Willow was still bouncing when they got back to the house, riding high on a rush of adrenaline and magic. Spike, however, looked wasted. As soon as they got inside and Xander ushered the two Slayers upstairs to Ducks room, Spike bid them goodnight and followed the thrumming of Angel and Illyria's heartbeats upstairs to Sara's room. Illyria was alone in the single bed, covers stripped to make a pallet for Angel on the floor. Spike shook his head, smiling; the curtains were tightly closed, and the slits where the curtain-rod projected from the wall were covered with T-shirts scrounged from Sara's wardrobe.

Illyria rolled over, blinked at him, and mumbled a greeting before closing her eyes again. Though the God-King didn't need to sleep, Fred apparently demanded it, and the deity had been spending a little more of each night unconscious for the past few weeks. Spike slipped out of his clothes and dragged on a pair of Xander's sweatpants, borrowed for the purpose, and climbed into bed.

Downstairs, Willow and Xander were facing each other over the kitchen table.

"You ready for bed?" Xander asked, smirking at the twitches at the corners of Willow's mouth that could easily build into either yawns or giggles.

"Nope. You?"

"Not particularly."

"Wanna talk?"

"That was the plan."

"Ooh! A plan! I like those."

"Sure you do." Xander grinned and rose, stretching up to snag a slightly dusty bottle of merlot from the top of the cabinets. "Giles sent this down a few months ago; wanna drag out the sofa bed and have a drink?"

"Xander Harris! Are you trying to seduce me?" She glared at him, but the twitches betrayed her and her laughter bubbled up.

"Always, baby." He leered and led the way into the other room.

When the bed was out and they had slipped into their sleeping attire and under the covers, Willow grabbed the bottle away from Xander and magicked the cork out before taking a swig.

"Handy," he murmured.

"Less likely to spill on the sheets. So," she scrunched a pillow behind her and leaned back against the sofa. "Do you always wear your eyepatch to bed?"

Xander fingered the offending article. "Nope. Girls are used to it, and it itches if I leave it on to long."

"Well, then." As if that settled everything. Which Xander supposed it did, since he found himself dropping the patch onto the coffee table, now pushed to the side of the sofa, before he thought. He turned back, awkward, and attempted to smile.

"Well?" He asked.

Willow handed him the wine and got to her knees. Leaning forward, she took his face into her hands and stared at him. "Yup. Still pretty."

"That twittering? That was the sound of my masculinity flying away." He laughed, though, and drank.

"Hush, you. Anyway. It's really not bad. I dunno what I was expecting, after the bandages and all. Maybe a scar..."

"Those were to keep my head in place, best I can figure. All the damage was on the inside. And no, you can't see." Willow pouted. "Really, Wils. It's gross, it hurts sometimes, but it's just a hole."

She reached up and feathered fingers over his cheekbone, just beneath where thick lashes marked the start of unnaturally flat skin. "I know you don't want a replacement, or want it fixed. Is there a reason?" He tensed, and she hurried to reassure him. "I'm not accusing you of anything. I just... want to know."

Xander took another long pull of the wine and passed the bottle back to Willow. "Good stuff. Not that I'd know, I guess. But it's not bad." When Willow fastened a mock glare on him, he sighed and acquiesced. "Giles thinks it's some sort of atonement. Buffy thinks it's a creepy memorial." Willow nodded; she had heard both ideas before. "It's just... part of who I am. A reminder of who I've lost, yeah, and a reminder to be careful, but... Has Buffy told you about the Slayer dreams?"

Willow nodded. "A bunch of the girls have them, I guess."

"They're supposed to be prophetic. And other places, that's all they are. But here - in Africa - they're something different." He sighed. "You know I have the best acquisition record for Slayers? Twelve of fourteen active girls, between the ages of twelve and twenty-five, who were willing to come with me. Most of us are lucky to get fifty percent, and they go after the kids and the women too."

"You don't?" Willow hadn't really heard much about the kind of work Xander was doing. She knew in vague terms, of course, but the specifics had never seemed to matter.

