PART TWO

********************

 

PHOENIX BURNING

 

by Yahtzee

 

Yahtzee63@aol.com

 

********************

 

Chapter Eleven

 

"A Matter of Trust"

 

 

 

"What do you think you're doing?" Frances said. "Fighting a demon with your hands? And where is Noor?"

 

"Way to thank me for saving your life," Buffy snapped. Her clawed palms hurt, and she looked down at them to see how deep the cuts were.

 

"I only came out here to observe your progress, and if I'd been able to track you and Noor together, I'd not have been forced to get out of the transport and endanger myself in the first place," Frances said. "And I need to have a look at those cuts -- and at the Gryra --"

 

"The cuts aren't deep," Buffy said with a shrug.

 

"Well, every now and then you find a Gryra demon with poison in their claws," Frances said as she leaned over to look at the demon's smoldering remains.

 

Buffy stared down at her hands. The cuts weren't that deep at all.

 

"Hmm," Frances said. "As I thought. No white stripes on the limbs. Should be fine, then --"

 

Just little cuts. Nothing major. Nothing to worry about.

 

"-- but you really could have been in trouble, you know --"

 

"Was it poisonous?" Buffy said.

 

Frances blinked. "Was I not clear? No, this isn't one of the poisonous ones."

 

"Are you sure?" Buffy was still staring down at her hands. They were shaking violently. "Are you sure this one wasn't poisonous? My back! It got my back too -- are you sure?"

 

"I'm sure," Frances said coolly. "We need to find Noor this instant --"

 

"Because if we need to get an antidote or do a spell or something we should do it really fast, like, right now, Frances. We have to really hurry because there might not be time if we don't hurry. So we have to be fast and we have to go right now and make sure that there's no poison --"

 

"Buffy!" Frances crisp voice seemed to cut off Buffy's broken jabbering. The last words choked in her throat. She didn't stop shaking. "Get some control over of yourself."

 

"Okay," Buffy said, speaking more to herself than Frances. "Okay. I'll be okay."

 

More gently, Frances said, "Let me see those cuts."

 

Buffy held out her hands, then turned so Frances could see her back. "Not poisonous?" Buffy asked through chattering teeth.

 

"No," Frances said, taking Buffy's elbow to steer her toward the transport. "You're very lucky, Buffy. You could have had much worse."

 

"I know," Buffy whispered.

 

**

 

"You came back without Noor?" Ishak said, his forehead furrowed with concern.

 

"They're looking for her now," Frances said, her voice raised slightly to carry the length of Ishak's Hall. A handful of Watchers, all but one apparently roused from sleep, had been gathered together there.

 

Angel, of course, would have been wide awake. Buffy could almost feel him watching her from his place at the far end of the room. But she couldn't bring herself to meet his eyes, or anyone else's; she sat trembling in her chair, unable to collect her thoughts or her strength.

 

Markwith was seated next to Ishak, and though nobody in the room appeared to be very happy, he looked angrier than anyone else. "Buffy, what were you thinking? Since your arrival we have stressed, over and over, how dangerous it is for you to patrol on your own --"

 

"It felt weird," Buffy said in a voice that sounded small and pathetic, even to her own ears.

 

"I beg your pardon? Did you just attempt to excuse an egregious breach of all Council protocol by saying that looking to your own safety 'felt weird'? Is that what we're to understand?" Markwith demanded.

 

"Markwith --" Angel said, his tone a warning.

 

Markwith cut him off with an impatient gesture of his hand. "I'd prefer to hear an explanation from someone who was there and might know. Can you shed any light on this, Buffy? On why you would do something so irresponsible?"

 

"It -- felt -- weird," Buffy said, putting a little more strength behind her words. "I felt like I wanted to see the city for myself. And I never patrolled with anybody I didn't really know. And really trust."

 

"You don't trust Noor?" Frances said.

 

"It's not that! I just mean that -- that --" Buffy gestured with her still-aching hands, trying to grab at the words she hadn't found, even for herself. "Slaying's not about rules. It's about instinct. Whatever it is that makes me the Slayer -- it's deep inside me. It's a part of me. And I have to listen to that first. That's what makes me good at this. That's what keeps me alive."

 

A brief pause followed her words. Buffy could tell that some of the Watchers were carefully considering what she'd said.

 

Markwith was not. "Forgive me for saying it, Buffy, but your records suggest that, many times, this was what almost got you killed." Buffy felt her body go cold; the stripes of pain across her back throbbed with fresh pain. "I have no doubt that your Watcher was a good man, but my review of his records suggests he was rather -- lax -- in your discipline. You may have enjoyed that freedom at the time, Buffy, but his failure to --"

 

"Giles was not a failure!" she cried. "Giles understood this! He wasn't some -- some -- pointy-headed pencil-pusher who tried to run my life like, like, I don't know -- Dilbert's boss or something."

 

Frances sighed and said, to no one in particular, "Do you understand anything she's saying?"

 

"Yes," Angel said. The others all turned to look at him, and to Buffy's surprise, Angel actually smiled. "I understood every word. It's weird, the things you remember -- Dilbert was -- it was a cartoon, right, Buffy?"

 

Buffy felt the sob that had been welling in her throat suddenly turn into a short little laugh. "Yeah."

 

"Right!" Angel said. "Well, Dilbert was this little guy who worked in an office, and he had a necktie that went like this --" Angel made a swooshy motion with his hand in front of his chest, and Buffy laughed again. Nobody else at the table did. Angel dropped his hand and looked somewhat abashed. "What Buffy's saying is that you can't let the form of the rules be more important than their intent. The most important thing is letting the Slayer do her job to the best of her ability."

 

"Our rules are designed for that purpose --" Frances began, but Angel cut her off.

 

"Our rules work well for the Slayers who were trained to work with them," he said. "But maybe they don't work so well for Buffy."

 

"So what are you suggesting?" Markwith said. "That we simply send Buffy out without backup every night? I should have thought you'd be more concerned for her safety."

 

"I am concerned," Angel said. "I just think Buffy should have a say in this."

 

"The Slayers don't make the rules," Frances insisted. "And we're not going to break them because of her former Watcher's bad habits."

 

"A word of warning," Buffy said. "I'm injured right now. But if you guys ever start badmouthing Giles when I've got my full strength, you're gonna learn a lot about MY bad habits."

 

"Buffy, please refrain from threatening members of the Council," Ishak said, calmly enough. "You're upset. Understandably so. Is there perhaps some middle ground here? Can you think of a compromise?"

 

"I should come on patrols with you instead," Frances offered, "That's standard procedure, after all. Or we could try one of the other Slayers --"

 

"No. I don't want that -- I don't know what I -- " Buffy sighed and put her hand to her forehead, then winced with renewed pain. She looked at her injured hands -- and the answer came to her in a rush. "Angel," Buffy said. "I'll patrol with Angel."

 

Nobody seemed delighted that this simple solution had presented itself. The Watchers all shifted uneasily in their seats. Angel himself looked more surprised than anything else. Ishak was the first to speak. "Buffy -- we've not permitted Angel to patrol for decades now."

 

"What? Are you crazy?" Buffy said. "You need to kill as many vampires and demons as you can, right? Take it from someone who's fought him: Angel can kick some serious ass."

 

"Something happened," Angel said. "About forty years ago. I was flushing some demons out of nest, and I let a Brachen demon go."

 

"Oh, wait, I know this one," Buffy said. "The ones with the green faces with little pointy things. They're peaceful, right? No harm, no foul?"

 

"Peaceful, yes. They'd never hurt anyone. But most humans don't understand that. And when some people saw me let the demon go -- well, they weren't happy."

 

"Well, who cares?" Buffy shrugged. "So they got their panties in a wad. Since when did you start worrying what people think?"

 

Angel said nothing. It was Ishak who said, gently, "People have a great deal of difficulty with the idea of a vampire on the Council. When they saw him letting a demon go free, they interpreted it wrongly. The end result was something of a mob scene, I'm afraid."

 

The room was deathly quiet. Buffy finally said, "They hurt you?"

 

"I made it through," Angel said. "If you want me to patrol with you, Buffy, then I think we should do it."

 

"Angel, no," Ishak said. "We all want to assist Buffy. But you must not take such risks again. You were six years getting your strength back --"

 

"Nothing's gonna happen to Angel," Buffy said, with more confidence than she felt. How badly did a vampire have to be hurt for healing to take six years? But the thought of Angel so badly wounded when he had only been trying to help filled her with an anger fueled her determination. "I -- I won't let it. I'll watch his back, and he'll watch mine."

 

"You're meant to be operating as the Slayer, not as Angel's bodyguard," Frances said. "It's counterproductive."

 

"No, it isn't," Angel said. "Buffy and I were a good team. We fought well together. And I'm not going to let her take any risks on my behalf."

 

"Any more risks, I think you mean," Frances said, with the cold assurance of someone who had, undoubtedly, finished reading Giles' diaries.

 

Angel was unfazed. "Yes. That's what I mean."

 

"I don't like this," Ishak said. "It's dangerous for you." He meant Angel, Buffy realized.

 

"Patrolling is always dangerous," Angel said. He was leaning forward now, gesturing as he spoke. For the first time since her return, Buffy realized she was seeing Angel behaving naturally; that mask of hard, severe control had slipped away. "It's always a risk. I've obeyed your restrictions for all this time for your comfort, not mine. If we're asking Buffy to take her chances out there, then we should help her any way we can."

 

"I think it's an excellent idea," Markwith said.

 

Buffy's raised an eyebrow. She could see Angel tensing up again, leaning back in his chair.

 

"Angel's priorities are clear," Markwith said. "He wants to help Buffy. And that's understandable, isn't it? Why not give it a try?"

 

Buffy tried desperately to think of why not. Anything Markwith approved of seemed somewhat suspect.

 

But with her back still throbbing with pain on every heartbeat, and the memory of the smell of her own blood fresh, Buffy could not bear to let the chance go. "Is it settled, then? Can we go?"

 

Ishak still looked unhappy, but he nodded. "Angel will accompany Buffy on her patrols. But there is one other thing -- no, not about you, Buffy -- I understand there were vampire trials today."

 

Markwith's smile suddenly seemed a little forced. "Yes, there were. All the authorizations were carried out."

 

"And those authorizations do not specifically require you to get my approval," Ishak said. "I'm warning you now, that is likely to change. Very soon."

 

"Ishak, your personal distaste for the procedure doesn't change what it means to the people --"

 

"No, I don't suppose it does," Ishak said, rising from the table. "But I don't think it means as much to them as you believe. You know my feelings on this. You agreed to slowly phase them out of existence; that's the only reason I haven't stopped them entirely before now. Don't call them for anything so trivial again. Any other business?"

 

"The recent theft from my room has never been solved," Angel said. "I'd like my things back. Barring that, I'd like an explanation."

 

"We'll look into it," Ishak said tiredly, and Buffy got the impression this conversation had happened before.

 

Markwith rose from his seat, half-bowed, and quickly exited the room. Frances hesitated for a moment at Buffy's side. "We will have to discuss this."

 

"Whatever," Buffy said tiredly. Frances shook her head and hurried after Markwith. The other Watchers filed out behind Ishak. murmuring among themselves.

 

Angel remained in his seat and looked at her for a long moment. She expected him to say something about the patrols -- "thanks" or "what were you thinking?" or something. But he finally said, "It shook you."

 

"What? The Watchers? No way --"

 

"I mean earlier. The attack. You're still afraid."

 

Buffy wanted to lie, then remembered that Angel could literally smell fear. She took a deep breath and nodded. "The demon clawed me. Frances thought it might be poisonous, and when I thought I might die again --"

 

The last words caught in her throat. As she sat there silently, Angel said, "Will you be all right?"

 

"Yeah," she said. "Just -- walk me home, okay?"

