorrow.

Despite everything she’d been told, she was preparing to break the silence to question Mina when Aled returned as abruptly as he’d vanished. And this time, he had a shadow.

Spike’s arrival was apparently sanctioned, as he walked over to the window without Mina moving a muscle. Spike’s eyes found Dawn quickly, then briefly skipped over Mina and Buffy before returning to Aled. The tall redhead had moved closer to Mina, intense concentration evident on his face, before he looked back up to lock eyes with the vampire. He jerked his chin upwards briefly, and Spike began to roll up his sleeve. In her chair, Mina’s skin glinted as the setting sun broke off a sudden sheen of sweat that covered her face, her arms, her chest.

Buffy would remember what happened next as if in a dream, it went so quickly and seemed so utterly unconnected to her, though everyone else played their part:

Spike thrust his right hand into the last of the sunlight as it spilled in through the glass, and the skin began to blister and burn immediately; Aled’s voice cracked through the silence with shattering power as he called “Dawn, wake up!”; Spike jerked his ruined hand away from the light and cradled it in his other arm, just as Dawn’s eyes opened and she saw the injured vampire at the foot of her bed; Dawn shouted Spike’s name, her hands reaching out to him before she suddenly slumped over like a giant rag doll; Spike leapt to catch her, his arms coming up to cradle her, both hands intact and healthy and whole; and Mina let out a shout before flinging herself back against the chair, her hands pressed against her eye sockets and sucking in great gusts of air.

“What have you done?”

Buffy was shocked. She knelt by Dawn, whose breath was shallow and quick, pulse fluttering at her throat. Already her eyes were struggling to open, eyes rolled back but striving to focus. Spike made small soothing noises, and Dawn’s face turned towards him. Buffy placed her hand on her sister’s cheek and then jerked back, surprised. Dawn skin was hot to the touch, despite the coolness of the evening.

“What have you DONE?” She repeated, turning to Mina, who was still crushing the heel of her hand into one socket, then the other.

“My job.” The change in Mina’s voice was startling, a strained and grating sound. Aled gently placed his hands behind Mina’s head and his long fingers began to smooth the muscles of her neck in long, deep sweeps. She winced, but leaned into his touch as the knots began to melt away.

“That’s not an answer.”

Aled shot Buffy an exasperated look. “Is your sister all right?”

“How would I know? Your girlfriend’s the professional.”

The expression on Aled’s face indicated he was about to say something quite rude in return, but was saved by Dawn’s weak, peevish interruption.

“Shut UP… Loud people…”

Spike grimaced lightly as he helped Dawn sit up. He too could feel the heat that radiated off of Dawn’s skin; he kept his hands carefully flat and rigid, allowing her to use him as a frame to pull herself upright. She sucked air through her teeth sharply when she accidentally brushed her arm against his chest – her skin felt crisp, as though it might crackle and flake off is she made the wrong move.

“Oh my god,” she groaned. “I feel like I’ve been roasted. Or boiled. Or fried.”

“Probably a little bit of all that,” Aled said sympathetically. His expression closed a little as he looked to Buffy. “Her skin’s going to be tender for a while, you might want to get some of the aloe vera stuff, anything good for sunburn.”

“I…” Buffy faltered; she clearly did not want to leave Dawn’s side.

“I will.” Spike brushed his thumb against Dawn’s forehead and stood.

But before leaving, he paused by Aled. “We’re not doing that again,” he muttered shortly.

Aled returned his gaze calmly. “No.”

…

Willow was baking.

It felt good, this kitchen. Yellows and greens and reds, it had been somewhat redesigned in her absence, but the shapes were the same. She fit in this kitchen, perched on this stool, the ceramic mixing bowl in front of her. She turned the contents over and over, folding them into each other, clean and fresh and wholesome.

She’d sat quietly through the meeting earlier, watching her friends and the strangers broker a sort of peace. Mina’s earnestness was winning, but Willow spent much of her time watching Aled. There was something about him she couldn’t place. Not a bad thing, she thought. Just – a difference. And the way he reflected Mina’s mood, her anxieties, her effusiveness… All things to be expected in a lover or close friend, but he somehow anticipated her too soon or something.

But when they had all splintered into their respective corners – Mina and Dawn upstairs for what Mina elusively referred to as “the consultation”, Spike lurking on the staircase, Buffy into the basement workshop, Aled and Xander to the yard – she had found herself pulled towards this kitchen. And in the ensuing hours, she realised, she’d baked up a bit of a storm.

Muffins, spiced breads, cookies, all sweet or savoury carbs piled high on counters and cooling racks, enough to feed a small army. Buffy, from the looks of the cabinets, mostly lived on tinned soups and takeout menus. But tucked away in a corner Willow had found flour, a rummage through the fridge had yielded eggs and butter, and the spice rack was slightly dusty but still packed with cinnamon, cloves, nutmeg.

