Bad Eurotrip, Chapter 2

[thedeadlyhook]

Our heroes begin their conference about what is to be done. This chapter contains a little bit of recap on the events of "Bad Trip," but it's also where we really begin to gather the plot threads. Plus lots and lots of Giles.

Previous chapters here
Original story, "Bad Trip," here.





ACT TWO: TEA AND SYMPATHY

Kennedy made her way down the narrow stairs, the old wooden floorboards creaking softly under her feet with each step. The rest of the house was hushed and quiet, with the only sounds coming from behind a swinging door at the far end of the long entry hall. From the delicious odors that greeted her as she approached the door, Kennedy knew she'd found her target.

She reached the door and pushed.

"Why hello, dearie," an elderly woman called out as Kennedy stepped into the kitchen, blinking a little from the flood of bright light. The room was large and airy, with blond wood cabinetry, white tiled countertops and creamy enameled applicances. Woven hangings decorated the walls, and copper pots and hanging plants were arrayed in front of a bank of square-paned windows. Dominating the center of the room was an expansive butcher block-topped kitchen island, with three women of various ages bustling around it.

"It's about time one of you sweeties found your way down here!" The old woman paused in the middle of frosting a tall layer cake and circled around the island to greet Kennedy, wiping her hands on the crisp white half-apron she wore over her woolen housedress. She was white-haired and tiny, and she beamed up at Kennedy as she studied her through a pair of cat's-eye spectacles attached to a beaded chain.

"We were beginning to wonder if you'd forgot to eat in all this excitement, hadn't we, darlings?" The old woman glanced over her shoulder for confirmation from her companions, then reached out and grasped Kennedy's right hand, rubbing it firmly between both of hers. "Skipping a meal is never a good idea," she said sternly. "I mean really, dear, look at yourself. You're practically skin and bones!"

"Uh, yeah." Gingerly, Kennedy extracted her hand from the old woman's grasp. "It's just that we're gonna be resting upstairs for awhile before dinner or whatever, so I thought I'd see if maybe there were any snacks we could--"

"Say no more, sweetie," the old woman chuckled, giving Kennedy an encouraging pat on the cheek. "But not too much now! We'll be having dinner in just a little bit, and we don't want you ruining your appetite, do we?" She peered over her glasses at one of her two companions, a dark-skinned young woman with braided hair--just a girl, really--who was busily chopping vegetables. "Meg? Would you be a darling and fix up a plate of biscuits and cheese for... oh dear, what was your name, sweetie?"

"Kennedy," she smiled. "And thanks. Sorry about the interruption."

The old woman giggled. "Oh, not at all! Life's not just about breakfast, lunch, and dinner, is it? You've got to have your little snacks along the way." Then she looked suddenly flustered. "Oh! I really must finish up my cake. No dinner's complete without dessert, you know. Some of us would say it's the best part of the day." She puttered off, picked up her spatula, and was soon completely absorbed in her frosting.

While Meg assembled her snack plate, Kennedy glanced around the kitchen to get a better look at the last of the chefs, only find her staring right back with an enigmatic smile. "Don't you mind Tish, darling," the woman said. "She's a bit dotty, but she's a kindly one."

The third woman looked to be in her thirties or forties, with dark hair, smooth olive skin, and rich brown eyes. She wore a form-fitting sweater with the sleeves pushed up, her hands were buried in a fluffy mound of bread dough, and she was so beautiful that Kennedy was momentarily at a loss for words.

"Pleased to meet you, Slayer," the dark-haired woman smiled. She swept a strand of hair from her forehead with a floured hand, leaving a dusty mark on her cheek. "My name's Alexa."

Kennedy returned her smile. "So, are you guys all witches too?"

Alexa laughed. "Yes, you could say so. But the only magic we're doing today is the culinary kind. Miss Harkness asked the three of us to stop by today to help feed her guests." She shrugged in the direction of the recipe book that lay open on the countertop beside her. "Actually, could you help me for a sec? I need to check something on the next page, and I seem to have my hands full right now."

