Blame Canada by Joanna C

Summary: Sequel to Growin' Up (Karaoke Kids Series). The final, epic showdown: Lilah is up tp no good, and the fate of the world, as usual, hangs in the balance. Will good triumph over evil? Will justice triumph over lawlessness? Will Lilah EVER sleep with Spike? All your questions, and more, answered here...

Spoilers: None specified.

Notes: The role played in this story by the city of Kingston, Ontario, is in no way intended as an insult. It's just that I've lived there (and have lovely memories of the time) and know my way around the place... Fic title courtesy my little brother Nathaniel, who loves all things South Park and feels that if I must write fanfic, I should write it for THAT and not waste my time on this whole Buffy/Angel thing...

Cordelia Chase cast a squinty eye to her watch, then to the gate of the airport terminal.

"Where are they, already?" she whined. "We'll never make our flight if they don't get here soon."

Angel did not even glance up from his book. With a grunt of half-attention, he reached into his pocket, snatched out a bundle of quarters, and pressed it into Cordelia's palm. She pushed him aside with an irritable whimper.

"I've already DONE vending machines," she told him. "I'm not HUNGRY..."

He glanced up briefly from his intent reading. "Um hmmm."

He said nothing else. The book was one of Cordelia's relationship ones, and had, a mere three chapters ago, explained to him that sometimes women Got That Way---and when they did, there was Nothing You Could Do. He had wisely resolved to keep his mouth shut until Buffy and Giles arrived. Perhaps seeing Giles again would ease Cordelia's travel stress...

"They should BE here," she said again. "Angel, why aren't they here?"

Finally, he put the book down. "Cordelia, our flight doesn't leave for another hour."

"I know, just...we've been here for over an hour already. It's hot. It's crowded. There are too many sticky children, and people who didn't shower, and at least four especially pungent ethnic food vendors. I may have my demon temper under control, but my vampire sense of smell is driving me crazy!"

"I know," he said, not unsympathetically. "But you can never be too early for these kinds of things. If there had been traffic...."

"There wasn't."

"But there could have been. It's a lot to juggle, Cordelia---getting us all on the same flight on such short notice, finding a connection from Sunnydale that would get them here in time to meet us for it...it's a lot to juggle. But we still have time, and they'll still get here, and it'll be fine."

She narrowed her eyes dangerously. "Don't get smug on me, unflappable boy. YOU had nothing to do with this brilliant scheme. Why I ever agreed to let the Watcher's Council tell me what to..."

"You know why," he interrupted. "Cordelia, we talked about this..."

"Yeah, yeah, world's gonna end, too bad, very sorry, I know. Angel, I KNOW. Just wish it could blow up on a weekend for once...."

Ah. There it was. He closed the book and tucked it into his bag. "Is that the problem? It's only a few days, Cordelia. You can make up the classes."

"I know," she pouted. "But missing classes in the first week...well, Professor Tsuji was kind of a pain about it, but at least Ivany was okay. When she heard about my poor, dead Aunt Petunia..."

Angel smothered a chuckle.

"What?" she huffed. "I wasn't gonna tell her we're going to prevent some evil lawyers from opening a Hellmouth and bringing about the end of life as we know it, was I? And it's not like the watchers gave us much time to come up with a proper cover story for those of us with actual lives..."

He sensed a tunnel of adrenaline beneath the rising flush in her cheeks. "Why don't we practice our deep breathing for awhile?" he suggested.

Her nostrils flared. "You don't breathe! And don't treat me like a baby."

"Don't act like one."

He winced slightly at her withering glare. He was ready to cut her some slack for the shock of another watcher visit and resulting Bad News, and for the sudden, disrupting trip, and the overload of her souped-up senses. But still...they had a long day ahead of them. She had to manage, didn't she?

"Look, I'm not the best traveler either," he began carefully. "And I know the watcher's council tends to...well, they..."

"Freak me out? Heck, yeah. But can you blame me? They swoop in all mysterious and go here, do this, and they run experiments on innocent people just because they happen to be human/vampire hybrids, and then they..."

"Shhhh," he soothed. "I was saying, I know they make you feel that way. But I also know how much progress you've been making at keeping your demon attributes under control. You're really going to let them get you mad enough to cause a relapse?"

Her frenzied pacing slowed microscopically. "Angel..."

"And it's not SO bad, is it?" he pressed. "I mean, free vacation---and one American dollar is, like, a dollar-fifty there. There could be shopping. Who can say?"

She was nearly still again. "I guess..."

"And hey, Giles is coming..."

She broke into a grin. "He is! And Buffy too."

"So why don't we sit down and do our breathing for a few minutes," Angel said calmly. "And before you know it, their plane will be here, and we can get this show on the road."

She took a deep breath and slowly breathed out, body slackening and eyes drifting closed. "Okay," she said. "Okay."

**

Alamo Summers had been cruising along for his morning walk and stopping occasionally to sniffle at some especially interesting leaves, so his mistress Dawn had let the leash slacken, and was caught off-guard when he suddenly burst into a trot.

"Alamo, come," Dawn commanded, tugging on his collar. "Alamo! Alamo, what are you..." They rounded the corner, and she suddenly broke into a grin. "Did you see your little friend? Is that what has you all excited? Well, we're almost home. Go on, then." She unhooked the leash and sent him running straight for the front lawn of Kate Lockley.

Bruiser was nosing in the bushes, but shook off the leaves and went tearing after Alamo with an enthusiastic bark. Kate was otherwise occupied, and didn't even look up.

Several open boxes lay scattered at her feet. On her one side lay a half-filled garbage bag, and on the other lay her car, parked crookedly, trunk open. Kate was humming along with the radio and reaching randomly into the boxes, pitching some items into the trunk and others into the cavernous bag. Dawn took in the scene with resigned curiosity.

"Cleaning house?"

Kate looked up. "Oh, hi. Want this?" She waved the belonging in question, a moldy-smelling novelty rubber chicken, at Dawn.

"No. Um, Kate, what's going on here?"

Kate pitched the rubber chicken into her garbage bag. "Exactly what it looks like. I'm leaving this dump, and going back to L.A. I turned in my resignation this morning."

"You didn't!"

"Did too. I," said Kate grandly. "Am unemployed. At leisure. Between jobs. Pursuing new opportunities." She dug a grubby hand into the nearest box, and pulled out six assorted pairs of scissors, bound together with a grubby elastic. "Want these?"

"No. Kate , what's going on here? What are you DOING?"

"I'm DOING nothing," said Kate breezily. "Which explains the whole unemployment thing. Want these?"

"Again, no," said Dawn, not even dignifying the item in question with so much as a glance. "But Kate, are you...look, are you okay?"

"Fabulous," said Kate. "Wonderful. And I'll tell you why, Dawn. I had an epiphany."

Dawn frowned. "Oh."

Kate nodded. "I did. And do you know what I realized? I realized that I had no effing idea what the hell I was doing with my life. I mean, sure, I was a cop, fighting the fight and all that, and that's good, I guess. But how did I get there? I'll tell you how I got there. My grandfather was a cop. My father was a cop. And if Mom had lived long enough to have a son, HE would have been a cop. Do you see what I am saying?"

"It's a family business?" Dawn guessed.

"Damn right," said Kate. "A family business. I just got INTO it. I never CHOSE."

"And now you're saying you've had this epiphany or something, and you realize you want to choose something else?"

Kate shrugged. "Maybe not. Maybe I really am meant to be a cop. But maybe I'm meant to be something else, Dawn. Maybe I'm meant to be a Spanish teacher. Or a social worker. Or a waitress at Caritas, for all I know. I never really thought beyond...But I need to figure it out. I need to figure out what in this world I'm meant to do."

"And right now, you feel like you're meant to pack up and just...leave?"

"Only one thing I do know for sure," said Kate, slowing her excited pacing just long enough to toss some rusted barbecue tongs into the trunk of her car. "Whatever it is I'm meant to do be doing, I want Lorne to be there. Kind of ironic, isn't it? All these normal, awful men who love me and leave me, and it would be a demon who would finally get it right?"

She reached into her box again, and pulled out a stuffed toy that was shaped like Elvis Presley. "So...you want this?"

"Alamo!" Dawn shrieked. Her loyal puppy reluctantly drew himself away from a vitally important twig, and ambled happily into her embrace. "How do I get myself into these messes?" she asked him. He slobbered her with oblivious doggy kisses, betraying no answer.