For a house full of people, many of them quite volatile, Willow was grateful for the haven she had found. It was funny – after so much time spent isolating herself, trying to limit the amount of time she spent exposed to others and telling herself it was for their own good, she’d forgotten how this could feel. The sense of belonging, being able to care for others, to be part of an overall balanced dynamic. She had missed it, but was also beginning to realise that she’d been terribly, terribly scared of it as well.

Her mind fluttered a bit as her thoughts began the dread slide towards memory of what had happened last time she was so close to these people, these same exact people… She clutched the rim of the counter, waiting for the blackout to strike, hoping the floor wouldn’t hurt too much when she fell…

But then, the most unexpected thing happened.

Rather than the nauseating tilt into unconsciousness she was so used to, she remained upright. The hated memories did not, for once, sink into her consciousness like a poison, inching through every part of her, controlling her completely. Instead, she sensed the greasy sensation wash away, drain into a more manageable shape, contained. It was so unreal that she almost slipped from her stool with the shock of it.

Had she reached a saturation point, she wondered? A state when she’d been in so much anguish for so long that she’d built up an immunity? In the past year, she had felt as though her brain were some sort of giant, squishy grey sponge, sucking up psychic pain and allowing it to diffuse everywhere, until there was no working part of her mind left untainted. Was there no more room to hurt?

No, she decided. It couldn’t be that – for her to be saturated with that much self-loathing, that disgust, she would have to be continually miserable. Or, she noted dryly, dead. Instead, she decided, it had been like water slicking off a stone. Dirty water, to be sure, but her mind remained intact.

In wonderment she stared around the kitchen, where she’d first begun her turn down a darker path so many years in the past. If the universe believed in symmetry, could this be it? In this house of all places, where she should have been most vulnerable, perhaps she had finally begun to heal.

…

Spike leaned into the doorway. “How is she?”

“’She’ is awake, Spike. God. “ Dawn’s sourness made Buffy move closer beside her. “I was asleep! Nothing even happened!”

“Not while you were asleep, no.” The softness left Buffy’s stance abruptly, and she cast a dark look at Spike. He handed Dawn a jar of ointment to wordlessly, without a hint of apology.

It was as if his motion flipped a switch in Buffy’s mind. His lack of repentance enraged her, reigniting a fury she’d kept in check out of concern for her sister. Now that Dawn was seemingly only a little worse for wear, she allowed it to bubble out of her, a rapid, hissed anger she practically spit at him.

“What the hell did you think you were doing, you arrogant bastard?” She stood, tiny and electric, advancing on him. “You had no idea what that could have done to her! She’s weak enough as it is, without you running around and trying… what, experiments on her?”

Spike looked at her coolly. “It needed to be done, Buffy. I wouldn’t have harmed her, but it needed to be done.”

Buffy exploded. “Oh, so YOU make all of the decisions now? My god, Spike! Who ARE you, to keep invading my family, my friends? If you’d broken her, it’s not like you’d’ve stayed to fix it, would you?” The import of those words registered with him, she could tell by the way his shoulders jerked briefly.

And then, because it was on the tip of her tongue and because she wanted him to hurt, in a tone laden with all the scorn she could muster: “No, you run, Spike. I know you. You run.”

Dawn’s heart plunged straight through her stomach. She was forgotten, had frozen in the act of rubbing aloe into her face, wary of moving and drawing any attention. Buffy’s words, she knew, were very close to the kind you can’t recover from.

Briefly, in that silent aftermath, something inside Buffy twinged – she knew that this was not right, this questioning of his loyalty. He’d been honorable, he’d been fair, and she was drawing Dawn into something ugly and hurtful and fierce. But fear, delayed by the speed of events and the shock of Dawn’s burning, was beginning to catch up to her. And, as a small nasty voice deep down kept reminding her, Spike’s loyalty occasionally expressed itself in irrational, dangerous ways.

Spike dropped his head. Quietly, he spoke directly to the floor.

“I’m sorry you hurt.” Breath in, blank face. “I’m so sorry I ever hurt you.” And his eyes darted up for a moment, taking in Dawn first – who radiated back love and calm and acceptance like a balm – then Buffy, rigid and defensive, salt in a wound.

He turned and left the room, because there was nothing else that he could do.

…

“Better yet?”

Aled and Mina sat on the front porch on Revello Drive, on the long porch swing, rocking gently in the evening breeze. Aled’s dimensions were perfectly suited to this activity; his torso formed a perfect curve where Mina nestled contentedly, and his leg idly pushed the swing back and forth, back and forth as he gently pulled his fingertips through her hair. She sighed, enjoying the caress, the sweet smell of California suburb, the way the air only hinted at a chill.

A brief kiss on her forehead made her smile, her eyes closed and drifting, and she roused herself to answer.

“Yeah, I’m okay.” The throbbing had left her eye sockets by now, thank god – she’d never known any pain to feel worse than this, as though someone were yanking on her optic nerves, dragging her eyeballs through the back of her head. Monkeys. Tiny, evil monkeys, bouncing on the bundled nerves like jungle vines.