"Sure, no problem." Kennedy trotted round the kitchen island, maneuvering carefully around Tish, who hummed happily as she applied the cake frosting. Once Kennedy reached the other end of the counter, where Alexa was kneading the dough, she leaned over to flip the page of the cookbook.

As Kennedy stretched out for the book and turned the page, the dark-haired woman planted a warm kiss on her cheek. "Thanks, love." Kennedy gave her a startled look, but Alexa merely smiled ambiguously and returned her attention to the dough. "Looks like Meg's got your snacks ready," she observed. "You should probably be getting back to your friend now."

Kennedy looked around, and saw the younger woman standing beside her, holding a flower-patterned plate laden with snacks. "Cheers," Meg said brightly. "Get you off to a good start, right?"

"Uh, thanks," Kennedy replied, more than a little disoriented. "It was very nice to meet you all."

"Same here," Meg grinned. And as Kennedy took the plate and beat a polite retreat from the kitchen, she heard Alexa calling after her, reminding her to be sure to stop by again.

...........

Later that evening, after a few hours of rest and a rather lavish home-cooked meal, the meeting began. Once again, they gathered in the study, which had now been equipped with a couple of folding coffee tables laden with bowls of snacks, pitchers of water and juice and coffee, and plates of dainty little cucumber sandwiches.

As the group filed into the room, Xander, Willow, Kennedy, and Dawn staked out positions on the upholstered couches, while Giles settled into an armchair next to a large easel holding a classroom-size world map. Greta and Dominique, Giles's Slayer escorts, opted to remain standing, slouching elegantly against the wall. Milly Carter sat at the writing desk with her notebook at the ready, while Sharon Fleet Foster, the seer who represented the Devon coven, picked out a comfortable chair next to Giles and crossed her legs demurely as she settled herself into it.

"We'll begin," Giles announced, "as soon as Miss Harkness joins us."

"Sounds like a plan, G-man," Xander said as he rose to inspect the snacks table. "Ooh, pretzel mix!"

"How can you even think of eating after a dinner like that?" Willow groaned, slumping onto Kennedy's shoulder. "I'd forgotten how much they feed you in this place. I don't think I'll be able to eat again for a week."

"Oh, I think I'll be ready before that," Kennedy said. "That chocolate cake was to die for."

"Mmm-hmm," Dawn agreed, packing her mouth with cheese-and-onion crisps. "Death by chocolate. Definitely my favorite way to go."

"Sharon?" Giles asked solicitously. "Would you care for tea, coffee, anything?"

She turned her head in his direction, and the warm glow of the fireplace glinted off her sleek dark glasses. "No thank you, Rupert," the seer smiled. "But a glass of sherry would be marvelous."

By the time Giles returned with Sharon's drink, Miss Harkness had arrived. She was sitting regally in her carved wooden chair by the fireplace, sipping carefully from a cup of tea. "So glad you could join us, Mr. Giles," she said dryly, setting the cup down on the desk beside her. "Please, feel free to begin any time."

"Er, yes," Giles replied. He paused for a moment to guide Sharon's hands to the glass of sherry he'd brought her, then paced over to the fireplace. "Greta, Dominique... Could you see to the visual aids, please?"

"Oui, Mister Giles," Dominique nodded. She picked up a large pad of newsprint paper and placed it on the easel, over the map, and then she and Greta took up positions on either side of the easel like game-show presenters.

"First page," Greta announced, flipping the cover of the newsprint pad over the back of the easel. "The, uh... how do you say? Die Tagesordnung?"

"The agenda, yes. Thank you, Greta." Giles turned away from the fireplace and strolled into the center of the room, hands clasped behind his back. "As you all know, we find ourselves confronting a powerful enemy. We've won a number of tactical victories against this enemy, but time and time again, our lack of knowledge about The First--its nature, its capabilities, its goals--has prevented us from making progress in the larger war."

"Uh-oh," Xander muttered. "There's that word again."

"We are at war," Giles repeated for emphasis. "And winning a war requires strategy. It's long past time that we made a serious effort to gather and analyze the information we need to formulate that strategy." He stood for a moment, looking around the room at Dawn, at Xander, at Willow and Kennedy. "This is our purpose here today. To tell our stories, to share what we've learned, and then begin putting that knowledge to use."

