Team Angel
Winifred Burkle leaned against the front counter in the lobby of the Hyperion, sifting through mail, a cinnamon-
sugar doughnut dangling from her lips. Wes sat quietly by, reading over the invoice list in search of one Mr. and
Mrs. Umbrovich with multiple spectral exorcisms. In the small office adjacent, Angel sat at his enormous mahogany
desk, glowering over the LA Times. He sipped his morning pig’s blood from a yellow mug with the words “World’s
Best Boss” stamped across it in big block letters.
Fred piled the bills in a neat stack beside Anya’s laptop. Junk mail she fed to recycling. That left her with two letters
– the promise of payment lurking behind plain white envelopes with no return addresses. Those she propped against
the laptop, knowing that should one of them contain a check for any amount, it would be the cherry on top of
Anya’s day.
Fred crossed her legs at the ankles and took a Texas-sized bite out of her donut. It was a normal morning, nice and
pleasant-like. The scent of cinnamon reminded her of busy mornings back home before she came to LA, when all felt
safe and comfortable and full of possibility. It was the kind of day when things could only go right.
She chewed thoughtfully and swallowed. “Maybe after your paperwork we could do some work of our own?”
Wes looked up from the computer screen. “What’s that?”
In one breath, Fred said, “I have a new dimensional gaps theory I’d like to bounce off you and if I’m in the right
ballpark it could explain why so many higher-level demons have managed to cross into this plane in the last three
months even though there are safeguards built in that should keep them from bleeding over to this world…”
Wes gazed up at her, eyes glazed.
“What?” she asked.
“Here I thought ‘work of our own’ might contain the words ‘park’ and ‘picnic’?”
She planted a sugary kiss on his forehead. “Well, I did say ball… park.”
“Winifred. It’s Saturday,” Wes purred, shifting forward to give her a proper kiss. As his lips met hers, they heard
the faint tinkling of chimes as the front doors opened.
Fred angled around to see a petite blonde girl drift into the lobby. She appeared frayed and rumpled: a white scar
ran down one side of her face and a bandage covered most of her throat. That, plus the haunted look in her eyes,
framed her as runaway vamp-bait. That was Fred’s thinking exactly when she heard Wesley’s barely audible swear.
The girl in the lobby hesitated. Wes, however, got to his feet. He careened around the desk, an expression mixed of
horror and disbelief on his face.
“You were dead,” he said.
She shrugged. “I got better.”
“You know her?” Fred asked. The words were lost in the flurry of commotion from the other room as Angel, Captain
Keenly Aware, charged in to match the voice in the lobby with the one in his memory.
Angel saw her and froze. The moment suspended between them, upheld by tangible threads of intense emotion. So
much, thought Fred, for their pleasant Saturday.
“Buffy,” Angel said.
It was Fred’s turn now to share Wes’s confusion. Fred knew – heck, everyone knew – Buffy died in Sunnydale. Fred
remembered when it happened, almost to the day. That was five years ago, so it was impossible for Buffy to be here
in the lobby dressed as billboard girl for the homeless hotline.
Matters worsened when the door opened again and another girl ambled in, this one taller and much more raggedy.
Buffy took the girl’s hands. In a curt whisper she said, “Dawn, I wanted you to wait outside.”
Wes and Angel traded looks of alarm. Those, Fred understood. Dawn wasn’t in Sunnydale anymore, and for them,
that meant a whole ton of trouble.
Team Angel had an impressive War Room. In it, the walls were made of white board. On two of the three white-
boarded walls, Fred had scrawled a seemingly continuous, indecipherable formula complete with pictograms,
illustrations and coordinates. Andrew would have fainted.
Buffy sat in swively office chair in the Team Angel War Room, while Angel, Wesley and Fred speculated over her
arrival just out of ear’s reach. Buffy kept one eye on Dawn, who moved around the lobby with accentuated
slowness, running her hands over the glossy marble columns and caressing the waxy leaves of potted plants.
Buffy gripped a mug of tea between steady hands. She focused on that warmth as though it was a tether linking her
to the earth while the others fluttered around her like a flurry of snowflakes.
Moments passed, and Buffy remained steadfastly affixed to the steeping cup of Darjeeling. She liked the relative
calm and found herself actually nodding off until Dawn wandered out of view. Buffy leaned far forward in the chair,
straining to find Dawn among the philodendrons under the staircase. Suddenly, the chair dipped forward, dumping
Buffy to the floor. She saved the tea, but all dignity was lost when her knees met carpet.
