SUMMARY: Last time: Acknowledging the damage she did to her relationship by building walls between herself and Giles, Buffy confessed her dwindling doubts about her ability to love. Giles suggested a quest to a sacred place in the desert, allowing Buffy to seek answers by confronting her inner-Slayer. Afterwards, in a hotel room in a small desert town, Buffy and Giles reconnected in an intimate and loving way. Meanwhile back in Sunnydale, after the Xander and Anya witnessed Spike and his Buffybot having sex in a graveyard, the gang needlessly feared that Buffy and Giles' marriage was really over. Now: When Dawn's principal reveals a problem at school, Buffy and Giles make a concerted effort to become better 'parents'. Glory closes in on her goal.

SPOILERS/TIMELINE: Set in and around S5's "Tough Love."
RATING: FR-T [mature themes]
DISTRIBUTION: KoalasPlace.com, GylzGirl's HeadQuarters, DWord's theLIST. Others please ask first.
DISCLAIMER: Without Prejudice. BUFFY THE VAMPIRE SLAYER characters and concepts are copyright ©1997-2003 20th Century Fox. No Infringments of these copyrights are intended, and are used here without permission. Incidental dialogue from "Tough Love" written by Rebecca Rand Kirshner. No resemblance to the real CARLTON FISK is intended. My character of the same name is purely coincidental.

AUTHOR'S NOTES: This is an AU retelling of the episode where Buffy and Giles are together, although still following the basic "Glory" plot of Season 5. This part emphasizes family issues, much as it did on TV, with one exception. In the TV episode, Buffy tried to push parental responsibility for Dawn onto Giles and he refused, which became instrumental in his decision to leave in Season 6. In my AU, because of his more intimate and loving relationship with Buffy, he is now more than willing to take on this role (which means, yes, he's gonna stay, but no, I have no plans to re-write Season 6 to prove it!). This means there's a 'mostly-new' story here, with an initial focus on Buffy as she deals not only with her role as her sister's legal guardian, but with her own life post-Slayer Quest. Lastly, I again found it necessary to juggle the episode timeline to maintain my AU continuity, so just go with the flow and don't think about some scenes being out of place!

THANKS: To my problem solvers [ie: friends] who remember things way better than me. Gail, you rock! Also thanks to Gilesfan and GilesWench for the beta.
DEDICATION: To Savvy, your enthusiasm kept me going when I wanted to stop.
POST DATE: January 28, 2005

Buffy's pace slowed as she approached the brick pillar fence that denoted the front entrance to UC Sunnydale. Stopping completely, she looked at the sidewalk just beyond the tips of her fashionable yet practical knee-high boots. The concrete was no different in appearance than that of the path presently underfoot, yet in taking just one more step, she would undeniably, irrefutably, unquestionably validate her transition from student to ordinary civilian.

She'd just come from the registrar's office, all the necessary paperwork completed. She was officially a non-student . . . or would be, as soon as she left the campus grounds. She hadn't wanted to quit school, but circumstances--trying to care for Dawn and protect her from Glory-- required that she do so. Besides, she reasoned, trying to soften the blow of discontent, she'd missed so many of her classes this year due to her mom getting sick, she didn't have enough credit for a passing grade anyway.

Still, it felt like giving in . . . or giving up.

The sound of the bell distracted her. Clutching her book bag, Buffy glanced back over her shoulder one last time, capturing the memory of the campus buildings aglow in the noontime May sun, watching as her peers--or rather ex-peers--darted between classes. Summer break was only a few weeks away and she told herself she would return in the fall to continue her education, all the while knowing that the outcome of the afternoon ahead would very much dictate whether or not that was a promise she could keep.

Taking a deep breath, Buffy stepped off the university grounds. There, it was done. Over with. Now she just had to get through the rest of the day.

She started along the sidewalk, focusing her thoughts on the future. She needed to go home and change her clothes, further transforming herself from student to responsible adult, and maybe have a quick bite of lunch before she collected Giles at the Magic Box by three o'clock. They had a three-thirty appointment at the middle school, called before Dawn's principal like the parents of a misbehaving child. Buffy couldn't imagine what Dawn had done for her to receive a personal invitation from Principal Stevens, but the school office had called late yesterday to set up the appointment 'at her earliest convenience.'

Last night in bed, Buffy told Giles about it, and to her relief he'd insisted on accompanying her, reasoning that whatever trouble Dawn was in, part of the responsibility for her alleged delinquent behavior was now his. Buffy worried, until Giles gave her that smile of his--the one that made all the badness in the world just disappear--and reassured her that it was probably nothing more than the warning of a possible failing grade, if Dawn's recent lack of homework participation was any indication.

But Dawn's school troubles weren't the only worry on Buffy's mind, not that she had the courage to confess to Giles what was. Not yet, anyway. Not until she was sure.

That thought brought her full circle to her more immediate afternoon plans. Although homeward bound, at the corner intersection she turned right, heading into a neighborhood of clothing boutiques, fast food restaurants, and arcades frequented by college kids, as opposed to going left towards Revello Drive. She checked her watch as she continued down the street. As planned, she had a good few hours grace before she needed to be at the Magic Box, which is why this was the time she had allotted to deal with the Numero Uno worry on her mind.

Her period was late. Six days late. And she'd never been late in her life.

There was a drugstore in the cluster of shops making up a small strip mall a block away. She headed inside, collecting a green plastic hand basket to hide behind, hoping she didn't look too much like a student in need. She was aiming for anonymity, and succeeding, until she passed the cosmetics counter and a girl, not much older than her, recognized her on sight and called a cheery hello. Buffy recognized the girl too, belatedly realizing that although months had passed and her life had changed dramatically, she'd semi-frequented this pharmacy with Riley, killing time with the clerk over the latest makeup trends while he purchased condoms.

That thought only made her even more self-conscious as she searched the appropriate aisle for what she needed. Luckily, she found the home pregnancy test kits without having to ask--there were a bunch from which to choose, taking up two shelves, including a store brand--but she hesitated, looking over her shoulder, when picking up a box to read.

Buffy told herself she was being stupid. Buying a pregnancy test should not make her feel so embarrassed and uncomfortable. It wasn't as if she were a college party girl fearing the consequences of some post-party bliss. She was a married woman with a husband who loved her. Not only that, she and Giles had talked about having kids . . .

And decided not to. Giles didn't want kids right now. He'd said so, very plainly, when she'd suggested the idea following a Sunday afternoon spent with the Fisk family. He didn't think the time was right to bring a child into their world, and with Glory hunting them and all, she reluctantly agreed. Hence, they'd both decided that 'no kids' was the mantra for their immediate future.

Maybe that was why she felt so insecure. If the test proved positive, what would that do to them? It had only been two weeks since he had taken her to the desert for her Slayer Quest; two short weeks since they'd patched up their relationship, after she had almost single-handedly destroyed it. She wasn't sure their marriage could survive another wedge of badness driven between them so soon.

Wanting to be as sure as she could be without an official visit to a doctor, she selected three different brands--all claiming to give 99% accurate results--avoided the cosmetics counter on the way to the cash register, and finally headed home. Between the three tests, Buffy figured she had increased her chance of accuracy to 297%; good enough to make her either sigh in relief, or cry quietly, all alone, and dread the thought of telling Giles that he was going to be a dad whether he thought the timing was good or not.

Refusing to let herself ponder his inevitable disappointment, she locked herself in the bathroom even though there was no one else at home, and quickly read the instructions. The two minutes she had to wait for the results were undoubtedly the longest two minutes of her life. Over and over, she told herself that in all likelihood, it was simply stress--or something--making her late, because they always used contraceptives and they were always careful.

Finally rousing herself from where she sat waiting on the closed lid of the toilet, she nervously approached the vanity, where the three small test sticks foretold her future. Part of her wasn't sure she wanted to know, while another part of her desperately needed to. Hand shaking, Buffy picked up each test stick individually to read the results; two with blue plus-signs, one with two vertical pink lines. She checked the directions again, just to be sure.

"Oh God," she murmured, feeling her lower lip quiver and tears sting her eyes. They should have been tears of joy, because she loved Giles with all her heart and soul, and being in his arms made it so easy to forget that she was the Chosen One, with the world to save on an ever-increasing basis. Instead, they were tears of regret.

297% accurate. She was pregnant.

* * *

Giles counted change from the cash register drawer, closed it, then looked back across the counter at the young Wicca he was serving with a friendly smile. "Thank you for shopping The Magic Box. Please come again."

He handed the girl her change and her purchase, the latter in a paper bag with the Magic Box logo emblazoned in two colors on the side, his smile staying in place as he prepared to wait on the person who had lined up behind while he was concluding the transaction. There were at least half a dozen other potential sales roaming the store, practically a record for what seemed like an ordinary Thursday afternoon.

However, his smile turned loving as the next customer's identity was revealed to him. He'd been so busy convincing his previous sale that salamander eyes were an excellent substitute for newt eyes, and considerably cheaper, that he hadn't even seen her come into the store. Nonetheless, he was, as always, terribly pleased to see her. His gaze swept over her, loving and admiring. She'd dressed accordingly for their afternoon appointment, looking very grown up and confident in black slacks and a champagne colored top set off by a black paisley scarf, her hair and makeup perfect.

"Buffy," Giles said contentedly, rounding the sales counter to the floor to greet her with a kiss on the lips. Early in their relationship, he had refrained from expressing himself in a public place, but after the near-dissolution of their marriage, following Buffy's compete withdrawal after her mother's death, he now took every opportunity to remind her how very much he loved her. Straightening, he threw a glance at his wristwatch. "Good Lord, is it that time already?"

Buffy cocked a wry eyebrow at him. "You forgot, didn't you, Mr. It's-Important-I-Come-With?"

He rallied to his own defense, despite knowing teasing when he heard it. "I most certainly did not. The Magic Box has been beset by, well, customers this afternoon, and I simply lost track of the time." Grin dissolving into something a little more serious, he gave her arm an encouraging squeeze and changed the subject. "I trust everything went well at the university?"

"Yep, I'm all dropped out," she confirmed happily, although the smile she adopted lacked the enthusiasm of someone truly pleased to have left their school days behind. Buffy confirmed his suspicions with a nonchalant shrug that, again, was far from genuine. "It's the best thing for now, I know."

Raising his hand, Giles caressed her cheek with the sort of tenderness he usually reserved for private quarters, touched by the notion that she had given up so much for her sister. History dictated that a Slayer's lifespan was short by decree, and living a normal life in the allotted time was an almost impossible feat. To know that Buffy had willingly sacrificed what little of life she'd been granted for the sole benefit of another, simply made him love her even more.

"You can always return next semester, if you wish," he offered, hoping to perk up her mood. "Or even next year."

"Yep," Buffy said again. She mustered up another smile as she covered his hand, still cupped to her face, with her own. Picking up his fingers, she looked up into his eyes, grateful for his support, yet he could tell that something still troubled her, something far bigger than the decision to suspend her education, and he suspected he knew what. There may not be a 'next semester' or a 'next year' for her, or him, or for any of them.

Giles may not have been blessed with Slayer senses, but even he could 'feel' Glory closing in, first with her thwarted attempt to kidnap Hank Summers, then with the capture and subsequent torture of Spike. It didn't take a genius to figure out that any one of their small circle of friends could be next on the target list. All the Hellgod needed to do in order to procure her precious 'Key' was rip through them, one by one, until she found it.

And he did, unfortunately, mean 'rip.'

"Watch out! Comin' through!"

Giles heeded the warning and sidestepped, taking Buffy with him, as Anya enthusiastically barreled past on her way to the cash register to ring up another sale. Sparing a distracted glance at the incense and candles in romantic and passionate fragrances, then another at the elderly couple purchasing them, he paused to marvel at Anya's uncanny retail abilities, the fact that she had made good on her earlier guarantee to 'make those fogies buy things.' She would be completely in her element when he left her in charge for the afternoon, with so many prospective transactions so enticingly close. For her, it would equate with an orgasmic experi--

A handkerchief on his cheek pulled Giles' attention back to his wife. He was pleased to note that Perky-Buffy had returned, and that whatever plagued her thoughts was now a topic delegated for later discussion. With a suitably cheeky grin, she set about wiping a smudge of lipstick from the corner of his mouth.

"Can't have you meeting Dawn's principal looking like you've just been ravaged," she explained in all seriousness. She completed her grooming of him by straightening his already straight tie, her fingertips lightly traveling down the lapels of this suit as she met his gaze again. "Ready to face the music?"

* * *

Despite being early, they were called into Principal Stevens' office along with a sullen-faced Dawn, who glumly awaited their arrival in the administrative hallway, at precisely three-thirty.

"Miss Summers, Mister . . . ?"

"Giles," he introduced himself, shaking the woman principal's hand. "Rupert Giles."

"Marjorie Stevens." She was a stern-looking woman dressed in a brown suit, with her hair pulled back in a no-nonsense, all business fashion. "Please, take a seat."

"Actually," Buffy corrected, obediently sitting, "it's 'Mrs. Giles' now. Has been since January. But you can just call me 'Buffy.'"

Resuming her own seat behind her desk, Stevens shot Giles a scandalized look, but quickly hid the expression under the guise of studying the file folder open before her. Still, her reaction made her disapproval obvious. "Yes, well . . . Buffy. I'll just make a note of that and have Beverly update our records."

