Part 8a, Worth Suffering

It was a "normal" night out, a time-out suggested by Giles after another tiring, unproductive research session. At the very least, he argued, it was part of their strategy to offer no clue Dawn was any different than what she appeared to be. Tonight it meant doing non-guardy-over-Dawn activities, no matter how much Buffy itched when Dawn was not glued by her side.

Buffy sat at a low round table in the Bronze, alone for the moment, pensively watching her friends among the dancers on the floor. Within the crowd nearest were Willow and Tara. With a slight shift of her shoulders and a swirl of dancers she caught a glimpse of Xander and Cordelia dancing together, causing her brow to rise a bit. Those two sure seemed to be in each other's pockets more and more each day, even accounting for sharing an apartment.

Buffy sighed wistfully, thinking of other changes in her situation. She missed Riley, prayed for his safety, wondering if he would keep his promise to return. And if so, would she still want him or he still want her? Unbidden, a memory of one of their earliest arguments resurfaced, reminding her how difficult she had sometimes made it for him:

"The way people manage is, they don't do it alone. They pull each other through."

She shuddered at her fatalistic, dismissively glib and condescending response. So invested in her "sacred mission", its responsibilities and most likely outcome, she had missed the grain of truth in his observation. You can't do it alone and you don't have to.

She sighed again.

Her friends out on the floor, the ones who'd helped her become one of the greatest slayers ever, were now a constant reminder that if she had tried to go it alone with the slaying, fighting Glory, dealing with Dawn, helping her mom, she would have been completely spent and empty long ago. An incoherent Buffy-zombie, useless to herself, family and friends, and the mission. Even with their help she still felt weighed down all the time.

She resolved again to tamp down her instinctual reluctance to accept assistance, and to let them help in whatever way possible, things slayer-y and non-slayer-y. After all, she was part of 'Team Slayer', as Xander jokingly re-dubbed the group, and now had a greater appreciation for Riley's point of view. Real friends meant you shared your troubles, even the supernatural variety.

The music set ended and she shoved aside the deep thinking and was all smiles when Willow and Tara returned to sit by her, followed by Cordelia on the other side of the table. Xander remained standing and clapped his hands together, rubbing them briskly. "Who's up for more liquid libations?" he asked gleefully.

"Libations?" Willow reacted quizzically, looking around at the others to get their reaction.

Cordelia rolled her eyes. "He just learned that word today doing the crosswords. We're going to have to deal for awhile."

"Yes you are! For I am 'Mr. Generosity' on payday Fridays, and since I'm buying the next round of-wait for it...," Xander grinned childishly "Libations!-you can all suck it up and suffer!"

Chin on fist, Buffy turned toward Cordelia. "What's it like having a child for a roommate?" she asked with innocent sweetness.

Cordelia's head dropped into her hand in melodramatic mock sorrow. "It's a difficult, trying, and thankless misery. I often wonder if he's worth half the rent but all the suffering." She sighed. "I'll manage. Somehow. Maybe."

While Cordelia and Buffy were having their byplay Willow was rummaging through her bag and dug out a bottle of aspirin, shaking it gently to rattle the extra-strength pills. She looked up at Xander expectantly. "Water?"

Xander snorted. "Hah!" he dismissively scoffed, waving his hand, "Water poses no challenge for Mr. Generosity, for-oh," Xander stopped, dejected at the lack of challenge water would present his recently acquired yet temporary super-power. "Water's free, isn't it?"

Tara nodded somberly. "Even in California still."

"Well fine, be that way!" he groused. Xander's expression brightened immediately when he turned to the others. "How about the rest of you?"

They each let him know which "libation" they wanted, one which really would be a challenge to his generosity, and off he went, threading his way through the crowd toward the bar to face-off with the nefarious and evil barista and test if his Generosity powers could still yet win the day.

"We should get him a cape," observed Buffy. Tara nodded her agreement.

"You guys really hate me, don't you?" groaned Cordelia.

Tara patted the back of Cordelia's hand. "We only hurt the ones we love."

"You're loving me to death!"

Tara and Buffy grinned their amusement at Cordelia's expense. Willow nodded again but stopped quickly. Tara noticed the grimace Willow was trying to hide, running her hand up and down her arm gently.

"How bad are the headaches, Will?" asked Buffy.

Willow closed her eyes and allowed another spasm of pain to wash through her, rolling her shoulders and trying to relax and let it pass. "Fewer and further between. And less painful. But, yep, they're still exercising their stomping rights."

"Honey, in case you didn't hear me the first ten-thousand times, no more teleportation spells." In addition to concern over Willow's current suffering, which she knew would pass in time, Tara also worried about other long-term effects such powerful magic could have on Willow.

Willow smiled weakly. "And I agree with you. It's just we have squat in the way of a Glory-fighting arsenal. Another run-in and headaches and nosebleeds might be the least of our problems."

Correct as Willow was, they had a recent, small but definite victory, and Buffy was determined to feel good about it. "You know what? How about we go tonight without saying the name 'Glory'.

'Here, here," agreed Willow, smiling wanly.

"You've got my vote," Cordelia heartily added.

Tara, getting into the spirit, said, "Let's call 'she who will not be named' something else. Let's call her-"

"Ben!"

Willow and Tara shot Buffy a look.

"OK," murmured Cordelia, "not where I thought Tara was going with that."

Tara nodded her head, agreeing with Cordelia. "But it is something completely different, so points for that!" Still she turned another questioning look at Buffy.

"No, silly. I see Ben over there." Buffy pointed to the far side of the room where Ben, wearing scrubs, sat on one of the Bronze's less reputable sofas, talking to an older man also in scrubs. "Dawn mentioned something about him and I want to thank him." The Slay-business never ended. "I'll be right back." She got up and was out of sight through the crowd by the time Xander returned.

"Hey, where'd Doubting-Buffy go?"

They pointed to where she was just arriving next to Ben.

x-x-x-x-x

"Hey Ben, hi!"

"Oh Buffy, uh...hey, uh hi? Uh..." Ben seemed very uncomfortable to Buffy. Perhaps because he was wearing scrubs inside the bar, she supposed, but that didn't appear to bother the other doctor, clearly amused as he looked on. Ben recovered quickly. "Oh, Dr. Landers, this is Buf-I mean Mrs. Summers' daughter. Buffy, this is Dr. Landers. He works with me at the hospital."

Buffy shook Dr. Landers' hand. "Yeah, I kinda guessed that, y'know, with the blue pajamas you guys are wearing."

Dr. Landers sniffed airily. "I rather think we are trend-setting and ahead of the fashion curve," he commented with good humor, "even if we're so far around the bend no one dares follow." He got up. "I'm on my way to the bar, can I get you guys something?"

Ben gave his order, Buffy declined.

"I thought doctors could afford better than scrubs, but it's all I ever see you wear."

"Oh, you'd be surprised at the extent of my wardrobe," Ben answered ironically.

"Really?"

"Yeah, I have entire outfits that aren't blue pajamas!"

Buffy frowned skeptically.

"Oh, sure!" Ben gazed upwards, recalling the contents of his shared closets (carefully discounting the silk dresses and such that took up 95% of the space). "There's a pair of clean green pajamas, then another in green with a stylish coffee stain on the knee. I have some red ones-no, not blood, that's actually how they come."

Buffy laughed. "Look, I heard from Dawn-you remember Dawn, right?"

Ben suddenly became wary. "Yeah?"

"Anyway, she told me how you helped her."

"Uh huh," he cautiously answered, not meeting Buffy's eyes. Ben didn't remember anything after his initial warnings to Dawn and involuntary withdrawal, and was extraordinarily relieved to find out she was unharmed. He did wonder where the shark tooth came from.

"And I just wanted to say," Buffy ducked her head, "thanks."

Ben was confused. "For...?"

"For keeping an eye on her at the Espresso Pump. Giving her time to get her head straight." Buffy couldn't know she'd gotten some salient details wrong, she just knew Dawn had appreciated Ben's calming presence and what he'd done for her. Glory appearing at the same time and place didn't seem to connect with either of them.

But it connected with Ben. Thanking his luck, both that Dawn was safe, and that Buffy apparently didn't suspect any connection to Glory, he decided to run with it as best he could. He smiled sheepishly. "That's OK. I'm glad Dawn's all right. I'd miss her constantly asking me medical questions I can't answer, so it was self-interest as much as anything," he said in his best "Aww shucks, t'weren't nuthin!'" voice.