"You mentioned earlier that you can do more magic with less power, here." Willow shrugged and nodded. "Wils, the power here is old. This is where the Slayer line began, and the people here know that. A lot of the Slayers I come across are really young or already settled down, and all I have to do is stick around long enough to explain what happened, what's going to happen, and hand over a satphone so that they can get in touch with the Council if something comes up. Most of them already have support systems built in, ones that believe in magic and demons and are willing to help their Slayers however they can. An entire continent of Scoobies." He grinned. "Giles is pissed 'cause I've been passing out phones like candy, but I keep trying to explain that it's cheaper than training a four-year-old. He's still not buying it - guess he can't cope with practicality from this particular direction."

Willow sat for a moment, drinking and processing. "What does that have to do with your eye and the Slayer dreams?"

Xander laughed. "Lost the plot, didn't I? Well... The girls here have prophetic dreams, yeah, but... I guess it's because they're so much closer to the source, or because there's so much power here. They dream about me." Willow hit him with a pillow. "I'm serious," he laughed. "Every Slayer dreams about the ones who came before, but these girls dream about Buffy, and Faith, and the rest of us. Susie, an older Slayer who brought Sara to me, even dreamt about Spike. I thought she was loco, of course, but not so much. Anyway. After six months, when my socket healed, Giles dragged me up to Spain where I got a temporary prosthetic eye. First Slayer I came across, back in Cameroon, walked straight up to my jeep and smacked me upside the head. After the birdies went away, I got all testy, but she calmed me down pretty quick." He paused.

"How?" Willow asked, the perfect audience. Her eyes were wide and her lips stained purple-red from the wine. He snagged the bottle back and took a drink.

"Did what you just did, touched just below my eye, and told me that it wasn't who I was. Two eyes see less. So I stopped off at my hotel, popped the eye out, and went to meet her folks. Never thought about changing my mind."

Willow hmmed and smiled at him, then changed the subject. The two of them talked long into the night, about the things they'd done, the people they'd met, their responsibilities to the Council, Willow's breakup, Spike and Angel and Illyria... They finally fell asleep, empty wine bottle shoved down the side of the sofa, Willow's head on Xander's shoulder.

)))

"Oh, god." Xander stumbled, bleary-eyed, into the kitchen. Angel and Spike turned to him with a smirk, though Willow's blood-shot eyes could barely focus on him.

"Hard night, pet?" Spike's smirk grew into a full grin when Xander growled at him. Xander rubbed his hands over his face, swearing when he realized he had forgotten to put on his eye-patch.

"Don't worry about it. Nothing shameful in a scar like that." Angel rose and began running the espresso machine. Xander groped his way to the table and practically collapsed into the empty chair.

"Somebody decide I needed a good trepanning last night?" He ran wary fingers over his skull.

"Nope. 'Sall there, mate." Spike blew a thick stream of cigarette smoke at Angel, who was bringing over a glass of water and a tiny cup of caffeinated goodness. Xander accepted both with a grateful moan.

Willow looked at her own empty cup, then glanced covetously at Xander's. "More?" She pleaded, but Angel just shook his head. Yesterday's chipper-fest had taught him a lesson, and he had cut her off at two. She grumped at him for a minute then refixed her sticky eyes on Xander. "How d'you know what trepanning is?" She hadn't intended to be dismissive, but Xander hunched over his coffee. Spike growled and they both looked at him.

"Way to make the boy feel special, Red."

Willow winced. "Sorry, Xan. Didn't mean it like that."

Xander uncoiled a little and waved a hand airily. "No problem." He knocked back his espresso and made a face - Angel still hadn't mastered proportions. "Helped with a few."

Everyone at the table ran the conversation back for a moment, trying to pinpoint what he was talking about. Angel got it first. "What? Really? Why?"

"Best way to find Slayers is to hook up with the local medical corps. Some of the tribes cloak themselves as a matter of course, so magic doesn't always work. But most Slayers do a lot of damage before they figure out what's going on, so I volunteer to help out and I always get a heads-up when there's a rumor of a girl with super-strength."

"And this results in you boring holes into people's heads?" Willow's voice was incredulous.

Xander shrugged. "Sometimes."