Her body reacted in sympathy with thought, and another surge of soreness made her wince and groan,

Aled’s voice was immediately in her ear, low and soothing. “All right, you be still, let it fade…” She could feel him reach somewhere, and then something puffy and warm covered her.

“Aled, what…?” Her fingers plucked at the fabric curiously, and she sat upright to bring the handful to her face.

“No!”

Unexpectedly, Aled’s hand was suddenly shielding her eyes, and she opened them to see nothing at all. Surprised, she laughed, bringing up both her hands to curl around his hovering fingers. “Care to explain?”

“Promise me first, you won’t open your eyes one bit.” His voice dropped again, once more drifting close to her ear, sending delicious prickles up her arms. And more primly, as an aside, “You’re not meant to open them so soon either way, you naughty girl.”

She shrugged; he was right, her eyes were probably still tender, and she was in no rush. The breeze was sweet and she was comfortable, so she obediently closed her eyes again, her eyelashes grazing his palm, and settled herself against him again. She could feel him tucking the fabric around her again, fussily tugging it up to cover her chest where her tank top left her collarbones exposed to the air. He solved the problem of her bare arms by laying his own sweater-clad limbs along her skin, wrapping her in her own arms, then in him.

“I feel it’s only fair to warn you,” he rumbled, speech that shook his chest and she could feel against her cheek, “that you are currently ensconsed in the most god-awfully wretched quilt man has ever seen.” She laughed delightedly, and then immediately began to whine a little, because now she was curious.

“No no,” he admonished sternly. “Your eyes need a rest, and to look at this abomination… Well, in your state, you’d never see again.” He tilted her face up and looked suspiciously at her eyelids to see if she’d rebel, and when she didn’t he dropped two quick kisses on her eyebrows, then tucked her under his chin again.

Mina chuckled; he reminded her of nothing so much as a mother hen at these times, when she allowed him to care for her entirely. Before him, she’d have been fine alone in a dark room, just given a little time to adjust and think. But ever since he had appeared, he had taken this element of their work over entirely.

And she had to admit that she looked forward to this – the moment on a job when they began collaboration again, after she’d done what he helpfully called “the heavy lifting”. And for some reason, the pain left more swiftly when he was there to chase it away.

“So,” she murmured.

Aled nodded above her, recognizing her cue to begin. “So.”

“It’s not a closed circuit.” She felt as though the energy patterns were burned onto the inside of her eyelids; even with her eyes shut tight, the sequence replayed itself so many times that she knew it by heart.

She paused, and felt Aled hesitate. Occasionally, she needed him to ask series of questions, to draw the patterns out of her own mind. But this one she could tell straight, and plunged into it immediately.

“Dawn is drawing off of Buffy; it’s a constant bleed, I don’t think Buffy even notices that it’s happening, what with the amount of energy she expends on a regular basis. But in the long run, it’s certainly more than Buffy can bear to lose. I think that connection is intentional, though it looks… crafted. And that influx is pooling in Dawn, but it’s only a temporary dam, so…”

“It bursts,” Aled put in grimly.

“I think so; I think it has to, somehow.” Mina brought her hand up to her temple, massaging briefly. “But when the dam bursts, it’s not just spillover; it’s feedback, too. That side of her circuit IS closed, but in a very bad way for Dawn. She’s sending out good…”

“…and getting back bad. Right.” Aled looked broodingly into the distance, his brow furrowed in concentration. They sat in silence for a few moments, both turning the problem over in their minds.

Very quietly, Aled ventured a question.

“Do you think we can mend it? Any of it?”

He trusted her so much, to make this decision. She knew his pride in her, his faith in her abilities, the love he gave so selflessly; but this trust, she thought, meant the most to her. Because it was here when he placed himself in her hands, and believed that she would make the right decision for the both of them.

“I think we can.” Mina opened her eyes hesitantly, then wider, relieved that the dusk was now dim enough for her eyes to cope. She turned to Aled, searching his face for doubt – it wasn’t there. “Yes, we can. We’ll have to ask them both how much they want to attempt, and part of it might be a bit of a gamble, but… We can stop her dying. At least for a little longer.”

She was so tired, Aled could see. She’d once described her work as staring directly into the sun for hours on end, and the intense pain that followed; he’d tried holding his gaze on the sun the next day and had to duck away within seconds, his head throbbing and eyes watering, black splotches weaving in his vision for the rest of the day. He didn’t know how she did it.

So he pulled her towards him once more, allowing her to close her eyes and sink into him. “Then we’ll both start working the equations, but later. Now, love, rest.”

She did. His cotton sweater smelled of spice and his scent, and the low whisper of his voice lilted his favorite nonsense litany as she dropped into a light doze: “Mina, Mina, Mina mine. My Mina, mia Mi, my own.”

…