ORIGINALLY POSTED: August 29, 2001
TITLE: The Family Business
AUTHOR: JK Philips
RATING: PG (some swearing)
SUMMARY: After the events of The Ticking Clock, Buffy and Giles are still looking for their daughter. Can they save her from a terrible fate?
SPOILERS: Everything up to “The Gift”
DISCLAIMER: I do not own these characters; they are the property of Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy & Fox. I simply am doing this for fun, and non-profit use.
EMAIL: . Would love feedback. This is only my third fanfic. Well, technically my first if you want to lump Death Brings Clarity, The Ticking Clock, and this together as one book.
MY WEBSITE: www.jkphilips.com
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Part 2: Little Girl Lost, Little Girl Found

“Willow Rosenberg, right?”

Willow glanced up from the papers she was grading. She came to the library to be left alone, not to socialize. But she plastered on a fake smile anyway and set her pen down on top of her stack of papers before turning to face her visitor. It might be one of the undergrads from the class she TA’d, after all, and it wouldn’t do to scare them off. The students were scared enough of Professor Allens as it was. They wouldn’t have anyone to help them if Willow started alienating these poor freshmen too.

But the woman wasn’t familiar, and was definitely too old to be in Willow’s class. She was probably in her late 20’s, with cropped brown hair that curled around her ears and a trim petite frame that reminded Willow somewhat of Buffy.

“Yes, I’m Willow,” she answered, watching as the woman slid into the seat beside her.

“Hi, I’m Sabrina Perkins.” She leaned forward, her eyes darting around to inventory the people at the surrounding tables. She lowered her voice. “Someone told me you were a witch.”

The smile dropped from Willow’s face, and one hand absently brushed a lock of red hair behind her ear. “I don’t know who told you that, but it’s not true. Witches! Please. I’m just a history TA. Maybe some kid in my class didn’t like the grade I gave them, but-”

Sabrina interrupted before Willow could continue protesting too much. “Tara helped me out with a protection spell a couple years ago. She said you were better at the magic, but I thought she did pretty good. She’s actually the reason I got into magic. I was so sorry to hear she died. She was a really nice woman. A little shy. I wish I’d gotten to know her better. But I just wanted to tell you I’m sorry.”

Willow looked down at her papers again. Her hand began fidgeting with the pen. She replied very softly, “Thank you. Not many people knew her that well, but… yeah… she was really nice.”

“I wanted to say I’m sorry, but that’s not the only reason I wanted to talk to you. I know you and Tara used to do the magic together, but now… Well, there’s a group of us, real witches, not the Wicca-wanna-blessed-be’s, and we would really like it if you came over sometime and cast with us.”

Willow felt her throat constrict and her heart race at the mere thought. She gathered her papers a bit too abruptly and shoved them into her book bag. “Thanks, but no thanks. I don’t do magic anymore. Umm… Sorry, but I gotta run. I forgot. There’s this… thing I have to go to.”

Sabrina stopped her with a gentle hand on the forearm. “I understand. Really, it’s okay. After my partner died, I felt the same way. No one else really got it. I think they all thought it was just a phase, a college thing. Everyone just expected me to pick up and move on, like Abigail had been a faithful dog or something. Sometimes it felt like I couldn’t talk to anyone about it, and I never thought I would ever be able to do the things we did together again. But one day I met someone. Not someone someone, just a friend, but we started doing magic again, and there was this whole group of us doing spells, and it wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be. Doing the magic again… I think it helped me remember Abigail even more. It’s like she’s with me every time I feel the magic.”

Sabrina held out a small business card with her name and phone number. “I just wanted you to know that if you ever need to talk to someone who will understand… If you’re ever ready to use your gifts again… I’m here. Even if you don’t want to do the magic, that’s okay. You can just come and talk with us, make some friends that weren’t her friends too. I know how important that was for me.” Sabrina smiled sympathetically. “I’m always really good at reading people. It’s one of my gifts. And I can see you, Willow Rosenberg, the real you that’s underneath all this grief. I just want to help you if I can. And I sorta feel like I owe it to Tara to at least try.”

Willow took the offered card and slipped it quickly in her pocket. She did feel something like a kindred spirit in this other woman, who might understand as the others could not. Buffy and Giles had each other. Xander and Anya had each other. What did any of them know about losing someone they loved so dearly? Well, okay, Giles had lost Jenny, and Buffy had killed Angel, but they sure didn’t act like they understood her grief. And some part of her had always suspected that her friends considered Tara to be just a little college experimentation.

As soon as Tara had died, Giles had been on the phone looking for Oz. Like she wouldn’t figure out what he was trying to do from the rushed goodbyes and hang-ups as soon as she walked in the room or from the various books on lycanthropy that he had taken a sudden interest in once again. Like she would just return to her first love if he came back to town. Like Oz could ever replace Tara. Willow knew that, just like everyone else, Giles thought she was only experimenting with the gay thing and if he could bring her old boyfriend back, she would just go straight again. And all would be right in the Scooby world once more.

Sometimes Willow considered confronting Giles about it. But that would just have been too much work. He would want her to talk about it. Everyone was always trying to get her to talk about it, even though she could tell they were sick of hearing about it. Willow, at least, was sick of hearing variations on the theme: “Time heals all wounds.” Screw that. It had been over four months, and time was verging on medical malpractice.

Sabrina gave Willow’s arm a gentle squeeze, and the redhead responded with a sad smile. “Thank you,” she told her new friend. “I’ll think about it. Maybe I’ll come by sometime to meet everyone. But, really, I won’t do the magic.”

“No pressure.” Sabrina rose from her seat. “I’ll let you get back to grading your papers. I didn’t mean to chase you out of the library.”

Willow watched the other witch leave. She felt an irrational pang of guilt. Was she attracted to this petite brunette? No, she couldn’t be. She still missed Tara. Sabrina was nothing more than a new friend. An attractive friend, but just a friend all the same.

***

Whoosh. Clang. Swoosh. The blades of each sword sang as they danced through the air, as steel met steel and then came apart. Giles felt each impact reverberate up his arm. He had kept his opponent at bay for some time, but now he was being slowly backed into a corner. He parried the approaching blade swiftly, but his answering thrusts were deftly turned aside, his own momentum used against him to send him stumbling three steps back.

“So Dawn has a boyfriend, huh?”

Buffy came at him with a series of forceful swings he blocked easily with a minimum of effort. Would she ever learn to forgo the dramatic for the practical? She was expending far too much energy on each stroke and giving her opponent far too much warning. He jabbed forward, tapped aside her parry, and thrust again, almost nailing her thigh. He had her on the defensive now, and she was moving back to gain more maneuverability.

“What… gives… you… that… idea?” Giles might be a skilled swordsman, and he might be holding his own at the moment, but squaring off against his slayer inevitably left him winded.

“A little Rabbit told me,” she answered, as she ducked his thrust and rolled across the floor, coming up behind him. He barely turned in time to block her swing, and their swords locked together as she pressed him several steps back. She smiled smugly. “So who is it?”

“I… don’t… know.” He spun to the side and let her momentum carry her forward before he followed with his own more economical swings.

“I think you’re holding out on me. I think I’m gonna have to beat it out of you.” Buffy advanced on him like a runner who had saved one last reserve of energy for the final stretch. Giles took two steps back for each one his slayer took forward. He was actually panting now, grunting under each impact of the blades, his sword blocking and parrying so quickly there was no time for offensive moves.

He took her swing across the length of his blade, the swords locked crossways once again, and he felt himself pressed backwards as before. This time, though, her leg swept outwards and knocked his own out from under him, landing him flat on his back. He felt the impact even through the protective padding, wheezing slightly as she landed across his chest and held the blade beneath his chin.

“You okay?”

He nodded, still out of breath.

“So who’s this guy?”

He shook his head, still gasping to catch his breath.

She teasingly pushed the broadside of the blade tighter beneath his chin. She waggled her eyebrows and demanded in an accent so bad he couldn’t place it, “Talk now, or heads vill roll.” She trilled the l’s, and he couldn’t help but chuckle, which sent him coughing.

“Really, Buffy… I don’t… know.”

She set the sword aside and climbed off his chest, offering him a hand up. He bent over for a moment, head between knees, taking slow deep breaths until he no longer felt like he was going to pass out. He slipped off his facemask and undid the clasps of his vest. Buffy only watched him as he stripped off the layers of protective gear. She was wearing a tank top and spandex biking shorts. Her idea of gearing up for training was pretty much limited to changing into running shoes rather than whatever God-awful fashion trend she had currently strapped to her feet and then pulling her hair back into a ponytail.

“Your defensive skills are improving,” he commented. “You averted my every attack. But offensively, you waste too much energy on the big moves. Your strokes were too wide; your thrusts had too much windup. Each flourish you add with your blade contributes nothing but alerting your opponent to your next move.”

She frowned at him. “So remind me again: which one of us just got laid out on his ass?”

He peeled off his gloves and added them to the pile. “Something you should have accomplished at least twenty minutes ago.”

“So I really can’t win, can I?”

“Pardon me?”

She crossed her arms and glared at him. “If I let you win even for a little while, I get the ‘you’re not training hard enough’ lecture. And if I take you down in five minutes, you get all sulky and act like it’s time to start looking at nursing homes. Our last session, you used the words ‘half century.’”