They chatted for a few more minutes before Buffy returned to her friends.

Whew! That could have gone so badly. Ben forced himself to relax and nearly inhaled his drink in one long gulp when his colleague returned.

x-x-x-x-x

"Gronk!" yelled Glory as she passed by the supine form of the unconscious, chained-up Drusilla, "Go walk this stinkin' pet again. Find something good or don't come back."

Gronk, with the help of several others, unbound the vampire and carried her down to the convertible Glory insisted they use for their "walks". Fortunately it was late evening and the sun had set. Once shackled into the back seat they splashed holy water on her face and she woke to screaming agony as they started off.

Gronk as navigator unfolded the map used on previous such outings and looked it over carefully.

"This is a waste of time," complained the driver, Karj. "We'll never find anything this way."

Gronk shrugged. "You know that. I know that. Yet her wishes are but our greatest pleasure to do," he answered, still reading the map. "Will you gainsay our Most Brilliant?" He eyed Karj carefully.

Karj slumped. "Of course not."

Gronk pointed to a relatively unmarked area on the map. "Let's try here." Karj peeked over and nodded.

As they threaded through the streets of Sunnydale toward their destination, Karj tried to delicately sound out Gronk on the latest from the rumor-mill. "Have you spoken to Brother Dreg recently?" he asked in an idly curious voice.

Gronk was properly compliant and obsequious in any direct interaction with Glory but he was no simpering fool. He did not know where Karj stood on the matter. Was he a loyalist of Glory's? Was he truly ignorant of the deeper issues swirling about? Or was he of the small but growing number thinking increasingly dangerous thoughts? Did perhaps he truly believe he and his kind had real self-worth? Gronk was very careful with his responses.

"I have. Brother Dreg seems to be recovering well."

Karj nodded along. "Yes, so I've heard. But not from him. He seems often to be with Jinx, thinking. Quietly. Many thoughts they must have shared."

Gronk did not rise to the bait. He too had been...thinking. Many thoughts about the notions Dreg and Jinx had sworn him to confidence. He would not be the one to betray his brothers and sisters in this matter. But he noted to keep an eye on Karj to see which way he truly believed.

After lapsing into silence for several minutes they arrived at the start of tonight's search. They slowly quartered the suburban streets, doubling back wherever necessary to follow previously unchecked side streets and cul-de-sacs. While Karj carefully followed the directions given by Gronk, their two comrades in back paid close attention to the vampire's groans and mumblings as she rolled from side to side with the motion of the car, eyes sliding around at random.

The demons perked up when she began rubbing her eyes, whining about an emerald mist preventing her from seeing where to bite Mrs. Neidermeyer. Karj stopped immediately, tires squealing on the pavement. The two in back leaned forward to look at the map Karj and Gronk were consulting to carefully note their current location.

That was the moment Drusilla was waiting for. She yanked hard on both shackles, breaking the attachments to the seats. The snapping sound drew her captors attention immediately. She didn't bother to fight them off, instead leaping over the back of the car and fleeing down the middle of the street and into a narrow alley. Karj and his companions give chase but were hampered by their short stature and Drusilla's desperation to escape and they quickly fell behind. Knowing their mistress's reaction if told of the escape, they too were desperate and would not give up.

x-x-x-x-x

Buffy looked carefully through the living room window into the shadows outside. She thought she heard a noise, perhaps a car screeching, maybe even a tickle to her slayer "spidy" sense, but she wasn't certain. She frowned, continuing to watch for a few more moments until she heard her mom's footsteps coming down the stairs.

"What do you think of this one?"

Through the curtains Buffy glanced left and right one last time, still seeing nothing remotely suspicious or unusual. She sighed, shook off any vestiges of unease, and turned around to refocus on the evening's big kerfuffle.

Having her elder daughter's full attention, Joyce turned once on her toe, showing off her new black dress.

"Hmm, I like it more than the others. Can you spin around again?" Buffy asked, the disturbance completely forgotten.

Joyce spun again for her daughters' critique.

Buffy pursed her lips. "Ooh, I'm not sure about the pleating. Again, please?" She waved her finger around as she eyed the dress critically. "Now the other way." Buffy circled her finger in the other direction.

Joyce started to pirouette again, then stopped. "You're messing with me!" she scolded.

Dawn, opposite Buffy, grinned and winked at her sister.

Buffy winked back. "We just wanted to see how many times we could get you to do it."

"Get you dizzy and barf!" admitted Dawn, snickering.

Joyce scowled at her daughters even as she hatched a plan for revenge. "But what do you think? I mean really?"

"I like it," Dawn answered.

Joyce turned. "Are you sure, Dawn? I mean, it's not too 'mom'-ish?"

"That's why I like it." The thought of Mom doing un-mom-ish things-dating and, and...'stuff'-was a thought requiring immediate return to the thought-store while the warranty was still good.

Buffy saw her mom glance at the mantle clock. It was near time for Joyce's date to appear. "So what's the plan for tonight?"

Joyce smiled. Now was the moment! "Oh, nothing too fancy." She turned to collect her things lying on the coffee table. "Dinner and then a movie. Or," She paused and put her hand to her chin, pondering. "Or movie first and then dinner? Which might be better because then we could talk about the movie."

Buffy nodded her approval. "Good food and moving pictures, with sound. I've heard they're starting to use color. A tried and very true classic."

Joyce suddenly seemed confused and very uncertain. "Or maybe a movie isn't a good idea, since we're just sitting and being quiet. And it doesn't leave as much time to, you know, cut right to the chase and drag Brian home, throw him to the floor and rip my clothes off before jumping his bones. Yeah, that'll work!" She nodded with certainty. "It's far less pretentious," Joyce rolled her eyes melodramatically, "and, God, I need the sex!"

"ACK! Mom, NO!" Buffy was horrified, her eyes bugging out, the whites showing all around. "I'm gonna have nightmares!"

Dawn cringed, creeped out as much if not more so. "I not even gonna take the chance. I'll live off so much caffeine and sugar I'll never fall asleep!"

Joyce still blithely considered the pros and cons. "Or should I rip his clothes off first? Or should we stay clothed? Darn it, it's been too long." She looked to Buffy for advice. "How do the kids do it nowadays, Buffy?"

"MOM!" Buffy shrieked.

The doorbell rang, announcing Brian's arrival.

"Gotcha!" Joyce smirked as she grabbed up her clutch purse on the way to the door. She stopped at the threshold. "Oh, if you guys are upstairs and still awake when we come back, and you hear furniture breaking, umm...don't come down." She grinned evilly as she left two very stunned daughters on the sofa.

Long moments later Dawn, still shaken and unable to move from the shock, looked sideways at her sister, who appeared equally distressed. "Do we have brain bleach in the laundry room?"

"Let's find out!"

x-x-x-x-x

The chase after Drusilla did not last long. Not only was she still incredibly swift despite long imprisonment and deprivation, but her pursuers were intercepted by a roving band of Knights of Byzantium. Though the Knights outnumbered Glory's followers by a fair margin, Gronk and his comrades defeated them handily, suffering only minor injuries. They had had much experience with these irritating Knights over the many centuries, these fools who never changed their tactics nor improved their skills, who believed if a tactic worked back in the middle-ages against human foes then it must still work today.

The Knights did achieve an unintended victory in the sense Glory's minions were delayed enough they lost the vampire's trail. They did not look forward to informing their mistress of tonight's events. Karj and one of the others grumbled quite vocally about Glory's failed plan for using the vampire. They griped aloud of her lack of urgency as the time drew near.

Gronk remained silent, not discouraging their blasphemy. He realized he and the others of their small cabal might have more allies amongst Glory's followers than they first assumed.

x-x-x-x-x

Tara, finished with her last class of the day, literally ran into Cordelia as she was passing by the business school on the way back to her dorm.

"What have you got there?" Tara asked after an exchange of "excuses me's" and greetings.

Cordelia held up some brochures. "Oh, I was talking to some of the profs back there." Cordelia waved back at the Spanish-style building housing the B-School. "I'm thinking about taking business-related classes, but I don't know if I want a full four-year economics degree, a two-year associate degree, or just maybe some kind of certificate program."

Tara seemed more excited than Cordelia. "You're going to enroll?! That'd be so cool! We could be like the Three Musketeers, Girl-Power!"

Cordelia looked askance at Tara. "Uh, yeah. Well, yeah, we'll see," she replied warily.

