( RIPOSTE ][ A Watchergirls Archive )

__The Hedge__
By Jolene Beasley

"Mad!!!"

The hissing voice in his ear woke the troll instantly, and he sprang to his feet, club at the ready. He relaxed instantly when his blue goblin friend give a defensive leap backwards. "Ssssorry, Ger. I'm a light ssssleeper."

"Sure, Mad, sure." Gerard looked skeptical. The troll had been sawing logs like a lumberjack. "Any lighter and you'd've woke up the neighborhood with your snoring."

Madvehkar the troll scowled and grunted in denial, then looked around for the third party of their threesome. "Where'ssss Zehdlaf? It'ssss hissss sssshift."

"Dunno. Around. You know elves... they love being all mysterious." Gerard winked knowingly.

Mad grunted again. Mystery was highly overrated, in his book.

He turned to see Gerard staring past his shoulder at the dark street with a look of quiet horror. "What'ssss wrong, Gerard?" He whirled, then growled. Something was coming... something bad. Several somethings, by the look of things. He squinted at the black, billowing, oily shapes that were approaching. "Oh, no... are thosssse what I think they are?" He grasped his club firmly in both meaty hands, trying to hide his nervousness.

"Yeah, Mad. Shadow Assassins... looks like a hunting party. Let's get ready."

"Ssssure wissssh I knew where Zehdlaf wassss."

"Yeah, me, too. Here they come!"

Thunder rolled across the darkened sky, momentarily illuminating the shapes in front of them. They were two dimensional, vaguely rectangular in appearance, with eyes that glowed a sulfurous red. The sky writhed and rolled in anticipation of the coming conflict, and Gerard suddenly felt very alone.

The Shadow Assassins seemed spurred on by the sudden gust of wind that the storm above them supplied. They floated towards the unassuming house, twisting, disappearing and reappearing like huge flakes of ash fresh from the fires of Hell. Their ghostly, malevolent laughter floated ahead of them. They kept coming... and coming...

There were too many.

Far too many for one blue goblin, one troll and one elf.. wherever he was... to overcome.

"Great Maker... too many!" Gerard gasped, hoping his fellow creatures had not heard his despair.

Suddenly, the wind shifted. It blew against the supernatural specters in front of them, causing their cackles to turn to shrieks of protest.

Gerard heard Zehdlaf exclaim, in a voice filled with awe and terror, from somewhere behind him, "By the Power...!"

Gerard echoed the exclamation wholeheartedly. He moved from his hiding place without even realizing he'd done so. Something in him insisted that they take full advantage of this sudden reprieve. The sword that Zehdlaf had given him flashed with every lighting bolt, and he pulled himself up to full height and brandished it, shouting, "Begone!" in his most theatrical voice.

What he didn't see... couldn't see, from his position near the perimeter of the lawn, was the true reason the Shadow Assassins hesitated in their assault. A figure, many times larger than the vertically challenged goblin, had appeared just behind him, holding a huge sword that was taller than Gerard himself, and nearly as wide. The sight of the ghostly, glowing white warrior, standing at attention behind the tiny blue creature, was enough to completely demoralize the Assassins. Their red eyes widened in abject terror, and they seemed to shrink before the startled goblin's eyes. Their shrieks became cries of fear and protest, and they began to break apart, scattering like leaves caught in a summer whirlwind.

With a final, concerted screech, they were gone.

Gerard took a few deep, shaky breaths, and finally broke out of his stance to glance around him. No attackers remained. The street was empty, and the clouds began to clear. Timid stars began to shine their light in the early morning sky.

Madvehkar approached Gerard cautiously, since his friend was still at battle ready. "Uh, Ger... they're gone. You can sssstand down."

Gerard sighed with a whoosh and wiped his forehead, dropping his arm to rest the sword tip on the ground beside him. "Wow... I didn't think they'd stop." Suddenly, it dawned on him what had just happened. "Hey, they stopped... did I stop them? How did I stop them?" He whirled as a silver-bearded elf joined him, coming up from the left side of the house. "Zed? Did YOU do that?"

Zehdlaf was already shaking his head, his hands spread wide in denial. "No, my friends. I do not have the power to summon a Guardian."

Gerard's eyes nearly bugged out of his head. "GUARDIAN? There was a Guardian here? Where?" He spun, giving the area a complete 360-degree examination. "I don't see a Guardian!!"

"Nevertheless, a Guardian appeared. Behind you, between the house and the road. Appeared, then disappeared as soon as the danger was past."

Gerard's voice turned wistful. "A Guardian. I wish I coulda seen it. I mean, him... her, whatever. I've heard stories..."

"We all have," the troll added.

"In theory, there should be three Guardians," Zehdlaf mused thoughtfully. "One for each human in the house."

Gerard slid back into the hedge, looking fearfully over his shoulder. "Uh, Zed, these Guardians... they know we're on the 'Good Guy' side, right? I mean, they're for humans, but they don't have anything against goblins, do they? Or trolls... or elves? They know we're helping... right?"

Mad was quick to reassure his friend, since Zehdlaf seemed lost in his own thoughts. "Ssssure, Ger, I bet the Guardianssss know all about ussss."

They both looked to the ancient elf for reassurance, but other than a slight nod, he said nothing.

The three lower beings returned to their posts, more nervous than before.

********

A single cry brought Giles immediately awake. He reached for his wife instinctively, finding her curled up next to him, trembling.

"Buffy? Love, wake up..." He wrapped his arms around her briefly, then pulled her face up to his to examine her eyes. They were sleepy and frightened, but not terrified. "What? Did you have a bad dream?"

She nodded, then moved even tighter against him. "Sometimes being clairvoyant really bites, babe."

He smiled, despite his concern. His sleep had been restless as well, full of foreboding and ominous voices that mumbled just out of hearing range. "I know it does, darling. What was it this time?"

She sighed heavily, blowing a strand of blonde hair away from her forehead. "Weird stuff, as usual. Black square-ish things, like sheets of paper, with red eyes that blew apart like ashes. I don't know how I knew, but they were bad news. Very surreal. Oh, and they shrieked a lot." She snorted softly. "Sounded kinda like that old Led Zeplin album of yours."

He had to chuckle at that. "Poor love. You do have the most befuddling dreams." He pulled her head to his chest, relishing in the feel of her resting safely against him. He checked on Marcus, briefly sending out a strong length of the Bond's awareness, and was reassured when he felt, as well as heard, his son sleeping soundly across the hall. He felt Buffy's power join his, and together they checked the house and yard for signs of danger.

The neighborhood was quiet, both physically and psychically. "Whatever they were, they're gone now." He relaxed, letting the strong, defensive link dissolve into something tender, soothing and slightly erotic. "I think we need to go back to sleep..."

She leaned up and kissed his stubbly cheek, then, deciding she wanted more than that, she proceeded to find his lips in the darkness. When at last they broke the kiss, he stroked her cheek lovingly, and added, "...unless, of course, you need help becoming drowsy again..."

She grinned and kissed him again, sliding astride him. She gazed down at his handsome face. Despite the dim light, a playful challenge was plain in her eyes. "I just might. You think you can do something about that, big guy?"

"Why don't we find out, hmm?"

"Mmm hmm."

********

Early the next morning the man of the house, clad only in pajama bottoms and his favorite robe, ventured onto the front walk to retrieve a poorly-thrown newspaper. He was mentally fussing about the new paper boy as he turned back to the house, and in his inattentive state almost fell over a small, stocky, gray-faced, leather-clad figure that had appeared out of nowhere.

"What on earth...! Oh... Madvehkar... good morning... perhaps you should make more noise when you approach."

"Ssssorry, Watcher. I wassss bringing Gerard ssssome breakfast." Mad held up a small, white sack, grinning widely. Giles knew the grin was meant to be reassuring. To an unlearned individual, the expression would certainly seem to be just the opposite.

"Gerard is here as well?" Giles lifted his head and scanned the yard carefully.

From his hidden spot in the hedge, Gerard sighed tolerantly, his cover blown by his loose-lipped friend. He slipped from his hiding place, allowing the human to see him clearly as he came forward. "Mad, Mad, Mad... you weren't supposed to tell them we were here, remember?"

Mad dropped his oversized head in chagrin. "Ssssorry, Ger. I panicked."

Giles smiled at the two crestfallen lower beings. "Are you two guarding Marcus?"

Gerard nodded slowly. "Sure enough, Watcher. We wanted to do something for the little guy, and this was the only thing we could think of." The multifaceted eyes blinked beseechingly at the much taller human. "Are you mad?"

"No, he's Mad." Buffy's cheerful voice cause all three males to whirl in place. She pointed at the troll with glee, then bounced off the front porch, wide awake and beautiful, clad in a comfortable short set that made her look about sixteen. The two self-appointed guards took a deep breath, squared their shoulders, and grinned goofily up at her.

"Very amusing, love," Giles stated with a slightly goofy smile of his own.

"I thought so. You guys wanna come in and have some... whatever it is that you guys drink in the morning? If we have it, you're welcome to it."

"Coffee," Madvehkar said, reverently.

"Good, hot coffee that doesn't taste like yesterday's grounds," Gerard added with a wistful look. The donut place was famous for its pastry... not its java.

"With, perhaps, a touch of cream?" The melodious, yet unfamiliar voice startled the two humans, but Gerard and Mad began to wave the newcomer over. Giles stifled a gasp. He'd been told there were elves working with Angel when Marcus was kidnapped, so he knew they were around. He'd never seen one in the flesh before, though he'd seen enough paintings and drawings to know that this, most assuredly, was an elf. An old one, judging from the beard and the beautiful silver eyes. A revered one, by the look of the elegant, embroidered white robe he wore. A wise one, denoted by the delicate thread of silver than encircled his head... a Mage's circlet was a symbol of power and knowledge in the Elven world.

Gone was the rough leather jerkin and pants that the elf had donned during his reconnoissance work for Angel. Gone, too, was the subservient demeanor. The elf was showing his true self to the humans, and they were properly impressed.

Zehdlaf stopped three paces from the little group and bowed gracefully, his silvery beard brushing the grass before he straightened. Giles surprised everyone by repeating the gesture, bowing until his head came within inches of touching his slightly bent knees. "Welcome, Ancient. You honor my home above ground."

If anything, Gerard and Mad grinned more widely than before, and Buffy looked amused. Her husband seemed to know something about almost everything.

"Watcher," the elf intoned, giving the title great weight. "You honor me, and my kind, with your welcome."

"You fought for us the day our son was born." It wasn't a question. The Watcher knew a kindred spirit when he saw... and felt... one. This elf was definitely on the side of Light.

"Yes, proudly." Zehdlaf raised his chin, remembering the battle well.

Giles pulled Buffy to him with one arm, still smiling. "And this my wife, my Slayer. We owe you and your kind a debt of gratitude."

With a mental nudge from Giles, Buffy held out a hand to the delicate creature in front of her. Zehdlaf gave a courtly bow over their clasped hands. "Slayer." He gave her title equal significance. "It is an honor to serve the Chosen."

"Thank you, Ancient." She copied her husband's way of greeting the elf instinctively.

Zehdlaf tilted his head slightly, listening. "And now, I fear, we must either return to our posts or accept your hospitality. Your neighbors are beginning to awaken."

Giles started chuckling. In Sunnydale, most long-time residents had seen so many odd things that they no longer gawked openly at them. Time and practice had honed their abilities to ignore what could not be explained, so it took quite a lot to make a Sunnydaleian stare. He concluded that conversing with an elf, a troll, and a goblin on his front lawn might just cross the line.

