"Do stop complaining, Buffy, it’s only until we get to the car." Giles replied as he pushed the Slayer-laden wheelchair across the hospital car park.

"Yeah, think about it for a sec, Buffy," Dawn added. "How often do you get driven around by your Watcher?"

"It’s stupid," Buffy grumbled. "I’m completely fine!"

Giles sighed. "Try to see things from the doctors’ perspective. Your fever only broke three days ago. The idea that you could be back to full health so soon does seem a little far-fetched, so let’s humour them, shall we?"

"I know, I know, I just want to get out of here."

"Here we are." Giles brought the wheelchair to a halt beside his convertible, and was just about to open the door for Buffy when she sprang to her feet, vaulted over the door and settled herself in the passenger seat, looking up at him with an expression of complete innocence.

"So, did anything interesting happen while I was out?" Buffy asked as they drove away from the hospital. "Apocalypses, demon cults, anything?"

"Nothing of immediate importance, I’m afraid," Giles replied, catching the impatience in her voice. "Faith slayed the harpy, as you know, and apart from that it’s just been business as usual for the last few days."

"What about that thing at the bank?" Dawn piped up.

"Well, yes, there is that, but I’m really not at all sure what to make of it." Seeing the question form on Buffy’s lips, Giles pre-empted her. "Earlier this week there was an incident at the bank. The papers quoted an eyewitness who said that a large man wearing a leftover Halloween mask attacked the guards, distracting them while two or three people wearing black took all the loose cash from the tellers’ drawers."

"You think this mask guy was a demon?"

"It’s certainly possible. The guards weren’t able to stop it, whatever it was."

"Ooh, it beat up some rent-a-cops, big whoop. You could do that."

"Charmed, I’m sure," Giles replied, arching an eyebrow. "In any event, we should probably take a look at it. Willow’s trying to get hold of any information the police have, perhaps something that will tell us if it was a demon or just rampant steroid abuse."

"Demons robbing banks? I turn my back for five minutes…" Buffy fell silent for a few moments. "Nothing else, right? Faith’s been okay? She’s been handling everything?"

Giles glanced over at her. "Yes, she’s been fine. Didn’t you know?"

"I haven’t seen her." Buffy turned her head away, watching the houses stream past in the fading daylight. "I-I guess she’s been busy, you know, with patrolling and looking after Dawn."

"Hey, Clark, look at this," Ryan said. "Slayer One’s home."

Clark roused himself from his ‘Anywhere But Here’ daydream and looked out through the heavily tinted window of the minivan they were using that day. "That’s a relief, I was starting to worry about her."

"Yeah. You think Slayer Two’ll calm down a bit now?" Ryan wondered, watching as Buffy, Dawn and Giles got out of the car and made their way to the front door. "She hasn’t looked too happy lately."

"Does she ever? And before you start getting all sentimental, just remember who you’re talking about."

"Right." Ryan paused for a moment, thinking, then turned to his older, more experienced colleague. "What are we doing here?"

"It’s called surveillance, Ryan. It’s in your job description, remember? That bit of paper you got when you joined the Council?"

"You know what I mean. We spent months tracking that werewolf pack in Canada. We should have had a few weeks back home after that, but we got sent here instead, and all we do is sit in cars and watch the house. If Mr. Travers thinks this is important enough to keep us out here, why hasn’t he sent us the gear to do the job properly?"

"Ours not to reason why, Ryan."

"Bollocks," Ryan retorted. "Think about it, Clark. We got pulled off our normal duty cycle, we haven’t got the gear to do the job properly – actually, we don’t really know what the bloody job is. And we haven’t heard anything from Travers himself, it’s all come from his assistant. We’re watching the Slayers, for fuck’s sake. You don’t think Travers has a personal interest in this?"

"Meaning what?"

"I’m not sure this job’s kosher."

"Don’t even think about it, mate." Clark snapped. "If there’s some kind of political cat-fight brewing back home, then we need to stay well out of it."

"But-"

"I mean it! Look, Ryan, I’ve been doing this job nearly twenty years, and every time I’ve someone from our side of things try to get political they’ve got arse-fucked with their trousers on. We’ve got our orders, they came through the proper channels with i’s dotted and t’s crossed, so we carry them out, and if someone higher up the food chain’s trying to pull a fast one then it’s not our business. We do the job we’ve been given, and if it’s dodgy, then we weren’t to know. Don’t ever try to play the game with those arseholes, mate, you’ll be hung, drawn and quartered before you know what’s hit you."

