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Willow slowly closed the door to Alec's room and turned, finding Xander standing there.

"Hey, how is he?" he asked quietly.

"He's been better, but he's sleeping now. Buffy and Dawn are with him to make sure he doesn't freak out any more and hurt himself," Willow replied.

"Yeah, we could all hear him screaming," the young man shuddered. "Not a happy sound."

"Yeah."

"Wills, I'm sorry about, you know, everything."

Willow smiled slightly at her childhood friend and tousled his hair. "I know and it's okay, a lot of that was stuff that's been building up since the days of Oz."

"I never did thank Alec, you know, for knocking me out of the way of that spell."

Willow sighed. "That was a really awful thing I did."

"No argument here."

Willow glared at him and Xander smiled weakly. "But, hey, now you know…"

"…and knowing is half the battle," Willow finished wryly. "Ah, yes, the wisdom of G.I. Joe and afternoons spent waiting for your parents to get home from work in between sessions of playing doctor."

Xander grinned lopsidedly; he'd never actually had the heart to tell Willow that taking out medical textbooks and diagnosing each other diseases was not the typical way children played "doctor", and she remained, to this day, in the dark.

Willow gestured past Xander towards the main room.

"So, what's going on over there?"

Xander looked back. "Oh, DeGanon is putting together a feast in our honor." The carpenter looked very pleased about this. "We get to be fed and told how awesome we are."

Willow looked concerned and she shot a look back at Alec's room. "What about-?"

"Giles and DeGanon are telling everyone Alec was maimed in battle and needs rest; the rest of the gypsies dig the whole 'Klingon honorable wounding' thing so there shouldn't be any problems there."

Willow chewed at her lower lip. 'Maimed in battle' was certainly a creative spin on the truth. She couldn't help but wonder when their once sternly disapproving and tweed-clad parental figure had become so adapt at obfuscating the truth.

Well, now I know where Alec gets it from, she thought glumly.



Hours later that night, they had all assembled in the meeting hall, which had been cleaned and transformed into a kind of massive fest hall. A huge wooden table dominated the room; it had been moved by several gypsies and two Slayers. The table was laid out extravagantly with fruit, baskets of bread, roasted meat, wine and water, and all manner of confectionaries. DeGanon sat at the head of the table, draped in his finest Romanian silks. Buffy and Giles sat on either side of him, followed by the rest of the Scooby gang, surviving gypsies, and youths.

DeGanon raised his glass. “A toast!” he cried.

Everyone raised their glasses.

“To the Slayer and to their companions, who fought and bled by our sides! From this day forth, let all who sit at this table be regarded as family of the tribe Spaarti!”

There were cheers as everyone drank from their goblets.

Angel sat down a goblet of water and spoke quietly. “Does that include everyone?”

There was a hush as the gypsies turned to regard the vampire that had so wronged them, so long ago. DeGanon thought for a while, then lifted his glass again.

“Let it be, from this moment on, that the tales of the vampire Angelus and his brutality be wiped clean. Instead, let the tales of the vampire, Angel, and his heroism this day, replace them,” he declared solemnly.

Everyone lifted their glasses again as Angel looked down, touched, a small smile on his lips.

“Hear, hear!” Xander cried out, trying to break the solemn atmosphere that had descended onto the feast. The table laughed as Anya sent him a ‘You’re so cute,’ look across the table.

“This fare is truly sumptuous, Lord DeGanon,” Giles spoke up. “But I’m afraid time is of the essence.”

DeGanon nodded, made a sound of agreement through a mouthful of food, and gestured.

“Tomorrow, after we have all rested, I will take you to Pan, who is our most talented technomancer. I am sure he will be able to decipher the sigil.” DeGanon’s face split into a broad grin. “But for now - eat! Eat and grow strong, my sisters and brothers!” he gestured to the table. “Then honor us with your presence for the day. We have many beds and all are warm and firm!”

Xander picked that moment to yawn loudly, making everyone laugh.

“Sleep sounds very doable,” he said wearily.