Giles wanted to say something, but held his tongue for Dawn's sake. As Stevens scribbled a memo on Dawn's file, he looked at Buffy, ready to offer support with a small smile or a nod, but she wouldn't meet his gaze. In fact, she seemed . . . out of sorts, far more intimidated by the older woman's negative reaction to their relationship than expected. Or perhaps it was her surroundings . . . called to the principal's office dredging up some unwanted personal memories of similar experiences. But she'd been distracted in the car too, he realized, which left him wondering if it were really this encounter with Dawn's principal that bothered her, or thoughts of Glory and an uncertain future that still weighed heavily on her mind.

Spying her hand resting on the arm of her chair, Giles covered it with his own. He gave it a little squeeze, and when she responded with a glance, he gave her that small smile of encouragement for whatever troubled her.

Clearly grateful, Buffy put her free hand over his and held on tight.

Looking past her shoulder, Giles noted Dawn. She wore a suitably unenthusiastic expression as she sat waiting for her inevitable dressing down, and refused to look at anyone.

"I suppose you're wondering why I asked you here today," Principal Stevens began, closing the file and clasping her hands together on top.

"Whatever it is," Buffy said hopefully, "we'll make it better. Promise."

Buffy shot Giles a meaningful glance, prompting him to add, "Yes, I admit to being somewhat remiss in making sure Dawn completes her homework assignments on time, but--"

"Please," Stevens interrupted. She looked at them with a stern eye. "Am I to understand that neither of you is aware of how many absentee days Dawn has had in the past two months?"

"Absentee?" Giles parroted, confused. He'd driven Dawn to school every day since he'd moved into Revello Drive, two months ago. He had clear recollections of waiting curbside and watching her walk into her home building. 'Absentee' was not a word that made any sense to him.

"Four?" Buffy speculated, not realizing the question was rhetorical. "Five? Ten?" When Stevens glared at her, she clutched Giles fingers tighter and added, "I'm guessing 'none of the above.'"

"Thirty-eight."

The number floored them. They looked at each other, dumbfounded, then back at Principal Stevens.

"That's not possible," Giles argued, recovering from shock. "I drove her to school myself."

Buffy was busy dividing the five-day school week into 'thirty-eight.' The answer lit up her face in surprise. "That's nearly two months right there!"

"Precisely," Stevens said.

Buffy turned an accusatory frown on Dawn, who was sitting in the chair to her right and staring at her hands now that the truth was out. "You lied to me?"

Dawn glanced up, and Giles briefly caught her eye with a scowl before she focused on her sister. "Didn't lie . . . exactly."

"Really. What about all the times I asked you how school was and you said 'fine'?"

"Well, it was," Dawn protested. Guilty as charged, she returned her attention to her hands in her lap. "You didn't ask if I was in it when it was fine."

"The homework," Giles said, figuring it out, causing everyone to turn questioning looks on him. He drilled Dawn with a stern parental eye. "All the times I assumed you were simply slow doing your homework because of the television, you weren't doing it at all . . . and the television was simply a diversionary tactic so I wouldn't ask." He grunted in disapproval. "I'm very disappointed with you, Dawn."

"'Disappointed' you may be, Mr. Giles, but since you're not Dawn's legal guardian, the responsibility, I'm afraid, falls on Buffy."

"Now see here," he began testily. In the eyes of the law, he may not officially be responsible for Dawn, but within the bounds of the emotional commitment had made to his new family he was as dedicated as they came. Besides, he'd been a bachelor all his adult life, so fatherhood was hardy something he could be expected to excel at overnight. "Buffy and I--"

Buffy squeezed his hand, quieting his further protestations.

"I don't know what to say," she admitted to Stevens, equally thrown by her sister's deception yet willing to accept the blame. "I'm sure you're aware that the past few months, y'know, have been kinda hard for Dawn. Not that I'm saying that's an excuse."

"I understand," Stevens returned, showing an ounce of compassion. "Your mother was a lovely woman and we'll all miss her very much. I know how difficult it must be."

Giles tightened his grip on Buffy's hand, endeavoring to be the strong, silent support she needed.

"It is. Especially for Dawn. She's just a kid."

"Well," Stevens disagreed, "I think we both know that Dawn is a lot more than 'just a kid.'"

Giles tensed alongside his wife, wondering exactly what this woman meant. Was she a minion of the Hellgod, privy to the truth and toying with them for some perverse form of pleasure? His eyes darted around the room, seeking potential weapons.

"She's a talented young girl with a sharp mind," Stevens went on, proving she was nothing more than a concerned educator. She looked pointedly at Dawn. "When she puts the effort in."

Relieved that this encounter had no chance of turning into a bloodbath, Buffy tried to reason. "Look, I realize that there's been some ball-dropping, but I'm sure this will all--"

"Dawn?" Stevens interrupted, looking at the teen with a falsely friendly smile. "Why don't you wait outside for a few minutes?"

Dawn immediately grew anxious at the suggestion, the knowledge that she was to be discussed in greater detail behind her back. Buffy nodded for her to go, silent confirmation that it would all be okay. She waited until her sister had left the office and the door closed in her wake for privacy, before turning back to Principal Stevens with a pleading expression.

"We'll do better," she promised sincerely, still holding onto Giles' hand. "I mean--okay--we're new at this parenting thing and we screwed up . . . but I swear to you we'll do better."

"Buffy, no one expects you to become your mother," Stevens said, again showing a sensitive side. "But Dawn is still a minor by law, and being named her legal guardian comes with responsibilities that the State takes very seriously. Now, I wish I could just let this pass with a warning, but for Dawn's sake, I'm afraid I can't."

That alarmed Buffy; Giles could tell from the death grip she applied to his fingers. "What're you gonna do?"

Stevens gave them both a hard look before answering. "I'll be watching for a marked improvement to Dawn's attendance--and grades--before we break for summer vacation. That gives you several weeks to reform." Her expression softened as she focused on Buffy. "I know how distracting married life can be, especially for newlyweds. But if it becomes 'distracting' to the point where you can't look after your sister, then I'll have no choice but to inform the proper authorities and allow the State to step in to rectify things. Do you understand what I'm saying?"

Buffy nodded solemnly. "You're saying I need to shape up, or they'll take her away from me." She looked at her husband, tears threatening. "From us."

"What can we do?" Giles asked, tearing his gaze from Buffy's pending tears. "Beyond the obvious of making certain Dawn attends school and does her homework in future."

Stevens turned her attention to Giles. "Have you ever considered applying for joint guardianship? It would give you more parental control. More authority."

"Truthfully, I'm not sure I'm eligible," he confessed, not having given the matter thought beyond what he considered his own lack of qualifications. "I'm a resident, you see, not a citizen."

"But this is where you've made your permanent home?"

He couldn't help but send a small smile Buffy's way as he answered. "It is."

"From your demeanor and appearance, I'm guessing you can provide for Dawn financially."

"Yes, of course."

"And you're gainfully employed?"

"I own and run a business downtown."

Stevens nodded, satisfied. "The fact that you took time and came here today clearly shows that you care for Dawn a great deal. Plus you already live with her, so you have an established relationship. I'm no lawyer, Mr. Giles, but I'd say that more than qualifies you for the job."

"Even though she's technically my sister-in-law?"

"The Court doesn't make decisions based on a person's 'technical' association with a child, but rather on what's best for the child."

Giles looked at Buffy for confirmation that she wanted him to pursue this. In doing so, she would officially be giving him equal say in how to raise Dawn; equal authority in disciplinary actions, equal share of Dawn's affection. No more of this 'overriding my authority' piffle that she liked to pull every now and then, especially when Dawn wanted to slack off and Buffy gave in to her pouting. If he saw this through, then his decisions would carry the same weigh as hers, and he would expect both Buffy and Dawn to respect them.

Buffy nodded, eyes pleading, giving his fingers an anxious squeeze.

He turned back to Principal Stevens, his mind made up. "How would we go about setting this process in motion?"

* * *

The car ride back to Revello Drive passed in silence; Dawn in the backseat, anxious to know what had been said in her absence but too afraid to ask; Giles alternating stern looks between the traffic and the rear vision mirror; Buffy staring glumly out the passenger window, miserable to the core.

If she'd learned one thing from her meeting with Principal Stevens, it was that she totally sucked at the whole 'motherhood' thing. How could she possibly hope to raise her own child, when she couldn't even make her sister go to school?

The thought of being a mom made her look down at her belly--wonderment and panic simultaneously vying for dominance--then at Giles, as he resumed 'eyes front' after his latest silent chastisement of Dawn via the rear vision mirror. He seemed pretty cool with the whole 'officially sharing responsibility for Dawn' deal, so maybe he'd be cool with the news about being a real dad, too.

"Giles?"

"Mmm?" he asked, eyes on the road.

But upon realizing the magnitude of the news that she was so casually about to drop on him, Buffy's nerve fled. She instead found herself floundering like a beached whale, caught in his sideways glances and growing curiosity.

Pulling up at a red light, he tuned his full attention to her. "Buffy?"

She shook her head, unable to meet his gaze. What was she thinking? Becoming Dawn's joint legal guardian was a far cry from the burden of having a baby of their own. Dawn was a teenager, self-sufficient when it came to things like hygiene and meals. Caring for her was a completely different set of rules to caring for a baby, dealing with the clockwork feeding, the regular changing, and the constant crying . . . not to mention the major crimp it would put in their love life. Of course Giles wouldn't want that! When it came right down to it, she wasn't entirely sure she did, either.

"Never mind." Heading off his frown with a smile, she added, "It can wait."

At home, they continued the voluntary isolation by separating into three different rooms; Dawn in the living room, obediently starting on her homework with no TV; Giles in the dining room, settling down to peruse the forms Principal Stevens had printed from the 'Courts of California' website; Buffy in the kitchen, trying real hard not to burst into tears while she made her husband some tea.

Ten minutes later, she sucked up her wayward emotions and slid a cup and saucer onto the table by Giles' elbow, earning herself a warm smile in return.

"Thank you." But instead of reaching for his tea, Giles reached for her, and Buffy glumly allowed him to pull her onto his lap. "Do you want to talk about it?" he asked astutely, his arms resting lightly around her hips.

"No. I mean, yeah. I mean . . . " Arms looped around his neck, Buffy met his gaze at close range. He had such beautiful green eyes; she really hoped their child would have them, too. The thought made her look away, guilt-ridden and cowardly. She pushed to her feet almost in tears. "I can't do this."

"Do what?"

Putting a few paces between them, she whirled to face him, nervously wringing her hands. "This. The whole 'mom' thing. I majorly suck at it."

"Buffy, love--"

"Giles, I'm The Slayer. I kill things, not nurture them. I haven't got a single maternal gene in my entire body." She thought about that for a moment, then added, "In fact, that's probably a pre-requisite . . . all 'mom genes' liposucked out at birth. I bet that's how they make slayers."

Amused by her whimsical theory, Giles held out his hand to her.

Buffy doggedly refused his invitation with a quick shake of her head. If she allowed him to pull her back into his arms, he'd only soothe away her emotional aches with sweetly whispered words and a tender touch . . . and right now, she didn't deserve either. She deserved to feel miserable, and blameworthy, and totally ashamed for her cowardice.

"Buffy, I've said this before and I'll say it again; no one expects you to become Dawn's mother . . . I dare say least of all Dawn." Focusing on his cooling tea, he lifted the cup from the saucer. "We messed up and we were called on the carpet for it," he conceded, raising the cup to his lips. "'We' being the operative word in that statement." He took a sip. "Hence, as you've already assured Principal Stevens, we'll do better."

That wasn't exactly the gist of the 'I'm a sucky mom' tirade she was on, but she went with it anyway. "And if we don't. If some nosy social worker starts snooping around, digging into past history?" Her eyes widened with sudden alarm. "God, what are they gonna find? I mean, are Dawn's records that complete? What if we can't even produce a birth certificate?"

"Darling, why don't we leave the panicking until there's actually something to panic about, hmm?" Putting down his cup, Giles held out his hand to her again, and this time Buffy accepted, reluctantly allowing him to pull her back onto his lap.

Settling, she pouted. "I hate being a grownup."

Arms around her, Giles nuzzled her neck with tender affection. "Surely not all of the time?"

His breath tickled, and she couldn't help but giggle despite her dour mood. "Okay, so it does have its advantages."

He growled playfully, landing a light kiss on her throat that made her skin tingle.

The intimacy made her pull away again. She so needed to tell him. She went to stand--to escape--but this time Giles held tight, refusing to let her go. She could have forced the issue, of course, but she really didn't want to alienate him right now. When her hesitant gaze found his again, his eyes were full of concern. He knew something was up.

"I have something to tell you," she confessed, bravely holding eye contact at close range.

Giles waited.

Sucking her lower lip, Buffy touched the backs of her fingers to the graying hair at his temple. She loved him so much, more than she ever thought it possible to love someone. With him, she'd found her place--something she thought lost forever after being called as The Chosen One--and she knew the sentiment was mutual. News of pending parenthood should have made him incredibly happy, sent them both over the moon with utter joy. Through love, they had made life . . . and if that wasn't a poignant and fitting result of the union of two people who dealt with death and destruction on an everyday basis, then she didn't know what was.