"Welcome home!" Buffy was barely through her front door before Willow pounced on her with a hug that almost knocked the unprepared Slayer off her feet. Behind her, Buffy could see Xander, Anya and Tara waiting in the living room, and a stack of pizza boxes on the coffee table.

"Hi, Buff, come on in," Xander said, opening one of the boxes. "We figured you’d want some real food after all the crap the hospital’s been feeding you. Pepperoni and mushroom, guaranteed not to help your recovery."

"Uh, thanks, I think…" Buffy replied, gently disentangling herself from Willow and moving into the living room. She stopped as she saw Faith standing a little apart from the others. "Hi."

"B. You good?"

"Fine. You?"

"Five by five." Faith shrugged and headed for the door, sliding past Giles and Dawn as they came inside. "I’d better go patrol."

"Now?" Buffy asked, sounding hurt.

"Lots of bad guys out there, and they’re not gonna kill themselves." Faith picked up her denim jacket and opened the front door.

"Faith, wait a second!" Buffy rushed after her, out onto the porch.

"What?"

"I just wanted to, you know, thank you." Trying and failing to make eye contact, Buffy went on, "For looking after Dawn."

"Whatever." Faith turned on her heel and walked away.

"Faith!" Buffy’s call went unheeded. She watched Faith go, brushing a tear from her cheek, then went back inside.

"Oh, Giles, I’ve got something to show you," Willow was saying as Buffy came into the living room. The witch put her laptop on the table beside the pizzas. "The police had a digital copy of the bank’s security camera footage from the time of the raid."

"Well, it’s good to know the cops are spending my tax dollars on decent computer security," Xander said, only to receive a poke in the arm from Willow. "Ow!"

"Actually the firewalls were pretty solid," Willow informed him with a look of wounded pride. "I’ve just got some moves they didn’t see coming."

"I bet Tara says that a lot," Anya joked.

"Yes, thank you, can we please concentrate on the possible demon?" Giles said. He and Buffy sat down on the couch, while the others clustered around. Buffy stifled a yawn.

Willow frowned. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, just tired." Buffy insisted. "I haven’t been sleeping well. You know how I am with hospitals. Come on, let’s see the movie."

Willow started the video file and they all watched in silence as a huge figure wrought havoc in the bank’s lobby, distracting everyone while three figures in black clothes and balaclavas rifled the cash drawers.

"So, demon?" Buffy asked once the clip had ended, a faint sigh in her voice.

"It would appear so," replied Giles. "An M’Fashnik by the looks of it. They’re mercenaries, creating carnage and destruction for the highest bidder."

Willow looked over at him "A mercenary? You think Faith’s old buddy Lucas is behind this, maybe replacing that other guy, what was his name?"

"Sean." Buffy replied, almost whispering. "His name’s Sean."

"It’s possible," Giles conceded. "But I’m not sure a vampire as apparently cautious as Lucas would use an M’Fashnik. They can be rather… volatile, killing their employers for the slightest grievance."

"I don’t think the guys in black were vamps, either," Xander put it. "I mean, even if those clothes gave them enough sun-protection, they just don’t look right. Will, can you rewind the tape or whatever it is you… thanks. Look at the way they move." He pointed at the screen. "This one’s not too bad, but the other two, the shorter ones? They’re acting like extras in a bad commando movie. I bet if the recording had sound they’d be going ‘hut, hut, hut!’ or something."

Giles nodded. "So the question is, what kind of arch-villain can command an M’Fashnik and yet appear so…"

"Lame?"

"Where is he?"

The vampire felt his nose break as he was thrown face-first into the alley wall. He reeled backwards and tripped over an old wooden pallet, but had barely hit the ground before he was lifted up again by Faith’s boot smacking into his ribs. Spotting a manhole cover a few yards away, the vampire tried to drag himself in that direction, but Faith grabbed hold of him, picked him up and slammed him up against a dumpster.

The vampire spat blood into her face. Faith wrenched him off his feet, over her head and down onto a garbage can, crumpling the metal cylinder. The vampire cried out in pain as ribs broke under the impact. He rolled out of the wreckage and lay on his back on the floor of the alley, staring up at the stars as he tried to gather his wits, but before he could move, Faith was kneeling over him, her knees pinning his arms to the ground.