 

"Of course," he said, gesturing to the door.

 

She got tiredly to her feet. "This coming back from the dead is no picnic."

 

"Tell me about it," Angel said. Buffy couldn't help laughing a little as they left the Hall.

 

After they had walked through the Keep for a while, Angel said, "Thank you for asking for my help with patrols. It means a lot."

 

"Bet you've missed it," Buffy said. "Kicking ass, taking names. Trust me, it's like riding a bike. You never forget."

 

"I never learned how to ride a bike," Angel said. "But I know what you mean. That's not what I was talking about, though. I meant -- thank you for trusting me. Wanting me by your side for this. It's -- been a while."

 

Buffy looked up at him. His expression was relaxed again, more gentle and natural than she'd seen it in a long time. "I always trust you," she said. "You know that. I know things got kinda weird with us sometimes, but -- I trust you. Don't you remember?"

 

"I do now," he said. "I'd almost forgotten how it feels."

 

His eyes were soft, and his body was close, and Buffy felt a very different sort of adrenalin rush. Disconcerted and surprised, she cast around for another topic. "Okay, how can you forget Willow and remember Dilbert?"

 

Angel shrugged. "There's not much rhyme or reason to memory, Buffy. A couple months back, I tried to remember what I was doing in the late 22nd century. Came up completely blank. There's a period of about thirty years that's just empty. But I can still remember every word of a lecture my father gave me once when I didn't rub down one of his horses after a long ride."

 

Buffy remembered her 20th-century history final, the one where she'd spent fifteen minutes trying to remember exactly what the Bolsheviks wanted, anyway. The whole time she'd been racking her brains, she could picture the relevant page of her textbook right in front of her, complete with the little flying pig Willow had doodled in the margins. The pig had blue-ink wings. The Bolsheviks were a mystery. "Okay," she said, "Point taken."

 

"Is this your room?" Angel said.

 

"Uh, yeah. I think so." Buffy squinted at the door, which looked like every other door in the whole compound. "How could you tell?"

 

"Smells like you," Angel said.

 

"In future, feel free to make up another answer," Buffy said. Angel smiled and opened his mouth, no doubt to bid her farewell. Buffy quickly added, "Angel? That attack tonight? I -- I think it was probably a good thing."

 

"Why is that?"

 

"When I first got here -- I mean, here as in now -- you know what I mean. Anyway, I was so depressed and scared. I told myself I just wanted to die again. I really did want to die."

 

"Buffy --"

 

"But tonight, when I actually thought I might die, it freaked me out. I knew I wanted to be alive again." Buffy looked up at him. "I knew I wanted to be here, no matter how weird or scary or strange it might be. I don't think I could've found that out any other way. Though I wouldn't have minded trying."

 

"I'm glad," Angel said.

 

"That's I'm better? Or that I'm here?"

 

"Both."

 

**

 

"And that was it? No good-night kiss? No hug?" Xiaoting's arms were crossed in front of her, and she looked as indignant as if she had been the one left unkissed at her door.

 

"It's not like that," Buffy said. "Didn't these stories you heard include the information that Angel and I broke up, like, two years before I died? We weren't a couple then, and we're not going to be again." She was forcing down the muesli-like cereal that apparently would have to serve for most breakfasts. Xiaoting had joined her for a picnic on the floor.

 

The bolts of red and blue fabric were stretched out over her sofa; Agatha, who had insisted on eating at the table, was studying them. "I've never attempted to sew without a pattern," Agatha said doubtfully.

 

"You'll think of something," Xiaoting said with an airy wave of her hand. "And don't give me that, Buffy. You and Angel are quite obviously drawn to each other. Imagine him still wanting you after so long!"

 

"I'm not sure he does," Buffy said. "And I'm not sure if I do. Even if we were -- we kinda have a curse problem."

 

"Ohhh, yes," Xiaoting said. "I'd heard about that. I thought that part of the story just had to be made up. But it's real?"

 

"Unfortunately," Buffy said.

 

"I thought Angel's curse was his soul," Agatha said. "Isn't that a good thing?"

 

"There's more to it," Xiaoting said. "And we'll tell you if you want, but I'm warning you now, it's about all those subjects you keep begging me not to mention."

 

Agatha's pale skin flushed. "You mean -- matrimonial relations?"

 

"Without the matrimony," Xiaoting said.

 

"Then perhaps you two should simply tell me what sort of clothes you want," Agatha said hurriedly.

 

"Anything that doesn't make me look like the Shmoo," Buffy suggested.

 

The door chimed, and Buffy called, "Come in!" She was hoping it would be Angel -- then looked with some panic at her wide-open window --

 

Instead, Noor stalked in the room. Her eyes were blazing. "You have ruined this for both of us!"

 

Buffy held up her hands, the spoon in one of them dripping milk on her arm. "Whoa, whoa. Chill out. I got busted. We knew it could happen --"

 

"It did not happen to me," Noor insisted. "It happened to you. Because you let your Watcher catch you, now we have to patrol on leashes. Like little dogs."

 

"Is Angel going to have you on a leash, Buffy?" Xiaoting laughed. "That's a bit kinky --"

 

"Oh, so you are patrolling with your boyfriend now," Noor said. She was glowering at Buffy with real fury -- something entirely different, and far scarier, than her usual bluster. "Is this why you let yourself be caught? So that you could have your lover for a chaperone?"

 

"I did not let myself be caught," Buffy said, feeling her own anger begin. "They were looking for both of us, and they just happened to find me."

 

"Very likely. Meanwhile, you are with your Angel every night now, and I must patrol with my nagging, weakling Watcher. He does not let me use my hands or my feet. He makes me fight in the ways I cannot fight." Noor was pacing now, her anger shifting from Buffy to her Watcher. "Why do they do this? It is stupid. It is worse than stupid."

 

"Noor, do try to be reasonable," Agatha said. "The new rules are only for our protection --"

 

"We are not to be protected," Noor said. "We are to fight. Am I the only one who sees this?"

 

Without waiting for an answer, Noor stormed out of the room. Buffy dropped her spoon back in her bowl. "Okay, that was in the dictionary next to Overreacting."

 

Xiaoting sighed and ran her hand beneath the blue material. "That girl has got to learn to relax."

 

"Her Watcher is rather a bore," Agatha said. "Certainly he's not so dashing as your new patrolling partner, Buffy."

 

"Can you guys stop with the boyfriend talk already?" Buffy tried to relax. "Sorry. I'm kinda edgy. But maybe Noor isn't just feral.I guess if I had to patrol with Frances from now on, I'd be all kinds of hacked off today."

 

"Exactly," Agatha said. "I think. If I understood what you said."

 

"Speaking of Slayers barging in," Buffy said, "where's Sumiko?"

 

"Oh, Markwith came for her first thing this morning," Agatha said. "I saw them going to the training area while I was taking my morning constitutional."

 

"Sumiko and Markwith?" Buffy said.

 

"He's spending a little extra time with her," Xiaoting said. "Helping her adjust, as much as she can, poor thing."

 

"It's kind of him," Agatha added.

 

Buffy frowned. But she said only, "Very kind."

 

**********************

 

Chapter Twelve

 

"The Librarian, the Thespian and the Locksmith"

 

 

Buffy sipped her O'Doul's and meandered through the crowd at the Bronze. Only medium-crowded tonight, she mused; weird, seeing as how Macy Gray's on stage, which is a totally good get for the Bronze.

 

Macy Gray was wailing out "I Try" as Buffy continued on her way. She didn't bother heading to the dance floor -- he wouldn't be out there, in the center of things. He was always in the shadows, at the sides.

 

I told him I would probably show up, she thought. How long has this guy been dating anyway? 580 years or something? He should know what a girl means when she says she'll probably show up.

 

And this time, she wasn't all tired and dirty, with straw sticking out of her hair. Buffy looked down with pride at her shapeless, pale-gray garments. "See, I checked the dress code," she said happily.

 

"What does that matter?" Buffy looked over, startled. Noor was next to her, hovering, her feet several inches from the ground. She didn't seem to notice that she was floating, and it seemed only mildly odd to Buffy. For once, Noor's hair was not covered; it hung long and shining and free down her back. However, her expression was as grumpy as ever. "What does it matter, what you are wearing?"

 

"I want to look right," Buffy said.

 

"Do you think it matters?"

 

Buffy considered it for a minute, then smiled. "Don't guess it does. Angel's seen me looking pretty scary. He won't care."

 

"Angel, Angel, Angel," Noor mocked, tilting her head from side to side. "Why are you looking for your boyfriend? You should be looking for the door."

 

"The door? Excuse me, I've spent about half of my life in this place. I know where the doors are."

 

Noor gestured around the room. "Then find one."

 

Buffy sighed, put her fake beer on the table, next to the monkey, and looked around. "I don't think you get out a whole lot, so here's a helpful clubbing tip: Wherever you see one of those glowing exit signs, there's a door --"

 

She stopped and frowned. No glowing exit signs.

 

"I told you," Noor said.

 

Buffy ignored her and pushed her way to the main entrance -- at least, what was usually the main entrance. Now it was just a wall. She kept going, moving around to the side entrance; that, too, was sealed over as though it had never been.

 

"Weird," she said. "But no big. I don't need to leave, so I don't need the doors."

 

"Yes, you do." Buffy turned around and saw Frances standing there. She was holding a large, ornate key. "If you haven't got a door, how will you use this?"

 

"Uh, paperweight?" Buffy ventured.

 

Frances rolled her eyes. "Well, then, we just won't let you out."

 

"You have to," Buffy said. She didn't want to go out, but it was important that she could, if she wanted -- "You have to!"

 

Frances turned away. Buffy started to run after her. "Frances!"

 

Buffy awoke suddenly, almost certain she had actually called her Watcher's name aloud. The word seemed to be echoing in her ears.

 

She shook her head and sat up. The view from her window showed that the sun was low in the sky, but an hour or two of light remained. Her pre-slayage nap hadn't gone on too long, then.

 

Angel had called her earlier; chatty as ever, he had simply told her to meet him in the library at sundown. Other than that, another thrilling bout of archery practice and her Slayer brunch-and-fashion-emergency-meeting, the day had been fairly empty.

 

Strange, to have so much time on her hands. Just a few weeks ago, it seemed as though the pressure on her would never cease. Getting up early to get Dawn's breakfast and drive her to school -- trying to pay the bills and balance the checkbook on her own (but usually calling Giles or Anya for advice once or twice an hour) -- cleaning the house -- running to class late, all the while denying that dropping out was becoming inevitable -- and at the end of it, she knew she would pick up her stake and head out into the cemetaries.

 

It had seemed so hard, then. And now she'd give anything to have just one day of it back.

 

Buffy closed her eyes hard. She was getting better at dealing, but every time she thought about them all -- about how she took for granted the miracle of being able to just pick up the phone and hear Giles' voice --

 

She shook her head and got up from the sofa. Buffy picked up the telephone before thinking that she didn't actually know anyone's number -- but there was a buzz and a click, and then a woman's voice, asking primly, "Your connection?"

 

Edna May, Buffy thought. "Uh, Frances Keeling, please."

 

A moment later, Frances picked up; she sounded surprised to hear from Buffy, as well she might. "Is there anything the matter?"

 

"No. I mean, yes, but not like, come-running-to-save-me the matter. You know?" There was a brief pause, and Buffy said, "Don't answer that. Anyway, I wanted to talk to you about something."

 

"And what's that?"

 

"I need a job."

 

"Buffy -- your duties are the most important --"

 

"My duties fill about four or five hours a night, tops. I need something to do during the day. I mean, maybe not full-time or anything, but there has to be some way I can help out."

 

"Well, that's a very laudable impulse, Buffy," Frances said with what sounded like genuine approval. "But we want you to conserve your time and strength and attention. Devote them to what's most important. And that's Slaying."