**

Cordelia slowly unclenched her fists, eyes sharp with the faintest beginnings of panic.

"It isn't working, is it?" she said.

Angel shrugged evasively, and looked away. He had no idea what to do with her. They had worked through all of her exercises, and her breathing HAD slowed a little---but it was shaky and strained, and her heart was still beating too fast. She was managing, but she was working much too hard at it.

"Why can't I relax?" she pressed. "Angel, seriously. I'm starting to wonder if this isn't something more than just tired and travel-stressed . I'm all tense and ick and I just feel...weird, you know?" She looked at him expectantly.

"I know," he said after a long silence.

"You know? You KNOW? God, stop that! I see what you're doing, and it isn't helping, Angel. You're keeping your mouth shut because you don't want to freak me out, but it's only making it worse! God, what's WRONG with me?"

"Cordelia..."

"And don't tell me that getting upset will only make it worse, I know. Angel, I KNOW. It just drives me crazy when you get like this! And no, I don't want to eat something. And no, I don't want to practice my breathing exercises. I just want you to STOP that!"

"Cor..."

"This isn't helping!" she whined. "God, Angel, just shut up!"

She slumped breathlessly beside him, utterly exhausted by her tantrum. He gave her a moment to collect herself.

"I WAS shutting up," he said quietly. "THAT'S what got you upset in the first place."

She closed her eyes. Clenched her fists. Then suddenly sprang to her feet and tore away from him.

"Giles!"

She launched herself down the corridor and threw herself into the arms of the arriving watcher.

"You're here! Finally!"

Giles staggered slightly, reeling from the collision. "Yes," he managed. "Hello, Cordelia. Good to see you..."

"Hi Giles," said Angel shyly. "Buffy..."

Buffy, loaded down with Giles' bag as well as her own, trundled over to the nearest bank of chairs, where she set down her burden.

"You guys been waiting long?" she asked.

That, finally, set Cordelia off. Still wrapped tightly around a nearly suffocating Giles, she burst into tears. Giles looked questioningly at Angel.

"She's tired," Angel said.

Giles nodded, and gently began to stroke Cordelia's hair. "It's all right, love," he soothed. "Hush now..."

"That's quite a tantrum," Buffy observed.

Angel shrugged. "It's been a long day."

Buffy watched the display impassively. "Probably best she gets it out of her system now, isn't it? BEFORE the big holy mission?"

"Probably," Angel agreed.

"And this is exactly what I was saying," sobbed Cordelia. "I don't know what's WRONG with me!"

With an unbearably comforting smile, Giles gently lifted her chin. "Would it surprise you very much to learn that I do know?"

The blubbering slowed to a watery trickle. "You do?"

"You DO?" goggled Angel.

"What, did you think that ponce Zabuto was the only one who was doing a little research?"

They stared back at him, stunned.

"They tell me we're delayed again," said Giles. "We've got some time..." He gently pried Cordelia off of him. "So why don't you go with Buffy right now and get yourself cleaned up a little, hmmm? And when you come back, Angel and I will have some juice and some cookies and all sorts of pretty answers, all right?"

She snuffled noisily and pulled herself together. With a nod of encouragement from Giles, she allowed Buffy to lead her away.

**

Lilah Morgan backed slowly into her hotel room, carelessly waving her hand behind her.

"Yes, over there," she commanded. "That's right..."

Jenny Calendar's arm flopped to the floor with a thud as Spike released his cargo.

"She's not a bloody couch, Lilah."

Lilah rolled her eyes. "I know that. Just...fine, put her anywhere, I don't care, just keep her out of my way!"

"But she's your little pet, love. Don't you want to play with her?"

Lilah gave Jenny a thoughtful once-over. "Well, it WOULD be a little more fun if she were interactive. But then...if she can move, she can bolt, can't she?" Lilah shrugged. "She's harmless this way."

"Maybe. But even more harmless once you've put her through the paces and made sure she's as out of it as you think."

Lilah shook her head. "You just want an excuse to play with her."

"Maybe I do. But being horny don't make me a dunce, pet. I know her type---do-gooder through and through. If she's pulling the mojo on us...well, Just want to make sure it all goes off okay..."

Lilah thumped Jenny with her boot and studied the witch's face carefully for signs of a reaction.

"There!" crowed Spike. "She winced, did you see?"

Lilah smirked. "Really?" She leaned forward, mouth inches from Jenny's face. "Is somebody waking up in there? Hmmmm?"

The eyes looked perhaps a tiny bit more watchful than they previously had, but Jenny Calendar remained, on the surface at least, impassive. She was already mentally kicking herself for that reflexive show of life---but they had been away from a computer going on three days, and without the exhaustion of spellcasting to keep her drained and dazed, she was finding it harder and harder to keep up the act. And to keep up her composure...she hoped Lorne was all right. She hoped the kids were all right. She hoped she was ready for them...

"Fine," snitted Lilah. "Find a doctor, get her checked. I need to stay here though---I'm expecting a delivery and I need to be here in case it..."

"Right," scoffed Spike. "A delivery."

"Well, opening a hellmouth's a tricky thing, Spike. There are supplies involved..."

"Thought you already had your bloody supplies," he complained.

"Well, most of them. But some of it has to be sourced locally, you know. When you open a hellmouth, you do need some things from...well, the actual hellmouth...look, I'm giving in, Spike. You win. Have fun, do you want, see you at dinnertime. Take Harmony, take the witch and go do whatever it is you think you have to. You are completely in charge of this section of the plan."

He puffed up importantly. "In charge, am I?"

"Oh, yes," she said, nodding seriously. "Completely. As long as she comes back alive and un-sampled-from, you can do whatever you want with her."

With a slight inward cringe, Jenny steeled herself for the day ahead. She really needed to get on-line.

**

"I hope you've got money," Giles remarked to Angel. They were standing in front of a bank of vending machines, which he was studying intently.

Angel regarded him dubiously. "You didn't bring money?"

"Well, why should I? I brought the supplies, and Buffy brought the money. And I believe she still has it with her. Ah, there we go." He stopped before the right-most concession. "Oatmeal cookies," he pronounced, poking the glass display to show Angel. "This is what we want. I was starting to worry that they only had those horrid creamy fudge things."

Angel frowned. "What, Oreos? Cordelia loves Oreos."

"Oh, yes," muttered Giles. "Loves them, does she? You don't think that would be a little much, in her present condition? I daresay we have enough to handle without getting her sick on top of it, Angel. Oatmeal would be a far, far better choice."

Angel clamped his mouth shut and held out a grubby stash of quarters.

"Ah. Thank you. There we go." He made his selections, then drifted over to the bank of chairs.

"That's quite a state she's in, isn't it?" Giles remarked casually.

Angel shrugged.

The watcher's eyes went suddenly flinty. "You need to take better care of her."

A stunned Angel stared back at him. "But this isn't...Giles, I didn't..."

"Oh, I know that," said Giles. "Or at least, a part of me does. Lord knows these things happen, and Cordelia's impulse control was hardly her most sterling character trait even before you came along."

He opened a package of cookies and broke it into pieces. "But then..." He shrugged, tossing a cookie piece into his mouth and crunching noisily. "A part of me also knows that YOU had her last, and she certainly wasn't in this state when I left her."

Angel backed away warily. "Giles..."

"Oh, we'll take care of her," Giles was saying. "Don't you worry about that. But Angel...I shan't wish to find like this again"

Angel slowly nodded.

"Well, then. Onto business?"

Two slender legs slung themselves over the embankment and plopped themselves down on Giles' lap.

"Great," said Buffy, settling in comfortably. "I was worried we'd missed that part."

***

Charles Gunn, still pumped from his pre-dinner patrol, bounced innocently into Caritas.

"Yo, Lorne," he called. "Defender of the universe, here! What can you get me?"

Lorne popped up from behind the bar, smiling largely. Too largely. "Charles, my friend, my buddy...how about a drink, old buddy, old pal? No charge!"

"There's never a charge," said Gunn suspiciously. "Seeing as how I have a tab..."

"Yes, yes," agreed Lorne. "But this is a special occasion, Gunn. A special night."

Gunn raised a wary eye. "For you or for me?"