He ushered his visitors inside, forcing himself not to wave jauntily at old Mrs. Schotz across the street. She made the most wonderful cookies, but was also quite the busybody, the dear thing. If she was watching now, he surmised the entire block would be buzzing within minutes.

Strangely enough, he didn't care. These beings were friends in the truest sense of the word.

While their guests made themselves comfortable in the living room, Buffy went to brew a fresh pot of coffee, and Giles headed upstairs to fetch Marcus. As she puttered around the kitchen, Buffy sent a silent question to him through their shared connection. It seemed perfectly normal to converse through the Bond from different rooms... and floors... of the house.

She grinned at her casual acceptance of something so blatantly supernatural. Just one more thing in the Slayer handbag... 'Rupert, did you know those guys were outside?'

Giles wrinkled his nose at Marcus as he thought about the question. The lad was in definite need of a change. 'No. I discovered them completely by accident. I literally stumbled over Madvehkar while retrieving the newspaper.'

'What's with the elf guy? He looks old.'

Giles chuckled, and Marcus giggled up at him from the changing table. "Mummy is quite funny, isn't she?" he said to the toddler before turned his thoughts back to his wife. 'He most likely is very old, Buffy. Elven Mages don't usually earn their circlets until well into their second century.'

'Second... century? And you're not kidding either, right?' She stopped at his affirmative, empty mugs in hand, to contemplate having a two hundred-plus year old elf in her living room, then decided that, as her life usually went, it wasn't too unusual.

She dismissed that thought easily, then moved on to another. 'How come you didn't tell him your name, or mine? And you didn't ask his.'

Even though he was still upstairs, she felt Giles shift mentally into Lecture Mode. The sensation made her grin. 'To the Elven people, one's name has power... one doesn't offer one's name to another lightly.'

'But you'd us think being on the same side would be good enough.' She watched the shining black liquid as it trickled into the waiting carafe, her mind on the elf and not on the coffee maker. Suddenly she grinned. 'And that's way too many 'ones' for a single sentence, British Guy.'

'Correct English can, at times, be cumbersome. As to the giving of names... that is entirely up to the elf.' Giles, still smiling, returned his attention to Marcus, and Buffy stopped badgering him and concentrated on setting a tray for her guests.

********

"I really think we should have telephoned first." Armstead eased his rental car alongside the curb in front of the Giles' house and killed the engine. Beside him, Willow shook her head and unbuckled her seat belt.

"It's fine, Bill. I go over on Thursday mornings almost every week and visit and have brunch. It's kinda like a tradition."

Armstead gazed down at his lovely girlfriend as he helped her out of the car, his frown relaxing into a smile. "I'm sure Mister Giles is far more lenient with you than he would be with me."

"You're a worry-wart, just like Giles."

"Part of the job."

"Worry-wart or not, we need to tell Giles about the email from that Museum guy." She hefted her laptop case pointedly as they walked.

"It is rather important, but I should have rung them first."

"Waste of time. Trust me."

"Oh, I do." 'With my life and heart, dear Willow,' his mind added enthusiastically.

"Good!" She skipped up the porch steps and knocked three times, bouncing in place as she waited for an answer. When it didn't come right away, she began to frown. "Hope we're not interrupting anything naked."

Armstead flushed bright red, choked, and began to cough helplessly. Willow grinned wickedly at him, unrepentant. "Nah, couldn't be. It's after eight. Marcus gets up early to watch cartoons, see, so there's no way any nakedness could be hap... oh, hey Buff!" Willow's face almost matched Armstead's for a brief moment, then she got control of herself and held up the softside case that held her computer. "We have news."

"Well, come on in, then. Bill? You need some water?"

Armstead controlled his coughing with great effort. "No thank you. I'm fine."

"We sorta have company, but since it's just you two, it'll be all right." Buffy ushered them down the hall toward the living room, wondering what Willow's reaction would be when she saw...

"Oh, wow." Willow's eyes widened at the sight of Madvehkar, Gerard, and Zehdlaf sitting on the sofa, calmly drinking coffee and eating jelly donuts. "Uh, hi." She gave her trademark wave, and Giles smiled at her with affection. Marcus bounded over to her and held his arms up, crying her name happily.

"Hey, Marcus, sweetie!" She put her case on the table and pulled the child into her arms, exchanging enthusiastic kisses.

"Wih-dow! Wook! Fwiends!" The toddler pointed to the trio on the sofa, smiling proudly.

"Willow... Armstead... come and meet Marcus' champions," Giles said with equal pride.

The goblin blushed bright blue at the compliment, and the troll looked equally embarrassed. The elf's face never changed from its pleasant expression. The three creatures slid to their feet, placing their cups carefully in their saucers on the coffee table, moving almost as one. They bowed gravely, then waited for the new humans to adjust to their unusual appearance.

"Willow Rosenberg, William Armstead, meet Madvehkar, Gerard, and the Ancient." Giles deliberately avoided using Zehdlaf's name, even though both the troll and the goblin had referred to it, and the elf nodded his approval.

Armstead, a bit inexperienced with actually meeting representatives of each race, nodded uncertainly and said, "Hello to you all." He stopped with a grimace. "I fear I lack the knowledge to greet you properly, if you will forgive my ignorance."

Giles was surprised. At least the young upstart had sense enough to recognize what he didn't know.

His thought made Buffy giggle, and he raised a warning eyebrow her way. Marcus gurgled happily, then allowed Willow to put him down as she reached for her computer case. He toddled over to Armstead, stopping to squat and pick up a bright yellow truck from the floor on his way. "Wook, Beooh! Twuck!"

"I see, that, Marcus. It certainly is a very nice truck."

"Yeth." Marcus headed for the center of the living room, intent on being the center of attention, no matter what.

"Willow has something to show us, Rupert." Buffy waved Willow and Armstead into the two armchairs adjacent to the couch, and she waited until her unusual guests reseated themselves before claiming the arm of Giles' chair as her perch. She kept a watchful eye on Marcus, waiting for Willow to begin.

Her best friend wasted no time. She mentally congratulated herself on remembering to charge the unit's batteries, then whipped the tiny contraption out of its case and powered it up. "We got this email from your Museum buddy, Giles. When you requested all your notes and stuff on that no-name language to Sanskrit conversion, Mr. Braithwaite got curious and started poking around..."

She stopped and waited until her mail program finished loading, then tapped a few keys, using her thumb to work the trackball until she had her target selected. "In addition to the stuff you asked for, he found a whole 'nother complete translation of that last prophecy that he hadn't heard of before. See here?"

Giles sprang to his feet and strode over to Willow's chair, grabbing the back to steady himself as he peered over her shoulder. Everyone else gathered around, with the three mythical creatures staying a respectful distance away. "Well, we already have Cho's translation, of course. It is the most complete, and it contains the entire prophecy." He waited as Willow scrolled down, the scans dutifully duplicating the ancient, yellowed pages, followed by a notebook's worth of modern scribbles. "...Ah, there are my notes from that dreadful Putamanharji manuscript... a sort of dictionary, I suppose you'd say. Good Heavens, look at that. How on earth could I have translated "goat" and "travel" from the same word...?"

Buffy elbowed her husband, and he cleared his throat. "Ahem. Moving on... where did this other translation come from?" He pointed at the screen, and Willow dutifully scrolled upwards, allowing him to scan the introductory paragraphs. "The writings of... who is that? Taraybian? I've never heard of him."

"Taraybiana, Watcher, is feminine," the elf corrected softly.

"Ah, yes. I missed the inflective mark. Thank you, Ancient. Do you know of her work?" Giles spoke with great respect, and Armstead stared at the older Watcher in amazement. How had this odd creature garnered such esteem from a man like Rupert Giles?

"I do. The work is very old."

Giles paused a moment, holding his breath, before asking his next question. "Are you familiar with this...ah... proto-Sanskrit language?"

"Yes." The elf didn't elaborate, but it was stated so confidently the entire room gave a sigh of relief.

Giles looked up, the fire of discovery in his eyes. "Willow, would you mind if we borrowed your machine for a bit?"

"You can use it all you want, Giles. That's why we came over." Willow handed him the computer, smiling slightly at his obvious discomfort in holding it. He carried it carefully to the dining room table and placed it in front of a barstool. Zehdlaf pulled himself onto the elevated seat, and began studying the documents with great concentration.

Giles rubbed his hands together in anticipation. "Now, finally, we may be getting somewhere."

What followed was a thorough, delicate, and completely technical lesson in ancient languages. Less than fifteen minutes into the text, Zehdlaf had already discovered three rather simple inaccuracies in Cho's translation, and several in Giles' as well. It was plain by the look on Armstead's face that he wasn't ready to accept the word of an elf, or a heretofore unknown writer, in place of the opinion of a revered member of the Council.

To Buffy, that just made it all the more certain that the elf was right. She had never held the Watcher's Council in high esteem.

Zehdlaf seemed to take the two Watchers' questions and contradictions in stride, never blinking as Giles defended his own work and Armstead defended Cho's. In fact, it seemed to amuse him. Gerard and Madvehkar excused themselves a few minutes into the discussion, stating they had to return to their posts outside. Giles was sufficiently engaged that he only spared them a brief smile and nod before returning his eyes to the small screen on the table.

"Mister Giles..." Armstead's voice cut into the silence, startling Buffy out of a near doze. She looked around for Marcus, and found him curled up beside her on the couch, fast asleep. She smiled to herself. All that stuffy talk about whether the ancient language had branched into Vedic or Indic had put him to sleep easily.

"Mister Giles, may I ask an impertinent question?"

Giles snickered. It wasn't the first time Armstead had done so. "Of course. I suppose you'll ask with or without my permission."

Armstead grinned sheepishly, then continued, "You're quite right, sir. I was wondering... how did you get the words 'goat' and 'travel' from the same root?"

Giles growled in frustration. "Frankly, I have no idea. I'm not sure I was sober when I wrote this."

Buffy started giggling from the sofa, and clamped a hand over her mouth to keep from waking the baby.

"You must have more faith in yourself, Watcher," Zehdlaf admonished carefully. The word 'traverse' does come from the same root as the word 'goat'... it refers to the wanderings of a goatherd amongst the mountains as he follows the animals from pasture to pasture. A most logical deduction."

"Wow, babe, you did good." Buffy seemed pretty impressed, giving Giles a huge grin.

"Yes, Mr. Giles, I apologize for doubting you," Armstead sounded relieved.

"No, it's all right." Giles straightened and stretched his protesting back, groaning softly. "For every two words I have right, a third one is completely off. Ah, if you don't mind, Ancient, I'd like to take a break and review what we've found."

The elf nodded slowly. "Always a wise thing to do, Watcher." He sat back and waited for his host to continue.

Giles grabbed his notebook and started pacing, causing both Willow and Buffy to smile. Pacing meant his mind was working as rapidly as his feet.

"All right. Here's what we have so far. The first section of Cho's translation reads:

'There shall be one born of the Chosen

who was not to be but is

He shall fulfill the purpose and restore the plan

He shall command living creatures

and restore the beautiful land'

"My translation, based on my previous work, is quite similar, but I left out the word 'born' because it was implied, not written... 'chosen' was the same... and I changed the third phrase to read 'all things shall be restored by his purpose.' Um... and... 'living creatures'... I had 'beings'. I substituted 'earth' for 'land', and the rest is essentially the same." He ran his hand through his hair and sighed. "I never imagined that terrible text would ever come in handy, but it appears it may have."

Zehdlaf said gently, "No sincere effort is truly wasted, Watcher."

