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: Prologue :
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Their eyes were the same. Mirrored orbs of pain, time, weariness, and a lack of innocence rivaled by only Hell itself. The road less traveled well-trodden by the both of them. Looking into them, Buffy could've sworn they were her own... save for the insanity.

Dana recognized her the moment she walked in, the red bulb flashing outside the door to indicate their session had begun. The psychiatric ward was stereotypically sterile, but Dana's room was red with the blood shed from her self-inflicted injuries. Spatter the blood, help the dreams become reality, prove her own sanity.

She knew Buffy as if not only her eyes belonged to her, but Buffy's soul as well. Buffy was her. And she wondered, if Dana indeed saw what Buffy had seen, did she see herself now, broken and battered, hands slipping from the tiny wire she clung to, stringing her between their plane and that of Dante's vision of the Inferno. That which deceived her for all of her years - what couldn't be more than a few over twenty - but claimed to be decades and centuries and eons. How long ago was the first slayer?

"Hello." Emotionless. "How are you doing?"

"Hello." Emotionless. "How are you doing?"

"I think you know." When Buffy sat, so did Dana. When Buffy held her gaze, Dana held it tighter. She twitched every once in a while. Buffy assumed the onslaught of slayer memories never eased up. Did they still mesh with her own? Was it different in the presence of a fellow slayer that under the supposed enemy's eyes?

Speaks well when not threatened. "Do you see me, Dana?"

"You mean nothing to me. I'm just using you. I believe in you. I love you."

"Who are you speaking to, Dana? Who are you speaking as?"

Dana reached for her stake and found nothing. "Never trust those who run with vampires. Fucking the enemy. Heart and head."

"You saw Angel in Los Angeles. Remember Angel, Dana." Buffy wasn't asking.

"You fucked he who took our lives twice. Won't hurt us again."

Without another word, Buffy stood and backed out, keeping their gazes locked. Dana was not one to turn your back on. Andrew watched from the two-sided mirror. She had been his find, another step toward Watcher-dom. And how better to prove yourself worthy than with a clinically-insane Slayer? "Angel...?" he lied.

"Spike."

"W-why?"

"His memories must be more painful since he caused more damage to the Slayer lineage. Vivid, regarding the two Slayers he killed. You say she mentioned them back in LA? His victims?" Andrew nodded. "She's reliving them. She knows I know."

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To Be continued... Chapter 1: Two of Us

Author's Note: The drama! The suspense! The crap for crap! The incesant waiting for the Spuffy goodness! Turn the page now before you simultaneously implode, self-destruct, and spontaneously-combust!

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: Chapter 1 :
Two of Us
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"Thanks for coming back, Buffy. I don't think she likes me."

It was so easy to roll her eyes at Andrew. In the hour that they'd been together that morning, Buffy had already done it about fourteen times. The day before, her first session with Dana, she'd thought her eyes would fall out of their sockets. Andrew didn't notice. "It's probably best that she talks to her own kind. I tried talking to her and she went all Vader on me."

Buffy quickened her pace, causing Andrew to trip in trying to keep up. He really ought to lead, since she didn't have a clue where they kept Dana in the new headquarters.

Picking up on her thoughts, Andrew jogged ahead. "We put her in the padded cells near the training facilities so she couldn't hurt herself anymore."

"Anything new? Procedures.. examinations..?"

"It took about six men to tranquilize her, but yeah, we hooked her up for a while. It was quite preternatural-"

"What?"

They came to a stop at a porthole where Andrew peered into the darkness. "She's probably still vertiginous."

"What'd you find out?"

"Nothing that we don't already know."

Again with the eye-rolling. The Watcher-to-be to unlocked the door and flipped on the lights. Buffy stepped inside and the door heaved shut behind her, left unlocked for Buffy's convenience. Dana hunched in the corner, clad in a straight-jacket and her hair a snarly mess. Her breathing was heavy and slow, her eyes barely open and still - a big contrast to her usual unstable nature.