"Sweetie, I'm . . . " But she couldn't say the word, and instead ended up staring at him with an expression close to something a person might wear upon hearing that the world was going to end in the next thirty seconds.

What if the test was wrong? What if she'd screwed up reading the results? No sense in getting his temper all riled up over nothing . . .

"You're what?"

"Just real glad that you're doing this," Buffy finished lamely, pressing into his embrace so that he wouldn't see right through her sham. "With Dawn, I mean. I don't think I could manage on my own." That, at least, was the truth. She only had to look at this afternoon as conclusive evidence that she really had no idea how to be 'a mom.'

Giles returned her hug then released her, pulling back to comb a tender hand through the loose hair framing her face. Cupping her cheek, he brought her wayward gaze to his. "If you had to, you could," he said with conviction. "But you're not alone in this. We just need to put our collective foot down with her."

"Yeah," Buffy agreed unhappily, "Dawn needs an authority figure. A strong guiding hand. She'll listen to you."

"Not me. Us. Buffy, we're her only real family now. She needs us to do this for her."

"Right. She needs us. Us, the grownups. The authority figures. The strong guiding hands and stompy feet that is 'us.' I-I mean, it's not like she's a baby . . . or anything . . . needing constant care," she hedged, testing the waters regardless.

Giles gave her a grateful grin. "Good Lord, no!"

Any spark of hope Buffy may have still harbored over Giles reacting positively to the news of pending fatherhood instantly evaporated. By that statement alone, she found further justification for her decision to keep 'mum about mom.' At least for now. She masked her heartbreak by playing with his tie.

A glance at the legal forms scattered on the tabletop drew a frown from Giles. "Do you think your father will contest my involvement?"

"Why should he?" Buffy reasoned, grateful for the change of subject. "He didn't want Dawn living with him before. Nothing's changed. And it's not like you're adopting her. He'll still have parental rights and that nasty child support payment, if he ever decides to make it." She shrugged. "On that count, he'd probably be happier if you did adopt her."

"And you? You're fine with this, too?"

"Totally on board." She leaned down to kiss his lips, short and sweet but nonetheless sincere. "I'm so grateful that you're here . . . in my life. I love you so much."

Giles smiled a little. "I love you, too. And there's nowhere else I want to be, except perhaps . . . " He threw a sheepish glance at his watch; it was coming up on five. " . . . on the telephone. I really should ring Anya at the shop. See how her afternoon progressed."

Buffy nodded, grateful to steer well clear of the topic of babies. "I'll check on Dawn and the homework sitch," she suggested. "Then help you with supper."

"Sounds like a formidable plan."

She shared another quick kiss with him before climbing off his lap, taking a deep breath as she focused on the present. It was time to try to bolster her sadly lacking maternal skills. After all, not telling Giles she was pregnant didn't make it go away. She was going to have to face being a mom sometime, so she might as well get in as much practice as she could beforehand.

"Okay," Buffy said firmly. "Here we go. Early to bed, early to rise, balanced breakfast, hospital corners. It's a new beginning."

Standing, Giles reached for his cup and gulped down a few swallows of tea. "That's the spirit."

She gave him a confident nod and smile before they parted company--Buffy heading through the archway into the foyer and across to the living room, while Giles went the opposite way into the kitchen to find the telephone.

"Discipline, authority, order," Buffy murmured to herself. But she stopped short at the sight of Dawn happily gabbing on the telephone about the cuteness of someone named 'Matthew', her homework forgotten on the floor. Anger instantly replaced all of Buffy's other emotions. "What is this?"

Spying her, and then Giles--entering the living room via the kitchen/hall door and wearing the same pissed expression--Dawn cupped her hand to the cordless phone's mouthpiece. "Call you back," she said quickly, then hit the OFF button.

"I thought I told you to do your homework?" Buffy said angrily.

"I was."

"Please don't lie to me."

"I'm not," Dawn insisted. "Look, thanks to my jaunt to the principal's office, I missed some of last period. I needed to ask Lisa something."

"Didn't sound like that to me," Buffy said accusingly.

"Nor to me," Giles confirmed.

Dawn shrugged. "So we may have gotten a little distracted . . . that doesn't mean we weren't talking about homework to start with." She looked from Buffy, closing in on her right, to Giles, approaching from her left, and forced a hesitant smile. "What? Are you both ganging up on me now?"

"No one's 'ganging,'" Buffy said, stopping when she realized they were, indeed, a step away from 'ganging.'

Giles didn't stop until he was right beside Dawn. Without another word, he silently reached down his hand for the telephone. Rolling her eyes, Dawn surrendered it into his palm.

"As of now," Giles said firmly, "your phone privileges are revoked until further notice."

Dawn looked up at him in open-mouthed shock. "What?"

"You heard. No phone calls," Buffy clarified in support of her husband.

"You're kidding."

"I would never kid about something as serious as taking the phone away from a teenage girl," Buffy said, meaning it. "And you're grounded."

"For how long?"

"Until we say otherwise or until hell freezes over." Buffy shrugged. "Whichever comes first."

Dawn's expression proclaimed her disbelief over her punishment. She crossed her arms and pouted at the unfairness of it all. "Fine. Don't listen to me then."

"Go to your room," Buffy said resolutely. "And don't even think about leaving it until you can show me or Giles your finished homework. I'll bring supper up."

Dawn glared, first at Buffy then at Giles. "Fine," she repeated testily, grabbing up her books and pencils in an disorderly fashion, and stomping out of the room.

Suddenly torn, feeling a pang of guilt, Buffy watched her go. Giles sided up to her, as Dawn continued to stomp noisily all the way up the stairs. The slamming of her bedroom door punctuated her protest, and made Buffy flinch. It was only Giles' presence that stopped her from going after her sister to apologize for the major harshness and take everything back.

Buffy let go a sigh, deflating herself in the process. "Please tell me we just did the right thing."

"We did the right thing."

Still in doubt, Buffy looked up at Giles. "Then how come I feel so bad?"

"I think we've both just learned that being 'good parents' can sometimes be difficult and unpleasant. But doing what's right, opposed to what's easier, is the key to success." Distracted by his earlier cause, he looked at the telephone in his hand, thumbing the ON button then keying in the Magic Box's number. As he put it to his ear, he added, "I dare say, in time, we'll improve."

Buffy opened her mouth to say 'or make her hate us in the process,' but Anya, who picked up on the other end of the line, had already snagged his attention. As she temporarily lost him to the contagious glee of the ex-vengeance demon and her bonanza afternoon in prosperous retail, Buffy sighed again and headed to the kitchen to start on supper.

* * *

Usually when she made love with Giles, the only thing on Buffy's mind was . . . making love with Giles. But tonight, her thoughts were crowded. Motherhood, babies, Dawn, Glory, the gift of death, and how to tell her husband the truth, were endless whirling snippets that all vied for attention at the most inopportune moments. It wasn't that she didn't enjoy it, or that he didn't leave her satisfied in the end, but tonight, she simply wasn't relaxed enough to revel in the bliss.

When he came back to bed after disposing of the condom, she wordlessly snuggled into his arms, guiltily knowing that she'd blown yet another opportunity to tell him that birth control wasn't strictly necessary anymore. They'd already done the deed. The rabbit died weeks ago.

Poor bunny. She'd give anything to have it alive and hoppy again.

Her troubled thoughts kept her awake long after Giles had fallen into a contented sleep. Restless, she rose around 2:00am, gingerly slipping from his embrace without disturbing him, pulling on a pair of bikini briefs and the dress shirt Giles had discarded inside out, in the heat of the moment. It smelled of him, and wrapping herself in it was a bit like still being wrapped in his loving arms. Taking some blue jeans and her best boots from the closet, she paused with them in hand, throwing a final glance at her lover before heading to the bathroom to finish dressing.

Buffy checked on her sister on her way downstairs, still feeling guilty about the punishment she'd dealt. Still wearing her day clothes, Dawn lay curled on her bed, sound asleep, the empty dinner plate and milk glass Buffy had earlier delivered sitting in a pool of lamplight on her desk, beside her much contested--and stubbornly incomplete--homework. Entering, Buffy extinguished the light and pulled a blanket over her sister. Collecting the dirty dishes, she quietly withdrew from the bedroom, closing the door in her wake.

She left the house a few minutes later with nothing but a stake in her jacket pocket and her inherent need to kill something. Release of some pent up anxiety was her goal, and there was no better way she could think of to blow off steam than some down and dirty slaying. It wasn't until she'd patrolled through two cemeteries without spotting a single vampire that she dolefully reflected that staying home and making tea would have probably been a more productive form of stress relief.

Feeling suddenly drained by the inactivity, Buffy came to a stop, picked a headstone to sit on, and, with a heavy sigh, gazed up at the moon.

Pregnant. How could this happen?

Well, she knew how 'how' . . . the real question was 'how come?' Why now?

She wasn't ready for this. Maybe Giles was right, and they never would be. Fate had plans for her--them--big plans that were already written. Any way she looked at it, pregnant was the last thing she needed to be. Just looking past the whole 'Giles doesn't want kids' and 'I'm a sucky mom' deal, she'd seriously begun to doubt her ability to best Glory in a fight. Every time they'd crossed paths, Glory had totally kicked her ass. How could she possibly win while pregnant? The coming months were going to be more than difficult; they were going to be impossible. She was The Slayer. She had a job to do. But how could she do it when she'd knowingly be putting her baby's life at risk each time she went into battle?

Come to think of it, wasn't that exactly what she was doing now?

Buffy blinked in surprise. She was out there looking for a fight, when she should be curled up in bed with the father of her child, safe. She needed to go home. She needed to wake Giles and tell him, and they needed to come up with a plan for how they were all going to make it through the next eight and a half months alive--

She turned, startled, at the sound of a hungry growl and running footsteps, only to find herself tackled by one of three vampires looking for a quick and unsuspecting snack. Using momentum to his advantage, the tall, lanky vampire--whose long, dirty blond hair, colorful swim trunks, tank top and flip-flops suggested he'd been a surfer in life--landed on top of her, grinding her face into the dirt before taking a fistful of her loose hair and yanking her up. Buffy spat out grave dirt as Surfer Boy bodily hauled her around for his pals to see.

"Dudes, check it out," he drawled to his kindred, still holding her by the hair. When she began to struggle, he lifted her up until the toes of her boots left the grass, leaving her with no solid footing with which to launch a productive counterattack.

Eyes beginning to water, Buffy clutched at his fist, her primary goal to try to stop him from pulling her hair out by the roots.

The other two vamps, also newly turned ex-surfers, were unimpressed with the catch of the night.

"Dude, she's all skin and bones," one commented distastefully.

"Hardly enough blood for one, dude, let alone the three of us."

"Then get your own, ungrateful dudes," the surfer-vamp holding Buffy said, pouting.

His friends waved him off as a disappointment, and left to find plumper pickings. Still holding her off the ground by the roots of her hair, the vamp swung her around to face him, morphing into his human visage. "Hate to say this, little dudette, but you are a pretty scrawny catch."

Still clutching onto his fists to help alleviate the pain, Buffy almost gagged when assaulted by the baddest bad breath on the planet. Obviously, he was new, because he had no idea of who she was. "Looks can be deceiving."

He grinned at her, looking her over with hungry eyes. "Yeah, a totally tasty snack anyway."

Done with the misery he was causing, Buffy saw her chance now that they were face to face, and introduced her boot to the one anatomical spot that was the great equalizer of all men, dead or alive.

Surfer Boy's eyes crossed. "Narly . . . " Enraged, he didn't just let her go; he threw her aside like a rag doll.

Unprepared for her sudden flight path, Buffy flailed in the air, until she landed, spread-eagled, across the tombstone she'd earlier used as a seat. She hit the cut granite like a sledgehammer, her body cracking off a corner before she and the rock chunk tumbled onto the silent grave beneath. Curled on her side, arms clutched around her throbbing abdomen, she cast a fearful look over her shoulder in the event that her crippling kick hadn't been crippling enough.

Sure enough, Surfer Boy straightened and, thoroughly pissed by her attack, showed her a meaningful mouthful of crooked, yellow fangs. As a prelude to his battle charge, he let out a menacing growl . . . which was unexpectedly cut short as he disintegrated into dust.

A split second later, Spike came dashing through the cloud toward her, stake in hand.

"Buffy!"

His face, although concerned, was still black and blue from the beating he'd sustained during Glory's torture session. Despite what she thought of him personally, Buffy hadn't forgotten what Spike had endured for her and Dawn. He hadn't cracked under pressure, and Dawn was safe because of it.

Pocketing his stake, Spike dropped to one knee beside her, but, having been on the receiving end of her temper since she'd discovered the robot he'd had built in her image for the sole purpose of sex, he stopped short of offering a helping hand. Instead, he tried for eye contact as she painfully pushed herself up to sitting. "You all right, love?"

"I'm not your 'love,' so quit calling me that."

"Fine . . . Buffy. Are you injured?"

"Just a bit winded." Trying to get to her feet, however, she grimaced in pain. Her stomach, where she'd hit the tombstone, smarted like crazy. A few hours downtime with Slayer Healing would see her right as rain, but her biggest fear of the moment was that she might have unintentionally hurt her baby. "Help me up."