Fond of Tara as she was, Cordelia was only looking for a means to an end. She had been running the business side of the Magic Box virtually single-handed and Giles had profusely expressed his gratitude for not needing to be concerned about that, plus he had more time for the research. Her earlier daydreams and casual inquiries had become an actual goal that she was now taking concrete steps toward achieving, a goal of becoming a successful business-woman. In addition to the practical experience she was gaining already, Cordelia wanted to know if UC Sunnydale could provide any useful knowledge.

She looked back over her shoulder at the imposing buildings as she continued. "Anyway, I was just seeing if this faculty is worth listening to. Or maybe I should try an online university."

Tara nodded and grinned at Cordelia's cool reception to her 'Musketeers' comment. "Oh don't mind me, I was practicing my 'over-enthused ingenue' character."

"I'd say you've got it nailed." Cordelia returned back on-topic. "Perhaps I'd throw in some computery stuff so I don't have to keep bugging Willow when Giles' cheap-ass PC has another hissy-fit Blue Screen of Death."

"Blue Screen of Death?" Tara looked confused. "I don't think I've ever heard of that spell. Sounds bad." She shuddered.

Cordelia laughed good-naturedly. "No, no, it's not a spell. It's a thing where your computer stops working and the screen turns blue with mumbo-jumbo words all over it." She turned her head and reconsidered. "Come to think of it, maybe it is a spell, created by the Grand Wizard Gates."

"Yeah, Willow's really good at that stuff. But me, not so much. Don't take it too seriously when I said that stuff about the Musketeers. I really do think you'd do great."

"Yeah, and-" Cordelia stumbled badly, the impact of the vision making her lurch sideways into Tara, both falling to the grass, scattering their belongings. Fortunately they were passing behind a copse of palm trees and nobody noticed. As Cordelia convulsed from the vision's effect, Tara held her gently to keep her from getting hurt. When the twitching and pain subsided and Cordelia was merely moaning Tara was able to get them both up onto a nearby bench.

"We have to go to the hospital!" Tara was very worried. The few times she'd seen Cordelia having a vision looked bad enough. This looked worse, much worse. Cordelia mumbled something that sounded in the negative to her. "But-" Tara protested.

"Giles!" Cordelia only whispered, but she was able to make it a forceful command. She put up her hand to prevent Tara from dragging her up just at that very moment. Something was different about this vision and, if she was interpreting it correctly, they had time. Certainly more than enough Tara wouldn't have to drag an embarrassingly drooling, twitching freak across campus.

x-x-x-x-x

Despite his impatience, Giles was determined to wait for everyone to gather before interrogating Cordelia. He wanted all to hear what she had to say, unfiltered through his possibly biased views, each to draw their own conclusions. Cordelia didn't fight him on the issue, still lying down in the darkened back area to regain her strength and equilibrium, waiting for the headache to pass. Over an hour had passed since the vision and it still felt like a building had fallen on her.

"Cordelia had another vision," he announced when everyone was finally present. He turned to her. "Cordelia, if you can."

She cleared her throat. "This one was different. In a couple of ways. First, it was the most painful one I've ever had."

Tara nodded her head. "She was out cold for several minutes."

Xander jumped up, extremely concerned. Cordelia waved him back. He was about to protest and only a stern glare from her kept him quiet. But still he sat down beside her, taking her hand. "I'm OK now," she said, looking directly at him. Xander was not very relieved.

"But that's not the important thing."

"Dawn?" demanded Buffy.

Cordelia looked over. "Maybe."

Giles coughed gently. "Please, tell it as plainly as you can, with as much detail as you can recall. We'll ask questions if something needs clarification." He reached for his notebook and pencil, ready to record any detail no matter how small.

Cordelia began slowly. "Almost every vision I've had is of the very near future, a few hours, a day or two at most, sometimes just minutes, sometimes not even that. But this one seemed..." she tilted her head slightly, thinking carefully, making sure she correctly phrased the different sensation, "...distant? Weeks, maybe a month. Not the usual here-and-now."

"How can you tell?" wondered Willow.

"There's some sense of time that comes along with the light-and-pain-orama." Now that she thought about it, remembering how much they hurt, Cordelia added, "I think it's something to do with the pain. The nearer they've been the less painful, the later the more painful. Not always, but usually."

Giles made a noise in his throat and nodded his head. "There's a certain logic there." When everyone looked the question he answered, "I obviously don't know much about these visions-a wholly fascinating topic in and of itself, the meta-physics of which could take lifetimes of resear-"

"Giles!"

Giles jumped. "Ah, err...yes. Sorry. Consider: If you think of the visions as a-a form of mystical communication, across time rather than distance, then the further back through time they must travel, from the event-in-the-future to you-in-the-now, the more power required."

Xander nodded. "And it all lands in Cordy's head?" He turned to Cordelia. "Tomorrow we get some tin-foil to wrap around your-OWW" Xander rubbed his shoulder where Cordelia had punched him.

"OWW!" Cordelia rubbed her knuckles where they'd impacted his surprisingly tense shoulder muscles.

"Are you quite done?" inquired Giles. Both meekly nodded. "Right. It's less painful to be brushed by a feather than hit by a hammer, but either way someone is trying to get your attention." Giles shrugged. "It's merely a tentative theory, based on few facts. It may not matter all that much." He turned to Cordelia. "But please, do continue."

"You could be right." She shrugged Giles' theory aside. "OK, there's also usually more detail. The perfect image of a building, an address, a name or face. But this one was more," she looked up, "vague. Kinda blurry-like."

Giles nodded along. "That fits. What exactly did you see, vague as it was, as best you can describe?" He continued to scribble his notes.

Cordelia closed her eyes as she sorted out what she could remember through the gauze of pain, like looking at an unfocused flickering picture. "I'm high above a town. I'm certain it's Sunnydale but I couldn't say how I know. The sky is dark, very dark, but it's not nighttime, it's all rolling black clouds. The light is mostly from lightning. Huge demons are flying around, blood and entrails dripping from their jaws. Dark shimmering rays are coming out of this 'hole' in the sky, right above town."

"Isn't the whole sky always right above town?" asked Xander.

Cordelia shook her head in exasperation. "Sheesh, no! A 'hole' hole. An opening. Like the pie-hole in your face that keeps saying stupid things."

"Rays and stuff are coming out of this opening?" asked Willow.

Cordelia turned and nodded. "Yeah. Maybe 'tear' or 'rip' is a better way to describe it. Like a run in your stockings. The edges are glowing, sparkling and flashing in emerald green, and through that I could see a completely different colored sky, red, black and purple streaked, lit real odd with multiple shadows in more colors. It seems like it's just inches in front of me and then infinitely far away, both at the same time. Or sometimes it has no depth, like a drawing, rather than three dimensional. One moment everything is sharp, then the next blurry."

"The portal, maybe? Is that what they look like?" wondered Tara.

Giles' quickly shuffled through some of his papers while the others looked on. "Cordelia," he asked, "don't take this the wrong way, but are your visions always accurate? Never anything that's, err...'off' or incorrect?"

Cordelia took her time answering, recollecting the visions she'd had before and how they compared with the actual scene when she, Angel and Wes arrived. She nodded her head. "Yeah, they are. Sometimes a detail is missing here or there, but it's more like I just didn't notice it, or saw it from a different angle, or didn't understand what I was seeing at first."

"So you say you've had at least two visions that may relate to Dawn, correct?"

Cordelia nodded. "Right, the one that brought me here a few months ago. And this one."

"It's like Cordy and Dawn are connected in some Hellmouthy way," mused Willow, unknowingly echoing Xander's earlier observation. She looked up expectantly at Giles. "Maybe there's something to check and see if it can help?" But Giles had returned to searching through his notes.

Cordelia frowned. "I'm as fond of Dawn as anybody, but I can't imagine what it might be. We only met after she and Buffy moved here, long after she was born."

Buffy had been looking back and forth between them. "Hey! She's my sister!" Buffy had believed it-either wanted to or needed to-from the very beginning.

Xander held up his hands. "Then maybe like second-step-cousins once removed. But something is up with that."

Giles, distracted momentarily, was more cautious. "There does appear to be a s-s-something. But the existence or nature of any supposed connection between two such unrelated people is-" Giles paused. "Well, I have to admit I'm very dubious.