Debating with herself for a moment, Buffy knelt before Dana, bending her head to look into the girl's eyes. Dana reciprocated, adjusting herself into a better sitting position. There was no trust, Buffy could tell. Not when the image of her entangled with vampires were swimming in Dana's head.

"Dana, do you remember me?" No response. "You know me. You don't remember me, but you know all about me. You've walked in my shoes, haven't you. You've fought my battles; you've fought all of our battles."

"Two of us. The neck..." Dana moved to guard her neck, her restraints preventing her. "Sink the teeth or twist the wrist. Listen for the snap."

Spike's kills again. "I am here to help you. But to help, I have to understand. Make me understand, Dana."

"Link by link, piece by piece."

"Connect to what, Dana?"

She spoke, but her words were foreign to Buffy.
"Please, my little Robin..."

Spike's second...

"For him, I follow, until he is what he was."

Dana's voice raised, childlike and innocent. Her scattered language propered itself, taking on an English accent that bested Giles' in genteelness. She curled her legs beneath her and sat up straight, meeting Buffy's eyes straight on and cocking her head to one side. Ladylike.

"Dana...?"

Dana's head shook, almost giggling. "Grace. My name, madam, is Grace."

"Dana, you're receding into one of your memories. It's meshing with your own reality. It's... it's like a split personality, and it's dragging you further into your-" She couldn't say insanity. Never say 'insanity' to an insane person. "It's taking you farther away from being normal, Dana."

Frowning, Dana's eyes welled with tears of confusion. She writhed against her jacket, then settled back into her irregularly calm demeanor, letting her tears fall.

Her expression matching Dana's, Buffy gave in. "Grace, then, is it?"

Dana nodded politely.

"You were saying, Grace?"

She smiled. "Father never calls me Gracie. William does. Father does not like it."

"William was a friend of yours?" Let me guess... a bloody-awful poet?

Grace nodded again, enthusiastically. "William is my most cherished."

------------------------------~@~------------------------------

Dear Casilda,
It was a golden day today. Once the morn rose, I was off to school to study more about mundane things, such as how to concert a household and raise the young ones and so on. We were sent off on our way early today - the chimes had only struck twice - so Constance and I decided upon a pleasant park picnic with our satchels. But oh! We were not to be alone!
---

"I bet I could beat you to that tree!" Constance challenged Grace, skipping backward to taunt her.

"Get you hence!" Grace said, flapping her hand in indifference. "I shan't partake of such childish behavior." Finding a bench, she sat and placed her hands on her knees, mocking the proper and stifling her giggles. "I simply must be a lady so that I may wed."

"Oh you," Constance nearly choked on her own laughter. "You sound like your father, you do!" Her laughing abruptly died as her gaze caught hold of another, swooning slightly. "And if I were to 'get hence,' shall I hence forth with him?"

Whipping her head around, Grace nearly fell from her perch. She joined Constance in her admiration over the fair-haired man sitting alone only a short distance away, his head bowed over a journal and his hand idly scrawling with a short quill. Her cheeks warmed as she rose to her feet, starting towards him.

"Grace!" hissed Constance, patting her knees as if her friend were a puppy. "Grace, no! It isn't polite!"

"Oh, but I know him!" Grace returned, her own voice hushed. She offered her friend one last grin, a mixture of mischief and shyness, as she continued toward the man. Noticing her approach, he set aside his book and stood to meet her.

"Ah, and what have you to be about?" he asked, looking around him. "Have your lessons cut short, then?"

Nodding, Grace looked to sit, waiting for him to gesture to the bench. "Oh yes, just moments ago."

"I see," his smile was pleasantly in jest. "And how might a young lady 'know' a gentleman?"

Placing a hand to her lips to muffle her gasp of embarrassment, Grace scrounged for her excuse. "Kind sir, have you not been in attendance to many of my father's gatherings? I would remember such charm as yours." He looked thoughtful, easing her embarrassment. "William, yes?"