Faith nodded. “I could go for a little horizontal sabbatical myself,” she commented.

DeGanon nodded, assuring the group. “Then eat your fill and you will be shown to your beds.”

There were several happy sounds at his proclamation as the assembled heroes ate their fill.

Suddenly a door banged open. Everyone jumped at the sound and turned.

Alec limped into the room at a slow, painful shuffle. The left side of his face, neck and chest were heavily bandaged and his arm was in a sling. Bare-chested, with a thin blanket wrapped around his shoulders like a shawl, he padded into the gathering room which had grown deathly quiet at his arrival; people looked down and away, or focused on their wine or food, rather than gape slack-jawed at the disfigured youth.

Carefully, he took a goblet of wine from the table with his good hand and raised it up, taking in all those assembled with a look from his good eye.

"To the wounded," he rasped, "and the fallen, and to those that gave all they could and more - thank you."

"I'll drink to that," Buffy declared loudly, helping to shake off the sepulchral atmosphere her brother had brought to the room.

He smiled slightly and turned to her, raising his glass to her in a silent toast.

Dawn tentatively picked up her glass and raised it to him in toast, shyly, a tentative smile on her lips. Willow did the same and the three girls exchanged a look of pleasure at Alec's recovery.

Alec turned back to address the Romani.

“These men were brave and trusted in my ability to lead them and to see them through safely. Would that I could have…”

He frowned then, uncertain, as if looking for a word he couldn’t find. The others shared confused looks.

“Would that I could have-”

…and with a crash, he fell backwards, slamming hard into the table and slumping into a sitting position.

His sister was the first to reach him and she placed a strong hand on his wounded arm, then drew her hand back with a gasp as she felt something wriggle underneath the bandages.

Alec saw the look and was pierced by a deep sense of shame and self-loathing.

“Don’t touch me!” he hissed at Buffy.

Buffy pursed her lips together and got a solid grip on the man, shoving down her revulsion.

“You’re not the boss of me,” she said impudently as she hauled the man to his feet and, along with the others, helped her brother carefully into a chair. "You need to eat.”

"Haven't been able to eat much lately," Alec said, agreeing.

He took a few experimental bites of roast and smiled, pleasantly surprised that he was able to keep it down. The others began eating anew as DeGanon smiled broadly.

"To the Dark General, who honors our victorious dead and shows us that strength lay not in flesh but in what lays beneath," he declared loudly as he raised his glass to toast Alec.

Alec returned the gesture, but his chewing slowed as an unpleasant thought occurred to him.

What lays beneath, indeed…



An hour or so later, exhausted, Alec and Willow dragged themselves back into their makeshift bed, and collapsed. Willow smiled drowsily and wrapped her arms around him. He smiled and stroked her arm, then he stopped to peer at his own intently.

The arm had sprung blades earlier that night when Dawn had been in danger. These weapons had never appeared before. Was this some work of her being the Key and in danger and him reacting in some strange new way? Or was it simply because they were both scared out of their minds at the time? He sighed and closed his eyes, letting sleep take him.



The group got underway shortly before sundown, each of them having desperately needed sleep. DeGanon lead them through a myriad of sewer tunnels, before climbing up a ladder and lifting a manhole cover. Climbing to the street, DeGanon helped Buffy up out of the sewer. The Slayer stretched her arms and inhaled deeply.

“My GOD, I never thought I’d be so happy to see the sky again,” she exclaimed.

Faith, Giles, Willow, Xander, and Anya followed.

“Yeah, nothing like spending a night in the sewer to make you appreciate the merits of fresh air,” Xander commented wryly, chuckling.

DeGanon started back down the hole, then hesitated to give final instructions.

“I will have Spike and Angel meet you back at the club, after your meeting with Pan.” He gestured towards what looked like an abandoned warehouse. “Just go in there. He’s down the first flight of stairs, he’ll be expecting you.” DeGanon smiled slightly. “Just do not let his appearance startle you,” he added enigmatically.

Buffy frowned.

