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It was nearly one am, and the rain was so hard now, it sounded as if someone was throwing pebbles at the windows. He pulled off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. It didn't matter how many times he translated the passage in the torn manuscript; there was only one way to stop Glory, and he was going to have to be the one to do it, because no one else would or should have to. This is what he had signed up for. What he had sworn to do. Only he hadn't. If, at age nineteen, he'd known half the things he was going to have to do as a watcher, he would never have stopped running, never returned to the Council and accepted his fate. Only, he would have. Because deep down, he was a decent man. So decent, he was capable of the most despicable acts.

Wind whipped through the trees. Bizarrely, Giles was worried about her. He put his pen down and knocked over a pile of books as he pushed his chair back and stood up from the dining room table. He peered out the window, and saw nothing but his own drawn features reflected in the darkness.

He was so tightly wound these days that the smallest noise or shadow made his muscles rigid. He tensed now, as the front door opened and Dawn came in. She closed the door behind her with the silence borne of long practice sneaking in late. She took off her jacket, glanced into the dining room, and froze at the sight of Giles standing there, staring at her.

"You're late," he said. "Did you have a good time with Janice?"

She'd been acting strangely for the past few days, and her expression now was one he hadn't seen since she'd cut herself a few weeks before, after finding out that she was the Key.

He took a few steps towards her, and frowned when she took a step back, and he saw how pale she was. "Dawn? Are you all right? Did something happen tonight?"

"No… it's okay. G'night, Giles," she said quietly, and disappeared up the stairs.

***

Fifteen minutes later, Giles gave up on trying to rationalise what he knew was inevitable. He might as well go to bed. Going to bed was the part of the day he most looked forward to now; the few short hours in which he could be oblivious to everything. Except when he couldn't.

He went upstairs, and in what he knew was a sudden burst of hypocrisy, he knocked lightly on Dawn's door and opened it. He stood in the doorway and watched her scramble to put a pile of very serious first aid supplies back into the trauma kit. Giles looked up and down the hall, but there was no indication of wakefulness from any of the bedrooms. Perhaps they craved the relief of sleep as much as he did. He moved into the room and closed the door.

"I thought you said you weren't hurt."

Dawn didn't look at him. "I'm not."

"Then what's all this for?"

She shook her head. "I was just looking for something."

"What?" Giles sat down on the bed, fully aware that she wanted him to go away.

"Just some stuff. I'm really tired, Giles. Do you think you could yell at me in the morning?"

"I'm not here to yell. I just came to see if you were all right," he said softly. "Are you?"

Dawn's eyes filled with tears, and her jaw tightened.

"Tell me."

For a minute she seemed unable to bring herself to say anything, and he waited in patient silence, hating himself for giving the appearance of compassion, when he had spent the evening sitting downstairs thinking about ways to kill her.

"Spike told me."

"What?" Spike told her? That could mean anything.

"It's me. I'm the Key,"

"Yes, but you've known that for a while now."

Her accusing stare made his heart skip a beat. "What I didn't know was the only thing that can stop Glory and save Buffy and everyone… save *the world*… is if I die."

Part of Giles burned to go over to Spike's crypt and beat the shit out of him for laying this new information on Dawn. Another part was guiltily relieved that the dirty work of explaining it had been spared him. He wondered how bluntly Spike had put it to her.

"I'm afraid that's right."

"Spike told me days ago. He said you knew, and Buffy knows. Why didn't anyone tell *me*?"

"We've been trying to find another solution."

"And have you?"

The glasses came off. "No."

"Well… we all know what the solution is," she whispered.

"Dawn… "

"It's all I've been able to think about for five days. Don't tell me you haven't thought about it."

Giles' first instinct was to look at the floor, but he forced himself to look her in the eye. He owed her that. "I have. I'm sorry. I have to think about these things. It's… my job." Christ, that sounded pathetic.

"I know." Tears spilled down her face, and she forced out the words. "Will you help me do this?"

"Dawn," he said, softly. He felt ill.

She opened her purse and took out an envelope. "I wrote a letter. So Buffy and everyone will… understand."

It was at this point that he should ask her if she was really certain; or try to talk her out of it; or jump in with the soothing, authoritative words of hope and comfort that she desperately wanted to hear, but there were none. This obviously wasn't a decision she'd made in a hurry, and he understood now why she'd demanded to see everything he'd been translating for the past few days. There was no choice, and casting doubt that this was the right thing to do would merely be cruel. Either she did this herself now, or he did it to her later, in a manner which would probably be far more traumatic for them all. He was incredibly proud of her for having made the decision on her own. It was braver, and more selfless than anything he'd ever done.

He nodded, once. "Whenever you're ready, I'll help you."

The word was barely audible in the little room. "Now. Before I change my mind."

Giles reached around the girl's small frame and pulled her into a strong hug. "I'm so sorry, Dawn. If there were *any* other way…"

He felt her nod against his shoulder. "It's okay," she whispered. "It's not your fault. It's nobody's fault. I'm glad you're here. I thought I was going to have to do it alone."

He held her for some time, until he felt her shuddering breaths calm, and then pulled back. He twisted around to the trauma kit behind them, and rummaged through the packages until he found a clear glass bottle.

"This is morphine. It's a very strong painkiller. An overdose of this will cause a coma, and then death," he said gently. "How quickly it happens depends on how much you have, and how quickly it enters your bloodstream."

Dawn couldn't look at it. "Will it hurt?"

"It can cause muscle cramps at first, but I don't think they would last very long."