The request surprised Spike, but not enough that he needed to be asked twice. Taking her by both arms, he helped her to her feet with an uncharacteristic show of real gentleness.

Grateful, Buffy looked up into his eyes, and in that single glance, she was privy to the mixed bag of feelings the vampire had for her. Love. Hate. Passion. Loathing. Spike's emotions played for dominance on an internal battlefield, the man he once was constantly at war with the demon he had become. Part of him wanted to make tender love to her, while another part of him viciously wanted to rape and kill.

But the moment passed quickly, as Spike's gaze darted away. "We should leave before the other two come back."

Back to business, Buffy frowned. "How'd you know--? Were you following me?"

Evading the question, Spike warily continued to regard their surroundings. "Not that I couldn't handle them on my own," he said loftily. Looking back at her, he nodded at the way she was still holding herself, obviously in some degree of pain. "But you need to recoup, and I'm done babysitting for the night."

"I don't need babysitting, by you least of all." She doggedly turned away to prove it, but the sudden twisting movement caused her to wince again, and no amount of trying to pretend it didn't hurt was going to get by Spike. "I'm fine."

"Right," he agreed doubtfully. "Tell you what, pet . . . since I'm headed home and it's on the way, why don't I walk you as far as the phone box up near the main gate, and you can call your old man to come get you."

"Can't. Don't have a quarter," Buffy admitted. Not that she had any intention of calling Giles, anyway. No way she wanted to wake him up and explain what she was doing in a cemetery with Spike, when he had gone to sleep with her cradled in his arms, in their bed. Done with the talking and with Spike's unwanted company, she took another grimacing step . . . which prompted the vampire to abandon his guilt-ridden standoff and put his arm around her waist for support.

They stopped to exchange looks.

"Just don't get any ideas," Buffy warned.

"What? And risk The Wrath of Rupert?" he said in jest.

"It's not him you have to worry about," she promised sincerely.

Spike conceded with a nod. "You're hurt. I just wanna get you somewhere safe. I'll wager even Hubby Dearest would understand that."

They began to walk again, slowly, Buffy holding her injured midsection with both arms and letting Spike take most of her weight. Each step was painful, and she tried hard not to whimper as they headed for the nearest cemetery gate.

* * *

Spike's crypt was closer than Revello Drive, and they made it there without any further nocturnal confrontations. Buffy sank into the ratty armchair that faced where the big-screen television once stood . . . before Giles put an axe through the front of it. Now it was just a vacant spot of gritty concrete floor, with the outline of the TV's base still etched in the dirt. Appearances aside, the armchair was soft and comfortable, and she sighed, grateful to be off her feet and stationary, instead of out walking the wary walk of the wounded at three in the morning, vulnerable and further aggravating her injury.

Long minutes of silence passed. Looking around for Spike and not seeing him, Buffy shifted position slightly so that she could unbutton the lower half of Giles' dress shirt, the tails of which hung out loose over her jeans under her coat. Mindful of the fact that she wasn't wearing a bra, she parted the material just far enough so that she could inspect the damage beneath, but she couldn't see it all, so she unzipped her jeans partway, too. Sure enough, her stomach and lower torso bore a large, mottled, red-turning-purple spot as evidence of some major bruising. Sure, she'd broken off a corner of solid granite using nothing but her body, which for any normal person would have included breaking bones and smooshing organs, but for her, as The Slayer, unsightly bruises and a little pain simply came with the territory. Normally she wouldn't have made such a big deal out of it, but tonight was different, because tonight she wasn't just thinking of herself.

Holding back sudden tears, she ran a slow hand over the smooth flesh of her exposed abdomen; her left hand, her wedding ring catching a glint of crypt candlelight. A few short hours ago, she hadn't even been sure she wanted this baby; now she didn't know what she'd do if she lost it. For the first time since she'd found out, and despite her earlier tirade to Giles about her decided lack of maternal skills, Buffy suddenly felt confident in her ability to learn whatever 'mom expertise' she lacked in order to be a good mother. Quite unexpectedly, she thought of her own mom, and was filled with remorse that she had not lived to see her first grandchild . . .

"It's not as good as your mum's," Spike announced, causing Buffy to jump and look up over her shoulder at him. Embarrassed and startled, she quickly covered herself. As if he hadn't noticed her show of skin, he pushed a chipped mug of what smelled like hot chocolate at her. "On account I ain't got any of those little marshmallows, or a microwave to melt them in. Just a kettle."

Appreciative of the offer, not the timing, Buffy took the mug and wrapped her cold hands around it. "Thank you." She blew on the top before taking a cautious sip. It may not have tasted exactly like her mom used to make, but it was warm, and good, and hit the spot.

Spike withdrew to the other side of his crypt and sat on the concrete sarcophagus he used as a bed, a similar mug of steaming hot chocolate in his hand.

Another awkward silence fell between them, not that Buffy was in a hurry to engage present company in the guise of cheery chitchat. In fact, if she and Spike never spoke again, it would be fine by her. Despite the odd sense of camaraderie, and the feeling that she had defected to the enemy camp, she told herself that she was only there out of necessity. And it was a very temporary gig. She had every intention of letting her husband wake up in the morning and find her exactly where she was supposed to be. All she needed was a couple of hours--

"How long?" Spike asked obscurely.

"How long what?"

Spike gave a smirk. "How long have you been pregnant, Buffy?" he asked formally.

Almost spitting out a mouthful of hot chocolate, Buffy gawked at him in shock. Managing to swallow, she vehemently denied it. "Are you insane? Whatever gave you that crazy idea?"

Putting down his mug and getting to his feet again, Spike sauntered over to her. "C'mon, love, I'm a vampire . . . heightened sense of smell and all, remember? I know the 'normal you,' and the 'once a month' you. Your scent has changed to something new." He squatted in front of her, hands on either armrest, effectively trapping her. Eye to eye, he shot her a deviant little grin. "You smell pregnant." With that, he delighted in giving her a good, long sniff.

Disgusted, Buffy wanted to be disgusting in return, at the same time reminding him of their non-existent relationship. "Maybe you just smell the sex I had with Giles earlier tonight."

"I can smell him on you, too," Spike confirmed, his eyes dipping to rake over her in a way that made her skin crawl. "All over you . . . "

His undisguised lust made her more than slightly uncomfortable. She held her breath, recalling the internal war she had earlier witnessed in his eyes. This Spike was the one who wanted to hurt her.

Sensing her apprehension, he stood and retreated to the other side of his crypt. "Mostly because you're wearing his bloody shirt," he concluded in a casual tone. Reclaiming his mug, he sipped his hot chocolate as if the preceding moments hadn't even happened. "So . . . how long?"

She thought about denying it again and simply walking out. But in truth, Buffy was busting to tell someone, even if Spike wasn't the top name on her list. "A few weeks, by my calculations." She couldn't stop a smile of pure joy or the happy babble. "I think it happened the night we spent at the motel, in the desert. Although I still can't figure out how. I mean, we used a--"

Spike's flat look iced her happy babble. "You mean the night Glory tortured the hell outta me, trying to make me tell her who the sodding Key is."

Elation abruptly squashed, Buffy guiltily diverted her gaze. She honestly didn't know what to say to that.

"You do know it's a death sentence, right?" Off her frown, he continued. "Buffy, every vampire in town who has crossed paths with you in the past will be able to smell the change in you, and those who haven't will hear about it, word of mouth, sooner rather than later."

She hadn't thought of that . . . mostly because until Spike told her, she hadn't realized that her olfactory signature had even altered to such a recognizable degree. It made sense, though, since her body was now going through a major hormonal change . . . and it was probably only going to get worse as her pregnancy progressed. If they could 'smell' her now, just wait until her baby actually developed enough to have a heartbeat. Would the entire vampire and demon population of Sunnydale then 'hear' her condition, too?

Again, Buffy's instinct was to turn to Giles. If there had ever been any other pregnant Slayers, he'd know . . . and he'd know what to do, how to progress, how to keep her and her unborn child safe.

"Pregnant means vulnerable," Spike concluded with a concerned frown, coming back to stand in front of her. "When this gets out, they'll be hunting you in droves."

She looked up, defiant, her hand instinctively covering her belly. "I don't care. I'm having this baby."

Spike looked doubtful. "Have you ever seen a pregnant woman do a roundhouse kick?"

It was easy to be defiant now, but Spike was right. In a few months, when she was as big as a house and unsteady on her feet, just going upstairs to the bathroom would prove challenging. Slaying, therefore, would become a non-issue by her mid-term . . . provided, of course, she survived that long.

An uneasy solution crawled into her mind. It was clear, from what she'd just learned, that if she was going to make it to full term, then she was going to need help. Not just from her husband and friends, who could make a passable attempt at routine nightly patrols, but from someone who possessed her strength, someone who could bail the others out of trouble when they needed it, someone who had proven she could trust to protect Dawn--and her--with his life.

Buffy regarded Spike again, and the unsightly purple and black bruises he wore as badges of loyalty. "Then you'll have to help me."

"Me?" he asked incredulously, clearly not wanting the job. "I'm not the bloke who knocked you up! Not that I could, mind, being dead and all."

"I'll pay you," she offered, although she had no clear idea where she would get the cash. Not from Giles; he'd go ballistic if he knew she were cahooting with this particular devil. He just wouldn't understand why she needed Spike's help. To that end, she sweetened the deal. "And I'll promise not to stake you anytime in the near future."

Spike scoffed. "Bloody gracious of you."

"So will you?"

"Get your bloody Watcher to help you! This is all his sodding fault." He turned a frown on her. "It is his, isn't it?"

Not dignifying that with an answer, Buffy simply glared.

"Right. Sorry. Forgot the old geezer was 'the one true love of your life' . . . even if you did treat him like a doormat last year, and for most of the time before that. Funny, I always thought that title fell to Angel." Spike gave a casual shrug. "At least it's not Captain Cardboard's. That's all we need around here; a wailing bloody GI Junior."

Buffy's hackles were up. "I did not treat Giles . . . I was a kid back then, okay?"

"And now you're what? A responsible adult? Why, because there's a ring on your finger? Because his bun's in your oven? Cripes, are you both so busy playing 'mums and dads' that you've forgotten there's an insane Hellgod out there who wants us all dead?"

"I haven't forgotten anything," Buffy said with controlled anger.

Coming back to her, Spike shook his head in derision, his anger directed at Giles. "How could he do this to you? He must know how dangerous it is. How the hell does he expect you to fight in this condition?"

Guilty despite her anger, Buffy diverted her eyes. "Giles . . . doesn't know."

Spike stopped ranting and almost laughed. "What?"

"We didn't plan this, it was an accident. I haven't told him . . . yet."

"Then why are you telling me?"

"I didn't. You guessed."

"Oh, this is rich . . . "

After a short pause, Buffy brought the question full circle. "Look, I already know I might not survive a showdown with Glory, and given what you just told me, now I have to face that I might not survive this pregnancy. I know I won't, alone."

Sobering, Spike mulled this over before answering. "You really want the tiny tyke that much?"

"More than anything. I know the timing sucks, and--truthfully?--you're not the only one who wonders if I'm ready for this. But I love Giles so much. I want this baby. His baby. I want him to have something of me, so that when I'm gone, he can look at our child, everyday, and see that part of me is still here with him." She paused, not sure what had prompted her to pour out her heart like that, especially to Spike, who would also, after her inevitable demise, gaze upon her child with forlorn regret. "So will you help me? Please?"

Spike looked at his feet. "I don't want your money, and I don't want your promises. I don't bloody want anything from you, Buffy, except . . . " He looked at her with unrequited longing, the words left unsaid.

Buffy stared back, a lump in her throat, knowing that the only thing Spike wanted from her was the one thing she could not--would not--ever give him. They weren't friends, they'd never be lovers, but clearly, her one shot of some sort of future with the man she loved with all her heart depended on them becoming allies. Giles would have a fit if he ever found out she'd thrown her lot in with Spike, and perhaps rightly so, because she already felt as if she had committed an act of betrayal simply by suggesting it.

After a long moment of warring indecision by both parties, during which Buffy reconsidered the sanity of her proposal and almost told him to forget it, Spike broke eye contact and nodded his acceptance.

"That a 'yes'?" Buffy asked thickly, needing verbal confirmation that she could count on him, that he 'had her back' for the next eight and a half months, despite the high emotional price they would both pay for this alliance.

In the flickering glow of candlelight, Spike looked at her across the small expanse that separated them. "I'm in love with you," he said with simple conviction. He spread his hands in a gesture of hopeless defeat. "What choice do I have?"

In that instant, frozen in time, Buffy did indeed feel a spark of emotion for the despondent vampire, something she had never felt before. In another life, things might have been different between them, but in the here and now, with Rupert Giles firmly ensconced in her heart, this uneasy truce was the only thing she had to give in return.

She chose not to answer his question, and instead snuggled into the comfort of the ratty armchair and returned to sipping her cooled hot chocolate. Spike, too, took refuge deeper in the shadows of his crypt and lapsed into silence. Good thing, too, Buffy decided. No more talking was the best thing for both of them.