The awkward atmosphere in the room was disrupted when Illyria walked in the side door, almost flash-frying Spike in the process. "Dammit, Blue, watch the sunlight!"

She frowned. "Apologies."

"'Sno matter." He smacked at the curls of smoke rising off his shoulders.

"Been exploring?" Illyria was dressed as Fred, in jeans and a T-shirt, with only blue hair and blue eyes to mark her as inhuman.

She nodded at Xander. "I returned to the cave where we dispatched the Uvumi the other night. All evidence of their habitation is gone."

Willow's headache faded away. "What?"

"That's... strange. Was there anyone else around? That night, or today?" Xander drummed his fingers against the ridge of his cheekbone, sending shadows flickering over the dark skin of his empty eyelid.

"No. I could find no tracks other than our own."

Xander hummed under his breath; Angel turned to Willow. "Can you go out, see if you can find anything?" Willow nodded. "Then let's go."

"Clothes, first, perhaps?" Willow grinned. Angel looked down at his boxer-clad body and flushed, which was a strange look for the long-pale man.

"Perhaps."

)))

The sun was high overhead by the time Willow and Angel made their way back to the cave. Angel scouted the area carefully but, as Illyria had told them, could find no sign of other humans or demons. Even Willow, feeling around her for the influence of magic, noted nothing.

That changed once they followed the long tunnel down to the cavern where they had fought.

Willow had been experimenting with portals for the past year, absorbing Dawn's nearly instantaneously-replenishing energy and using it to teleport herself, to craft gateways to other dimensions, and to close same. It had been the brief burst of power that she had taken at their parting that had allowed her to teleport to LA without depleting herself, and to close the portal through which the demon army had emerged. After such frequent exposure, the signature of that particular type of magic was as familiar as the basic levitation she had mastered in high school. And it was everywhere.

"Angel!" With a twist of power, she pulled him away from a swelling in the shimmering lattice-work of not-yet-complete spellwork. He grunted as he stumbled, but maintained his feet.

"What was that?" He protested, still scanning the interior of the cave.

"We have to get out of here. The magic is unstable!" Even as she spoke, the swelling energy pulsed towards her and the spell she had crafted to light her way. The two slammed together with an explosion of sparks that blew her backwards; it was only a matter of luck that Angel was close enough to catch her before she collided with the rough cavern wall.

Angel settled the unconscious witch over his shoulder and sped from the now-darkened cavern, away from threats he could not see and could not fight. When he finally made his way back into daylight, mere minutes after their initial entry, he swung Willow down to the ground and began checking her over for injury. She seemed unharmed, but for the staccato thread of her pulse and the bright sheen of blood on her upper lip. With a curse, he gathered her into his arms and began the trek towards Xander's.

Willow roused herself before they were there, but seemed content to cling weakly to Angel's neck as he continued loping towards the house. His arms were tiring; he still found the limits of his mortal body to be unexpectedly close. By the time they reached the porch and Spike opened the door at the scent of Willow's blood, he was happy to be able to settle her on the couch.

"What the hell happened?" Xander demanded, bustling in from the kitchen with a first aid kit in hand.

"Dunno. She jerked me out of the way of something I couldn't see and said that the magicks were unstable. Then there was an explosion and her light went out. I caught her, though, so I don't think she's injured. It's just the spell." Angel was jittering, sliding his hands into and out of his pockets, fidgeting with the hem of his shirt, and reaching out in aborted attempts to touch Willow's hair.

"I'm fine, Xander, Angel." Willow's voice was croaky, but firm, and Angel sighed to hear her pulse even out. "Somebody's been creating portals in there, and not well. I'm guessing that that's how the Uvumi got there in the first place." She coughed, and Spike went to fetch her a bottle of water. "I could see the shadows of the older spell, and it was all neat and tidy. Whoever did it this time wasn't as strong or as good; the spell left a lot of residue that was still active."

"What blew up?" Spike asked, handing over the water.

She took a long drink and let Xander clean the rest of the blood from her nose before answering. "I'm not really sure. The energy left in the room was still active, somehow, and reacted with the light spell I was using."