“What do you mean his-” she started to ask, but DeGanon had disappeared back down the hole.

The older Slayer sighed and turned to Giles.

“Giles? Why is everyone so weird?” she asked plainly.

Giles shrugged. “Because God has a very distinct sense of humor?” he offered weakly.

Buffy chuckled and turned back to the decrepit warehouse.

“Looks cozy, huh, B?” Faith commented.

Buffy snorted in reply. “A regular love nest. Think there’ll be any trouble?” she asked, turning to Giles once more.

The Watcher shook his head.

“No. Like DeGanon said, Pan is expecting us,” he replied.

Angel quietly walked over to them.

“We’re part of the tribe now, Buffy,” the vampire interjected. “They won’t betray us for any reason,” he finished solemnly, still in awe of his newfound exoneration in the eyes of the Romani.

Buffy nodded.

“All right, let’s go get this thing unraveled so we can hurry up and nuke the Hellmouth,” she replied, heading towards the warehouse.



The interior was dimly lit, dust an inch thick settled against all available surfaces. Weeds and crabgrass hung like curtains around the room. Anya brushed some away.

“Well, I’ll say this for this Pan, his interior decorating skills are sorely lacking,” she muttered.

Xander smirked. “All bow, the Martha Stewart of the demon world has spoken.”

He bowed sardonically, earning a nasty look from Anya. Buffy shushed them as she knocked on a grime-covered door, sending dust flying up into her face and causing her to cough.

“It’s open!” a voice from the other side of the door said.

Buffy gave the doorknob a hard twist and pulled the door open… and fell back suddenly as a wave of humidity washed over her. She frowned in disbelief and stared at the other side of the door - it was drenched in condensation. She gestured for the others to wait there as she, Willow, who had the stone, and Giles descended down into the basement.

Willow inhaled deeply. “Mmm… I love how it’s smells in here. It’s so fresh and alive,” she commented.

“Thank you,” the voice called out from the bottom of the stairs.

Buffy crouched down and peered out from the stairwell. A young man sat in a chair, surrounded by computers and plants. He had deep brown skin and straight hair that, unless Buffy was mistaken, was a deep green. He was seated in a chair that was completely covered in vines and a blanket was casually draped over his lap. He didn’t get up as he gestured for them to come over and be social. He smiled up at the three.

“Hi!” he greeted cheerfully, sticking out a hand. “I’m Pan,” he introduced himself.

Buffy took his hand, noting how odd the skin felt; the texture was very rough. She frowned in puzzlement before smiling in return.

“Hi, I’m Buffy,” she gestured. “This is Giles and Willow.”

Pan grinned.

“Ah, the Slayer, her Watcher, and the mighty witch - I’ve heard so much about you. Please,” he gestured to a few stools that were also entwined with thick green vines.

Buffy carefully swept one clean before sitting down. Willow was still gaping at her surroundings.

“This place is amazing! It’s like a greenhouse,” she closed her eyes and inhaled the clean air. “And I love this air.”

Pan grinned and gestured to a row of humidifiers.

“They keep the air moist for the plants.”

He gestured to a vast number of potted plants surrounding the room, now wildly overgrown and yet still possessing a certain untamed beauty to them.

“You’re a gardener?” Buffy asked, suddenly wondering if perhaps DeGanon had sent them to the wrong person.

Pan chuckled.

“I’m a lot of things. Like a tree, my interests branch in many different directions.” He gestured to the computer screens. “I’ve always believed that Mother Nature and technology can work hand in hand together.” He patted the vine-encrusted monitor with something resembling affection. “I’ve tended my gardens well, both of root and vine, and of silicone and plastic.” He turned back to the group. “But I understand you have something for me to look at?” he asked mildly.

Willow snapped herself back into reality as she fished around in her pocket for the gem. She pulled it out and held it before them. The gem flared to life displaying the mystical fractal before them. Pan put unusually long fingers to his chin in thought as he peered at it.