"That is true, Ancient." Giles nodded at the elf, then continued, "And now, here is the Taraybiana translation... and it is different, still." He strode back to the computer, and read,

'From the congress of the ones

comes one who was not expected

His will be the purpose and plan from above

to command life

and create beauty everywhere'

"Granted, the differences are subtle, but when dealing with prophecy, one must be extremely careful of each nuance..." Suddenly, Giles threw his hands in the air in exasperation. "I don't know which one to support and which two to discard! It's maddening!"

Zehdlaf raised his head and stared at the exasperated man for a moment. "Must we discard any of them? Perhaps all of them are correct."

"How can that be? Dear Lord in Heaven. I don't know whether these lines are describing a child or a demigod."

From the couch, Marcus snorted loudly and snuggled closer to Buffy with a contented sigh. Despite his irritation, Giles began to chuckle. His eyes fixed on his sleeping son, he whispered, "You are my child, first and foremost, Marcus, love. Prophecy notwithstanding, godhood can wait." His soft tone made the elf smile.

More discussion followed, more speculation, more eye-straining work that seemed to go around in circles. Giles ignored the sandwich and potato chips that Buffy placed at his elbow during lunch, and remained at the table with Armstead and the ancient elf through dinner and until well after dark. They did not discover anything new, despite Zehdlaf's apparent ease with the obscure language.

Giles found himself biting his tongue to keep from snapping at everyone in the room. This was going nowhere. Even if one understood proto-Sanskrit perfectly, it was impossible to correctly surmise the ancient writer's true intent. The words were too ambiguous, too easily misinterpreted!

Zehdlaf could tell the worried father was exhausted. "Watcher, let us stop and rest. You would do well to begin with fresh thoughts tomorrow. Great revelations do not often come to men in a single day."

Giles rubbed his face tiredly and grinned. "Wise words, Ancient. I shall take your advice. Perspectives change dramatically when one is fatigued." He glanced at his wife, sound asleep on the couch. She had put Marcus to bed hours ago, then returned to the living room, refusing to be left out of the process despite her inability to contribute to it. He smiled, his face softening with love. His family was worth the effort.

Weary in mind and body, Giles escorted his inhuman ally to the back door and watched him disappear into the night shadows. He then bid good-night to his two human friends, accepting a comforting hug from Willow with a smile as they exited through the front door. With a yawn and a stretch, he made his way to the couch where Buffy lay sleeping quietly. He satisfied the urge to hold her by gathering her into his arms and cradling her against his chest as he climbed the stairs.

Behind him, the blue glow of the still-active computer kept vigil throughout the night.

********

"Do you realized what day it is? I need to put some thought into getting ready for classes." Giles speared the last bite of his breakfast thoughtfully. "I should go in for a bit... see what's on the agenda. We have staff meetings next week, but I prefer to be ahead of the game, whenever possible."

Buffy stared at Giles over her plate of pancakes. She hadn't even been aware of the passage of time this summer. Too many distractions had caused her to completely miss out on most of her down time. "School. Yeech. I almost forgot. I have to register tomorrow."

"I go skoo, Mummy?" Marcus managed to get the words out despite the amazingly large bite of pancake he had in his mouth. Blueberry syrup, his favorite, decorated his cherubic face from cheek to cheek, and Buffy fought the urge to laugh at him.

"Not yet, baby. Believe me, there'll come a day when you won't be so eager for school." She tapped his nose and he crowed happily, losing part of his mouthful down his shirt.

Giles snorted softly and reached over to wipe the toddler's messy face. "Marcus, I look forward to the day when learning table manners will be on the agenda."

"Oooo, Daddy, 'ticky!" Marcus held up his syrupy hand.

"You certainly are sticky." Giles began wiping his son with the wet wash rag that was their constant companion at mealtime.

Buffy giggled at Marcus' serious expression. He didn't mind being clean, but, as a typical male child, he didn't really have time for getting clean. He tolerated his father's ministrations until he was reasonably syrup-free, then squirmed out of his chair with maddening ease.

As she cleaned the table, Buffy watched Marcus run around the room, making all kinds of high pitched screeching noises. Her face showed her confusion at his noisy behavior. "What's up with him today? He's not usually so noisy."

Giles studied the child for a few seconds, a bemused smile on his face. "I don't know."

Buffy paused in her stacking of dishes, and smiled with him. "Me neither."

"Perhaps we should ask him?"

Buffy almost laughed at the simplicity of his statement. She finished loading the dishwasher and came back into the living room where Giles was rummaging through his notes from the evening before.

"Hey, Marcus, what'cha doin'?" She slid down to the floor, cross-legged, and waited for his answer.

"P'ayin', Mummy."

"Playing what? You're making funny noises."

"P'ayin' mons'ers."

Buffy threw a shocked look at Giles, and he seemed just as surprised. He abandoned his notes and moved over to sit beside her on the couch, a frown of concern on his face. "What kind of monsters, love?" He tried to keep his voice steady.

"I dunno, Daddy. Wook, I wun de mons'ers away." He demonstrated by tearing around the room again, keening in that same eerie voice. He made slashing motions with his hands, looking for all the world like he was shadow boxing. Something clicked in Buffy's mind, and she gasped.

"Oh, no... Rupert... he saw the things in my dream the other night!" Cold terror gripped her heart as she realized what it meant. Tears sprang to her eyes despite her attempt to keep them at bay. "My poor baby..."

Marcus immediately came over and locked gazes with his mother, his face solemn, but unafraid. "No, Mommy, don't be 'cared. Bad mons'ers aw gone." He threw his hands in the air for emphasis. "Aww gone! De angel wun dem away."

Giles goggled at the little boy in sheer disbelief. "Did you say an angel ran the monsters away?"

"Yeth! Biiiig angel! 'Care de mons'ers away!" He made swooshing sounds to accompany his sweeping gestures, and suddenly Giles recognized the movements as swordplay.

A huge grin split his face wide open. "Buffy... love... this is... do you realize what he's saying?"

"No, I don't get it!" She jumped up, horrified. "If you do, please translate for me, 'cause I'm freakin' out here! My little baby is seeing monsters in his sleep, and you act like it's neat!!" She tore the dishtowel in two in her anguish, but the action didn't even register with her.

"Oh no, Buffy, that's not what I'm... that's not it at all." Marcus began to whimper, catching his mother's fear, so Giles scooped the tiny boy into his arms and gave him a kiss and hug. "It's all right, Marcus, love. The angel is protecting us, isn't it?"

Marcus nodded enthusiastically, his tears forgotten. Daddy understood! "Yeth! Biiig angel!"

Giles' acceptance of the matter began to calm Buffy's frazzled nerves. He soothed her much as he had soothed his son, holding his arm away from his side until she finally slid down beside him and relaxed into his embrace. He pressed his lips to her forehead and left them there for several minutes.

Marcus felt suddenly protective of his mother, and he sat up straight and declared, "Mons'ers not 'scare me, Mummy. I big!"

Giles began to chuckle. "That's good, son, but you must always be careful about monsters, all right? If you see a monster, please come and tell us." He looked up at Buffy, caught between a grin and a grimace. "This is a most disturbing conversation to be having with a one-year old child."

"I know, babe, but you're sooo good at it. All I can do is freak." She accepted a sloppy baby kiss before asking. "Marcus, when did you see the angel?"

The child frowned, unable to come up with the right word. He finally resorted to the Bond, and she got the impression of sleep, nondescript dreams, and a sudden flash of lightning that revealed a silvery silhouette standing in their front yard.

"Did you dream this the other night, sweetie?"

"No, outside," Marcus said emphatically. "De mons'ers wun' away."

"It wasn't a dream?" Buffy still didn't want to believe it.

"No, Mummy! De angel outside." He pointed at the front door.

"Is the angel there now?" Giles asked calmly. The child thought about it, then nodded before slithering out of his father's arms and resuming his play.

"Oh, this is simply extraordinary." Giles was completely enthralled. "Buffy, love, Marcus has seen a Guardian Angel. Astounding! Of course, I 'd always believed there were such things, but to actually have one materialize in our midst..."

"Well, not exactly 'in our midst', but in our front yard. And he didn't actually materialize, really, if he's still out there somewhere... oh, this is just too weird."

"It certainly is fantastic! I should ring Father and tell him his grandson is seeing angels in the front garden!"

Buffy burst out giggling at his rapt expression, causing Giles to stop and stare at her for a minute. He suddenly realized the humor in what he had said, and started laughing, too. Marcus ran to them and threw his arms around Giles' leg, adding his voice to the sounds of relief and love.

"Oh, dear... I just realized how silly that sounded. Perhaps I shouldn't disturb Father... he has seen far stranger things in his lifetime..."

"Yeah... I know. he was seeing angels a long time ago. It's no big deal to him." She giggled again, leaning back against his chest as he moved to accommodate her. "That was so cute, babe... you wanting to call Daddy with your big news..."

"Well, yes. I see how that could be amusing, coming from an old relic like me."

She sat up and slapped his arm, making a face at him. "I kinda like my old relic, so hush." She kissed him on the nose. "Besides, he's cute." He reached around and gave her another comforting hug, and Marcus clambered onto his lap to get in on the affectionate exchange. Buffy leaned forward and gave the child a matching smooch on his tiny button nose, causing him to giggle wildly. "Hey! Looky here what I found! This one's kinda cute, too. I think I'll keep you both."

"I'm very much afraid you're stuck with the both of us," Giles murmured into her hair.

Buffy sighed happily. "Lucky me."

* * * * *

The telephone rang just before two that afternoon, interrupting Marcus' nap and making Buffy a little cranky at the intrusion on her quiet time. She gathered up the whimpering child and dashed into the bedroom, snatching the receiver up on the fourth ring. Over the baby's sobs, she snapped, "Hello, you woke the kid, so you're gonna have to talk loud."

"Buffy?"

She stopped being irritated and started being curious. "Cordelia? Where are you? In LA?"

The former cheerleader on the other end of the line took a deep, shaky breath. "Yeah, I'm at Angel's... at the office. Angel is here, too."

"What's up? You don't sound so good."

"I had a vision."

Buffy didn't know what to say to that. Cordy was having visions? It sounded just bizarre enough to be true. "What kind of vision?"

"Hang on... this whole vision thing comes with a migraine. It's not pretty." Cordy sniffed into the phone, smiling up at Angel as he handed her a glass of water and a few pills. She gulped the pain reliever quickly.

"Eww... painful visions... bummer. Sunnydale sure turns out some interesting graduates... a Slayer, a Witch, a Werewolf, and a Visionary."

"Seer, actually. Angel calls me a Seer. Actually, he mostly calls me grumpy, because that's what these stupid headaches make me!"

Buffy chuckled as she heard the returning humor under her friend's pain. It sure was weird, Cordelia being all responsible and gifted.

"Anyway, the vision. You guys have been having a lot of things go bump in the night lately, right?"

"Well, yeah." Buffy acknowledged with surprise.

"Not to seem callous, or anything, but you ain't seen nothin' yet."

"Oh, great."

"Is Giles there?" The voice on the other end of the line was a little stronger.

"Not right now. He went to his office to start getting ready for classes."

"He's taking classes? Oh, right, he's teaching classes. I can't believe it's almost that time. You lose track when you're a townie."

"At least you're an LA townie and not stuck here in Sunnyhell."

Cordelia laughed carefully. "At least here the shopping's decent."

"So... are you guys coming down, or is this just a friendly warning that the boogey-man is out to get us?"

Cordy snorted. Typical Buffy, straight to the point. "We're coming after dark. Be there about nine or so. We'll probably have books. And charts."

"Okay, then I'll have cookies and coffee."

"Sounds great! Um, well, I gotta go gather my makeup. See ya tonight."