"Show and tell," Dawn translated.

Kennedy frowned. "Makes sense to me, Rupert. But as a gesture of good faith..."

Giles nodded. "Naturally, I'll begin. I owe you all that much."

They listened as Giles recounted his activities of the past few months. For the most part, the details were familiar to the Sunnydale contingent--the destruction of the Council of Watchers, the frantic efforts to gather the remaining potential Slayers before The First's agents could hunt them down, the tense weeks on the doorstep of the Hellmouth. And some parts of the story were new, like the role of the surviving Watchers in tracking down the Potentials.

"So it wasn't just the covens that located all those Potentials," Willow interjected. "I kinda suspected as much."

"Of course not," Miss Harkness confirmed. "Although I like to think we helped a little."

"And then, after the destruction of the Hellmouth," Giles continued, "I returned to England to begin the process of reconstituting the Council of Watchers." He paced across the carpet, and Milly Carter began a new page of minutes in her notebook. "For the past month, I've been traveling around Europe. Re-establishing connections, taking stock of what's left of the organization... and, of course, returning the surviving Potentials to their homes and families."

"Who they probably proceeded to cut into little bitty pieces," Xander winced.

Giles sighed. "I hope not. For the most part, the Potentials we know about--or rather, full-fledged Slayers now--have remained under our supervision since they returned to their homes. It's likely that The First has refrained from employing them directly, the better to conceal its activities from us." He removed his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Of course, now that it's lost the element of surprise, that's no longer a factor. As soon as Miss Harkness relayed your findings to me, we began applying the Charm of Set to as many of the girls as we could, but I imagine many of them will have slipped from our grasp."

"Hey, wait a minute," Kennedy said. "If you've been taking all the Euro-Slayers home, who's been handling the others?"

"In the case of the Americas," Giles replied, replacing his glasses, "I entrusted them to Robin Wood. As for the others, I, ah... I delegated that task to Andrew Wells."

"Andrew?!" Xander sputtered, spraying biscuit crumbs across the room. "Andrew the evil nerd? That guy's practically a serial killer!" He waved his arms in righteous outrage. "Plus he's, like, a total geek!"

Dawn, seated on the couch beside Xander, ducked beneath his flailing arm. "You weren't kidding about the judgment errors, Giles."

"I know, I know," Giles groaned. "It seemed like a good way to get him out of my hair. And besides, he seemed excited by the opportunity for frequent flyer miles."

Willow had been sitting silently, pondering something. At last she looked up and fixed Giles with a sullen glare.

"So you knew," Willow said. "All that time we were desperately trying to get in touch with you, find out what was going on..." She paused for a moment, tallying days. "A week at least, between when we got Xander to the hospital and called Miss Harkness, and when you finally called us back. You bastard. You total prick."

There were gasps from around the room, and Miss Harkness turned to admonish Willow, but Giles forestalled her with a calming wave. "I'm sorry, Willow," he replied, "but understand that I had no alternative. I did what I had to, to protect Dawn."

Kennedy frowned. "To protect Dawn? Not getting it, Rupert."

Giles glanced over at Dawn, who was fidgeting uncomfortably on the couch next to Xander. "All this time, Dawn has been traveling with Buffy. Observing her behavior, trying to determine whether our worst fears were correct."

Xander swiveled to stare at Dawn. "You were spying on her?!"

"No!" Dawn exclaimed. "It wasn't like that. Giles... Giles suspected something, right after we left Sunnydale. But I didn't want to believe it." She gave Xander a look of pure distress, tears glinting in her eyes. "So I waited, and I watched, and..."

Giles crossed the room and placed a gentle hand on Dawn's shoulder. "Dawn did what she had to do for her sister's sake... for all our sakes. And she did so at immense personal risk." He turned to look back at Willow. "Let me make this very clear. As long as Dawn remained in danger, I was not prepared to do anything--anything--to increase the risk that she would be exposed."