Illyria had returned from wherever she had been, and interrupted. "How? The magicks that you use and those necessary to create portals should not interact, and certainly not so violently."

Willow shrugged. "I've got some residual portal-making goodness left over from the battle, I guess. And since the energy I used to cast my spell is running around in the same circles, it must've blended or something. I don't really know."

Xander looked at her sideways. "Portal-making goodness?"

"I used some of Dawn's energy - don't growl at me, Spike! She's got a universe worth in there - to get me to LA with enough power left to fight. But since I had to process it before I could use it, it got all mixy with the usual mojo."

"Did Dawn know about this?" Spike really was growling.

"Of course!" She turned to him, wide-eyed. "We've been trading off - she teaches me how to open portals, I teach her to process magic."

"What's this whole processing thing?" Xander asked. "I always thought you just... used it."

"That would be evil Willow." She sighed.

"So what's the difference?" Angel asked. "I mean, between good Willow magic and evil Willow magic?"

"And can you be sure that what you're getting Niblet into is one and not the other?" Spike raised a pointed eyebrow.

"The magicks just feel different. I could tell when I cast spells with Tara," and she cast a sharp look at Xander, who let Spike snicker in his stead, "that what she was doing wasn't the same. I thought that it had something to do with her. Or maybe I, in my pride, thought that she was weaker. The energy isn't the same; I'm not naturally a very strong witch, you know." She grinned sheepishly at her folded hands. "I'm smart, though, and there are shortcuts all throughout spells and summonings. It's like code. A few strong witches figured out a handful of spells, and those have been cut apart and put into other places - using the same spells takes less willpower, because they've been done over and over and have worn a groove, of sorts, into the aether."

"Aether?" Xander leaned over and took back the empty water bottle before helping her right herself on the sofa.

"Kind of... The invisible, untouchable substance, the mystical energy, through which magic is channeled. It's everywhere, and tied into every thing, just a giant web that can be manipulated. And a spell... this metaphor's about to get a little meta, but work with me." Everyone nodded, transfixed. "A spell is like a drop of water on that web, and it obeys gravity and slides along the strands. The same spell, over again, lands in the same place on the web as the first, and it follows the residue of the first drop, which slicks over the imperfections in the strand and provides easier passage. In the beginning, different spells can go to the same place, but eventually, it's easier and takes less time to get just follow the old paths. With me?" Again, everyone nodded. "So, then, back to the computer stuff. Big spells are composites of small spells, usually, designed to call upon certain forces in a certain order to achieve a certain objective. Like snipping code from a dozen different programs to create something new. But lots of times, there's waste code that had a purpose in the original program but isn't being utilized. That waste still demands an input of energy to process - to make the spell work. If I go through and cut out the waste, then the code still runs and the program works, but it does so more efficiently. If I do the same with a spell, then it requires less innate power. Because, however - and here's where I go back to the spiderweb thing - there isn't any pre-worn course for the new spell, I have to do the work of smoothing out the strand so the drop can progress. But that requires resolve more than talent, and that I can do." She smirked at Xander, who grinned back at her.

"That was a reasonably concise and appropriate explanation." Illyria cocked her head, bemused. "But I have seen you fight, and you are strong."

Willow shrugged. "That's the tricky part. When I first started doing magic - when I re-ensoulled Angel - the curse itself provided the impetus necessary for the spell, and just sucked the energy out of me. Probably out of some of the people at the hospital, too, because I just didn't have enough on my own." Angel's head snapped up, staring at her.

"Would it have affected anyone adversely?" He asked, eyes shadowed.

"It probably made a few people a bit weaker, but I was in a recovery ward. Nobody died that day. Well. Except you." She ducked her head, but he nodded.

"So what changed, then? With your magic, I mean?" Spike was leaning forward, almost anxious to hear more.

"Heh. That's the problem. Nothing did." She shrugged. "The curse was a bad influence on me. It opened my power up to me, so I could access it, but it also taught me how to suck power out of other things. And not in a good way."

"There's a good way?" Spike asked, bemused.