"Let's bring this back to what you saw in your vision, Cordelia, regarding this apparent portal. Based on some references in the Council's notes," Giles fingered a sheaf of papers he had found, "I've been running down leads on inter-dimensional portals in general." He cleared his throat before reading from his notes. "Portals between different realities or universes do not spontaneously appear. Something has to cause one to open, viz-a-viz a 'Key' in our case. But if we accept Dawn as fully human, how can a human be used this way? I need to dig deeper but the text of Sanrah's Final Words, a very old mystic I've been reading, hint she would be the catalyst or conduit through which the power works. She does not actually contain the power within herself but rather guides an external power."

"Where does that external power come from?" asked Tara.

"I don't know," admitted a chagrined Giles. "An-"

"Yeah, yeah, more research," Xander shook his head. "'Research': a shorter way to spell 'how to make your butt hurt by flattening it against hard wooden chairs for hours and hours'." Everything about Glory seemed to be nothing but endless, mind-dulling, butt-flattening, back-aching research, with the occasional break for a few minutes of mortal terror during actual encounters with her.

"Do you have a better suggestion?" Giles snapped. The pressure and anxiety was getting to him too.

Xander held up his hand. "Sorry."

Giles paused a moment and stood to give Xander a reassuring squeeze on the shoulder, nodding in understanding. "I well understand the difficulties presented by Glory. It's times like this when we must remain together, as a team. To save Dawn. To save us all."

Giles sat down again on the hard wooden chair and shifted to get more comfortable while he put his thoughts in order. "Glory wants The Key-Dawn-only as a means to an end: to open and return through the portal from whence she came."

"'Whence'? Someone in Sunnydale actually dared use 'whence' in a sentence? Whoa-boy, hum-dingy, ain't we movin' on up!" Xander mockingly polished his fingernails against his shirt. "Don't you need a license for that?"

Giles quickly silenced Xander with a precise disdainful glare over the rims of his glasses.

Buffy waved impatiently. "We knew all this, or were close enough. Who cares?! If she's from an elsewhere, let's help her get back. I'll even buy her the return ticket. But she can't have Dawn."

"Therein lies the rub." Giles looked at her somberly. "Dawn is the ticket." He sighed deeply. "All evidence suggests The Key can be used only once, that using it destroys it. Cordelia's vision now provides new critical information: not only is Glory here to obtain The Key-Dawn-but the portal she intendeds to open will be here as well.

"We still don't know when," added Willow.

Giles agreed. "Nor do we know how quickly, or even if, the portal will close afterward. Given the power she demonstrates, if that's the strength and ability needed to survive in her dimension, it implies it could be a literal Hell from our point of view. While open, whatever is there will escape into ours, consistent with Cordelia's vision. We could be facing massive collateral damage in addition to losing Dawn." Giles stopped to tiredly rub his eyes with the heel of his hand. "Cordelia's vision is not encouraging."

"That's a lot of rubs," grumbled Xander, looking downcast at the floor. The others glumly agreed.

"Is it the Hellmouth? I mean, is the portal here because of?"

Giles turned to answer Buffy. "Very possibly, either directly or as a side-effect. Perhaps it's the source of the mystical power."

Xander sat up, confused. "Waitaminute...if that's true, isn't that like a majorly dumb move by those monks, putting The Key right where Glory needs it?"

"They may not have realized the connection. Perhaps they were running out of time and options. Or perhaps, perilous as it is, there's something about the Hellmouth that can ultimately help us. All or none of the above, I just don't know." He shrugged, leaned back to survey the group around him. "Which is all well and good, but essentially beside the point. The principals are all here: The Key, the slayer, Glory, and ourselves. That is what we have to work with. Since we can't kill Glory, our ideal goal is to remove her from this dimension, but without hurting The Key-"

"Dawn, my sister, is not some mystical trinket! Make sure you remember that!" Buffy sternly reminded them, humanizing the core issue.

Chagrined, Giles replied, "Dawn, yes, I'd not forgotten, Buffy. Truly. Without hurting Dawn." He continued. "And without leading to invasion or destruction of our own dimension."

"You said 'remove from this dimension'. Could she be sent to any dimension? We don't care where she goes as long as she goes, right?" asked Willow.

Giles' brow furrowed. "Err...I suppose. But unless we can open a non-destructive portal, one of our choosing, I fear, at least for now, to keep Dawn safe, we have to remain on the defensive."

"This just feels wrong," Buffy complained, staring at the floor, frustrated. But she too was at a loss of anything better.

Though logically he thought it still the most effective tactic for now, Giles didn't like it either. Like the slayers they trained, a Watcher wanted to be proactive and take the battle to the enemy, not wait for it to come to them. But he also knew being too rigid in their thinking could be a big mistake. They must adapt as necessary. He grimaced when he continued. "Preventing Glory from discovering this aspect of Dawn will keep her safest." Giles sat back, removed his glasses to polish them, and sighed. More softly he said, "But I agree with you. Eventually we must take back the initiative and return to the offense. Dawn may need to be a part of that."

"'Rope-a-dope'," Xander was heard to mumble.

"Of course, leave it to a dope to suggest something so stupid," Cordelia said bitingly. "How do you suggest we get a rope around her, and what good would it do anyway? Sheesh."

Giles glanced up at Xander's comment. "No, no, Cordelia, Xander might have something there." He turned to Xander. "But Ali was long before your time, how would you know something like that?"

Xander took a second to stick out his tongue at Cordelia and smirk. "I watch more old TV than is healthy for me."

"Well, yeah, that's true," Cordelia was forced to concede.

"'Float like a butterfly, sting like a bee'. An offensive defense. Let Glory wear herself out-"

"But she's a god," cut in Willow.

"So less with the stinging and more with the floating?"

Giles was more thoughtful when he answered Willow. "Maybe, maybe not. I think that remains to be seen. But perhaps we can get her to waste time and resources, keep her distracted, until we're ready and able to turn the tables and 'sting' back. Somehow." Giles pursed his lips in concern, "However this is not the pugilistic arts-"

"Huh?"

Giles wearily shook his head. "Boxing. This is not boxing. We're not Ali. And she'll not be fighting by Queensberry rules. We'll have to think of something that doesn't get us hurt or killed. Or worse, brings her closer to Dawn."

"What about those Jawa guys?" asked Xander. "Maybe we can give them the run-around or knock off a few?"

Giles looked toward Buffy. "Do you ever encounter them on your patrols?"

"Only at a distance. I could try going after them if they get close enough," agreed Buffy.

"In the meanwhile Tara and I can look into defensive spells," suggested Willow.

"Excellent. They don't have to be perfect, anything that saps her strength, diverts her attention, or even just gives us warning."

"Me and Cordy can dig into portals like she saw in her vision."

"I'd like to help you two with that," said Giles.

x-x-x-x-x

In one of the suite's smaller rooms, away from any place Glory might go, a group of minions clustered around a small table. On the calender in front of them a date was circled. Notations of latitude, longitude, a specific time, and even an altitude were circumscribed. In other words a very precise 4-dimensional coordinate was given of where the wave-fronts of the two realities should converge: soon, at this location near the Hellmouth.

Despite numerous detailed preparations they muttered in anxious agitation. Standing before the calender, Glrk flipped through The Histories, their only book containing a description of how to open a portal back to The Origin. The calculations were quite finicky. They had a window of perhaps a few seconds on either side of the optimal moment. Obtaining The Key and applying it at that moment was absolutely critical.

Once convergence occurred the Key would be needed to harmonize the phases of the two realities into synchronicity. Only then could the door be opened to The Origin, a home none remembered. They had everything needed. Except The Key. Without it they could not bring about phase synchronization, their necessary fifth dimension.

How could Glory be so blase about her lack of possession? If anything was a smidgen off then the whole thing would be a waste of effort. They would have to wait another hundred generations for the proper configuration to occur again. To do so beside their Mistress, some did not want to consider.

"Is there no other way, brother Glrk?" asked K!janth, wringing his warty hands together.

The secret group of potential dissenters, heretics (strictly speaking: traitors) was very aware of the presence of staunch loyalists. The few members of their informal cabal were circumspect in their manner of speech, casting doubt as prudent caution to make sure every possibility was covered. Glrk's answer was carefully neutral. "This is the way." He pointed to the book and his figures with great authority. K!janth nodded in agreement.

They next turned to the materials list for constructing the tower needed to reach the correct altitude as proscribed by those figures. Glrk was secretly pleased by this token of serendipity. It meant it would not be possible for most of them, even if the loyalists didn't realize yet, to be present when the portal opened. That would fit nicely with their ideas to avoid returning with Glory.

x-x-x-x-x

At a back table Willow and Tara were patiently reading through a stack of books from a collection the Watchers Council were now regularly sending. They were looking for clues on the Dagon Sphere and how it might be used for its stated purpose. Even a vague reference to a fairy tale containing a nugget of truth about another reference to an allegory might prove to be the turning point. It was slow, tiring work but they kept at it, driven by the need to protect their friends and Dawn.