"Sure, it'll be like old times. You need a place to stay?"

"I think Angel's gonna clean up the Mansion. It's still his."

Buffy shuddered involuntarily. "But you guys are coming here, right? I'm not asking Giles to go back there."

"We're coming there, Buffy. Angel wouldn't do that to Giles." Cordelia soothed.

Buffy smiled sadly. "I know. Be careful, okay? No pile-ups on I-450, okay? My 'Jaws of Life' are in the shop."

"Right. Angel's driving anyway, so no worries. He's almost as much of a little old lady as Giles."

Buffy laughed. "Well, good then. Except that you might get run over by a truck driver with road rage."

Cordelia laughed, sounding progressively stronger. "I'll shoot his tires out with my crossbow. See ya later, okay?"

"Okay, bye Cordy." Buffy hung up, only then realizing that Marcus wasn't crying. She had set him down in the middle of the bed, and he was watching her silently, his tears almost dry. "So, sweetie baby, we're gonna have more company tonight. Too bad it'll be past your bedtime."

********

Giles returned to a suspiciously quiet house. He dropped his briefcase on the hall bench and started sending out feelers of awareness, searching for his family, although he could tell when he turned onto their street the house was empty.

'Where are they?' He began searching for a note, and found one on the dining room table next to his research papers. He smiled at the location... Buffy knew it would be the first place he would head when he arrived home.

The scrap of paper, written hastily in Buffy's looping scrawl, read 'Gone to the grocery store... we're having company from LA tonight. I'm making cookies for Cordelia. Big smooch! B'

He looked up and took a deep breath. Cordelia's presence meant that Angel would probably be coming, as well. He squared his shoulders. He could tolerate Angel's presence for a little while. Hopefully.

He puttered around for a while, straightening and dusting, all the while waiting for that familiar twinge in his consciousness that let him know his family was returning. He wondered what would happen if they were ever separated by enough distance to negate the Bond's connection completely. He hoped they'd never find out. He didn't think he'd survive it.

His head snapped up and he grinned as he sensed their approach. He returned the feather duster to its hanger in the hall closet and headed for the door, unreasonably eager to see his wife and son after being gone most of the day.

He grasped the doorknob and pulled just as she arrived on the porch. Her face was obscured by several heavy brown grocery bags. He relived her of a couple of them and followed her into the kitchen, grinning down at Marcus, who was dutifully carrying... or rather, dragging... a loaf of bread. It was probably being mashed beyond salvage, but the lad was trying!

Marcus held up his burden with pride and beamed at his daddy. "I he'p!"

"I'm sure you're a big help to Mummy, love." He rescued the bread from further damage and gave Buffy a tender kiss. "What a long day. The only thing wrong with summer break is that it must end."

"Yeah, babe. At least I'm eventually gonna graduate and escape from prison. Looks like you might be stuck forever, Professor Giles."

"Good thing I love teaching. It's... it's the paperwork I can't stand."

Buffy started laughing. "Maybe you'll win the lottery."

He snorted in disgust. "One would have to buy a ticket first, wouldn't one?"

Buffy kept giggling and reached in her pocket. She held up a California lottery ticket and he groaned. "Buffy, surely you didn't buy that thing."

"Nope. Xander gave it to me. He was at the checkout stand the same time we were, so he bought two and gave me one. He said he hoped his generosity would bring him good luck."

Giles shook his head. "Poor chap. That's not the kind of luck he should be searching for. It's a waste of good money."

"What kinda luck do ya think he needs, then, O Wise One?" She let out a surprised shriek and giggled as he suddenly pulled her back against his chest, hugging her fervently.

"The kind that results in having a wonderful wife and lovely child, and a home filled with love." He nuzzled her neck, his words buzzing against her skin. The sensation caused the most delightful goosebumps to rise all over her.

She hummed happily for a moment, then slid out of his grasp. "You're a sweetie, but we have cookies to bake."

"Cookies!" Marcus cheered.

"I'll give you a hand." He captured her again, holding her lightly against the shelves and finding the sensitive spot on the back of her neck easily.

"Ohhhh... oh, no, you don't, mister. We'll never get any cookies baked." She pulled away again, flashing him a teasing smile. "Patience is a virtue, remember?"

"One that is vastly overrated," he complained, but left her alone as she began to gather ingredients on the counter. "Marcus, would you like to go outside and play in the sandbox for a bit?"

The toddler cheered almost as loudly for that as he had for the cookies. Almost.

********

There were caves riddling the ground underneath Sunnydale. Not just the labyrinth of sewer tunnels so familiar to the Slayer and Watcher, but natural caves created by the retreat of underground rivers and streams. This particular cavern was lightless, damp and cool, difficult to access and easily defensible.

An ideal place for evildoers to hang out.

The cavern was roughly oval, with a raised central area that appeared to have been fashioned from solid rock. In the center of the structure was an ornate dais, and on the dais sat a figure. It would have been relatively unimposing, had it not been for the waves of pure evil emanating from it.

The light from a few strategically placed torches flickered across the face of the enthroned evildoer. It wasn't apparent at first whether the creature was human or demon. A casting robe obscured much of the face, and the red light seemed to avoid those depths, reluctant to illuminate such an abomination.

"Arvraxius. Approach me." The voice was British, surprisingly cultured and well-modulated. Human.

One of the shadows disengaged itself from the wall and approached slowly. It was a demon, a small creature, and it was obviously terrified. It knelt near the edge of the rocky platform, head bowed. "Yes, Master."

"Your Shadow assassins have failed."

Arvraxius began to shake from the force of the man's displeasure. He looked up pleadingly. "But, Master, there was a Guardian..."

"I am not interested in fairy tales!" the robed man snapped. "I am interested in results! You have not provided them! ABI IN MALAM REM!"

The human waved his short arm in a dismissive gesture, and the demon cried out in horror before going up in flames. Before the creature's cries had stopped echoing through the tunnels, its body was gone.

Quentin Travers snorted in disgust at the slight whiff of sulfur still clinging to the damp air. "You just cannot get good help these days. I would have been better off with Danson and his band of imbeciles." He turned more fully into the light and dropped the cowl off his head, revealing the black eye patch he wore over his left eye. "Still, Arvraxius did manage to spirit me away from that hideously confining cell at the Yard. I suppose it did serve its purpose." He snapped his fingers impatiently, and a second cowering figure lurched forward with a heavy, leather-bound book. The servile creature, vampiric ridges showing plainly on his face, placed the volume, open, on Travers' lap, then kowtowed backwards until he was again lost in the relative safety of the shadows.

Travers thumbed through a few pages for a few minutes, murmuring to himself. Searching for new and destructive ways of eliminating the heretic Watcher and his allies always put the ex-Councilman in a good mood. He read several of the entries aloud to amuse himself. "Hellhounds... no, too stupid. Hmm. Nightwings? No... devilishly hard to house and feed, and the stench is overpowering... Those ridiculous Shadow Assassins didn't work... I need to locate something nastier."

"You'll not find anything in that bloody comic book nastier than yourself, mate." He turned at the familiar voice, its owner approaching from the darkened tunnel behind him.

Travers smiled broadly as his partner in crime sauntered into view, looking a little wilted. "Ah, David. How was the reconnaissance? Enjoying the weather? The California air is a bit thin and dry this time of year."

"Like a bleedin' sauna, Quentin." He obviously resented the other man's use of his first name. They were not friends, by a long shot.

"And what did you see?"

"What do you think I saw? Palm trees, cars, more wretched pavement than all of London, sweating aborigines courting melanomas... oh, it was a lovely sight."

"Stop your blithering and report!" Travers spat, annoyed. "Have you located the house?"

Witnessing the recent demise of Travers' demon pet made the younger man reign in his sarcasm... slightly. "Yes, of course, boss. I've got the address and directions written down. Even a complete left-brainer like yourself can follow them. I can't believe you wanted to come back to this abominable desert, revenge or not."

"Ah, but it's more than revenge. Much more." The disgraced Watcher fingered his eye patch thoughtfully. "I owe those two much, much more than revenge."

The accomplice made a derisive sound. "Repetition for emphasis... nice, dramatic touch, that. It's just jolly old revenge for me, and I don't fancy spending another night in this fetid tomb." He eyed Travers with thinly veiled disgust. "And yet, it seems to suit you perfectly, sahib." He executed a perfect kowtow, in deliberate mockery of the terrified vampires that skulked in the shadows.

"Your motives--and your juvenile comments--don't concern me in the least, Post. Your cooperation does. We move when I say we move, not a moment before. Is that understood?"

Post tugged at the front of his hair in mock deference. "Oh, yessir, of course, Cap'n... wha'ever ye say, Guv'nor, since your previous attempts have been ever so successful. If I hadn't happened along, you'd have probably lost another body part by now."

Travers felt his blood pressure rising, and clamped his teeth together until his fury was under control. He wasn't looking for a best mate when he started this campaign, but David Post was the most insulting, foul-tempered fool he'd run across since that traitor Ethan Rayne. Still, the man had talent and wasn't afraid to use it. Post had created the only known protection spell that would render a human completely invulnerable to vampires and demons... one that wouldn't wear off or dissipate in the daylight. It remained in effect until the spell caster revoked it. An amazing feat of dark magic. Add to that his insane hatred for Rupert Giles and his Slayer, and those were resources Travers intended to tap.

"Very witty. If you're quite finished playing up to me, boy, you might want to set your wards in place. We don't want the Slayer's little red-headed witch riding in on her broom at the eleventh hour."

Post sneered. "Already in place, m'lord. I'm quite out in front of you on that one."

"Excellent." 'Quite out in front, eh? Perfect position to draw the enemy's fire while I execute my plan. Perhaps I'll watch you die afterwards.' Travers almost chuckled at the thought. He'd been sure to select an expendable partner, and it would be a joy to see this dim-witted idiot suffer.

"What did you do with that execrable demon that brought you here? Something horrible, I hope." Post wrinkled his well-bred nose in disgust, thankful that his trip to the States had been by more conventional means. "The redolent creature near turned my stomach."

"I was finished with it, so I returned it to Hell," Travers said casually, his attention focusing back on the tome in his lap.

"You did?" Post seemed surprised. "That seems bloody wasteful. He was powerful. We could have made some use of him. He could have even gone out in the day, unlike these maggot-brained corpses you've employed."

Travers snapped the book shut impatiently. "Will you CEASE your incessant yapping, you young fool? I can call up a dozen of those sexless, brainless vassals if need be! I didn't want to feed that demon, and I didn't want to hear it caterwauling at all hours. If you continue to annoy me, I'll send you down after it!"

Despite his insanity, Post wasn't stupid. He knew Travers was a powerful warlock, and he reminded himself to tread more carefully, at least until Giles was dead. Then, he'd show that shriveled little fuhrer the difference between parlor magic and a well placed crossbow bolt.

He spread his hands in a conciliatory gesture. "Sorry, guv, sorry, don't get your knickers in a twist. I'm going doolally lurking about in these putrid caverns. So... have you decided what your plan will be... just so I can keep out from under the wheels, so to speak."

Travers' face moved back into a self-congratulatory smirk. "Ah, well, you see, we've tried kidnapping the child and his mother, and neither of those ideas worked. Giles is too smart, too educated in magic, and too determined, and he managed to rescue them. Therefore, we are going to try another tactic."

He paused dramatically, slapping the book in his lap for emphasis. "We're going to take Giles instead. He's a mere human, so he'll be less of a bother. Without his leadership and interference, the Slayer will fall apart. We should be able to scoop her up at our leisure..." His eyes glowed madly. "...and the child will be mine."