"C’mon, you know who I’m talking about. Lucas Miller, Sunnydale’s new arch-vamp, the guy’s got to be making some waves." Faith pulled a small, plain metal cross from her pocket and dragged it across the vampire’s throat, raising a smouldering welt.

"Fuck you!"

Faith’s expression twisted and she stabbed down with the cross, driving the long lower arm into the vampire’s throat, all the way to the crosspiece. The vampire shrieked and thrashed beneath her as smoke began to curl from the wound.

"That’s got to hurt. Better think of something useful."

The flesh around the cross blackened, and flames began to lick from the wound. Faith jerked her hand away as her fingers were scorched, then scrambled back as the fire spread until the vampire exploded into dust.

Faith picked herself up from the alley floor, cursing under her breath. God damn it, someone has to know where Lucas is! I’ve got to find him so I can-

Run away? The mental voice even sounded like Buffy.

No, that’s not- I can’t stay, especially the way I feel about her.

Then why not just go? Grab some spare clothes, get on the bike and just ride.

No. I can’t just run out on this. Lucas is part of the mess I made. I have to deal with it, then I can go.

Liar. You don’t want to leave. You’re dragging it out, hoping something’ll happen to let you stay.

Faith rounded a corner and ran straight into a wall of muscle. Unprepared for the impact, she stumbled backward and fell, looking up at a green, reptilian demon wearing jeans and a lumberjack shirt, its hands supporting a large cardboard box the shape of a table top which was propped on one shoulder.

The demon snarled at her, baring its fangs in an obvious attempt to scare her off. Faith just flipped herself upright and launched a kick at its chest. With both its arms occupied, the demon wasn’t able to block and was knocked back a couple of paces.

"Slayer!" There was real anger in the demon’s voice as it realised who it was fighting. It shifted its grip on the box and swung it at her. The blow was incredibly swift for such a cumbersome object and the box was so big that avoidance simply wasn’t an option. Faith flung her arms up to cover her head and braced herself, but the impact was still shocking. She was dimly aware of the sound of breaking glass as she was knocked to the ground, her head spinning. It took her a moment to remember which way was up, and by the time she’d freed herself from the wreckage, she wasn’t able to do anything but stare at the demon’s retreating back as it ran off.

"Son of a bitch!"

Buffy sat up in her bed, casting aside sheets already in disarray from hours of tossing and turning. She turned to look at the clock on the nightstand; the glowing red digits read 4:26. Rubbing tired eyes, she got to her feet.

At the top of the stairs she glanced through the doorway into Faith’s bedroom. The open curtains let in more than enough light from the street lamps to show that the empty bed hadn’t been slept in. Is this how Mom felt every night? Buffy closed her eyes, her throat suddenly dry and tight as anxiety washed over her. Where is she? Is she okay? Will I always feel like this after she’s gone, not knowing where she is, what she’s doing?

Buffy didn’t bother switching on the lights as she crept barefoot down to the kitchen, picking her way through the familiar shadows of her home. She got a glass from the cupboard and filled it with water. The cool liquid slid down her throat, washing away a little of the tension. She bent over the sink to refill the glass.

"Death is your gift."

Buffy jerked upright and saw a paint-streaked face reflected in the window. She span around, the glass slipping from her fingers, but the kitchen was empty.

The glass hit the floor and shattered, the sound seeming to emphasise the surrounding silence.

Buffy slumped forward, leaning against the counter, her heart pounding. What’s wrong with me? Moments later she heard running footsteps on the stairs, and Dawn appeared in the doorway.

"What’s happening? I heard-"

"It’s nothing, Dawnie, I just dropped a glass. Could you turn the light on, please, and be careful - there’s probably pieces everywhere."

"Are you okay?" Dawn asked as she flipped the switch.

"Yeah, just being a klutz. Go on back to bed. I’ll clear up in here."

"But-"

"Bed! You’ve got school in the morning."

Dawn left with a typical teenage ‘Why me?’ roll of her eyes. Buffy waited until she heard her sister’s bedroom door closing, then lifted her foot and turned it over to look at the shard of glass embedded in the sole, crimson blood seeping out around the edge. Why doesn’t it hurt?

"This isn’t good enough!" Roger Wyndham-Pryce snapped.

"Sir, I’m aware that our operation hasn’t produced a great deal of information so far, but I’m afraid it couldn’t be helped." Graves replied, trying to soothe the older man’s irritation. "There was a bottleneck in our supply chain, surveillance equipment was in short supply."