"And you are sweet Gracie, Cecily's younger sister?"

Her heart fluttering at the endearment, Grace nodded and leaned to catch a better glance at his writing. "Might I be so bold as to ask what you write?"

"Oh..." he was quite humble. "It is nothing of importance." Conceding to her hopeful expression, William reopened his journal for her to see. "You see, to pass time in such a disdainful world, I bide by with what little beauty I can offer... alas, no beauty here lay."

Grace's eyes glossed over. "You are a poet! As am I, or am aspiring to be, yet have never found another with such passion!" Looking from his pleased face back to his book, Grace could barely contain herself. "I think you write beautifully... that is, until you get to these certain ones." She pointed to a few scribbles that seemed to refer to a person. "These may need a bit more--"

"Aren't we an edgeless little minx?" William teased, laughing at his own clumsy work. "Though I must agree. Some things are just simpler to write..." He closed his book despite her protests. "Now now, this isn't quite fair."

Grace paled. "I beg your pardon?"

"My soul exposed, while yours away?"

"Ah," she stood. "I am unprepared, dear sir. Might I tie a ribbon on my pinkie for our next meet?"

"Edgeless and presumptuous," he stood and took her hand in a small shake. "Until we meet."

---
The slightest touch, and dare I swoon? Blessed Casilda, I shall look for him after three days' time. Father should be holding a party, then...

Most faithfully yours,
Grace

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To Be continued... Chapter 2: Ne'er Lark Nor Eagle Flew

Author's Note: So how was that, eh? Confused yet? Intrigued much? Maybe just a wee bit? Either way, could'ja comment? Christmas spirit, people! Be generous with the love!

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: Chapter 2 :
Ne'er Lark Nor Eagle Flew
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Her new cell was more like a room... Fitting new technology, Buffy supposed. Deceiving the captives. Looking through the two-way mirror that actually looked like a mirror, hanging on the wall adjacent to a fake window, Dana stared back into her reflection, her arms now free from restraint and straightening her hair and pinching her cheeks for color.

"She's receded into this certain Slayer's personality: Grace." Giles stood beside her a little more tired than usual. "At least, one must assume Grace is indeed a Slayer. There has been no indication of other, non-Slayer memories invested in her mind."

"What do we know about Grace?"

"We've talked to her very little. She seems to be more comfortable with you-"

"Because she has seen my life. She's familiar with it. But what brought Grace out?"

Giles sighed, watching as Dana turned to sit at the small table provided where a book and quill were set for her. "We're not sure yet, nor are we aware of why Grace remains. She fades, and in those times we must quickly retain her and move her back into the holding cell for her own safety." He gestured to the camera in the corner of Dana's room, watching her constantly. Buffy imagined the eight or so men in charge of watching her in some hidden control room she had yet to visit; sixteen eyes in control, but hardly two ever constantly on her.

Motioning for Buffy to follow him, Giles headed off in the direction of his office. "We convinced Angel to collect her session tapes from Dr. Rabinaw and send them to us as evidence and study." Once the door was locked behind them, Giles switched on his monitor and rewound the current loop of Dana's seventh session, entitled 'Dana.' She was placed in a room much like her holding cell, restrained like how she had been here, but less... cooperative. "This is when she is in between memories, when she is left with only herself and her confusion." He fast-forwarded to session eight, entitled 'Grace.' Grace was a major contrast to Dana, just as they'd witnessed first-hand. "Rabinaw must have lost interest quickly with Grace. I've practically memorized his notes on her, and all that he provided was something along the lines of 'withdrawn, nothing important.'"

Sifting through the piles of folders on his desk, Giles pulled one out that had crumpled paper sticking out the sides. "She illustrated her memories. Like a child watching the telly, enjoying the show, not wanting it to end, so she draws it out."

Buffy looked horrified. "You think she enjoys it?"