"But Giles," Willow protested. "Things got really bad back there. Xander was hurt... he almost died. And I was kinda out of control, too..." She clutched at Kennedy's hand, squeezed it hard. "I know you were worried about tipping off the bad guys. I get that. It's just that..."

"I trusted you." Giles's hard expression softened, and the corners of his mouth curled upward in a smile. "I trusted that you could handle yourself, Willow, and you succeeded beyond my wildest expectations. I'm very, very proud of you."

Willow sat for a moment, her mouth open, at a loss for words. Then Xander gave a bark of laughter. "Hah! He's got you there, Will. Giles logic strikes again!"

There was a moment of relieved laughter from everyone after this, and the built-up tension in the room finally relaxed. Xander and Dawn began to forage again for snacks, Kennedy leaned over and smooched Willow on the ear, Greta and Dominique whispered and giggled, and Sharon leaned over to offer a hushed confidence to Giles.

After a minute or so of this, Miss Harkness finally set down her teacup with a patient smile and tapped her cane on the floor for attention. "Well, that was all very fascinating," she said dryly, and delicately suggested that they return to the matter at hand.

"Yes, quite," Giles coughed politely and resumed his story.

"A few days ago," he continued, "Buffy and Dawn arrived at Heathrow airport. Given the nature of Dawn's most recent reports, I decided to assume the worst, and made preparations to intercept them on arrival."

"Ja," interjected Greta. "We were ready for the big fight." She waggled her fists like a sparring boxer.

Giles sighed. "However, I appeared to have misjudged the timing. Their flight arrived well ahead of schedule, and they made it through customs and immigration with unexpected swiftness..."

"And so," Dawn said quietly, "I had to improvise."

"Improvise?" Willow leaned forward anxiously. "Dawnie? What did you do?"

Dawn shot her a warning glare. "Stop calling me that. That's what my sister calls me." She closed her eyes for a moment and took a long, deep breath before continuing. "I... I hit her with a taser. And then I shot her full of these drugs that Giles gave me. Muscle relaxants and stuff."

Xander's eye widened. "Holy moley. You don't mess around, chica." He gave her a reassuring grin. "Gotta respect that."

"Thanks." Dawn smiled a little. "But it didn't work. Kinda backfired, in fact." She described the scene at the airport--how Buffy rose to her feet again, the entity that inhabited her now firmly in control, and how The First credited Dawn's betrayal for cementing its hold on her sister's body. The others listened intently, and then sat for a minute in silence, even Milly Carter's notetaking pen momentarily at rest.

"Whoa," Kennedy eventually concluded. "That was pretty harsh."

Miss Harkness rose from her chair, levering herself stiffly to her feet with the help of her cane. "I believe I could use a little more tea," she announced, declining Milly's offer to fetch it for her. On her way out, she paused before Dawn's couch. "Is there anything I can do for you, my child?" the old woman asked.

Dawn looked up at her, a little pale but nonetheless composed. "If it's not too much trouble, Miss Harkness... maybe some ice cream?"

"Splendid," Miss Harkness beamed. "I'll have Tish prepare a bowl for you. I'm sure she'll be delighted." She continued across the study and through the door, turning down the hallway in the direction of the kitchen.

"Sounds like we're taking a break," Sharon Fleet Foster said. "Perhaps some handsome gentleman of respectable age and honorable intentions would be willing to walk an old friend outside for a quick smoke?"

Giles bent to take the seer's hand. "The gentleman would be honored, Mrs. Foster." He glanced up at the others. "We'll resume in five minutes. Dominique, could you get the maps ready?"

The brunette Slayer sighed. "Oui, Mister Giles. And then I believe I too will have the cigarette."

Xander shook his head sadly as he reached into a bowl of peanuts with his free hand. "Those things'll kill you, you know."

A pair of slender legs clad in tight jeans swayed into his field of view, and he looked up to see Greta, the blonde Slayer, grinning down at him. "Yes, Mister Xander. It is a filthy habit." She reached out a hand and tousled his hair affectionately. "But bad habits can be fun sometimes, nicht wahr?"

Then Greta and Dominique strode out of the room, and the laughter of the Slayers echoed down the hallway as they left.