Post considered the idea for a few seconds before nodding. "That actually sounds workable, Sahib, but I want to be the one to chin the blighter. I owe the Slayer a blow or two, but he'll be next best."

"You'll get your chance at our dear little Buffy, boy," Travers said nastily. "But, for now, we must keep a low profile."

Casting a distainful eye at his surroundings, Post grumbled, "And, of course, this profile is the lowest of the low. I'm getting soddin' tired of wading through demon dung while you sit up there in your little howdah and cast your little spells."

"You must have patience. All the elements must be in place. By tomorrow night, Rupert Giles will be on his way to Hell."

********

Angel's heightened senses picked up the aroma of baking cookies before he reached the front porch. "Yum. Something smells good!"

"Back off, fang-boy, those cookies are mine." Cordelia elbowed her way in front of him jokingly, then stopped as a thought occurred to her. "Unless they're gross and disgusting, then you can have them. It'll be just like your regular diet." She half-turned, facing him. "Now, mind your manners. No personal questions, okay? Stay out of Giles' face, and don't go moon-eyed over your ex, or you'll get us both kicked out."

Angel suppressed a smile. "No third degree, no moon-eyes, and no baiting the host. Got it."

She gave a satisfied nod, then rang the doorbell, shuffling her armload of books and folders to keep from dropping them. Angel grabbed a rolled-up chart before it escaped and gave her a grin. She certainly had come a long way... from Queen C to Research Girl, but she was still Cordelia Chase. If he broke his promise, he'd be in serious trouble.

He looked up with a half-smile still on his face as the door opened and the great love of his life appeared. The sight of her made him gasp for unnecessary breath. If his heart had still been beating, one look at her would've stopped it. Cordy's elbow in his side caused a second gasp.

"Hi, guys. C'mon in. Giles is finishing up the last batch of cookies, and I think we have some hazelnut supreme coffee for you, Cordy." Buffy stood back to let her former schoolmate enter, then turned and started down the hall.

Angel cleared his throat as she walked away, embarrassed. "Hello... uh, hey, Buffy... you forgot something."

She spun around, her face showing surprise, then regret. "Oh, Angel, I'm sorry." She sighed. "Come on in."

He relaxed visibly. It would've been hard to do research on the front porch. "Thanks."

Cordelia grinned broadly at the sight of Giles taking a sheet of fresh chocolate chip cookies out of the oven. A dishtowel was thrown casually over one shoulder, and she realized he still looked years younger than he should have. He looked good. Apparently, the incident with the Hellmouth beacon, Ethan Rayne, and the age reversal thing had some lasting effects.

"Cordelia!" He put the cookie sheet on the stove and came towards her, a welcoming smile on his face. He grasped her outstretched hand in both of his, the warmth of them startling her until she remembered he'd been handling hot pans just seconds before. "It's good to see you." He looked beyond her, his smile wavering, but remaining in place. "Angel."

"Hey, Giles." Angel didn't offer his hand, and Giles didn't seem to expect it. "Um... where do you want us to set up?"

"Dining room table, I think." Giles pointed towards the doorway, and Angel nodded in acceptance. He took the rest of the books from Cordy's arms and disappeared.

Despite his careful facade, Giles relaxed visibly when the vampire left the room.

Buffy pretended not to notice, chatting happily with Cordelia as she gathered food and drink. Giles helped her carry, and the four of them retired to the dining room, alternately eager and reluctant to get into more serious talk.

The instant they were settled, Angel blurted, "Is Marcus asleep?" He had never seen Buffy's child. He felt a sudden longing to, but he suspected that Giles wouldn't be comfortable with that.

"Yeah, his bedtime's around seven-thirty or eight. A sleep deprived kid is a cranky kid."

"So, he's doing good?"

Buffy answered seriously, "Yeah, he's doing good. He's a great kid, smart, sensitive, loving... and he's stronger in the Bond than we are at times."

"And... you're doing good?"

Cordelia gave her boss a disbelieving look. If she'd been closer, she would've kicked him. The expression on Giles' face was carefully neutral, but she knew the former Watcher had very little patience where Angel was concerned.

Buffy sighed. This was uncomfortable. "Yes, Angel. I'm doing good."

"Great. I'm glad. For both of you. All of you, I mean. You three." He gestured vaguely at Giles, feeling like an idiot.

Angel couldn't seem to get over his nervousness, so Buffy decided to give him a break and change the subject. "So, Cordy. Visions, huh? Not of the fun."

Cordelia swallowed a mouthful of fragrant liquid and sighed, thankful for the shift in conversation. She had been about ready to throw Angel out the door. "You are so right. I don't know how you stood it all through school, getting these awful pictures in your head about hideous stuff that's going to happen."

"I wasn't too thrilled, believe me. But you didn't come all the way here just to swap war stories... although that would be fun later. What did you see that has to do with us and Marcus?"

Cordy steepled her fingers and pressed them against her lips, a gesture that spoke more plainly about the seriousness of her subject than anything she could have said aloud. "Okay, I'll give it to you front to back, then we can start looking through Angel's mold and mildew collection."

Using her fingertip to draw random designs on the tabletop, she began. "First, after the baseball-bat-in-the-face effect, of course, I saw a man in a three-piece tweed suit casting spells before a black altar. Then I was at an airport, with a plane sitting there, and there was a guy with a crossbow... he was wearing a robe like a monk's... he turned around and shot at Giles with it. The vampires behind him applauded like it was a three-act play."

Buffy gasped, grabbing her husband's hand in fear. He covered her hand soothingly. "Go on."

"It didn't kill you, Giles, I don't think. Probably hurt like hell, but anyway... I saw Marcus playing in a sandbox and some guys came up behind him like they were gonna grab him, but I didn't see if they did or not. Buffy, you were looking for something, I don't know what, but you looked awfully scared. I saw me and Angel and all these books and junk, and I saw a guy in white waving a big sword and yelling something Latin sounding. I saw Giles again, sitting all alone in a room, and there was a drawing of a stairway on the wall, so that makes me think he was alive after the crossbow thing."

She paused for another gulp of coffee, then finished, "I saw a bunch of people fighting, and it didn't look like they were all human people. There was lots of blood and ick and slashing. It was all dramatic, lightning and thunder and leaves blowing. I'm not sure about the leaves... it could've been ashes. When the battle was over, I saw something standing up in the middle of all those dead... whatever-they-weres, but I couldn't see what it was. That's it."

Buffy was chilled to the bone. Cordelia's calm recitation was more horrifying than all the bluster and drama in the world would have been. So many elements seemed to be taken from the past, but how many of them pointed to the future?

That's what they were desperate to find out.

********

It was a typical research session, lasting into the wee hours of the morning. Only Angel's need to avoid daylight curtailed the earnest group from making it to breakfast. Angel finally got past his abysmal attempts at small talk as they delved into identifying the shapes and impressions from Cordelia's dream, and Giles managed to be courteous without being condescending. The four of them were startled to find all their dreams had been similar for several nights. Giles carefully transcribed each dream, hoping that a careful comparison would give them some insight into the dangers they were facing.

Around four o'clock, Angel and Cordelia stood to say their good-byes, leaving the most relevant volumes and drawings with Giles for further study.

"We're at the mansion if you need us. Phone?" Cordy looked over at Angel expectantly.

"Not connected. Use the cell."

"Yeah, if it works." The former cheerleader gave Giles the number, then leaned towards Buffy and said in a confidential whisper, "It doesn't work two blocks from the office, but it'll probably work here. Go figure."

After exchanging brief pleasantries, Angel and Cordelia left. Buffy leaned into Giles' side as her two friends drove away. He pulled her close, locked the door behind them and led her upstairs. They traded yawns until they finally got undressed for bed, but neither of them wanted to talk about what was happening.

Giles climbed into bed and waited for Buffy to join him. He watched as she fidgeted, her thoughts in turmoil. Finally, she picked up the large white family Bible that sat on their dresser and came over to his side of the bed. She sat down and grinned at him, hearing his unspoken question.

"You believe the Bond is a gift from God, right?"

"Yes."

"And we're fighting on the side of Light?"

"Of course, love, I've always believed that."

"And, so, God has got to be seriously interested in whether or not we survive the next couple of days, if we're sorta like his special agents down here, right?"

Giles was thoroughly bewildered by her questions. "What are you driving at? Are you having doubts about whether or not God cares about what happens to us?"

"No, not really that. I just need a little confirmation on this one. Wasn't there a guy in the Bible that put out a sheep skin and asked God to rain on it, or something?"

"Something like that," Giles agreed with a smile. "I believe it was Gideon. In the morning, the fleece was wet, but the ground around it was dry. The next night, he asked for the reverse, and God granted it."

"Do you remember everything you read?"

"Well, not everything, but that was unusual enough to stick with me."

"Okay, I'm doing a Gideon, then. I'm seriously freaked out about fighting things we can't even see."

"That makes two of us."

"Maybe, but you're the brains of the family. I run on gut instinct, and my gut is screaming for backup."

Giles remained silent, though he sat up against the headboard and watched her face intently.

"I wanna try something." She took a deep breath and put her hand on the Bible's front cover. "Not a sheep skin, because... eww... but I saw this on TV once. There was a guy who really needed to know what to do in a hurry, and he didn't have time to think, so he just opened a Bible and stuck his finger down on a verse at random. It was just what he needed." She gave her husband a questioning look. "D'you think I'm nuts?"

He smiled at her serious face. "No, I don't. Go ahead."

Buffy looked surprised. "I expected more resistance, actually. But, okay... here goes." She slid her thumb over the gold-edged pages, eyes closed, until suddenly she plunged a finger between the pages. Looking away, she circled a pink fingernail closer and closer to the page before suddenly jabbing down.

Instead of looking right away, she peered at Giles through squinted eyes. "Okay, now I have to look. What if it doesn't work? What if I hit a part where God is zapping someone for being stupid?"

"Buffy."

"Okay, okay... I'm looking, I'm looking."

She carefully scanned the area just under her finger, silently taking in the words. She reread them three times to be sure she was seeing it properly.

"Well? What does it say?" Giles scooted closer to her, resting his chin on her shoulder even though he couldn't see the words without his glasses.

She glanced at him, obviously impressed. "It's Jeremiah 1:19. It says, 'And they shall fight against thee; but they shall not prevail against thee; for I am with thee, saith the LORD, to deliver thee.'"

"I'd say that was pretty clear and concise."

"Yeah." She returned the Bible reverently to its resting place and came to bed, looking a little dazed. She crawled under the covers and lay flat of her back, still thinking about the passage and what it meant to them.

He propped himself up on an elbow beside her, waiting for her to comment. When the silence dragged on and on, he had to say something. "Buffy? You're blocking me, love."

Her eyes flicked to his. "Sorry babe. I was just thinking of all the times I thought I was gonna buy the farm... and wondering if God rescued me all those times."

"What if it was some sort of... Divine Intervention?"

"Then... I don't know. It would be kind of weird."

"I would find it rather comforting, myself."

"You would?" She shifted towards him, searching his face.

He nodded, then leaned over and gave her the gentlest of kisses. "We should sleep. Marcus will be waking us in less than four hours."

"Okay, sleep sounds good to me." She snuggled up against him and sighed. "We can talk about this tomorrow."

"It already is tomorrow." His voice was already sounding low and drowsy.

"Picky, picky," she murmured against his chest. They were both asleep in minutes.

********

Marcus woke up and looked around the room, seeing all the familiar walls, toys and furniture. He played with his feet contentedly for a little while, counting his toes. "Onetwofreefo'fi" was almost always one word right now, but he knew the sequence by heart. He liked "Onetwofree," as well, because grownups laughed when he said it. That made him feel good.