"If I tap into the aether itself, the air around the web, then I can use that. But I have to accumulate it slowly, process it, because anything I want to use it on is part of the web. I transmute the power, and can use it then. What I used to do was sap the power out of the web itself. You remember, Xan, when I drained the books at The Magic Box? When I drained Giles?" She was tearing up a bit, but Xander had wrapped his hand around the crook of her elbow and Spike pressed his shoulder against hers. She looked to him for confirmation, and his steady gaze gave her courage to continue. "It's inherently dark, what I was doing. The power I drew from the web was stronger than the power I use now, more readily accessible, but it was a violation of everything I drained. It was rape." Spike jolted at that, and Angel turned speculative eyes on Illyria, violation of Fred, but said nothing. Xander got up from his seat and dropped to his knees beside Willow, drawing her against him, soothing her as she cried.

"I... had not thought of that." Illyria's eyes were flashing wildly, blue to brown to blue. She pushed away from the wall. Angel expected her to leave, but she thrust Spike aside and squatted beside Willow instead. "Hush, girl, and listen to me." The command in her tone caused Willow to snap around, though Xander's eye darkened with anger.

"Every being you have traveled with - and befriended, I think - over the past few weeks is guilty of a similar violation." Spike dropped his head into his hands but Illyria's hand flashed backwards and cuffed him sharply over the head. "Not that, fool."

"You told her?" Xander asked, quietly.

"Told Fred," Spike replied, voice shaky.

"Told Fred what?" Angel interjected, suddenly feeling left out.

"None of your business, Deadboy." Xander barked at him, and Spike offered a rueful, grateful smile. Xander nodded sharply, then gestured for Illyria to continue.

She reached up and cupped Willow's face, eyes and hair reverting to brown, skin smoothing from mottled blue to cream. "A vampire is a demon who violates a human host, stripping the shell of its soul and making casual use of what is left. Sometimes more is left than others. I," and her features again hardened into Illyria's, "raped and dismissed Winnifred Burkle when I sought, not only to strip this shell of its soul, but to eradicate it. I can only be grateful that I was not successful." She smoothed blue-tipped fingers over Willow's cheekbones, wiping away tears, maintaining painful eye-contact. "We are not justified in our behavior, and should never forget our wrongs, but Angel is living, breathing proof that, in spite of our sins, we can be redeemed."

Angel left the room.

The stunned silence that followed the unnaturally empathic behavior of the god and Angel's subsequent departure lasted for long minutes, until Spike shook himself and turned a gimlet glare on Willow. "So you said you have to take power slowly, process it before you can use it, for it to be good?"

She nodded.

"But you took the Bit's all in a rush?" His voice was heavy with accusation, and Willow shuddered her rebuttal.

"No! Not like that!" She reached out and gripped his hand. "Dawnie's made of power, this giant self-replenishing neon green artesian well of portal-y energy. Part of what we've been working on is a way for her to section off some of that power, without making it part of her physical form. Like... tapping into the source of herself and sticking some of it in a bag. So when I told her I was leaving, she just handed that bag over to me - metaphorically speaking - and I could absorb it almost immediately. Because she was holding it for me, she'd already done most of the transformative work necessary." She sighed. "Really, it's this big long thing with meditation and herbs and buckets of crystals and Giles polishing his glasses and Andrew squeaking about folding space resulting in temporal collapse, but the end of it is, I can use Dawn's power right off because she gives it to me. I don't take it."

Spike looked her over for a long moment before nodding sharply. "We should get on with the research, then. I'm thinking that whatever's taken to popping extra-dimensional warriors in and out of Angola isn't a fellow I'd like to meet."

Xander stood up, knees cracking as he unfolded from his position on the floor. "I'm thinking we should call Giles."

Heads snapped around and Spike glared; Angel, making his way back into the room with slightly swollen eyelids, barked out a rejection.

"Look, guys. I've got your basic demon compendia, a handful of texts on African magic, and some Slayer stuff. I don't have anything on dimensional portals, and the only reason I found those Uvumi was because somebody in the Council posted the information on the internet. They're my go-to guys in things like this. Now, I can keep information about Spike and Angel to a minimum, if you want, but I really think I need to talk to Giles about the rest of this. If something bad's gonna happen, it's my responsibility to take care of it." He stood poised, waiting.