Wyndham-Pryce wasn’t mollified. "Surely, given your position as Travers’ assistant, you could have made sure that some of what was available was sent to our team?"

"Yes, sir, I could have, but I felt that would have been unwise." Graves held up his hand, forestalling another outburst. "Sir, please, listen to me. We can’t afford to do anything that might attract attention to what we’re doing. If Travers should learn of it before we have the information we need to move against him, well… I’m sure you can imagine the consequences."

Reluctantly, Wyndham-Pryce agreed. "Quite so, Mr. Graves. However, the longer a clandestine project of this kind goes on, the greater the chance of discovery. It is a delicate balancing act, and one in which I am completely in your hands."

"I understand, sir. Rest assured, matters are proceeding. The new equipment will arrive in Sunnydale in the next two or three days, and the team will have instructions to install it as soon as possible."

"Very well. Inform me when the first report arrives."

Buffy practically sleepwalked through classes the next day, tiredness and confusion combining to keep her in a daze from which it seemed nothing could bring her out. She met Willow and Tara for lunch as usual, but barely said a word.

She got home that afternoon to find Faith in the kitchen, hunched over a steaming mug of black coffee and looking like she’d just crawled out of bed. "Hey."

Faith looked up at her and gave a tiny nod, the movement just enough to reveal a fading bruise on her face. "B."

"Trouble on patrol?"

Faith just shrugged. "Demon."

"Yeah, I guessed that much. What happened?"

"I got hit with a TV."

"A TV?"

"One of those big flat-screen ones. The demon was carrying it, still in the box." The impatience in Faith’s voice became coloured with anger. "Came around a corner and ran into the guy. I kicked him, he whacked me with the TV and took off."

"Did you catch him?"

Faith just glared.

"Right. Well, what did he look like?"

"Big, green, kind of lizardy."

"Sounds like the one from the bank," Buffy said. Faith looked surprised at that, so she continued, "Willow got hold of the footage from the security cameras. She showed us last night. After you left."

"I told you, B, duty called."

"What did I do?"

"Don’t know what you’re talking about, B."

"Crap. I know things have been kind of tense lately, between us, but you couldn’t come by the hospital once? And as soon as I get home, you take off and stay out all night."

"Don’t start with me, B. I’m not in the mood." Faith drained her mug and headed for the door.

"Why did you come back?" Buffy’s question pulled Faith up short.

"Come back?"

"To Sunnydale."

"I already told you-"

"Tell me again."

"It was the dreams, B. Someone up there had me dreaming about Hellslut and the tower and everything."

"What else?"

Faith shrugged. "What do you mean?"

"Tell me the rest." Buffy grew impatient.

"There is no ‘the rest’, B."

"Don’t lie to me, Faith."

"Screw you!" Faith snapped, turning away and heading down the hall.

"Tell me!" Buffy shoved her into the wall, blocking her escape. "God damn it, Faith, just tell me!"

"It was you, okay!" Faith screamed right in Buffy’s face, driving her back a step. "I saw you. You were dead, you won but you died. Happy now?"

"You came back to save me?"

"Yeah."

Buffy stared at her, suddenly not sure of anything. "Why… after everything, why would you do that?"

"Because I’m an idiot!"

"Stop it!" Both Slayers jumped at Dawn’s shout. She stood in the front doorway, her school bag hanging from one shoulder.

"Dawnie," Buffy began, "I didn’t hear-"

"Don’t," Dawn cut her off, the rage in her voice contrasting with the tears shining in her eyes. "Don’t treat me like a kid. You think I don’t you two keep fighting? I don’t know why, and you know what? I don’t care! Fix it!" She fled up the stairs and slammed her bedroom door.

For a long moment neither Slayer spoke, then Faith whispered, "I didn’t want you to die."

"So you came to take my place?"

"Better me than you, B." Faith turned away and followed Dawn up the stairs.

Buffy stood watching her go. She didn’t react when she heard Spike’s voice. She knew he wasn’t there.

"Every Slayer has a death wish."

Up in her room, Dawn pulled the ancient book that had occupied so many of her thoughts lately from under her bed.

I’ve got to do something, make them talk to each other instead of yelling to avoid it. But can I really summon a demon? Even for this?