 

"I'm gonna go nuts just staring at the walls all day," Buffy said. "I was thinking maybe I could help train the little maybe-Slayers. I don't have much in the way of resume-worthy skills, but I could help them go through their paces --"

 

"Buffy, no," Frances said, and by now she sounded a little shocked. "Your free time is a mark of honor. Of respect. And it's important that you not be burdened by the cares of the world. You should just enjoy that. I'm sure you'll get used to it after a time."

 

Much later, long after Frances had hung up, Buffy was still standing there, thinking about the cares of the world.

 

**

 

Buffy came bounding into the library, taking a good look around as she did so. To her surprise, it was fairly familiar -- wooden bookshelves, old musty books with old musty book smell, chairs and desks to sit and study in. The lighting was the same flat, bright glare as the rest of the Keep (save Angel's rooms). Except for that, she decided, the place was fairly cozy. "Angel?" she called.

 

"You know, some people whisper in libraries." Buffy whirled around to see Angel behind her, shelving a few volumes.

 

"You are way too stealthy," she said, more quietly. "Sorry about yelling -- I'm not used to a library other people actually use. Like, for its actual intended book purposes."

 

"Then you should feel right at home here," Angel said. "I'm afraid the standard of scholarship in the Council isn't what it used to be."

 

"So you're the only one still cracking the books?" Buffy asked. "Where's the librarian?"

 

Angel smiled. "You're looking at him."

 

"You're kidding." When Angel shook his head, Buffy laughed out loud. "Following in Giles' footsteps all the way, huh?"

 

"I'm sure he'd appreciate the irony," Angel said. "After -- after what happened forty years ago, I needed something else to do to earn my place here. I was familiar with the collection; about half of these books were mine, originally. So they put me here."

 

"Alone with the books."

 

"Most days. I don't mind it."

 

Buffy grinned and stepped into the narrow aisle with him. "I tried to get a job myself today."

 

"Besides slaying? I bet they didn't go for that."

 

"Too bad nobody gave you odds on that one, because you would've won. I was hoping they'd let me help train the young girls. The Slayer wannabes." Angel's face fell, and Buffy furrowed her forehead. "Angel? What's the matter?"

 

"Nothing," he said. "It's just -- I used to do that. Fifty or sixty years ago, now."

 

"Why did you stop? Didn't you like it?"

 

"I loved it. But I'm not exactly the role model the Council wanted for them," Angel said. He slid the last book into place with a thud, then turned to her, disappointment wiped from his face. "Ready to get started?"

 

Buffy opened her mouth to go back to the earlier subject, but she stopped when she heard the door open. Angel seemed surprised. "Of course, today's the day I get a guest who proves me a liar," he said. "Can I help you --"

 

His voice trailed off as he looked past Buffy; she turned around to see Sumiko standing there. Sumiko was looking at Buffy and Angel with no small degree of suspicion, but -- Buffy was relieved to see -- she had no weapons with her. So apparently she hadn't come to hunt them down.

 

Buffy gasped. "Oh, wait a minute! Angel, do you speak Japanese?"

 

As soon as they'd begun, her hopes died when Angel shook his head. "I used to know a handful of phrases. No more. And I don't think I recall any of it now."

 

"I thought you spent all this time in the Far East."

 

Sumiko shifted uneasily from foot to foot. She was still watching Buffy and Angel carefully.

 

"If you want me to speak in Cantonese, Mandarin or Korean, I can help you. But I only spent a few weeks in Japan. Sorry -- oh, wait. Hold on."

 

Angel pushed his way past Buffy and hurried into the back. After just a moment, he came out, bearing a few aged books in his hands. "Never thought we'd have any call for these again --"

 

Buffy realized that the bindings bore lettering in Japanese. She saw the realization reflected in Sumiko's eyes as she eagerly reached out for them. "Angel, that's great," Buffy said as he handed the books to Sumiko. "What are they about?"

 

"God only knows. Probably Slayer history, but they could be anything -- herb lore, prophecy --" Angel stopped again, then looked at Sumiko. "Why did you come here?" he said, making a circular motion with his hand to encompass the place, then pointing to her, then looking at her questioningly. "What do you want?"

 

The makeshift sign language apparently worked. Sumiko patted her chest with her hand. Buffy was mystified, but Angel seemed to get it right away. He jogged over to a far corner of the library. "Okay, for those of us who were never won at charades, what's going on?"

 

"I figured she came here for these," Angel called, his voice muffled by the shelves of books between them. "Her own records. Her Watcher's diaries."

 

"Doesn't her new Watcher have those?"

 

"Probably has computer access to the electronic versions," Angel said. "But I have the originals."

 

He came out bearing several slim volumes bound in faded red cloth. Sumiko's face altered as soon as she saw them; Buffy could see recognition, sadness, excitement --

 

Sumiko stepped forward and quickly lay the Japanese books down. She held out her hands and accepted the diaries almost reverently. Placing them on a long table, she pulled out a chair and untied the fragile ribbon holding one of them shut.

 

Buffy stepped closer, standing with Angel to look over Sumiko's shoulder.

 

The writing was fine and spidery, the elegant script of another age. Almost all the writing was in English, but Buffy could see the odd notation in Japanese here or there. She read the signature aloud: "Tobias Earnshaw."

 

Sumiko started at the name -- at the few words in English she understood, Buffy realized -- and looked back at Buffy. Her eyes were filled with tears.

 

Buffy took Sumiko's shoulder in her hand. "Hey. I'm sorry. I -- I miss my Watcher too."

 

Sumiko looked at her for a moment more, then turned to look at Angel. After a moment, she half-bowed her head.

 

Angel returned the bow. "Take them if you want," he said, gesturing at the books and then at the door. "For as long as you need."

 

Sumiko made no move to leave; she remained in her chair, tracing her fingers gently across the writing on the page. Buffy touched Angel's arm. "Let's go."

 

**

 

Angel hopped out of the transport first, doublechecking the horizon before he stepped aside to let Buffy out. "Fairly quiet. Strange. The West End has a reputation for being particularly rough."

 

"Maybe when the bad guys heard this big armored tank coming, they ran," Buffy pointed out.

 

Angel was unamused. "Buffy, I don't ever want you trying to travel more than a mile or so on foot after dark. I'd rather have a few of them put on their guard than have you caught off yours."

 

"I'd forgotten how protective you are," Buffy said, doublechecking her array of weaponry. Angel was more simply armed with a single crossbow. "And you've forgotten that I don't need it."

 

He looked at her darkly as he sealed up the door, and she sighed, relenting. "Okay. We take the transport for the scenic country drives. But Frances was right. We're not here to watch out for each other. We're here to kill stuff. So let's find stuff to kill."

 

"Got it," Angel said.

 

"And don't tell Frances I said she was right about something."

 

"Never."

 

Though Buffy would've died before admitting it, she could see the effects of his years of inaction during her and Angel's first kill. His reflexes were too slow; his instincts not as sharp as they ought to have been. She polished the first demon off largely on her own. But by their third kill of the night, she could see it coming back to him already; he had a vamp spotted, in his sights and dusted in a matter of moments. "You enjoyed that, didn't you?" she said.

 

"Not as much as I'd enjoy a real battle," Angel said. "Do you think the Council's new fighting rules apply to me, too?"

 

Buffy scowled. "If I don't get to play, neither do you. Keep looking. We can bring in a higher head count than this."

 

"Yes, ma'am," he said, not unhappily.

 

Within a few minutes, Buffy sensed a vampire close by and motioned to Angel. The two of them moved quickly down a side alley to get a look at the next street.

 

Buffy peered around the corner and saw a vamp, a skinny little guy in a green jacket, sauntering down the street. In one hand he had a big, nasty-looking hammer. In the other, he had a big, nasty-looking nail.

 

"Don't like to think what he's using those for," Angel whispered.

 

"He ain't Bob Vila," Buffy replied.

 

The vampire walked to a boarded-up window on an abandoned building. He used two fingers to take something out of his jacket -- Buffy tensed up, ready for anything --

 

And the vampire put a poster on the board, put the nail to the poster and pounded it in with one quick stroke. He looked at it for a moment, then, apparently satisfied, continued on his way. Buffy could see the edges of several posters sticking out of the jacket's pocket.

 

She looked down at Angel, who shrugged. They waited in silence for a few minutes, then ran to the poster.

 

Angel got there first and ripped it off the wall. Buffy panted, "What does it say?"

 

Angel recited: "Presenting the latest tragical and comedical shows by the esteemed theater company of Mr. Kean. Beginning next Saturday, our featured performance: William Shakespeare's renowned spectacular 'The Tempest.' See the rains fall! Feel the winds blow! Marvel at the hideous and strange beast Caliban, and wonder at the beautiful creature Ariel. Skits and japes to begin the evening and ease the price of admission. All should attend this wondrous event. Escorts home provided. Coming next month: 'Charley's Aunt.'"

 

"You're telling me this guy -- puts on plays?"

 

"Of course," Angel said, a slow smile appearing on his face. "Of course he does. I'd heard that this sort of thing was going on -- I should have realized."

 

"Why would anybody go see vampire actors? I mean, who's going to be alive at intermission? Or is this for vampire entertainment only?"

 

"Vampires wouldn't need escorts home," Angel pointed out. "I don't know why humans would go. But he must set them free at the end."

 

"And why would he do that?" Buffy said, staring at the elaborate, hand-lettered poster.

 

"To be seen."

 

Buffy opened her mouth to argue with this reasoning, then asked herself: Would Spike do this? Yeah, he would, she thought. Hell, Cordelia would do this. "Okay, so he's not just a creepy master vampire, he's also an egomaniac," she said.

 

"These qualities often go together," Angel said.

 

"The poster doesn't say where the theater is."

 

"I have a good idea," Angel said. "We can get the exact address back at the library, check it out on opening night. If Kean's set up shop where I think he has, we can gather all the Slayers together. Maybe get rid of this guy once and for all."

 

"How do you know where he is?"

 

"Helps to have been around for 600 years."

 

"Still with the cryptic," Buffy said.

 

*******************

 

 Chapter Thirteen

 

"Hope Chest"

 

 

"Do you want to come by for a while?" Angel said.

 

Buffy looked sideways at him. They'd just finished their night of patrolling; morning was coming on, and she knew he had to be as ready for sleep as she was. They'd gotten well into the teens on their demon slayage, and they'd talked shop about good and bad neighborhoods, vamp tactics and so on.

 

In other words, their business for the night was definitely at an end. There was absolutely no reason for him to ask her to his rooms, and there was no reason for her to accept.

 

"Sure," she said. "I'd love to."

 

They got off the lift on his floor -- a few levels lower than her own -- and went down the hallway. "Who are your neighbors?" she whispered.

 

"I don't really have neighbors," Angel said. "There are people who live near me."

 

"Gotcha," Buffy said, a little more loudly. "So it's okay for me to start singing at the top of my lungs, then."

 

That got her a smile. "They'd never suspect it had anything to do with me. That much I can promise."

 

"Oooh, I could yodel," she said as his door slid open.

 

"Wait until we're patrolling. Should scare the demons," Angel said. He did something that seemed very complicated with the oil lamp, which flickered into soft light. "Would you like some wine?"

 

"Sounds great," she said. "I'm, what, 370 years old now? That's legal in any jurisdiction."

 

Angel chuckled as he went into the kitchen, and Buffy made herself comfortable on Angel's cozy sofa. For a moment she enjoyed the wavering light in the room; it was soft and forgiving, and it made everything look golden and welcoming.

 

As Angel came back in, carrying their goblets of wine, he paused for a moment. His eyes were dark in the dim light, and he seemed to be studying her face, her mouth. Then he deftly handed her one goblet, put the other on a table and began lighting another couple of lamps.