“I am very nearly that.”

She threw her hands in the air and rolled her eyes. “You’re 48.”

Giles chuckled as he stretched out tired muscles. This seemed to bother her more than him. “Almost 49, which is just a short jump to the half century mark.”

She crossed her arms again, defiantly. “See? I can’t win. I let you stay ahead of me for a little while, and you’re still going to get all sulky. Pretty soon you’ll start saying things like you’re too old to be my Watcher and… and… I should have the Council send someone younger, like Wussy Wesley.”

Ah, so that’s what this was about. “Buffy, you’re the Slayer, and I’m a mere mortal. You should be able to take me down in under five minutes, no matter what my age. Tell me, you used to spar with Riley, didn’t you?”

“Yeah, yeah,” she answered, plopping down on a nearby bench. “I know where you’re going with this. He was my own age, and I could still beat him in record time if I wanted to. So am I supposed to bring up Riley every time you get depressed about your age?”

Giles frowned. “Maybe not.” He joined her on the bench. “Look, Buffy, you have always been, will always be, my better in strength and speed and stamina. That’s the nature of the Slayer. There was a time when I might have kept up with you through superior skill and experience and training. But not anymore. And that doesn’t depress me. It makes me proud. After all, I am the one who trained you. So you should take me down. Again and again. Until you can do it in two minutes instead of five. Otherwise, there is no point to our training.”

He reached out one hand and brushed his knuckles across her cheeks. “And I will always be your Watcher. There is no age limit to the position. In fact, there have been slayers with watchers in their seventies, even, so no matter how old and decrepit I get, I’ll still be able to tell you when you’re dropping your shoulder or leading with your left side or taking too wide of swings with your sword.” He considered this for a moment. “Although in my seventies, perhaps we’ll find someone else for you to actually spar with. I foresee that I would be living up to the title Watcher in a very literal sense.”

Buffy laughed then, and pulled herself into his arms. She made a face. “You’re all sweaty.”

He patted her on the back. “You’re no rose yourself at the moment.”

She looked down at her damp shirt and quickly agreed. “Well, I definitely need a shower, and you definitely need a shower. It’s only logical that we should save time and water by showering together.”

Giles rose and drew her along with him. “I must be a better teacher than I realized. Not only has your skill with a sword improved in your years as my Slayer, but some of my intellect appears to have rubbed off as well.”

They headed to the bathroom and shower at the back of the training room. As Buffy locked the door behind them, she asked one last time, “So you really don’t know who Dawn’s boyfriend is?”

***

The coroner watched them wheel the gurney in as he scrubbed and gloved up. The police were anxious to know if the cause of death was the same as the others. A uniformed officer was actually waiting for the autopsy report so he could hand deliver it back to homicide.

“Alright. Let’s see what we’ve got.”

The coroner drew the sheet back. A woman this time. The other three had been boys, no more than high schoolers. This one was a young undergrad. He shook his head. What a waste.

He took the scissors and careful cut off the expensive cashmere sweater. He sliced up both seams of her fashionably torn jeans. He peeled off each layer of clothing until the body was naked on his slab.

“See? Same symbol,” the officer said as he pointed to the mark on her torso. The young rookie looked a little green already. He might need to wait in the hallway for the remainder of the procedure.

“Yeah, I see,” the coroner replied. The same symbol burned into her skin like acid. Not on her chest, as it had been for the three high school boys, but completely covering her stomach. He traced his gloved hand across its pattern, checking the damage and trying to match it to anything he might have seen before. It reminded him of how cattle were branded. But, no, this was definitely the work of acid or some other corrosive substance. He scraped a small sample of her burned skin into a vial for lab testing.

What he couldn’t figure out was how such a perfect symbol could have been so precisely burned into her skin by acid. It’s not like the killer could have just painted it on with a brush. And pouring a corrosive liquid in such exact lines wouldn’t have been an easy task.

He traced the pattern with his gloved fingers once more. A crescent moon curving from hip to hip and over her navel. A jagged lightning bolt beginning between her breasts, piercing the moon, running straight over her belly button, and coming to a point just above the curls of her pubic hair.

The coroner wondered what on earth the symbol could mean. He had seen some strange things during his time in Sunnydale, but this was a puzzle.

Two hours later, the rookie cop left the morgue, in possession of the autopsy report, but missing his breakfast. Cause of death: heart failure. Just as it had been with the others. No obvious reason for said heart failure. And just like the others, this woman had been too young and in too good of health for her heart to have just given out on its own. They would send various samples off for lab testing, but if this was a repeat of the other three, the labs wouldn’t find anything more to add to the report.

***

Willow woke when she heard urgent knocking on her door. She shrugged into her robe and stumbled over to the apartment door. She hadn’t been on Scooby duty since Tara’s death, so she wasn’t used to middle of the night emergencies anymore. Time was she would have been awake and alert in moments, prepared for battle or hitting the books. Now she peeked out the peephole with one bleary eye, recognizing the person in the hallway far later than she should have.

She undid the deadbolt and chain and opened the door, years of habit preventing her from actually inviting the woman in.

“Sabrina?”

The brunette witch stepped inside, passing the vampire test with flying colors. “I hate to bother you this late. Campus information gave me your address. Willow, we really need you right now.” And then the brunette began to cry. She covered her face with her hands and leaned towards Willow until the sleepy witch instinctively wrapped comforting arms around the sobbing woman.

“What’s wrong?”

Sabrina pulled back slightly, wiped away the tears with the back of her hand, and took a deep breath. “We told Morgaine not to do the spell by herself. We would have helped her with it tomorrow. But she was convinced that she was ready for it. I think she was trying to prove something to herself, and she cast it all alone. Now she’s trapped inside herself, and no one can reach her. We’ve tried everything.”

Sabrina leaned forward and grabbed Willow’s shoulders like a drowning woman might grab a life preserver. “I know you said you wouldn’t do magic, but just this once. Please. You and I together might be strong enough to reach Morgaine. And then you never have to do it again.”

Willow considered for many more moments than it should have taken. Helping those in trouble used to be in her job description. Time was Giles or Xander would have had to rein her in before she charged headfirst into a situation she wasn’t prepared for. Now the very thought of doing magic again made her hesitate. In the end, though, her sense of compassion and responsibility won out.

“Okay, just give me a moment to get dressed.”

She changed into a simple cotton dress that was loose and comfortable, slipped on her shoes slowly, and then pulled her long red hair into a meticulous ponytail, spending two or three minutes making sure she caught every last strand. The entire time she got ready, her gaze was fixed on a framed photo on the nightstand beside her bed. She and Tara snuggled together on the front porch of Buffy’s house, both dressed as Disney characters. It was the last picture she had, the last celebration they’d had together, before It happened. Alex had helped them pick out their costumes, deciding on Tinkerbell for Willow and the Little Mermaid for Tara and Robin Hood for himself. Willow smiled as she remembered Halloween, the last time the Scooby gang had been whole and happy: pumpkin carving, trick or treating with Alex, a haunted house in the backyard, Anya’s happy announcement that she was pregnant, and Xander’s Kodak worthy total shock.

Willow touched the image in the photo reverently before she returned to Sabrina in the living room.

Sabrina had calmed while waiting, seemingly more collected now that she knew Willow would help. She led them to her car and drove them to a building on the far side of campus, past the rows of fraternity and sorority houses. She pulled in front of a house so newly built that the construction vehicles were still parked on a half-finished driveway.

“Wow, it’s a beautiful house,” Willow commented as she stepped out of the car.

“Yeah,” Sabrina agreed. “They were supposed to have it done before the semester started, but you know how that goes. We couldn’t move in until almost the end of January.”

They walked across the barren front lawn and over discarded shovels and picks. Sabrina opened the door and waited for her to enter.

The inside of the house was finished beautifully with large, spacious common rooms typical of a sorority house. Sabrina led them up a sprawling staircase and down a long hallway with dorm style bedrooms on either side. Willow could see their destination at a distance. It was the only room with a light on, and several people milled around outside in the hallway.

“This is Willow,” Sabrina said as she led the witch past them and into the bedroom.

A young black woman sat inside a pentagram drawn on the floor. A few other women stood along the perimeter, their tears a silent testimony to their failure. Morgaine’s head was bowed, a mass of cornrow braids flowing down her back and over her shoulders. When Willow bent down in front of her, she could see that the woman’s dark eyes were still open, but blank and empty. It reminded her of when Buffy had gone comatose after Glory had taken Dawn. Maybe the same type of spell would reach her.

“I need five candles, one at each point of the pentagram. I need sulfur and ground frogstone and some lilac incense to cover up the smell.” Willow’s confident orders spurred the room to action. “I need the same kind of powder she used to draw the symbol. We’ll need to open it up for me to get in, and then enough powder to close it behind me.”

“You’re going to get inside her mind? Draw her out?” Sabrina asked.

Willow nodded, her eyes still examining the scene in front of her, her encyclopedic mind pulling out dusty and long unused volumes on magic until she could remember the proper ceremony.

The smell of lavender. The heat of fire.

No, no, no. She couldn’t think about that right now.

“I’m going with you,” Sabrina stated, and it took a moment for Willow to really hear her words. “I know Morgaine, and you don’t. If we both go inside her mind, we have a better chance of bringing her out.”

