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Morning came too soon. Buffy woke with a start, having just dreamed that she and Dawn had been fleeing into the desert in a Winnebago with Glory close behind, straddling a black Harley, her hair snaking out behind her like tongues of flame. The mountains behind Glory and the sky beyond that had burned to cinders in her wake.

Buffy awoke with the same feeling of ruthless desperation she felt then. That no matter how far she ran, no matter how fast, the crushing destruction of apocalypse was inescapable. And she had to be the one to stop it.

So really, it was just another day in the life of Buffy. What was the big? She had been able to stop it every time before.

Buffy inclined her head. Her arm was thrown protectively over William’s sleeping body. He shifted in response to her movement, turning his face to hers. His placid breathing belied the imminent danger of what they would face within a few hours time. As did the silence of the Flat, which was normally bustle-worthy even at this hour. Dawn and Xander would be up fussing over lactose-free breakfast matters.
Andrew, Willow and Giles usually followed with their pert chatter and discussions over tea and scones and the 'London Times Guardian.'

Buffy slid from bed, careful not to disturb William’s sleep. As she tiptoed across the bedroom, she thought she heard muffled footsteps in the sitting room beyond. She stepped quickly outside to find Dawn, clad in PJs, trying to sneak through the door carrying a cup of steaming hot coffee.

Dawn froze, cup aloft. “Buffy!” she said, too chipper. “I, um, didn’t mean to wake you...”

“You didn’t. It was a... bad dream,” Buffy said. “You drink coffee now?”

Dawn swept her still wet hair back with her free hand. “Um, no,” she whispered, nodding with exaggeration at the still sleeping figure on the sitting room couch. “It’s for him.”

Buffy craned her neck to get a closer look. Connor looked as though he had to fold himself in half to sleep on the glorified loveseat that on most days served as the Summers’ laundry catchall.

“He can’t have slept well,” Buffy said, grimacing.

“Hence, coffee. Thought it would be a nice pick-me-up before the massive Supervamp throw-me-down,” Dawn said.

“Good,” Buffy said, nodding. “Good plan. We should get moving. Where are the others?”

Dawn continued in hushed tones. She said, “Giles is in the basement with Willow and Maya. Willow’s made a whole bunch of these nifty glowy rock things for when we’re in the caves. Faith’s out back, training with the Minis. Oh, and Xander took Oz, Lorne and Andrew on transportation detail. Willow figured we needed...”

“Wait,” Buffy said. “They’re outside? They can’t...”
Dawn checked the watch on her wrist. “Sun’s been up seventeen minutes,” she said. “We made plans on our own; had a little WWBD action.”

“What?”

“You know, What Would Buffy Do?” Dawn gave her sister a sidewise grin. “We wanted to let you guys sleep in, you know. With the baby and all. Thought maybe you deserved some together time.”

Buffy laughed a little in spite of herself. “It’s the best sleep I’ve had in a really long time,” she said. “I guess...”

Connor chose that moment to sit bolt upright, startling both girls. The coffee sloshed from the mug in Dawn’s hand, scalding her.

“There you are. I didn’t feel you get up,” Connor said to Dawn. He scrubbed a hand through his straw-colored hair. It was disastrously disheveled.

Buffy flashed Dawn a quizzical look. “Feel you…” she began.

“Oh. Hey,” Dawn stammered. “It is so not what you think.”

Connor glanced at Buffy and turned a rather brilliant shade of scarlet.

“I think Angel’s son just spent the night with my sister,” Buffy snapped.

“It wasn’t like that,” Connor said, getting quickly to his feet, dragging the bed sheet with him.

“Oh sure it wasn’t,” Buffy bit out. “Have you seen your hair?”

Dawn shrugged, conceding. “Okay, it is a little of what you think.”

“What?” Buffy growled.

“Oh, but it’s not bad. We went out for ice cream. And then, we talked some. Then there was… snuggling? He was distraught,” Dawn said, again with the sheepish. Connor glanced down at his partially unbuttoned shirt, then clapped his hand over his chest before casting a guilty look at Buffy.

Anger bubbled in the pit of Buffy’s stomach. She suddenly wanted very much to punch Connor squarely in his wholesome boy-next-door face. Connor seemed to get that. But instead of retreating like a smart person, he stepped around the end of the couch, putting himself into the highly dangerous zone between Buffy and Buffy’s baby sister.

Buffy kneaded her fists against her thighs, itching to use them. She said, “We have the battle of our lives to fight and you use it as a line to get my sister into bed?”

“It’s not like that,” Connor said. There was no glint of humor in his face now. “I like her,” he said.

Buffy clamped down her jaw. Through clenched teeth she said, “Better have more than just like.”

“Buffy!” Dawn said.

Her body quaked. “He’s Angel’s son,” she shouted.