Lorne's red eyes glowed suddenly with ominous threat. "It's an interesting situation you find yourself in, Charles. YOU have the sole power to either maintain my glorious mood, or to ruin it. You don't want to ruin my fabulous mood, do you Charles?"

Gunn blinked dazedly. "Um, no. Guess not. Um, Lorne..."

"Katie's here," the demon explained. "And she wants to take me out for dinner. She's wearing a dress, Gunn. A DRESS."

"Uh, okay...."

"Only thing is..." Lorne gestured expansively around him. "Fella's gotta earn a living, you know? Can't shut down the place just cause he's in love, can he?"

"Um...no?"

"No!" pronounced Lorne. "So here I am, going about my business, de-stingering the Jubailian entrails for the crudite tray, when Willow calls. She and Tara are staying with Dawn during the hellmouth thing, and she had front row seats to the Kate-absconding-from-Sunnydale show...and now I have my lady on her way over and me with this bar to run...you see my dilemma, don't you, Charles?"

"I was patrolling," said Gunn, shaking his head in dismayed---and growing---realization. "I just got thirsty..."

"And you, my friend, will not be the only one to find himself in such a bind. Which is why we have bars, isn't it? And when you have a bar...you need a bartender."

"But...you're the bartender," said Gunn hopefully.

"Not tonight, amigo. She washed her hair. She put a little ribbon in it."

"So what you're saying is you want me to stay here and sell drinks to people so you can go out?"

The door creaked open and a large blue demon with three heads peered anxiously in. "You guys open?"

Gunn sighed. "What can I get you?"

**

Cordelia slumped unhappily against the sweaty plastic chair, face newly washed, hair pulled back in some attempt at comfort, and features pinched in exquisite misery.

"There, now," said Giles softly. "You're all right, then."

She took a tiny nibble of oatmeal cookie. "Umm hmm."

"It's nothing profound, I'm afraid," said Giles, giving her a resigned smile as he settled back into his seat. "It's overload, plain and simple. You haven't been in a crowd this large since your accident, have you?"

She shook her head mutely.

"Just school," clarified Angel.

Giles nodded. "I expected as much. Now, double the number of people, put them in a building half the size of the LACU campus, and stir them all into irritable tempers with flight delays, poor air quality and blindingly grating fluorescent lighting..."

Buffy frowned. "But what does any of that have to do with the price of tea in...wait, you're telling us she can sense them?"

"Not in the sense I suspect you mean. But in a matter of speaking...well, ask Angel how HE knew that Cordelia was in a state. For someone with enhanced senses, it wouldn't be hard to deduce..."

"Her breathing..." said Angel softly. "Her heartbeat..."

"For you, yes," said Giles. "But Cordelia has shown herself to be especially sensitive to scent, hasn't she? And...well, under pressure, people sweat, don't they? They fidget and they pace and they sweat, and she can smell it on them. All of these frantic, over-heated travelers...it must feel like walking through a field of apples, and having them all go suddenly rotten on you."

Buffy grimaced. "No wonder she's a little grumpy. And ewwwww."

"Indeed. I imagine even a supremely centered person would find it difficult to filter the stimulus from a crowd this size, never mind someone as raw and untested as Cordelia..."

Cordelia slumped unhappily and rested her head on Angel's shoulder. "And funnily enough, having an explanation isn't making it any easier..." she whined.

"Hush now," he said gently. "We'll try to help you, all right? Buffy, my bag..."

Buffy hefted his bag onto the chair beside them. "Geez, Giles, it feels like you have bricks in here," she teased.

He withdrew two small, dense boxes from the front pocket, and Buffy groaned. "And since you do, that would explain it..."

He pressed the sides of the boxes and popped the lid to reveal a mass of crystals. They were in pieces of various sizes, some loose, and others bound pendant-like to necklaces, or fastened to strips of leather in crude, makeshift armbands.

"Amplifying crystals," he explained. "They'll have no effect on Angel, I'm afraid---it's the same principle as a mirror. They reflect the aura of the wearer."

Buffy frowned. "Huh?"

"Amplifies our mood," clarified Giles. "We simply keep our minds on soothing, happy thoughts, and the crystals will boost our auras enough to hopefully create a barrier---a sort of karmic white noise, if you will, to drown out the static."

Buffy picked up a crystal and hefted it casually in her hand. "Happy thoughts, huh? Like sunshine and puppy dogs?"

"Well, it's not entirely that simple. But yes, something like that."

They were interrupted as the loudspeaker blared to life and announced that flight 463 to Toronto was finally boarding. The relief in the waiting lounge was palpable, and it fortified Cordelia enough that she managed to stagger to her feet unassisted, and follow the others onto the jetway.

**

Gunn rested his chin on the bar, straining to keep his eyes open as the three-headed blue demon chattered away.

"..and that's when Vern explained it to me," he was saying.

Gunn raised half a finger and pointed to the right-most head. "That's Vern?"

The left-most head, already identified as Harvey, nodded. "Uh huh. Nearly killed him, doing it. He's always liked Esmeralda, but he and I go back WAY further..."

Gunn eyed the scaly blue torso that joined the heads together. "Obviously."

"...and event though he KNEW it would break my heart, he felt that I deserved to know the truth." The demon paused for weighty emphasis. "She was cheating on me! With my own brother Marv!"

Gunn cocked an eye at the middle head. "That's Marv?"

The Marv-head nodded sheepishly, then looked away. Gunn directed his attention back to the Harvey-head.

"And you had no idea," he clarified.

"Why would I? To think that all of this time...they had been sneaking around! Having clandestine meetings!"

Gunn tried to puzzle out the logistics of that. "And while that was going on, you were..."

Harvey shrugged. "Sleeping?"

Or possibly passed out in drunken stupor, theorized Gunn. The dude was packing it away. He regarded the Vern and Marv heads suspiciously. "You guys want some food maybe?"

The Marv-head, still shamed, was avoiding his gaze. The Vern-head, clearly not the brightest of the bunch, snooping skills notwithstanding, looked bored and downright sleepy.

"That Esmeralda...cheated on me with my own brother!" fumed Harvey. "Do you believe that? I wish I could make her pay. I wish...I wish her lying, cheating, oral-pleasure-giving hands would just rot off in a smelly rot of...rot!" He paused his rant and looked at Gunn expectantly.

"You know," said Gunn. "I'm not actually a vengeance demon, per se. Although I have seen their work..."

Harvey frowned in disappointment. "Oh. Well, can I have more of this purple stuff, at least?

**

The flight was crowded to capacity, and amidst the crush of people, Giles attempted to stake out their territory. They had two seats in each of two rows, one immediately behind the other.

"You, there," he said to Buffy, nodding at the farther row. And to Angel, he added "And you."

Angel looked plaintively at Cordelia. "But Giles..."

"No arguments, Angel, you aren't the one with the amplifying crystal, and of Buffy or I, I am the most practiced at the form of mental control it takes to keep it working. I should be closest to her."

Angel looked at Cordelia again. "But I...Giles, I want to sit with her."

Giles took his glasses off and leveled his gaze at Angel with as much severity as he could muster. "You sit with Buffy."

"Giles, I..."

"Really, Angel," Giles sighed. "You are nearly three centuries old. Surely, by this time, you've mastered sufficient self-control that you can be apart from her for a mere few hours..."

Cordelia smiled limply from her seat. "I'm fine, Angel. Really." Then she arched in her seat with a blinding shriek of pain. "Oh god, Angel..."

They were instantly surrounded by people, and amidst the melee, a flight attendant pushed herself upon them, barking 'what's going on?'

Giles, nearest to Cordelia, had to literally dive through the crush and between the legs of a well-dressed executive to reach her.

"Nothing," he muttered, fixing his glasses. "She's fine." He braced Cordelia's body with his own to minimize the writhing, and block the flight attendant's view.

"She doesn't look fine," said the flight attendant. She poked her head down the aisle. "Hey! Hey, anyone! We got a doctor here?"

Cordelia, still in the throes of the vision, heard just enough to shake her head mutely with wide, panicked eyes.

"She's fine," Giles repeated. "Just a little dehydrated, that's all." He smiled winsomely.

The flight attendant watched dubiously as Cordelia choked and gasped beside him. "Dehydration. Really."

"She's hypoglycemic," Giles suggested. "Hits her harder than it would you or I. Some water, some protein, get her electrolytes back up there..." He rummaged in his bag, then pulled out a cheese string, which he waved at them triumphantly. "There, see?"