Sputtering, Buffy popped back up to see equal expressions of disbelief on their faces.
She brushed her hair back and stammered. “I, um…” Buffy began.
The door to the board room burst open, and Cordelia swanned in, a sleepy-eyed toddler snuggled fast to her hip. She
strode into the room, oblivious to Buffy’s presence, and pointed a long, manicured fingernail at Angel.
“Staying up all night with Connor while he’s teething is reason for me to be Mrs. Cranky Pants, not you. You already
keep nighttime hours. And since when do we call team meetings on Saturday, without all members present?” she
asked.
Connor wiggled restlessly. She let him squiggle down to the floor. Buffy gaped at him, amazed at how much mini-
Connor looked like his older counterpart, though with fewer teeth and rounder cheeks. But the hair was exactly the
same. He crawled under the table, cooing serenely.
Cordelia returned to center stage, both hands free to be on her hips. “What’s with the doomsday expressions? Is it
the end of the world again? Don’t tell me if it is. I just ordered a new fall wardrobe from Neiman Marcus, and what?”
“Ah… Cordelia,” Wesley began.
“What is it?” Cordy asked. Fred pointed to Buffy behind her.
Cordy pivoted in her elegant Manolo Blahnik slippers. “Oh my God, it’s Buffy! And she’s dressed like Gramma,”
Cordelia said, ultimately cool. “Homeless chic: It’s so last decade.”
“Cordelia,” Buffy said flatly. “You haven’t changed a bit.”
Cordy stared for a moment. She said, “Can’t say the same for you. Wow, do you need your roots done. And your
hands? I’ve seen demons with better nail beds.” She looked over her shoulder at Angel. “Come on, guys. She’s a
fake. It’s one of Warren’s fembots.”
“I’m not a fembot,” Buffy protested.
“Sure she is,” Cordelia went on. “He’s testing us. He’s put her in the Les Miserables garb to throw us off. And while
it’s quite convincing, what with that scar and the bandaged neck, it doesn’t add. Inability to exfoliate aside, Buffy
would never let herself go like this.”
“It’s not a robot,” Angel said. Buffy scoffed. “She,” he amended quickly. “I mean, she’s not a robot.”
“Oh, and how do you—?”
“Because Dawn’s out there,” Wesley cut in, pointing through the window. Dawn was in the lobby, pressing her
palms to the cool window glass.
Cordelia had her already applied her make-up, so that her Cinnaberry lips formed a perfectly round, “Oh.” Connor
tottered over to her, arms outstretched. She hefted him to her hip and squeezed him close.
“Warren and fembots,” Buffy said, eyes widening. “TriadCorp. The Trio. They’ve managed somehow to take over
Sunnydale. Not just somehow. They have the Coven’s help. They’re in it together. It makes perfect sense!”
“Buffy,” Angel said slowly, in the tone of a doctor getting ready to dose a patient with Thorazine. “This must be
terribly confusing to you.”
“It was, but I’m piecing it together. The guy you’re fighting – Warren – he belongs to a threesome of übergeeks who
tried to take over Sunnydale, and since I was dead they got a foothold. Warren’s the hardcase. The others are like
matching Achilles’ heels. If we can crack them…”
“We’re not fighting Warren,” Fred said delicately.
“Hmmnwhat? Why not? The guy’s a total smarm. Not to mention, misogynist much?”
Ignoring her, Wesley said, “We need to get the others in on this. If our operatives within TriadCorp are
compromised…”
Angel nodded. “Call Xander and Anya. Have them phone the rest and meet here ASAP.”
“I called Xander,” Buffy said. “Yesterday evening. He knows I’m coming.”
Fred and Wes exchanged questioning looks.
“They left early,” Wesley said.
“I figured Anya was feelin’ frisky,” Fred finished.
“Find them,” Angel said.
“Already did,” Cordelia said, pointing toward the front doors. Xander and Anya were there, along with Willow and
Tara.
It was strange, the scene that unfolded: Xander and Anya crossing the lobby together, both noticeably older, but
moving in a way that suggested togetherness. To Buffy’s relief, this version of Xander was double-eye guy. Willow
and Tara fell in behind, their hands linked, their faces grim. None appeared to have seen Dawn, who had moved into
the corner to hide under the staircase. They saw Buffy through the board room window, but their expressions were
not what she would describe as replete with glee.
