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Author's Chapter Notes:
Due to a recent loss in our family, we'll be going out of town for a while. I'm hoping to get as much of this story posted as possible before we have to go.
**Thanks everyone for being so supportive and wonderful. It means everything to me.**
Buffy wandered into the kitchen. Dawn scribbled on a pad, turned the page over, scribbled more.

“If that’s regular school work, you should definitely get an A,” Buffy said.

Dawn jumped up from her chair. “You. Are awake. And making jokes,” Dawn said. “Awake and joke making, which I guess means you’re feeling better.”

Buffy gave a sleepy smile. “I am feeling better. And I wasn’t joking,” she said. She took a seat next to Dawn’s and turned the text toward her. “More stuff about the Circle?”

Dawn lingered behind her chair. She said, “I could fix you some oatmeal. We have the kind with fruit. Little brown sugar and butter.”

Looking up, Buffy said. “Yeah. Okay.”

None of the writing in Dawn’s book made any sense to Buffy. Seen one demon hieroglyph, you’d seen them all. Dawn busied herself at the counter, vigorously tearing open the packet of oatmeal, adding water, then vigorously stirring.

“What’s up?” Buffy said.

Dawn tucked her hair behind her ears. “I’m up,” she said. “Been up... oh, seventeen hours straight and getting nothing but a silly line like something from a children’s folk story.”

“What’s the line?”

“The Rose, The Key and The Willow Tree,” Dawn said. She moved fluidly from the counter to the microwave. “Way I figure it, I’m the Key. Willow’s the Willow Tree. The Rose is... Completely elusive possible figment of my exhausted brain. Except that Tara told Willow.”

“Tara,” Buffy repeated. “I saw her, too.”

Dawn spun around. “You did?”

“While I slept. Tara showed me Stonehenge and said the Circle is complete. All we need to do is wake it,” Buffy said.

“What does that even mean, wake it? Like it’s living?” Dawn said.

Buffy said, “Isn’t it a school day? Don’t you have classes?”

Dawn sat down. She took Buffy’s hands. “I’m not going.”

Buffy started to protest, but Dawn cut in. She said, “I’m not going, because Xander’s in trouble.”

“Xander?” Buffy said. She glimpsed around the kitchen, looking lost.

“It’s this big long story, Buffy. But they left...”

“They? All of they?”

“Well, Willow and Spike. Andrew took Anjelica home. Now he’s gone too,” Dawn said.

The timer on the microwave dinged. Dawn sprung up, hoping to hide the worry lines she knew must be showing on her face.

“And you’ve been waiting up,” Buffy said.

“Been useless, is more like. At one point, I fell asleep and dreamed the Boobahs were the Big Bad. Very vivid, very horrible nightmare,” Dawn said. She brought the bowl of oatmeal sprinkled with sugar. “But as far as the Circle and the giant riddle-slash-puzzle, nothing. I’ve got nothing. And, by the way, no reference at all to Thellian. But, I’ll keep looking.”

Buffy stirred the oatmeal in her bowl. Then, she put down her spoon. “Dawn,” she said. “There’s something I need to tell you.”

With that, the Scooby gang burst boisterously through the front door.

~*~

Andrew was had.

He awoke in a familiar bed, beneath familiar gunmetal gray sheets. Familiar brown arm looped over his chest. Well-known splash of ropy black hair in his face. And he felt like an all-over-body bruise.

“Oh boy,” he whispered.

He thought, 'Maybe I’m dreaming.' He bit his tongue.

“Ow,” he said, tasting blood. Not dreaming. Not good.

Andrew slid soundlessly from the bed. He found his shorts by the door. He put them on right away, then crept from Nighna’s bedroom. His turtleneck was on the stairs. Pants in the foyer. Shoes... He looked around for his shoes. Impossible for them to be upstairs, seeing as he had lost his pants down here.

Andrew pressed his hands to his face. He could feel his stomach doing the twist. He always did have a puny constitution. He decided to just leave the shoes, walk home without them. People who did shameful things often went shoeless.

Andrew opened his eyes. He saw an odd mark on his wrist, which at first he took for a bruise. When he lowered his hands, he saw more clearly that it was drawn there. It was a triangle, with a reverse triangle within it. And inside that, a lidless eye. It looked like charcoal, but when Andrew tried to smear it off with his thumb, no smudgy. Super creepy.

He slipped on his pants in the foyer, then tugged the turtleneck over his head. In the room adjacent, he heard the feathery stirring of Nighna’s pet, Clarisse. She was a Mynah. She was Nighna’s Mynah. She was nice enough, as birds went, but hyper smart and wicked noisy. Andrew got out of there before Clarisse could wake the whole house, namely Nighna.

He was outside on the stoop before he felt something heavy in his pocket. Expecting maybe a human jawbone or a stolen precious gem, Andrew put his hand slowly into the pocket. What he withdrew was neither gross nor contraband.

It was the Scooby watch.