Nodding, Giles shuffling through the drawings. "Every Slayer, deep downs, welcomes the darkness. It's how they cope. You've coped well, you should recall." He looked to his Watcher Diary draft, perpetually unfinished. He figured it would be once his Slayer... "But Grace never drew, so it seems. She wrote." Pulling out a sheet less crumpled than the others, he handed it over. Buffy's eyes widened at the perfect calligraphy, albeit done in crayon.

Gentle one the heavens see
A soul envied, angels agree
Thy restless heart that beats for thee
is hollow.

Ne'er lark nor eagle flew
Where I hath been with you
Til thou return anew
I follow.

"Before Dana lapsed into Grace, she said something like this... 'For him I follow until he is what he was.'"

"Grace," Giles nodded. "Her proper English dialect and her wording tells me she could originate anywhere between 1850 and 1920, at the least extremes. She writes, and that is precisely how we're going to get through to her."

"So says this," Buffy held up the journal. "New tactic?"

"You could call it that. Grace was of the Romantics, therefore, the best way to reach her is through her hobby."

Buffy flipped through the pages, scanning the elegant cursive for anything that could look familiar. William, Cecily... Santa Casilda?

"She writes to a Casilda, then mentions Santa Casilda. Who's that?"

Already ahead of her, Giles flipped open a thick book, its cover adorned with an engraved cross. "She was one of the Christian saints. Daughter to the Emir of Toledo-"

"Toledo, Ohio?"

Giles frowned. "Toledo Spain, actually. She was converted to Christianity in secret and defied her father's will to feed his Christian prisoners. She was caught in the act, but the bread she carried miraculously turned into roses."

"So she was some little saint.." Buffy paused, catching herself. "Saint Casilda."

"Many pray to certain saints. Grace must have found condolence with Casilda. I don't know enough about either of them to know why, except that it seems young Grace was a tender-hearted child in love with-" he nearly choked.

Buffy continued to leaf through the pages. "It's like she picked up where she left off... or maybe in the midst of things..."

"In Medias Res."

"Fan of Horace, Dante, Virgil and the like?"

"How'd you know?"

"When in Rome... and the fact that Dawnie's in that school. Tryin' to keep myself educated."

Giles smiled down at her, removing his spectacles and fiddling with them. "You've changed so much, albeit I must say it is quite pleasant... which is to say, not that you weren't before--"

"I get it Giles," Buffy offered, meeting his gaze. "I'm growing up... finally. I'd say after that last foregone apocalypse, it's about time I straightened myself out."

Knowing full well that she didn't entirely mean her studies, Giles' smile quickly faded. "What ever do you mean? I think you were... quite straight... er... straightened out..."

"You're starting to sound like Xander."

"Bite your tongue!"

Buffy laughed. "Just messing with you, Giles. No need to get all reprimandy." Her giggling quieted into a breathy sigh, her hands tracing over the paper and dry ink. "I miss them."

"Well," Giles started, replacing his glasses and checking his datebook. "We're scheduled to reconvene pretty soon. Nice little reunion."

"Mmmhmm..." Snapping the journal shut and slipping it into her shoulder bag, Buffy stood and waved a goodbye to Giles.

"Where are you off to?"

"To visit some friends."

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Mobile headquarters had set up camp in Sienna, Italy faster than a bunny in heat... and Anya would've hated that analogy. Leave it to Giles to accommodate everything to suit Dawn's schooling. Italian school was quite the dare for little Dawnie, but it was nothing she couldn't handle. Società Dante Alighieri - Comitato di Siena, the international center of language, art, and Italian culture, a.k.a. Dawn's little niche. She always liked to spout her learned Italian, shoving it in Buffy's face that she hadn't picked up on it as quickly as Dawn had. "Il Buffy è pieno di escremento" just did not have a nice ring to it.

Dawn lived on-campus, her study-abroad package having saved on costs the first year until they were on their feet. She managed on her own, working two jobs that left just enough time for studying and occasional amuck-running. Buffy was proud. Already Dawn was surpassing her own accomplishments when she was her age.