Angel rounded the table to meet Xander, Anya, Willow and Tara in the lobby. Quite naturally, the others filed out
behind him.
Buffy entered the lobby thinking about how she must appear to them with the formless sweater gifted to her by Dr.
Kriegel. Dawn’s hair may have been dutifully plaited back each week by Spike, but Buffy pulled hers into a hasty
knot. It had been three long months since she thought even fleetingly about manicures, or shoe sales, or – shock
and horror: dental hygiene!
And here they were, with their stylish yet affordable clothing and artery-clogging comfort foods – oh yes, she’d
seen the donuts! – not to mention decent shelter and the company of faithful friends. Team Angel had done well for
itself.
Buffy’s temper flared, burning off the awkwardness she felt. Here they were, lap of luxury, while Dawn had lived in
indisputable misery.
Somehow, that anger strengthened her, made her miss her version of things – her Xander, her Dawn, her Willow –
even more. Her resolve crystallized. When they all came together, it was Buffy who spoke first.
She said, “Look, I know I’m not your Buffy. I’m not a fembot, a witch, or even a ghost. I’m just Buffy, but I’m from
another… time dimension thingy. And in mine, Willow’s spell worked. She brought me back.”
A laden pause followed. In it, everyone watched her, measuring her words, as she hoped they would. Dawn moved
silently from beneath the stairs and was staring into her smeared reflection in the brass elevator doors.
Finally, Willow broke the silence. “My spell worked?” Willow asked, sounding relieved. “Really worked?”
Buffy smiled in spite of herself. “Really did,” she said.
“But…” Xander began. “Not that we aren’t bursting with joy to see you, but why are you here? And now?”
“Not to mention how,” Fred said.
Buffy sighed. “All I can say is that two little witches called a Slayer, because apparently yours is on extended
personal leave.”
“That would be Faith,” Cordelia said, glancing at Angel.
Angel’s eyes narrowed. Buffy couldn’t guess what his expression conveyed. “She’s… occupied,” he said.
Buffy raised her brows. “Oh, is that right?” she asked, astonished at how much she sounded like William. “I was
occupied, too. I liked my life before it was so rudely ripped away from me. And I would like very much to get back,
which is where you come in.”
“Well now we know it really is Buffy,” Cordelia snapped. She swept Connor to her other hip. “You can’t just show
up here and expect us to drop everything to right the wrongs of your life. We have our own demons to fight.”
“Cordy,” Angel said.
She whirled on him. “Don’t Cordy me. I’m busy being indignant.”
Connor, sensing tension, fussed to be put down. She rocked him, and while he seemed somewhat consoled, he
chewed ardently on his fist.
“Cordelia’s right, Angel,” Wesley said, leaning forward. “We do have our hands full at the moment. With Gunn trying
to mobilize the whole Southside against us and Wolfram & Hart breathing fire down our necks…”
At this point, everyone started talking all at once. And there was much confusion.
“I think this kinda supercedes our vampire troubles, Wes,” Fred said. “She’s been blipped in. This fits with the gaps
theory I was telling you about...”
“Nothing supercedes vampire gangs,” Xander said. “We made them our priority.”
To which Anya added, “They cost us a fortune in window replacement. We have to recoup our losses.”
And Willow said, “I don’t think fenestration should enter the equation. This is Buffy.”
Tara was writing furiously on her tablet, Connor began to whimper, Fred and Wesley were arguing in terms that
only Steven Hawking or a handful of Trekkies could understand, when Angel intervened by shattering the coffee
table to splinters.
Startled and rightfully so, Connor gulped a mouthful of air and began to wail loud enough to wake the undead.
Cordy shot a smoldering glare at Angel, spun, and with her hand cradling Connor’s cheek to her chest, stormed up
the stairs.
They waited, silent, as the sound of Connor’s frightened cries diminished with distance and finally disappeared.
With an attempt at remaining calm, Angel said, “Dawn’s presence here makes Buffy’s problems our problems.” To
Buffy he said, “You mentioned witches. Who are they?”
“Ariadne and Margot. They h-helped us get out.”
Tara hurriedly scribbled on her pad but shared it only with Willow.