Overseeing them for a moment, Giles was both pleased and disappointed. On one hand it seemed Quentin and his Council took to heart the "lesson" from Buffy and were willfully cooperating, providing an endless flow of research sources such as the volumes the two witches were diligently reading. On the other hand Giles wondered if the Watchers were in fact abdicating their responsibilities to execute on any fundamental ground work. Books, scrolls, compendiums, chronicles, codex, diaries and other texts appeared without any translation, analysis or notes from the Council's researchers. There were no pointers to significant passages, nor cross-referencing; nothing but the sources themselves. Half or more of their time was spent performing these basics before moving on to find potentially helpful clues.

Giles sighed and shook his head again for the thousandth time. Willow caught him and smiled ruefully. If nothing else she and Tara were becoming expert translators of Greek, Latin, and several other tongues, including those of demonic origin.

After Giles turned away to check on Xander and Cordelia's progress Willow noticed a ragged scrap of paper had fallen out of the chronicle she was reading. It was an autobiography by one of the most powerful and vainglorious warlocks in northern Italy during the late middle ages. In it he complained about hiding up in the frozen Alps due to one Church pogrom or another going on further south. The chapter the slip fell from was about his interaction with a highly secretive group from even further north, in what is now modern Poland. The warlock laughed and scoffed about how they acted like a brotherhood of monks but really weren't.

Willow blinked after quickly scanning the paper. It was not a page torn from the text since it was of a completely different paper and writing. But it did have the warlock's name on it, as well as an Italian name and some descriptive text with columns of numbers. There was a reference to a spherical object with very particular and peculiar qualities. Willow was having trouble reading the Italian and called Giles back.

He scanned it quickly, tugging on his lower lip as he translated in his head. "I'll need some time to do a proper translation, it's rather technical. It appears to be a detailed contract of commission." He read again, summarizing aloud. "A commission with a glassblower in Murano. Though commissioned by the warlock, he did so on behalf of an unnamed group. The specifications match our Dagon Sphere and are quite precise on some of the unusual materials to be provided by this group. There is also a step during the late formation of the piece when the warlock must be present to do an incantation before annealing." He pointed to a paragraph. "The glassblower is quite unhappy. If I'm reading this right, it's to make it capable of containing certain energies." Giles was getting very excited by this find.

"Why would they care if the warlock was there?"

Giles looked up to answer Xander. "The Italians were the best glassblowers in the world at the time and each family was extremely protective of their own secret techniques. They would take them to the grave rather than let another learn them. We're only just beginning to relearn some of those lost skills.

"As I was saying, they were very unhappy about allowing the warlock to be present, but the money seems to have convinced them otherwise." He reread a portion. "They were also concerned about contamination of the glass; that it would not hold together after cooling. They demanded even more money and a promise they would not be held liable if anything untoward should happen." He pointed to a line item. "They got it."

Pleased, he looked up at the group. "We now seem to know more about the origins of the Dagon Sphere. Great work Willow, Tara!" He patted Tara on the shoulder, nodded at Willow. "Trace down everything you can on this warlock, it's clear he's intimately involved in virtually all aspects of its creation, which may also tell us how it can be used."

"A nice, clear instruction manual would be great!" Willow said wistfully.

Tara hefted the chronicles. "For all we know it's right here on page five-eighty-six." They quickly checked. It wasn't.

Bored of spheres, Xander rejoined Cordelia, who was reading a treatise on aspects of Mayan religion. Both cringed at some of the bloodier rites performed. After a particularly gruesome description they had to set aside the book.

"Jeez, they're worse than the demons we fight!" Xander huffed, wanting to expunge the grisly imagery.

Cordelia weakly nodded, trying not to be sick.

Giles looked up from his own work. "Err, what's that?"

Still feeling ill, Xander flicked the book without glancing at it. "These Mayans! It's like 'Oh, there's something missing from our rites. It needs more, more... more blood!" Xander snorted. "The only difference between them and vampires are the bite marks."

Giles nodded. "Well, from a certain point of view there is a common thread. Vampires must feed, need nourishment as it were, from the blood to, err...'live'. The Mayans-not unlike a few other ancient groups-believed the Gods must be fed with the 'life force', the energy, contained within blo-" Giles suddenly stopped. His brows creased as his mind jumped aboard a new train of thought.

Xander waited a few seconds for Giles to continue. He shared a glance with Cordelia, who shrugged. He returned his attention back to Giles. "Giles?"

Giles stared into infinity without responding.

"Giles?"

Xander waved his hand in front of Giles' face. "Giles!"

Giles fell out of his seat. "Oh! What, what?" He quickly righted himself. "What do you want, Xander?" he asked peevishly.

"Mayan's? Vampires? Blood? Common threads? Anything ringing a cow bell in there?"

"Oh, yes, yes. So sorry," a chagrined Giles apologized. "I can't believe I didn't see this before. It's all about the blood!"

"So we gathered," snipped Cordelia, also impatient with Giles.

Giles ignored her sarcasm. "We need blood to survive, obviously. Vampires need it for the same reason, to live, but can't make it for themselves so they get it elsewhere. The Mayans, though cruel and violent, understood this at a very fundamental level and incorporated it into their religion, reverence and food for the gods. Elements of the same theme can be found throughout history. It's more than fluid moving nutrients and oxygen through our bodies, or carrying away waste. Blood is power! It is the very life force which animates us!" Giles had gotten himself very animated himself, as if to help illustrate the point.

"That's great, but so what?"

"Portals!"

"Huh?"

"We've already discussed that Glory needs to tap into an energy source to open her portal to return home."

"Some external source, right, guided by Dawn?" said Cordelia.

Giles shook his head. "I think I was wrong before. It's not Dawn, per se. It's her blood that contains the power. And as the Key, her blood would be 'in tune' or 'in phase' with Glory's dimension, vastly magnifying the inherent power flowing within her."

Xander thought he was caught up but needed to be sure. "And I'm gonna take a wild guess Glory doesn't really need it wrapped up inside Dawn herself?"

In answer Giles tapped the book Cordelia and Xander had been reading, open to a page with a very graphic print of a Mayan bloodletting ceremony. A writhing body was at the top of the pyramid, strapped down to a stone, chest torn open, fountains of blood cascading down the steps. Grim, Giles nodded. "This may give us an idea as to what Glory intends." He looked down at the Mayans and frowned. "Whether as gruesome as this," Giles pointed at the images doused in crimson, "or something else is of little consequence. If Glory knew of Dawn then she would literally drain the life out of her."

"How do we stop it?" demanded Xander.

"For the moment we stick with the plan. I'm beginning to believe the timing and location of this, this-," Giles waved again at the depicted ritual, "are critical as well, that in addition to The Key itself, there are other factors we might be able to influence. Let me show you."

He went back to the table where he had been working at his own research and returned with an ancient tome in his hands, the faded pages stiff and crackly.

"Chinese," Giles answered to Xander's look. "These are the writings of one of the early eastern alchemists, a Chin Dynasty royal doctor, Wen Fu, an absolutely brilliant man, easily the equal of our Newton, Einstein, or Hawking. Because of one political situation or another we in the west have not had access to his writing. But finally, through clandestine means, the Council was able to get their hands on this."

"Great, score one for the Watchers Council," Xander said with extreme lack of enthusiasm, "maybe they're not a complete waste of space after all." Giles shrugged. He essentially agreed with Xander's assessment regarding his former employer, but he was not in a position to look a gift horse in the mouth.

"What does this have to do with Glory and The Key?" impatiently asked Cordelia.

"Here." Giles laid the book down over the Mayan book and opened to a bookmarked page. One side was a diagram filled with intersecting lines and arcs, the other with annotations that looked like chicken tracks to Xander. Giles consulted a page of his own notes and translations. "I've been working on this all morning, translating. What he says is quite interesting.

"He had given much thought to, and actually experimented with, the concept of alternative dimensions. He discovered that the meta-physical forces not only have to be at the precise right time and place, but also must be aligned, or 'in phase', to make sure the link, the portal, can be created, especially if the two dimensions were originally weakly interacting."

Xander nodded his head and knowingly squinted at the diagrams. "You realize I didn't understand a single thing you just said, right?"