He counted his toes several times, alternating feet until he was bored with the procedure. He sat up and peered over the edge of the crib, trying to decide if he wanted to climb down and explore or just cry until Mummy or Daddy came in and got him out. There were advantages to either course of action, but mainly he just wanted to do something.

He could feel his parents in the next room, sleeping soundly. They were tired. He decided to let them sleep, so he slid a chubby leg over the safety gate and slid to the floor. He eased carefully down the stairs, holding to the wall to keep his balance, just like Daddy said to do. He reached the ground floor without stumbling, and was very proud of himself. Too bad no one was around to praise his accomplishment!

He crossed the living room and located the remote control. It was out of reach, sitting atop the television, which was sitting on its stand. Marcus contemplated the problem for a few minutes, then his face brightened. He bobbled into the dining room and started dragging his high chair back with him. The carpet made it slow going, and the chair wobbled precariously several times, but he persevered, and finally got it stationed in front of the darkened screen.

He knew the high chair well, from being in it three times a day since he was old enough to sit up on his own, and he knew how to keep his balance going up and down. He clambered up, kneeling uncertainly as he reached for the slender black device. It was almost too far to reach, owing to the slanted legs of the high chair. He whined in frustration, then braced himself against the front of the TV screen and successfully grabbed the remote. Pushing himself back to a sitting position, he caused the television to scoot backwards, giving an alarming screech as it scraped along the top of the stand.

Marcus froze, fearful that the noise would wake Mummy and Daddy. It didn't occur to him that he was doing anything wrong. He just thought they needed to sleep some more.

The TV, though displaced by several inches, remained upright and stationary, so he relaxed and gave a tiny sigh of relief. It was the work of a few more minutes to get the high chair out of the way, but he managed it. He at first thought to return it to the dining room, but watching TV seemed much more important, so he left it at the end of the couch. Finally, he ran and clambered onto the couch with a giggle, then solemnly aimed the remote at the screen.

With a blare of orchestral music and a flash of color, the television came alive. Marcus grinned happily and settled himself down to watch.

His favorite character was counting bats. "One! Two! Three beautiful bats!" The Count intoned.

"One! Two! Free boofu' bats!" Marcus echoed happily.

********

"Babe."

Giles grunted.

"Marcus is up."

"Hmm?" Having his face buried in his pillow caused the sound to come out more like a groan.

"He's downstairs watching Sesame Street reruns."

Music and childish singing from the closing credits wafted up from below. 'Sunny days, chasing the clouds away..'

"Good."

"Babe." She gave him a not so gentle shake. "It's nine o'clock. Sesame Street goes off at nine on Saturdays."

He turned his head and gazed at Buffy with a bloodshot eye. "It's a tribute to having a small child in the house that you know this."

She began to giggle. He was so cute first thing in the morning. She leaned over to his half-buried face and kissed his nose and cheek. "We gotta get up and feed the offspring."

"And ourselves, as well," Giles agreed. He shifted to his back and pulled Buffy to him, sighing. "But first, I need a wake-up kiss."

"You're pitiful," she teased, but complied happily, converting one kiss to many. He moaned as their kisses grew passionate. After a few minutes, he growled and rolled until she was underneath him, continuing his assault on her mouth and neck until she started having trouble thinking about breakfast.

"Ahh... babe, we gotta go... d-d-downstairs..." His tongue was sliding along her neck to her collarbone, making conversation difficult. "Boy, you sure did recover from that late night in a hurry... I thought you'd be wasted this morning."

"What would be wasted..." He punctuated his statement with a gentle nip, grinning happily at Buffy's sharp intake of breath. "... is this opportunity to make love, if we were to go downstairs right now."

She laughed at his complete sincerity between soft moans. "Waste not, want not, that's what Mom always said."

"She's a very wise woman, love. You should listen to her."

"I think I will."

"Do you think we should shut the door first?"

"Nah... Marcus is happy downstairs for now. Don't worry..."

********

When the doorbell rang, Marcus jumped up and answered it dutifully. Just before he opened the door, he leaned his head against it and closed his eyes, taking an impression of the person behind the wood and veneer surface. His eyes snapped open and he fumbled with the knob until it opened. The deadbolt was a little more difficult to reach, but he managed by standing on tip-toe and leaning up against the frame. He threw the door open and launched himself into his grandmother's arms.

"G'amma! G'ampa! I wuv you!" he cried repeatedly, giving them both several enthusiastic kisses. He pointed back into the house proudly. "I watch Teebee! Wook!"

Joyce glanced around the living room, expecting to see her daughter or her husband bustling around as usual. She spied the high chair first thing, and put two and two together. "Wilton, I think Marcus got up by himself this morning."

Wilton grinned and ruffled Marcus' hair. "You little Houdini! Did you get out of bed and down the stairs by yourself?"

"Yeth! I watch Seth-me Stweet!"

The grandparents chuckled, and Wilton looked around much as Joyce had. "Where are Buffy and Rupert?"

"My guess? Still asleep. They didn't even hear the doorbell! Look at all these old books and papers... and printouts, too... Willow must've been here. They probably are researching something demon-y." She chuckled and shook her head. "Oh, dear, that was a complete Buffy-ism. Out of my house almost three years, and she still effects my speech patterns."

"Why don't we make breakfast, then? We can surprise them when they come down. Rupert keeps a well-stocked fridge."

"Great idea! Marcus, would you like bacon and eggs for breakfast?"

"I wike bac'n'edds, G'ama!"

Joyce took command of the kitchen as Wilton set the table and watched Marcus. Soon the delectable aroma of cooking permeated the room.

* * * * *

"Wow." Buffy blew her bangs out of her eyes and looked down at her panting husband.

"I agree."

"Research agrees with you, babe."

Giles chuckled, and Buffy felt the sound vibrate through her from her position lying atop his chest. "I don't think it was the research, love... good Lord, look at the time."

"We need to get up and feed the kid now, for real. We haven't stayed in bed this late since... well, since I don't know when."

"Quite possibly, since Marcus was born."

"Wow."

"That was quite a different 'wow' from the previous one."

"Yeah, well, the first one meant, 'oh, you sexy thang!' and the second meant 'life sure did change when Marcus came along.' But in a good way, mostly."

"I rarely slept late before he came along. That was your preference, lolling about until midday."

Buffy ticked his ribs, causing him to yelp, and they both started chuckling. Suddenly, she pushed herself up and sniffed the air cautiously. "Hey, do you smell something?"

Giles imitated her gesture, his eyes growing round with fear. "Surely you don't think..."

"Oh, my God, Rupert, what if Marcus has set something on fire?"

"It doesn't smell like something burning... actually, it smells like bacon and toast."

"Both which require hot things! We gotta get down there!"

She scrambled up and began throwing on clothes. Giles did the same, leaving his pajama top unbuttoned and grabbing his robe. They sprinted down the hall to the stairs, barely dressed. They were halfway down the stairs, calling Marcus' name frantically, before Wilton's presence registered on them.

Buffy came to a complete halt, causing Giles to run full tilt into her. She stumbled down the remaining steps, consciously checking to see if she was decent, and Giles ran a slightly shaky hand through his hair. They both gave huge sighs of relief, then began to wonder how their relatives had gotten in.

"Hi, Daddy! Hi Mummy!" Marcus chirped from the living room floor. His toys were scattered everywhere.

"Good morning, Rupert. Sleep well?" Wilton couldn't resist the jibe.

"H-hello, Wilton," Giles said, collecting himself visibly. "Um... ah... I'm s-sorry, how did you get here?" He looked decidedly uncomfortable, standing barefooted and barely clothed in front of his father-in-law and boss. Not to mention still breathing heavily from fear and from... earlier exertions.

Wilton, enjoying the moment tremendously, said in a dry tone, "We drove the New Yorker. The Caddy's in the shop."

Joyce sputtered gleefully from the kitchen.

Giles blushed redly. "No, I meant to say... how did you get in here? Not that you're not welcome, of course, but I bolted the door."

Buffy made a strategic retreat to join her mother, leaving Giles to his own devices.

Wilton patted his grandson on the shoulder. "Marcus let us in."

Giles stared at him in disbelief. Finally, what Wilton said sunk in, and he raised his eyes to the ceiling in silent appeal. "Buffy?" he called, his voice sounding almost plaintive. "Were you aware that Marcus can open the front door now?"

"Oh, great." She answered from the kitchen. "No, I wasn't. It's time for a trip to the hardware store for more locks."

"Indeed." Giles folded his arms across his bare chest and winced. "Wilton, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to change into something less... drafty."

Wilton laughed and waved jauntily. "Go on, Rupert. We're just fine down here, aren't we, Marcus?"

"Uh-huh, G'ampa p'aying twucks wif me, Daddy."

"Good for you both." Giles dashed back up the stairs, hoping he didn't appear as red-faced as he felt.

In the kitchen, Joyce was flipping eggs with practiced ease as Buffy held the plates ready to accept them. "Sorry about not being present and accounted for when you got here, Mom. We had a late night."

"I could see that from the stuff on the table, which, by the way, I put in the front room so we could eat."

Buffy watched Joyce put the finishing touches on the meal with a broad grin on her face. "Sure seems like old times, me watching you cook breakfast."

"Sure does, honey. Grab the butter, would you? So... what does all the research have to do with Marcus?"

The grin left her face, and Buffy swallowed hard. She so not ready for this discussion. So far, it had just been the old Scooby Gang members involved... people who were used to the weirdness, plus the newcomers like Watcher Bill and the three mythical creatures that had proved to be very real.

Moms were supposed to be supportive... and clueless. She hated her mother finding out about the Slaying, and she hated her being involved when the Council baddies tried to kidnap Marcus the day he was born. But, to tell her mother that a prophecy foretold that Marcus' life was going to be filled with demons, battles, and the end of the world... she had a feeling she was gonna hate that most of all.

"What made you say that?"

"The stuff on the table has his name scribbled all over it. What's going on?"

"Can we talk about it after we eat?" Buffy gave a little apologetic laugh as she gathered plates and started out the door. "I don't wanna ruin your appetite."

Joyce eyed her daughter sharply, then nodded. "Don't think I'm going to forget about it, though."

She followed Buffy into the dining room with a sinking heart.

********

'Lovely timing you've got, old man,' Giles berated himself as he searched the closet for something to wear. Actually, if the truth were told, the prize for timing should go to Joyce and Wilton. As he pulled on a clean shirt, he thought, with a chuckle, that in-laws seemed to appear at the most inconvenient moments.

In-laws. Oh, dear.

He stopped with his fingers on his shirt buttons, feeling Buffy's sudden surge of sadness welling up inside him. His supernatural connection fed her emotions to him like water through a conduit, and he knew Joyce was asking questions... questions with no easy answers. Knowing Joyce, answers would have to be given, whether he had them or not. He had learned that hiding things from Joyce only produced more friction and worry than any of them needed at this point.

The familiar cloud of fear, anxiety and self-recrimination descended over him once again. He was, both by nature and by training, taciturn and melancholy. Only Buffy's cheerful disposition, and the presence of her irreverent and stubbornly inclusive friends, had kept him from becoming a lonely, withdrawn person... especially after Jenny's death.

As the weight of destiny and prophecy descended on him, he began to lose himself in despair. He fought it bravely, knowing Buffy and Marcus would feel the repercussions, but it was a losing battle. He turned, almost blinded by his emotions, and his eyes fell on the family portrait sitting on the dresser. A sob caught in his throat, and he reached for it, blinking rapidly, somehow seeking comfort in the beloved faces.