“Right,” Willow said, nodding. “They’re from the Coven in London. The ones who didn’t go all Dark Side when…”
Angel gave Willow a dark look; she hushed mid-sentence.
“Why is she writing?” Buffy interrupted. “Why did Spike say that Willow was dead, when, behold: land of the living?
You’re not a vampire, are you?”
Tara took the pad back, jotted, returned it.
This time Xander read, and when he did, a tear coursed down his cheek. “It says, ‘Welcome back.’”
Buffy shuddered. “I don’t understand. What’s…” she swallowed hard. “What’s going on here?”
Fred’s expression softened to one of concern and compassion. She said, “You should probably sit down. There’s a
lot to tell, so you may as well get comfy. We’ll try to explain as best we can.”
The afternoon proved long and difficult. The narrative passed from one to the other, as each member of Team Angel
told their part. The pain lay in the re-telling, though, for there were many pieces of the tale no one wished to
remember.
Xander began by explaining that after Willow’s attempt to resurrect Buffy failed, she did go ‘a little Blair Witch’ but
she straightened out once the very real threat of the Coven moved into Sunnydale.
“And that’s when Dawn was blinded?” Buffy asked.
“Don’t skip ahead,” Anya scolded. “You’ll miss all the gruesome details.”
Xander sneered. “Okay,” he said. “So, the Coven came in all business. They seemed to know everything about us…”
“And everything about Sunnydale,” Willow added.
“And since there was no Slayer,” Xander went on. “They set up shop over the course of the summer. By September,
TriadCorp had moved in over the Hellmouth. The bold new face of Sunnydale took shape.”
“The Compound,” Buffy said. “I saw it.”
“At first, we didn’t think things were so bad,” Willow said. “The Coven didn’t like competition. They killed off any
potential bads and we all thought they were a pack of Glinda Good Witches for that.”
“Yeah, they took out the trash,” Xander said. “But…”
“It didn’t stop there,” Anya said. She sank into the cushions, suddenly sullen.
“They shut down the Magic Box,” Willow said.
“Took it over,” Anya said, incensed. “They stole it!”
Xander nodded. “We all have our tragedies,” he said.
“And then?” Buffy asked.
“Tara became vocal against the witches. She started a petition within the magical community to peacefully ask the
Coven to leave Sunnydale,” Xander said.
Willow took Tara’s hand and squeezed it. Xander stared down at his own hands. He said, “She was one of the first…
examples.”
Buffy pressed her fingertips to her swollen eyes.
“Like Dawn was an example?”
Tara wrote on the page of her notebook and turned it to face Buffy. “She saw too much,” Buffy read aloud.
“They’re really about the punishment fitting the so-called crime, huh?”
“Very Hammurabi,” Anya said.
“So then what? You all came here?” Buffy asked, but quickly added, “That came out way more accusatory than I
wanted it to sound. I mean, you left Sunnydale.”
“Not all at once,” Angel said, coming the Scoobies’ aid. “We had to make it look like we had given up. If the Coven
thought they had broken us, we could re-group here and return with more strength.”
“Tara left first,” Willow said. “And then I… faked my death.”
Buffy snorted in disbelief. “You didn’t.”
“Really Guiding Light, I know,” Willow said, grinning. “But necessary. And effective.”
“We were last,” Xander said.
“We visited at first, but then gas prices got so high we had to…” Anya said. Xander tugged the sleeve of her blouse.
Anya folded her arms to sulk. “What? It’s true.”
“That explains all of you,” Buffy said, annoyed. “Where does Spike come in?”
Angel leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “We had Spike’s chip removed. He was useless against the witches with
that thing in his head. We enlisted Warren. He’s head of R&D at TriadCorp and from time to time, he helps us out.”
Wesley said, “After that, Spike remained in Sunnydale to protect Dawn while keeping a watchful eye on the Coven.”
Buffy could no longer sit still. She was tired and hungry and Dawn’s restless wandering had made everyone on-edgy.
None of them wanted to look at Dawn, to acknowledge the fact that she had been the one left behind.
“So you’re saying Spike works for you? He’s your Sunnydale inside guy?” she asked.
“That’s nut-shelling it,” Xander said.
“He really did keep his promise,” Buffy marveled.
Dawn floated across the lobby. Her dingy white gown draped and puckered in the wrong places on her bony frame.