Willow didn’t argue. She had the power to get them both in the door, but Sabrina would be the only one who could make sense of what they found on the other side.

Five candles burned, one at each point. The smell of lilac barely concealed the stench of sulfur and frogstone. Willow carefully opened the circle and stepped through. Sabrina joined her. The others closed the symbol behind them. Sabrina sat behind Morgaine, Willow sat in front.

I don’t know how much longer I can hold the shield. Please hurry. I’ve almost got him, Tara, just a minute more.

No, no, no. She shouldn’t think about that right now.

Instead, Willow slipped her hands into Morgaine’s own, the pale cream of one set of fingers contrasting with the rich chocolate of the other as their fingers laced together. Sabrina touched her friend on the brow, bringing the comatose woman’s head back level. Willow shuddered at the vacant expression that met her and closed her eyes.

Oh God, Willow, what are you doing? I just need a little more power. Just a minute more, I promise.

Willow shook her head and focused. They were still sitting in the pentagram, in front of and behind Morgaine. She thought for a moment that the spell hadn’t worked, but then she saw the same woman standing in the doorway watching them.

“Morgaine?”

The spell had worked, and they were inside her mind. And this, the pentagram, the room, the house, all of this, existed as an internal representation of her thoughts. However real it seemed, it wasn’t. Willow knew their bodies remained quiet and focused, still sitting in the pentagram in the real room of the real house.

Morgaine turned and walked away from them. They each stood and followed, leaving behind the unmoving form of Sabrina’s friend. Morgaine strolled down the staircase. A pyre burned in the middle of the living room.

“Let me talk to her,” Sabrina whispered and shadowed her friend down to the fire.

Willow watched as the two witches circled the bonfire. Morgaine shifted with each lap. She was in turns an African tribal medicine woman, a Jamaican voodoo queen, a colonial slave, a tacky television psychic, and lastly just Morgaine, herself. Sabrina shifted as she circled the pyre as well. She was ancient priestess, country wisewoman, Puritan witch, flower-power hippy, and then just herself. Centuries of witches, of magic, both feared and revered. Willow watched them dance around the fire as they spoke words she could not hear, and she wondered briefly whose pyre they danced before.

Willow, help me! I’m losing the shield.

Willow tried to push away the memory, but the taste of magic was bringing it all back.

They stood on opposite sides of the battlefield. It was the coming apocalypse. Wasn’t it always? The minions circled the beast they had just raised. Giles and Xander brandished broadsword and mace, struggling valiantly to breach the ranks of lesser demons, so Buffy would have a window to reach the larger threat. Even Anya, newly pregnant, fought beside them, wielding a crossbow and felling demon after demon with flaming bolts.

The heat of fire.

The smell of lavender at her feet, and the heat of fire as Anya lit each bolt while standing beside her.

They couldn’t let this newly raised beast reach the surface. It had the power to eclipse the sun, to send the world into everlasting darkness, a happy prospect for those creatures of the night who had called it. A more dismal idea for those who enjoyed actually *living.*

But the thing was huge. King Kong would have climbed into its arms and called it Mommy. There was no way Buffy could beat it. Even Giles knew that. Willow could see it in his expression as he watched his Slayer work her way through the minions guarding their prize. He knew with a sad certainty that this would be her last battle, and that the best he could hope for would be for the beast to die with her.

Tara and Willow stood at opposite sides of the battlefield, maintaining the shield that held the monster in place. He roared and beat four arms like California redwoods against it. They felt each impact to their bones.

And then Willow had the idea. The creature was called from fire. Ice could be its prison.

“Hold the shield,” she told her lover, her voice carried across the distance by magic. “Just for a moment. I think I can kill it.”

And she let Tara bear the weight for her side of the spell.

She called to the four winds. She called to Mother Nature.

“I don’t know how much longer I can hold the shield. Please hurry.” Tara sounded strained. The spell was too much for her to hold alone against the beast’s onslaught. But Willow only needed enough time to cast the spell, and they would win. What were a couple of nosebleeds and migraines compared to that?

“I’ve almost got him, Tara, just a minute more.”

She could feel the coolness across her brow. She could feel the breeze swirl past her and circle the beast. It roared in anguish. She could see its hooves turn blue. It stamped its feet, but its movements were becoming stiff. Willow’s spell was working. The beast was turning to ice.

But her power was waning. She needed more than what she had if she were to seal the creature in a tomb of ice. She needed Tara.

“Oh God, Willow, what are you doing?” Tara’s voice shook as she was torn in two directions: holding the shield and joining her lover’s spell.

“I just need a little more power. Just a minute more, I promise.”

The beast couldn’t move below the waist. The beating of his arms against the magic forcefield slowed, and he looked like a swimmer in quicksand.

She heard Tara scream.

“Willow, help me! I’m losing the shield.”

And then came the Choice. The Choice that would haunt her days and her nights for the rest of her life. She could drop the spell and fortify the shield. And then all would be lost. The beast would break free of the beginnings of his ice prison, leaving Buffy to shoulder the last hope of the human race. The Slayer would die saving them all, but there was a chance she could kill the thing and stop yet another apocalypse. Then again, they might all die, and the world with them. A never-ending eclipse. An everlasting night.

Or Willow could finish the spell and finish off the beast right now.

She chose. And for the rest of her life she would wonder if she had made the wrong choice.

She drew what more she needed from Tara. She felt the shield waver as she did. Her hands rose. Her eyes darkened. Willow chanted in Greek. The cool breeze surrounding the beast hardened, and his movements stopped. He solidified in cool, translucent ice. The minions turned to his defense too late. And what could they do against her magic anyway?

She uttered the final words of the incantation, sealing him inside his arctic tomb.

Giles and Xander and Buffy and Anya slaughtered the remaining minions.

But Willow had felt Tara’s magic break. And she was all the way on the other side of the battlefield.

Willow frantically attempted to shore the forcefield, but there was nothing left. The spell had broken. So she stumbled down the steep rock bed and into the crevice. She ran across the battlefield, not even noticing how close she came to death. Anya’s bolt brought down one demon before it reached her. Giles’ sword halved another before it could touch her. Xander’s mace knocked a third to its knees before it moved more than three steps in her direction. Oblivious to these close calls, she ran.

She climbed the opposite rock bed, not caring that she cut and scraped herself in her haste. She reached the top and found her.

Tara lay still across the stones.

“NO!”

Willow knelt at her lover’s side, her hands smoothing back the blonde hair. Tara was still alive and watching her.

“Hold on, Tara. Giles will be here in a minute. He’ll know what to do.”

Tara smiled sadly and licked her lips. Blood flowed from her nose, from her mouth. What could Giles do? There was nothing physically wrong with Tara, nothing a doctor could fix. And Willow could see already that Giles would never make it here in time.

“You did it.”

Willow misread accusation in her lover’s words. She had done this. She had killed with her magic, had killed the one person she loved more than anything. She began to weep, still smoothing back the blonde hair, and now leaning down to place kisses across forehead and cheeks. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Forgive me, Tara. I’m so sorry.”

“Shh…” Tara soothed, lifting one shaking hand to touch the tears that Willow wept for her. “You did it. You got to save the world for once. I’m so proud of you.” And then she wound one lock of fire-red hair around her finger and pulled her lover down for one last kiss.

Willow tasted Tara’s blood in her mouth, but she kissed her deeply and passionately, as if she could anchor her here in this moment by sheer will.

They said it at the same time.

“I love you.”

And then Tara’s eyes closed forever, and she died in Willow’s arms.

Giles did reach them moments later. And he was too late.

And Willow vowed that she had cast her last spell. Her magic died with Tara.

She blinked away the memory, focusing instead on the flames in the living room. She had wondered whose pyre it was. It made no sense. This was Morgaine’s dream, not hers. And yet, Willow knew the funeral pyre was Tara’s. Killed by magic. And burned like a witch.

“Willow?”

She turned around. Sabrina and Morgaine were standing behind her, waiting patiently.

“We’re ready for you to take us back now.”

Willow faced the fire one last time. She half expected to see the First Slayer prowl around from its edges, her ghostly face peering through the flames.

Death is your gift.

But no, that was Buffy’s dream. If this was Willow’s dream, if this was Tara’s pyre, then the flames were always empty.

She spun quickly, resolved, and headed up the stairs with determination. She had cast her first spell. She had broken her vow. But it had saved Morgaine. And Tara would forgive her that.

They returned to their positions in the pentagram, and Morgaine stepped into her still body. A moment later, and they all three gasped in unison. Willow looked around. The others were watching and looked relieved as their friend came to herself. They opened the circle for Willow and Sabrina to step out. Morgaine followed, still a little stiff.

One teary friend batted her on the shoulder. “Girlfriend, you had us freaked! Next time you want to mess with the hard stuff, you let me get your back. You hear me?”

Morgaine nodded sheepishly. She turned to Willow. “I can’t thank you enough. You saved my life. I am going to see you again, right? You’re coming to our next meeting?”

Willow smiled, a little teary and emotional herself. On the one hand, she had just revisited a moment she tried to keep buried. On the other hand, her magic had just saved someone. Maybe spending time with these people was just the thing she needed. And Sabrina had told her she didn’t have to do magic if she didn’t want to.