The flight attendant squinted at the wan, sweaty face and already slowing breathing. "You sure? It's a long flight, mister. We don't want any problems..."

"We don't either," said Giles sincerely. "Really, just give her space..."

The flight attendant backed away, still watching cautiously, and Giles waited until she was out of earshot, then hissed "What did you see?"

Cordelia, still a little thrown, pointed weakly at a boarding passenger, a large, scruffy man in a motorcycle jacket. "Trip him," she croaked.

Angel casually stuck his foot in the aisle, and moments later, the man went tumbling. A long, narrow and blatantly illegal knife tumbled out of his jacket pocket as he flipped to the floor. The flight attendant, still hovering nearby suspiciously was on hand to subdue him.

Cordelia collapsed weakly and curled up in her window seat. "I need to go to sleep now," she said in a tiny voice.

And she did.

**

Lilah strolled out of the steamy hotel bathroom, robe-clad, toweling off her dark, thick hair, and nearly tripping over the detritus of a recent blood bank theft. Spike and Harmony, near-drunk from their feed, lolled on the floor, slurping up the last of it.

Lilah wrinkled her nose in disgust. "Well, this is quite a scene."

Spike grinned. "You know what they say about those Canadians, don't you, pet? Paris, the city of lights. New York, the city that never sleeps. And Toronto, working towards a smoke-free environment. Sodding nation's so damn nice and polite their blood tastes practically virginal."

"Well, that's all you're getting from ME," Lilah declared. "I warned you to ration this haul. You're on your own, Spike."

Spike shrugged. "I'll manage."

"No you won't," taunted Harmony. "You have the chip, remember?"

"So? This piddly dump's a college town, Harm. Punk kids...shoddy housing...rats aplenty. I'll manage."

She nodded to the remains of their feast. "Maybe so. But it won't be like THIS, will it? Well, not for you, anyway. Some of us can hunt on virginal college students any time we want to."

"Well, this IS the hellmouth," he said. "Maybe the rats will be magic rats. Those are always fun."

Harmony patted his arm with a condescending smile. "You just keep telling yourself that."

Lilah collapsed on the nearest double bed with an impatient sigh. "Can we PLEASE go to bed now? We have a big day tomorrow---you have your thing with the thing, and I will be getting the last of my supplies together..."

Spike sighed and rose to his feet, surveying the bloody mess of plastic. "'Spose we should tidy up a little..."

"Are you a moron?" snitted Harmony. "Why should we? This dump has maid service. "We're PAYING for maid service."

Spike shrugged. "Works for me." He peeled off his shirt and made for Lilah's bed. Harmony cast her eye to the other bed, where Jenny already lay unconscious. "Why do I have to sleep with HER again?" Harmony complained.

"Well, you don't want to sleep with Lilah, do you?"

"I wouldn't be 'sleeping' with her any more than you will. It's just sharing a bed, Spike. And I don't like the witch. She's creepy. And she's gone all spacey again. What's up with that?"

"Beats me. But Lilah has shower-hair, Harm. She'll get the sheets all soggy."

Harmony considered this for a moment, then hopped into bed with Jenny.

**

Lorne strolled into Caritas well past closing time, a cheery spring to his step and a noticeable smear of lipstick smudged against his green and scaly cheek.

"Gunn?" he called.

He strolled behind the counter and booted up his computer to check for messages. "Gunn? Buddy?"

The bar was spotless, and Gunn had cleaned the place as well as Lorne himself---tables wiped down shiny, chairs stacked atop them---all but the one he was sleeping in, feet propped up on a barstool, stake clutched in his sleeping hand, and his leather jacket tossed over his lap like a blanket.

Lorne smiled and gently shook his friend awake. "Amigo? You okay there?"

'You've got mail!' blared the computer loudly. Gunn jumped to his feet. "Huh? What? Who's here?"

"Just me," said Lorne softly. "Sit back down, why dontcha, and give yourself a minute..."

Gunn obediently lowered himself back into the chair. "Uh, hi. How'd it go."

"Fab. I've never seen Kate like this---she's had an epiphany, and she's...she's wild, amigo. Wild."

"Huh."

"She was just so...open, so...so full of energy..."

Gunn smirked. "Had sex, didja?"

"And how. Turns out that Pylean genitalia is...textured...in a way that human penises are not. And the pressure points just happen to line up exactly with the erogenous zones of the human female..."

"Whoa!" said Gunn. "TMI, Lorne. TMI."

"Sorry, bro. So, how'd you do here?"

Gunn shrugged. "Quiet night, I guess. A few stragglers here and there, and one guy who stayed all night and didn't stop yapping the entire time---or possibly three guys, depending on how you look at it..."

"HMV!" squealed Lorne. "I love those guys! Three-headed blue guy who came in just as I was leaving, right?"

Gunn nodded. "Uh huh. Man oh man, can that guy pack it away. By the third drink or so, I started watering 'em down a little."

"And a good thing you did," said Lorne. "Since their species has no taste receptors anyway. Alcohol's a total waste on them."

Gunn frowned. "Really?"

"Yup. They're just here for the pretty colours, my man. Lemme guess---he had the purple stuff, didn't he?"

"Nearly two bottles."

Lorne nodded. "He's a regular. You'll get to know them after awhile. You did good, my friend. Really, really good, actually---HMV on your first night? That's skill! You wouldn't be interested in doing some moonlighting, by any chance, would you?"

Gunn shrugged. "Why not? Crime does pay, but not a whole lot these days. I could use the cash."

Lorne grinned and shook his hand. "I think this is the start of a beautiful friendship," he beamed.

He showed Gunn out, then settled at the bar to read his email. Jenny had found herself an Internet Café just down the street from her hotel, it looked like. Far enough away to make the spellcasting even more debilitating than it used to be. Poor thing was tired, but more importantly---she was scared.

**

They were nearly over Lake Ontario when Cordelia woke up again.

"Morning," said Giles softly. He smiled gently and gently snapped shut his briefcase.

"Is it morning already?" she said.

"Just barely. We'll land in a few minutes..."

She nodded, then unbuckled her seatbelt and climbed to her knees, peering over the seatback at Angel and Buffy.

"That's so cute," she said. "Giles, look..."

Against the black of the cabin wall, Angel looked massive, especially in sleep---his back an unmoving anchor, his legs splayed out into Buffy's personal space, and arms wrapped easily around the tiny blond slayer, who was fast asleep in his embrace...

He returned her smile, then grew serious. "How are you feeling?"

"I'm fine, Giles. Don't worry about me."

"Cordelia..."

"No, really," she said, glancing pointedly at his amplifying crystal. "Don't worry."

He blushed. "Sorry. I wasn't...but truly---how ARE you feeling?"

She settled back into her chair. "A little headachey. A little nauseous. A little hungry." She shrugged. "I'll live."

"I'm sure. Cordelia..."

"I'll be ready," she insisted. "Giles, I'm fine, really."

"If you did need to...look, there's nothing wrong with..."

"I know. Happy thoughts, Giles."

He closed his eyes for a moment. "You're right. It's healthier for all of us, really..."

She winced suddenly and swatted him on the arm. "Not THOSE kind of happy thoughts, though. Ewwww."

He blushed again, then ruefully smiled. "Well, your filtering skills are improving, at any rate. That's a good sign, I suppose."

"See? Fine. Just like I told you. Demoned and visioned and ready for action. So how does this work, exactly? They gonna meet us when we land?"

"Not entirely. Seems they split the trip up for us in deference to Angel, to assure as only night-time travel. We've a ways to go yet. We land in Toronto and have the day to spend as we see fit, so long as we get ourselves to Union Station by 7 to claim our tickets."

"Tickets to where?"

"They haven't said. Typical council nonsense---saving up their information for a pompous lecture when we get there, I suppose..."

"Not that we're bitter," she observed with a wry smile. "Happy thoughts, Giles. Sunshine and puppy dogs."

"Right," he said. "Sunshine and puppy dogs." He waited for her eye to wander, then immediately removed the amplifying crystal and stowed it in his carry-on. They had a battle ahead of them, and nearly everyone he loved was diving headfirst into it. He'd brood if he bloody well wanted to.

**

Lilah Morgan clambered awake to the shrill pierce of a ringing phone. She fumbled for the receiver. "Hello?"