The picture, taken at a local photo shop, was of the five of them, dressed in their Sunday best. The two men were sitting, hands in their laps in carefully arranged casual ease. The two ladies stood behind them, Buffy's hands on Wilton's shoulder, Joyce's on his. Between them, as if cocooned in love, was Marcus, his golden brown curls shining in the artificial light. He had the most deliciously mischievous expression on his face, as if he was contemplating a rapid escape. All of them looked so proud, so happy...

He stroked the picture, tracing the tiny face that was almost obscured by his large finger. He wondered if they would ever again be that happy, that blissfully unaware of what lay ahead.

"Marcus, my son..." He whispered brokenly. It wasn't right! They had already fought their battles, won their wars. Why, after all they'd been through... after all she'd been through, couldn't the Army of Light find itself another champion, and leave their son the hell alone? He was inundated with guilt at the thought, and apologized silently to the heavens, but the feeling was still there.

A surge of love, tinged with concern, caught him by surprise, and enveloped him in mental warmth. A second sob was torn from him, and he almost dropped the photograph as his body relaxed under Buffy's tender assault. It reminded him of why he fought, why he continued to fight the Darkness. He fought because of those he loved.

He sent reassuring thoughts back to his wife and finished dressing slowly, still shaking a bit from the emotional upheaval of the last few minutes. With a last glance at the photograph, he left the room. As he started down the hall, he hoped fervently he could once again be the calm, rational Watcher, the man with all the explanations... because his family needed them. Needed him.

As much as he needed them.

********

"Joyce, that was a lovely breakfast. Thank you." Giles pushed away from the dining room table with a satisfied sigh. "I'm certainly lucky that Buffy inherited some of your culinary skills."

"Inherited? I practically had to force them down her throat," Joyce quipped.

"I wasn't that bad." Buffy came to her own defense quickly. "I got really good at waffles, remember?"

"I remember when the waffle iron caught fire."

"Mo-om!"

The easy banter did nothing to dispel the underlying tension in the room. As if the end of the meal was a signal, Buffy and Giles stood and gathered the plates and silverware, taking them to the kitchen. As soon as they were out of earshot, Buffy turned a pleading gaze up to her husband. "What do we do now? Mom's gonna freak, royally."

"We can't lie to her, but if we tell her everything we know, it won't be much." He sighed heavily. "These obscure prophecies are so difficult to decipher... I wish I had more time to work on this one."

"We have all the time we have," Buffy said whimsically, then her face fell again. "I hate this. I really do."

"I know. Well... once more, into the breach!"

Buffy snorted and followed him through the door.

Joyce was waiting in her classic nervous pose, leaning against the table, her hands stretched out in front of her, fingers clenched tightly to hide the trembling. Giles fought a smile as he recognized the position... Buffy did the same thing when she knew they were going to have a 'discussion.' Wilton sat next to her, his attention on Marcus, who was finishing his toast. Actually, Marcus was wearing most of it, but that was okay. Giles knew the older man would be listening, regardless of what Marcus was doing.

Buffy paused long enough to take a deep breath, then sat, grasping her mother's hands in hers.

"You wanna ask questions. Go ahead."

Joyce looked at Wilton for moral support, and got a gentle squeeze of the shoulder for a confirmation. He turned to clean Marcus' face and hands as she took a deep breath and let it out with a whoosh. "Okay. I know you both have a destiny, or calling, or whatever it is. I accepted that, as well as I could, I guess, but there's something going on with Marcus now, and I want to know what it is." She looked at Buffy, then Giles, her eyes searching. "I can tell it's not good news. I want to know."

"I want down!" Marcus declared imperiously, and the adults stopped to smile at him. Wilton obligingly released the catches on the high chair, and helped the toddler to the floor. Marcus made a beeline for the living room and his toys, while Wilton took up a watchful position in the doorway, letting the three of them continue talking.

Giving Wilton a thankful glance, Giles cleared his throat and began, "I don't know if it's bad news, or not, really. I suppose, at this point, you'd call it unsettling. We've recently come in contact with a... well, a manuscript, for lack of a better word, that seems to prophecy certain things."

He paused to whip off his glasses and polish them with his handkerchief, and Buffy smiled at the familiar gesture. He often did that to give himself time to think... a holdover from the old, shy, librarian Giles she first fell in love with. She could hear him going over various phrases in his mind, selecting his words carefully. When he'd finished, he replaced the frames on his nose and continued. "This manuscript is... is ancient, fragile, and written in a language that predates anything I'm comfortably familiar with. It's so long and obscure that it has only been translated twice in known history, but since it concerns Marcus, I myself, along with some...ah... colleagues, are attempting our own translation. It's an arduous process, and we've only finished the first few lines. It would be wise to withhold final opinion until we've finished working on the entire segment."

Wilton was leaning back into the room by the time Giles finished, fascinated by the great age of the document. He wasn't a linguist, but he knew artifacts. "Rupert, if I may butt in briefly... have you seen the actual manuscript?"

Giles gave the older man a surprised look. "No... no I have not. I'm working from computer scans transmitted from the British Museum and Council Headquarters in London."

"Ah. Well, I'm just throwing this in, but if it were me, I'd want to get my hands on the original... just for my own peace of mind. If I can, I'll be glad to assist in any way possible."

"It's... it's a very good point, Wilton," Giles admitted, looking at Buffy with some embarrassment. "In all the excitement, I hadn't thought of it. And... thank you. I'll let you know."

"Just what does this manuscript have to do with Marcus?" Joyce wasn't making the connection, and was getting impatient.

Giles gave his mother-in-law a gentle smile. "The manuscript is an exhaustive list of Slayers, past, present, and by all accounts, future. Translators have worked for centuries... literally... to unravel its mysteries. In every instance, when a translation was made, the words described a known Slayer. The Council has just now caught up and gotten the last stanzas translated."

Joyce's eyes widened in sudden understanding. "And the last stanza mentions Marcus? But, Marcus isn't a Slayer! He's a boy, he's exempt!" She shook her head. "That's too fantastic, even for this family."

"It appears to refer to Marcus. Every Slayer, since the beginning of Slayers, has been female, and the verses support that fact, except for this last section." He stopped, looking the disbelieving woman straight in the eyes, trying to convey the absolute sincerity of his words. "Joyce, you must realize something. This is not a recent revelation, but it is a difficult one. Scholars have attempted rough translations in years past, but it's a monumental task. There are thousands upon thousands of lines in the Prophecies, some devoting only one phrase to a particular Slayer, some giving several lines of descriptions. The length of the reference would seem to coincide with the...ah... tenure... of the Slayer." He stopped, wondering if he'd said too much.

Joyce closed her eyes painfully, but her voice was steady. "So, if a Slayer didn't... wasn't going to... last very long, the writing was brief?"

"Yes." Giles swallowed a lump in his throat. To this day, the Council refused to allow him access to Buffy's verses. It wasn't something he even wanted to see, now. Retired or not, Buffy was still a Slayer, and would be until she died. He didn't want to know the manner of her death, or how soon it might be.

Joyce must have been thinking along the same lines, because she asked with a quiver in her voice, "How many lines does Buffy have?"

"Mom! Geez, don't ask him that!" Buffy couldn't stand sitting still one second longer, and she jumped up and circled the room slowly, trying not to show how jittery the conversation was making her.

"It's all right, Buffy," he soothed. "I can honestly say I don't know. I've never seen them, none of the potential Watchers have. The Council seals it as soon as that each section is translated. The last one that mentions a female Slayer was finished nearly thirty years ago... long before they knew that Buffy and I would be together."

"But they'll happily let you see the part that tells about your son's death?" Joyce's voice was nearing a shout.

Buffy had a sudden revelation, and she held up a hand for silence. "Mom, I just realized something. The prophecy doesn't say anything about his death."

"What?" Joyce and Giles exclaimed at the same time.

"It doesn't! Rupert, you read it to me yourself! It predicts his life, but not his death!"

"Yes, of course, you're right, love!" 'Giles sat up straighter, feeling a surge of hope well up inside him. "It doesn't mention his death at all."

"No, just the end of the world," Buffy added softly, her face falling.

"Now, love, we don't know for certain the exact meaning of..."

Joyce's eyes narrowed suspiciously as they talked, and she suddenly snapped, "The end of the world? How do you know all this claptrap isn't made up? You haven't even seen this thing up close. It could be the product of one of those stark raving lunatics like the one that tried to kidnap Marcus... that Travers." She shuddered at his name. "How do you know it isn't something they made up to keep you two in line?"

"I suppose we don't," Giles admitted.

"Then, how can you just assume this is real? It could be a plot by those regimental madmen to get their hands on Marcus! They could tell you anything, and you'd have to believe them, because you can't see for yourselves what it says! What if they decide he's too important to their stinking 'cause' to leave with alone? What then? Are you just gonna let them take him away? How can you trust them, after everything they've done?"

Giles knew Joyce would resist their story, but he did expect her to wait until he'd told her what the entire prophecy said. She hadn't even gotten that far, and already she was rejecting the idea hands down.

"Joyce," Giles said softly, "Somewhere along the line, I must trust someone. I don't know the language well enough. I can't be here with my family and in England at the same time. I can't spend my entire life working on one single translation to the exclusion of everything else. I'm not a-a superman, and I'm not God."

Joyce leaned across the table towards him, her face completely set. "Then trust your heart. Trust your instincts, like I do mine... because they're telling me that something is rotten in Denmark. But don't trust the Council!" She waved her hands in frustration, not able to articulate her feelings adequately. "This is all wrong! You've given enough! My daughter and my grandson deserve to be left alone!"

"Joyce, the information came directly from my father. I can't just dismiss it."

"Yes, you can!" The overwrought woman slammed her hand down on the table and stood, breathing heavily. "You're supposed to be taking care of them, Rupert. Protecting them! Don't follow blindly. Father or no father, they're leading you down the garden path, can't you see it?"

Giles stood with her, his face sad. "Perhaps they are, Joyce. I'm not blindly falling in line. I'm doing my best to find the truth and protect my family, please believe that."

Buffy had pressed herself up against the wall as Joyce's voice rose in volume and pitch. When her mother stood, she took a few steps forward. She put her hand on Joyce's arm and smiled, hoping to defuse her rising temper. "Mom, please, don't. This is why we didn't want to say anything just yet... there's still too much we don't know about all this."

Joyce stared at Buffy for a moment, then drew away. "I hope you're not going to let them... let him..." She nodded at Giles curtly. "...talk you into believing all this without some kind of proof."

Buffy's face fell at Joyce's implied exclusion of Giles from the good guys, but she bravely pressed on. "I have all the proof I need, Mom. Too much weird stuff has come up, both before and after we found out about the manuscript. But we're not just gonna sit around and let Fate happen to us... we're gonna find out as much as we can. Okay?"

"It's not okay, Buffy. This terrifies me, but I'm not going to browbeat you two in your own home." Joyce tossed her hair back and started for the door. "But I can't just sit here and talk calmly and rationally about throwing your son's life away. You just think about what you're doing... what you're accepting... and what it's going to do to your son. You'll see I'm right. Wilton, it's time to go."

Wilton clearly wanted to discuss the mechanics of the matter, but he knew from his wife's angry eyes that the more prudent action would be to get her out of there before things got ugly. He shot Giles an apologetic look before escorting her out the front.

The instant the door slammed, Buffy collapsed into the nearest chair. "Oh, yeah, that went well."

Giles remained standing, staring thoughtfully at the closed front door. "She's angry and frightened, love, and I don't blame her one bit."

"Yeah, I know, but sheesh, you'd think she'd care about what this is doing to us, wouldn't you?"