In the meanwhile, Buffy's apartment left little to the imagination. There wasn't much separating the kitchen from the living room, the bathroom resembled a mini-sauna with a toilet, and the bedroom was more like a cubicle. Then again, she wasn't about to complain. She was surviving. Living. The least she could do was live.

Living - such an understatement. At this point, it was a day-to-day process. Nothing to look forward to. Nothing to leave behind. She'd finally found her happy medium. The only things that kept her content were her two duties: assisting her new home with the demon-slayage and assisting in the rebuilding of the Watcher's council. Assisting. She was reduced to an assistant, like a nurse or a secretary or a reporter - never performing the surgeries, guiding the business or relaying the news, never back up on the mainstage doing the yummy, dirty work. But she was content with that. She had had her share. How many times did she save the world again?

What are we gonna do?

And the same smile that answered that question still plays on her face. That same free, broken smile.

The sun was aching to set, its fingers of light tracing the horizon and dotting through the trees, warm enough to be out but with that bit of chill that makes one pull their collar tighter around his neck. Not a bad practice nowadays, to protect your neck.

The cemetery was one of the nicest she'd ever patrolled, though her patrolling was different now. There were a few stray baddies now and then, but never a constant flow that called for her expertise. She'd never been at peace in a cemetery until this one... then again, it could've been for the fact that it was a yard specifically for burials without bodies. Headstones lined in perfect little rows with nothing beneath them but dirt and grass and memories. After the destruction of Sunnydale, it had been hard to face that, along with the bad that had been desolated, so had the good.

The corner of the lot that she paid a pretty penny for was the most scenic. Four headstones set at the crest of a hill overlooking a decent expanse of field and wildflowers lined by more trees than she could count. The first three were placed together, sides hugging as if each depended on the other to remain sturdy.

The first read Anya. She always spoke her mind.

The middle read Joyce. Mother to some, angel to all.

The last read Tara. Her magick bade us love.

Set aside from the ladies was a darker granite stone surrounded by the small, sparkly white rocks Dawn insisted on putting there 'as a nice contrast.' She had wondered whether to group his stone with the others, then thought twice. He needed some space for when she'd join him.

Kneeling, she ran her hand across the white rocks, the tiny bits of quartz in each of them flickering against the last rays of sun as the sky darkened. "Came at about the right time." She smiled halfheartedly at the stone, reading its inscription:

William - Spike
Died for all.
Lived for her.

They had it inscribed without her knowing. In fact, she hadn't even assumed they would include Spike. Little did she know at the time just how their minds changed over his sacrifice. Usually that'd be a given, but Buffy knew better. A little something like saving the world doesn't wipe away the entirety of one's sins. Apparently, this time around... it did.

Pulling the journal from her satchel, Buffy leaned against the stone and opened it on her lap. "So William... Spike... let me tell you a little story."

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To Be continued... Chapter 3: Proper Young Ladies

Author's Note: I'd bet that it's safe to say y'all are still confused. If you're not, I'm not doing my job right. :D Just settin' the stage, my loves, just settin' the stage. All this crap muddled in my head, it shall make sense one day... *eyes glass over* Oooone daaay... At least pick up on the subtle hints, such as, Buffy doesn't know that Spike's alive over in LA. Sadness!!! That'll change. Woot.

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: Chapter 3 :
Proper Young Ladies
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Climbing the stairs of her apartment complex, Buffy had never felt so weary. Grace's journal had run short and Buffy ached for the next installment that Dana was currently working on. If Dana knew her private thoughts were being studied and picked apart, she figured she wouldn't be so cooperative. Well, no worries for Dana or Grace... not much use was coming from the journal.

I don't even know what I'm supposed to be looking for, Buffy whined to herself, pulling out her keys. What, am I supposed to break Dana from her psycho state? I'm not a friggin' therepi-"

The door swung open, already unlocked. Someone had been there, and considering the light and clattering in the kitchen, there they remained. Buffy's hand went for her stake, and just as Dana had been pleasantly surprised when she'd done the same, none came up. Instead, a gun came from a holster, and Buffy sneered at it, putting it back. Guns never work.