“Sure,” she answered. “Tell me when and where, and I’ll be there.”

The young black woman enfolded her in a warm embrace, and several others piled on as well.

“Willow Rosenberg,” Sabrina said, “you are welcome here anytime you like. But I will give you the dates and times for our group meetings just the same.”

“She needs the tour,” someone insisted.

So they gave her the tour of the house. It looked like any other sorority house, if a bit newer. Poshly decorated for the rich college girls whose parents liked to buy them into a selective society. The tour ended in the living room as they escorted her out. Plush couches surrounded a 52-inch television screen. To one side, a fake fire blazed in the fake fireplace, and over the mantle hung the symbol of their sorority.

“That’s weird,” Willow said, pointing. “Never seen that before.”

Sabrina shrugged. “We’re not technically a sorority. I mean, we’re not on the campus roster, so no Greek letters or anything. But we needed a symbol just the same. You like it? I picked it out. They’re going to put a big one on the front of the house if they ever finish our driveway and parking lot.”

Willow studied the symbol hanging above the fireplace. A crescent moon tipped on its side. A lightning bolt running through the center. It was a pretty symbol. It reminded her of old pagan rituals. It seemed to fit a coven of witches.

“Yeah, I like it,” she answered, and then walked back to the car with Sabrina.

***

“Woo! And might I add a big honking Hoo!”

“Hey, Buff, whadya find?” Xander asked.

Buffy seemed rather pleased with herself. “I actually found something for once. Look at me: big research girl.”

Giles grew impatient and grabbed for the book in her hands. “For Pete’s sake! What is it?”

“Hey,” she protested, holding the book out of his reach. “Can’t I just gloat for a moment? For once I’m the one who found something. It’s always you or Willow or Anya or…” She trailed off and left out Tara’s name. She shrugged her shoulders. “Even Dawn strikes gold sometimes. When Xander or I actually find something while researching, we should be allowed to gloat.”

Giles sighed impatiently and held out his hand. “Are you quite through gloating yet? They found the fourth body with this mark yesterday. Perhaps you’d like to wait for body number five?”

She passed over the leather bound volume, suitably chastised. He adjusted his glasses on the bridge of his nose and examined the page she had opened it to. They had found the lithograph he remembered seeing earlier, but it hadn’t provided any useful information. It had only been an illustration of a Dhanari demon raising a sword bearing that mark. He stood on a field of fallen knights, and a lightning bolt lit the blade with a blue fire, the only color in the illustration. They still didn’t know the name of the sword or the mark or what it did. But they were able to expand their research to include Dhanari demons in the hope that the mark was related to them.

Buffy had found a similar illustration in the book he was now examining. Except that the scene portrayed a troll wielding the sword. And he stood at the altar of a church, the entire congregation lying dead at his feet before him. And just like in the other illustration, a bolt of lightning branded the blade with a blue flame.

Giles sighed and tossed the book to the table, removing his glasses and rubbing his weary eyes. They had been stuck on this puzzle for entirely too long. “I’m afraid this doesn’t give us much more information than the first illustration we found. Again the sword bearing the mark, the dead on the ground, the lightning touching the sword.”

Buffy sighed and sank back into her armchair. “Does that mean I didn’t find anything? All that gloating for nothing?”

Giles smiled kindly. “Well, it is a troll in this lithograph. That means we can abandon our research into the Dhanari. They obviously do not have an exclusive tie to this sword or its mark.”

Buffy brightened. “Yay me! Less research.” Xander high-fived her across the coffee table.

Giles replaced his glasses. “Actually that means we should expand into other demons. The sword and the mark could originate with any of them.”

Xander scowled. “More research? Okay, Buffy, you are no longer my hero.”

Anya passed over the book she was working on. “I’m hungry. Someone must go get me pizza and pickles.”

Xander patted her stomach affectionately. “An, honey, there’s pickles in the fridge, and we can order pizza.”

She pouted. “Pregnant women are supposed to send their husbands to go get the food they’re craving. It’s no fair if you can just have it delivered. Buffy was always sending Giles to the store for ice cream.”

Giles glanced over his book with a smirk. “Alex and Buffy keep the freezer well stocked with ice cream if you’d like some.” Men had to stick together.

Anya scowled at her boss and then her husband. “Fine. Order me pizza. With olives and pickles and ham.”

“Oh my!” Buffy added with a giggle. Anya didn’t get the joke, but Buffy couldn’t stop laughing.

Just then Alex wandered into the living room, dragging a rather beat up Mr. Gordo by one limb and rubbing at his sleepy eyes.

Buffy pulled the boy up onto her lap. “Hey, little Rabbit, what’re you doing out of bed?” He leaned into her embrace and stuck one thumb into his mouth. “Did you have a bad dream?” He nodded, and she gave him a big hug. She tried to wiggle his thumb out of his mouth, but he only started sucking on the other one instead.

Dawn was coming down the stairs and sneaking past them towards the front door. Buffy stopped her. “Hey, Dawn, any idea where Alex gets this whole thumb-sucking from? I didn’t suck on mine. You didn’t suck on yours. You remember Mom talking about anyone in our family sucking on their thumb?”

Dawn shook her head impatiently. “Umm… Melinda’s picking me up in a few minutes. I’ll be home by eleven.”

“Ten thirty,” Giles corrected. “It’s a school night.”

Dawn rolled her eyes and sighed. “Ten thirty.” And then she was out the door.

Buffy looked at Giles knowingly. “She’s meeting up with this mysterious boyfriend. Whadya bet? Melinda’s just covering for her. I know it.” She passed Alex over to his father’s lap. “I’m going to follow her and see who it is.”

“Buffy, no.” Giles stopped her with a hand on her shoulder. “She’ll tell us when she’s ready, maybe invite him over. No need to spy on the girl. We should be thankful she’s not sneaking out the window anymore.”

“Come on, Giles. You knew us in high school. Remember the round robin? You think our parents had any clue we were fighting the forces of darkness? You think my Mom had any idea about Angel?”

“And if your mother had followed you out one night, how would you have felt? Show Dawn a little trust, and she’ll trust us.” He adjusted his son in his lap, so he could continue reading. “Of course, that doesn’t mean we can’t check up on her alibi and ground her if she’s lied.”

Buffy laughed. “Poor Alex. You’re not going to get away with anything, are you?” She tickled her son under the chin and again tried to wrest the thumb from its happy home. “Come on, Alex, you don’t want to suck on that icky thing, do you? Really, I don’t know where you get that nasty habit from. Mommy and Dawn never…” Buffy trailed off, her dawning realization and a smug smirk plastered across her face.

Giles turned the page as if he hadn’t noticed. He focused intently on his research.

“Omigod! Giles, you sucked your thumb.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Ah-ha!” Buffy stood triumphantly. She pointed to his ears and neck. “See, you’re turning red. And you didn’t deny it; you only said something that could be interpreted as a denial. See, I know you too well.” She laughed maniacally. “You totally sucked your thumb. For how long?”

“Buffy, please, we have work to do.”

She crossed her arms. “I’m going to assume you were like nineteen or twenty unless you tell me different. And I just had this image of Ripper sitting on a motorcycle with his thumb in his mouth. Weird. Disturbing. But still way funny.”

Giles sighed and tossed the book onto the table. “I was five. Father said I couldn’t go to grammar school until I’d stopped. Grandmother put quinine on it, and all in all, it was one of the worst first days of school a child can have. Happy now?”

Buffy giggled and pointed at him. “You sucked your thumb ’til you were five.”

Giles rolled his eyes and reached for another book. Buffy was likely to be amused by this new discovery for at least the next month. He would have to remind her of the childhood stories her father had told him. Maybe he would have to dig out that photograph from her fourth Christmas as blackmail. That would surely shut her up.

Alex studied his father with wide eyes. He offered out his other thumb. “Want my thumb, Daddy?”

Buffy actually fell to the floor in hysterics.

“No thank you, son,” Giles answered patiently and kissed the boy on the top of his head.

“Color?” Alex asked.

“I suppose if you’re not going back to sleep in the next little while.” Giles set the boy on the ground in front of the coffee table. He pulled out a pad of paper and some crayons reserved for just that purpose. “Remember, Alex, just color on the paper. Daddy’s books are not coloring books.”

Buffy settled down after a little while and returned to her research too. The pizza came, and Anya was happy. Alex wanted some too, but he didn’t like olives or pickles or ham. Xander picked them all off for his namesake, and Buffy informed her son that his Uncle Xander must love him a lot to go through all that hassle, because she would have just made him eat it, olives and pickles and all.

“Ah-ha!” Buffy exclaimed sometime later. “This is an actual woo-hoo moment and cause for some serious gloating.” She passed the book over to her husband. “Slayer: two. Watcher: zip. Remind me again what they pay you for?”

Giles took the book and studied it intently. At the same moment, Alex was clamoring to show him a drawing. “Just a minute, Alex. Daddy’s looking at this.”

Alex crawled beneath the book and onto his father’s lap. He laid the crayon drawing on top of the pages his father was looking at so seriously. “See?”

Giles moved the drawing out of the way. “In a minute, Alex.”