“Hmm, yes, that’s definitely gypsy magic, but,” he frowned, “I don’t see how any gypsy could have had access to something this elaborate. It’s like a Monet done in Crayola,” he frowned up at them. “Where did you get this again?” he asked.

“A very long story, I’m afraid,” Giles replied. “What did you mean by ‘a Monet in Crayola?”

Pan turned back to the ghostly fractal.

“For information as… elaborate… as this is, using something as crude as Gypsy magic or graphical representation, such as encoding, is hardly efficient.” He put his hands together. “It’s like taking a diesel engine and sticking it into a golf cart. It’ll work, just not very well. Magic of this sort should not be contained in such crude methods of conveyance, especially when there are much more suitable methods of expression.”

“Such as?” Giles asked.

Pan looked up at him and struggled to explain.

“Powerful magic, seriously powerful magic, like this here, can not be recorded conventionally; it would fill entire libraries of books if someone tried to break it down into words. So, you can do other things with it: you can turn it into a picture, like this one here, you can forge it into an artifact, you can even inscribe it into someone’s soul, turning that person into sort of a living spell book.”

“Like the Key?” Buffy asked, trying to be casual.

Pan snorted and nodded.

“THE Holy Grail of construct magic,” he replied.

Giles frowned. “Construct magic?”

Pan nodded.

“Yeah, it goes back to what I was talking about earlier about truly powerful magic. Some spells are so potent that they actually attract life force. So, you can have a tree or an animal that is actually nothing more than a very powerful spell that evolved into a life form. It may not even be aware that it is living magic.” He paused for thought. “The Key is like that. It is vast magical power that was able to grow beyond its normal limitations. No one knows who made the Key, certainly nothing that had a body, but as the Key grew and matured, it became more like a living thing than a magical formula. It existed for eons accumulating more life force, eventually it was, well… born into the world, having conjured up enough life force to manifest physically in this world.”

“Dawn, my sister, she’s the Key,” Buffy informed him.

Pan’s green eyes opened in shock.

“The Key is here?” he asked.

Buffy nodded. “She doesn’t have a clue as to what she is. All we know is that we need her, and a couple of other things, to destroy the Hellmouth. Also, the Hellmouth needs her in order to escape from underground,” she explained.

Pan shook his head in wonder.

“Incredible, the Key - one of the most powerful creations of magic ever! And it’s on this plane of existence!” he laughed and shook his head. “I wish I could see her.”

Buffy shrugged. “Why not? She’s with the gypsies, taking care of a sick friend. We could go up and make introductions.”

Pan smiled indulgently.

“I don’t think that,” he pulled the blanket slowly off his lap, “would be entirely successful,” he finished wryly.

Buffy and Willow looked down and gasped; Giles leapt to his feet and stared in wonder. Below Pan’s waist, his body terminated into a stump.

A large brown and green tree stump.

For a while, Buffy just stared in awe at the massive roots that made up the stump of wood growing out of the earth and ending in the grinning person in the chair. She could see vines growing out of the base of the stump; her eyes followed them and she looked straight up, gasping. Above her was an intricate latticework of vines and roots, completely covering the ceiling.

Willow gaped and turned her gaze back to Pan, who grinned, showing green teeth.

“Like I said, some constructs become animals… or plants,” he informed them.

Buffy stared at him, slack-jawed.

“You’re a plant?!” she asked incredulously.

Pan shook his head.

“No, I’m an incantation, a magical construct that evolved into a plant, and from a plant,” he gestured to his human upper torso, “into this charming person you see before you. Aloe for blood, bark for skin and grass for hair.”

He shook his head and, with a start, Buffy realized that the reason his skin had felt odd was simply because that it wasn’t skin, just as the dark green hair on his head wasn’t hair, but grass.

Giles sat back down, stunned.

“So, you were... an incantation?” he asked cautiously.

Pan nodded.

“I was once a nature elemental spell. A coven of nature priestesses crafted me to defend their land. As time went on, I became more than a spell - I achieved sentience. From there it was pretty simple to grow a body.” He smiled wryly. “Of course, it’s very easy to get carried away. There was a time where I was a forest several acres large. This form,” he smiled wryly, “is much more portable.”