She nodded, and was silent.

"We don't have to do this now, if you want to talk to Buffy first."

"No. It's all in the letter. Buffy wouldn't let me do this."

They both knew it was true.

"Just do it, Giles."

***

He leaned against the bathroom counter, steadying himself. He had done some atrocious, depraved things in his time, but none of them had seared themselves on his conscience and his soul as he knew this would. Dawn was not human. She was not Buffy's sister, and he had not known her for the past five years. There was no alternative, and this would stop Glory and save the world. He could not cry, and his hands could not shake. Dawn needed him to be absolutely certain that this was the right thing, so that she could feel the same. He washed and dried his sweating hands and face, and tried to make it look as though he hadn't been crying. He took a deep breath, went back to Dawn's room, and again shut the door behind him.

She was sitting curled up against the pillows, holding a stuffed giraffe. "Mom gave me this when I was five," she said roughly, "except she didn't. I've never been five." She looked at him, and he had to keep his eyes very still to keep the tears in. "Do you think I'll see Mom?"

Giles sat down beside her. "That's certainly a possibility."

"Do you believe in heaven?"

He hesitated. "Well, let's say I don't *disbelieve* in anything. I see no reason why there shouldn't be a heaven." There was certainly enough evidence for hell.

"I'm scared."

"I know." What could he say? Don't be? There's nothing to be afraid of? "It'll be all right. You're doing an incredible thing, Dawn. It shan't be forgotten, I promise you. We all love you so much, and I can't tell you how proud I am, and how proud everyone else will be."

Dawn clutched the stuffed giraffe tighter, and her teeth were chattering with fear. "You'd better do it now."

"You're ready?"

On her reluctant nod, Giles picked up the bottle of morphine and a syringe. He filled the syringe almost full, then wiped her arm with antiseptic, conscious of the irony. The last thing they needed to worry about was an infection. He looked at her again. "Ready?"

She nodded, and held out her arm. He slid the needle into the crook of her elbow and was careful to make it as painless and accurate an injection as possible. When it was done, he put the needle to the side, and lay back on the bed beside her. He put his arm around her and pulled her close. "How are you doing?"

She nodded. "Okay." She looked up at his tear-streaked face. "Don't feel bad, Giles. I asked you to help. This is the right thing to do."

"Yes. It is. But I'm going to miss you so much. We all will." He managed a smile for her sake. "Tell me something I don't know about you," he said.

After a second, she said, "I save flies from spiderwebs."

He smiled. "That's kind of you." "I'll tell you something you don't know about Buffy. She wants to be closer to you, but she's afraid. She's always felt alone, and without me and Mom, you're all she has… so be good to her, okay?"

"Yes, of course I will." Although how Buffy would react to what he was doing now was something he could not allow himself to contemplate. Whatever she did, he would accept and deserve. Her mother, the person she had loved most in all the world, was gone, and now her watcher was enabling the death of the only other family she had. He fought the sudden, wild impulse to call for an ambulance.

"I'm tired."

"Yes, that's all right." It wouldn't be long now. Dawn kicked against the drug, trying to stay awake as long as she could, but her breathing and pulse had slowed, and her pupils dilated. Giles began to sing to her, very softly, an old lullaby his mother had sung.

A few minutes later, the bedroom door cracked open. Buffy stood there in her pyjamas, looking rumpled and confused. "What's going on?" she smiled. "I told Dawn no boy/girl sleepovers." She perched on the end of the bed and began untying Dawn's shoes. She glanced up to see if the movement was disturbing her sister's sleep, and her eyes flicked to Giles.

Then she registered that he was crying. Hard. "Giles?" The confusion on her face was almost more than he could bear.

Buffy moved to Dawn. She put her hand on the girl's forehead, frowned, and drew back at the feel of the cold, clammy skin. Dawn's eyes fluttered slightly. Buffy looked to her watcher. "Is she sick?"

"No," he said softly. "Buffy…"

Then she noticed the syringe beside the bed. Her face was darkening rapidly. "What's that?"

"Buffy…"

"Oh God!" she said shakily. "What have you done?" She grabbed Giles by the front of his shirt and pulled him away from her sister. She grabbed the phone by the bed and started dialling 911 with one hand, as she continued to shake Dawn with the other.

Giles wrenched the phone from her hand and threw it across the room. He grabbed Buffy, pushed her against the wall, and held her there. "It's too late." He paused to let that sink in. He didn't want her to upset Dawn now. "I'm so sorry, Buffy, but it's too late. Dawn wanted this. She asked me to help her." As if that would save him from himself or anyone else.

For a second, Buffy stared into his eyes with shock and hatred. Then she shoved him away and flew back to the bed. Dawn's eyelids fluttered open, and seeing her sister, she smiled. A sob exploded from Buffy, though he knew she'd tried to keep it down.

Giles sank to the floor by the bed and took Dawn's hands in his as Buffy curled up on the bed next to her, holding her close. Among the soft endearments, he heard Dawn tell her not to blame him, but he was too caught in his own wretchedness to care.

Suddenly, Buffy's voice became very weak and thin. "Dawn?… Dawn?"

Giles blinked. Dawn's body seemed to fade in and out of focus, becoming less substantial. His hands moved through hers now, rather than holding them. Her body was glowing, becoming less distinct. He and Buffy could only watch as Dawn became invisible through a radiant green energy field. It grew so bright they were forced to close their eyes, and then was gone. Giles was left alone on the floor, staring across the empty space at his slayer.