"She will, after she calms down."

From the living room, they heard a plaintive voice calling, "Mummy? Where's G'ama?"

Buffy sniffed back a tear and dashed into the living room. The child was standing at the end of the sofa, looking abandoned. She reached for him, gathering him into her arms lovingly. "I'm sorry, baby, Gramma had to go. She'll be back some other time." She buried her face in his soft curly hair, and whispered, "I hope."

********

Armstead popped a cherry Lifesaver into his mouth as he worked, his attention fully on the papers in front of him. He and Giles were continuing their translation of the Prophecies of Enosh, but it was slow going. The author of the ancient text must have been a professional writer, because he rarely used the same word more than once. Each line forced them to pour over the available material in an effort decipher the original meaning.

Giles seemed near desperation when he called that afternoon to ask Armstead for his assistance. Buffy had hinted that her mother had been less than supportive when she'd learned of the Prophecies. He knew Giles was very protective of Buffy's relationship with her mother, and therefore felt responsible for clearing the matter up as quickly as possible. He did not envy the older man's position at all.

He sucked thoughtfully on the candy as he read, and it wasn't long before he reached for the roll and helped himself to another Lifesaver. He was putting the package back in his pocket when he caught Giles looking at him with a knowing smirk.

"Trying to quit, are you?" Giles sounded amused.

"Ah... well, yes. Willow detests smoking."

"And you feel popping candy is the way to stop?"

The Observer grinned sheepishly. "I have it on good authority that cherry Lifesavers are the very thing."

Giles chuckled, relenting. "I prefer butterscotch, myself. Always had a taste for burnt sugar. Comes from having a mum who cremated everything."

Armstead laughed with him. "I have a feeling Lifesaver stock is going to go through the ceiling before I'm done."

"You'll be fine, as long as you're properly motivated."

"Willow is attempting to see that I am."

"Buffy once called Willow 'a force of nature.' I'm inclined to agree."

Armstead smiled thoughtfully. "I shall remember that. It might keep me out of trouble."

Giles chuckled and returned to his work. The thought of Willow kept a smile on Armstead's face for a long time.

The front door banged open, startling the two men from their concentration. Buffy's cheerful voice echoed from the hall. "Can you guys fend for yourselves a little while? Will and I are gonna take Marcus to the mall..." Her voice changed to a teasing sing-song. "You wanna come with us?"

Both men looked up as their respective significant others entered the room. They looked back at each other fearfully for a few seconds, then shook their heads firmly. Giles rose to accept a kiss from his wife, then stated, "You go right ahead without us, love. We've almost completed another stanza."

"Such dedication. I'm glad we don't get a new prophecy every week, or I'd never see your face. Just the top of your cute little head." He made a face at her comment, so she kissed him again for good measure, then patted Armstead on the back. "You think you can keep up with the Research Machine, Bill?"

"Ah... probably not, but I shall do my best." Armstead smiled up at Willow, affection plain in his eyes.

"Bill, you're learning at the feet of the master, there. Just don't strain your eyes. Remember, we have a movie to go to later!" The petite redhead leaned over and gave her boyfriend a kiss on the forehead, enjoying his slight blush at her familiarity.

"See ya later! Come on, Marcus, we're going to the mall!"

The toddler dashed up to her, babbling happily, then reached for his father. Marcus never liked to leave either parent without a good-bye kiss. Giles complied, ruffling the tiny boy's hair and giving him a fond smile. "Take care of your mother and Willow, all right?"

"Aw wight, Daddy. I big!" Marcus accepted the mandate with great pride.

The ladies left with their pint-sized protector, and the men returned to their study.

********

It was nearly dusk before either of the two men looked up again. There had been minimal communication, only a word or two, or an exclamation about a newly discovered word, for almost two hours. Giles leaned back in his chair, stretched carefully, and announced, "I'm ready for tea. Would you care for a cup?"

"Oh, yes, sir...that would be quite welcome." Armstead slid his chair back and stood, stretching his own back and shoulders to relieve the tension brought about by the intensity of their work.

Giles shook his head and grinned. "Are you ever going to stop calling me 'sir' or 'Mister Giles' and start calling me Rupert? I'm not your superior officer."

Armstead grinned back. "No, you're merely older, more experienced, more knowledgeable, a much better fighter, and married to a Slayer who could easily rip my head from my shoulders if I showed you the slightest disrespect. I don't know why on earth I should be intimidated."

Giles burst into hearty laughter, then headed for the kitchen.

Armstead took a moment to look around the room a bit, taking in the eclectic mix of old world antiques and more modern fixtures that seemed to blend together as seamlessly as the owners. He was admiring a particularly fine Hepplewhite chair that held a place of honor in the corner of the room when he heard the sound of a cup shattering on the kitchen floor.

********

"Mummy! 'Ticky." Marcus held up his red-smeared hands for Buffy to wipe. He didn't mind being dirty, but sticky bothered him a little.

"I hope that sucker was worth it, kiddo," Buffy teased as she massaged the stain on his palms. "Because it's gonna take Mummy a long time to get this off." She tickled him surreptitiously as she worked, causing him to burst into happy giggles. After most of the mess was removed, she gave up and put the wash rag back in the handy plastic bag she'd brought with her. 'Thank God for ziplocks,' she thought with good humor, as she set Marcus on his feet again.

"Buffy, I think I wanna check out the shoe sale at Maxxes... you wanna wait here or come with me?" Willow tossed the last of her pretzel in the trash and brushed off her lap as she stood.

"We might as well tag along. We gotta hurry, though, it's almost dark. C'mon, sweetie baby, let's go with Willow."

Marcus dutifully took Buffy's hand and marched along between the two girls, gathering smiles from all sides as he attempted to keep pace with them. They had almost reached the store entrance when Marcus stopped, frowning.

"What's the matter, Marcus?" Unease began pouring out of him, and Buffy's skin began to crawl with the sensation.

Willow turned and gasped at the fearful look on her best friend's face. "Buffy?"

The redhead's concerned voice barely registered. Buffy was concentrating, sending out streamers of awareness, trying to place the worried feelings that had invaded both her mind and her son's. Within seconds, her eyes widened in horror, and she snatched Marcus into her arms and started back towards the car at a dead run, scattering startled shoppers left and right. Marcus' voice rose in a shrill wail, the sound bouncing off the walls in the huge corridor.

"Buffy!" Willow ran after her, knowing there was no way she could catch a Slayer in full flight. "Wait! What is it?"

Marcus' screams grew fainter as Buffy outdistanced Willow. She followed s best she could, thinking to herself, 'this is bad, whatever it is... it's really bad.'

A few strides from the car, Buffy gave a horrific cry and dropped to her knees, almost dropping Marcus and the diaper bag with the impact of it. Marcus was in full blown hysteria by now, screaming at the top of his lungs, his hands clutching Buffy's shirt with whitened knuckles, and Buffy seemed dazed and in pain. By the time Willow reached her, Slayer strength had returned, and together they were able to stand. Willow tried to take Marcus, but he clung to his mother with amazing strength, and she gave up and took the bag instead.

When they reached the car, Willow was thankful she'd left the doors unlocked, or she would've probably had to buy a new window. Buffy threw open the door and buckled Marcus into the baby seat despite the fact that he was fighting her the whole way. Willow slid into the driver's seat just as Buffy finished, jumped into the back seat and shouted, "My house! Break laws! NOW!"

Willow complied instantly, years of Slayerette experience coming to the fore as she screeched out of the parking lot and sped towards the other side of town. Luckily it was a quiet evening, with few cars on the road, or they might have collided with something as they careened around corners and ignored stop lights. Willow prayed to all the deities she could think of to help her avoid a ticket as she broke every traffic law she'd ever read. Marcus' screams and Buffy's silent tears frightened her like nothing she'd ever seen... not even the Hellmouth Beast could compare. Her friends were in severe mental anguish, and all she could do was drive. So, she drove.

They turned down Buffy's street unimpeded, Willow was finally brave enough to ask, "Buffy, what is it? Is it demons?"

Buffy's entire being was concentrated on her house as it came into view. Next to Willow, Marcus whimpered, plucking at the safety catch of his carrier impatiently. Buffy reached between the front seats to rest a hand on the shaking child, soothing him slightly. She didn't reply to Willow's questions, and that worried the redhead even more.

Willow whipped into the driveway behind Buffy's convertible and slammed her car into park, headlights outlining the garage doors in the growing dusk. Buffy shot out of the car, shouting over her shoulder, "Stay here! Watch Marcus!" She was inside before Willow could respond.

Willow sat there, stunned. The engine was still idling. Marcus was merely crying now, exhausted by his earlier screams. The sound broke her heart, and she bent over the baby and caressed his reddened face, cooing softly. Seconds ticked away, and she began to get more and more frightened. Finally, she couldn't stand it any more, and she killed the engine, rolled the windows partially down, and got out.

"Marcus, I'm gonna go check on Mummy and Daddy and Bill, and I'll be right back."

"Daaaaddeeeeee, noooo..." Marcus wailed, heartbroken, and Willow almost turned around and came back to him. Another eerie wail from the house caused her to break into a run. It sounded like a soul torn in two...

The front door was standing open, so Willow ran up and looked inside. She heard someone in the kitchen, and started to check it out, but slid to a stop when the familiar shape of Bill Armstead appeared in the doorway. She cried out his name in horror when she got a good look at him.

"Ah, Willow," he said, sounding completely reasonable, even though blood was dripping from a massive cut on his face and he couldn't stand up straight. "Where's Marcus?"

"Bill, ohmygod..." She reached for him, but he held up a hand. "W-what happened?"

"We were attacked. Please Willow, go get the baby and come inside. It's almost dark. We've already called Emergency Services. They should be here shortly."

Willow dazedly complied, gathering an exhausted baby from the car and taking him inside. She passed the dining room and looked in. It looked exactly as it did when they left earlier... papers scattered everywhere, Armstead's laptop waiting for the next command...

Then she looked over her shoulder at the kitchen.

Blood was everywhere, spattered on the neat cabinets and smeared on the floor in almost impossible quantities. Broken china broke the surface of red in several places, and one of the drawers had been pulled out, utensils scattered across the floor in haphazard fashion. It looked like a battle had taken place there. In the middle of the floor, completely ignoring the hideous scene around her, Buffy knelt, her head bowed as if in prayer. Willow began to sob, clutching the baby as if to protect him from the view.

"There, there, we need to get the little fellow comfortable and see to Buffy." One of Armstead's warm hands rested on her shoulder and the other held a towel to his forehead. He smiled tightly and escorted her away from the carnage. He seated her on the couch and went back for Buffy just as the sirens signaled the arrival of the paramedics, and, she hoped, the police.

"Come on, Buffy, dear, and sit down. You know how the authorities are... they will want to go over the scene with a magnifying glass and you'd just be in the way." Armstead lead a completely unresponsive Buffy to the couch and sat her down next to Willow. Marcus immediately crawled over to her and put his head in her lap. She had enough presence of mind to begin stroking his hair, and he gave a hitching sob and was quiet. No one commented on the fact that the knees of Buffy's slacks were stained with blood.

Armstead quietly left to meet the paramedics, deliberately ignoring the brown-red streaks and footprints that led from the kitchen to the back yard door.

"Buffy?" Willow touched her best friend's hair gently, her fingers shaking with reaction. "Buffy? Do you know what happened? You felt it, didn't you?"

The blonde Slayer didn't look up, but she nodded. "Someone... something... took him. He fought like crazy, but they took him." She finally met Willow's terrified eyes, and said softly, "He's gone."

* * *