Willow was still stunned. “You were a forest?” she asked.

Pan nodded.

“You can never imagine how it felt to be home for thousands of creatures. The feeling of rain on my leaves, the way a beetle burrowing into my bark tickled,” he grinned. “It was amazing.”

“So, why did you ‘uproot’ yourself?” Buffy asked, punning.

Pan got the joke and grinned, flashing his green ‘teeth’.

“Well, Rome was advancing and doing a lot of damage to the landscape so I packed myself into some flowers and sent my seeds blowing across the winds. One of them just happened to land in Romania, near the Spaarti tribe. I made introductions as soon as I grew a mouth, they took a clipping off me, brought me here, planted me, weaved a little magic, and here I am.”

“Wait a second, ROME?” Buffy asked, askance. “Just how old are you?”

Pan shrugged. “Couple of millennia, not too shabby compared to some redwoods I know.”

Giles shook his head in disbelief.

“So, you can just plant your seed anywhere and you grow?” he asked.

Pan nodded. “Yup. My name is Legion for I am many,” he replied grinning.

Buffy just shook her head.

“Gypsies, talking plants, thousand year old Slayers, crystal animals…” She turned to Giles. “Why didn’t we stay in Sunnydale, where all there were, were your nice garden-variety vampires, werewolves, and hyena people?” She looked back at Pan. “No offense,” she added hurriedly.

Pan grinned. “I’m a tough shrub to offend. Now, then.” He started hitting a few keys with his long brown fingers. “Let’s see if we can translate this thing.” He continued tapping the keys in rapid succession before frowning.

“Well, it’s a map, along with one doozy of an incantation,” he replied.

Buffy peered over at the screen and frowned at a round shiny sphere.

“That’s a map?” she commented incredulously.

Pan frowned before sighing in understanding.

“You mammals with your underdeveloped senses; it’s a wonder you made it past hunting and gathering.”

Grinning, he tapped a few keys, ignoring the look of polite outrage on the Slayer’s face. The silvery ball unwrapped, becoming flat, clearly showing a network of lines leading to…

Pan pointed at the screen. “There we go! ‘X’ marks the spot,” he informed them. “No applause for the miracle man, please.”

Buffy shot him a wry look. “How about I throw some Miracle-Gro or compost?”

Pan grinned. “Mmm, fertilizer, yummy…”

Willow made a face as Buffy turned back to the screen.

“Okay, so where is it?” she asked.

Pan frowned up at the screen.

“Looks like it may actually be here in the city,” he tapped a few more keys. “Underground in a vast subterranean… uh-oh,” Pan stopped, frowning.

“ ‘Uh-oh?’ What do you mean ‘uh-oh?’ ” Buffy demanded.

Pan sighed.

“Well, it’s close by, but it’s not the most accessible of places.” He looked up at Buffy. “It’s smack dab in the middle of the Lazarus cult’s holy burial ground.” He exhaled hard and Buffy felt a wave of exhaustion washing over her.

“Let me guess, this Lazarus cult frowns upon tourists?” she asked, her voice full of dread.

Pan put a finger to his chin thoughtfully.

“You could say that. They have a tendency to mummify intruders alive and bury them.”

Pan turned to the group, as all three of them had looks of utter despair on their faces.

“It’s never something simple,” Buffy complained.

Giles sighed and took off his glasses, pinching at the skin above his nose.

“Let’s… not lose all hope, yet, Buffy.” He turned to Pan. “I thought the Lazarus cult was a myth.”

Pan shook his head.

“Wishful thinking. They practice their shtick out past the Khulghaani’s territory, who, incidentally, won’t go anywhere near the place, claim it’s haunted. Taking into account what I’ve heard about the Lazaraens’ practices, I’m inclined to believe them.”

Buffy sighed. “So what demon do THEY worship?” she asked wearily.

Pan shook his head.