...........

"So," Giles smiled. "Mrs. Foster."

"Mr. Giles." Sharon blew out a puff of smoke, which drifted away into the darkness. The moon was little more than a sliver at this point in its cycle, and the clouds scudding across its face blocked off much of its light. Standing at the back door of the coven house, Giles and Sharon seemed to be standing on the threshold of a black void, dotted only by pinpricks of light from distant cars and scattered houses.

"How long has it been, Sharon?" Giles was holding onto the seer's glass for her, and he swirled it now and took a sip of sherry. "A little more than a year, I suppose. Since that situation with Willow arose, and I had to return so suddenly to California..."

"We missed you in Devon, Rupert," Sharon said. "I missed you."

Giles sighed. "The older one gets, the faster time slips away, doesn't it? A year gone by before you know it."

"A lot can happen in a year," Sharon replied. She took a last drag on her cigarette, then stubbed it out in the ashtray she was holding. "But friendship endures, hm?"

"Friends," Giles nodded. "Yes."

Bracing herself against the doorframe with one hand, Sharon stood up on tiptoes and pressed her lips to Giles's cheek. "Good to know," she murmured. "Come on, let's get back inside."

...........

When the group reconvened, Giles wasted no time in moving on to the next item on his agenda.

"Before we delve into the details of your respective adventures," he began, "I'd like to establish the basic facts of time and place. To the best of your ability, I'd like to ask you to reconstruct the courses you took across North America--first Dawn and Buffy, and then Willow's and Xander's party."

Gulping down a final spoonful of chocolate mint chip, Dawn set down the empty bowl and wiped her mouth. "Okay, then. I guess we left the motel after, what, three days? Buffy... Buffy rented a car, and then we started heading north, up toward San Francisco..."

As Milly Carter jotted down the chronological particulars, Greta and Dominique marked the key locations of Dawn's and Buffy's trip by jamming colored pushpins into the large-format map that was mounted on the easel. A couple of the spots proved hard for the Slayers to locate, obliging Xander to come over and help them with the pin placement.

Then it was Xander's turn. With Willow and Kennedy jogging his memory, Xander recounted their journey of the previous month. At Giles's request, he described their adventures in only the broadest of details--Willow's initial encounter with The First, Lorne's predictions, the strange case of Veronica Lin, his visit to the magic shop in Salt Lake City, the curious legend recounted by Rutherford Sirk, the possession of the four young Slayers by The First, Willow's exploration of Buffy's dreams, his own visions and underworld journeys. Each incident became another bullet point in Milly Carter's notebook, an agenda item for later discussion, a pushpin on Giles's map.

Finally, both routes had been plotted. Greta and Dominique inserted a final round of pushpins to mark the sites of the riots, killing sprees, civil disturbances, and mystical disruptions that had swept around the world in the last few weeks. Then the group sat back to study the finished map.

"Does that look like a... nahhh," Xander mused, squinting at the meandering lines and pins marking hotspots where there had been known riots. "I'm not seeing any kind of shape here. And if it's writing its name across the nation, I gotta say it's a pretty crappy speller."

"I agree there doesn't seem to be a physical pattern in any of this," Giles frowned.

Miss Harkness and the other witches speculated briefly about other possibilities--astronomical conjunctions, geographic or historical signifiers, movements of the tectonic plates--but after ten minutes or so, it was decided they weren't making any progress, so Giles suggested they move on to new subjects.

And so Xander, Willow, and Kennedy began recounting the full details of their adventures, one incident after another. At Montana, their stories diverged, with Willow and Kennedy consulting the archives of Wolfram & Hart while Xander experienced the first of his disturbing visions. Willow and Kennedy agreed to go first, recounting the details of the legend Sirk had read to them from an ancient manuscript.

"The Abyssinian Codex?" Giles gazed thoughtfully into the fireplace as Willow finished her story. "That sounds somehow familiar..."

"It's in here," Dawn replied, waving the folder of photocopied documents that Giles had brought back with him from London. "I've, uh, been doing some translations from it."