Buffy pulled it straight and ran her hands down Dawn’s arms to soothe her.
“I’m sleepy, Buffy,” she said quietly. “Can we go back home?”
Buffy pulled Dawn into her arms. Behind her, she heard someone sniffle. Buffy buried her face against her sister’s
shoulder to dry her eyes. After all Dawn had been through, she still considered Sunnydale her home.
“We’re working on it,” Buffy told her. “It won’t be long now.”
Winifred Burkle leaned against the front counter in the lobby of the Hyperion, sifting through mail, a cinnamon-
sugar doughnut dangling from her lips. Wes sat quietly by, reading over the invoice list in search of one Mr. and
Mrs. Umbrovich with multiple spectral exorcisms. In the small office adjacent, Angel sat at his enormous mahogany
desk, glowering over the LA Times. He sipped his morning pig’s blood from a yellow mug with the words “World’s
Best Boss” stamped across it in big block letters.
Fred piled the bills in a neat stack beside Anya’s laptop. Junk mail she fed to recycling. That left her with two letters
– the promise of payment lurking behind plain white envelopes with no return addresses. Those she propped against
the laptop, knowing that should one of them contain a check for any amount, it would be the cherry on top of
Anya’s day.
Fred crossed her legs at the ankles and took a Texas-sized bite out of her donut. It was a normal morning, nice and
pleasant-like. The scent of cinnamon reminded her of busy mornings back home before she came to LA, when all felt
safe and comfortable and full of possibility. It was the kind of day when things could only go right.
She chewed thoughtfully and swallowed. “Maybe after your paperwork we could do some work of our own?”
Wes looked up from the computer screen. “What’s that?”
In one breath, Fred said, “I have a new dimensional gaps theory I’d like to bounce off you and if I’m in the right
ballpark it could explain why so many higher-level demons have managed to cross into this plane in the last three
months even though there are safeguards built in that should keep them from bleeding over to this world…”
Wes gazed up at her, eyes glazed.
“What?” she asked.
“Here I thought ‘work of our own’ might contain the words ‘park’ and ‘picnic’?”
She planted a sugary kiss on his forehead. “Well, I did say ball… park.”
“Winifred. It’s Saturday,” Wes purred, shifting forward to give her a proper kiss. As his lips met hers, they heard
the faint tinkling of chimes as the front doors opened.
Fred angled around to see a petite blonde girl drift into the lobby. She appeared frayed and rumpled: a white scar
ran down one side of her face and a bandage covered most of her throat. That, plus the haunted look in her eyes,
framed her as runaway vamp-bait. That was Fred’s thinking exactly when she heard Wesley’s barely audible swear.
The girl in the lobby hesitated. Wes, however, got to his feet. He careened around the desk, an expression mixed of
horror and disbelief on his face.
“You were dead,” he said.
She shrugged. “I got better.”
“You know her?” Fred asked. The words were lost in the flurry of commotion from the other room as Angel, Captain
Keenly Aware, charged in to match the voice in the lobby with the one in his memory.
Angel saw her and froze. The moment suspended between them, upheld by tangible threads of intense emotion. So
much, thought Fred, for their pleasant Saturday.
“Buffy,” Angel said.
It was Fred’s turn now to share Wes’s confusion. Fred knew – heck, everyone knew – Buffy died in Sunnydale. Fred
remembered when it happened, almost to the day. That was five years ago, so it was impossible for Buffy to be here
in the lobby dressed as billboard girl for the homeless hotline.
Matters worsened when the door opened again and another girl ambled in, this one taller and much more raggedy.
Buffy took the girl’s hands. In a curt whisper she said, “Dawn, I wanted you to wait outside.”
Wes and Angel traded looks of alarm. Those, Fred understood. Dawn wasn’t in Sunnydale anymore, and for them,
that meant a whole ton of trouble.
Team Angel had an impressive War Room. In it, the walls were made of white board. On two of the three white-
boarded walls, Fred had scrawled a seemingly continuous, indecipherable formula complete with pictograms,
illustrations and coordinates. Andrew would have fainted.
Buffy sat in swively office chair in the Team Angel War Room, while Angel, Wesley and Fred speculated over her
arrival just out of ear’s reach. Buffy kept one eye on Dawn, who moved around the lobby with accentuated
slowness, running her hands over the glossy marble columns and caressing the waxy leaves of potted plants.