"Morning," chirped the desk clerk. "Rabbit Courier Company's here. Should I send them up?"

She hopped out of bed, tossing her pillows at her sleeping lackeys to rouse them. "Yes," she said, instantly awake. "Thank you."

Spike and Harmony were slowly coming too. "Visitors?" drawled Spike sleepily.

"Better," said Lilah. "I think my supplies are here."

That got him out of bed instantly. "This I've got to see."

There was a timid knock at the door, and Spike propped the latch open. Clipboard-armed and in a standard dishwater-gray courier uniform, one almost didn't notice that their messenger was a Chaos demon.

Lilah stared at him, eyes widening in sudden recognition. "Kevin?"

The demon pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and wiped his dripping antlers. He smiled sheepishly. There were braces on his teeth.

"Kevin?" Lilah repeated. "Oh my god..."

Spike smirked. "Your name is Kevin?"

The demon shrugged. "So? Hey, Lilah. Long time, no see."

"And you KNOW each other?" Spike marveled.

"College. Freshman year. There was a thing. Oh my god, Kevin, you look FABulous! Have you been working out?"

Kevin flexed a tiny bicep that would be pathetic even by human standards. "A little," he said with a shy grin.

"Kill me now," muttered Spike under his breath.

"So this is where you wound up," Lilah mused. "Who would have thought...you do know there's a hellmouth, right?"

Kevin's lazy eye popped to alertness. "Really? Huh."

"So I'm guessing you're the only one who FINISHED college," Spike snarked to Lilah.

"I thought you joined the Peace Corps," Lilah was telling Kevin.

Kevin shrugged. "Pay sucked."

"Sure," teased Spike. "And working for a low-rent courier in a dippy little college town pays SO much better..."

Kevin glared at Spike, then turned to Lilah. "Who is this yutz? But oh, hey, speaking of..." He hauled a large carton in from the hallway and handed her the clipboard. Lilah signed it absently.

"We MUST get caught up," she was gushing. "There's this thing we're doing...you want in?"

"WHAT?" squeaked Spike. "I bust my ass for you for WEEKS with barely a thanks, and Drippy-McAntler shows up all minimum wage and gets invited in just like that?"

"Never hurts to have some muscle, Spike," said Lilah. Kevin smiled weakly. His antlers looked heavy enough to nearly topple him over.

**

Cordelia caught up with them just inside Museum station, hands jammed with ice cream cones.

"Thanks for letting me stop," she said, collapsing against a wall to catch her breath. "The concierge at the hotel said no visit to Toronto would be complete without a visit to Greg's for ice cream..."

Buffy shrugged. "We're cool in here. We have a day pass. We can get on and off the subway as many times as we want to."

Angel nodded enthusiastically. "This is a GREAT city. The whole thing's, like, underground..."

Buffy smiled. "So what'd you get us?"

"Roasted marshmallow," said Cordelia. "Greg's specialty. With chocolate syrup for you and me, and without it for the guys." She passed out the ice cream "Where to now?"

"Well, since we're already AT Museum station," said Giles hopefully. "It would stand to reason that the museum must be nearby..."

The girls both groaned. "Giles, no," whined Buffy.

"I'll go," said Angel.

"But it's the Royal Ontario Museum," Giles complained. "I haven't been to that one. I hear they have a stunning collection of Egyptian artifacts..."

"Mummies?" said Buffy. "I don't think so." She shook her head firmly. "We are so not doing that."

"But their collection of first dynasty gems is apparently exqui..."

"No," said Buffy again.

"I don't mind," piped up Angel. "I'll go."

But they were beyond hearing him now. Giles' face was as close to a pout as it ever got, and his voice was dangerously whiny. "I went up and down this bloody subway all day for you girls," he was ranting. "I did not go into any libraries to look up arcane regional mythologies that might help us in the impending battle. I did not hole up in our hotel room and pore over musty old books to supplement my cache of protection spells. I did chain myself literally OR figuratively to Cordelia's laptop computer so I could instant message with Wesley and recruit him to fill in the numerous missing pieces we have yet to unravel. Instead, I went to several large malls because you wanted shoes. I went to several designer outlets because Cordelia wanted a bag. I stood in line at the cashiers while you paid for a novelty t-shirt, then again at another store while Cordelia bought a small stuffed animal. And I did all of this without complaining, Buffy. Now, it is nearly four, we have a train to catch in less than three hours, and I want to go to a museum. Do you have a problem with that?"

Buffy fidgeted and stared at the wall, stalling.

"You know," said Angel helpfully. "It's very important to take an interest in your partner's hobbies and activities."

She glared at him, then sighed. "All right. But NO mummies, Giles. 'Kay?"

He nodded. "Deal."

**

Wesley walked into the Hyperion at noonish to check the messages, and did a double-take when he saw the front desk. He was nearly getting used to the feeling of walking into his office and feeling like he had stumbled in on the tail-end of one of those gleefully unpredictable and incomprehensibly non-subtitled Japanese anime movies, but this...

He took a deep breath and located Gunn amidst the wreckage. "Morning," he said.

"Morning, Wes."

"Why is our front desk covered in muffin trays?"

Gunn shrugged off his oven mitts. "It's taken me a few tries to get it right," he explained. "I've been baking."

"Um hm. Why?"

"Well, I was at Caritas last night," Gunn explained. "And...hey, Wes, I have a job now! I am gainfully employed."

"You already had a job. You work for me."

"Uh, right," said Gunn. "And fun as that might be, the hours are unpredictable and the pay almost as much. So I was at Caritas and there was this thing with three heads that was there cause Lorne was doing Kate, and then there were these purple drinks, and then Lorne was telling me that I am just what that place needs."

Wesley gave himself a moment to process this narrative. "Well," he said.

"So anyway, I was thinking this morning that maybe now that I am board, that place might have a chance to diversify a little. I mean, purple drinks are one thing, but the food? SO greasy spoon, which is fine and all, but obesity is a growing problem in America, you know? The menu at Caritas may be fried and tasty, but it's hardly very socially responsible."

"The clientele are demons," said Wesley. "I hardly think that social responsibility is a dominating factor."

"Well, maybe it should be," said Gunn. "Maybe this is my thing, you know? Those PTB paying attention to ME for once and giving ME a chance to make a difference!"

Wesley frowned. "You do make a difference---working for me. Helping your OWN kind."

"And I still will. This Caritas gig is just a sideline, Wes."

Wesley frowned again. "Why is our front desk covered in muffin trays?"

Gunn sighed in frustration. "They just don't look right, Wes. I mean, they TASTE okay, but they just look so...so pale and dull. Things ain't right if they don't have some colour, you know?"

Wesley sighed. "Does Lorne know you're doing this?"

"I'm a new employee, Wes. Got to take some initiative if I want to get noticed."

Wesley nodded. This was the first thing Gunn had said that made even the remotest bit of logical sense, and he rewarded his friend with a pat on the arm and a wise smile.

Maple syrup," he told him, stepping carefully over the five-pound bag of flour in the entryway and heading into the office.

"Huh?"

"Maple syrup," he repeated. "Use brown sugar, not white, and replace the vanilla extract with maple syrup."

He turned on the computer to check for any messages from Cordelia or Giles, leaving a dumb-founded Gunn to scramble after him with an incredulous "How the HELL do you know that?"

**

Part 5

The train ride was brief and uneventful.

"After all that," complained Buffy. "They build it up to this whole big thing, then we're two hours into the train ride and that's it?"

"Apparently, that's this town's selling point," said Cordelia, reading off a tourist pamphlet she had picked up just beside the taxi stand where they now waited. "Kingston, Ontario, the gateway to the Thousand Islands, is centrally located halfway between Toronto and Montreal."

"THAT'S their claim to fame? Geography?"

Cordelia consulted the brochure again. "Well, that and prisons. They have almost as many of those as they do universities."

"And...large quantities of limestone," observed Giles, reading over her shoulder.

"Oooh, and a fort," said Cordelia, pointing to one of the pictures.

"Plus the hellmouth," offered Angel. He frowned. "Although I guess they probably don't publicize that too much."

Giles gave a weak smile. "Well, then. Suppose we find a taxi, hmmm?"

They lugged their bags into the nearest car, and Giles hastily conferred with the driver about the instructions they had found with their tickets. They reached the downtown core in less than twenty minutes, and when the taxi stopped, a large imposing building loomed in front of them.

