Dawn did not want to sleep, but her body vetoed the attempt to remain conscious. She crashed, fully clothed right down to her Pumas, onto her bed. It wasn’t counting sheep or bluebirds-over-rainbows for her, though. She slept the fitful sleep of the recently disturbed.
In the next room, Buffy and William lapsed into a dreamy kind of post-coital restfulness. Which was good, because they needed all of the above.
Willow dozed with her nose in books. It was a favorite pastime.
Xander and Maya talked for two hours about the socioeconomic impact of labor regulations on border towns in Texas and California. Not as boring as one might think, especially when framing the entire conversation within the context of Tex-Mex cuisine. After which, Xander drifted into the calmest sleep he’d had in years, while Maya lingered for a half an hour longer making scissor motions with her feet, enjoying for the first time in five years the feeling of freshly laundered sheets.
Andrew drank a liter of water. Was sick again. Drank more water. He spent the rest of the night huddled and miserable in the corner of his room. He fell asleep with the Damas journal cradled protectively in his arms, waiting for the sound of movement downstairs so that he could dutifully hand it off before deciding on his next move.
Across town, in a hotel room that smelled of stale smoke, recycled air and brimstone, Rupert Giles hugged his knees to his chest in a desperate effort to keep what little warmth he had left in his body. At the same time, he listened to the conversations of those around him – Amy, Nighna, Luxe. He had their names. He repeated them to himself so that he would not forget.
Giles feigned stupor, or, more rightly, enhanced stupor, biding his time. If he could get free, he knew where to hide. London was his town, after all. He could get back to Buffy to tell her what he had seen.
Nearby, a cell phone rang. The fellow called Luxe answered it.
“Yes?” Luxe said, his languid French accent suddenly crisp and businesslike. “And you are certain of this?”
“What is it?” Amy asked.
Giles sneered inwardly at the sound of her voice.
“Thellian will be most pleased to hear it,” Luxe said. Then, “Of course, I will tell him you were the one to deliver the message. You have earned his favor.”
The cell phone snapped closed.
“What is it?” Amy asked again, her voice shrill with excitement.
“Please tell her, before her eyeballs pop out like a Pekinese,” Nighna said.
“It is Angel,” Luxe told them. Giles could almost see the grin on the Frenchman’s face. “He has used the key.”
~*~
Buffy sensed the dawn without opening her eyes. She lay for a long time with her arms starfished across William’s chest, her head rising and falling with his every inhalation of breath. He traced a lazy figure eight with his thumb on the bare skin of her shoulder.
It was a kind of peace that reminded her of solemn places, of cathedrals and graveyards, in which people spoke in the hushed tones of reverence.
“William,” she whispered. Speaking felt like tromping through an unspoiled field of snow.
“Hmm?” he said, barely audible.
“You’ve seen the Great Wall of China,” she said.
“Yep,” he said. He kept her precedence of speaking in library tones. “Big mass of stones, all cobbled together.”
“But you’ve seen it,” she said.
“Course I have, pet.”
Silence, punctuated only by the ellipses of breathing.
She asked, “What about the pyramids?”
“I have,” William said. “Big mass of stones all cobbled together, but in the desert.”
“Niagara Falls? Grand Canyon?” Buffy asked. “Great Barrier Reef?
“Yes. Yes. And no. Never been Down Under,” William said. He moved his hand to stroke her hair. “What’s all this about?”
“I’ve never been to any of those places,” Buffy said. “Not even the Grand Canyon, and it was practically in our backyard.”
William shrugged the shoulder that wasn’t under Buffy. “It’s this big hole in the ground,” he said, affecting blasé.
“Stop it,” she said. “I’m serious.”
William sighed. “I know you are,” he said.
After a long moment of quietness, she said, “I don’t want to die.”
William winced as if stung, which also jarred Buffy.
She raised her head a few inches to stare up into his face. “You okay?”
“I’m fine,” he said. It sounded forced.
“What is it?” she asked.
A muscle in his jaw twitched. “My father died when I was a boy,” he said. “There was a fire, and much confusion.” He closed his eyes, feeling his way through the words. “After that, I cared for my mum. Until I met Dru. My mum would have died of consumption, see? It’s likely I’d have followed her to her grave within a year. Two at best. Never would have met you.”
William drew a deep breath. He said, “I regret so many things, Buffy. So much I’ve done can’t be undone. But… how can I mourn that path, when all the time it was leading me here? With you, and the other. The, um...”
William ached. He wanted to tell Buffy what Lorne had said. He wanted to come clean of the whole business. Instead, he said, “You’ll be fine, Buffy. And you will see all of those places. The whole world, if you wish it.”
Buffy lay her head back down. William chewed the inside of his mouth.
“This is it, isn’t it?” Buffy whispered. “The big calm-before-the-apocalypse?”
“You feel it too, then,” William said.
Buffy nodded. “Thellian’s going to make his move soon. We still have to find out what it is, and where this circle thingy figures in.”
“We’ll figure it,” he said. He started tracing circles on her shoulder again, picking up where he left off. “We always do.”