Andrew slipped it back into the pocket. He trudged home barefoot, feeling like the most ginormous palooka on the planet. What slammed him was the thought of what Dawn would say when she found out. She was going to flay him skinless and make lamps from his hide. Then, whenever people came to visit, she would turn on the lamp and say, “This is my ex-friend Andrew. He’s much brighter now than he was when living.”

~*~

Dawn and Buffy met the others in the entry hall. Maya and Xander leaned on one another, with William and Willow on the outside to support them both. They were dripping and gunky, but uninjured save for the odd scuffmark. Dawn sailed in, tackling Xander with a near frantic hug.

“You did it,” she cried. “You saved Xander. I knew you would.”

Xander swayed under the added weight of Dawn. He persisted in covering his bare eye with the palm of his hand. That part of him was not something he wanted to share with anyone, least of all Maya.

“Actually,” Willow said. “It was a bit of rescue all around. Things got a little crazy in there.”

“Buffy,” Xander said, half-choked by Dawn’s embrace. “This is Maya. Maya, Buffy.”

Maya actually curtsied. Buffy thought she was the cutest thing since buttons on underwear. Whatever that meant.

“It’s nice to finally meet you,” Buffy said. “And hear of you...”

Dawn released Xander. She flicked him on the ear.

“Ow,” he whined. “What was that for?”

“Stupid. We were worried to almost death. You’ve been gone for hours and hours. No call, no magics-o-gram. You could have been in a ditch somewhere. Don’t get me started on Andrew,” Dawn said. Willow steered them all toward the kitchen so that Xander could sit down. He made a good show of not showing it, but Willow knew that Xander had sustained deeper wounds from the fall than he let on.

“That was my fault,” Maya said, following them. “Freddie fried my phone when he thought I was flirting with the pizza delivery guy. Also, time differential.”

Buffy remained behind in the entry hall. William stayed as well.

“How are you?” William asked, after a long time of studying her.

“Fine,” she said. “Better.”

William made a move in her direction. The door opened behind them.

“Bollocks,” he mumbled.

Kennedy stepped inside. She gave them an obligatory get-a-room glower before she started removing her muddied boots.

Dawn darted around the corner. “Andrew?” she said.

“Sorry to disappoint,” Kennedy answered. She moved her limbs with leaden tiredness. “Just a Slayer. Returning from Slayer duty. You remember what that’s like.”

Buffy cut her eyes at Kennedy. She said, “You know, I really don’t need your attitude. I have my own.”

Kennedy tossed her boots aside. She crossed the room, almost strutting. William and Dawn both moved to get in her way. “You look like you’ve seen better days,” Kennedy said. “I think you...”

Willow entered the hallway. “Kennedy,” she said, sternly. “What are you doing?”

“Nothing,” Kennedy said, holding up her hands. “Up to bed for me. The twins have the school for the day. They’re in charge, since you seem pretty much housebound these days.” She tromped up the stairs, making sure that everyone below her knew she was there.

Willow’s mouth dropped open. “Is she always like that?”

Buffy leaned on the banister. “Usually. But that was particularly venomous.”

“Just say the word,” William growled. “One word. One less Slayer.”

“Spike, you can’t solve all your problems by killing people,” Dawn said.

“Right. I know it. But,” William sighed. “She could do with a caning, that one.”

Willow looked miserable. “No. I’ll talk to her. Something’s eating her, I can tell.”

Once Willow had gone upstairs, Dawn, Buffy and William joined Maya and Xander in the kitchen. Xander launched into the retelling portion of the whole Alice-Freddie-Looking Glass tale. Buffy sat close to William, still feeling muzzy and distant.

Dawn leaned over. She whispered, “You were going to tell me something?”

“Yeah,” Buffy said. William eyed her expectantly. But Buffy faltered. “Yes. Just, I wanted to tell you how proud I am of you, working like you have. That’s all.”

William pursed his lips. But he crossed his little finger over hers. She figured that meant he at least understood.

~*~

Andrew could hear Xander’s jocular masculine narrative in the kitchen when he slipped in. Andrew guessed that meant all had gone well with the Maya mission. He inched the door closed, making sure that the catch made the tiniest snick sound he could manage. After that, he crept upstairs.

No one noticed him come in.

That, he knew, was for the best.

~*~

Later, when twilight waned to the half-light of evening, William found Buffy in the garden, filling the pockets of her jacket with stakes.

“Where are you going?” he asked.

“I’m going on patrol,” she said, sounding perturbed that he would ask such an obviously nonsensical question.

“Oh no you’re not,” he said.

Buffy scoffed. He saw the look in her eyes, the you’re-gonna-try-and-stop-me look.

Maintaining her frosty veneer, she said, “I have to patrol, William. It’s a 'destiny calls' kind of deal.”
She moved to step around him. He blocked her way to the door.

“Let the others take tonight’s patrol,” he said. “No one expects you to go out.”

Buffy shook her head, resolute. “No,” she said. “I need to get back out there. If I miss again, they’ll suspect something is up.”

“Something is up,” he snapped.