Buffy gripped a mug of tea between steady hands. She focused on that warmth as though it was a tether linking her
to the earth while the others fluttered around her like a flurry of snowflakes.
Moments passed, and Buffy remained steadfastly affixed to the steeping cup of Darjeeling. She liked the relative
calm and found herself actually nodding off until Dawn wandered out of view. Buffy leaned far forward in the chair,
straining to find Dawn among the philodendrons under the staircase. Suddenly, the chair dipped forward, dumping
Buffy to the floor. She saved the tea, but all dignity was lost when her knees met carpet.
Sputtering, Buffy popped back up to see equal expressions of disbelief on their faces.
She brushed her hair back and stammered. “I, um…” Buffy began.
The door to the board room burst open, and Cordelia swanned in, a sleepy-eyed toddler snuggled fast to her hip. She
strode into the room, oblivious to Buffy’s presence, and pointed a long, manicured fingernail at Angel.
“Staying up all night with Connor while he’s teething is reason for me to be Mrs. Cranky Pants, not you. You already
keep nighttime hours. And since when do we call team meetings on Saturday, without all members present?” she
asked.
Connor wiggled restlessly. She let him squiggle down to the floor. Buffy gaped at him, amazed at how much mini-
Connor looked like his older counterpart, though with fewer teeth and rounder cheeks. But the hair was exactly the
same. He crawled under the table, cooing serenely.
Cordelia returned to center stage, both hands free to be on her hips. “What’s with the doomsday expressions? Is it
the end of the world again? Don’t tell me if it is. I just ordered a new fall wardrobe from Neiman Marcus, and what?”
“Ah… Cordelia,” Wesley began.
“What is it?” Cordy asked. Fred pointed to Buffy behind her.
Cordy pivoted in her elegant Manolo Blahnik slippers. “Oh my God, it’s Buffy! And she’s dressed like Gramma,”
Cordelia said, ultimately cool. “Homeless chic: It’s so last decade.”
“Cordelia,” Buffy said flatly. “You haven’t changed a bit.”
Cordy stared for a moment. She said, “Can’t say the same for you. Wow, do you need your roots done. And your
hands? I’ve seen demons with better nail beds.” She looked over her shoulder at Angel. “Come on, guys. She’s a
fake. It’s one of Warren’s fembots.”
“I’m not a fembot,” Buffy protested.
“Sure she is,” Cordelia went on. “He’s testing us. He’s put her in the Les Miserables garb to throw us off. And while
it’s quite convincing, what with that scar and the bandaged neck, it doesn’t add. Inability to exfoliate aside, Buffy
would never let herself go like this.”
“It’s not a robot,” Angel said. Buffy scoffed. “She,” he amended quickly. “I mean, she’s not a robot.”
“Oh, and how do you—?”
“Because Dawn’s out there,” Wesley cut in, pointing through the window. Dawn was in the lobby, pressing her
palms to the cool window glass.
Cordelia had her already applied her make-up, so that her Cinnaberry lips formed a perfectly round, “Oh.” Connor
tottered over to her, arms outstretched. She hefted him to her hip and squeezed him close.
“Warren and fembots,” Buffy said, eyes widening. “TriadCorp. The Trio. They’ve managed somehow to take over
Sunnydale. Not just somehow. They have the Coven’s help. They’re in it together. It makes perfect sense!”
“Buffy,” Angel said slowly, in the tone of a doctor getting ready to dose a patient with Thorazine. “This must be
terribly confusing to you.”
“It was, but I’m piecing it together. The guy you’re fighting – Warren – he belongs to a threesome of übergeeks who
tried to take over Sunnydale, and since I was dead they got a foothold. Warren’s the hardcase. The others are like
matching Achilles’ heels. If we can crack them…”
“We’re not fighting Warren,” Fred said delicately.
“Hmmnwhat? Why not? The guy’s a total smarm. Not to mention, misogynist much?”
Ignoring her, Wesley said, “We need to get the others in on this. If our operatives within TriadCorp are
compromised…”
Angel nodded. “Call Xander and Anya. Have them phone the rest and meet here ASAP.”
“I called Xander,” Buffy said. “Yesterday evening. He knows I’m coming.”
Fred and Wes exchanged questioning looks.
“They left early,” Wesley said.
“I figured Anya was feelin’ frisky,” Fred finished.