Behind Buffy, William opened the door.

“Did the battle for earth begin already, or did Andrew forget the soy milk?” he asked.

William scanned their tense expressions and surmised the cause. He stepped up beside Buffy, folded his arms menacingly and said. “Well, well. Let’s have a look at Jack and Sally.”

“Guess what they’ve been up to?” Buffy said.

“Bet it’s nothing to do with playing cards,” he said.

“Well, Dawn. What do you have to say for yourself?” Buffy asked.

Dawn folded her arms and said, “Just that you sound exactly like mom.”

Buffy opened her mouth to argue, but then shut it again with a snap. She pointed an accusatory finger at Dawn and then at Connor. “We will talk about this later,” she said. That said, she whirled and stormed from the sitting room.

William caught up with Buffy in the kitchen, where she was hastily downing a super tall glass of milk. When she finished, she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.

“Don’t say it,” Buffy said once she caught her breath.

“Buffy,” he said. His eyebrows arched high on his forehead.

“You have Worry Face,” she pouted.

“There may not be a later,” he said.

“You think I should proceed with the terse lecture then?” Buffy asked.

William smoothed his hands down her arms. “No,” he said soothingly. “No. Go easy on the girl. Because there may not be a later.”

Buffy’s shoulders slumped. “I told you not say it,” she said.

“No harm in an innocent snogging the night before the end of the world,” he said. “Y’know, panic response. All perfectly normal.”

“You are not helping,” Buffy said. She sulked.

William ran his fingers through her hair. “I understand, you know. The fear. What we’re about to face. What we stand to lose. But we have had worse.”

She put her hands on her hips. “When?” she asked.

“Well, we don’t have a vampire chained up in the basement. So II'd say that’s a step up…”

He looked down at her, into her eyes that looked back at him. He felt his heart pounding in his throat and his fingertips went inexplicably numb. He was leaning to kiss her when she stopped him.

“Promise me,” she whispered.

His lips brushed hers. “Anything,” he said.

“Promise there will be a later.”


They could hear Giles, Willow and Maya climbing the basement stairs, carrying on an animated yet vague conversation about circles of protection. Plans were already in motion, plans that would carry them two hours south and several hundred meters underground where someone’s blood would spill.
Odds were, it would be hers.

Soon, Faith, MK and Anjelica joined them in the kitchen. MK set about making breakfast from everything that remained in the kitchen while Maya and
Willow continued to debate whether enduring circles of protection could be used on moving objects like cars and airplanes. By the time Dawn came downstairs, her eyes flashing dangerously with the righteous indignity of the wrongfully accused, the kitchen was filled with a brisk, mechanical kind of tension. No one wanted to say anything. For that, Buffy was silently grateful. What could they possibly say, anyway?

Maya passed around platefuls of buttered toast, microwaved tofu squares and black currant yogurt.

Dawn plucked moodily at the crust of her toast.

“I guess no one’s hungry,” she said, looking around at the sullen lot of them, none of whom had touched their food.

Maya ventured a brave face. “We should eat,” she urged. “Need our strength, don’t we?”

“When will Xander be back?” Dawn asked, cutting across her.

Willow shook her head. “Dunno, Dawnie. Soon, maybe. He has a cell phone, though. In case there’s trouble.”

“I don’t think he should go,” Buffy blurted. Willow and Dawn looked scandalized, but she went on despite their looks of disapproval. “Andrew, either. And Giles...”

“We have already discussed this, Buffy,” Giles said. “You go, we all go.”

“Don’t be bloody stupid,” Buffy shouted. “You can barely stand, with your... blood loss. Andrew and Xander: they’re human. You three need to stay here. Protect the house...” she finished lamely.

“There’s nothing here to protect, if you lot aren’t in it,” William said.

Buffy glared at him for not taking her side, but one sweep around the room told her it was no good. She wasn’t about to win this argument.

“You go. We all go,” Willow said delicately. “Eat your breakfast.”

Buffy looked glumly at her plate. It wasn’t exactly what she hoped to have as a last meal, but Maya was right. They did need their strength.


“I told you no one would give a feather about that ruddy bird,” Lorne said. He peered ahead into the alley between a Thai walk-up restaurant and a garage forecourt, then motioned the others to follow him onto the street.

“Then why did she want me to protect Clarisse so bad if no one was out to get her?” Andrew shot back. He had been sure that they would find an apartment full of scattered black feathers when they’d turned up at Lorne’s to check on Nighna’s soul-bound bird. When they arrived to find Clarisse unharmed and sulky as ever, Andrew had felt somewhat maltreated.

“I never said that no one was out to get her,” Lorne said hoarsely as he led the way up the quiet street. “Merely that her enemies would have flown the coop by now. Kimaris don’t live to be several millennia old by hanging around during apocalypses. They are what we in the demon world call skedaddle specialists.”