 

Buffy felt suddenly awkward, and she cast around for any possible topic of conversation. Her eyes fell on the large, carved box in the corner. "Hey, is that new?"

 

Angel half-turned, then stared at the box. "I don't believe it."

 

"Angel, what is it?"

 

"They brought it back," Angel said, kneeling on the floor by the box. "I keep some of my most precious things in this box. "This -- this is what was stolen from me a couple months ago --"

 

He opened the lid slowly, carefully. Then he breathed out a sigh of relief. "And everything's inside. At least, it looks like everything --"

 

Buffy sat down on the floor beside him. "What all have you got in here?"

 

"Lots of things." Angel frowned and lifted a carved-stone bottle from the box. "Including at least one thing that isn't mine." He uncorked the bottle and looked inside, then was quiet for a moment.

 

"Angel? What is that?"

 

"Something that belongs to whomever took this box from me in the first place," he said. He recorked it and handed it to Buffy. "Keep this. Hide it."

 

"Why? Don't you want to, I don't know, fingerprint it or something?" Buffy looked at the bottle curiously.

 

"I doubt that would do any good. But whoever put that in there will come looking for it, eventually. The longer they have to look, the better chance I'll have of finding them."

 

"Good point," Buffy said. "Why would anyone take your personal things? You said yourself, valuables aren't as valuable anymore --"

 

"Depends on what they are, what you want them for," Angel said. His voice was grim. "And I think I know what they wanted."

 

He held up a sweater, too small to be his own. Perhaps it had once been white, but now the front was thready and yellow with age; the back was stained dark -- with blood, Buffy realized.

 

Then her heart dropped as she remembered -- that was her sweater. The sweater she was wearing in the battle against Glory, the one she wore as she jumped to her death. And that was her own blood.

 

Buffy felt a little weak, and she took a deep, steadying breath. "Oh, my God."

 

"They would've needed a part of you for the spell," Angel said quietly.

 

"So that's the blood that was so important," Buffy whispered. "How -- how did you get this?"

 

"I asked for it," Angel said. He looked at her carefully. "I know that must seem strange. I think it seemed strange to them, too --"

 

"Lots of other keepsakes," Buffy said. She was still reeling from the sight of that sweater, from the vivid recollection of her own death. "Why this? I -- I'm not -- I just want to understand, Angel."

 

He was silent for a while, then spoke slowly, haltingly. "Vampires can -- we can tell a lot, from blood. The scent of it communicates -- individuality. Emotion. When I had this, I could know what you were feeling, those last few moments. It -- it made me feel like I was with you then --" Angel hung his head. "This is when you tell me that this is just too strange."

 

"It's not," she said softly. "I mean, I have a high threshold of strange, but -- no, Angel, it's not."

 

Angel lifted his head to look at her for a long moment, then folded the fragile garment and placed it back inside the box. Then he began sifting through the box's contents. "Now, here's one thing I know you'll want to see." After fishing around for a bit, he held up a book.

 

"The Keeper of the Key, by Dawn Summers!" Buffy grabbed the book and gripped it tightly. Her uneasiness was fading; in its place was a sense of discovery, of joy. "Oh, Angel, this is -- I don't have words for what this is."

 

"Take it," Angel said. "You should have it."

 

Buffy didn't argue; she blinked away a couple of happy tears as she ran her hands over the cover. "Wish this still had the dust jacket," she said. "Would've been nice to see what Dawn looked like --"

 

"I don't have any photos of Dawn," he said apologetically. "I do have these --" After a couple more moments, he pulled out a couple of framed images. Buffy reluctantly set the book down next to her and accepted them.

 

One of the pictures -- they were both faded, now, brownish with time but still clear -- showed Wesley, perhaps the same age he had been in the sketch on Angel's wall. He was still rail-thin, but he had gray hair at his temples and his glasses looked a little thicker. A pretty, plump, fair-haired woman was standing next to him; two little girls, who appeared to have gotten the best of both parents' genes, were beaming in front.

 

The other photo showed a large family gathering -- a wizened grandmother, middle-aged parents and almost a dozen children, all laughing at once, maybe at the photographer's joke. Buffy squinted at the photo for a minute, then realized with a start that the grandmother was Cordelia. Wrinkles and gray hair aside, there was no mistaking that smile.

 

Buffy looked up and saw Angel staring down at the photos soon, that same nostalgic softness in his eyes. "They look happy," she said, surprised at the tremor in her voice. She didn't know if it was the expression on his face that was so moving, or whether she was just so homesick that even Wes and Cordy could get to her.

 

"They were, I think," Angel said. "That's how I remember them, anyway." He was quiet for a moment, then cleared his throat and said, "I forget -- did you know Charles? Charles Gunn?" He held out another photo, this one of a slender black man with gray in his beard and a teenage boy who looked just like him. When she looked at the photo blankly, Angel regretfully said, "I guess not."

 

"He was your friend?" Buffy asked. When he nodded, she said, "So tell me about him."

 

Angel looked surprised, but he smiled, sat down, leaned his back against the wall. "Where to start --"

 

"How did you meet? Do you remember?"

 

"Couldn't forget that," Angel said. "He tried to stake me. Got pretty close, too."

 

"Doesn't sound like that went well."

 

"It's actually how I met a lot of people." Angel looked at her with no small measure of amusement. Buffy blushed, recalling a long-ago alleyway and a handsome stranger who insisted he didn't bite.

 

"So, how did you and Gunn get past this whole staking thing?"

 

Angel began talking -- about Gunn, about a cop named Kate, about an Irishman named Doyle. He kept going through his box, pulling out various pictures or letters or keepsakes to illustrate his stories -- tales of alien dimensions and world wars and magic spells gone awry.

 

As Angel spoke, Buffy realized that she'd never heard him talk this much before. She'd never realized that, given the chance, Angel was a good storyteller. Or perhaps he had simply become one in the past few centuries. She could see the places he described, imagine the Keep rising up out of the rubble of post-plague London, envision the technological wonders of the not-so-distant past.

 

And the people he described -- the friends he described -- he made them seem real. Gunn's courage, Lorne's humor, Shireen Ishak's maternal warmth were all so vivid to her that Buffy felt almost as if she had truly met them, and wished she had. He talked about them with insight. Compassion. Humor. Slowly she realized, no matter how dark and forbidding things were right now -- "Angel?"

 

"Yeah?" he said, putting down a small hologram of a happy 22nd-century family.

 

"Most of these years -- these were good years," Buffy said. "You were happy."

 

"As happy as I could be," Angel said. "And sometimes, I even knew it."

 

"I'm glad. I'm glad you found these people. I'm glad they found you."

 

"I'm glad I got to tell you about them," Angel said. "I hadn't looked at these things in a long time. I -- I think I didn't want to let myself remember how much I missed them. But it's better, remembering." He smiled down at one of the photos.

 

Buffy looked at the picture and saw a girl with long, dark hair and glasses. Pretty. Fred, he'd called her. And his voice when he said that name -- "This girl -- did you -- were you -- in love with her?"

 

"I don't know," Angel said. Buffy was surprised how hard her gut twisted at something that slight. "She was intelligent, understanding, funny. In other circumstances, maybe -- I don't know."

 

"What were the circumstances?" Buffy said. She could hear the coolness in her voice, hated it, wished she could banish it away. 350 years, she reminded herself fiercely. 350 years, and you were dead and gone. Try to understand.

 

"This curse, for one," Angel said. "And I met her -- I met her only a short time before you died. And then I was in mourning. I couldn't even think of anyone else in a -- romantic sense -- for a long time. A very long time."

 

After a pause, Buffy said, "But you did. Eventually."

 

"Yes," Angel said simply.

 

He didn't seem guilty about it -- but then, Buffy thought, he shouldn't have to be guilty. But again -- "I'm trying to be glad about that. I mean, I had Riley, and 350 years is a long time to be alone. I -- I wouldn't want that for you -- " She sighed and let her face fall into the scowl she'd been fighting. "Can I just tell ya that I kinda want to kill somebody?"

 

Angel looked as acutely uncomfortable as only he could look. "Buffy -- don't feel like that. I mean, there were people I cared about very deeply. There were -- sometimes there were people who shared my bed." And oh, that burned, that burned like acid, like fire. Buffy bit her lip as Angel continued, "But there hasn't been anyone like you. Anyone who could compare to you."

 

"Even when you made love to them?" Buffy said, hating herself for the words.

 

Angel said, "I've had sex over the years. But I haven't made love since that night in L.A."

 

Another cut, another slice out of her heart. Buffy raised her eyebrows, determined to see this through. "And who was the lucky girl?"

 

Angel hesitated and looked at her questioningly. "Buffy -- that night in L.A. Our night. When I was human."

 

"You were human?" Buffy sat up straight. "How did you turn human? Why did you turn back?"

 

"You -- you don't remember?" Angel said. He looked bewildered -- no, worse than that, bereft. "Buffy, you came to Los Angeles to see me, and -- I became human. Just for a day. And we were together --"

 

"Angel, that never happened," Buffy protested. She knew she was telling the truth, but he looked so sure of his words, so confused at her reaction, that she half-doubted herself. "I mean -- I wish it had, but --"

 

"It did. I know it did," Angel protested. He leaned forward, searching her expression. "I've treasured those memories for centuries, Buffy. I was able to see you in the sunlight. To let you hear my heart beat. To make love to you."

 

"We made love again?" she said, in a small voice. "And you weren't -- you didn't --"

 

"No. It was -- Buffy, we were -- God, how can you not remember this?" Angel slumped back against the wall. "Not even -- you don't remember the kitchen table?"

 

"You and me -- we were on a -- oh." Buffy felt her cheeks flush as she imagined it. But that was all she was doing -- imagining. "Angel, I would SO remember that."

 

"But you don't?"

 

"I'm sorry," she said. "But -- think about it. Why would you just be human for a day?"

 

"I asked to be changed back --"

 

"Why would you do such a thing?"

 

"-- because you were in danger." Angel frowned. "There was something about a prophecy -- this part is fuzzy -- but there was something about my needing to fend off some danger, so that you could live."

 

"You gave that up for me," Buffy said softly. Then she shook her head. "I mean, you thought you did. Angel, that can't have been true. I mean, if the prophecy had been true, I wouldn't have died like that, would I?"

 

"I guess not," Angel said. "I -- maybe some spell made me think that -- or maybe I dreamed it, or --" His voice broke, and he took a deep, unnecessary breath. "Not real?"

 

"Not real," Buffy confirmed. Then she paused. "Wait --"

 

Angel's face lit up with hope. Buffy held her hand to her face. "The false memories -- the ones about my life with Dawn. I told you about that, remember?" When he nodded, she continued, "Do you think -- maybe -- when they changed our memories, they made that one up for you?"

 

"Maybe," Angel said. "That would explain it, perhaps. You -- you really don't remember it? Not at all?"

 

He looked so lost that Buffy almost wanted to lie, to say she did remember this perfect, beautiful day. But it seemed so -- sacred -- to him that it would be wrong to lie.

 

"No," she said. "I wish I did. You don't know how much I wish." She felt vaguely that she had said too much, but the overwhelming sense of confusion and loss drowned out anything as trivial as embarrassment.

 

After a few moments, he simply said, "I wish too."

 

Damn monks, Buffy thought. Damn damn damn damn. So you had to make up your memories, but you didn't have to manipulate him like this. Or you could at least have let me remember it too. "I wish you'd had something real to remember me by."

 

"I did," Angel said. His voice was steadier now. "Come see."

 

From the very bottom of the box, he pulled out a packet. Papers, old and yellowing and fragile, were tied together with ribbon as frayed and fragile as the one she'd seen in the library the day before. Buffy took them in her hands, untied the ribbon, lifted the first letter.