She was already feeling better, physically, the fact that the pain in her belly had subsided a good indication that she hadn't miscarried. In an hour or so, she'd get Spike to walk her home, and in the morning, she promised herself she would sit Giles down and tell him that he was going to be a dad. Whatever his initial reaction, they'd get through it together, because she loved him and he loved her, and that was enough.

She drained her mug, and despite the sweetness of the hot chocolate and her renewed joy at motherhood, circumstance left a bitter taste in her mouth.

* * *

6:00am.

Silencing the alarm, Giles opened sleepy eyes to the weak gray light of the new day. At some point during the night, he'd rolled onto his back, and although it was not his normal sleeping position, he still felt wonderfully refreshed. Their new mattress truly was an impressive marvel of modern bedding technology. Without doubt, he could sleep through an earthquake, and not notice a thing.

What he did notice, however, was the small, warm body stirring next to him. He shifted position to spoon around her from behind, letting one hand trace a light caress down her thigh as he buried his face in her golden hair to greet her. She was wearing his shirt, he noted, where he, by comparison, was still nude following last night's lovemaking. He hadn't even felt her leave his embrace, or get out of bed to don it--bloody mattress. Cheek on her pillow, he cuddled her close and allowed the languid peace and stillness to tempt him back to slumber.

It was, however, Friday--a workday--and Giles knew he'd have to get up and moving sometime within the next five minutes or he'd miss his 'first shower' cue. It was a tenuous margin at best, and if Dawn beat him into the bathroom, then he'd be late to the Magic Box for sure. But the temptation of stealing a few extra minutes to lay with Buffy and bask in the miracle of her love for him, and only him, was simply too great.

Contented, he was just drifting off when the snooze alarm sounded with a stark blare of the buzzer. Buffy hated it to such a degree that she routinely suggested he use the more soothing and therefore sleep-inducing 'wake to your favorite CD' function, which is precisely why he didn't. He'd never get out of bed in the morning then.

With a surrendering groan, he reached to silence the alarm for a second time, just as Buffy turned over to face him.

"Hi," she greeted him, yawning.

"Good morning."

They kissed gently--just lips, which completely negated the issue of morning breath. Drawing apart, Giles watched her yawn again and noted the dark circles under her eyes . . . not what he expected of someone having just awakened from a restful night on such a comfortable mattress.

"You look tired," he observed.

"Probably 'cause I only just got to sleep an hour ago," Buffy confessed.

His frown deepened. "I'm sorry, love. You know I have a tendency to snore when I sleep on my back. You should have woken me."

"Wasn't your fault."

"It was, if I kept you awake."

She said nothing to the contrary, and with a weary groan, made a move to get out of bed and face the new day.

Giles stopped her with a gentle hand. "Darling, why don't you see if you can get in a few more hours sleep?" he suggested. He may have had a morning deadline to keep, but now that she had officially left school, there was nothing to stop Buffy from staying in bed until noon. Seeing a frown of protest coming, he cut her off before she could put voice to it. "I'll make sure Dawn is up, and fed, and to school on time."

Relaxing back on her pillow, Buffy's expression turned grateful and loving. "You make a great dad."

Pleased, he kissed her again before rolling away to get out of bed. He stood, aware of Buffy's appreciative gaze on his naked behind, despite the lure of some more slumber time. She insisted he had a 'cute butt,' although he never personally considered it as such, not that he'd had reason to scrutinize it the way she did. Pulling on a pair of royal blue boxers, her soft sound of disappointment nonetheless made him grin as he went about procuring clean clothes from his drawers and closet.

"You sure you don't wanna just drop Dawn at school, and come back and join me?" she asked shamelessly. "You could bring a box of jelly donuts, and we could stay in bed all day. Or until we get so sticky that we need to get up and take a shower."

He spared her a glance, finding her, as expected, ogling appreciatively. Her approval of his middle-aged physique sent his ego soaring, as he selected a dress shirt and began sorting through his neckties for something complementary in color and design. "Sounds delightful. But unfortunately, I can't."

"Nhhn . . . "

"Anya reported the arrival of several large crates yesterday afternoon, and she was so busy that she didn't have a chance to open them," he reported absently. "I dare say there's quite a lot of new inventory to be unpacked, priced, and displayed, and I'd prefer to get it done before the weekend." Finally choosing a tie, he draped it over the shoulder of his shirt, then hung the hanger on the front handle of the closet door and headed into the bathroom. "Lest we have to face it first thing Monday morning . . . "

Seconds later, Giles popped his head back out, finding Buffy now wearing a familiar pout.

"Sticky or not, you could still join me for a shower, if you wish," he suggested. As with other 'work and school' mornings when there was no time for sex, showering together had proven an intimate alternative.

Knowing this, Buffy's pout of disappointment instantly transformed into a devilish smile. "Finally something that makes me wanna get out of bed." She got as far as throwing back the covers, but stopped short and looked down, as if the sight of herself wearing his shirt came as a complete surprise.

Their eyes met across the bedroom; his curious, hers slightly anxious.

"Actually . . . raincheck?" she asked, sitting back and covering her torso with the bedcovers again.

Giles' head tilted a little as he picked up on her awkwardness. "Everything all right, love?"

"Sure," she said easily, "it's just that . . . that . . . if I joined you, I'd only make you late . . . which would make Dawn late, which would bring down the wrath of Principal Stevens on everyone, which we definitely don't want."

Giles nodded at her logic, nonetheless a little disappointed at the prospect of showering alone.

"I do wanna talk to you about something though," Buffy added. "When you have time. Say . . . tonight?"

Her seriousness forestalled him, the cheeky disposition that had eyeballed his bare behind with genuine delight, gone. "Buffy, if it's that important, then Anya can most certainly do without me for the morning."

"No, I . . . tonight would be good for me . . . if it's okay with you. I need time to collect my thoughts." Her expression shifted into a shy smile. "Otherwise it'll all just be Buffy-babble."

He studied her for a moment longer--lying in their new bed, wearing his shirt, looking delightfully rumpled and his--until the weight of his concerned gaze forced her to look away. In truth, Giles had been expecting this talk since yesterday, when it became obvious that something of a rather large magnitude was responsible for her disquiet. Possible topics ranged from this incident with Dawn, to Glory, to her mother's death, to the cryptic riddle posed by her recent Slayer Quest into the desert. Whatever it was, leaving things unspoken was undoubtedly the fastest way to a troubled relationship, and he was quite sure that neither of them wanted to travel that road again.

Realizing his frown had turned pensive, Giles schooled his expression back into a loving smile. "Tonight, then. We'll make time to talk, I promise."

"Yeah," Buffy agreed, suddenly anxious at the prospect. As he turned to go into the bathroom for a second time, she once more stopped his progress with a spontaneous question. "Giles?"

"Yes?"

Their eyes met again. Whatever truths Buffy wanted to reveal were destined to remain a mystery for now, as he watched her change her mind at the very last second. Instead, she settled for an old, faithful standby.

"I love you."

"I love you, too," he returned in kind, his smile firmly in place lest she see that he had noticed her hesitation. Turning his back, he let his pensive frown return as he headed into the bathroom for his morning shower.

Whatever it was, he'd find out tonight.

* * *

Avoiding conversation, Buffy pretended to be asleep when Giles thoughtfully slid a cup of hot, fresh brewed coffee on the nightstand beside her. Believing the sham, he didn't try to wake her, rather tiptoed about their bedroom collecting his wallet, watch, and keys. Despite her heart's desire to confess her secret, she continued the pretence as he left her with a gentle kiss on the cheek, and a light and loving caress of his fingertips on her hair. It was only after she heard his car pull out of the driveway, knowing that Dawn was with him and the house was empty, that she surfaced from their bed. Throwing back the covers, she blew a weary sigh at the ceiling, hating herself for being such a coward, and a miserable liar to boot.

In the bathroom, she disrobed before the vanity mirror, revealing the unsightly swath of bruises across her abdomen, and the real reason she'd belatedly declined Giles' shower invitation. She hadn't gone to bed with them last night, so if he saw them, she'd have no option but to admit everything. They'd be gone in a few days, thanks to her accelerated Slayer physiognomy, but in the meantime, if Giles got frisky, she would have to remember to 'have a headache.'

'Or just tell him.' The graveyard romp at two in the morning, the vamp attack, taking refuge in Spike's crypt . . . oh and by the way, did she mention she was pregnant?

Buffy made a disagreeable sound as she stood under the shower spray, eyes closed and letting the hot water cascade down over her slender body. The question was 'how.' How did she tell Giles that he was going to be a dad, when she knew it was the last thing he wanted to hear? Should she be spontaneous and just blurt it out? Like she'd almost done in the car yesterday and in bed this morning? Or would it be better to take her time and set the mood first? Take control of the situation and therefore, the conversation?

As she lathered up with some fruity-smelling shampoo, she knew the trouble with approach number one was that without rehearsals and careful planning of what she wanted to say, she truly did run the risk of letting her language skills be overrun with emotion and turn it all into a messy, teary, nonsensical babble. Approach number two did seem a bit underhanded, but it was also her best bet for total comprehension.

By the end of her shower, she had a plan. A candlelit dinner for two was in order, followed by a little cuddling and kissing on the couch, and then--bam!--drop the bomb and be prepared for the fallout. Drying off, she wrapped herself in a towel, wondering why this was so incredibly hard. Brushing out her wet hair, Buffy again regarded her reflection in the vanity mirror, and answered that question aloud.

"Because I'm scared."

Scared of Giles' reaction, scared of losing him, scared of babies and of being a mom.

She stared hard at her image, trying to look into herself, to see what Giles saw when he looked at her. Was Spike right? Was she 'still a kid' in his eyes? Too immature for the daunting task of motherhood? Was that one of the myriad of unspoken reasons why Giles didn't want children with her?

"Sweetie, I'm pregnant."

She watched herself speak the three words infinitely more difficult to say than those other much-sought-after three words in the English language. By comparison, 'I love you' was a piece of cake. Biting down on her quivering lip, she continued to study herself in the mirror, her eyes dipping down to take in the fluffy, peach-colored, bath towel hiding her bruises, then flying back to her own gaze with renewed determination.

What she'd told Spike was true. Scared though she may be--of practically everything concerning her pregnancy--she wanted this baby more than she wanted anything else in the world.

Giles' baby.

Now she just had to make him want it, too.

* * *

Jinx and two other brethren devoted to serving Glorificus, humbly stood before the Hellgod in the high-rise luxury apartment she was forced to inhabit while in this appallingly human dimension. Having been present as Brother Slook reported his conclusions in the quest for the identity of The Key, Jinx now basked in the splendor of his mistress' obvious pleasure. He liked it when his mistress was pleased; it was far more conducive to his wellbeing than when she were irate. Or hungry.

"So, it's her," Glory announced happily from her throne of red velvet and mahogany. "Under our noses all this time. I like the detail work those monks did. Quirks, foibles, passions . . . it's all so cute, so . . . human, y'know? Pretty convincing really, but not convincing enough."

The mighty, and extremely fashionable, Glorificus slowly stood, her expression changing from the cheerfulness a child might exhibit at a birthday party, to the grim determination of a bloodthirsty killer. One by one, she looked her unworthy servants in the eye, and Jinx found himself struggling not to squirm under her most magnificent and powerful gaze.

"You all know your assignments," Glory confirmed, and he nodded obediently, along with his brothers. Failure now was not an option. She smiled happily again, lighting his world with the grandeur of her presence. "Good. I think it's time to collect The Key."

* * *

Buffy had long ago accepted that Giles was better in the kitchen than her. Cooking a passable dinner for him was a learning experience to which he graciously submitted, despite those rare occasions when the aftermath kept him up all night, but serving a meal intended to impress and seduce him into a receptive mood was still an impossible feat for her. So, realizing her chances for success were better 'bought' than 'made,' she perused a takeout menu over a fresh cup of mid-morning coffee, and decided to hit the mall rather than the supermarket that afternoon . . . as soon as the latest load of washing was done. She'd already put fresh sheets on their bed, in the ever-hopeful chance that she had Giles' reaction figured wrong, and, after she told him, they retired to their bedroom to tenderly express their mutual joy. Now she was just killing time, waiting to throw the kitchen towels and her mother's fine linen tablecloth into the dryer before she left the house.

All like a regular 'domestic goddess.'

The phrase had her smiling into her coffee cup, because it was all so normal and not the least bit Slayery. In fact, it was seriously housewifey, and in a surprisingly contented way. The more she thought about it, the more Buffy embraced the idea of being a stay-at-home mother, raising their normal child, in a normal household, with her and Giles in the roles of a normal mom and dad . . . Fate and Destiny not withstanding.

Pondering the takeout menu, she decided on a selection of Giles' favorite entrees. He had a fondness for Indian food, minus the hot curries, and there were no crispier papadoms in all Sunnydale--according to him--than the restaurant on the corner of Beaumont and Lopez. Plus they delivered, so she could order via phone and save herself the hassle of trying to get hot food home hot, while on foot.

She really should have Giles give her some brush up lessons so she could pass her driving test. She'd need to know how to drive in order to ferry their children to and from school . . .

Children. Plural.

Her grin was goofy, but the happy giddiness surrounding her was just too great to deny.