Giles was non-plussed. "Where did I lose you?"

"When you said you'd been working on it all morning. Can you translate your Giles-ish into English?"

Cordelia patted Xander's shoulder. "Yes, so that even a 10-year old can understand," she informed Giles.

Giles sighed heavenward. "In simplest Xander-speak terms: everything has to be just right, or at all goes kabloey. The time, the location, The Key. Everything."

Xander's face cleared and he smiled broadly. "Sort of like it was Mr. Green, in the library, with the candlestick! You gotta have 'em all."

Cordelia shook her head. "Sorry, I over-estimated. A 5-year old."

x-x-x-x-x

Tired of the never-ending background nattering of her minions, and also uncomfortably suspicious about a certain lack of alacrity of carrying out her every command and whim, this night Glory decided to stroll about on her own. Though a god, even gods occasionally needed alone-time to get in some good clear god-like thinking. She wouldn't-couldn't!-admit it to herself, but she was anxious about not yet having The Key.

She was traipsing through a cluster of the humans' little rat-hives they called a "neighborhood". The way these humans clung to each other was disgusting. If she weren't so busy finding her own way home she would do this dimension a favor and eliminate the vermin once and for all.

She didn't realize it but this was the same street where her minions had lost the pet vampire (Those four brain-sucked minions had done little, if anything, to appease her). She suddenly smiled when she recognized one of the little nests. Enjoyable as torture was, seeing how easy it was to make humans scream and beg, even torture got boring. Time for a change of pace. She clucked to herself merrily. She would give "being reasonable" another go.

A light was on over the porch of this house on Revello Lane, and through the front window she could see an inside light also on. She sprung up onto the porch and casually flicked open the door, breaking the deadbolt with a loud crack. Glory stopped to see if anyone had heard and come to grovel for her, and huffed when the house remained absolutely quiet.

Well, if no one was around to socialize she might as well do a little snooping. Glory giggled idiotically at the thrill of it. She tip-toed over to the living-room where she'd had a prior encounter with the Slayer, just to let her know what a puny pin-prick she was.

"Hello-o-o!" she called out. No answer. Then she noticed what humans called a parent, sprawled across the couch, ignoring her entirely. "Hey, you're not very friendly!" she complained, giving Joyce a shove on the shoulder. The body slid quietly to the floor. "Oh. You're dead, huh? Well good, one less grub cluttering up the place."

Disappointed, Glory turned on her heel to leave, then realized the body was still a little warm. There might still be some brain energy left to suck out as a late-night pick-me-up. A few moments later Glory came out through the front door, spitting in disgust, trying to get rid of the taste of the already rotting brain. It had tasted good at first, but then she ran into something icky, something wrong, some kind of corruption deep down, that she didn't usually find in their heads. She left the house, a house with the body of the middle-aged woman sprawled on the floor.

x-x-x-x-x

The phone rang and Xander got up to answer. "Hey there, hi there, ho there!" he announced with a huge grin, "We'd like a medium pizza. Sausage, pepperoni, green peppers and onion. Can we get that in 20 minutes?"

Cordelia rolled her eyes as he stopped to listen for a moment longer.

"Oh, hi Giles! Sorry 'bout that. We've been getting some crank calls. What's up?"

As Xander listened, Cordelia saw his cheery, crooked smile fall, then his whole expression collapsed into misery. He dropped into the chair as if his legs had been cut out from under him. "Oh God, no!" His eyes closed and his head fell into his other hand.

A premonition of impending horror overtook Cordelia, an internal sinking feeling like something that helped keep her up and alive was yanked away.

"Do you know what happened?" Xander's voice was shaky and muffled. He listened for a few more moments then answered, "Yeah, we'll be there right away." He hung up the phone and just stared at the floor, blank faced, unmoving.

"What? What is it?" She had to ask, but Cordelia was certain she did not want to know the answer. She was right.

"Mrs. Summers. Joyce...She-she's-" Xander began crying.

x-x-x-x-x

Xander and Cordelia were third in the long line of cars trailing the hearse to the cemetery. Expression and emotions under tight control, Cordelia stared out the passenger window without seeing anything as the car moved through the town's streets on a bright and sunny day.

When he glanced over, Xander could still see the slight bruising, visible under the makeup, where Buffy had grabbed her after they had arrived at the hospital several days ago. Buffy had assaulted Cordelia, demanding to know why, why couldn't Cordelia have had a vision of her mother, something-anything!-any kind of warning that might have saved her mom? She wanted to know why Cordelia even bothered returning to Sunnydale if her mom couldn't be saved.

Cordelia was as upset as Buffy and agreed with her to an extent, not trying hard to fend her off. Of all the people who deserved saving, Joyce Summers, an innocent in this fight, was at the top of the list. What was the point of the visions if not to help people like Joyce Summers?

However Cordelia also knew better than anyone the limits of her visions. She didn't have control over them: they came or didn't for reasons she could not discern. Given how huge and diverse a city L.A. was, even as she and the AI team were defeating foe after foe identified by her visions, countless other demonic-related tragedies continued unabated elsewhere. She soon realized Doyle's 'gift' was as much a curse, perhaps explaining why he drank so much, to ease the guilt over those not saved as much as to ease residual pain. One small group, guided by one seer, couldn't stop everything, everywhere, every time.

With respect to another limitation of the visions, Ms. Summers' passing, though tragic and senseless, was the result of normal human frailty and imperfection. But the visions were only of, by, and for the supernatural. Even as she spoke those truths to Buffy, who eventually backed away in frustration, Cordelia felt as if she were choking on dry ash.

When they arrived at the cemetery, Xander remained sitting, staring at his hands gripping the steering wheel. Most of the others had already gathered by the grave site. With a small sad smile, Cordelia put her hand over his and squeezed gently. "Sitting here isn't going to make it better," she said presently.

"It isn't making it worse either." After a few more seconds he heaved a noisy breath, unbuckled his seat-belt and straightened his tie. "OK, let's go."

After speaking briefly with Buffy and Dawn, Tara joined Willow, taking her hand before they turned and left.

Giles spoke quietly to Buffy and Dawn. While Buffy remained silent he listened to Dawn's query with an uncertain expression, watching for Buffy's reaction. When Dawn finished he asked something of Buffy, both he and Dawn waiting. Buffy gave a flicker of a smile and nodded. Dawn gave her sister a last long and tight embrace, a final squeeze of the hand and she and Giles walked together toward Xander and Cordelia.

"I'm staying at Giles' tonight," she informed them.

"But-"

"Please. Buffy's staying here for awhile longer. And I can't go home, not yet, not when it's empty." Dawn was crying again.

Cordelia took Dawn's hands in hers. "Stay with us, Dawn." Xander nodded vigorously.

Dawn brushed off her tears and straightened her shoulders. "Thanks, really. But just today I think I'd like to stay with Giles."

"Here, Dawn," said Giles, "here's the key to my car. I'll join you in a minute but I first need to ask Cordelia something." He handed over the keys and watched thoughtfully as Dawn walked off.

"Giles, what could you possibly-" Cordelia stopped at Giles upraised hand and head shake.

All three waited until the younger Summers got into Giles' car, then Xander turned to Giles. "Don't take this the wrong way, but wouldn't she be better off with-"

"Someone closer to her age?" Giles mouth quirked. "Perhaps she would be. And I'm not offended. But I can also see a point of view where a, a-" Giles rubbed the back of his neck and grimaced, "'father-figure' might be more helpful at a time like this." He turned to face both Xander and Cordelia and went on. "She no longer has anyone in her family of a parental generation, no 'voice of authority' as it were, no father to lean on." His smile became tight. "Or to twist around her finger. But consider: in a very real way I've been an integral part of her family the last several years. Certainly more-so than her real father. And for the moment, for the lack of anyone better, I'm it."

It was clear to Xander and Cordelia not only did Giles take his role and duties as Buffy's watcher with utmost seriousness and solemnity, but that he cared very deeply for, even loved, all of the Summers, an extended family to substitute for the real one he could never have.

"Alright." Xander took Giles hand in a firm grip and they hugged briefly, nodding when they parted. "Call if there's anything you need. Marshmallows, Silly String, a bad movie, sleeping bag, anything." Giles nodded and Xander abruptly turned toward the car while Cordelia made her own salutations with Giles, who returned to a waiting Dawn.

Before opening the door, Xander looked back once again and noticed Buffy still by the grave as the shadows lengthened in the late afternoon. "Shouldn't we do something?" he asked Cordelia over the top of the car

"Do something?"