It appeared Buffy had hit the jackpot. The mark of Camela. The crescent moon and lightning bolt. Branded on her sword for her chosen champion, the sword of Camela had the power to infuse its bearer with stolen gifts. Her chosen champion, the Mortog beast, had lost his blessed blade three thousand years ago, and had been searching for it ever since. The book had a graphic illustration of the beast, with enormous bullhorns and an elephant’s trunk and the body and claws of a bear. Or at least that’s what it looked like in the illustration.

Giles flipped to the front cover. He had bought this volume at an estate sale just last month. No wonder he hadn’t remembered seeing this passage. He hadn’t read the book yet.

He turned back to the relevant page, reading more about Camela and her enchanted sword.

“Bad dog,” Alex pronounced as he pointed to the illustration of the Mortog beast. If he didn’t know what kind of animal something was, it generally fell under the heading of dog. As did most of the monsters he happened to catch glimpses of.

Giles had completely forgotten about his son on his lap. He closed the book quickly. They tried to shield him from these kinds of images if they could. “Yes, Alex, a bad dog. You let Mummy and Daddy worry about it. Why don’t you color some more?”

But Alex was more interested in his father’s book. He squirmed in his father’s lap as he tried to wrestle the book from Giles’ hands. The book fell open to the same page, and Alex pointed to the picture again more urgently.

“Bad dog!”

“Yes, you’ve already said that-”

“Bad dog,” Alex insisted, not waiting for his father to finish. “Bad dog hurt Watchers.”

Giles’ breath caught. He could feel Buffy’s eyes on him. They never spoke to Alex about Slayers and Watchers. He knew his mother was a cop and his father owned the magic shop. But he didn’t know they were the Chosen Ones.

“What’s a Watcher, Alex?” his father asked.

Alex shrugged. “Dunno.”

Buffy came to kneel on the floor in front of him. “Was the bad dog in your dream, honey?”

He nodded.

“Did the bad dog hurt people?”

Alex nodded again. “Hurt Watchers.”

Buffy met her husband’s eyes, fear filling her blue depths. “Giles…” She sounded stricken.

He touched her tenderly across the side of her face. “We don’t know that it means anything. Children have bad dreams. He might have overheard something or seen something.”

She shook her head. “Or it could have something to do with the fact that his mother has prophetic dreams.”

Giles closed the book and set it aside. He sat his son straight on his lap and looked into his eyes. “Alex, can you tell me about your dream?”

He shrugged, and his hands started to play nervously with his father’s tie. “Bad dog came. Hurt Watchers. I ran and ran. Cold. Wet. Bad dog want me. Want Robin. But we hide.”

His little chin started to quiver, and Giles pulled the boy into a tight embrace. “It’s okay, Alex. Mummy and Daddy are here. It was only a dream. You’re safe now.” The child started to sniffle and latched onto one thumb to comfort himself.

Buffy leaned forward and kissed her son on the forehead. Then she asked softly, “Honey, who’s Robin?”

Alex brightened slightly and wiggled out of his father’s arms. He reached for his drawing and showed it to his parents. There was the typical drawing of their house: a solid square with a triangle on the top. Green squiggly lines for the grass. A big round yellow sun. And a whole mess of stick figures covered the rest of the paper. Alex pointed them each out to his parents.

“Auntie Wiwo.” A girl with a triangle skirt and long red hair. “Uncie Xand and Auntie Aunie.” Xander was driving a big red truck. That was always Alex’s favorite part about visiting Xander at work. Anya he had drawn as a stick figure with a big round stomach.

“Hey,” she protested. “Your son thinks I’m fat. Your son needs some serious art classes, because that doesn’t look anything like me. None of his people look like real people. If their heads were really that proportionally big to their bodies, they wouldn’t be able to stand up.”

Giles stared at her until she stopped talking. “Not now, Anya.” He turned back to his son. “It looks fine, Alex. Please continue.”

“Auntie Tara.” He pointed at a figure in the sky with wings. Giles held the boy just a little tighter, and the child pointed to another figure with fangs. “Uncie ’Pike.”

Giles sighed. “He is not your Uncle Spike.”

Alex blinked up at his father. He pointed to the figure again and insisted, “Uncie ’Pike.” Then he continued on with the others. “Auntie Dawnie. Grampa. Gramma Susie.” Then he pointed to the four figures in the center of the picture. “Mommy.” He had drawn Buffy with her blue officer’s cap and a star for her badge. “Daddy.” Giles had obscenely large glasses and was holding a big book. At least he knew what his son thought of him. Between the two of them, Alex had drawn two smaller figures: a boy and a girl. “Alex. Robin.”

Buffy held her hand over her mouth. Her eyes were slowly filling with tears. Giles touched his son’s drawing, his fingers tracing over the figure of the boy and then the girl. Very softly he asked, “Who is Robin?”

Alex looked up at his father as if the man were stupid. He pointed again to the picture. “Robin.”

“It’s a very nice drawing, son, but who is she?”

“My sis’er. She come live wif us.”

Buffy fled from the living room in tears, and Giles could only watch her go, knowing that tonight she would likely cry herself to sleep in his arms. He leaned back into the couch and cradled his son close to his chest. They would have the talk again. Xander picked up a book and pretended to read. Anya didn’t care about pretense; she openly watched father and son.

“Alex, do you remember when you wanted a sister for your birthday?”

The boy nodded.

Giles closed his eyes and lightly stroked his son’s back. “I told you Mummy and Daddy couldn’t have anymore children. No brothers. No sisters. You are our special little boy.”

“Robin real, Daddy. We ran from bad dog.”

“In your dream?”

Alex nodded.

Giles stood, still holding his boy in his arms. “Daddy will read some of his books, okay?” Alex nodded eagerly and settled his head on his father’s shoulder. Giles carried him into the kitchen. “For tonight, I’ll give you some of my special, magic no-dream potion. Would you like that?”

Alex smiled brightly and nodded once more.

Giles pulled an old prescription bottle from the top of one kitchen cabinet. He fiddled with the childproof cap for a moment, finally needing to set Alex on the counter before he could get it off. Damn silly to have a childproof cap on the thing. The bottle was completely harmless. It had been emptied of its original contents long ago, had probably contained one of Giles’ numerous prescriptions for pain medication from one of his numerous injuries. Probably had been something he had never even used. The label now read simply: No-Dream Potion, printed by computer and taped over the original doctor’s label. Alex didn’t even read yet, but Willow had insisted.

Giles finally got the lid off, and poured a little of the potion into a spoon. Nothing more than water with a touch of blue food coloring, but Alex downed his dose greedily, convinced that it would keep away his dreams. And it usually did.

Giles sealed up the potion and returned it to its place. He collected his son and carried him off to bed. With any luck, Alex would be asleep shortly, and Giles could check on Buffy. It was never a good idea for the Slayer to head out on patrol while still so upset. And after his son and wife were taken care of, Giles himself had a whole lot of research to do.

***

Willow did go to the next meeting of Sabrina’s group, her first meeting with her new friends after Morgaine’s close call. She went to a second, third, and fourth meeting as well. She made fast friends with the other women and soon found herself spending more time at the group house than at her own apartment.

Willow still visited Buffy and Xander and the others, but it was like that old saying: you can’t go home again. Sabrina and the others were home now, a home that didn’t remind her of everything she was trying to forget.

And then there was the magic. She had a taste for it again. She had started small, pressured into assisting with little glamours or household tricks when someone needed a little help with their spellcasting. After the crisis with Morgaine, the others looked up to Willow like an expert, asking her advice and questioning her about the finer points of witchcraft. She had developed a taste for that too. Buffy and the others respected that their friend was a powerful witch, but they second-guessed her a lot, as if they didn’t fully trust her. Even Giles treated her like she was still in high school. After her rash and unsuccessful attempt to seek vengeance on Glory for Tara’s insanity, Giles had actually put the darker and more dangerous spellbooks under lock and key. She had more than exceeded his skills in the black arts, and yet he still behaved as if he were her mentor.

So it was more than a little nice to have a score of young undergrads look to her as their mentor.

Somehow the occasional little magic grew into a whole lot more and a whole lot bigger. Until it was either Willow or Sabrina at the center of everything. Willow had forgotten the rush of magic, its power and the exhilaration that came with it. She hadn’t realized how much she missed it. And Sabrina was right. The taste of magic brought her closer to the memory of Tara and the feeling of being near her.

More than that, Willow took pride in the fact that she was helping these young witches grow into their gifts, that she was helping them avoid the same mistakes she herself had made, and that she was no longer the student but was now the teacher.

It was Sabrina who had suggested the healing spell. It was what Willow had been trying to do with the my-will-be-done spell after Oz left: to heal her broken heart. A different spell with different results. Two of the strongest from their group helped Sabrina cast it. They made a circle of three around Willow, and this time there was no blindness, no unnatural nuptials, no demon hoards. They just gave Time a little push, like hitting the fast forward button, and Willow felt as if months of grief washed away. Time heals all things. But instead of months, it took minutes. And Willow felt a peace she hadn’t felt since Tara’s death. She still missed her. She still loved her. But the ache in her heart had eased enough for her to breathe, enough for her to live.

The healing spell snapped the last of her loyalties to the old group. They would have denied her this peace. They would have told her that she simply had to get through the pain over time, and that in the long run, she would be better for it. Giles would have scolded her for plunging so deeply into magic so soon after Tara’s death. He would have frowned at her, and she would have felt like she was in high school again as he lectured her.