“Oh, no, nothing like that. They don’t worship demons,” he scoffed. “Don’t be absurd.”

Buffy’s eyes perked a little.

“Really?” she asked. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad.

“Nope. The Lazaraens are necrophiliacs. They worship death and the dead,” he replied.

Buffy groaned and sank her head into her hands. Willow looked ill.

“You mean they…” she just couldn’t make herself say it, “…with DEAD people?” she asked, aghast.

Pan shrugged.

“Don’t know. All I do know is their leader, Mercurio, has been searching for the secret to life beyond the grave for quite some time,” he informed them.

Buffy just snorted, not taking her hands from her face.

“Why don’t they just go dig themselves up a vampire?” she commented bitterly.

There was a prolonged silence and Buffy slowly raised her head from her hands to bore her gaze into Pan’s face.

“No…” she whispered dreadfully, getting to her feet. Pan just nodded. “VAMPIRE death-worshippers?” she asked, appalled.

“Makes sense. If you want to learn about death, you first need to die,” Pan explained.

Buffy groaned and sank her head deeper into her hands. Giles cleared his throat.

“These vampires, they’re magicians?” he asked.

Pan shook his head. “Nope. Necromancers, dealing with things like bones and blood and reanimation and wraiths and ghosts and stuff. Creepy bunch,” he informed the Watcher.

Buffy laughed bitterly.

“Of course. Why not? We’ve had everything else on this trip, why not a bunch of death worshipping vampires?” The Slayer asked, exasperated.

She sat down as Pan patted her leg.

“Listen. For the most part, the Lazaraens are scholars; supposedly, they’re not much for actual fighting.”

Buffy didn’t even bother to look up as Willow said exactly what the blonde Slayer was thinking.

“No, they probably have zombies and ghouls and mummies to fight for them,” she toned in glumly.

Pan blushed, his cheeks turning a ruddy green, rather than red.

“Well, yes, there is that,” he admitted reluctantly.

Hitting a button, a copy of the map began to print out, followed by a page with the spell translated into English. Pan tore it off the printer and handed it to Buffy, who took it grudgingly, still fairly unhappy with the most recent turn of events.

“I’ve done a little touch up work on the spell,” he began. “Normally, it would have taken a LOT longer to convert it to written word, but I’ve seen spells like this before, so I took a few shortcuts. It’s a tracking spell; it homes in on a specific magical resonance usually emitted by a place or an artifact. What makes it so powerful is that this thing will track it anywhere - this country, this planet, this galaxy, other planes of existence. If this artifact that you’re looking for exits, this thing will find it.”

He inhaled deeply.

“Anyhow, there’s an entrance into the Deadlands above ground, in a cemetery, unsurprisingly.” Pan sighed. “Just tell DeGanon you’re looking for a passageway to the Lazaraens territory, and, you know, assure him that you haven’t completely lost your mind, and it should be all right.”

Buffy favored him with a glare. “Thanks,” she replied dryly.

She turned to go. Pan reached out and gently touched her wrist.

“Listen, I’ve known a lot of Slayers in my time. Your kind seems to have a knack for beating the odds.” Pan grinned and regarded her friends. “And from what I’ve heard on the grapevine regarding last night’s fun and games, you run with a pretty tough crowd, so, don’t give up. Who knows?” He winked at her. “You may get some help along the way.”

Buffy smiled and stroked the rough bark over his hand.

“Thanks, you’re a nice plant… or spell… or whatever,” she flustered.

Pan grinned and waved her away.

“I’ll settle for being a nice friend, thanks.”

He grinned as Buffy waved goodbye. Willow and Giles also said their goodbyes to the plantman and followed.

Buffy opened the door, revealing the gang anxiously awaiting their return. Xander got to her first.

“Well? What happened?” he demanded.

Buffy opened her mouth to speak.

“A talking plant decoded the fractal, it’s a map that says the Everstone is in the middle of a holy underground graveyard protected by a sect of death-worshipping vampires,” Willow interjected hurriedly. “Oh, and I got a neat spell!” she added as an afterthought.