"Yeah, help her out. Help her feel better." Xander waved his arm about in miserable confusion. "Something."

Cordelia looked back thoughtfully, toward where Buffy was standing, her head bowed. "Her mom died," she answered softly, "What could we possibly do or say that would help her feel better?"

"Well, my little ice-queen," Xander snapped, "we can't just walk away and leave her alone all night. 'Friends' Look it up in the dictionary, you'll find it under 'F'!"

Cordelia was startled by the sudden and undeserved venom unleashed on her. She was momentarily tempted to respond in kind, but held back. Xander was upset, as was everybody. She walked slowly around to Xander's side of the car. "She won't be alone," quietly said Cordelia, touching his arm.

Xander's fury died in response to Cordelia's obvious compassion and he looked the question at her, waving uncertainly back at the small, lone figure. "But-?"

Cordelia was much more attuned to her surroundings than she once was, now always aware of clues and subtle details, as Angel had taught her. "I saw...him." Xander heard an awkward emphasis on the pronoun. She glanced behind her at the setting sun. "He'll be there in a few minutes." She had seen the shadow within shadows. A certain silence. A blacked-out car several blocks away.

"Him? Who? Who him?" Xander looked all around but didn't see anyone.

"Angel. He'll be with her after the sun sets."

"Angel?! That's the last per-" Xander started to march back toward Buffy when Cordelia pulled back on the arm she'd never let go of, stopping him in his tracks. "What are you doing, Cordy? We can't leave her alone with that va-." He shook his head, "-Angel."

"Yes. We can," she said with absolute conviction. Cordelia had her own issues with Angel, which would linger even as they faded, but they were not the same as those between Buffy and Angel. That was a whole different level. Right now she knew Angel was the best person, living or dead, to be with her. "She'll be perfectly safe."

He looked back, fuming silently, disagreeing with Cordelia. An angry silence clung to them as they got in the car and left.

x-x-x-x-x

A few days ago Ben had been present during the autopsy. The medical examiner was almost giddy it wasn't yet another death from 'unexplained snake bite' or 'gang attack with barbecue fork'. He quickly established the primary cause as aneurysm. He did notice some odd looking distortions to the brain tissue nearby that he'd never seen anything the like of. He examined for awhile longer but he could not figure out what it meant, so merely noted it as a possible secondary or tertiary cause.

On the other hand Ben, when he had caught a glimpse of the distortions, was certain of the cause and began gasping. He made quick excuses to leave and the doctor curtly dismissed him, reminding himself to note for the record Dr. Goodley's unprofessional behavior. Ben had the makings of a promising doctor and he'd hoped for better. He put it out of his mind as he quickly finished up the examination.

This evening, outside the hospital, Ben wore a light jacket over his scrubs as the air cooled quickly. He'd heard Mrs. Summer's funeral was earlier that day. Though he'd become quite fond of her, even if he could have gotten the time off he was certain he didn't want to be anywhere near. His best, safest course of action was to avoid the Summers sisters at all costs.

Though he had agreed with the examiner the primary cause of death was of ordinary human nature, Ben knew Glory must have been involved somehow, that there must have been something else to it. That it was linked to the Slayer in any way left little room for doubt.

He'd once had a pleasant enough life, as much as any peasant herder could expect those many centuries ago, with a wife he loved and two small children. A life literally turned inside out one fateful afternoon. For the billionth time he cursed whatever quirk of fate had led that abomination to arrive nearest his flock. At first he tried to be strong and brave and stand up to the powerful presence within, prevent it from executing the horrific plans it always dreamed up. But he was not a strong man and eventually he wore down. The best he could do anymore was gloss over the worst of her horrors, even if that meant other people might suffer, such as when he had summoned the Queller demon.

Death would be a welcome relief from the interminable years of pretending to be a common man among the crowd while also being a never-ending witness to her mindless brutality. He mumbled angrily as he paced along, smacking a fist hard into the palm of his other hand. As many times as he fought back or tried to resist in some way he knew he was essentially complicit. He'd tried to kill himself numerous times but never could. He was angry and frustrated, as much with himself as with her.

At least his thoughts were his own. He was glad he had helped the slayer's sister in some small way. He wanted to do more, to say more, to warn Dawn, but he could never be sure how close Glory's spies were.

As he snapped around a corner he literally stumbled over the lurking Jinx. "Hello, Benjamen! You seem to be in quite the hurry. You are perhaps trying to run from something?" inquired Jinx.

Here was a target Ben could take out his anger on without fear of repercussion. He'd assaulted one before when told Buffy was the slayer and nothing had come of it. Glory treated them no better than the toilet paper she wiped her ass with.

"Escape? Perish the thought. In fact I'm extraordinarily pleased to see you," Ben said with a cruel anticipatory grin.

Jinx started to back up warily. Ben stepped forward quickly and shoved the smaller demon hard up against the brick wall. Jinx was undeterred. Despite knowing Ben's increasing tendency toward violence, Glory's instructions were very clear. "Our Glory commands you to help. She believes you know something you're not sharing with her, something important about the Key."

"Let's pretend for a moment I know anything, as you say she believes. Why would I share that with the Glorified Idiot?"

Jinx's answer was only a gurgle as Ben's forearm pressed hard into his throat. "I know, we all know, you want her gone, sir. Removed from this plane of existence and out of your life. I can sympathize. The best way is to help her open the portal by helping her quickly find the Key. When the portal is opened she will leave and you will be free." Jinx didn't actually know what would become of Ben, but it didn't really matter. "So every moment you fight Glory, you're only fighting yourself."

"She killed Mrs. Summers," growled Ben. He may usually have been weak when resisting Glory, he may have too often been complicit with her planned horrors, but Mrs. Summers was beyond the pale. He absolutely would not help Glory this way, even to his own detriment.

Jinx's eyes widened. He was not overly surprised but he was a bit dismayed his Glorificus would be so careless in her wanton, mindless ways, attracting unneeded attention. But he would soldier on. Until it was time not to.

Ben was still lecturing him. "Understand this: I won't help your Glory find The Key. I would never do that to an innocent-"

Jinx blinked. An innocent? The key is 'an innocent'? "An interesting choice of words."

Ben cursed his stupidity. "No, you don't understand," he stuttered, "What that means is-"

"It's not important, sir. You are quite correct and I'm sorry to have bothered you. I'll take my leave." Jinx wrenched himself free of Ben's grip and began to scurry away.

But Ben was desperate and determined. It was not really his fault he never fully appreciated how tough and resilient Glory's minions really were as he heaved Jinx's body into a dumpster, piling more garbage on top, mistakenly believing it to be lifeless.

x-x-x-x-x

After changing into a sleek sapphire-blue dress, in four-inch heels Glory stomped down the steps from the loft into the grand foyer, followed by several of her more sycophantic retinue. "Where is he? He shoulda been back hours ago!" She herself had only just returned from yet another enforced "sleep" as the body she inhabited phased over to the Ben persona.

"I'm sure Jinx is on his way, your, uh...," Murk stuttered, "Most Valuable Peerage. He's most loyal to-"

"Hey! He better be loyal," snapped Glory. Even she was becoming aware of a level of discontent within her ranks, though she couldn't pin it down to anything or anyone specific enough to maim and torture. She was quite vexed and was ready to commit general mayhem. Fortunately it was that moment the door burst open with two demons carrying Jinx between them. His head rolled about, but he was conscious.

"Jinxie!" Glory was so pleased that she rushed forward and actually exerted manual effort to help him, one of her most trusted, to the divan. Then she noticed the garbage-bin stench wafting off him. "Hose him down first!"

"But-" Jinx protested. He had something important to tell Glory, to tell her before he died of his wounds.

"Now! Before I kick him into orbit. Then bring him right back."

The minions helped Jinx off to be cleaned before facing Glory again. When he returned, still needing the help of others to walk and getting weaker, she angrily turned to him. "Was it the Slayer? I'll rip her wings off for this!"

"No," gasped Jinx. "It was Ben."

"Ben?" She looked confused.

Jinx nodded.

She turned to stomp about the room, quickly breaking both heals and several floor tiles. Then Glory began punching at herself, mumbling. "I hate you, I hate you, I hate youuuuu!"

Strangely, Jinx felt a twinge of sympathy for his Glorificus and offered a bit of positive news. "The Key. He knows something."

Glory immediately swiveled and ran back, grabbing him up and shaking him painfully. "The Key? What about the Key?" She stopped shaking Jinx when it was clear he couldn't answer with his head slapping from side to side.