“Your energy is too unfocused right now. You’re grieving. You shouldn’t do spells alone.”

He had told her something similar after Oz left, and he would say the same thing now.

Buffy would side with him. She always did. Xander would do something silly and try to get her to laugh, like they were both still six or something. Anya would make some blunt and tactless remark. It was almost like having Cordelia around sometimes. And Dawn would likely be the only one to come to Willow’s defense, which would probably not work in her favor.

Willow still considered them all to be her friends, her close friends. They would always be that. But they were no longer family. Sabrina and the others were her family now.

***

“You have my cell number?” Giles patted down the pockets of his tux to make sure he was still carrying it.

“Yeah, yeah,” Xander answered. “You wrote it on the white board on the fridge. You gave it to me on this little piece of paper along with the pediatrician’s number, poison control, and Buffy’s friend at dispatch. Would you like to tattoo it on my hand?”

Giles only glared and straightened his tie. Damn black tie affair. He frankly would rather stay at home with Alex than go to a charity dinner with Buffy’s whole department. But the police were hosting the function, and she had insisted that her boss would give her dirty looks for the next month and stick her on assignment giving out traffic tickets if she didn’t drag her husband along too. Giles actually preferred the idea of Buffy relegated to something nearly as safe as a desk job. But then she had informed him what his life would be like for the next month if that happened, and he had reluctantly agreed to attend.

Xander leaned back in the couch and propped up his feet on the coffee table. “You act like I’ve never babysat for you before.”

“Actually, I recall quite vividly the last time you watched Alex for us. It involved fingerpaints and a garden hose and a week afterwards when we had to convince the boy that making handprints and footprints throughout the house in real paint was a bad idea.”

Xander waved off his concerns. “I repainted over his mess, didn’t I? I even got it out of the carpet. Not my fault Dawn left her art stuff out where he could get into it.”

“Yes, but you did teach him the joys of painting with one’s body as the brush. He had paint in his hair for a month. Green paint. My son.” Giles pointed one warning finger at his younger friend. “You’ll have one of your own soon enough. And I have three years of paybacks to catch up on. Just remember that when you’re figuring out how to entertain my son this evening.”

“Hey!” Anya protested, as she entered the living room behind him, carrying a bowl of ice cream. She settled on the couch beside her husband and placed her feet on the table beside his, the bowl resting comfortably on her round stomach. “The baby is mine too. I don’t see any reason I should be punished because Xander and Alex get into trouble when you’re gone.”

Giles scowled. “Then I suggest you keep them both in line.” He heard footsteps on the stairs and glanced up, but it was only Dawn. She was rather dressed up for going to the movies with her friends. “Going out with your young man again?”

She rolled her eyes and stretched up on her toes to give him a kiss goodbye on the cheek. “Melinda and everyone else will be there too. Don’t go all overprotective on me. I told you where I’m going and what time I’ll be back, and I swear I’ll bring him over to see you guys soon.” She smoothed the lines of his shirt and then his cummerbund and jacket. “I just really like this guy, and I don’t want to ruin it, you know?”

He brushed the hair back from her shoulders. She had truly turned into a beautiful woman. “Are you afraid we’ll scare him off?”

She shrugged. “Something like that.”

He smiled. “I’ll hold your sister off as long as I can, but she’s terribly curious.”

Dawn gave him an enthusiastic hug, and then smoothed the lines of his tux once more. “You look way good in a tux. You should send Alex to spend the night at Xander’s, and you could get really lucky with my sister tonight.”

Giles blushed and shoved her towards the door. “Go on your date already.”

He could hear her giggling even as the door shut behind her.

He felt slender arms wrap around his waist. He hadn’t noticed Buffy come down the stairs. “You do look pretty darn yummy in that get-up. Maybe we should skip the charity banquet.”

He turned and wrapped her in his arms. “I wouldn’t be averse to that suggestion.”

“Hey!” Xander called from the living room. “Delicate pregnant woman in here. Don’t start her puking with all that mushy stuff.”

Anya looked up from her ice cream. “I think it’s sweet. I hope you and I continue to have frequent sex after the baby comes.”

Giles sighed and steered his wife around the corner and into the dining room, out of sight. He held her at arms length, really studying her for the first time since she came downstairs. She was stunning. Then again, she always was. She was dressed in a floor-length, strapless blue sequined gown. Simple, elegant. She wore blue evening gloves to the elbow to match and a simple sapphire pendant with matching earrings that he had gotten her for their first anniversary. She had her hair pinned up off her neck, a few stray tendrils curling around the sides of her face.

His fingers traced along the curve of one cheek reverently. “You are a vision.” And then he leaned in and kissed her softly, his eyes closing for long moments. He was in no hurry to get to the banquet.

“Purse, Mommy.” Alex stepped up beside them, his little hands offering up her evening bag helpfully. They pulled apart like guilty school children.

“Thank you, honey,” Buffy said, taking the purse with one hand as she ruffled his hair with the other. “You’ll be good for Uncle Xander and Aunt Anya, won’t you?”

He nodded obediently. “Paint.”

Giles shook one finger firmly. “No paint. No sledding down the stairs. No using Daddy’s books for dominoes. You have real dominoes now. No sword fights with wooden spoons. And your bedtime is still nine o’clock, on the dot.” Giles looked at Xander as he said the last.

They each knelt down to kiss their son goodbye, and he waved them off at the door, looking entirely too eager to see them gone. Giles wondered what kind of mischief his son had planned for his favorite uncle and dreaded what kind of state he would find the house in on his return.

The banquet was as dull as Giles had feared. Buffy was constantly pulled from one group to another for a steady flow of introductions. He settled himself beside the refreshment table with the other spouses. Unfortunately, Buffy was one of the few women on the force, so Giles found himself surrounded by officers’ wives, the only husband in the group. Some of them had jobs, some of them were stay-at-home moms, but as soon as they found out that he had a three-year-old son, they all started talking about kids and offering him parenting advice. There was no tactful way to bow out of the conversation and no better place to go even if he did. So he simply played martyr.

When another woman joined their group, the wives all grew quiet. Someone offered her punch. The conversation turned to the children’s little league games that would start up over the summer. They asked her if her sons would be playing this year.

One of the wives, Maria, leaned in close to Giles and whispered in his ear, “That’s Julia. Her husband died on patrol last month. Messed up pretty bad, I guess, and they never got the guy who did it.”

Giles took a swig of his punch, thankful that it was spiked. He had a sudden image of himself in Julia’s place, as all the officers’ wives consoled him on Buffy’s death.

He felt a presence beside him and turned to see another man standing at his side.

“You smoke?” the man asked.

Giles shook his head.

“Good,” he answered. “How ’bout a walk outside?”

Giles found himself steered out of the banquet hall.

“Thought you might need a rescue before they started swapping chili recipes. John Tims,” the man introduced himself. “My wife is a detective in homicide.”

“Rupert Giles. Just Giles is fine. My wife is new. Eighteen months.”

John laughed. “New wife or new cop?”

Giles laughed in return. They had stopped at the edge of the banquet hall parking lot and were now staring across the street at the ocean. “New cop. Buffy and I have been married three years now.”

John leaned back against a nearby SUV. “Buffy, huh?” He chuckled and shook his head. “Sorry. Name like that, I just get this image of the stereotypical twenty-something blonde clotheshorse who you might have swooped up right out of high school…” He trailed off, his expression growing more serious. “Hit the nail on the head there, didn’t I? Sorry.”

Giles shrugged and crossed his arms. The night was growing rather chilly for spring. “That’s how most people see it, I suppose.”

John studied the other man for a moment before nodding in understanding. “But that’s not how it is.” It wasn’t a question, just an affirmation. “Want a beer? Better than the crap they’re serving in there.” The man didn’t really wait for Giles’ answer before opening the back door of the SUV he was leaning against and pulling two cans from a cooler in the backseat.

Giles accepted the offering and studied his new and unexpected acquaintance. John appeared to be of a similar age: late forties, possibly even early fifties. Dark, full hair, speckled with gray, a neat beard, and dark, intelligent eyes. He seemed trim and fit, perhaps slightly soft around the middle.

“So what do you do?” John asked him.

Giles opened his beer, holding it away from his body slightly as it foamed over. “I own the Magic Box. It’s a store near the downtown.”

“I’ve seen it. I’ve always wondered what kind of people shop there. I never imagined there’d be enough demand to keep a store like that up and running.”

Giles shrugged and took a sip of his beer. “It’s a niche market, but business is good.”

John leaned back against the SUV once more. “I’m guessing from your accent: you’re not from around here.”

“England originally.”

“I’m from Minnesota originally. Not as exotic, but still a whole lot different from here. Never thought I’d actually miss the snow, but I do sometimes.”

Giles sighed. “I miss the rain sometimes.”

They both slipped into a companionable silence as they finished their beers. John finally filled the silence as he pointed to four men near the door of the banquet hall and told Giles, “Those are the other husbands. You can always find them smoking just outside any police function. I thought about taking it up once, but hey, now we can rescue each other.” He crushed his can and tossed it in the backseat. “See the guy on the far right? The redhead?”

Giles squinted and took off his glasses until he could see the man at this distance. “Yes.”