It was with renewed confidence that Buffy finally left the house. Success was in her sights in the form of a mouthwatering array of Indian dishes, served by candlelight on her mother's best china and backed by some light Kenny G. Her culinary skills may leave everything to be desired, but her feminine wiles definitely knew how to set the mood.

The bath and body shop at the mall was her primary destination. She'd managed to rustle up some unused, long, tapered dinner candles for the table setting from a box in the basement, but for the smooching afterwards, she purchased two 10oz pillar candles from the 'Sensuality' aromatherapy line, fragranced with jasmine and vanilla, and guaranteed, according to the salesgirl, to put her man in the right frame of mind for anything. In the event that Giles didn't develop an amenable disposition by candle scent alone, she also purchased some matching body lotion for when they got close.

Next on her plan was a detour to see Willow and Tara, but Buffy got a little sidetracked before she even left the mall, first by an incredible, have-to-be-insane-to-miss sale going on at Victoria's Secret, then again when passing the bookstore's sidewalk table, where a yellow and black cover caught her eye. With the exception of the odd romance novel or tabloid magazine, she didn't have a lot of time for reading. Study was either Slayer-related or school-related . . . or had been until yesterday.

And this definitely fell into the category of 'research.'

With a self-conscious glance over her shoulder, she picked up 'Pregnancy for Dummies' and started flipping through it. Despite the casual and humorous format, the information within made her realize that not only was the book and title targeted at her, but that she had a heck of a lot to learn in the next eight and a half months . . . a time period which rapidly expanded to 'years' when she began thumbing through 'The Complete Idiot's Guide to Bringing Up Baby.'

Filing 'The Expectant Father: Facts, Tips and Advice for Dads-To-Be' in the back of her mind for possible later purchase, she took 'Pregnancy for Dummies' to the cash register, still surreptitiously scanning the crowd to make sure there was no one about she knew. It was bad enough that Spike had guessed her secret; she didn't want anyone else to know until after she'd had a chance--or rather worked up the nerve--to tell Giles. This was not the sort of news she wanted getting back to him, secondhand.

Happily toting the evidence of her impromptu shopping spree in several large plastic bags stamped with the Sunnydale Mall logo, Buffy found herself entering the women's dorm at UC Sunnydale at a quarter to three. Thanks to her splurging, she was running later than intended, so she wouldn't be able to stay long--just long enough to ask Willow and Tara for a major favor.

As she walked across the common area to the stairs, she smiled to herself, all the misgivings she'd expected to feel for being back on campus, in the wake of her decision to quit, absent. In their place was a big happy bubble containing her new purpose in life, something that far overshadowed her despondency over her decision to drop out. School was no longer even a blip on her radar, because in just twenty-four hours, her priorities had completely shifted to focus on her husband, her sister, and her baby.

Her family.

It was a 'happily ever after' dream, a future not usually reserved for a Slayer, but nonetheless the elusive one Buffy had always so desperately wanted. Not even Spike's reminder of her calling and the pending danger from the undead population, or from Glory, could intrude on her good mood. Not today.

Hand raised, Buffy was about to deliver a jaunty knock on the door of Willow's room, when it abruptly opened in front of her to reveal Willow in the middle of a heated argument with Tara.

"I'm really sorry that I didn't establish my lesbo street cred before I got into this relationship," Willow said in icy, controlled anger, her hand still on the door handle and her attention focused inside the room. She had yet to notice Buffy, while Buffy tried very hard to become invisible. "You're the only woman I've ever fallen in love with, so how on earth could you ever take me seriously?"

Tara, however, was in the perfect position to note Buffy's presence, but it didn't stop her from pleading with her lover to stay to try to resolve things. "Willow, please!"

"Have fun at the Fair." With that, Willow angrily turned to leave.

She faltered, almost walking into Buffy, who had the good grace to look completely embarrassed for accidentally stumbling into such a private conversation. Recovering quickly, Willow pushed past with nothing but an irate frown, and continued on her way without saying a word.

Buffy watched Willow stalk down the hallway in a cloud of anger, then turned her guilty gaze back through the open doorway toward Tara. She attempted a smile. "This is a bad time," she said by way of possibly the lamest apology ever. "I'll just . . . go."

"No, it's okay," Tara said, obviously fighting back tears.

Buffy hesitantly shuffled into Willow's room, feeling as much an intruder as Tara with its rightful owner gone. She stood there with her shopping bags--evidence of her cheerfulness--and waited for the other girl to initiate an uneasy dialogue.

When Tara next turned to her, she'd donned a friendly smile that didn't take a genius to figure out was completely faked. "I'm sorry you had to see that."

"Me, too. Sorry you guys were fighting, I mean."

"Willow's just . . . " Tara shook her head, accepting the blame for whatever had transpired. "I said something totally stupid."

Buffy chewed her lip, and, despite not knowing all of the circumstances, attempted to ease some of Tara's evident pain. "I know it's probably not much help, but . . . Giles and me, we fight sometimes, too. Usually about dumb, insignificant things. I think it's all just part of a normal relationship."

Grateful, Tara nodded. "I-it's our first one."

"Really?" Belatedly, Buffy tried to cover her surprise. All couples fought from time to time; it was a fact of life. How long had Willow and Tara been together now?

Tara dipped her gaze in embarrassment, while Buffy continued to feel uncomfortable, standing there cocooned from the real world inside her happy daydream. The sole intention of her visit had been to ask Willow and Tara if they would look after Dawn tonight, so that she and Giles could spend an intimate evening together without interruption. In light of the argument she'd unintentionally witnessed, asking that now seemed incredibly selfish and insensitive.

The silence grew awkward, neither knowing what to say.

"I should probably go," Buffy said again, hedging a smile. She thumbed her free hand over her shoulder at the door, jostling her shopping bags in the process.

This time, Tara didn't try to dissuade her.

"I have to pick Dawn up from school," Buffy explained, just in case Tara got the wrong impression and thought her company wasn't good enough, which was totally untrue. "Sorry."

"It's okay," the other girl said, again with the false smile in place. Roused into motion, perhaps by the thought of being left alone to stew on their argument, she moved towards the door. "Willow and I were . . . I was headed out anyway . . . to the World's Culture Fair." Stepping out into the hall, Tara locked the door and turned to Buffy. "You and Dawn could come too, if you want," she suggested. "I-I mean, I could walk with you to the school, and we could all go together."

"Sounds like fun," Buffy agreed automatically, then hated having to burst Tara's hopeful bubble. "But 'fun' is not something on Dawn's agenda right now. It's real important she does her schoolwork."

Tara nodded in understanding. Neither she nor the rest of the gang were privy to the inside scoop of what was said in Dawn's principal's office, although they did know about the visit and had inevitably drawn their own conclusions.

Buffy and Tara walked together in silence until they reached the campus gate, where they parted company for their individual destinations.

As she headed for the middle school, Buffy's thoughts turned to Willow, and the anger in her body language as she stormed off after the fight. Buffy seriously hoped it was over something 'dumb and insignificant,' and that her friends would make up soon. Buffy hadn't known Tara very long, but she could see how much she brought to her best friend's life. Despite her initial freak over Willow's coming out, Buffy was a firm believer that everybody deserved to have someone special in their life.

She smiled fondly as she walked, thinking of her friends' similarly wigged reactions when she and Giles had officially admitted to coupledom. And just look where they were now. In less than six months of--mostly--wedded bliss, she and Giles were having a baby! The gang would be shell-shocked but happy for them. She couldn't wait to tell them. Like tomorrow. After she'd told and shell-shocked the man in question.

The bell rang just as Buffy reached the front of Sunnydale Middle School. Still safely shielded from reality inside her happy daydream, she waited curbside with the other moms, knowing, as they did, that their charges would not appreciate the intrusion into their space. She spotted her sister just a few minutes later, as she exited school with her friend, Lisa, both in the midst of a gigglefest . . . which evaporated the instant Dawn spotted Buffy. The peeved eye-roll that replaced it was a major clue to what her sister thought about the chaperone home.

"Hi, Buffy," Lisa said, smiling in greeting as both girls joined her, shrugging the backpack hanging from one shoulder into a more comfortable position.

"Hey."

"Call you later?" Lisa asked Dawn, as she prepared to head toward her own home. Normally they would have walked partway together, sharing schoolgirl secrets, but Buffy's presence had clearly thrown a wrench in the works.

"Dawn's grounded," Buffy said firmly, interrupting her sister's enthusiastic nod. "With no phone."

Dawn's expression turned into frustration. "So says Warden Buffy."

"Okay, well, see you Monday then," Lisa concluded, sensing sibling tension was building to bursting point, and consequently eager to be elsewhere.

"Count on it," Buffy assured the teen as she departed.

Dawn sent a final wave after her friend, glared at Buffy, then started down the sidewalk without waiting. Buffy watched for a moment, flooded with guilt. She hated being the tyrant--in Dawn's eyes--but what Giles said last night was true; being a good parent was sometimes difficult and unpleasant, something she had taken to heart and intended to apply to her own child. She knew that if she caved now and gave Dawn back unlimited phone privileges, her homework would most likely never get done, so her grades would continue to suffer, until Principal Stevens called her and Giles to her office again, the outcome of which was just unthinkable.

She had to be firm, so they could remain a family.

Lost in thought--serious ones this time--Buffy started after her sister. She caught up at the corner as Dawn waited for the pedestrian lights at Beaumont and Addison Street to change.

"So how was school today?" Buffy asked conversationally.

"What do you care? As long as I was in it."

"Were you?"

The accusation behind the question made Dawn shoot another indignant glare her way.

"Sorry, that just came out."

Turning back to watch the endless flow of traffic, Dawn shrugged dismissively, but whether it was for school in general or for being asked of her questionable attendance, Buffy couldn't tell.

"A lot more boring than going to the mall," Dawn eventually answered. She nodded at the collection of shopping bags her sister held, all bearing the Sunnydale Mall logo. "As you obviously know. Good to see you spent your first day of freedom being productive with Giles' money."

"Hey!" Buffy took offense, even though she grudgingly admitted that her sister did have a point. She hadn't meant to go on an impulsive shopping spree, but the sales had just been too good to miss. No doubt she'd be singing a different song when Giles saw the credit card statement.

In a surprise move, Dawn grabbed one of the bags. "Did you buy me something?" she asked, attempting to look inside.

It was the bag from the bookstore. Panicked that the book inside was an instant giveaway, Buffy hastily snatched it back, and put on an angry parental face. "No, I did not buy you anything. You're grounded, remember?"

"Is that a book?" Hands on hips, Dawn frowned at Buffy as she rearranged her shopping bags away from prying eyes and grabby hands. "You bought a book for Giles and nothing for me? Figures."

"It's not for Giles, it's for me."

Dawn balked. "Seriously? Like . . . you never read."

"I read," Buffy said defensively. "Occasionally. For relaxation and pleasure." Off Dawn's doubtful look, she added, "I do."

"Whatever." She shrugged casually, but furtively rose to the challenge. "Let me see, then."

Dawn made another halfhearted grab for the bag in question, but Buffy avoided her by twisting, which was a sharp reminder of the bruises and injury to her mid-section. She fought not to wince.

Crossing her arms, Dawn rolled her eyes again; an expression Buffy was tiring of fast. "Oh, I get it. It's, like, 'The Kama Sutra' or something, right? Well, shoot, with all the noise you two make practically every night, I figured you'd both already read it. Twice!"

"How do you know about 'The Kama Sutra'? On second thought, don't answer that."

"You know, doing it that often, you'd better watch out," Dawn warned ominously.

"For what?"

"Duh? Babies!"

Buffy gaped at her sister, speechless.

Dawn shook her head in emphasis of her point. "Buffy and babies--definitely not a winning combination," she remarked meanly. "Then again, if it gets you off my case, maybe I should suggest it to Giles."

The lights changed and Dawn stalked across the crosswalk in a huff. Pushing down the tears that threatened and mustering up all that she could find of her newly found 'mom' skills, Buffy followed several yards distant. Dawn was right. Not about her and babies being a disaster in the making--she was trying very hard not to let herself believe that again--but right in that there needed to be some sort of reward system in place for towing the line, before total rebellion brought anarchy and annihilation to the present, and future, peace of the Summers-Giles household.

Maybe if she drew up some sort of schedule, with time set aside for homework, chores, and leisure. Throw in some TV allotment and a smidgen of phone time as an incentive, and it just might work . . . without her sister hating her guts in the process.

At home, in the dining room where Buffy could supervise Dawn's schoolwork, Buffy brought up the subject in the hope that they could find middle ground before dinner. With Willow and Tara fighting, she needed to ask Dawn the favor intended for them; to stay in her room tonight and not interrupt her and Giles' evening. Of course, that probably meant she would have to fill her sister in on the baby news before she told her husband, if only to quell her curiosity and keep her from eavesdropping. Given the callous things Dawn had said earlier, Buffy really wished she had brought her sister something at the mall, to use as a bribe in lieu of the truth . . .

"Okay, I think the next step is to make a chart," Buffy began, putting all the bad words behind them. She could do the 'mom' thing. She could.