Willow and Kennedy exchanged puzzled looks. "Dawnie... Sorry, Dawn," Willow said gently. "I don't think you'll get very far. Sirk said it took his translators a while to decipher it, and they're, like, experts."

Giles gave her a mysterious half-smile. "I don't know if you've noticed this, Willow, but our Dawn appears to have a natural facility for languages."

Dawn shrugged. "It's no big. This Cushitic dialect is actually a bit more regular than Sumerian."

Milly Carter, who'd been sitting quietly at her desk taking notes the whole time, suddenly spoke up. "That is quite interesting. Dawn... I don't suppose you could take a look at some of the things we have in our own archives, could you?"

"Sure," Dawn replied. "We'll have a big geeky study party." Milly's face fell, and she hastened to reassure her. "No, really! It'll be fun! We'll have cookies and pop and dusty old manuscripts..."

Sharon Fleet Foster coughed politely. "If we're done with that item, could we hear from Xander? I'm rather curious about these visions of yours."

Xander swallowed, stood and turned to face the waiting group. He suddenly found himself flashing back to high school, feeling the familiar terror of long-ago oral presentations. Great Expectations, by Charles Dickens. This is the story of a boy. A boy named Pip.

"This is gonna get kind of long," Xander ventured. "And it may not make a lot of sense. Which you'd pretty much figure, what with the hallucinogenic drugs and stuff. But here goes..."

Xander told his story, and the others listened spellbound. He told them about the spirit guide who had forced a scorching eye of light into his skull. He told them about the gruesome blood ritual he'd witnessed. And he told them about the visitation from The First that followed when he awoke. The images flooded back to him as he talked, clear as day, and every now and then he had to reassure himself that he was really there in the firelit study, surrounded by friends and loved ones, not following a smirking fiend through some sun-blasted desert landscape.

"Good lord," Giles said at last. "How... extraordinary."

"You said there was more," Sharon prompted. "Another vision, when you were in that hospital in Buffalo..."

Xander nodded, taking a gulp of flat soda to soothe his dry throat. "Yep. Vision Quest II: Spike Strikes Back. And that one was a doozy."

"I'd like to hear about that now," Miss Harkness said. "I think it may be rather important."

And so Xander continued, describing what he'd seen while his body lay unconscious in a hospital bed. His journey into the underworld, and the vast cavern of bones he'd seen there, the neverending graveyard that his vampire companion had called a rubbish heap of dead dreams. The mindless, eyeless beast that gnawed the bones of the dead, grinding their memories and dreams between its jaws like the popcorn that he suddenly realized he was shoveling into his mouth as he talked...

"...and then I woke up, and I was back in Kansas." Xander glanced at his watch, and was shocked to see it was already well past midnight. "Uh, sorry about that. Guess I ran a little long there." He made his way back to the couch on unsteady legs, gratefully accepting the fresh glass of soda that Dawn offered him.

"No, I don't believe apologies are called for," Miss Harkness mused. "These things you've seen..."

"It's incredible," Sharon Fleet Foster marveled. "To go across the threshold of life and death... and then return, with the memories of this experience intact!" She inclined her head respectfully in Xander's direction. "Young man, I believe your exploits as a seer may well put mine to shame."

"And perhaps most important of all," Giles reminded them, "is that he's seen the true form of our enemy. Confronted it face to face, on its own territory, and lived to tell of it." He sighed theatrically. "And I have the privilege of saying I knew him back when he was eating bugs and contracting mystic syphilis. I'm a witness to history."

"Hey, Xander," Willow leaned forward, suddenly remembering something. "You said something to me, just after you woke up. About The First..."

"I did?" He stared back at her blankly.

"You are what you eat. That's what you said. And you said The First... The First eats us."

Dawn squinted in concentration. "So The First is us? Because, you know, that's not really all that flattering."

"I don't mean it like that," Willow clarified. "But perhaps some part of us... Just the bad parts, maybe?"

And Xander remembered the voice of his dead friend Jesse saying We're all in here, buddy, and he didn't say anything.

"Well," Giles said. "Shall we continue?" He looked over at Milly Carter, who was gazing distractedly at Xander. "Miss Carter, the list?"