Willow was the first to nod, followed by Angel. Spike and Illyria exchanged a long glance before adding their assent.

)))

By the time Xander managed to reach Giles, Willow had crafted a projection spell that would allow anyone within the kitchen to hear what was said. Though she, Illyria, Angel and Spike were gathered around the small table, Xander bade them all wait and took the satphone outside for the more private part of the conversation.

He waited through the interminable period of musak before Giles' personal assistant put him through.

"Rupert Giles," the familiar voice caused Xander's tense muscles to spontaneously relax, and he slumped back against the wall of the house.

"Giles, it's me."

"Xander! It's excellent to hear from you. How are the girls?" Xander mused, almost bitterly, that Giles sounded happy. Not like the world had almost ended yet again.

"They're good. Almost ready to join the academy, I think. They're having a hard time getting used to a vampire in the house, though." Nothing like allusions and evasions to start a blunt conversation off right.

"They're what?" Giles' shout was loud enough that Spike started smirking in the other room.

"Wils came here for some down-time after the fight; thought for some reason she and her friends wouldn't be welcome in London. Any ideas why?"

"Xander, do you mean to tell me that she has brought Angel to you?" Xander rolled his eyes at the accusatory tone.

"And Spike. Thanks for the spillage on that particular bit of gossip, by the way." Xander huffed. "Does Buffy know?"

"Andrew told her, once he heard about what happened in LA. Xander, what did happen?"

"There were monsters, magic, and swords. Dead people, dead demons. The good guys won." He bit off every sentence, acid in his tone. "If Willow hadn't shown, they would've lost."

"We can't know that, Xander."

"We can and we do. This placation thingy you've got going on really isn't going to cut it, but it's also very much not the issue. We've got problems, here, Giles. Possibly big ones."

"What kind?" There was the rustle of a notebook and pen being readied.

"Inter-dimensional portals and the demons that love them. Apparently the LA crew did a little clean-up on some guys that aren't from around here, then when they went back during the day, they found that all of the bodies had been chucked through a portal."

"Good lord." Giles sighed. "I assume you would like me to fetch Buffy?"

"She's there?" Xander raised an eyebrow.

"Since she heard about Spike."

"Yeah. Get her, then. I'll put Spike on the line. But tell them to keep it short, 'cause we need to get down to business."

Giles sighed and agreed, then there was a clunk as the phone hit the desk. Xander went back inside.

Spike was sitting at attention at the small table, a half-smile curling his lips. "When'd you grow stones, whelp?"

"There was a body-part exchange."

"Ew!" Willow stuck her tongue out at him, and Spike chuckled.

"Anyway. Buffy's coming on the line, but keep it -"

"Short, yeah. I heard." Spike took the phone and made his way into the living room. After a minute, the low murmur of his greeting wafted back into the kitchen. He only spoke for a few minutes, during which Willow kept casting worried looks at Angel's ramrod posture and Xander fielded a handful of Illyria's questions on the way he trained Slayers, before returning, his face purposefully set.

"We're ready," he said, and set the phone in the center of the table. Willow lit the small candle she had set beside it, and suddenly the crackle of magic and inter-continental phone conversations filled the room.

"Giles, you there?" She called.

"Yes, just a minute. I'm sure there's a button for speaker-phone on here somewhere..." There were some metallic clicks, Buffy's more feminine grumble, and then the background noise clarified.

"Hey, Wils, you there?" Buffy called.

"Yup. Hey, Buff. How're you doing?"

"Peachy by comparison. Heard some strange things about you, recently. But Giles tells me you've got some space invader thing going on?"

Willow rolled her eyes at Buffy's idea of a summary, but began relating the discoveries of the past few days. The scratching of pens and the occasional sounds of typing, punctuated by Buffy's disgusted groan when Giles brought up the on-line image of the Uvumi, was background to the story. The participants alternated in relating the information, and Giles found it necessary to ask few questions. Finally, the tale was complete.

"Xander, have you encountered anything else unusual recently?" Giles asked.