Buffy thought back to Sunnydale, when Spike had lain with her the night before they confronted The First. His had been the calm,still voice in the darkness. He had been her heart and strength when all else had abandoned her. Together, they were strong. So much stronger than when taken apart.
She placed her palm over his heart.
He said, “We could just stay here. Sleep through the whole thing.”
“No snooze button for the destiny clock, is there?” Buffy said.
William said nothing. He didn’t have to. They both heard the telltale sounds of breakfast making going on in the kitchen. Soon, the whole house would grind into gear.
“I’m ready,” she said.
~*~
Willow wo-manned the griddle to show off her pancake making skills for Maya. She poured three blobs onto the skillet to form a Mickey Mouse – her specialty, which had also been Tara's specialty.
Maya was all chattery; definitely a morning type. She sipped a cup of orange pekoe in between bursts of sunny conversation.
“I have a ticket waiting at Gatwick,” she told Xander, excitedly. This was the fourth time she’d told him; he was counting. “All I have to do is pick it up.”
“Yep,” Xander said. He refilled his glass of milk. “Said that.”
Willow cast a backward glance, knowing his tone.
Maya, not yet well-versed in Xander-isms, went happily on. “So much has happened since I left. Apparently, Freddie screened incoming mail, too. I mean, I always suspected as much but... he made these ridiculous excuses for me. Like, when my little sister got married, he told my parents that I couldn’t be there because I was rescuing a rare breed of baby sea turtles from an oil spill off Mitak Island in the Indian Ocean, and that I would be out of contact for three months because of concerns over terrorist acts toward American scientists and activists.”
Willow patted the grilling pancake with her spatula. “And your parents believed him?” she asked.
Nodding vigorously, Maya said, “They are very trusting people.”
“You don’t say?” Xander put in.
“No, it’s true,” Maya said. “My mom used to always say: Maya Rose, it’s always best to trust first and ask questions later.”
Willow dropped the spatula with a clatter and turned around.
“Say that again,” she said.
Maya gave her a funny look. “Trust first and ask...” she said.
“No,” Willow said. “The first part.”
“My mom used to say,” Maya said, bobbing her head.
“Okay. The middle. Say the middle,” Willow said, frustration tempering her tone.
“Pancake. Burning,” Xander sniffed.
“Oh. Maya Rose,” Maya said, grinning. “That’s me.”
“Rose,” Willow said, disbelieving.
“From a long line of Roses,” Maya said.
A smile dawned in Willow’s eyes. “You’re name is Rose,” she said again, to herself.
“We get it, Wil. What’s with the repeat-o-gram?” Xander said.
“The Rose, The Key and the Willow Tree,” Willow said, excitedly. “Xander. She’s right here. The Circle is complete. That’s what Tara told Buffy and she’s right here.”
Xander wielded the spatula like a pointer. He said, “You must have me confused with someone who has a clue.”
Dawn came in, squinting against the not-harsh kitchen light. “What’s going on?”
“Maya’s the Rose,” Willow squealed.
“Please stop saying that,” Maya said.
“How so?” Dawn asked.
“Pancake burning!” Xander said again. He leapt up to rescue the pancake, but it was too late. The pancake had passed.
“My name is Rose,” Maya said. “Last name. I’m not sure what she’s getting at.”
“Here,” Willow said. She took Maya’s hand and led her into the dining room.
“Oh. Pretty,” Maya said.
Dawn, catching quickly on, moved Maya to stand beside the symbol of the rose laid out in the scrolls across the table. “Stand here,” she ordered. “Willow, you...”
“Got it,” Willow said, stepping to the sign of the willow tree.
Breathless, Dawn took her place beside the triangular shape of the key. “And I’m here,” she said.
Xander strolled in, peaked fingers pressed to his lips. “Is...something supposed to happen?” he asked.
“It’s Latin,” Dawn said. Willow nodded. Maya shook her head, looking frightened.
“Say your name in Latin,” Willow said.
“Is it Rosa?” Maya said, uncertain.
The symbol on the page glowed a sudden blazing red. Maya leapt like a firecracker.
“Dawn,” Willow said. “What’s the word for key?”
“Clavis,” Dawn said. The symbol blazed like molten gold.
“Two for two, Dawnie,” Willow said, marveling.
“And the final round question,” Xander said. “What’s Latin for Willow.”
“Salix. Say Salix,” Dawn said.
“Salix,” Willow repeated. The third symbol, the willow tree, shone equally bright. The three together emitted a white humming noise, like static from a radio tower.
“It worked,” Dawn breathed.
“What worked?” Maya said.
“The Circle,” Willow told her. “It’s awake. I can feel it.”
“Me too,” Dawn said. “Kinda tingly.”
Maya took a broad step away from the table. The glowing abruptly stopped. “I don’t know,” she said, lips going white. “I don’t know what this is about at all. I think... I should go.”
She twisted away, running before she realized she was running. Xander hopped from one foot to the next, unsure how to go. He looked at the others.
“Run after her. Hello?” Dawn prompted, rolling her eyes.
“Right,” he said. He turned, and followed.
~*~
Angel had showered. Put on fresh clothes – a nice suit worthy of GQ. Spiked his hair. Brushed his fangs. Had a bite to eat. Went in early to the office.