Xander’s eyes widened as Buffy closed her mouth with an audible clack.

“Thanks, Will,” she replied dryly.

Xander was still trying to puzzle out Willow’s outburst.

“Oh,” he finally said before shaking his head, wrapping an arm around Anya’s waist and heading out the door. “A talking PLANT?” he asked incredulously.

“It’s a long story,” Willow chimed in.

Xander just nodded uncomprehendingly as they left the building. As they left, Buffy turned to Willow.

“Remind me to make sure Dawn isn’t sprouting leaves.”

“Check.”



“So, that’s the plan.”

Buffy concluded to the assembled group back at DeGanon’s sanctuary after picking Spike and Angel up at the club. Everyone looked grim; Spike was just the first to put it into words.

“Let me get this straight, love. You intend to raid a holy burial ground of a bunch of necrophiliac vampires, because an enchanted mulch heap told you so?” he asked aghast.

DeGanon glared at him.

“Pan has been faultless in his counsel to the Spaarti,” he turned to Buffy. “If he says the artifact they seek is in the Lazaraens' territory, then it is so!” he finished.

Spike snorted. “Yeah, or he’s setting us up to be ground into fertilizer, no pun intended.”

Buffy shook her head.

“As far as I could tell, Pan was playing straight with us, he gave us a lot of information about…” she cast a quick look to Dawn, who wasn’t paying the least bit of attention to any of this, “…things that he didn’t have to,” she finished cautiously.

Spike snorted. “Okay, so who gets to go along on this little excursion to a mortician's wet dream?” he asked derisively.

Buffy smiled slightly.

“Myself, naturally.” She turned to Willow. “Willow, you’re doing the tracking spell, so you kinda have to tag along,” Buffy informed her friend apologetically.

The redheaded witch swallowed but nodded.

“I’m going, too,” Angel put in.

Buffy looked up, surprised, but nodded.

“Me too,” Spike chimed in.

Buffy shook her head. “No, I need you and Faith to stay here, in case the Khulghaani come back. They probably won’t, but if they do, DeGanon will need all the help he can get.”

Spike didn’t like it and Faith looked like she was ready to say something, then thought better of it and fell silent.

“I’m coming, too,” Alec said quietly.

Everyone turned to stare at him. Buffy addressed him.

“Bro, I don’t think-“

“I don’t care what you think!” Alec screamed, spittle shooting from his mouth in rage as he slammed his free hand down onto the table. Half the people assembled nearly leapt out of their seats and even Buffy looked startled.

A spurt of black slime burst free from the bandages over the left half of Alec’s face and began to spread like an oozing spider web across his face as more darkness oozed out from between his shaking knuckles.

Gently, Willow put her hand on his trembling arm.

“Alec,” she whispered, “love…”

Alec looked down at his shaking body and drew a long shuddering breath, exhaling slowly. The creeping darkness plastered against his face slowed and then stopped as Willow gently kissed the right side of his head and hair, whispering soothingly to him.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, but focused on Buffy, his voice full of remorse and shame. “It hurts…”

Buffy reached out and squeezed his hand tightly, noticing that the darkness that had been dribbling out of it was now retreating at her touch.

“You have nothing to be sorry for, Alec, it’s okay. Really.”

Alec smiled then and the last of the darkness on his face ceased to bubble, glistening dully and still amongst the torn bandages.

“I can see in the dark,” Alec put in.

“Dude, you’ve only got one arm,” Xander replied very carefully.

Three lances of darkness lashed out of the shadows and speared one, two, three cups on the table. Everyone jerked back as Alec smiled grimly.

“I don’t need arms,” he said simply.

Dawn bit her lip and said nothing as Buffy nodded.

“Okay, then, you’re in, bro, but if you’re coming you are going to get more rest first. I have no interest in aiding suicide,” she said bluntly.