She pushed past him, opening the door. He slammed it shut. The windowpane split beneath his hand, tracing a deep slash across his palm.

“Oh, that is great, William,” she said. “Think a little display of violence will get me to change my mind? Hey, while I’m at it, let me slip into a burka and stand barefoot in the kitchen.”

William squeezed his wounded hand. Tiny storms of pain bloomed then faded as the gash healed before their eyes.

“You are not going,” he said. His voice trembled.

“Yes I am. I don’t need you or anyone else coddling me.”

Buffy wrenched the door open, ducking under his arm. She was leaving. He was losing her.

“I’m scared, Buffy,” he said.

She halted. She closed the door again. Without turning, she said, “What do you have to be afraid of? You’re Mr. Invincible.”

He was disgusted. He gripped her shoulders and turned her bodily to face him.

“You think that’s what this is? Some chauvinistic hold-over from the 19th century?” William said. He blinked to hide the meniscus of tears in his eyes. “You daft, insensitive girl. I’m invulnerable. You’re not.”

Buffy shoved him away. She struck out blindly across the grassy backyard – so not the way she intended to go – ignoring the dewy grass burs that clung to her pants legs. William followed for half the distance, but stopped when she came to rest.

He said, “Buffy, I’ve never had more to lose. So you go out there tonight. Get yourself in a tussle. Have you considered what would happen if some random vampire lands a lucky kick to your belly? Have you thought about what it would do to you?”

Buffy’s throat felt dry and achy. She said, “I haven’t thought that far ahead.”

“Don’t you think you should?” he countered.

Buffy’s fingers went numb. She clenched both fists over her breastbone and squeezed, trying to drown out the sound of his voice in her ears. She heard his footfalls slowly working his way toward her through the weedy yard. It was nearly October and already shivery cold. Evening light had changed. The elms from the park behind the Flat had blown papery brown leaves into their garden. She wondered, absurdly, whether Londoners would soon be thinking about snow.

She looked down through tears at her knuckles clenched to white. “What if it’s too late?” she said, voice scarcely more than a whisper.

“No,” he said. So sure.

Buffy covered her face with her hands. “But we’ve already been in so many fights. And that time I sparred with Kennedy. That was before we even knew, so how can we know...?”

William slipped his arms around her from behind. She stiffened momentarily, but lacked the energy to go another round.

“How do we know?” she asked again. Her voice had gone croaky, which she hated, which only made it worse. “What chance do you think we have?”

“We just...” he began.

“You. Me. We can’t be parents. It’s... ludicrous.”

“Nature has other ideas about that, pet,” he said.

Buffy closed her eyes. She struggled to keep her thoughts inside, struggled to swallow them down. It was as though speaking them made them more true.

But she said it anyway.

“Slayers don’t make good moms,” she said. “You know that.”

William slid his face into the bend of her neck. “Buffy,” he said, caressing her skin with the sound of her name. “Buffy, death is not your only gift.”

She dissolved against him. She was all blurry and mixed up. He was wrong. Had to be wrong. She broke free, stumbling forward.

“Yeah?” she said, furious now. She just wanted to hit him, to beat the rational certainty out of him. Why couldn’t he understand that all of this not knowing was driving her insane? “Tell that to Tara. And Anya. Hell, tell it to you. I am the Slayer, William. I’m on borrowed time. I will never live to see my 25th birthday, and you know it. So why want what’s impossible? Why want what can only bring pain?”

William winced. “Pain,” he said. The word resonated between them like an auditory afterimage.

Buffy turned away, this time with less conviction.

“I’ll go,” William said, near pleading. “Just for tonight. We can go together tomorrow. Just take care of yourself. Give yourself one more night to heal.”

“I’m not wounded,” Buffy said.

“Rot,” William said. “Emotional scars are hardest to heal. No one can understand the damage but you. No one else can see it.”

Buffy’s vision doubled, then trebled. She wavered, on the verge of caving. He sensed it, of course.

“Just for tonight,” he said.

Buffy scanned the ground. The sparkling grass, the rows of herbs and plants William had planted, it was still green. The frost had killed all the lawns in London but theirs. Buffy resigned herself. She put her hands in her pockets.

“All right,” Buffy agreed. She turned to face him, but did not look at his face. “You’ll need these,” she said, passing the stakes from her pockets to his open hands.

William took them. He brushed her forehead with his lips. “Get some rest,” he said.

He left her standing in the garden, where she remained until the color drained from the sky and the warmth left the ground. Sunset fell faster in London. She could measure the difference between light and dark by mere minutes. In Sunnydale, the light seemed to linger for hours even on the deepest winter nights. Or maybe that was her naive remembrances returning to haunt her. Either way, here she stood in sudden darkness, stripped of her weapons. Besides, she thought, what use were arms in a place like this?

Inside, the telephone rang.

Buffy went in. She picked up the receiver.

Long pause, then, “Buffy?”

It was the one voice that always sent her spiraling.

She answered. “Angel.”

~*~





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