"The way he said some things. He knows! He seems to believe the Key is not a thing but rather a person, Most-ah-Highest of the High..." Jinx's voice faded off as his strength ebbed.

Glory stood up and looked doubtful. "The Key's in human form? Why would the monks do that? You can't get these people to do anything reasonable. A rock, or an umbrella, or a turd. Anything makes more sense than..."

Jinx raised his eyebrows significantly, hoping he wouldn't have to spell it all out for her. No such luck. Despite the pain Jinx explained. "It would have to be something new, yes?" He waited but she still wasn't getting there. "Or rather, someone new, here, before you destroyed The Brotherhood."

Glory was delighted and pulled Jinx into a hug. "Jinx, you stud, you're my man! I'm even gonna let you slide that you still stink on account of your pain and stuff." She gave him another squeeze, which proved to be too much, collapsing Jinx's lung. He quietly gurgled his last breath. Glory felt him slump over and she pushed his body away as she rose off the sofa. "Uch, get him fixed, would ya? Or dump him outside, whatever"

She plopped down on another sofa, grinning. "So, the Key's all secreted away in a new fleshy wrapper? That really narrows the search in a big way, yeah?"

The remaining demons that had not taken away Jinx's body nodded quickly. Whatever Glory wanted Glory got.

She continued musing to herself. "I mean, we didn't have a clue. It could have been a log, or, or a bicycle pump, or whatever, am I right? I know the Slayer is mixed up in this somehow. Could she be the Key? That'd just be beyond pathetic of those monks!"

The minions demurred. In their earlier attempts, including the serpent, there was nothing to indicate so. Furthermore their research showed this slayer had been around long before the monks hid it. Surprisingly, Glory agreed with them. She came to a decision. "OK, so I want you guys to find out every thing new in the Slayer's life. Any new friends, a new mom or dad, a new brother, new school-teacher, a new plumber, anything new that's human. Find out quick!" She clapped her hands and they scurried off.

x-x-x-x-x

Xander woke to a fuzzy-headed, furball-tongued hangover from the wine he and Cordelia had shared last night. One bottle? Two? He couldn't remember. He shook his head, immediately stopping when the throbbing doubled.

His memories of anything after the first few glasses were hazy. The images he recalled had to be a dream. They must have been! But a dream that still lingered in its excruciating intensity. In many ways it was like the fantasies and dreams he used to have of himself and Cordelia. But yet so different was this dream memory, so strangely erotic at such an inappropriate time, the night after Joyce's funeral.

Like any dream there was an ethereal disjointed flow, images and scenes jumping from one to the next without rhyme or reason, connected by only the loosest of threads...

Entering their apartment, still not talking after the silent angry drive home. Tie removed, shoes kicked off, belts loosened, jackets and purses disappearing magically into dreamworld. Sitting on the sofa together. A bottle of wine appears. Both are crying and hugging.

Inappropriate given the context of the day's events, but perhaps not for a dream, next the caressing. Somehow a bed replaces the sofa. An urgent overpowering need to be as close to Cordelia as possible, to be enveloped by her, to hold her tightly in return. More clothing disappears...and the kissing, and...Oh wow!

And then everything became a blur, fading away even as he grasped to recall details. It surely couldn't be, but damn, it seemed so real! He shook his head again, ignoring the pain. He looked around to check. The bed was a tangled mess, but she wasn't there. He sniffed if he could sense the perfume she had been wearing yesterday. Nothing, nothing of hers was present. Either someone had cleaned up without him remembering (although that seemed to ring a bell) or it really was a dream and nothing actually happened at all.

Was it real? he asked himself. "Or was it Memorex?" he murmured aloud. It must be the latter. "Crazy fucking dream," he snorted, shaking his head, grimacing at the unfortunate entendre. And one he was never ever going to mention. Not ever!

Just in boxers he looked around and spotted a pair of sweats tossed in the corner. He pulled them on and found a reasonably clean T-shirt, shoved his feet into some beater sneakers and got ready to face another day absent Joyce Summers. He shook himself once more and headed out.

The smell of coffee hit him as soon as he entered the hallway to the kitchen. He noticed her on the kitchen stool, very much like the first morning, months ago when she arrived in Sunnydale (what is it with drunken nights and dreams about Cordelia? he wondered), her back to him, talking to someone unseen in the living room.

A deep male voice responded to Cordelia's comments. It was oh so familiar to Xander, but he couldn't immediately place it. It wasn't Giles but he couldn't imagine who else it might be. He stopped short when he finally did see who Cordelia was talking to.

"What's he doing here?" he rasped, his hands reflexively clenching into fists.

Cordelia turned and winced, immediately uncomfortable with the situation.

"Not even a 'Good morning, Angel'?"

"No, that would by lying. I'm more than happy to say 'Siyanara' on your way out." He took a menacing step forward. Whether he was really going to do something about Angel he didn't know, it was more instinct than anything else.

Cordelia jumped off the stool to get between them. "It's just an accident, Xander. Back down or so help me," she threatened. Xander cut his eyes toward Cordelia and stopped, relaxing his hands and stepping back. Cordelia continued when she was sure he wouldn't do anything. "He stayed too late with Buffy," she quickly explained, "and he wasn't able to leave in time to beat the daylight. So..." she waved her hand to indicate how that should obviously lead to the present situation.

Scowling after carefully observing Cordelia and her steely resolve, and seeing Angel head back to the most shadowed corner of the living room, Xander shrugged and went into the kitchen to get coffee for himself.

He remained in the kitchen, leaning back against the cupboard, grimacing, as Angel picked up the conversation with Cordelia as if Xander had never appeared in the first place. Angel explained he'd worked through his issues and obsession with Darla and was trying to make things right again with Wes and Gunn. Although still not part of their reconstituted "AI", Angel encountered them at various incidents around L.A. and had at least established a cordial detente.

Angel paused and Cordelia prompted him to continue. Xander wondered yet again if this was the bat-signal for Cordelia's return to L.A. Angel even dared ask if she knew her near-term plans, strongly hinting it would be best she return, that there was a place and need for her, either with him, or Wes and Gunn. She explained that no, she still had a job here to see through. That didn't sit well with Angel who began interrogating her about what she thought she was accomplishing.

Since he was being ignored, Xander started wandering around the living room, unable to avoid sneaking glances her way to see if any of her reactions or responses might give a clue about what, if anything, really happened. He was still uncertain and she appeared to be playing it pretty cool, like nothing had happened. So it probably was nothing after all.

He wandered past Angel on his way to get the TV remote. As Xander passed by, Angel blinked and his nose wrinkled. He halted his conversation and started tracking Xander's every move. Angel suddenly stood, shoulders hunched, angry, and pointed at Xander accusingly. "I thought I smelled something! You god-damned-". Xander stopped and turned around to face a glowering Angel, who choked down whatever he was about to say.

"What the hell are you talk-?" Xander exclaimed. "Besides, it was just a, a..." he faltered and looked back toward Cordelia to confirm it really was just... "a dream?"

He'd never seen Cordelia look so stunned, with a shocked expression of being caught at something terribly embarrassing. "Y'mean...you? And I? And the, the," he babbled, turning the tables on Angel as he completely ignored the vampire's presence. He pointed back and forth between himself and Cordelia, "And the undressedness, and the holding and the, the more hugging and, the, the..."

She winced but gave a sharp nod of acknowledgment.

His jaw fell and his eyes went wide in shocked understanding. "And w-w-we really...?" He waved weakly back toward his room.

She nodded again, this time her head falling into her hands to hide her face.

"Oh my god!" He clapped himself on the head.

This was bad, real bad.

He loved being roommates with Cordelia, being best friends again. He was honest enough to admit, while he never would have forced or initiated anything so forward, neither would he have objected if their relationship took a turn in a more romantic direction, if that's what she wanted.

But not this way! Not under these circumstances. And never to find out like this, Angel figuring it out first.

Xander, furious at himself, or Cordelia, or Angel, or all of the above, without a word left Cordelia and Angel behind as he slammed the apartment door on his way out.

Mind swirling, head down, he noticed a big black Plymouth convertible in the parking lot. Somehow he just knew it was Angel's. He suppressed a strong urge to scratch the paint, from front bumper chrome to tailfin. It helped he'd left his pocket knife back in the apartment. He just kept on walking, not really knowing where he was going or what he was going to do.

(to be continued)

AN: I ain't dead! (yet)