Alec nodded. “Agreed, we should hit the place come tomorrow, so we can make sure that everyone we need to come along is at a hundred percent,” he checked his watch, “besides, it is really late. There’s no way we’d make the trip and make it back before the sun came up, since we have to gain entrance to the Deadlands from above ground.” He turned back to Buffy. “What do you think, sis?”

“Sounds like a good idea,” Buffy reaffirmed

Alec nodded and turned to the group.

“That’s it, then. Buffy, Angel, Willow and I will enter the Deadlands, and try to find the Everstone.”

Alec's tone was grim. This was not going to be easy. With a sigh, he pushed his chair away from the table.

“Is that all? Then I recommend we get some rest,” he looked around, “some of us are still a little banged-up from the Khulghaani assault and those who are heading out tomorrow need to be at their peak.” He sighed. “Sounds like anything else is a death wish waiting to happen.” He got to his feet and headed for the door.

Buffy sighed. “Thank you, Alec, for that overwhelming vote of confidence,” she muttered, trying to distract herself from just how frightened she really was.

“That reminds me, Alec, stop by and see me before you turn in for the night; we’re going to have to change your dressings.”

Alec nodded and headed out into the hallway, aided by Angel. Buffy got up from the table, about to leave, when Faith flagged her down.

“Hey, B, you got a minute?” she asked.

Buffy frowned, but nodded. “Yeah, sure, Faith, what’s up?” she queried.

Faith looked back and forth before speaking in a hushed tone.

“You and I are cool, right? Five by five?” she asked, the younger Slayer looking a little worried.

Buffy frowned, but nodded.

“Sure, I mean, you’ve pulled your weight between the bar, the Estate, and last nights attack. You’ve been proactive with group participation, why?” she asked puzzled.

Faith sighed. “It just seems like I’m getting left behind a lot, that’s all. Like you don’t want me around,” she confessed.

Buffy instantly understood and placed a reassuring hand on Faith’s shoulder.

“It’s not that I don’t want you around,” Buffy began. “It’s that I need someone to stay behind who can really fight.” She cast a look at the group that was beginning to disperse. “Aside from Spike, all our heavy hitters are coming with me tomorrow morning for some crypt raiding.” She turned back to Faith. “I need someone, who can really handle themselves in battle. I need a Slayer,” she finished.

Faith sighed in relief and, managing a cocky grin, saluted the other woman.

“I’m your babe, B, have stake, will travel,” she assured her.

Buffy turned to go and Faith suddenly reached out and put a restraining arm on her shoulder.

“Buffy?” she asked.

Buffy turned around, startled. It had been the first time in a while she could remember Faith calling her by her name.

“Yeah?”

Faith looked down and sighed hard.

“The last time I wanted to say this, you threatened to beat me to death, but… I’m really, really sorry.” She looked up at the blond Slayer and Buffy was shocked to see tears forming in her dark eyes. “For everything. I just… I needed you to know that. I needed to know that I could say it and really mean it.”

Buffy’s face softened and, as she wordlessly gathered the other woman in a tight hug, Faith broke down.

“Oh, God, Buffy, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry!” She sobbed hard against the other woman, sinking to her knees, Buffy cradling her all the way down to the floor. “I’m so, so sorry!” Scarred in body and mind, Faith convulsed with hard, painful sobs and shook with misery as Buffy gently rocked her back and forth and stroked her hair soothingly.

“Shhh, it’s okay Faith. It’s going to be okay.” She kissed the younger Slayer on the head as the woman continued to wail in anguish.

From the hallway, Alec and Angel watched the scene with deep tenderness mixed with awe. Alec turned to the vampire.

“Long cry from the scene at the Magic Box less than a week ago, isn’t it?” he commented quietly.

Angel just stared. “I’ve been waiting for this for over a year.” He gestured to the sobbing Slayer and the woman she’d wronged consoling her.

“What’s that mate?” Alec asked.

“Forgiveness,” he replied before turning and leaving.

Alec smiled slightly at the vampire’s words; he wasn’t talking about just forgiveness for Faith just then, and followed, leaving the Slayers alone.





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