 

Her letter. In her handwriting. On this ancient paper --

 

Buffy felt it hit her all over again, the weight of all the years she hadn't seen. This was an antique. This was something centuries old. And this was hers.

 

She looked down at the note, made out the words, faint against the aged paper:

 

"I know you're nervous about my birthday present, but don't be, because whatever you get me I will love. Don't you have a birthday, Angel? Because we could have a party for you, too -- whoops! I'm not supposed to know I have a party! Don't tell, OK?"

 

"Oh, God," she laughed weakly. "I was such a kid."

 

"Sometimes," Angel said. "But there was always more to you than that."

 

Buffy kept flipping through the notes -- he seemed to have every one she remembered writing, from that last letter of gratitude she'd sent, after he comforted her following her mom's funeral, to the very first, a scrawled, tearful missive that was all about the way he'd saved her from Darla and everything, and how she would never forget him, even if he was a vampire.

 

She realized that the ribbon was looped through her old claddagh ring; she slid it off, held it in the palm of her hand. For a moment, she wanted to slide it back on her finger, an impulse that surprised her. Instead she smiled gently at Angel and gave it back to him. He accepted it wordlessly. He, too, was staring down at the letters, caught up in memory.

 

Finally she reached the bottom of the packet; there was her photo, the only one he apparently had. It was one of her senior portraits -- baby fat still in her cheeks -- and it was in black-and-white. "Well, this explains it."

 

"Explains what?" His voice was low.

 

"How you could get the color of my eyes wrong." She looked at him sideways. "Just out of curiosity, what color did you think they were? And what about Spike?"

 

"He thought your eyes were blue, like his," Angel said. "I thought they were dark, like mine."

 

Buffy laughed softly. "Men."

 

"Yes," Angel said. "We both forgot. Your eyes are your own."

 

He looked at her intently then, as if trying to commit her to memory beyond any forgetting. She felt shy under his gaze for a moment -- then not shy at all. The letters, the ring, his face so near to her own --

 

When Buffy and Dawn were little, their mother would read to them -- "The Trumpet of the Swan," "Bambi," "Harriet the Spy." And Buffy's favorite of them all had been "A Wrinkle In Time." She remembered how she had been enchanted by the way Meg and Charles and Calvin could travel through time and space -- they used something called a tesseract. The way they described it in the book, two points in time and space could be far apart, like at opposite ends of a sheet of paper. Going between the two could take forever -- but in a tesseract, you just folded up the paper, and the two points would touch. Time and space were gone, folded up in an instant.

 

Right this moment, Buffy decided, she knew just what a tesseract would feel like. She felt as though all those years -- two years for her, 350 for Angel -- had just been folded up into nothing. When she untied those letters, she had somehow loosed the memories within them, set them free to flow back into her heart all over again.

 

And, maybe, into Angel's too -- the way he was still looking at her --

 

He dropped his eyes, leaned back. "It's almost sunrise," he said slowly. "You should probably get some sleep."

 

Buffy breathed out, trying to push some of the tension and disappointment out of her chest. "Yeah," she said, getting awkwardly to her feet. "Naptime sounds good right about now. So, um, see you tomorrow?"

 

"Right," Angel said, sounding distant and strange to her ears. "Tomorrow."

 

Buffy felt as though she should say something else -- but what? She turned and went quickly to the door, but just as it slid open, she heard Angel's voice. "Buffy?"

 

She stopped, but didn't turn around. "Yeah?"

 

"Wait --"

 

Buffy's heart was pounding, but she slowly turned around. Angel was standing right behind her -- holding out Dawn's book and the bottle. "Don't forget these."

 

"Oh," Buffy said. "Of course not."

 

**

 

"Isn't there some sort of vampire aphrodisiac?" Xiaoting said, spearing her salad with gusto.

 

"Aphrodisiacs are not what we need," Buffy said. "The one time me and Angel had sex, we broke his curse and set free Angelus, an individual you do not want meet. So no on the undead Viagra."

 

"So what are you going to do?" Xiaoting said. She and Buffy were eating together in a common room not far from their quarters. A few Watchers milled around, pretending not to watch; Agatha was eating her own salad at a nearby table and pretending not to listen. Sumiko's Watcher was trying to pantomime the use of some kind of equipment, but was either having no luck making himself clear or winning Sumiko's interest. Noor was lecturing Sky about some point of technique or other. Sky was at least putting on a show of listening.

 

Buffy shrugged. "What else can I do? Go patrolling. Be friends."

 

"That's not what you want," Xiaoting said. "Not what he wants either, I don't think."

 

"Angel and I don't get what we want," Buffy said, surprised at the sudden bitterness within her. "We learned that a long time ago."

 

Xiaoting held up her hands. "Touchy," she said. "Just trying to be helpful --"

 

"I know. I'm sorry. Lotsa baggage there, and you didn't pack any of it." Buffy sighed.

 

"What was in that bottle, anyway?"

 

Buffy shrugged. "I checked it out. No vintage wine or anything. Some silvery kind of liquid -- ink, maybe?"

 

"Something to do with magic?" Xiaoting said. "You told me that paper and ink were really just for magicians now."

 

"I hadn't thought of that," Buffy said. She started considering the implications -- but was interrupted by the sound of Sumiko's Watcher raising his voice.

 

"Just press this panel," he said impatiently. "This panel means play. I've done it for you several times now. Just try it. Just press it."

 

Sumiko looked at him passively, then devoted her full attention to her salad once more.

 

"Damn it, stop that!" the Watcher shouted, slamming his hand down onto the table. Everyone in the room jumped -- except Sumiko, who raised her head slowly, almost tiredly. "Stop ignoring me! You must learn English eventually, and if you refuse to work with any of the teachers, you'll have to practice on your own. And you'll need this machine to do it. It's so simple an infant can use it. How can you not understand how to use this?"

 

"Hey!" Buffy said. The Watcher jerked his head over at her; his face was red and his eyes wide. "Back off, okay?"

 

"I most certainly shall not," the Watcher said. "She must learn. This continued ignorance is -- insolent wilfulness."

 

"You want wilful?" Buffy said. She got to her feet and walked over to the table. "'Cause I'm not sure you really want to deal with that."

 

"This is insanity!" the Watcher said, gesturing at Sumiko and the tiny machine on the table. "How can she not want to learn English? How can she not understand how to use the recorder?"

 

"She's never even seen a machine before!" Xiaoting said. Buffy half turned to see that she was close behind -- and Agatha, Noor and Sky were all by her side. To a woman, they looked furious.

 

Flush with her new backup, Buffy turned back and said, "Yeah, what about that? I mean, Sumiko doesn't know jack about technology. She probably thinks the lights and doors and water are all magic."

 

"They aren't?" Agatha said faintly. "But -- but -- you just say 'lights' and the lights come on --"

 

"I'll explain later," Xiaoting muttered.

 

"How hard can it be?" the Watcher said, his fury unabated. "To play the recordings, you press play. To record your own voice, you press record. I've shown this to her a dozen times, and if she hasn't learned it, it's because she doesn't want to."

 

"Maybe she just doesn't want to learn it from you," Buffy said.

 

"That's entirely uncalled-for," the Watcher said.

 

"On the contrary." Buffy and the other Slayers all turned to see Markwith coming into the room. "It seems an apt observation."

 

The Watcher rose from his seat, somewhat abashed. "Sir -- this Slayer refuses to learn even the rudiments of English --"

 

"She is not just any Slayer," Markwith said. "Sumiko was the longest-lived Slayer of them all."

 

"So far," Sky whispered.

 

"She was a master of swordfighting, martial arts, tactics," Markwith continued. "Imagine how difficult it would be, for a master of so many things, to be forced to start all over again."

 

Sumiko was watching this entire conversation with little more interest than she had given her Watcher at first. But Buffy felt something in the truth of Markwith's words; whether through insight or pure luck, she sensed, he was onto something.

 

"So she wants to concentrate on her strongest skills," Markwith said. "Well and good. She'll talk to us when she's ready. She'll fight for us now."

 

The Watcher's chest puffed up. "As her Watcher, sir, I have to protest. Nothing good can come of letting her remain in silence and ignorance --"

 

"You're wrong," Markwith said.

 

"You think silence and ignorance are good for her?"

 

"No," Markwith said. "I meant that you were wrong about being her Watcher. It's clearly not working out for either of you. I'll take over from here. Thank you for your help."

 

The Watcher opened his mouth, closed it, then stalked out of the room. Buffy bit back a smile.

 

Noor half-raised her hand. "I want a new Watcher also."

 

"Not until you've shown you can stop sneaking away from this one," Markwith said. "He said he lost you after only twenty minutes in the field last night."

 

"He is slow and stupid," Noor said.

 

"Foolish to patrol alone, Noor," Markwith said. "Give your Watcher a fair try, and if you still want to work something else out after a month or so, we'll see. Now, maybe Sumiko and I can try this recorder."

 

Sumiko was eating her salad again, and Markwith sat patiently by her side. The others returned to Buffy and Xiaoting's table -- in a unit, as they had not been before. "Perhaps Markwith is not as bad as I thought him," Noor said in a low voice.

 

"Perhaps Markwith is not as blind as I thought him," Xiaoting said.

 

"Do you ever stop matchmaking?" Agatha said.

 

Sky made a face. "C'mon. Aaron Markwith's 40 years old if he's a day."

 

"Wouldn't be anything new for her," Xiaoting said, gesturing with her fork. "I heard that Sumiko was married to her Watcher, back in the day."

 

"Really?" Agatha said.

 

Buffy glanced over her shoulder at the table, at Sumiko's delicate face. She thought the name to herself, remembered the tears in Sumiko's eyes as Buffy had said it.

 

Tobias Earnshaw.

 

Markwith was smiling down at Sumiko with the first genuine expression Buffy thought she'd ever seen on his face. He looked -- gentle.

 

Will wonders never cease, she thought.

 

*****************

 

Chapter Fourteen

 

"Consumed in Fire"

 

 

 

As she hopped back into the transport, Buffy took a moment to look back at the delapidated, long-abandoned theatre in London's West End she and Angel had just checked out. "That was weird," she said.

 

"You thought so?" Angel asked. He touched the transport's panel and put the vehicle into motion. The transport's low rumble vibrated through the seats. "Looked pretty ordinary to me."

 

"That's what I mean," Buffy said. "If that's Kean's big hideout, then where are the vamps? The victims? The general accoutrements of mayhem?"

 

"It's not his big hideout," Angel said. "It's his theater. And my guess is he's not going to be spending that much time there until his opening."

 

"Places to go, people to kill," Buffy said. "And he's all done with the setup. I have to admit, they've pulled together cool some storm effects." Her hair was still tousled from the wind machine. Considering that she'd just finished recon on a vamp lair, she was in a ridiculously lighthearted mood. "Still, all the CGI in the world wouldn't get me to a vampire play. Are we sure actual human people are even going to this?"

 

"We'll see for ourselves in a couple nights," Angel said. He set about turning the clunky transport around a corner.

 

"I have to say, the cars of the future are unexpectedly lame," Buffy said. "I was expecting some cool Jetsons stuff. Instead it's like the world belongs to the Ford Aerostar."

 

"They get the job done," Angel said, patting the panel much as he might a horse's side. "But right before the plagues, we had some stuff you would have loved."

 

"All shiny? Glass domes?" Buffy put her arms up behind the headrest of her seat.

 

Angel chuckled. "Very shiny. And a little before that --" His face looked unexpectedly boyish for a moment. "We had flying cars."

 

"Oooh, way cool!" Buffy said. He actually grinned at her enthusiasm. "Why they don't still have those? Could come in handy, outrunning vamps. Can't afford to make 'em any more?"