There he sat, behind his executive-sized desk, signing away page after page with his elegant Cross pen.
Luxe entered.
“Your 9 o’clock is waiting,” he said.
“Good,” Angel answered, not looking up. He flipped a page, signed at the bottom, flipped to the next.
“How was your night?” Luxe asked, eyebrows arched but brown eyes steady.
“Very enlightening,” Angel said, flatly.
Luxe rocked forward to the balls of his feet. “Glad to hear it,” he said.
Angel scribbled, flipped. Continued. His face was a taut mask of impassivity.
“Takes the weight of the burden, doesn’t it?” Angel said.
Treading with extra care, Luxe ventured forth. “What is that, monsieur?” he asked.
“Knowledge,” Angel said. He paused, pen in hand. He flicked only his eyes in Luxe’s direction. “You know what I’m talking about,” he said.
“The key,” Luxe said.
Angel returned to his paperwork. He said, “It wasn’t perfect happiness. But it was... close. Being there with her. In heaven.”
He let his eyes slide closed. For a brief moment, he remembered. And the pain of it shook him with startling intensity.
“She forgot everything,” Angel said.
Luxe shrugged. “It is what humans do. Memories fade. It is how they deal with living,” he said.
“And dying,” Angel said. He signed the final sheet. He stacked them together, fastidiously lining up all of the edges before tucking the documents back into their folder. “Is this all for now?” he asked.
“Oui, monsieur,” Luxe said.
Angel passed the folder across the desk.
“Tell Thellian I’ll be with him shortly,” Angel said.
Luxe took his leave.
Angel drummed his fingers on the desk. The clock on the wall, all brushed aluminum and fancy roman numerals, read 8:57. Angel slipped open the well-oiled desk drawer. He drew out an object wrapped in plain white cloth. He was careful, unwrapping it the way a child sneaks peeks into his Christmas gifts. The D’Ganti Blade lay in his palm like an obsidian scorpion, a black malignancy.
With what passed for a sigh, Angel slipped the dagger into the concealed pocket of his jacket.
Clock read 8:59. Angel got to his feet. It was time.
~*~
“You can’t go,” Xander said.
“Don’t be such a Fraggle,” Maya told him. “Of course I can go.”
Maya was making up Xander’s sofa bed like an Olympic class sheet folder. He inched around the bed next to her, trying to discourage her without actually touching her. Touching her, he wagered, might result in the loss of further body parts.
“I know you can go. Of course. I’m not holding you hostage,” Xander said.
Maya made a bewildered sound.
“You’re disgruntled,” he said.
“I am. I am far from gruntled,” Maya told him. She lifted the mattress edge. The springs beneath sighed a rusty complaint. She tucked and folded the bed sheet under the mattress in a perfect hospital corner.
“They need you,” Xander said. Simple and to the point. It was something she liked in the man.
Maya tugged wrinkles from the top sheet. “You can’t even put me in the same category as Willow,” she said. “I felt her magic. She’s got control and finesse coming out of her ears. It’s like comparing Charles Schultz with Caravaggio.”
Xander said, “Don’t knock good man Charlie Brown. The blockhead has his place in society.”
Maya dragged the blanket onto the bed. “Look, Xander. I’m free for the first time in five years, so I would really like to go home now. Plus, if the world’s gonna end like you guys say, I’d really like to see my mom before it does,” she said.
“Maya, stop,” Xander said. He took the risk to take her hands. “You’re part of the Circle. You are kinda meant to be here. It’s possible they can’t work the big final mojo without you.”
“Oh, right,” Maya said, weakly wriggling from Xander’s grasp. “Petite blonde girl’s gonna save the world.”
Xander grinned. “That is kind of the idea,” he said. “Buffy’s done it a dozen times over. And when it all comes down, I’m putting my money on the blonde girls. But not in the sleazy strip club way that just sounded...”
Maya sank to the bed. “I’m weak, Xander. There’s no way I can do it.” She looked up at him, eyebrows arched high on her small forehead. “I have a ticket at Gatwick,” she explained.
“I know you do,” Xander said. He sat on the bed beside her. “And when you’re ready, I’ll drive you to the airport. No one’s gonna force you to stay.”
Maya nodded. “I’m sorry,” she said.
Xander patted her knee. “Nah, don’t be. I mean, we haven’t even had a proper date and here I am, asking you to save the world.”
“Yeah,” Maya said.
“For the record,” Xander told her. “Any girl who can fend off a her psycho ex-boyfriend for five years in a separate hell dimension that resembles a dentist’s office waiting room can in no way be classified as weak.”
Maya laughed, lightly. She lay her head on Xander’s shoulder, which let him know that however things happened today, she was still undecided. He knew better than to press the issue. In general he would have to agree with Maya’s mom: it was better to trust first and ask questions later.
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Author's Chapter Notes:
Special thanks to Ginny Lindsey for her Latin translations. Also, Maya Rose was nominated best original character at the the Spuffy Awards! Xander and Maya were nominated for Best Original Character Pairing at the SunnyD Awards.