“Is that a technical term?” Xander asked.

“Loose jargon, my friend,” Lorne said. “This is King’s Cross. The station should be...”

Andrew, Xander and Lorne drew up short behind Oz.

“Great Magneto’s ghost,” Andrew said. “What is that?”
Xander squinted into the milky fog that clung to the bare trees up the street. A pair of headlights, slightly askew, beamed at them from several blocks up.

Oz sniffed the air. “Tour bus,” he said.

“You sure?” Xander asked, still trying to make sense of the fuzzy shape in the fog. Then he heard a garbled scream coming from the direction of the lights that made his heart leap in his chest. Oz was charging ahead before the others realized what was happening.

Oz arrived at the mouth of an alley. The stench of dead things struck Oz first, but it was the grisly scene that knocked Xander’s knees from beneath him. By his count, there were six vampires and two victims. The first lay face down with his arms twisted the wrong way around behind his back. The sleeves had been ripped from his shirt. Distinct marks that could only be made by fangs perforated the man’s skin.

Lorne and Andrew skidded to a halt beside Xander. They each seized an arm and hauled him to his feet. The vampires were too busy draining their second victim, the bus driver by the looks of his uniform, to notice them.

“Ah, God,” Andrew moaned. “It’s like something out of Silent Hill.”

He backed away from the alley dragging Xander, and thereby dragging Lorne. Oz followed, standing guard, all of his werewolf senses tingling.

“Good fortune’s with us,” Andrew said. “Key’s still in the ignition. They probably just stopped in at King’s Cross to refuel for the day’s tours...”

“Good fortune?” Xander said. “Not for them it isn’t. Shouldn’t we do something?”

“What can we do? Can you bring back the dead?” Oz asked. He seemed to consider for a moment, then said, “That was rhetorical.”

“Andy’s right,” Lorne said. “Best we can do is get out of here, before they catch our scent and decide on a third course. Besides, it’s almost daylight.”

“But they’re vampires...” Xander said.

Lorne shoved him toward the bus. Andrew was already behind the wheel. “That guy’s too far gone,” Lorne said.

“Let us not forget Typhoid Amy and Thellian’s plan to take over the world one vampire at a time,” Oz said, hopping on board. “We’re lucky they are all we’ve seen.”

With Xander and Lorne on the bus, Andrew twisted the crank that sealed the doors behind them.

“Slide out,” Xander said. “I drive.”

Andrew laughed in a hollowly theatrical way. “Stand aside, squib,” he boomed. Then, in his regular voice, he added, “This is my ship.”

“No, seriously,” Xander said.

Lorne tugged on Xander’s sleeve. “Better take your seat, Ahab,” Lorne said, pointing out of the frosty window.

The squeal of the closing bus door had roused the vampires. There were seven of them, not six, and they had all gathered on the sidewalk, leering at them with their bloodied fangs.

“Oh for God’s sake – Drive!” Xander shouted.
Andrew slammed the bus into reverse, hammering the pedal at the same time. The sudden motion flattened Lorne and Xander. Oz bounced over the first seat as the bus lurched jerkily over the bench it had straddled. Andrew twisted the steering wheel hard left and floored it.

Xander peeked through his fingers. “Not left! Not left you id...”

There was a sickening crunch, followed by a couple of jostling thuds as the tour bus plowed over the bench and several of the vampires before Andrew corrected course, turning them back into the proper lane of traffic.

By the time Lorne and Xander plucked up the courage to stand, Andrew was cruising along, grinning and quite pleased with himself. The streets ahead were relatively empty, so that maneuvering the rather bulky tour bus was not the challenge it might have been. The sun appeared like a molten disc between the buildings. It would burn its way through the morning’s chilly fog, forcing the vampires underground and putting an end to their immediate fears.

“How many do you figure you got?” Oz asked, when he could talk again.

“I dunno,” Andrew said. He breathed out a shaky sigh. He glanced at them briefly in the over-large rearview mirror before returning his eyes to the road. “Only a spare.”

Lorne patted Andrew’s shoulder.
“Mission accomplished,” Xander said, sliding into the seat behind Andrew. “Secured transportation, and took out a few hostiles in the bargain. Good man.”

This heartened Andrew so much that by the time he’d successfully navigated the tour bus to Meteor Street he was whistling a jaunty rendition of the old Star Trek theme. Things didn’t seem so dire once they were home. Nighna’s soul was safe, the sun was shining and the Flat hadn’t burned to the ground in their absence. Plus they had a bus big enough to deliver them all safely and comfortably to Stonehenge.
Maybe things weren’t as bad as they seemed...