Angel took in the officious structure and frowned. "That can't be good."

"It figures," said Cordelia with a groan. "It would be another library, wouldn't it?"

**

Gunn ambled into Caritas whistling a jaunty tune.

"Lorne? Charles Gunn, reporting for duty, as ordered."

Lorne peeked out from behind the counter. "Evening, employerino. Just in time."

Gunn nodded. "I try and be prompt. But I do have patrol responsibilities, you know?"

"Understood, good buddy, understood. I would certainly never want something so pedestrian as the purple love of Harvey, Marv and Vern to compromise the safety of the untold innocents."

Gunn nodded again. "My man! I knew we was cool."

"Even so...there IS more to this job than schmoozing with the lounge lizards, you know. I took care of the Jubalian entrails for you THIS time, but you really are going to have to take some initiative, Charles. I am only one man; I can only do so much."

Gunn gulped. "Uh huh. Sooooo....you into muffins?"

**

Queen's University may be one of Canada's oldest universities, but the Stauffer Library is among its newest buildings. Even at this almost late hour, the towering, spacious facility was crowded with students.

"Special Collections," said Giles, reading off his directions. "Apparently, they're to meet us at...ah, this way..."

A helpfully posted sign directed them downward---away from the students, away from the shiny email terminals that crowded the rotunda, and down into the basement.

"Always a good sign," chirped Buffy. "Going AWAY from all the people..."

"This is the hellmouth," said Giles impatiently. "Not the best place to be looking for good signs, Buffy."

"Oooh, grumpy. What's up with that?"

"Don't tease me."

"Giles..."

"Don't. Tease. Me."

Cordelia frowned, then dumped her bag at Angel's feet, and, with a resigned sigh, pulled Giles aside.

"All right," she prompted, keeping her voice low. "What is it?"

"Nothing."

"Nice try. I don't need an amplifying crystal to read you anymore, Rupert Giles. You're wigging out."

"I'm not sure that's the term I would use."

"So, what, then? We've done battles before. We've done hellmouths before. But this one has you all wound up."

"And?"

"And there is a time and a place for wigging. On the stairwell of a library in a strange town far from home, in the middle of the night with dozens of clueless innocents milling around us would not be that time."

"It's been a long day."

"Nice try. Giles, come on, you can talk to me. Is it the watchers?"

"Cordelia..."

"Cause I don't like 'em much either, if that's any consolation. Trying to do experiments on innocent people just because they happen to be..."

"Cordelia, really..."

Her eyes widened. "Miss Calendar! We still haven't seen her, and god, you must be..."

"Stop."

She took an obliging step away from him, brow furrowing curiously. "It isn't just that, is it? It's all of it. One thing, you could handle---one battle, one ghost, one problem---but all of it together---the hellmouth, the council and Miss Calendar too..."

His fingers clenched into fists at his side. "I'm fine," he said stiffly.

"Sure you are. And using that tone of voice with me is really gonna convince me. Look, can I talk to Buffy about this?"

"Cordelia, really..."

"Look, I'm trying, okay? I'm letting you snit at me and I'm not saying anything cause I think you're kind of at your breaking point here. And I won't make you talk if you don't think you can right now, but Giles, if you don't tell her what's going through your head, she'll get upset, and she'll get pushy, and she'll get mad and she won't back away like I'm doing right now, and then we'll just have one more problem to deal with. Now, the fact that I am even asking you before I talk to her should tell you something. This is not an ambush. This is not an intervention. This is just me being your friend and her being your lover and both of us wanting to do this right..."

He nodded briefly, then walked away, his face unreadable. He did not say a word until he had reached the Special Collections information desk in the library's basement, and found it utterly deserted. He closed his eyes, muttered a brief "Bloody hell..." and rang the small bell that rested helpfully on the counter. A familiar face popped up before them.

"Ah. You're here. Wonderful, wonderful...let's get started, then. May I be the first to say it?" Fiona Wyndam-Pryce smiled proudly and opened her arms in greeting. "Welcome to the hellmouth."

They stared at her dumbly.

"You?" whined Cordelia. "YOU'RE the council contact?"

Fiona shrugged. "Well, who did you think it would be?"

"But Wesley said...he told us you'd been placed far away."

"It took you two days to get here."

"In a less prestigious outpost."

"Well, until about a week ago, this WAS. They didn't know about the hellmouth," she admitted.

Giles cracked a tiny smile. "Really?"

"So how'd YOU find it?" asked Cordelia.

"By taking Wesley's suggestion and doing a little bit of research. Obviously, there HAS been paranormal activity---it wouldn't be an area of interest to the council, otherwise. But there are so many such areas, and this is such a small town---oh sure, it IS the largest urban centre between Toronto and Montreal, but only if you count the outlying townships and transient student population..."

"The hellmouth?" prompted Giles.

"Right. I owe that to Wesley, really. We've been talking...rather nice, after all of these years, but anyway, he was telling about his early days as an active watcher. Mid-sized town, about two hours from the region's largest urban centre. Well-regarded, if somewhat smaller, university. And a military presence to boot. Sound familiar?"

"That's Sunnydale," said Buffy.

"That's Kingston," said Fiona with a smirk. "Stunning coincidence, isn’t it? Two hours from Toronto by train. Queen's University, which is, depending on your source, the number one or the number two school in the country. They have a military base AND a military college---quite a variety for a town this size, no?

"But that's..."

"And it's just SWIMMING in mythology," said Fiona much too cheerfully. "Their sports teams are called the Golden Gaels, Gael as in Gaelic, and their unofficial motto is 'Cha Gheill.'" She beamed at Angel. "Care to translate?"

"No surrender," he said. "Cha Gheill. It means no surrender."

"And of course, there were Indians," continued Fiona cheerfully. "Should we talk about those?"

Giles took off his glasses and rubbed between his eyes. "Let's don't."

"So I started taking some readings," said Fiona. "That imbecile Zabuto always teased me about my crystals---too new-fangled for his tastes, I suppose, but in my mind there's no more reliable a way...and presto. Hellmouth."

Buffy looked nervously down at her feet. "Here?"

"Of course not here. Who would be stupid enough to build a library on top of a hellmouth?"

The scoobies traded bemused looks. "So...where?" said Cordelia.

"Under the pub, of course," said Fiona. "This campus has three of them, but two of them are in the same building. If that doesn't just SCREAM suspicious..."

"Should we go see it?" said Buffy.

"Oh, I'm keeping on eye on things, but it isn't doing anything yet. There's a full moon in two days. I think they'll make their move then."

"So do we have a plan yet?"

Fiona nodded. "I'm still trying to work on getting the pub---Alfie's, it's called---closed down for the night. It's a hard sell, I admit---it's fairly popular. It's in the basement of the JDUC---that's the student centre here, you know, food courts, meeting rooms, and, among many, many other things, a residence for graduate students. Those people have filed more than a few noise complaints this year---it's been a small scandal. I'm trying to leverage that a little, but I'm just a librarian..."

"We'll help," said Buffy.

"Well, of course you'll help. I wouldn't have sent for you, otherwise. I'll have Giles for research, I think, and you in case I need a 'student.' Cordelia, I'd like you and Angel to do some shopping, if you don't mind---there are still some volumes I'm missing, and this town has quite the profusion of used book stores..."

They nodded their assent, and Fiona smiled, genuinely, this time. "You must be tired. I've found some rooms for you in that graduate residence I mentioned---it's just across the street. Just go through the upper ceilidh to the staircase..."

"The who?"

Angel smiled. "More Gaelic. They do like their history, don't they? It means meeting place."

"If you can call a hallway that. Go in the side entrance past the food court, and that large open space is the lower ceilidh. Just follow the stairs. I have your keys here..."

"I should do a patrol, I guess," said Buffy. "Well we're here...I mean, this IS a hellmouth, after all..."

"I'll come," said Cordelia. "It's been awhile since I've done a real patrol..."

"Cordy, are you..."

"I'll come," she repeated. Her tone was significant; no one questioned her further.

"I'll go the other way," said Angel. "Do a quick pass before heading back here..."

They headed outside, and nobody even thought to ask Giles if he had plans. He watched the others head off in three different directions, then waited until they were out of sight and took the fourth.

Part 6

**

It was almost 9, and Caritas was hopping. Wesley, grimacing distastefully as he worked his way through the crowd, stepped delicately up to the bar to search for Gunn.