Cursing the weak floorboards' creaking with every step closer, Buffy pressed herself against the wall, the figure's shadow coming into view. The overhead light glimmered in her eyes, reflecting a knife. Primitive, she had to hold back a snort. Her muscles tensing, Buffy reeled back, steadied herself, then-

"Want a sandwich?" Dawn came into view, waving her plate of peanut butter and jelly around. She tossed her butterknife into the sink. "I let myself in. And since when were you the type to sneak around? Shouldn't you be all, 'Hey you, wanna make something of it?' and go all-" she demonstrated some mock karate moves.

Moaning, Buffy stomped into the kitchen and snatched the sandwich off Dawn's plate. Ignoring Dawn's protests and flailing arms trying to grab back her meal, Buffy scampered into the living room, taking a huge bite and sticking her tongue out at her sister. Dawn returned the favor.

"Is it time already to release the freaks from the circus?" Buffy taunted, flopping down on the couch. She noticed the remote was on the other side of the coffee table and reached for it, whined when she couldn't, then pounded the table until the vibrations brought it closer.

Snatching the remote in revenge, Dawn 'accidentally' fell on her sister, who promptly pushed her off the couch and onto the floor. "You know I'm allowed to leave campus as much as I want," she lied.

"You snuck out again, and I have half a mind to-"

"You're right! You do have half a mind! Best accomplishment ever!" and a smack to her head shut her up. Pushing Buffy over so she could sit on the couch, Dawn switched on the tv and channel-surfed, pausing every once in a while at the infomercials. "I thought I should tell you..."

Buffy sat up. Oh God, no. "What." It wasn't a question.

"I'm training to be a watcher." Another slap to her head. "Ow! What the heck?"

"You are not."

"Am too."

"You and what army?"

"Giles' army."

Groaning, Buffy felt the dire need to pull out her hair. "Dawnie, it's our turn to distance ourselves from that whole mess! I'm not the Slayer anymore. We're not confined to-"

"You're not confined to it," Dawn interrupted, her voice unusually calm. Shouldn't she be all spazzed and angry and confrontational? "I didn't play much of a part in your whole escapade. It's my turn."

"No, it's not." Looking at her sister incredulously, Buffy shook her head and headed toward her room.

Of course, Dawn followed. "It's not like you have to return to it all. But Buffy, this has been my calling. All those times I sat at home while you went out and patrolled or investigated or whatever, did you really think I was doing my homework? And how many times did I call myself 'Junior Watcher'?" She crossed her arms defiantly. "I didn't come for your permission. I came because you had a right to know and... I was hoping for guidance."

Buffy let our a sarcastic snort. Guidance... "I have."

"You have... what?"

"Returned to it. Well, so to speak." She stepped over to the window and pulled back the shade, looking out at the city she'd come to call home... or as much of a 'home' she could bear. "Andrew brought back a Slayer that's a little... sack of hammers." They both bit back a laugh at the little Spike-ism. "And I'm the only one she seems to respond positively to."

"Oh, is she the one Andrew stole from Angel back in LA?" Buffy stared at her in shock. "Andrew told me. He thinks he's all high and mighty since he became a Watcher-in-training first."

Waving her hand, Buffy shook her head. "That's not the point. The point is, is that I'm being sucked back into this. There's no need for you to, too. Why can't you or I just live a normal life? I mean, you've got your kick-ass school, I've got my kick-ass job..."

"As a waitress. Biiiig step up from your fastfood stint back in Sunnydale."

"Shut up!" A pillow sailed through the air and nailed Dawn in the face.

Tossing the pillow aside, Dawn struggled to remain serious and not conduct an all-out assault in pillow warfare. "Buffy... you've already been relieved of finding the new Slayers and training them, despite the fact that you're the most capable of doing it." She stopped her sister in mid-rebuttal. "Sure, we've got all the other Slayers who helped to close the Hellmouth, and sure, they're doing a good job..."