Picking up one of the blue and white checked dishtowels from the laundry basket on the chair beside her, she started to fold it. While Dawn had procured her customary afternoon glass of milk and cookies, Buffy had collected the laundry from the dryer in the basement, again slipping easily and naturally back into the role of domestic goddess. With Dawn now settled at the table, her homework books opened before her, it was time to find a compromise.

"A schedule," Buffy clarified. "I'll write down all the things you're supposed to do and when you have to do them, and then I'll leave a box next to it, which you can mark with an X when you've accomplished the task."

Dawn stared at her in disbelief.

"What? You want gold stars?" Buffy asked, as if she were talking to a five-year-old. She knew what Dawn wanted--her TV and phone privileges restored. This was just some down and dirty sibling payback for the snarky comment about her and babies . . . not that Dawn could have known just how close she hit to the mark. "Okay, you can have gold stars."

Dawn took immediate offense; they weren't off to a very congenial start in their compromise. "I don't want gold stars." She threw down her pencil in protest. "I don't want any of this."

Without warning, Buffy's need for payback evaporated. She knew Dawn was angry and frustrated over her punishment, and lashing out the only way left open to her. Her expression softened as she tried to reason. "I'm just trying to give you a normal life."

"Good luck," Dawn mumbled irritably. She reluctantly picked up her pencil and returning to her books.

Noting this, still clutching a folded dishtowel, Buffy sobered to the real crux of the situation. Part of her again wanted to give in, if only to see her little sister smile again, but she reminded herself that this was all for Dawn's own good. The homework, the grounding, the schedule . . . her and Giles playing the big stompy feet of wicked harsh authority. She hadn't forgotten what it was like to be fourteen, just wanting to hang with the gang, despite mom and dad's heated protests . . .

"What?" Dawn asked self-consciously, shifting under Buffy's stare. "What am I doing wrong now?"

"This is for real, Dawn."

The candid declaration snapped Dawn's temper. "No, it's not. I'm not real so why would my exciting graph of chores be real? Who cares if 'a Key' gets an education anyway?" Making her point, she closed the cover of her textbook and folded her arms.

"It's a chart," Buffy corrected evenly. "Not a graph. And you are real."

"Yeah? Those monks put grades K through 8 in my head. Can't we just wait and see if they drop 9 in there, too?"

Angered by the flippancy, Buffy slammed her hand down on the table, the action sudden and loud enough to make Dawn jump. "Damn it, Dawn. This is serious."

"Why? Why should I care about any of this?"

"Because they'll take you away!"

Silence.

Buffy hadn't meant to let that particular cat out of the bag, threatening her sister with matters of the court in order to make her comply, but there it was, out there, nonetheless. Suitably stunned by the admission, Dawn's body language instantly changed from defiant to submissive. Unfolding her arms, she sat forward, the rebelliousness she'd previously displayed now gone.

"Take me away? What do you mean?"

There was no option but to tell the whole truth. And as unpalatable as it was, if this were the way to make Dawn understand the gravity of the situation, then so be it.

"They'll take you away from me and Giles," Buffy said, the weight of those words unexpectedly turning her thoughts to that of her own child. If the authorities took Dawn due to her inability to be a good parent, would they automatically take her own child when it was born, too? Startled, she looked down at the blue and white checked towel she held, covering her abdomen, her eyes unexpectedly pricking. "That's what your principal told us when you weren't in the room."

"But . . . I thought Giles was applying for joint guardianship?"

Buffy looked at her sister again, fighting the onslaught of emotion. She made a swipe at her eyes before Dawn noticed something was wrong. "He is, but it won't make any difference in the overall big picture if you don't listen to us. Dawn, if we can't make you go to school, then we won't be found fit to be your legal guardians."

Point made, and in an effort to disguise her rampant emotions, Buffy redoubled her efforts to fold the kitchen towels. Finishing with one, she immediately reached into the basket for another.

Dawn sat quietly for a moment, watching, realizing, as the full impact of what she'd just been told finally hit home. Her next question betrayed her apprehension. "Where would I go?"

"I don't know," Buffy confessed, just wanting to drop the subject before she lost it completely. God, they would. She just knew it. They'd declare her an 'unfit mom' and take her baby from her. "Dad, maybe. Aunt Arlene, if she'll have you, or . . . foster care. I didn't really wanna ask."

Dawn frowned in anger. "You know, you could've told me that instead of grounding me."

Buffy faltered, distressed by the realization that losing Dawn to strangers carried the same surge of anguish as losing the unborn baby in her womb. She sniffed back the wellspring of emotion that was determined to seep forth, evasively ducking her chin. Her mom would never have let this happen . . . because her mom was a good, capable parent, and she never would have let things get this far out of control.

"I'm sorry. I didn't wanna scare you into compliance."

"No, you just bullied me into it instead."

Dawn's accusation was like a battering ram against the floodgates, and Buffy fought hard not to let it breech her crumbling defenses. As a distraction, she reached into the laundry basket for another item to fold, but what she pulled out was her ultimate undoing. Her mother's fine linen tablecloth, with its hand-tatted edges made by her maternal grandmother, which her mom only brought out on the most special of special occasions, and which Buffy had planned to use tonight in her gastronomic seduction of Giles, had shrunk in the dryer and was now a misshapen rectangle about one third of its original size.

It was completely ruined.

Domestic Goddess? What a laugh. Who was she kidding? She'd never ever be a good mom, no matter how hard she tried . . .

Unable to hold back any longer, Buffy clutched what was left of the linen tablecloth to her face and burst into tears, right in front of her confused-looking sister.

* * *

Given the bonanza afternoon Anya had had yesterday, Giles spent the entire day restocking the Magic Box while she attended to customers. Not that he was complaining; business was booming, which was a good thing considering the way his wife loved to shop. He spent the morning unpacking the contents of the various shipping crates Anya reported had arrived--inventory both welcomed and well timed--and the afternoon sorting, pricing, and putting everything out on the shelves. With his daily trip to the bank to make a deposit--and a rather large one at that--also under his belt, Giles finally found time to attend the morning's mail . . . even though it was, in reality, late afternoon.

Pulling a rectangular cardboard box across the glass counter towards him, he reflected that, sometime ago, he remembered seeing Willow come into the shop. Such was her morose mood at the time, he knew that something big troubled his young friend, and as loathe as he was to admit it, he'd been too busy, then, to find out what. Not that Willow had appeared eager to engage in conversation. Indeed, after an initial glum wave of greeting, she had slumped into the beanbags and cushions in a corner of the reading area at the front of the store, away from him and Anya and the customers, clearly wishing to be left alone for the duration of her stay. Neither he nor Anya had approached her, and had instead devoted themselves to their individual tasks, which in Giles' case meant getting the abundance of new inventory put into stock before the store closed.

In fact, if he were being truthful, he had forgotten Willow was there.

So it was with some surprise that he spied her ambling down the Magic Box's mid-point stairs, ready to touch base with the world again, just as he reached for a pair of scissors to cut the packing string from around the cardboard box addressed to him.

"I hope this isn't a return," he muttered in slight annoyance. "Everyone wants petrified hamsters, but they're never happy with them."

Willow leaned dejectedly on the other side of the counter, feigning interest.

As he opened the box, Giles frowned at the cloud of depression that still hung over her. "You all right?" he finally asked.

"Yeah," she said miserably.

"Ah yes, because your good mood is both obvious and contagious." He reached into the open box, relieved to find several more long flat boxes--incense sticks in various fragrances--and not the anticipated fossilized rodent.

"I had a fight with Tara," Willow confessed. She rolled her eyes in emphasis of her plight. "It was awful."

"Oh, I'm sorry," he said, meaning it, knowing firsthand the pain of being estranged from a loved one.

"Me, too."

Leaving her with an encouraging smile, Giles took a bundle of incense boxes to the shelf behind the counter. "You two don't quarrel much, do you?" he asked, stooping to open the sliding cupboard beneath the shelves. They kept overstock there, so he deposited most of the new incense within . . . all but three scents that he knew were running low in the display.

"Never," Willow said gloomily. "Until today."

Straightening, Giles took two steps toward the incense display, intent on restocking it, when a faint tapping from the direction of the door leading to the back alley distracted him. "Well, now it's over," he said absently, listening. What the devil . . . ?

"Over?" Willow asked in sudden alarm. "How can it be over? I just found her!"

Such was her genuine distress that Giles instinctively headed back to the sales counter to offer what comfort he could. "The quarrel is over," he corrected gently.

Willow sighed unhappily. "Oh. Yeah."

There it was again. The tapping sound. As if some brainless thief was trying to pick the lock and break into the shop while it was still open for business.

He focused on Willow for a moment, keeping the conversation flowing, lest the would-be burglar suspect detection. "And you'll feel better when you've made your apologies, and you'll know that you can fight without the world ending." Giles moved to the back door as he spoke, putting down the three boxes of incense, still muttering away under the presence of normality. "I know it all seems bleak now but as they say, this too . . . "

In a rapid but perfectly timed move, he opened the door and quickly shut it again, effectively smacking the would-be intruder on the head with it.

" . . . shall pass."

Something in a familiar dirty, brown robe tumbled across the threshold, stunned. Ignoring the astonished look on Willow's face, and Anya running from the other direction to see what the commotion was all about, Giles grabbed the intruder by the scruff of the neck and dragged him through the beaded curtain to the shop floor. Turning out a chair from the tarot reading table, he literally threw his uninvited guest into it.

"Wow," Anya said quietly, a reverence that covered both Giles' quick actions and the intruder's presence.

Standing over his prisoner, Giles took his handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his hands--an involuntary reaction to the leprous looking skin and greasy, scraggly hair. "Now, what do we have here?"

"Oh, he's one of those things that work for Glory," Anya announced, not realizing the question was rhetorical.

"Yes," Giles agreed dangerously, using his height over the seated minion to intimidate. "How helpful."

"I do indeed work for the god," the minion confirmed, not that there was much room for doubt, given its dress and appearance. It fidgeted in the chair, clearly perturbed by Giles' cool tone of voice and menacing manner. "Let me go, if you do not wish to incur her anger."

"She's not here," Giles reminded the thing. Although the demon put on a brave front, he could tell it was terrified, and he played on this emotion in an effort to gain some valuable inside information. Anything new it told him could be the thing to give Buffy an edge, meaning the difference between life and death for her. Indeed, for them all. To this end, he purposefully kept his tone cold and neutral. "What a marvelous opportunity for you and me to talk."

"I will not betray Glorificus," the demon said defiantly. "I will never talk, no matter what heinous torture--"

"Actually," Giles interrupted the tirade, "you're talking quite a lot. Just not about the right things." He watched in satisfaction as the minion trembled with anticipation; he was getting through to it on some basic level. "Tell us why you're here."

"No words shall pass my lips that will bring peril to Glorificus."

But evidently, not the right level.

Giles spoke to the others without ever taking his eyes off his prisoner. "Girls, get the twine that's on the counter. Let's tie him up."

As they turned away to fetch it, he smiled a Ripper grin and cracked his knuckles in a sure sign that he meant business. Thanks to the numerous breaks and tendon stresses courtesy of Angelus, several years ago, two fingers on Giles' left hand could now twist at a truly gruesome and unnatural angle. There was only a little pain in this action for him . . . but he was banking on the fact that the demon thought it to be a lot more.

The fear of what would be done to him, if Giles could inflict that sort of monstrous torture on himself without so much as blinking an eye, instantly turned the tight-lipped minion into a willing songbird. "No, no! I'll tell you! Anything! Please! Whatever you want! Anything!"

"What happened?" Anya asked, as she and Willow returned with the lengths of twine cut from the incense packing box, both girls confused by the sudden turn of events.

"He changed his mind," was all Giles offered.

"I'm . . . I'm supposed to watch," the minion revealed in defeat, fearing for its extremities. "We're watching the Slayer's people, while Glory fetches The Key."

Giles shared a suddenly alarmed look with the girls.

"Glory knows who The Key is?" Willow asked, aghast.

"Oh, God . . . " Horrified, Giles pulled off his glasses. His mind raced through scenarios as he sought to determine exactly where Dawn would be at this time of day. Home, surely. With Buffy. School had been out for more than an hour. That meant she stood some small chance with Buffy there to protect her.

Unless Glory killed Buffy, and took Dawn regardless . . .

Dear Lord, he might have just lost them both.

Anya was the one roused into action. "We've gotta call Buffy."

"Too late, too late," the minion gloated happily. "Glorificus will find the witch, and there's nothing you can do to stop her."

"Witch?" Anya asked. "What do you mean?"

The answer came to Giles and Willow at the same time. They locked eyes, both panicked.

"Tara . . . " Willow grabbed her coat and ran to the front door of the Magic Box.

"She's the new one among you," the minion explained triumphantly. "It wasn't hard to figure out. The Glorious One will have found her by now."

"Willow, wait!" Giles called, knowing she'd need help. "I'll go with--"

"No! Call Buffy, and then go look in Tara's room. I'm going to check the Fair." Willow was gone before he could offer a better suggestion, the door closing behind her with its merry jingle.

Acting on impulse, without any consideration for his unrestrained prisoner, Giles let three long strides carry him to the telephone by the sales counter. Turning his back, he picked up the receiver and started punching in the number for home. Taking full advantage of Giles' agitated state, the demon minion saw its one chance for escape. Leaping off the chair, it knocked a startled Anya to the floor, and barreled at Giles.