“This is bad,” Buffy said. She stood in the doorway of the house, looking down into the expectant faces of Xander, Andrew and Lorne.

“But it’s transport big enough for all of us...” Xander said.

“And is in no way conspicuous,” Buffy said.

“Oh dear Lord,” Giles said as he joined her on the front step.

“But it’s not bad,” Andrew explained. He felt strangely diminished standing between Buffy, who was decked out in her hip-length leather coat with silver-tipped stakes jutting from her pockets, and the double decker tour bus he had managed to procure. “It’s good. See? It’s a tour bus. We can change the sign to match our destination. Very non-conspicuous.”

Dawn slipped between Giles and Buffy, hands on her hips.

“Just like you, Andrew. Big with the overkill,” she said, disapproval darkening her features.

“Wait, now. Hold up,” Lorne said, pushing his way between Xander and Oz. “We all thought...”

But Andrew had squared off with Dawn. He crossed his arms and glowered. “Did you just turn my glowing achievement into a character flaw?” he asked.

“If the cape fits, Superboy,” she sneered. She lingered on the bottommost step, giving her the full advantage of height.

After several tense moments of heated staredown, Andrew was the one to back away.

“We so don’t have time for this,” he said. He still glared from beneath his tightly squinched brows, and his face was still wore a dull pink flush, but he was backing down. There was a modest dignity in his retreat that Buffy had to admire. It was an earmark of maturity that she had witnessed before. She’d seen it in Spike.

“You’re right,” Buffy said. “We don’t have time. The bus will suit us fine, Andrew. It’s a bit... bulky, but we’ll manage. We only need it for a couple of hours anyway.”

“Thanks, Buffy. Back to you,” Andrew said quietly.
Dawn continued to stare coldly at him, and he seemed to squirm under her gaze like an ant under a laser beam.

“Dawn,” Buffy said. “Why not go tell Willow that the bus is here?”

Dawn hesitated a moment longer, then flounced up the front walk in unmistakable Dawn fashion.
After a few seconds of strained silence, Lorne attempted to break the mood. “That is one spitfire you have for a sister,” he said.

“Well, she is a veteran at this whole world ending thing,” Xander said, massaging his neck at the not-so-faint memory of the time Dawn had Tasered him when he had tried to get her out of Sunnydale before their final battle against the First. Not a pleasant trip down memory lane, Xander shook it off and returned his attention to Buffy. “Should we start packing? This baby’s got trunk space you wouldn’t believe...”

“Yeah,” Buffy said coolly, returning to her composed, business-like Slayer exterior. “Load the rock climbing gear and camping stuff into the luggage compartments. But keep the weapons and medical supplies up front. We don’t know what we’re driving into.”


The ride south to Amesbury was a somber one, a fact not helped along by the presence of pointy weapons within arm’s reach of everyone. Andrew drove, having won the task by simply keeping hold of the keys. At the onset, Faith and Dawn reminisced lightly about the day they rode out of Sunnydale in a school bus with Buffy clinging to its roof. That story fizzled when William pointed out that he had not made it on that particular trip.

To worsen things, a slate of ice-blue clouds banked in the Northeast, threatening sleet and slicing winds. But Maya, always one to see the bright side, pointed out that they would be underground where rain would be of no consequence.

Buffy sat in the sideways facing seats at the front of the bus. She had to wonder about the storm clouds; would they provide enough cover for the supervamps to attack them before they reached Amesbury? She wondered how long it would take for the vampires to find them, once they were inside the archive beneath Stonehenge. Or would they simply have an entourage to greet them. It seemed likely; Thellian and Angel had plenty of advanced warning. Her eyes searched the countryside for signs of devastation, for evidence that Thellian’s vampire army had taken to destroying the picturesque little shopping villages that dotted the moors south of London. She saw nothing, though, that would indicate mass destruction.

As the green and gold shoulders of land streaked by the bus windows, Buffy thought of Boadicea and how her rage brought down one of the most powerful cities in the world. All for the love of her children. Her daughters. Lalaine and Morna.

Buffy had the Scythe across her knees. She gripped it so tightly her knuckles turned white. This was the same weapon Boadicea had used nearly two thousand years ago. Now Buffy would wield it, in defense of her own child...

Buffy looked from the Scythe to the busload of people around her. She had begun to compulsively count them, which was ridiculous, she knew. There were fourteen present; the number was not likely to change while they were en route to Stonehenge. And then, an even more ludicrous thought occurred to her: Here she was, pregnant, on a tour bus packed with weapons, with her closest family and friends (and Andrew) heading into what may be one of the most important battles in history. She hoped the other Slayers in other cities had fared well in their fight the night before. But as always, she knew it came down to them. And they were only fourteen.

God, she thought. This is the longest bus ride ever.

Then, before she knew it, it was over.

They had come full circle.





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