He found him aproned and active, tossing drinks with the speed of a god, and boredly tuning out a large three-headed demon who was prattling like an idiot about a woman called Esmeralda.

He tapped his knuckles on the counter. "Hello?" he called.

Gunn broke off the drink-pouring and greeted him with a relieved grin. "Wes! My man, thank god you are here. Yo! Ramone!" He flagged down the nearest bartender. "I got a business meeting. Get my buddy HMV some more purple stuff and watch the bar a few minutes, will ya?"

They retreated into Lorne's small office. "Wes, thank god!" Gunn repeated.

Wesley shrugged and calmly took a seat. "You called, I came. No less than I would do for any friend, really. What can I do for you?"

"I so need your help," Gunn whined. "Remember that muffin thing?"

"Yes..."

"Well, I told Lorne about it," he said. "And he really likes the idea of expanding our repertoire. But he thought the apple-cinnamon might be a little too....too FRUITY for our clientele, you know? He told me if I beefed it up some---and no, I don't mean literal beef---it might go over better."

"And this involves me because..."

"Do I have to spell it out for you? I know jack about regular baking, and jack-all about the demon kind. You gotta help me, Wes. I don't know how you know the things you know..."

"It isn't hard, really. My Nanna always said that all you need is a recipe with clear instructions, and anyone can produce a moist and fluffy..."

"Whoa," said Gunn. "I don't know what a Nanna is, and I don't think I even want to know. But one thing I do know is that unless you help me come up with an alternate menu, I'm going to be de-stingering Jubalian entrails 'til the cows come home. And no, I don't mean literal cows. Look, bail a brother out, will you? If you were a scaly- blue-skinned purple-loving three-headed demon, what would YOU want with your crudite tray?"

Wesley thought for a moment. "All right," he finally said. "But I'll need a day or so to do some research..."

He headed back into the bar. "With my own brother Marv!" the blue-skinned demon was exclaiming, poking three stubby blue fingers into Ramone's arm for emphasis. Wesley shook his head. He was far too good for this crowd.

**

They passed through nearly three Byzantine campus blocks of buildings named after people before Buffy finally plopped herself down on a park bench and rested her stake in her lap.

"All right," she sighed. "Let's get it over with."

Cordelia sat down beside her and smiled sweetly. "What on earth are you talking about?"

"Oh no you don't. Don't play innocent with me, missy, you've been biding your time all night trying to get me alone for a heart-to-heart, haven't you? So spill. Are you the one in trouble, or am I?"

"This isn't that kind of conversation."

Buffy nodded. "Giles..." She kicked a pebble unhappily. "Figures he'd talk to YOU about it first."

"He didn't talk to me."

Buffy flexed her fingers back and forth in near-fists. "Oh," she managed.

"Oh? Buffy, trust me when I tell you that this really isn't something you need to get jealous over. You think this is some kind of contest? Spot the stress first? Please! The man was projecting like a drive-in movie! I saw the same thing you saw. I'm just brave enough to talk about it, unlike some people."

Buffy shrugged. "Okay. So?"

"So for totally selfish reasons , namely that I don't want to listen to either of you complaining to me when you handle this the way you usually do and make things worse, I'm going for option two and butting my nose in to give you a heads-up on this."

"A heads-up," repeated Buffy tonelessly. "You think THAT'S what I need? You think I really don't see what's going on here? He gets a little stressed sometimes. All he needs to do is..."

"What? Fight it out, like you do? Rant it out, like I do? You know that's not the way he handles things."

"It's worse," said Buffy. "What he does...it's worse."

"Which is exactly why you need to back off a little. You might not like the brood thing---god knows I sure don't when Angel does it. But Giles has stuff on his mind right now---the hellmouth and the watchers are bad enough, but there's the whole Miss Calendar angle too..."

"Oh, that one's okay," said Buffy. "We already talked about that."

"Right. Cause it's that easy..."

"Now, just a minute..." Buffy fumed.

"No, YOU just a minute. Giles is strong, he's smart and he's tough, but you know as well as I do that he's not the best emotional multitasker. One problem, and you never even see it on him. But two or three at once, and he starts showing cracks. Jamming in a chisel before he has a chance to smooth them over is not going to help things."

Buffy looked torn. "I know," she said weakly. "But Cordy, you weren't here the last time he did this. When he gets overwhelmed---like the kind of overwhelmed you're talking about---he completely shuts down. It's...dangerous."

"He can't help it."

"I know he can't. But that doesn't mean I'm going to stand by and let him be vamp-food just cause he wants to broodfully hide out in the dark and lick his wounds! If what you're saying is true, he's in pain right now. You really want me to just sit by and let it run its course?"

Cordelia shrugged. "I think what I want right now is kind of immaterial, don't you?"

Buffy untensed, exhaling slowly. "You're right. Damn you." She drummed her fingers on her knees. "So what happens now?"

**

He had been walking for less than twenty minutes when he hit the waterfront.

"Such a cliché," Giles muttered, taking in the brooding landscape with a disgusted sigh. "Inky water, craggy stones...like a bloody painting..."

He kicked a stone with his foot, then looked up sharply when he heard a soft voice behind him. "You shouldn't be here."

He turned his head and exhaled slowly. "Oh. You."

Fiona crouched down beside him. "I know, I know, probably only cranking up the trauma, aren't I? Bad, evil watcher and all that. But Mr. Giles, really, you shouldn't be here. Things hide in shadows, you know. Here especially."

"You know," he said archly. "I do actually live on a hellmouth. I know how these things work."

She arched her brow. "Seems like."

He tensed to his feet and met her gaze with a stony glare. "Are you quite done?"

"Oh, come on. You think you're the first man to ever have a girlfriend who talks too much? I know how this works. Or at least, I know how it works HERE. Man goes off to find himself a dank and gloomy hideaway to suit his mood. Man sits on the craggy rocks and gazes out into the water, lost in his past, or his love, or his demons. Vampire, demon or hellhound of nefarious evil sneaks up behind man and tears his bloody throat to pieces."

"Now, come on..."

"And I, for once, have no desire to piss the slayer off by letting the likes of you run off and get yourself eaten. Go," she said, shooing him forward with her hands. "Do your thing. I'll wait."

"Oh. Is that right?"

She fumbled in her backpack and emerged with a stake in one hand and a taser in the other.

"Yes, yes," she prompted. "I've got you. Now, go, do your thing already so I can walk you home and get this over with."

He gave her an odd glance, then walked away from her and perched himself on a high, broad stone. The water was oddly soothing, and it briefly crossed his mind that perhaps, at least, one problem---the council problem---was blessedly taken care of.

**

Cordelia flounced into her tiny room and plopped herself down on the bed.

"Hey," she greeted Angel.

He was sitting in the desk chair, book in hand and feet propped comfortably on the keyboard tray. "Hey. Patrol go okay?"

"Hope so. You?"

"Good enough. Now let's have sex," he said.

She blinked. "Wow. Um, way to preamble there, buddy. You okay?"

"Why wouldn't I be?"

"That had all the subtlety of a cement truck, Angel. What's up with that?"

"Men are bad," he said. "They are emotionally immature and have difficulty articulating their feelings."

She frowned. "Have you been reading my self-help books again?"

"No one is so perfect that they can't learn from others, Cordelia."

"Okay..."

"The problem," he explained, "Is that men too often hide their feelings because they think that expressing need is a sign of weakness. So they play mind games, Cordelia: the mind games of repression, of denial...and that, as I am sure you'll agree, is NOT healthy. The reality is that we ALL would be happier if only men could just allow themselves to TELL women what it is they're really feeling, instead of fooling around about it."

"And what you are feeling right now is that you want to have sex with me?"

Angel beamed. "Yes. Cordelia, I am feeling lust, and I am not ashamed about it because it is perfectly natural."

"Don't be an idiot," she told him firmly. "I'll have sex with you, all right. But I want the flirting. I want the foreplay. I actually LIKE the pointless pretty stuff, and don't you forget it."

"See, there you go," he said happily. "Clearly expressing your needs and emotions. You picked up on this MUCH faster than I thought you would, Cordelia. Good for you!"

"Shut up," she said, peeling off her jacket and tossing it onto the bed. "And Angel---stay out of my self-help books, will you?"

**

Part 7

**

Spike paced impatiently outside the bathroom, pausing intermittently to bang on the door.