"Oh!" Milly blushed, and flipped back a few pages through her notebook. "There's also the part where Willow... Willow performs a spell to enter Buffy Summers's mind while she's asleep."

"Um," Willow replied. She glanced anxiously at Kennedy, then looked around the room. "Do I... Do I have to do this?"

"You know the answer to that, Willow." Giles beckoned her into the center of the room. "You're among friends here. You have no reason to be shy."

Willow rose from the couch and took a few steps forward. She glanced back over her shoulder at Kennedy, who gave her an encouraging thumbs up, and then began telling them what she'd learned from her exploration of Buffy's mind.

Except she didn't, not really. Of course, she told them about Buffy's death two years earlier, how Buffy's sacrifice had somehow opened the door. She mentioned her vision of Buffy in the cave, struggling to reject the gift of power the shadow men had offered her, and how the ancient scythe had spoken to Buffy when she first grasped it. And the final battle in the Hellmouth, where Buffy fell in battle and gave in at last to despair, she recounted in full detail.

These were the essential facts, after all, she rationalized. That was all they really needed to know.

But they did know, somehow, that there was more--that she was holding back. Sharon the seer, blindly staring at her through her dark glasses; Miss Harkness, stern and disapproving, fingers clenched around the head of her cane; Giles, his look of weary disappointment perhaps the worst of all. And Dawn... she was afraid to even look at Dawn.

"What?" Willow glared about the room. "That's what you wanted to know, right? How my best friend got taken over by the pure essence of concentrated evil. Another bullet point for your strategic plan."

"You've told us what you wanted to tell us," Sharon said quietly. "But there's an awful lot you're holding back."

"This isn't the place for secrets, Willow," Miss Harkness said. "Or for judicious editing. Anything you saw inside your friend's mind--everything you saw--could be vitally important."

Willow shook her head vigorously. "No. I'm sorry, but the stuff I left out... it's private. It's nothing that you need to know about. I'm not even sure I have a right to know about it."

"Will," Xander said gently. "I get what you're saying, but I think we're kind of past the privacy issues now."

"That's not why I did the spell," Willow insisted. "I did it because I had to. Because it was the only way to find out what happened to her. That doesn't mean that I'm gonna talk about Buffy's personal life in front of everybody."

"That's exactly what it means," Giles snapped. Willow wheeled around to look at him, and he cut off her protests with a sharp chop of his hand.

"Giles--" Dawn began, getting to her feet.

"No, listen, both of you. Dawn, sit down." Dawn took her seat again, a sullen expression on her face, and Giles continued. "I'm coming to think we've been entirely mistaken in our assumptions about The First. Its goals, its strategy..." He paced for a moment in front of the fireplace. "Perhaps Buffy's feelings, her state of mind, these intimate details we'd rather leave behind the veil of privacy... Perhaps these are the most important things of all."

Giles turned and took a few steps towards Willow, gripping her firmly by the shoulder, and stared intently into her eyes. "Do you understand me, Willow? I believe this war has been going on longer than any of us ever realized. And I believe that Buffy herself has always been its real battleground." He released Willow's shoulder, and she stumbled back a step. "So I need you to tell us everything. Every image, every word, everything you remember, no matter how personal or painful."

"I--I understand." Willow was almost crying, her eyes moist with gathering tears. "But... but it's so hard for me." She looked over at Sharon. "Can't she do it? She's a seer, right? Can't she just pull it out of my head or something?"

Sharon took a long sip from her glass of sherry. "Sorry, love. I can see things as they happen, when I know to look. But I can't go back and look at things that already happened." She sighed wistfully. "Only in my memories, that is."

"It's okay, Willow," Dawn said. She rose from the couch and patted Willow's shoulder reassuringly. "I don't know what you saw, or what she showed you, that you're afraid to tell us about. But it's okay." She gave Willow an encouraging smile. "All that matters now is that we do everything we can to help Buffy."

"To help Buffy," Willow repeated. She took a deep breath. "Okay. If there's any chance it'll help Buffy... then I'll tell you everything."