 

"Actually, they were outlawed after just a few years."

 

"Outlawed? Why?"

 

"Think about how badly people drive in just two dimensions."

 

Buffy made a face. "Ugh. Good point."

 

Angel's smile was warm. It seemed to soften his entire face; he actually looked younger for a moment. For someone who'd been the same age for six centuries, Buffy figured, that was saying a lot.

 

How come I never saw him smile that much before? she thought. I mean, besides all the angst and misery and not being able to have sex -- well, I guess that's enough.

 

She looked over at him again, and saw that he was watching her with that same sleepy smile. Buffy was suddenly very aware of her disheveled appeareance, the tousled hair half-falling over her face, the curve of her body her upraised arms created. She didn't move, just studied him in turn and waited for the words, the move, that seemed inevitable.

 

Angel dedicated his attention to the road again.

 

Buffy let her arms drop and sighed.

 

This is going to make me crazy, she thought. I know he shouldn't kiss me. I want him to kiss me. We shouldn't, I know. It can't go anywhere, and we would just end up splitting again. And I don't think I could stand that, being stranded here without him. I need him more than I did before, and this is the only way it can work. So it's for the best.

 

And which one of us was actually on the kitchen table?

 

She glanced over at him again, now frustrated beyond belief. How can he be so freaking calm? Buffy fumed. Sure, he can stop himself from jumping me, but can't he, you know, fight it? How can he act like this? Like it doesn't matter? Oh, wait, no, for him something else matters. He's got a reputation to protect, people to please. And me, I'm just some bizarre complication from a scifi novel --

 

Buffy's inner rant quieted as she thought about what she'd said.

 

We're back where we started, she realized. Except we've traded places. I used to be the one who had to balance everything so carefully -- mom and school and slaying. He was one more element, one more thing I had to balance. I needed him so much, but he made it harder. And that's what I am for him, now. The lover from beyond the grave, the one nobody understands.

 

 

 

We have to be careful. That's all he's doing, being careful. I should tell him I understand that much, at least --

 

"Burnout," Angel said.

 

"Wha?"

 

He pointed to a dim, orangey light in the distance. "They're doing a burnout. Burning an inhabited building to drive victims out onto the streets."

 

"Oh, my God," Buffy said, leaning forward in her seat.

 

She could perceive the glimmering outline of a building, perhaps 15 stories high. It flickered ominously in the darkness, and as they drew closer, she began to hear the screaming. "How many vamps do this?"

 

"They'll have a gang," Angel said. His face was set as he motioned toward the transport's control panel. "Contact the Keep. We'll want as many Slayers here as we can get."

 

"Oh, tell me this is not a CB," Buffy muttered. "So Smokey and the Bandit."

 

"There's a lot of smoke," Angel said. "Bandits, I don't know --"

 

"Skip it!" Buffy said. "Uh, breaker, breaker, this is Buffy?"

 

A crisp Watcher's voice sounded over the speaker. "Is there trouble?"

 

"A burnout. At, uh," she peered at a battered old sign. "Wardour Street. Angel and I are on it, but send the others. And get some Watchers out here; they can carry crossbows too, right?"

 

"Watchers do not patrol --"

 

"Go past the lecture portion, okay? Get some help here, pronto!" Buffy snapped off the speaker and began re-arming herself. "We get out, start kicking ass, hang on til the others get here?"

 

"Sounds like a plan," Angel said, with that look on his face he always got before battle -- half-grim, half-glad.

 

They stopped a block short of the melee and jumped out; Buffy had her crossbow at the ready, as did Angel. He leaned forward, sniffing the air in a manner that would have been funny if it weren't so useful. "Strange --" he said.

 

"What?"

 

"Not so many as I would've thought. Come on," he whispered, "we can take them."

 

Buffy ran forward, saw a vamp tackling a man to the ground. The arrow was away almost before she thought about it. FOOMP, went the vampire, and the man who had been screaming found himself coughing from a cloud of dust. She heard another vamp shriek behind her, knew Angel had just speared one himself.

 

Where are they, where are they, she thought to herself. She spied another vampire and scuttled toward him sideways, keeping her bow tight against her shoulder. Wait for the shot -- wait for the shot --

 

A woman came running around the corner, clutching a bundle to her chest. The vamp attempted to tackle her, and Buffy fired. He had time to look over at her accusingly before dissolving into powder.

 

The woman was looking at her suspiciously. "You," she said, her voice wary. "It's you."

 

Buffy blinked and squinted through the darkness. In the shifting firelight, the round face did sort of look familiar -- what was the name -- "Tam?"

 

As Buffy took a step toward her, Tam took a step back. "Why did you lie to me? Why did you pretend you were one of us?" Tam said.

 

"Hey, come on," Buffy said gently. Of course the poor woman was freaked out, with her home burning to the ground right behind them. "I didn't lie." She paused, turned sideways and fired at another vamp, which made a satisfying cloud of dust. Without missing a beat, she turned back to Tam. "I'm not used to just telling people I'm the Slayer."

 

Tam was shaking, her eyes filled with tears. "You didn't tell?"

 

"What? The witchcraft?" Buffy shook her head. "No way. My best friend was a witch, you know -- oh, dammit, get down!" Another vamp went FOOMP, and Buffy began peering about in the darkness. "Is that it? Any idea how many there were?"

 

"No -- I don't know --" Tam looked bewildered, shook her head. Her long hair swung behind her. "This is -- this is the work of vampires?"

 

"No, they just came to huddle around the fire, maybe make smores. Of course this is vamps."

 

"I -- I should have realized," Tam said. "It's just so terrible -- and we have so many things to protect --" Her arms were still clamped tightly about her bundle, which Buffy realized included a few sheets of the precious paper.

 

"It's cool," Buffy said. "And you don't have to -- UNHF!"

 

She landed hard on the ground almost before she had time to register that something had tackled her. The vampire grinned down at her, his face feral in the flickering light. His hands were clamped down hard on her forearms, forcing them to her chest; Buffy twisted in a desperate attempt to get herself free --

 

The vamp's face went blank, and then he looked down. Buffy followed his gaze to the arrow tip that was protruding from his chest. Their eyes locked again just as he turned to dust.

 

As the cloud cleared, Buffy could make out a dark form standing in front of her.

 

"A bit sloppy for a legend," Sky said, letting her crossbow drop.

 

"Rub it in," Buffy muttered, springing to her feet. She looked around; Tam was nowhere to be seen. "What's the story?"

 

"Just got here, but it looks about cleared out to me," Sky said easily. "Angel's doing the last one, I think."

 

A growl of anger and a howl of pain behind her told Buffy that Sky had reported accurately. She looked at the still-blazing building. "Do we still have a fire department?"

 

"There's fellas who come to take care of these things," Sky said. "So long as they happen by day."

 

Buffy made a face. "At least it's almost sunrise. They might be able to save it --"

 

"Doubtful," Sky said. "Maybe they can salvage the solar reflectors, though. Be able to set up another home for these people faster that way."

 

"Each building powers itself," Buffy said absently. Her attention was shifting to the people she could see in the shadows. Some were crying quietly; some were motionless with shock. "Who looks after them?"

 

"The Council will send people out in a couple hours," Sky said easily, putting her long arm around Buffy's shoulders. "Bring 'em food, blankets, the like. Isn't that so, McGregor?"

 

Sky's Watcher nodded as he came around another corner. "They'll be all right."

 

"It just sucks," Buffy said. "Losing your home --"

 

"You there -- get back until you can control yourself!" Buffy was shocked at the roughness in McGregor's voice; she was even more shocked when she turned around and saw he was speaking to Angel, who had indeed turned away.

 

"What is your damage?" Buffy snapped. She turned to follow Angel, called after him. "Are you all right?"

 

"Fine," Angel said distantly. He wouldn't turn to face her. "Just give me a second --"

 

"Are you hurt?" Buffy pulled him around. He looked fine, albeit vamped out. Though, now that she looked at him -- "Angel, your game face -- it's changed!"

 

"Huh?" Angel looked dazed. "Oh, right. I mean, you add ridges with years --"

 

"Like tree rings or something?" Buffy laughed, a little punchy. She put her hands up to his face; he started as her palms made contact with his skin, but didn't pull away. "So you're showing your age after all. Getting way crinkly here."

 

Angel was quiet until she dropped her hands. Then he said, softly, "I forgot."

 

"What's that?"

 

"I forgot you didn't mind."

 

Buffy smiled up at him. As he smiled back, his face shifted back into its human form. "There ya go," she said. "Let's go be rude to Sky's prick Watcher."

 

"Let's make nice," Angel said, more firmly. Buffy mock-scowled at him.

 

"Is all the fun already over?" Xiaoting came bounding toward them, by all appearances genuinely disappointed. "We scarcely saw a thing all night, and I was really hoping for a little action -- speaking of which, how are you two?"

 

Buffy made a face at her, but the joke seemed to sail right over Angel's head. "Fine. We took care of it."

 

"Don't forget me!" Sky protested.

 

"Where are the others?" Angel said.

 

McGregor, who seemed to consider a human-like Angel acceptable to speak to -- just barely -- answered. "Agatha and her Watcher were far south of here. Haven't heard a report from Sumiko and Markwith. And Noor's Watcher appears to have lost Noor again."

 

Xiaoting snickered. "Noor's so eager to be rid of that poor Watcher But she'll never get a transfer at this rate."

 

"Don't suppose she will at that," Sky said.

 

"She's making her own rules, isn't she?" Buffy sighed, a bit wistfully. Angel caught her tone of voice and smiled.

 

"Getting a bit close to morning for me," Angel said. "Let's head back."

 

Buffy collapsed into the passenger seat of the transport gratefully. Angel began steering them toward home, and they traveled most of the way in companionable silence. Normally, after a bout of slaying, Buffy's hormones would have been cranked up to a very inconvenient level. But the crossbow method didn't seem to get her worked up the same way. Now she could just relax and let her exhaustion and the transport's humming soothe her halfway to sleep.

 

Almost to himself, Angel said, "Strange."

 

"Hmm? What?"

 

"Normally, they'd have at least thirty to forty vamps for something like this. A group of people that large could have overpowered them -- might have, if they'd had some time to get organized. So the vampires usually work in numbers. But I don't think you and I killed ten altogether."

 

"Maybe this time was different," Buffy mused. "This lady I talked to, Tam -- she's a witch, and she lived there. I think maybe some others did too. Do you think they might have been after her? Or some magic stuff she had?"

 

Angel raised an eyebrow. "Could be. We should try to track your friend down, talk to her about."

 

Buffy snuggled back into the seat. "Why is magic forbidden anyway?"

 

"It's restricted, more than forbidden," Angel said. "Right after the plagues, people were desperate. A lot of people who should never have dabbled in the black arts did so. The results were almost as bad as the plagues themselves."

 

"But there's no problem with people who know what they're doing, right?"

 

"Most people who know what they're doing are regarded with suspicion, if not actual hostility," Angel said. "As far as I'm concerned, we could use more of them."

 

"I'd think you'd be teaching everybody magic," Buffy said through a yawn. "Or, you know, everybody that could learn. You could set up, like, magical barriers and stuff. You'd only need a few good witches to really start making a difference."

 

"You're right," Angel said. "I never thought of it quite like that before. But maybe we could talk to Ishak --" Angel's voice trailed off.

 

"Whatsamatta?" Buffy mumbled. "Cat got your --" She caught a glimpse of Angel's face and felt her heart drop. "Oh, no --"

 

She sat up straight and looked in the direction he was pointing.

 

In the courtyard of the Keep was a pole. Atop the pole was a sign. Hanging from it was a dead body.

 

Angel stopped the transport, and they both jumped out. It was close enough to dawn that the sky was turning a lighter shade of blue. There was enough light for Buffy to make out the writing on the sign.