"Patrols around here are usually pretty quiet, you know that. The girls have been having some pretty funky dreams, though. Lots of green light and fire. I'm guessing, since Dawn's all with the green glow, that they've been getting hints of this portal stuff."

"You didn't tell us that!" Willow protested.

"I am now," he retorted. Before the argument could devolve, however, Buffy stepped in.

"I haven't heard anything about the girls here dreaming stuff like that."

"Well, I'm thinking the dreams are pretty location-specific. I mean, you always dreamt about what was going to happen to or near you, right?"

"Yeah, I guess."

"So I'm thinking that I get ahold of the Slayers I left in situ, see who else is having the funky green dreams, maybe find out how far-reaching this thing is gonna be. Get them all ready to ride to the rescue if Giles comes through with the info."

"That's remarkably well thought out."

"Not just a pretty face, here." Xander laughed and Buffy giggled.

"I suggest, then, that we each turn to our current tasks. Thank you for informing us, and I'll get as many researchers on this as I can spare." It was obvious he was prepared to end the conversation, but Xander exchanged a quick look with Angel and, at his nod, broke in.

"Wait!"

"What is it, Xander?"

"Got even more news for you, Giles." Xander's voice took on an extra edge of pep that had Giles audibly cringing from thousands of miles away.

"Please, do tell."

"Angel's alive."

Silence.

Then, "Yes, so we presumed."

Buffy's voice was shaky as it crackled through the speaker-phone. "Alive alive?"

"Good lord, he's human?" Willow snickered at the rustle of fabric that inarguably marked Giles' preferred method of distancing himself from a situation. Spike confirmed it when he heard the subtle squeak of linen against glass.

"Not so much," Xander answered, "but big on the breathing, pulsing, and walking in sunlight."

"How?" Buffy's voice was tiny.

"There was a shoeless prophecy."

"Shanshu," Willow interjected.

"Yeah, that. Apparently, Soul Boy here was a contender for mortality, as long as he fought in a particular apocalypse." Xander shrugged.

There was silence on the other end of the line; just as Giles drew breath to speak again, Angel interrupted.

"It was supposed to be Spike."

"Huh?" Suddenly, he was the focus of all attention.

"Look, Peaches, you and I both know that that little duel for the Dew we had didn't decide anything. You've been rushin' around saving damsels like Dudley bloody Do-Right a helluva lot longer than me." Spike cocked an eyebrow at him in quiet scorn.

"Not that." Angel sighed, steeling himself for the upcoming admission - one that had had him confused since he drew his first, necessary breath back in LA. "Look, Giles. The Shanshu prophecy was part of the Scrolls of Aberjian. As part of my initiation into the Circle of the Black Thorn, I signed them away, in my blood, on the original document."

"And?" Giles' voice was confused.

"And? What do you think, and? I signed the prophecy away! So why the hell didn't it go to Spike?"

"And make that expression number six for the Brooding One," Xander muttered, eyes trained on the angry, tense face of the former vampire. Spike smirked but Willow poked him in the side. Angel just scowled at him and turned his attention back to the satphone.

"Willow, you know the answer to this. Why didn't you tell him?" Giles sounded vaguely exasperated, now, and Buffy's breathing was light and fast-paced.

"Could be, Watcher, 'cause she didn't rightly know. Poofter here's not been very forthcoming with the information, it seems." Spike grinned. "But that's not particularly - " He was cut off.

"Angel, you can't just sign away a prophecy." Buffy's voice was tight. "They're not declarations that something's gonna happen; they're just testaments to something that someone has seen is gonna happen. Like Cordy's visions, but long-range."

"Exactly, Buffy. And while the infallibility of prophecy as a whole has long been called into question, the fault is always found with the Seer, and not with the events that they relate." Giles sighed. "I would assume that the ritual by which you allegedly signed over your rights to the fulfillment of this particular prophecy was more to do with seeing if you would still fight without hope of redemption than anything."

"I mean, there was a mechanism for the change, right? It wasn't just, like, a blast of heavenly light or anything?" Buffy asked. Spike and Angel exchanged glances. Hearing the pretty little SoCal blonde ask the right questions, even if her phrasing was sometimes dubious, was unexpected.