"I'm done, Dawnie." She stepped closer, nose to nose. "After Dana, I'm done. I'm going to be normal, and I'm... I'm done."

Sensing the finality of the debate, Dawn gave Buffy one last, half-hearted glare before leaving her room. Collecting her backpack and the half of sandwich Buffy didn't eat, she left the apartment, muttering under her breath.

"And I'm picking up where you left off."

------------------------------~@~------------------------------

Dearest Casilda,
‘Twas a grand sight to behold. Father would surely whip me if he had seen me, for proper young ladies aren't to set foot nor eye on parties until I've seen my sixteenth year. I scoff at such nonsense, for I have seen with mine eyes the schoolhouse girls of thirteen already betrothed, and I am two years their elder and still without a proposal, ne'er a courting! Father holds tight to this latch that bottles me in, disparaged at my lack of etiquette shone of a lady. Just so, the other day I knelt to pluck a daisy for Nessy, and no sooner had Father lain eyes on me was my cheek warmed, he shouting that 'that is what nursemaids are for.' Dirt beneath my nails, scuffed shoes, a hair out of place would shame dear Father, so I tidied and continued off to school. Later on, I found a stunning bouquet of daisies upon my dresser, and Nessy had been so beside herself with her sorries.

But oh, how I tried to turn my gaze back to my needlework, alas, my retched curiosity beckoned me below.
----

Grace's heart beat faster as she pulled her gloves over her hands, pressing them to be more slender with the six buttons clasped along the wrist. Still too young for a corset, she synched her petticoat tighter around he waist, marveling at the thought of the twenty inches she had overheard impertinent women boast.

Lacing her boots, straightening her braid, and pinching her cheeks, Grace left for the balcony overlooking the festivities. It was a sea of muted tones and rouge faces, occasionally dotted by a more boisterous woman with a pink or red petticoat, her haughtiness just aching to prove how much wealthier she claimed to be. Tinkling laughter and a potpourri of mind-swimmingly intoxicating scents - the ladies' hall was not where she aimed to be.

Descending the stairs, Grace ignored the precocious looks of the ladies who noticed her, knowing full well who she was and where she should be. She turned up her nose and rounded the corner, following the foyer to the opposite hall where the men congregated, laughing loudly over politics, thievery, and all such things beneath them. Staying herself, she searched for her father, spotting him in the far corner of the room sitting with Philip Twells, whom she recognized as a member of Parliament. Another look and she found that many Parliamentary members were present, some who were as far as Lambeth, Westminster, and Tower Hamlets. Though he whom she searched for...

"It is quite audacious for a young lady such as yourself to listen amongst such drivel and ugliness." He always teased her, and she always loved it. Turning to him, Grace curtsied and held out her gloved hand for him to take. Amusement in his eye, William took her hand and pressed a kiss to her fingertips.

"Dear, kindest sir, I beg your pardon for my intrusion, but I do entertain such interest in.." she blushed, then looked back out onto the floor. He mustn't know she looked only for him.

William chuckled, placing her small hand in the crook of his elbow and leading her away into the vacant sitting room, taking a seat upon the lounge. "Won't you regale me with your words? Upon our last meeting you promised to share your latest."

Smiling shyly, Grace toddled before him wringing her fingers and avoiding his gaze. "I'm afraid they aren't any good. Not at all like yours, sir."

"William," he corrected. "And I assure you, the beauty you posses much surpasses anything I could imagine." He gestured for her to continue. "If you would?"

Another shy blush rose to Grace's cheeks. Nonetheless, she straightened her posture and put the heel of her foot before the other, right over left. Clearing her throat, she closed her eyes, recalling her latest poem.

"Gentle one the heavens see.. a soul envied, angels agree.. thy restless heart that beats for thee is hollow... and it is yet to be finished, so I believe it to be droll."