 

DO YOU FEEL SAFE?

 

"Buffy --" Angel's tone was a warning, and she didn't understand why until she got another look at the dead person's face.

 

Buffy's body went cold. She choked out, stupid with shock, "I -- I didn't recognize her with her hair down --"

 

Noor was swinging slightly from the rope, her feet a few inches from the ground.

 

**

 

Two hours later, Buffy and Angel were part of the group crowded into Ishak's Hall. She huddled in her chair, arms wrapped around herself; Angel stood behind her, not touching her, yet somehow giving her the sense that he was standing watch. They were probably the only two people in the room not talking at once.

 

"This could only have been Kean; only a master vampire could kill one of the legendary --"

 

"-- defiance of the Council, an attack upon the people's trust in us and in our Slayers --"

 

"I tried to keep up with her! She wouldn't have it, and I could only stay on her trail so long --"

 

Ishak finally held his hand up for silence, and the volume in the room fell to a low rumbling. Xiaoting was still crying quietly in one corner. "Let us begin with what we know," Ishak said. "Frances?"

 

"Noor died very early in the night," Frances said. "Perhaps within the hour of leaving her Watcher's side. Her neck was broken, though not by hanging, we don't think. More likely a combat injury, to judge from some cuts and scrapes on her arms and face."

 

 

 

"And we believe Kean to be responsible," Ishak said heavily. "He has haunted us a very long time, but never before has he actually destroyed one of our Slayers."

 

"Only Kean would be strong enough to destroy one of these Slayers," McGregor said, making a gesture that included all of them besides Sky.

 

"That's not true," Agatha said. "I didn't meet my death at the hands of a master. Virtually any opponent can have the combination of strength and fortune to defeat a Slayer. Even a very good Slayer. I learnt that in very unpleasant fashion."

 

"Someone besides Kean?" Markwith said. He appeared slightly dazed.

 

"No," Buffy said. "It was Kean. I'd bet anything."

 

"Why do you say that, Buffy?" Ishak asked.

 

"The whole big setup," she said, trying to keep her voice from shaking. "The sign -- Kean said something to me about the Council knowing they weren't safe. And besides, it's such a big, stupid melodramatic thing -- total theater club, you know?"

 

"If I understand you, what you're saying makes sense," Markwith said. 'It is the sort of gesture Kean might appreciate, if this talk of his running a theater is actually true."

 

"It is true," Angel said firmly.

 

"A poster scarcely counts as proof," Markwith replied with a disdainful lift of his eyebrows.

 

"We told you what we saw tonight --" Angel said.

 

"That might have been there forever --"

 

"Hey!" Buffy said. "You two can go pee on all the bushes later. Are we all agreeing that Kean killed Noor?"

 

"That seems most likely," Ishak said. "Continue your investigation. If the location you described proves to be Kean's lair, then this Council will spare no expense or manpower to see that justice is done."

 

"Until then, I want one thing to be clear," Markwith said. He was addressing the whole room, but Buffy could feel the words aimed at her like physical blows. "This tragedy should make it clear how very much our Slayers do still need our help and protection. And how vital it is that our rules for their safety are obeyed. Kean might have done darker work tonight if he'd been able to find more than one of our Slayers alone."

 

Buffy felt Angel's hand brush against her shoulder, so quickly she almost missed it.

 

"We shall be careful," Agatha promised.

 

The room was quiet for a few moments. "Very well, then," Ishak said heavily. "The service for Noor will be this afternoon. Announce a day of mourning for the city."

 

**

 

Noor's body lay on a funeral pyre in the courtyard outside the Keep. .

 

Buffy stood between a sobbing Xiaoting and a silent Agatha. In their group of Watchers and Slayers, Sumiko and Sky stood on the other side of Ishak, with Markwith hovering slightly behind Sumiko. Buffy couldn't make out their expressions for the tears that kept welling in her eyes.

 

That's what we're here for, she told herself. That's the first thing I heard Angel say, and I didn't pay any attention to it. They brought us back to life just to die again.

 

Throngs of people surrounded the courtyard, keeping a respectful distance. They swayed together, half-chanting, half-singing, some dirge that Buffy guessed was all too familiar by now.

 

Ishak stepped forward and held up a gleaming knife. Buffy had only a moment to wonder what he intended before he lifted up one lock of Noor's hair -- uncovered as it had been in death, as it had never been in life -- and cut it free. Then he stepped away and let the Watchers light the pyre.

 

As the flames surged up, filling the air with smoke and heat and smell, Buffy felt herself go cold.

 

They took her hair, she thought. They took a part of her. In case they want to get her back again --

 

What if they never stop? What if I never finally die? What if I just come back, over and over and over, losing everyone until I finally lose myself?

 

Buffy hugged herself tightly, wishing stupidly, uselessly for Angel to appear, somehow immune from the blazing afternoon sun. He would know how it felt, to never be able to really die --

 

Xiaoting choked out, "I can't seem to get ahold of myself. It's -- it's almost as if I liked her." She was so sincere that Buffy couldn't bring herself to take offense on Noor's behalf.

 

Besides, Buffy decided, if Noor appreciated anything, it was honesty.

 

"I fear for her soul," Agatha said.

 

Buffy looked over at her, alarmed. "You -- you think Kean could have cursed her or something?"

 

Agatha seemed bewildered. "Curses? No, dearest. I meant -- Noor was a Mohammedean. I attempted to speak with her about the Church of England once, but she had very little patience for it."

 

"Oh," Buffy said. "God stuff."

 

"I am certain it would be no sin to pray for her soul," Agatha said.

 

"Yeah," Buffy agreed. "Besides, think about all we do. Gotta be some celestial reward for it all, right?"

 

"I used to think so too," Xiaoting said, her voice uncharacteristically harsh. "But then I ought to have spent quite a bit of time in heaven, and I don't seem to remember any of it. Do you?"

 

"No," Buffy said. "Not a thing."

 

*************************

 

Chapter Fifteen

 

"Opening Night"

 

 

 

 

 

April 3, 2353

 

Things I never expected to hear myself say, #872 -- I thought I'd gotten over dying.

 

When I woke up, I was so scared and sad and freaked out. I was able to face dying -- as long as I thought it was permanent. But being in this strange city, this strange time -- I thought I'd never be home again, never feel anything but empty again. So I wanted to die again, and maybe get it right this time. Third try's the charm.

 

But then I found Angel here. And I got to know the other Slayers. And I started to get used to this weird place. Remembered what my job was about. Once I got started again, it all seemed okay. Not better. Never better. But something I could handle.

 

Then Noor died, and everything changed.

 

I don't guess I could say we were friends, exactly, but I did like her. I mean, she gave it to you straight, something almost nobody does around here. Not even Angel, who means well but has never been the master of the complete answer. And she was a Slayer, like me -- trying to do her job her way, like me -- and she got killed.

 

Just like I'm going to.

 

What was the good of wanting my life again when it's just going to be taken away again?

 

I'm a wreck on patrols. Angel hasn't said much about it, but he's obviously covering for me now -- protecting me. He's freaked out too, I think, though I can't talk about it with him. To do that, I'd have to say it out loud. And when I did, what would happen? If I told him I was afraid I was going to die, what could he say besides, "You will"?

 

Dying isn't really the thing that scares me so much. It's the fact that I probably don't get to stay dead. I've been down this road, and now I know where it ends. My life seems so stupid, so futile. Fight and die. Fight and die. How many times will I have to do this? Will they wake me up again in 100 years? 1000?

 

I can't seem to focus or keep my head straight. Every single fight, every single enemy, I ask, is that it? Is that the one that gets me? Is this the one that cycles me through to some other world I won't understand? I want to hang on to this place, not because I love it, but because it might beat the hell out of whatever comes next.

 

I can't slay like this. I have to snap out of it. That's what I keep telling myself.

 

But it doesn't seem to do any good.

 

I want to kill Kean; I know that much. Noor deserves that much.

 

If I'm gonna do that, I have to pull myself together. I have to learn to play by the rules. I never was careful before -- I just ran around and trusted myself to figure it all out as I went along.

 

And now I know where that leads.

 

**

 

"This is recon only," Angel said sternly.

 

"Recon only," Buffy repeated quietly, rechecking her crossbow.

 

"Don't make any aggressive moves, no matter what happens. If my guess is correct, Kean's going to have a lot of vampires in there tonight. We're not going up against those odds, not unless we have to."

 

"Why do you think I would?" Buffy said, rechecking her flask of holy water. "I'm not stupid. I'm not reckless."

 

"You're not stupid. But you are reckless."

 

"Maybe I used to be," Buffy said. She undid her blaster holster and refastened it. "But not now. Not ever again."

 

That was getting too close to the subject. Angel's face darkened, and she could see that he was about to ask questions she didn't want him to ask. Quickly, she said, "Let's go."

 

They got out of the transport, parked (hopefully innocuously) on a deserted side street. Without a word, Angel boosted her up onto the low rooftop of an abandoned building; this area had relatively few of the skyscrapers that dominated the rest of the London's skyline. She heard him land beside her, a soft thud lighter than a cat's.

 

Together they began making their way to the Drury Lane Theater.

 

The area they'd scouted out days before was now buzzing with activity. It was powered up, marquee lights flashing incongruously on the dark street. She could see enough of the theater's lobby to tell that dozens of individuals were milling about as the inner lights flashed off, then on again couple of times. A few forms hurried toward the entrance, apparently running late. Buffy frowned as she looked down at them, then glanced back at Angel for verification.

 

"Human," he whispered.

 

They waited until the lights had flickered again and the last people had entered the theater. Then she and Angel made their way to the theater's rooftop. A repair grate they'd found nights before was still unblocked; Angel, working as silently as only he could, removed the grate and let her climb within. Buffy crawled forward inside the vent, hoping the catwalk she and Angel used previously would also be vacant. Behind her, she could hear Angel somehow getting through the skinny passage as well.

 

The room exploded with sound, and Buffy jumped -- then relaxed as she recognized the noise.

 

Applause.

 

She poked her head out of the opening; sure enough, this particular catwalk was abandoned. Buffy eased herself down as quietly as she could and half-turned to help Angel do the same.

 

Beneath her, she could hear Kean's voice echoing throughout the theater.

 

"Ladies and gentlemen, you are welcome once again to the theater company of Edmund Kean," he said. "We have some delights in store for you this season -- Hedda Gabler! Plaza Suite! But, as those historians in the crowd well know, my true love is Shakespeare, and tonight we present one of his greatest works, The Tempest. The last thing he did before he died. Doesn't seem to have done anything after he died. So lazy."

 

Angel whispered, so quietly that even though his lips brushed her ear, she could barely hear, "The audience is completely human."

 

She pulled him near and, in the same low voice, said, "So how come they're alive?"

 

He shrugged. She let herself lean forward enouugh to actually see Kean; she knew from her limited, talent-show experience that he would be too blinded by stage lights to see her in return. He was wearing a pale-blue doublet and tights; his shroud was slung across his shoulders like a cape.

 

"However, before we can present our show tonight, you must of course pay for your tickets." The audience shifted -- uneasily, Buffy thought -- but remained in their seats. "And, of course, nobody can concentrate on the higher meanings of Shakespeare while that's going on, now, can they? So, as our ushers move through the aisles, we invite you to watch our latest skit, Whose Unlife Is It Anyway?"

 

Another smattering of applause, this somewhat muted, as Kean moved offstage. Angel nudged Buffy in the side and gestured over to a corner of the room.

 

Vampires were moving from the wings, coming toward the audience. They moved quickly, but purposefully, and the people did not flinch.

 

"Ishak! Ishak! I've found a way to get more teenage girls for you!" The audience started laughing. Buffy jerked her head back around to see two vampires in heavy stage makeup. Though the resemblance was slight, she realized they were meant to be Ishak and Markwith. She tried -- and failed -- to fight back a smile.