Giles spun around at the commotion, but not in time to avoid the attack. A punch in the gut doubled him over, winded, and caused him to drop the phone.

Glory's minion bolted for the alley door and fled to freedom. Cursing his carelessness, Giles slowly straightened, a hand on his stomach, and forced himself to breathe. Spotting Anya, still dazed, he lurched back to the shop floor to help her to her feet.

"Are you hurt?"

"No, just . . . surprised. Giles, it escaped!"

"It's the least of our worries right now," he admitted, sitting her in the same chair so abruptly vacated by their uninvited guest. Returning to the counter, he scooped up the phone, still dangling by its cord, and put it to his ear. Dead air met him; his dialing had been interrupted, the call incomplete. Since he couldn't remember the last number he keyed in, he hung up, waited an impatient moment, then again tried to call Buffy.

* * *

"Buffy, c'mon. I said I was sorry," Dawn pleaded, awkwardly patting her sister on the back.

Buffy shook her head, still robbed of a voice. Beneath her hands, tears streaked her face, although the active flow had, thankfully, stopped. They sat side by side on the couch in the living room, where none of Dawn's attempts to alleviate her misery had been successful. Nor would they be. This wasn't Dawn's fault. Buffy had just finally accepted the inescapable conclusion that she'd tried so vigorously to deny.

She was a total failure as a mom. She was having a baby that would most likely only be hers until the moment of its birth, provided she actually lived through her pregnancy. Her husband would leave her for not being a responsible adult, thus allowing the state take custody of their child, and her sister was going to end up in foster care, abused by strangers.

"I'll do my homework," Dawn promised, oblivious to the real reason behind Buffy's tears, but nonetheless still feeling partly responsible. "And my chores. And I'll go to school, everyday. Hey, I wanna stay here with you and Giles, too." She paused for a moment, then added, "C'mon, quit crying. Please? We can even make the graph together."

"It's . . . a chart," Buffy murmured meekly.

"Yeah," Dawn admitted with a triumphant grin, "I know."

Realizing she'd been had, Buffy sniffed back the last of her tears, and finally lifted her watery gaze to her sister. "Brat," she teased fondly. She threw her arms around Dawn and pulled her into a ferocious hug.

Dawn returned it, and they shared a sisterly embrace for an extended moment.

"There's something I want to tell you," Buffy said upon releasing her sibling. "Something I haven't told anyone yet, not even Giles. And you can't tell him either. Promise me, Dawn."

"Okay, okay, I promise I won't tell." Dawn fidgeted, her expression growing anxious, as she automatically feared the worst. "What is it?"

Buffy raised a gentle hand to comb some loose hair back from Dawn's pretty, young face. She was going to find out sooner or later, so it may as well be now. Then she might understand, and grant, the special evening Buffy wanted alone with Giles and no interruptions. "There's a reason I'm such a basket case right now, and it's not just because of the threat to take you away . . . although that's a biggie." Holding eye contact, she took Dawn's hands in hers. "It's because I just found out--"

The phone rang.

"What?" Dawn wanted to know despite the interruption, figuratively on the edge of her seat.

And rang.

Buffy hesitated, diverting her gaze. This was not something she could casually announce on her way to chat on the phone.

And rang . . .

"I know I have no phone privileges," Dawn said hesitantly, "but you want me to get that?"

Chewing her lower lip, Buffy could only nod. As Dawn reluctantly got to her feet and went through to the kitchen to pick up the cordless phone, Buffy felt the tears threaten to swamp her again. It had to be those pregnancy hormones kicking in, she decided. Stress and hormones. She wasn't normally this much of a crybaby. She pricked up as she heard Dawn's speak Giles' name, a second before her sister reappeared in the doorway, headed back to the couch with the phone against her ear. God, his timing was impeccable. He was undoubtedly going to want to talk to her, so she'd better pull herself together quick.

"Giles, I'm fine. We're fine. Really," Dawn insisted. She found Buffy's gaze again. "Sure, she's right here." She offered the cordless with a frown. "I dunno what's with you two lately, but he sounds . . . kinda weird."

Dragging the back of her hand across her eyes a final time, Buffy composed herself and took the phone. 'Kinda weird' covered a multitude of things, none of which was particularly out of the ordinary for life on the Hellmouth. "Giles?"

"Buffy, thank God." Genuine relief was evident in his tone. "Something dreadful has happened. It seems that Glory has come to the erroneous conclusion that Tara is The Key."

"What?" Adrenaline raced through Buffy, cascading over all other emotions and rendering them invalid, bringing her Slayer instincts to the fore. With them came her wicked sense of sarcasm. "How did Hellbitch reach that stunningly brilliant conclusion?"

"I'll explain later. Right now, we need to find Tara. Buffy, her life is in real danger. Willow thinks she may be attending the World's Cultural Fair and has gone there to look, but I fear, should Glory have already found Tara when Willow arrives--"

"--they'll both end up dead," Buffy concluded with a shudder.

"I'm going to check Tara's dorm room, on the off chance that--"

"No need, she's not there," Buffy said, then hastily explained. "I went to visit them earlier this afternoon. Tara left Willow's room at the same time I did. She was headed to the Fair. Don't worry, I'll find them." She was hanging up, stirred into action and eager to shake the nervous tension and unwanted anxiety in a good old-fashioned fight, when she heard Giles' speak her name again. Impatient, she brought the phone back to her ear.

"One more thing," he said carefully. "We can't be sure this isn't some sort of elaborate ruse . . . one that has us preoccupied, chasing rumors all over the fairground, while Glory collects the real Key. As much as I dread something untoward happening to either Tara or Willow, your priority here must be to protect Dawn."

Buffy looked at her sister, growing more worried by the moment, as she listened and noted Buffy's reactions. "I know somewhere safe. I'll take her there first."

"Where? Never mind, you can tell me later. I'll meet you at the fairground," Giles said determinedly. With sincere conviction, he added, "I love you."

"I love you, too," Buffy responded with all her heart, hoping, like Giles, that there would be many more opportunities after this battle for them to tell each other again and again and again.

Hanging up, Buffy temporarily put all personal issues on the backburner, and focused on being The Slayer again. Glory had kicked her ass every time they met in combat, and although she had no idea how to beat the Hellgod, or even if she could, nothing was going to stop her from trying to save her friends' lives. The best she could hope for was to accomplish that task without losing her own.

Or her baby's.

She was back to being all business when she looked at Dawn, and said, "Get your coat."

* * *

Giles arrived at the Sunnydale fairground mere minutes after talking to Buffy. The parking was atrocious, late on a Friday afternoon, as if the entire population of Sunnydale had simultaneously chosen that day and time to attend. So he doubled-parked close to the main entrance, jumped out of the BMW, and completely ignored the irate attendant's threat to have his car towed if he dared abandon it.

Inside was bedlam. Balloons and paper lanterns hung gaily from trees, obstructing his view. Dozens of people were in costume, threading their way through the crowd to hand out carnival prizes from gaudily decorated buckets. Chinese men and woman in traditional dress danced around a golden Buddha with a large paper dragon. Flags of various nations fluttered in the breeze overhead. Teenage boys lined up at the sideshows, trying to impress teenage girls with their manly skills by winning tacky trinkets.

Pushing through the throng, Giles realized he had no clue where to look. The best he could do was keep moving, alert and scanning the mass of bodies for any signs of Willow or Tara--or Glory. But waves of people, both visiting and entertaining, kept getting in his way, hindering his progress. It irked him, on some immaterial level, that the blissfully unaware populace of Sunnydale was, again, going about their mundane and uneventful lives, completely ignorant to the life and death struggle happening right under their very noses.

He fought their swell for another few minutes, until he happened upon a grassy incline, leading down to a concrete walkway lined with some cedar and iron park benches. Strings of helium-filled, red-white-and-blue balloons had been twisted together to form columns, then anchored either side of the path to fabricate a tunnel of festive arches, pointing the way to the Americana exhibit. On one of the benches, he spied Willow holding Tara to her breast, quietly sobbing her eyes out.

Giles skidded down the slope and dropped onto the bench beside her. With a somber eye, he took in Willow's grief and Tara's uncomprehending, blank expression. Appalled, he drew them both into whatever comfort he could offer in his embrace.

He and Willow had both arrived too late to save Tara. With the exception of a bloodied hand, she appeared physically no worse for the encounter; mentally, however, there was clearly no one home. Given the Hellgod's reputation for absorbing the energies that bound the human mind into a cohesive whole, it wasn't hard to hazard a guess as to what had happened when Glory discovered Tara wasn't the prize she sought. Whether out of revenge, or the simple convenience of an available snack, Tara's mind had been invaded, and devoured.

Such was the source of Willow's torment . . . and his. While this 'brain-sucking', as Tara herself once labeled it, happened to other nameless individuals, he could detach himself from the cruelness of the Hellgod's methods and concentrate on researching a way to destroy her, or at the very least, stop her. But now that tragedy had befallen one of their own, there seemed no hope, no chance--however slight--that they might ever triumph. Gone was his Watcher-bred determination. There was just emptiness and heartache inside him, and an overwhelming sense of guilt.

When Tara started babbling nonsensically about snowballs and washing machines, grimacing at her injured hand, Giles let them both go. Recognizing trauma when he saw it, he took his handkerchief from his pocket and shook it out. Shifting to kneel before the pair, he reached for Tara's mangled hand, intent on splinting it in the soft, clean cotton before they moved her and caused unnecessary pain. Tara instantly protested, until Willow roused herself from her misery to calm her girlfriend with a consoling tone and a loving smile, which allowed Giles a moment to complete his task. He felt the bones shift and grate together as he gently tied it up, but Tara uttered nary a whimper.

"Her hand is broken in several places," he informed Willow. Pushing to his feet, he scanned the crowd, none of whom appeared to pay even the slightest interest in them. Their collective indifference angered him, but it didn't surprise him. As with all the battles fought nightly around Sunnydale while these ignorant people slept safely in their beds, he and the Scoobies were on their own. "We should take her to the hospital."

Willow agreed. Each supporting Tara by an elbow, they guided her through the crowd toward the front entrance of the fairgrounds, where Giles had parked. Or 'not parked', as the case may be. He sincerely hoped his car was still there, although it would be his own fault if it were not.

The smug expression worn by the parking attendant was an immediate bad sign, and it didn't get any better as the man approached. Sure enough, one glance confirmed that his car had indeed been towed in his short absence. Worse, he was presented with a hefty fine, plus a bill for the towing expenses, and then told he couldn't pay, appeal, or retrieve his car from the City impound until 9:00am Monday morning.

"Bloody hell," Giles cursed under his breath, stuffing the papers inside his suit coat. Just what they bloody needed. Now they'd have to get to the hospital on foot, or at least as far as a pay phone where they could call for a taxi . . .

The cheery toot of a car horn interrupted Giles' cantankerous thoughts, but before he could turn, Willow's face lit up in gratitude.

"Xander!"

"Hey, guys, need a ride?" Xander asked flippantly from the driver's side window of his dark colored sedan.

Anya sat beside him in the front, so Giles and Willow bundled Tara into the back between them, quieting her rambling tribute to Irish avocados.

"Well timed, Xander," Giles said thankfully, as they accelerated away.

"Not really. We've been driving around here for the past twenty minutes, looking for a place to park," Xander explained. He gave a jaunty salute to the frowning attendant, as they passed the orange cones denoting the exit to the street. "Good thing we couldn't find anywhere, or we might have missed you on foot."

"That doesn't look . . . right," Anya said, peering into the backseat. Her comment was in reference to Tara's handkerchief-bandaged hand, in particular to the fingers that stuck out from under the white cotton at unnaturally odd angles.

"Tara's hurt," Willow said urgently. "We need to go to the hospital."

Xander stepped on the gas. "No problemo."

An hour later, the four of them stood in a protective huddle around Tara, who sat on an examination table in a private room located just off the ER at Sunnydale General, oblivious to their collective worry. Giles and the others had been permitted to wait with her until the doctor, who did the preliminary x-rays of her shattered hand and mental evaluation, returned with his recommendations.

Studying said x-rays clipped to the light board behind the exam bed--for he couldn't look at the girl, with her glazed expression of a mind gone AWOL, without feeling some degree of responsibility--Giles wondered, for the umpteenth time, what on earth was keeping Buffy. She'd been a no-show at the fairground, or while they waited in the chaotic Emergency Room for someone to treat Tara. He'd tried calling home from a payphone, briefly leaving the room while Tara's broken fingers were reset, splinted, and bandaged in preparation of a plaster cast, but there was no answer. As a Watcher, Giles tried to dismiss Buffy's absence with professional distance, the knowledge that she was a capable and experienced Slayer, but deep down where the husband in him lived, he feared that something unthinkable might have happened.

Had Tara, under threat for her life, revealed Dawn's secret?

There was no accountability in the thought, even if she had, just grave trepidation for the fate that may have already befallen his errant wife and sister-in-law. He, of course, kept his misgivings to himself, for his young friends had suffered enough already today, and burdening them with his personal--and unfounded--fears was both unwarranted and unfair.

Behind him, the others perked up in anticipation as the doctor returned. Turning from the x-rays, Giles removed his glasses and was about to polish th