"Abandon such thoughts, dear one," William insisted, standing. "I found it quite lovely, though I sense a misery that propelled such language." He bent to study her expression. "Is there a lad you fancy? To spark these thoughts to be innocently voiced?"

She fought back both the urge to laugh with joy that he had seen just what she had intended, as well as the urge to whimper over his blindness. "There is, though he shan't e'er know. Obstacles, hindrances--"

"Do not let it overwhelm you," he interrupted, his voice and brow serious as he took her hands. "When love blinds one, it is only because the light has failed. If you do nothing, shall he remain sightless?" A kiss to her forehead caught her breath. "'Gentle one,' you are quite the treasure, treading where few of true beauty walk, 'a soul envied.' Make him see."

Pressing the palm of his hand to the edge of her jaw, he begged pardon and left Grace to steady her heart. He must know, she thought, calming her breath. I must tell him. Without worry may her father notice, Grace scampered in the direction William had gone, heading to the Great Room where the ladies and gentlemen were convening. Passing between the skirts and tails and ignoring the cavalier stares, she peeled her eyes for her would-be swain. There she spotted him, heading away to the sitting area to join..

She gasped. "Cecily..." Had to it have been her sister, wringer of poor men's hearts? Grace bit her lip at the thought of Cecily's countless suitors, all toyed with then discarded with their tails between their legs. Those were the lucky ones. Then there were the men who had their tails snipped and handed to them by her dainty, powdered hands without solace. And there, her poor, beloved William sat inches away from she with the razored fingers, his heart unsafe.

"Oh, Santa Casilda," Grace murmured, backing from the sight. "May you be merciful for he as well."

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Was she early or was he late? Either way, Dawn was impatiently waiting outside Giles' office door as he entered the headquarters' work hall. She tapped her watch jokingly, but he could tell she was a bit annoyed. Quite the role-change.

"What can I do for you, Dawn?" he asked as he unlocked the door to his office. Dawn headed in first to stake claim in his comfy computer chair. "Skipping class, are we?"

"No," Dawn shook her head. "It isn't skipping if it's important. I've got a question."

"Oh? And what, pray tell, might that be?"

Leaning forward and clasping her hands, Dawn rested her elbows on the desk as if she were a general disclosing top-secret plans to a bumbling whelp. Giles didn't quite like it. "Where are all of the Slayers?"

Flapping his hand at her to get her out of his seat, Giles sat and booted up his computer. He still hated that confounded contraption. "Now Dawn, I know you are getting pretty serious with this Watcher business, but-"

"I'm.. doing a report." Ooo, good lie.

"A report?" Giles raised an eyebrow. "Why in the world would you be doing a report on Slayers?"

Dawn sighed in mock exasperation, as if he should know already. "Mythology class. You know, most of the people in the world don't believe in Slayers."

"True... we are a special lot, aren't we."

"So I thought, why not do my report on something I know about?" she grinned innocently. "They need facts 'n figures... well, speculated facts 'n figures... so I thought, why not be impressive? And who could I go to to help me be impressive?"

Giles wasn't dumb, but he was, indeed, impressive. Without another word, he called up the Slayer location file and printed it out. "Now, I'm only giving you the list from the US. Otherwise we'd be printing all day and wasting my ink cartridges." Twenty-two pages of names, categorized by state. "Do tell me what grade you receive... oh, and list me as a reference!"

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"What brings you in today, uh..."

"Dawn. Dawn Summers." She laid a stack of papers and contracts on the dean's desk. "I'd like to apply for your study abroad program, preferably for the current and following term."

The dean scanned the pages. "Shouldn't be a problem. Do you have a sponsor?"

Dawn nodded. "Wolfram & Hart."

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To Be continued... Chapter 4: Silence and Roses

Author's Note: Guess who makes a special appearance in the next chapter! WOOT! I'm so excited! *yawn* Are you excited? [/FindingNemo]