"It was my doing." Illyria spoke for the first time during the conversation.

"Who is this?" Giles demanded.

"I used to be the human female that you refused to save. Now I am the god that inhabits her body." Everyone around the table flinched, and there was an audible echo as Giles dropped his glasses.

"The human female you what?" Buffy screeched. Giles murmured something placating and she subsided with a rumble.

"Miss Burkle, I presume?"

"Illyria, God-King of the Primordium. Fred's just in there on a time-share." Spike's voice was dry, but the glare he leveled at the phone was incendiary. Willow started to press soothing circles into the skin of his back while Xander stood and fetched him a water bottle. Spike accepted it with a nodded thanks and gave a tight smile to Willow, but none of the tension left his body.

"That's all very well, but what has this to do with Angel's mortality?" Giles' blatant attempts at evasion riled Spike even further.

"There will be a discussion on your passive aggressive tendencies, you uptight prig - " This time it was Buffy who cut him off.

"Giles. What. The hell. Happened." It had taken months to rebuild even a modicum of true trust between the Slayer and her Watcher after he had stepped aside to allow Wood his assassination attempt, and Xander and Willow winced as they heard it crumbling back away.

Giles sighed. "Angel, working for Wolfram & Hart, contacted me about one of his employees, a Miss Winnifred Burkle, who had -"

"Fred!?" Buffy yelped. "You killed Fred?"

"You knew Fred?"

"She's worked for Angel ever since he got her out of that Demon Dimension, Giles. The physicist? Willow talked about her for absolutely ever when she got back from re-good-ifying Angel the last time."

"Re-good-ifying?" Angel mouthed, amused in spite of himself.

"Oh." Again, the squeak of cloth on glass. "Oh dear."

"Think that deserves a 'bloody, buggerin' hell', myself," Spike grumbled.

"Quite."

"So what the hell happened?" Buffy demanded. Everyone in the kitchen jumped, and it was obvious she had the same affect on Giles.

"Well, he was attempting to reach Willow, but she was out of contact at the time,"

"In the Himalayas, you said," Angel broke in.

"Indeed. I'm afraid that, between Angel's place of employment and the rumors of his disreputable behavior in the name of said firm, I felt it necessary to disregard his request for assistance."

"Y'know, Giles," and Buffy's voice was incredibly, excruciatingly cold, "the more wrong you know you are, the stiffer you get. And right now? You're about three words from shattering."

Giles' sudden sigh was unexpected, an acknowlegment of defeat. "As usual, you're right. I behaved wrongly, was judgmental and vindictive, and an innocent suffered." His voice grew louder, as if he had turned to face the speaker-phone. "I have been trying, ever since I heard about the goings-on in LA, to hold tight to my belief that you had been indelibly corrupted, Angel. Without that belief, many of my actions over the last year are called into question, and I have never been one for confronting my personal demons. The harm that has been caused you and yours, as a result of my blindness, grieves me, and I apologize for my actions."

Angel and Spike recoiled from the phone as if they had been bitten. Long, silent moments passed before Spike spoke. "Buffy?"

"Yeah?"

"Any signs the Watcher's been possessed?" His question had Xander snorting and Willow rolling her eyes, while Illyria just reached out and gripped Angel's shoulder.

"Besides that little speech?" She paused for a minute, and Giles' muffled protest at whatever she was doing caused more than one smirk. "Nope. Think he's the real deal."

Giles huffed. "I am a grown man, I'll remind you, and am willing to hold myself accountable for my own actions."

"Since when?" Everyone turned to Xander in varied stages of disbelief. That particular protest from that particular mouth was almost disturbing in its unexpectedness.

"Xander," Willow hissed.

"No, Wils. I mean, he's all about the good fight, we know that. And he's great at helping us with our - well, Buffy's - problems. But this is the first time I've ever really seen him take any blame for something that was entirely his doing. It's a good thing." He turned to the phone. "Congrats, Giles. You've finally grown up."

Giles was sputtering as Xander disconnected the call.