“That’s Toby. He’s a pretty okay guy if you can get him away from the other three. They’re a bad influence. I think they’re all a little insecure when they come to these things, like they’re lesser men just ’cause their wives are cops and they’re not. They take it to the other extreme. Testosterone overdose. It’s really pretty pathetic. I mean, hell, my April’s the best damn cop they’ve got in homicide. Nearly twenty-five years. Not that I won’t be happy when she retires, and I can stop worrying every time the phone rings or there’s a knock at the door, but still… I’m really proud of her.” John shrugged and leaned his head back to look up at the stars. “Maybe I’m just used to being the odd man out in a room full of women. Doesn’t bother me anymore.”

Giles slipped his glasses back on and leaned against the SUV as well. “You work with a lot of women?”

John turned his head to meet Giles’ eyes with a small smirk. “I teach at a grade school. Second graders. Not as glamorous as tracking down killers, but I like the kids and I like what I do. I’m okay with letting my wife be the action hero. I even did the whole Mr. Mom thing when our kids were small.”

Giles chuckled. “I’m actually doing that right now. Our son is three. He comes to the shop with me while Buffy’s at work.”

John shook his head. “Three? I can’t imagine how you do it. A three-year-old at my age… gives me chest pains just thinking about it. Our eldest is having her first baby this fall. I’ll be a first time granddad and that’s just about my speed right now. Spoil ’em, and then ship ’em back home when you get tired.” John grew quiet for a moment as he thought. “And teenagers in my sixties…”

“Yes, I’ve done the math,” Giles groaned.

John patted him on the back. “You’re a braver man than I, my friend. I think you deserve another beer.” And John fished out two more from the cooler.

They stayed out in the parking lot talking for two hours or more while the banquet continued on inside without them. Giles worried that he should make an appearance for Buffy’s sake, but John assured him that showing up was enough and that Buffy would be too busy to pay him any attention anyway. By the time the guests started to wander back to their cars, John and Giles had gone from acquaintances to good friends. They had talked about their wives and their kids and the mistakes of their youth, serious subjects and small talk both. They had discussed books they had enjoyed and music that had influenced them. They shared what it was like to fear for their wives’ safety on a daily basis, close calls they’d each had, and fights about dangerous assignments. John even cried as he told his new friend about the two partners April had worked with before, who had each died in the line of duty.

By the time Buffy came looking for her husband, John and Giles were sitting in the back hatch of John’s Explorer, their legs dangling over the edge, laughing like two little boys as John recounted the story of their family vacation to Vegas, including flat tires and carsick kids and suitcases flying off the station wagon’s luggage rack and April’s failed attempt to use her badge to weasel them out of a ticket. It was after eleven, and they had been talking for close to five hours.

“Don’t you know better than to climb into cars with strange men?” Buffy scolded him.

Giles reached for her, and she slipped her gloved hand into his. He pulled her into a warm embrace. “Buffy, this is John. John, this is my wife Buffy.”

They shook hands, and John whistled appreciatively. “God, Giles, you failed to mention that your wife is drop-dead gorgeous.”

Buffy blushed, and Giles smiled. It was so hard to get a blush out of her, but she was so cute when she did. He would have to have John over to see if he had a talent for making Buffy blush.

“Thank you,” Buffy replied demurely. “I’m still new, floating around departments and stuff, so I’m sorry, but I don’t remember where you work.”

John smiled. “Ah, yes, your husband has yet to learn that introductions must be accompanied by ranks and departments. My wife is actually the cop. April Tims.”

Buffy nodded. “Homicide detective. I’ve met her. She was very helpful. I’m thinking about joining up with homicide when I get the chance.”

Giles deflated somewhat, and John noticed this. “Yes, well that’s a conversation you’ll want to have with your husband when I’m not around. If you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to find my wife before she gets talked into going out with her partner and his friends.”

John and Giles exchanged phone numbers before parting. Giles hadn’t realized how much he missed friends his own age since coming to Sunnydale, most especially since Jenny had died. Hell, he’d even ended up out drinking with Ethan. That should have been a sure signal. And in John, he felt a kindred connection. John knew what it was like to send the woman he loved out day after day and not know if she would come home. Giles wouldn’t be able to tell the other man about the slaying and the demons and the magic, but with a little careful editing, he would have someone to talk to about the things that really mattered.

Buffy and Giles strolled back to their car, arm in arm. Giles couldn’t stop grinning, and she gave him a kiss on the cheek. “Aww, you made a friend. Good for you. Let’s have him over for dinner sometime. April, too.”

They stopped beside the BMW. They hadn’t sold it after all, had simply gotten a practical car to replace the Jeep instead.

“You okay to drive?” Buffy asked him.

He smiled softly at her concern. “I haven’t had anything since seven or so. I know you’ve been the social butterfly this evening and have probably lost all sense of time, but it’s now quarter past eleven. I’ll be fine.”

She frowned. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to ditch you all night, but my Academy instructor was here, and he was introducing me all around, and he can really help me get a good position. I checked up on you once, but you looked like you were having fun with that other guy, so I didn’t want to bother you.”

Giles brushed his knuckles across her cheek fondly. “I’m not complaining, Buffy, just teasing. I actually enjoyed this evening more than I thought I would.”

“Good.” She removed her sapphire pendant and earrings and handed them over to him. “I don’t want to lose them. Hold onto them for me. I’ll meet you back at home in a few hours.”

Giles frowned. “You have weapons enough for patrol?”

She turned her head and pointed to the two decorative wooden stakes holding her hair in its elaborate arrangement. She lifted the slit of her skirt higher to reveal the stakes stored in a garter belt around her thigh. She tugged at the hem of each glove and showed him the thin stakes she had secreted away beneath the blue satin. Lastly, she hiked up her cleavage, and he saw the bottle of holy water she had slipped between her breasts.

“Buffy!” he exclaimed, glancing around to see if anyone else had witnessed her near striptease.

She pulled him down into a kiss. “I’m the Slayer, and someone really wonderful trained me to never leave the house unprepared. So I’m going to do a quick round of all the graveyards. Vampires can’t resist the helpless maiden routine, and this dress is great for that. I’ll be home in a couple hours. Sooner hopefully.”

She ran the soft satin of her gloves across his face, and then down the buttons of his shirt. Her arms slid beneath his jacket and around his back. “You know why I like tuxes with tails?” He shook his head, and her hands slid further down his back until she had grabbed his butt and pressed him tightly against her. “No one notices a little hanky panky.”

“Buffy!” he protested, although not very vehemently.

She kissed up his neck and then whispered in his ear. “Leave the tux on, and when I get home, you can disarm me.” She pulled away from him and winked seductively. “I never showed you where I hid the throwing stars. Or the cross.” She licked her lips and smiled before turning and running out of the parking lot.

Giles sighed. Two or three hours seemed like a very long time.

***

Alex came running down the stairs when he heard the doorbell. Aunt Anya was asleep in Dawnie’s bed, and Uncle Xander was still struggling to get himself untied. Daddy had been trying to teach Alex how to tie his own shoes, and he had mastered the art of the knot. Uncle Xander hadn’t seemed to know that when they started playing Cowboys and Indians.

Alex opened the door and looked up at a strange man dressed all in black. Not Dawnie. Not Mommy or Daddy either.

“Hello,” the man said. “You must be Alex.”

He nodded.

The man smiled. “You look just like your father. Can I come in?”

Alex nodded and stepped aside.

The man didn’t move, but he knelt down in the doorway, eye-level with the boy. “I’m pretty sure I need more of an invitation than that. Your father has a tendency to de-invite me after every visit.” The man stretched out one hand and met with invisible resistance. He looked like a mime as his hand pressed against the invisible wall in the doorway. “I just need you to say the words, Alex. Say: ‘Come in.’”

“No. Daddy says no.” His father was always very strict about that. Bad men could come in if you said they could.

The man didn’t seem upset. He just laughed. “Your father has you well-trained. I should have expected that. Is he home?”

Alex shook his head.

“Your mother?”

Again, the head shake no.

“Dawn?”

Another negative. “Uncie Xand,” he informed the man.

“Can you get him for me? He’ll invite me in.”

Alex frowned and chewed on his lip. He looked up towards the staircase. He had mastered the art of tying knots, but not the art of untying them. And Uncle Xander had said not to wake Anya. “No,” he finally answered.

The man sighed and bowed his head. “You didn’t like me when you were a baby, and you still don’t like me, do you?”

Alex smiled and held out three fingers. “I’m free,” he told the man proudly.

“And I’m frustrated. You’re as stubborn as your father.” The man took something from the inside pocket of his long dark coat: a picture. He flipped it over and wrote on the back in ink. “Will you give this to your father when he gets home?” He passed the picture through the doorway as far as his hand could reach. “Tell him Angel was here.”

Alex took the picture and smiled as he looked at it. “Bye-bye, Angel,” he said.

Angel stood, and looked down at Alex with a sad expression. “You’re not anything like Buffy, are you? For some reason, I thought you would be. His eyes. His face. Buffy told me, but I guess it’s different seeing you in person.” He sighed and studied the boy for a moment more. “You’re a lucky little boy, you know that, Alex? You have a lot of people in your life who love you.”

Alex blinked up at him solemnly for several moments before he informed the man, “Dawnie has boy’fend.”