"Hurry up, Harm," he growled. "Some of us need to get in there..."

The door cracked open infinitesimally. "Well, excuse me for living," Harmony drawled. "Or unliving, as the case may be. You're the one who made me share a bed with the witch, Spike. And I don't know what kind of experiments you've been running on her, but she smells funny. Like magic and sweat and stuff. Ewwww." Harmony shuddered. "I just can't get clean."

"YOU can't get clean?" he roared. "YOU can't get clean?"

"You're the one who made me share a bed with her," Harmony repeated.

"A fact I am sorely regretting," grumbled Spike. "Didn't know Lilah'd ask HIM to stay."

He pointed to the bed he had just vacated, where Lilah lay fast asleep in demon Kevin's arms, his pointy antlers nudged vaguely sexually against Lilah's breasts, the flow of drippy slime only moderately slowed by his sleeping state.

"I say again," said Spike dryly. "YOU can't get clean?"

He ran a finger through his hair. It came out sticky, and Harmony burst into giggles. "Do you have any idea what you look like right now? Like that scene in that movie with Cameron Diaz, where they use the spermy stuff like hairspray!"

"Shut up!"

"Well, you do. I can't help it that you do. Seriously, Spike, why didn't you just sleep on the floor or something? Are you THAT desperate to cop a feel?"

"Shut up! And lemme in, Harm. I need a shower."

"Well, I don't think so," said Harmony. I haven't even done my hair yet. She ran a silky finger through her long, high-maintenance tresses. "I don't think so at all."

She closed the door on him with a haughty pout, and not for the first time, he lamented the fact that since she was already a vampire, he couldn't even shut her up by eating her.

**

The Book Shop was their third stop of the morning, and Cordelia was already tired of looking. Their first two destinations had been complete wastes of time: too many cheap paperbacks in the first and too many college psychology textbooks in the second. So when they stepped inside this third one, she didn't even bother looking seriously. As she wandered off into the stacks, Angel accosted the elderly shop-keeper.

"Hi," he said.

"Morning. Can I help you find something?"

"Maybe. We're doing some research into local myths and legends---you know, folklore, ghost stories, paranormal occurrences, that sort of thing..."

"Ah. Well, you don't need a book for that. There's a tour you can take---Haunted Kingston, they call it. Very popular with the tourists..."

"We aren't tourists."

The shopkeeper gave him a funny look. "Paranormal occurrences, you say?"

"Um hm."

"How paranormal?"

Angel tensed alertly.

"I only mean...look, what sources have you already consulted?"

"Special Collection," said Angel. "At the university..."

The shopkeeper nodded, and reached behind the desk, pressing a hidden button. The desktop rolled back to reveal a hidden shelf stacked as high as possible with musty old volumes. Cordelia wandered over. "Jackpot..." she whispered.

"Have a look and see what you can use," the shopkeeper said. "Now, you understand, I am sure, that most of these books are priceless and irreplaceable, but word on the net is something big is brewing here. I do my part, you understand?"

"Word on the net..." muttered Cordelia, frowning. "Are you...you're a..."

He smiled. "I believe the word you are looking for is 'technopagan.' Nothing to be alarmed about, Miss."

"Oh, believe me," said Cordelia. "You want to alarm me, you're going to have to do a lot better than that."

He gave them an odd frown. "Now, you wouldn't happen to be Angel, would you?"

Angel looked up from his reading. "How did you..."

"'I shall lament my death, betimes, and mourn my life, that it must be kept prisoner by sins and crimes so long before I am set free...'" He plunked a slim paperback on the table in front of Angel. "St. John of the Cross," he explained. "Had a devil of a time finding it on such short notice..."

Angel frowned in confusion. "What...?"

"Your order," than man said. "Three days ago? The website?"

"I...ordered this book?"

"Well, somebody did. The Campbell translation, as I recall. More obscure than the Kavanaugh version, but definitely worth the bother, if you want my opinion. I have your receipt right here," he said, waving the piece of paper at him triumphantly.

"Is there a billing address?" asked Angel.

The man shook his head. "We go through ABEbooks.com...they bill, and all we do is fill the order. You telling me you didn't order this book?"

"Yes. I mean, no. I didn't order it."

"Well, it's paid for," he shrugged. "So it's yours. You really have no idea who sent it?"

Angel, still skimming the slim volume, looked up suddenly. "I have some idea," he said with a sudden smirk. He looked at Cordelia. "Know any other technopagans?"

Her eyes widened. "You think...?"

He looked down at the pages again. "'Over the ramparts fanned, while the fresh wind was fluttering his tresses, with his serenest hand, my neck he wounded, and suspended every sense with its caresses.' It's her, Cordelia. It's Jenny. She's sending us a message."

Cordelia paled. "We need to find Giles," she said.

Angel fingered the volume thoughtfully. "I don't think so," he said. "I think this one's for us."

**

Fiona Wyndam-Pryce looked up sedately from her book and beamed a shy smile at her lone remaining charge.

"Perhaps you'd like a break?" she suggested.

The slayer, hair tied back messily, pants dusted with carelessly unnoticed book must, one hand nervously fisting at her side while the other lazily gripped a priceless book with sweaty fingers, ceased her infernal pacing and appeared to give the sentiment a moment's consideration.

"No," said Buffy flatly.

"Perhaps you could at least...well, slow down for a moment?" Fiona suggested. "Perhaps clutch the ancient, irreplaceable volume with a smidge less vigour?"

Buffy carefully put the book down, then glowered at Fiona with dark, flat eyes. "Bite me," she said.

Fiona sighed. "Another tantrum. This is SO not the time!"

Buffy cracked a tiny smile. "Ah ha," she said softly. "She shows signs of life at last. Emotion. Actual, human, pissy-little-attitude...emotion."

Fiona slammed her book shut, then seemed to reconsider. Eyes never leaving Buffy's, she pointedly opened it again, then gently folded it closed. "Is that really how you see me?" she said with horrifying softness. "How all of you...really..."

Buffy squeezed shut her eyes and slowly counted to three. "Oh god. Please don't tell me you're going to cry or something. Look, I'm sorry, okay? I..."

"Really," said Fiona calmly. "I truly am genuinely curious. Is it only because I'm a watcher, or is it...is it me?"

"She grows a heart," said Buffy wearily. "Although, to paraphrase...this is SO not the time!"

"That's not a paraphrase. It's a direct quote."

"Nerd."

"Snob."

"Brainer."

"Bitch. Are we quite done?"

"I think so. Look, I really am sorry, okay? I admit, not the best play-nicer with the council, especially with a new, improved hellmouth on our hands complete with evil lawyers and broody MIA Giles...but still, I haven't been...I mean, here you are trying to help, and I'm..." She hesitated. "You ARE trying to help, aren't you?"

"I am. Look, Buffy, I know that I didn't make the absolute BEST first impression..."

"I'll say. I seem to recall someone threatening to lock up my sister in a watcher lab and run experiments on her."

Fiona turned crimson. "I was saying, perhaps it was not my best possible beginning...but I had never MET a slayer before in person, and all I had to go on was the fact that Faith tried to KILL my brother and that YOU actually bested him. And here I was, still a naïve, untested little trainee who had never even left bloody England, and suddenly I'm in the middle of all of you and with that dunce Zabuto breathing down my neck saying draw the line, draw the line..."

"Guess we both made the same mistake, didn't we?" said Buffy thoughtfully. "Forgetting that in all the power and magic and history, there really is another person in there..."

Fiona took a deep breath. "We're okay. Gods help us, we're okay."

"I'm glad YOU feel better."

Fiona looked down at her hands and idly picked at a hangnail. "Yes, well we do still have work to do," she mumbled.

"Uh huh. So what time did you program Giles to come back for?"

Fiona winced. "Buffy, about that, I'm..."

Buffy gave her a reassuring smile. "It's okay. You think you're the first person who ever gave Giles and me a night apart to cool off? Although Lorne is not a person per se...look, it's okay, Fiona, you did good this time. He came home, and I was sleeping. I woke up, and he was gone---on YOUR errand---but now that I've had a chance to calm down a little, I know he'll be back. I peg lunch at, what, half an hour away? Cordy's bringing donuts. He'll come."

"He seemed better, when I left him," Fiona offered.

Buffy gave the girl's hand a comforting squeeze. "I'm sure he was."

**