Xander put the tray down on his coffee table and handed mugs of tea to Willow and Tara, then sat down beside Anya. "Okay, Will, this was your idea. What’s up?"

"It’s Buffy. We have to help her."

"Help her with what?" Xander asked. "Do we even know there’s a problem?"

"You saw how she was last night."

"She just got out of the hospital, Will. She could have died, I think we can cut her some slack if she’s not herself."

"I think something fell on his head at work." Anya said. "He says he wears his hard hat, but I’m not sure I believe him."

"I wear the hard hat, An."

"Then how can you think nothing’s wrong?"

Xander’s shoulders slumped. "I don’t. I just don’t know what we can do about it. How can we help her when we don’t even know what’s wrong?"

"Do you think it’s Dawn?" Tara wondered. "Looking after her, I mean. It’s a lot to deal with on top of college and Slaying, and it must remind her of her mom a lot."

"It’s more than that, Tara," Willow replied, her voice hesitant. "I… I think it’s about Faith."

Tara looked unhappy. "Baby, I know you don’t like her, but-"

"Tara, please," Willow said. "Just listen. When Buffy was in the hospital, before her fever broke, I heard her say some things. I know she was probably delirious, but…"

"What did she say, Will?"

"She said ‘Faith, don’t leave me,’" Willow replied, having to fight to get the words out. The others just sat there, shocked.

Anya snapped out of it first. "Faith’s leaving? When did that happen?"

"She has been acting kind of weird lately," Xander said, thinking things over. "I mean, when Buffy got hurt she was climbing the walls, and then when Buffy came home it was like she couldn’t get out of the house fast enough."

"Do you think there’s something going on between them?" Tara asked.

"No," Anya said firmly.

"Yeah, I’ve got to go with Anya," Xander added. "Buffy and Faith? I can’t see it."

"That’s not what I meant." Anya said, her voice sharp. "I didn’t mean nothing is happening, I meant something isn’t happening."

Xander looked at the two witches. "Is anyone else confused?"

Anya snorted her impatience. "There’s something between Buffy and Faith, but it isn’t happening, it’s not moving, it’s just sitting there."

"An-"

"Hands up everyone who spend eleven hundred years with emotionally damaged women? Oh look, just me."

Willow shot Xander her patented ‘You’re marrying her?’ look, and asked Anya, "So, what’s not happening between them?"

"How would I know? I did vengeance, not therapy. All I know is that it’s messing both of them up, and Dawn’s probably catching the fallout."

They all looked at each other for a moment.

"So what do we do?"

"It doesn’t get any easier, does it?"

Sean, sitting in the driver’s seat, looked across at Lucas. "What doesn’t get easier?"

"Waiting. You’ve planned, you’re ready, and now you just have to wait." Lucas shifted in his seat, moving for its own sake. "I always thought it was easier for the ones in charge; the Mayor never seemed to get nervous, whatever was happening."

"Lucky for him."

"You must have had a lot of times like this, during the war."

Sean just nodded.

"Looks like there’s going to be another one. A war, I mean. Afghanistan. The whole country’s fired up."

"That’ll change when the bodybags start coming home. This country’s got rich and comfortable. Weak. People don’t have the stomach for a real fight any more."

"What do you mean?"

"Lucas, I went into Normandy with the 82nd Airbourne, parachuted in the night before the landings, us, the Brits, the Canadians and all the rest. In the first twenty-four hours, we lost over ten thousand men killed, wounded or missing and we were glad to have got off so easily. Nowadays a few Marines get bushwhacked in some African fleapit, and the whole Corps gets called home like a dog. People seem to think they can win a war without anyone dying."

Lucas gave a way smile at that. "Trying to tell me something, Sergeant?"

"Yes," Sean replied without a trace of humour. "No matter how well tonight goes, no matter how much equipment we buy in, some of us aren’t going to live through this thing. Even if both Slayers die, you might go with them. Can you handle that?"

Lucas met his gaze without flinching. "Yes."

"Good." Looking down the street, Sean saw a set of headlights approaching and started the engine. "Here we go."

Weaklings!

The M’Fashnik glared at the three children who had employed him, his contempt turning to rage. "You pitted me against the Slayer! For that I will kill you!"

"Hey, no fair!" Jonathan whined. "We didn’t know she was gonna be there. And you broke our TV!"

"Silence!" The demon kicked over a table, scattering toys in all directions.

"Careful with the collectibles, dude!" Warren cried, rushing forward to protect them only to be seized by the throat and lifted into the air.