 

"More young girls?" Faux Ishak rubbed his hands lasciviously. "Tell me how!"

 

"Why stop at the living when we can get you the dead?"

 

"If I wanted to sleep with the dead, my wife would do nicely."

 

"These jokes are old even for me," Angel said. He was scowling down at the laughing audience, then his eyes widened. "Buffy, look --"

 

Buffy turned her attention back to the crowd and gasped.

 

The vampires were cutting people. Cutting their arms, drawing blood --

 

And the people let them. They held their arms out over the vampires' buckets, laughing with the giddiness of blood loss and release as the fake Ishak and Markwith went through their parody.

 

"The price of admission," Buffy whispered.

 

"They only take what they need," Angel replied. "They don't kill. They can't kill -- there aren't enough humans to keep killing them. And Kean's found a way to get humans to give him freely more than he could take by force."

 

A tall, slender girl in bad blackface, with a worse Australian accent, was clinging to Faux Ishak's robe and pretending to sob. "I thought I was your only underage lover!"

 

"It's no good anymore," Faux Ishak said. "You've hit puberty."

 

The people laughed and laughed. Their faces were pale in the darkness. Their laughter was shrill and desperate -- but real, all the same. "And this is why they come."

 

"For a play?" Angel seemed doubtful. "More likely they come to buy themselves some safety."

 

"How's that?"

 

"Vampires can sense if a person's lost blood -- through surgery, an accident, whatever. You wouldn't attack one of those people, not if you could get anything else. Anything more filling."

 

Buffy tried very hard not to be grossed out by Angel's choice of words. "So these people get themselves a few weeks of safety. It makes sense, in the weirdest, sickest way imaginable. But I don't think that's all."

 

When Angel looked at her curiously, she continued, "Everything's so damn stiff here, Angel. You have to obey all the rules. Be all reverent about the Council. Except here. Here they can laugh and make fun. Not take it all so seriously."

 

"While they spill out their blood for vampires," Angel said. "That's not worth taking seriously?"

 

"They're used to it. These people think vampires are just -- part of the world."

 

A female vamp who was really far too busty to be Xiaoting was rubbing against Faux Markwith in an extremely rude manner. The laughter grew louder. Buffy saw Angel's mouth twist in something like contempt. "And this is what they'll bleed for. This is what they applaud."

 

"Try to understand. If you never got a chance to lighten up, not ever, you would -- well, you'd actually know a lot about -- hey!"

 

A petite blonde with a serious underbite had just come twirling onto the stage. Buffy had the sinking feeling that this was not meant to be Agatha. Next to her, she heard Angel make a noise that might have been disgust, amusement or both.

 

Faux Ishak let his tongue loll out of his mouth. "You! Buffy! You're the one for me!"

 

Faux Buffy shook her head regretfully. "I'll never be yours, Ishak --"

 

"What? You think I'm too old for you?" The voice rang out in the theater.

 

"No -- you're not old enough!" The audience laughed again as a vampire in full game face, his hair shorter than short, came out to clutch Faux Buffy to him.

 

"Besides," Faux Angel said, groping at Faux Buffy in a way that made Buffy start to blush, "she's the one who's too old for you. She's 20 if she's a day!"

 

"20!" Faux Ishak shuddered.

 

"You didn't give up on me when I hit puberty, did you, darling?" Faux Buffy crooned.

 

"I can pretend you didn't, as long as you don't have breasts."

 

Buffy's jaw dropped. She didn't even bother muffling her outraged cry; the audience was guffawing too loudly for it to be heard.

 

Angel looked furious. "You have great breasts," he muttered. "I remember that very clearly."

 

"You forget my best friend, you remember my breasts," she answered, rolling her eyes. "An undead man is still a man."

 

Faux Ishak put his hands on Faux Buffy's shoulders, tugging her close. "Come, come, my dear," he crooned. "We all know there are certain services Angel can't provide for you." Faux Ishak punctuated the word "services" with a pelvic thrust.

 

"Oh, he can," Faux Buffy said, spinning back over to her pretend lover and cupping her hands between his legs. Buffy could feel her face beginning to blaze with a flush of embarrassment and anger. "So what if he gets a little nasty afterwards? Aren't all men beasts the morning after?"

 

Angel's head was slightly bowed now, and Buffy knew that beneath their shared anger he was also feeling the sting of shame. Her memories of that terrible day after -- and of that beautiful night before -- were rushing through her mind, complex and painful and even joyful in parts; Buffy had never pretended to really understand what had happened in those agonizing days, but she knew they were more than this stupid, bitter cartoon playing out before their eyes.

 

"Angel," she said through clenched teeth, drawing his attention back to her. "Listen to me! Don't let this hurt you. This -- this is not the truth."

 

On the last word, she smacked her hand on the catwalk rail for emphasis. The aged railing, unfortunately, had apparently been hanging on by a thread -- a thread that Buffy's smack broke. As the rail broke off and tumbled into the crowd -- which began to scream -- the catwalk lurched from the sudden shift in balance. Angel seemed able to compensate, but Buffy felt herself beginning to tumble --

 

She turned it into a jump, landed smack in the middle of one of the aisles. A second later, she heard Angel drop to the ground behind her. The crowd was staring at her in paralyzed silence -- were they ashamed of being caught? Terrified of what would happen? No way to know. Buffy began sauntering up toward the stage with her best I-meant-to-do-that swagger. "Real cute, Kean," she said.

 

Kean had emerged from the wings when the screaming started; he was smiling down at them unpleasantly. "Trespassers. How nasty. You realize you'll have to pay full price like everyone else."

 

"Some blood may be shed here," Buffy agreed as she reached the front row. "But I don't think it's gonna be mine."

 

"And this must be Angelus," Kean said. "Edmund Kean. A pleasure to finally make your acquaintance. I didn't think they freed you from your pen any longer."

 

"They let me out on good behavior," Angel said, with a bravado in his voice Buffy hadn't heard in far too long. "And you're not Edmund Kean."

 

The vampire actors all stared at Kean, who suddenly seemed a little smaller. After a moment, he sputtered, "I -- beg -- your -- pardon --"

 

"I saw Edmund Kean," Angel said, "On several occasions, including his turn as Shylock right here in this theater. Edmund Kean was shorter than you. He was hairier than you. And, frankly, he was a lot more talented than you."

 

The vampire who called himself Kean looked around the stage nervously. The Faux Xiaoting whispered encouragingly, "I'm not actually Sarah Bernhardt, either."

 

"Ready to work off some of that sexual tension?" Buffy muttered, tensing her body for the jump.

 

"Hell, yes," Angel said, crouching down.

 

Kean took the offensive and pointed down at Buffy and Angel. "Seize them!"

 

Buffy sprang onstage, just clearing the floodlights to land at Kean's feet. She let the force of her jump carry her through, propel her leg as she kicked him hard in the knee. He fell back with a shout of pain. Over his head flew Faux Ishak, apparently tossed bodily by Angel.

 

The other vamps were rushing her now, not being considerate and taking turns. darn it. Buffy let loose -- punch here, jab there, flying kick. It was terrible and wonderful all at once -- she was in battle, a battle she couldn't possibly win, but she was herself again, flying free. She didn't have to think or fear -- just fight.

 

She heard a vampire's roar nearby, recognized it as Angel's. He was hitting one vamp's head as fast and furiously as though it were a punching bag, driving him downstage. Glad we're both having fun here, she thought.

 

Even the vamp ushers were on stage now, and Buffy knew she'd only be able to keep them at bay for a few moments longer. The audience members were crying out in dismay, but their terror of the vampires appeared to be enough to keep them from helping her and Angel out.

 

Kean reappeared onstage with a few minions -- now carrying swords. "Dead for a ducat, dead!" he cried, leaping toward her with his blade.

 

Never rains but it pours, Buffy thought.

 

She ducked the sword, punched Kean hard in the same knee she'd nailed earlier. As he howled, she rolled beneath him to get to one small patch of space.

 

"Think, dammit, think --" she gasped.

 

"Buffy!" Angel cried. She spun around just in time to see Faux Angel thrusting his sword down at her. She clapped her hands together, seized the blade, shoved it back at him to send him flying.

 

"Knew that trick would come in handy again sometime," she said.

 

Buffy clasped her fists together and rammed them hard into the head of Faux Xiaoting, the only one between her and Kean. She grabbed his shoulders and pulled him forward to butt heads, hard.

 

"My profile!" Kean shrieked. His face was vamped and his nose was definitely broken. As blood oozed down his face, he yelled, "Damnable woman!"

 

Buffy pulled her arms over his head -- and his shroud with it. Quickly, she tossed it to Angel. "Put this on!" she yelled. Angel, who now only had one hand free to fend off Faux Markwith, looked bewildered. "Do it!" she urged.

 

She jumped up as high as she could, caught the rigging in her hands. Buffy swung her legs up over her head and suspended herself there for a moment in one straight line. She could really see the stage now, see the two dozen vamps, half of which were trying to see her through the glare of the stage lights, the other half of which were getting pretty close to taking down a shrouded Angel. She fumbled desperately with her equipment, seeking what she needed --

 

What is the point of having all these weapons strapped on me if it takes so damn long to get any of it loose? Buffy thought. Gotta get down there and finish this.

 

When she dropped at last, Kean lunged toward her again. "This one is mine!" he yelled. "I've always wanted to kill a Slayer."

 

Buffy stared at him. His smile as he came toward her was grim, terrifying -- but real.

 

He didn't do it, she thought. He didn't kill Noor.

 

She somersaulted to the edge of the stage, back to the wall. Kean advanced on her. Behind her, she saw three of the vamps finally grab Angel's arms through the shroud, force him to his knees, push his face to the ground. He cried out, half-muffled by the shroud's hood, "Buffy, get out of here!"

 

Buffy ignored him and concentrated on Kean. His sword's point was now hovering just inches from her throat. "I had thought to enjoy our adversarial relationship for quite some time to come, my dear," he said. "But it appears we have already reached our last act. As all students of Shakespeare know, the last act is often very bloody."

 

"I studied some Shakepeare," Buffy said. "Hamlet's big question is 'to be or not to be,' right? What say I answer that one for you?"

 

She grabbed the lever behind her -- the lever for storm effects -- and pulled.

 

The wind machine began ruffling their hair. A light flashed behind a gray screen for lightning. Tin sheets created thunder that echoed in the eerily silent theater. Rain began to fall.

 

As the first drop hit Kean's face, his expression turned to horror. He just had time to scream before bursting into flame.

 

The holy water kept showering down on the vampires, all of them shrieking in agony and collapsing into fire or powder -- except Angel, who was huddled beneath Kean's protective shroud. Buffy patted the empty flask at her hip. "Props to Agatha," she said, laughing as she turned her face up to the cool, artificial rain.

 

As the water ran out, the rain stopped. The last vamp was already dust. Nothing was left of Kean but the sword at her feet. Angel slowly stood up, pulled the hood back from his face. "Buffy?" he said, half in wonder.

 

She slicked her wet hair back from her face as thunder rumbled. "Always meant to try acting."

 

In the back of the theater, one man started to clap. Then another. And another. In moments, the entire crowd were on their feet, applauding, cheering, screaming. It wasn't anything like the approval they'd given to Kean -- no desperation, no fear. Just pure joy.

 

Buffy laughed as she looked over at a dazed Angel. "See?" she said. "They'll clap a lot louder for the right things. You just can't let the bad guys put on the better show. Should we take a bow?"

 

Angel smiled at her, a warm, open, utterly unguarded smile she'd never thought to see again. "No wonder I thought I'd dreamed you."

 

************************

 

 

PART FOUR

 

 

 



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