Angel laughed. “Okay, so you’re a gossip like your mother. And on that note, I think I’ll just go. Goodbye, Alex. It was nice to finally see you. Maybe next time you’ll actually invite me in.”

“Bye-bye, Angel.” And Alex waved at the man as he turned and walked into the night, his long dark coat billowing behind him. Alex shut the door and took the picture up to his room, so he would remember to give it to Daddy.

Uncle Xander had two loops of the rope off, and was nearly free. Alex tried to untie the last loop.

“No, no, Alex,” Xander said. “Don’t help me. I’ve almost got it.”

Too late. “Oops,” Alex said. He’d only made it worse.

Xander sighed and glanced over at the clock. “Ten-thirty. I’m beginning to suspect that this was an elaborate plot to stay up past your bedtime. Admit it, kiddo, you’re a criminal mastermind.”

Alex giggled.

“Your dad is so gonna kill me if you’re still up when they get home.”

***

Buffy strolled through the last graveyard, her hair now blowing free around her bare shoulders. She had used the stakes from her hairdo sometime before. Four vampires so far, and she was nearly ready to call it a night. But her dress was like a regular homing beacon, and she thought she would give this last graveyard a try before heading home.

“Oh dear me, where did my date go?” She called out her question in an almost singsong fashion. “I thought he went this way. I hope I’m not lost. This graveyard is so big and so scary at night. And I’m so defenseless.” She wrapped her arms around herself in an attempt to look timid. But really she was cold. She should have asked for Giles’ jacket before she went on patrol.

“I hope nothing mean and nasty attacks me while I’m all alone here. I couldn’t even run very far in these really high heels.”

She sighed and continued on to the mausoleums at the back of the graveyard. No one seemed to be taking the bait. Maybe she should run like something was chasing her. Vampires could never resist a little trip-and-fall.

She spotted movement up ahead. Her “spider-sense” was tingling. Definite vampire. She approached quietly, ducking behind trees and tombstones to catch the creature unawares. That’s when she saw Dawn. And Dawn was up against a tree, sucking face with some guy.

Don’t think about that now, Buffy thought. There’s a vampire around here, and Dawn could be in trouble.

She crept up closer. She would get a good look at this mysterious boyfriend while she was here. All in the line of duty, after all. She wasn’t being nosy or intrusive or snoopy. She had to get this close if she was going to protect Dawn from the nearby vampire. And if she happened to find out Dawn’s big secret at the same time, well that was just a bonus.

The couple pulled apart for air finally, and Buffy jumped up from her hiding place, screaming.

“Omigod! Spike! You and Spike! Ughh! Double ughh! And ack! And omigod! You and Spike!”

Dawn and Spike looked in her direction. Dawn seemed panicked and closed the distance between them.

“Buffy, calm down. Please calm down.”

“Calm down? I’ll show you calm down.” Buffy pointed firmly towards the graveyard exit. “Get your ass home right now, and maybe I’ll calm down enough to let you out of the house ever again before you go to college.”

“Buffy, please…”

The Slayer waved her hands in the air. She wasn’t hearing any of it. “You are so grounded, your kids won’t be able to leave the house. And you.” She advanced on Spike. “You are dust.” She slipped a wooden stake from inside one blue evening glove and raised it menacingly. He backed up until he hit the tree, his hands outstretched defensively.

Dawn grabbed her sister by the arm and tried to halt her progress, but trying to stop an angry Slayer was like trying to stop an elephant by grabbing its tail. “No, Buffy, you can’t slay him.”

“Give me one good reason why not.”

“Because I love him.”

Buffy stopped and looked at her sister. “Okay, I covered the ughh, right? And the ack? And the omigod? Can I add a what-the-hell-are-you-thinking?”

“I always had a crush on him. You knew that. But I was a kid, and we were just friends. And then I grew up, and we were still friends and then-”

Buffy held up one hand. “I don’t want to hear anymore. You’re going home, and I’m having a talk with Spike.”

Dawn crossed her arms defiantly. “If you stake him, I’ll never forgive you as long as I live.” And then she marched across the graveyard towards home.

Buffy turned to Spike, but he got in the first words. “Be pissed at me all you like, Slayer, but you can’t let her walk home alone.”

She glanced back towards her sister. Damn. She hated it when Spike was right. “Fine. The talk was going to be short anyways. Let me give it to you in five words or less.” She held up her fist and uncurled a finger on each word. “Stay. Away. From. Dawn.” She paused for a brief moment. She still had one finger left. She uncurled her pinky with a sneer. “Pillock.” And Giles thought she never paid attention.

Buffy turned on her heel and dashed across the cemetery to catch up with Dawn.

As soon as she’d reached her, Dawn turned and started desperately, “Please, just let me explain-”

Buffy shook her head. “More walking, less talking. I don’t think you want to explain anything to me right now. I don’t think you want to explain it today or this week or maybe even this month. If you know what’s good for you, you’ll go quietly to your room and start figuring out which colleges have online classes, ’cause you’re not leaving your room ever again.”

“I love him.”

Buffy shuddered. “If you think I’m pissed, wait ’til you see Giles when he finds out.”

Dawn didn’t say another word the rest of the way home.

***

Giles unlocked the front door. He braced himself before he walked inside.

Everything seemed to be in order: nothing broken, nothing spilled, no overturned furniture arranged in an elaborate fort, no mounds of flour and sugar “sand-castles” on the kitchen floor. The house looked just as he had left it, in fact.

“Xander? Anya?”

Alex came barreling down the stairs. “Daddy! Daddy!”

Giles lifted him up and sighed. The living room clock said eleven thirty. A broken bedtime, maybe not the worst thing that could have happened.

Alex bounced in his father’s arms. “Play cowboy an’ injuns. Yee-haw.”

Giles smiled in spite of his irritation. “Your mother tells me they’re called Native Americans now. You’ll have to change your vocabulary if you want to be politically correct.”

Alex frowned at him. “Yee-haw,” he said again.

“It would appear Uncle Xander has taught you a new word.”

“Yee-haw.”

“Yes, you’ve said that.”

Xander came down the stairs a moment later, looking rather sheepish. “I know he’s supposed to be in bed, but we were kinda busy and lost track of time.”

Alex kissed his father on the cheek with a loud smack. “Knots bad. All tied up.”

Giles gave Xander a concerned stare. “You tied up my son?”

Xander chuckled nervously. “More like he tied me up. I didn’t know he knew how.” He rubbed his hands together. “But no harm done. We’ll just be going now.”

Anya was coming down the stairs, wiping sleep from her eyes. “He wants to go before you find the broken ceiling fan.”

“Anya!”

“Broken fan?” Giles asked, quite alarmed.

Xander steered his wife towards the door, explaining as they left. “Alex piled stuff on your bed until he could reach. He thought he could ride the ceiling fan in circles if he held on, but the blade broke. I would have stopped him, but hello, tied up.”

“Yee-haw,” Alex added to the story.

“Where were you?” Giles asked Anya.

“Napping. I was tired.”

Giles stood on the porch, watching them leave. He called out to them as they got in their car, “Just wait. Uncle Giles is going to find lots of fun games to teach your offspring.”

Giles sighed and closed the front door.

“Yee-haw,” his son said brightly.

“And so many irritating words for the child to learn,” Giles added under his breath. He carried the boy upstairs. It was far, far past his bedtime. “Come on, time to sleep. I think you’ve had enough games and stories for today. How about straight to bed?”

He set the boy on his bed. He immediately started jumping.

“Alex, no.”

The boy continued to bounce on the mattress like a trampoline. “Yee-haw,” he cried gleefully.

“William Alexander, stop that right now!”

The boy quickly stopped and lay back against his pillows. Giles pulled out pajamas from a middle drawer. That’s when he noticed the picture sitting on the dresser top, a picture of Buffy as a little girl, maybe three or four. He didn’t recognize this one specifically, but there were so many of them. Alex must have gotten into the family albums.

Giles carried the photo over to his son. “Where did you get this, Alex?” The boy was silent for a moment, and Giles asked again. “I won’t be mad at you. I just want to put it back.” He also wanted to check that the rest of the album wasn’t in shambles.

“Angel came.”

Giles frowned for a moment, not understanding. Then his breath caught as he looked at the photo once again. The camera had imprinted the date when the picture was taken. ‘3-22-05.’ Just this past week. His fingers shook as they touched the image softly. A little girl on a swing. She had Buffy’s blue eyes, and her blonde hair, the same color she’d had as a girl before it had darkened and she had resorted to bottle blonde. The resemblance was so striking he had mistaken it for Buffy’s childhood photo.

He flipped the picture over. Angel had written on the back.

Come to LA. I’ve found your daughter. Be discreet. There are Watchers everywhere.
I kept my word. This makes us even. For Jenny. For Crawford Street. I’ve done everything I can do to make it right again.

Angel

Giles fought against the tightening of his stomach, the clenching of his jaw. He had promised that Angel would have his clean slate, and he would.

Giles turned the photo over again and studied the image of his daughter. “Tanya Dawn.” He hadn’t spoken the name in three years, and it caught in his throat.

Alex leaned over his shoulder, staring at the picture too. “Uh-uh,” he told his father emphatically, pointing at the little girl. “Robin.”

***

DBC Home Back: Part 1: Momma's Boy Next: Part 3: Another Man’s Child

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