"You owe me, tiny man. You will bring me the Slayer’s head, or I will rip out your spine and beat you to death with it!"

"Okay… okay…" Warren managed to gasp. "Just let me breathe!" The M’Fashnik dropped him, and he went on. "Just give us a minute, all right? Let us figure out just how to do it."

The three of them went over to the other side of the basement and began whispering. The demon watched them, wondering how his contacts had dared to send him here. Finally, Warren came back brandishing a slip of paper.

"Here’s the Slayer’s name, address and phone number," he whispered, slapping the M’Fashnik on the arm as though they were old friends. "You want her head? May the Force be with you."

For a moment, the M’Fashnik contemplated tearing Warren’s own head off, but decided it wasn’t worth the effort. It snatched the paper and stomped away up the basement stairs.

Note to self: Find the idiot who sent me here. Kill him. Eat his children.

"Please have a seat, Miss Summers," the doctor said as Buffy entered the office.

"Thanks."

"What seems to be the trouble?"

"I’m having trouble sleeping." Buffy hesitated before elaborating. "I’ll lay there for hours, and I’m exhausted, but I can’t keep my eyes closed."

"And how long has this been happening for?"

"Nearly a week, since I woke up in the hospital."

"While you’re awake, do you spend a lot of time worrying about things?"

"Yeah, I guess so."

"It sounds as though stress is a major factor here. You’ve certainly had a lot to deal with over the last few months, with the loss of your mother and your recent injury. I recommend trying to minimise the stress factors in your life wherever possible – I know it sounds obvious, but it just examining the problem can be beneficial. In the meantime, I’ll prescribe some pills to help you sleep." The doctor pulled out her prescription pad and began scribbling on it. "They’re fairly strong, so make sure you stick to the stated dosage, and above all, don’t mix them with alcohol."

"Thanks."

"A few good nights’ sleep should help enormously," the doctor said, her voice as reassuring as her years of experience could make it. Buffy didn’t seem to respond, so she asked, "Was there something else?"

"What? No, no, nothing."

"Buffy, please. Whatever you say to me stays in this room, you know that."

Buffy still hesitated before answering. "I… I’ve been hearing things, voices, people talking to me. You probably think I’m crazy…"

"Far from it, I’m not at all surprised." Trying not to smile at the shocked look on Buffy’s face, the doctor went on. "You’re not schizophrenic. You haven’t been sleeping, so obviously you haven’t been dreaming. Dreams are a vital part of your psychological defences. They allow you to work unconscious thoughts, worries, and fears in a safe environment. The process is so important that if your mind can’t do it while you’re asleep, it does it while you’re awake."

"You’re kidding?"

"Not at all. Most people, if prevented from dreaming for a week, would be hallucinating freely. If all you’ve experienced are a few voices in your head I’d say you’re holding up quite well. Once you start sleeping and dreaming normally, the voices will stop."

"So, they’re dreams?" The doctor completely missed the fear in Buffy’s voice.

Buffy answered the phone on the fourth ring. Dawn watched her greeting Giles with forced cheerfulness in her voice. The conversation was brief, then Buffy hung up and walked to the base of the stairs. "Faith!"

"Yeah?"

"Giles wants us all over at the magic shop ASAP. There’s been another robbery."

"Okay, I’ll be right down."

Dawn went over to her sister. "Can I come?" she asked, not quite pleading.

"Dawn…"

"Buffy, please, I just want to help."

"I’m not sure that’s-"

Dawn interrupted, pointing at the front door. "Is it supposed to be doing that?"

The doorknob was slowly turning one way then the other. Buffy reached out to grasp it, and then the door burst open, knocking her back into the dining room.

Dawn screamed as the M’Fashnik stormed through the door. It thrust an arm out and flung her out of the way, sending her straight at Buffy and putting them both on the floor. "Slayer!"

"Right here!" Buffy replied, scrambling out from under her sister.

The demon looked at her. "You are not the Slayer," it snarled, before being slammed into the doorframe as Faith threw herself headfirst down the stairs at it. For a few seconds she held the advantage, but then the demon landed a punch to her stomach that lifted her off her feet and dumped her onto living room floor.

Buffy charged in, launching a flying kick at the demon’s back. It staggered under the impact, swinging its fist around in a wild backhand stroke that she easily ducked under. She followed up with a string of punches to the body, but first one arm, and then the other was grabbed. She wasn’t able to get a grip of her own on the demon’s arms, and a moment later, she was sent flying out through the front doorway to land in a heap on the path.

The demon stared after her, its huge fists gripping the doorframe. "You are not the Slayer! What are you?" Before she could reply, the tip of a sword burst through its chest, and it slumped to the ground, revealing a still-shaky Faith behind it.

Faith pulled the sword free and handed it to Dawn. "Thanks, Bitesize." Dawn took it, looking at the blood-soaked blade with a slightly squeamish expression on her face, and went to clean it off while Faith walked over to Buffy. "You okay?"

"Yeah."

"Man, I hate when they come after you at home. Isn’t that our job?"

"You are not the hunter. You are the lamb." For a moment, the Master’s words filled Buffy’s ears, and she instinctively spun around, looking for him.

"B?" Faith asked, worried. "What’s wrong?"

"Nothing!" Buffy replied, too quickly. "Nothing, just making sure there aren’t more of them. Come on, let’s get Reptile-boy here moved, Giles is waiting."

"Sure." Faith followed her inside, watching her with concern.

"So there’s been another robbery? Another bank, same M.O.?" Xander asked a short while later, as they all sat around the table at the Magic Box.

"Er, no, I’m afraid not." Giles replied. "It was an armoured truck, in Oxnard, shortly before dawn today, and the attack was altogether more sophisticated. The truck was boxed in with other vehicles, all stolen, and the doors were blown open with explosives. Both the guards were killed."

"Okay, bad, but it doesn’t sound spooky," Willow said. "Shouldn’t we be letting the police handle this one?"

Giles took off his glasses. "The police statements say the guards throats were torn out. It would appear that the police in Oxnard lack the same level of wilful obliviousness one finds in the typical Sunnydale officer."

"Vampires. Lucas and Sean?" Buffy wondered.

"Sounds like it was well planned," Xander put in. "Just the way a guy like Sean would do it."

Faith cursed under her breath. "Great. How much did they get?"

"Around fifteen thousand dollars." Giles replied. "The truck had already made several deliveries."

"Why would a vamp want that kind of money?" Dawn asked.

"I’m not sure I want to know." Buffy pushed her chair away from the table and began pacing. "Two big robberies in a week - anyone think they’re connected?"

Giles shook his head. "It does seem like an enormous coincidence, but I must confess I can’t see any link between the two."

"Me neither," Xander agreed. "One’s almost a comedy, the other one’s as professional as it gets. It’s like playing ‘Six Degrees Of Kevin Bacon’ with demons."

"So there’s someone else," Tara said, more to herself than anyone else.

Giles gave a sigh. "It would appear so."

The trip back to Revello Drive passed in silence.

"Mind if I grab a soda before patrol?" Faith asked as they entered the house.

Buffy flopped onto the couch, still in the same bleak state as when she’d left the Magic Box. "Sure."

Faith and Dawn went into the kitchen. Faith took a can from the fridge and headed for the door, while Dawn began preparing her dinner. After a moment, she heard Faith’s voice, low, almost a whisper. "Bitesize?"

Dawn moved to the kitchen door and saw Faith standing at the bottom of the stairs, looking into the living room. She walked over to join her. "Yeah?"

"Keep the noise down, okay?" Faith pointed toward the couch, where Buffy had slumped over onto the cushions, fast asleep.

"You’re not going to wake her?"

"No, let her sleep, she needs it," Faith said. "I’ll go solo tonight."

"Okay," Dawn said, reluctantly. "Be careful."

"You got it. Go, eat."

Dawn returned to the kitchen, but had barely got her pizza out of the freezer when she realised Faith was talking again. She almost replied before she realised that Faith wasn’t talking to her. After a moment’s internal debate, she crept through to the rear of the living room and peeped around the corner, wreathed in shadow.

Faith was sitting on the edge of the coffee table, whispering to Buffy, one hand gently brushing a few strands of hair from her face. "I’m sorry, B. For everything, everything I did, everything I said. I know me leaving’s going to hurt you. The way I feel about you, it’ll hurt me more, but I have to go. I won’t risk dragging you down with me again." She leaned over and gently kissed Buffy’s cheek, then stood up and left the house.

Dawn just stood there in the shadows for a moment, stunned, then she hurried upstairs. She took the old grimoire and its associated talisman from their hiding place, her mind made up.

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