“Find them,” Angel said.
“Already did,” Cordelia said, pointing toward the front doors. Xander and Anya were there, along with Willow and
Tara.
It was strange, the scene that unfolded: Xander and Anya crossing the lobby together, both noticeably older, but
moving in a way that suggested togetherness. To Buffy’s relief, this version of Xander was double-eye guy. Willow
and Tara fell in behind, their hands linked, their faces grim. None appeared to have seen Dawn, who had moved into
the corner to hide under the staircase. They saw Buffy through the board room window, but their expressions were
not what she would describe as replete with glee.
Angel rounded the table to meet Xander, Anya, Willow and Tara in the lobby. Quite naturally, the others filed out
behind him.
Buffy entered the lobby thinking about how she must appear to them with the formless sweater gifted to her by Dr.
Kriegel. Dawn’s hair may have been dutifully plaited back each week by Spike, but Buffy pulled hers into a hasty
knot. It had been three long months since she thought even fleetingly about manicures, or shoe sales, or – shock
and horror: dental hygiene!
And here they were, with their stylish yet affordable clothing and artery-clogging comfort foods – oh yes, she’d
seen the donuts! – not to mention decent shelter and the company of faithful friends. Team Angel had done well for
itself.
Buffy’s temper flared, burning off the awkwardness she felt. Here they were, lap of luxury, while Dawn had lived in
indisputable misery.
Somehow, that anger strengthened her, made her miss her version of things – her Xander, her Dawn, her Willow –
even more. Her resolve crystallized. When they all came together, it was Buffy who spoke first.
She said, “Look, I know I’m not your Buffy. I’m not a fembot, a witch, or even a ghost. I’m just Buffy, but I’m from
another… time dimension thingy. And in mine, Willow’s spell worked. She brought me back.”
A laden pause followed. In it, everyone watched her, measuring her words, as she hoped they would. Dawn moved
silently from beneath the stairs and was staring into her smeared reflection in the brass elevator doors.
Finally, Willow broke the silence. “My spell worked?” Willow asked, sounding relieved. “Really worked?”
Buffy smiled in spite of herself. “Really did,” she said.
“But…” Xander began. “Not that we aren’t bursting with joy to see you, but why are you here? And now?”
“Not to mention how,” Fred said.
Buffy sighed. “All I can say is that two little witches called a Slayer, because apparently yours is on extended
personal leave.”
“That would be Faith,” Cordelia said, glancing at Angel.
Angel’s eyes narrowed. Buffy couldn’t guess what his expression conveyed. “She’s… occupied,” he said.
Buffy raised her brows. “Oh, is that right?” she asked, astonished at how much she sounded like William. “I was
occupied, too. I liked my life before it was so rudely ripped away from me. And I would like very much to get back,
which is where you come in.”
“Well now we know it really is Buffy,” Cordelia snapped. She swept Connor to her other hip. “You can’t just show
up here and expect us to drop everything to right the wrongs of your life. We have our own demons to fight.”
“Cordy,” Angel said.
She whirled on him. “Don’t Cordy me. I’m busy being indignant.”
Connor, sensing tension, fussed to be put down. She rocked him, and while he seemed somewhat consoled, he
chewed ardently on his fist.
“Cordelia’s right, Angel,” Wesley said, leaning forward. “We do have our hands full at the moment. With Gunn trying
to mobilize the whole Southside against us and Wolfram & Hart breathing fire down our necks…”
At this point, everyone started talking all at once. And there was much confusion.
“I think this kinda supercedes our vampire troubles, Wes,” Fred said. “She’s been blipped in. This fits with the gaps
theory I was telling you about...”
“Nothing supercedes vampire gangs,” Xander said. “We made them our priority.”
To which Anya added, “They cost us a fortune in window replacement. We have to recoup our losses.”
And Willow said, “I don’t think fenestration should enter the equation. This is Buffy.”
Tara was writing furiously on her tablet, Connor began to whimper, Fred and Wesley were arguing in terms that
only Steven Hawking or a handful of Trekkies could understand, when Angel intervened by shattering the coffee
table to splinters.
Startled and rightfully so, Connor gulped a mouthful of air and began to wail loud enough to wake the undead.
Cordy shot a smoldering glare at Angel, spun, and with her hand cradling Connor’s cheek to her chest, stormed up
the stairs.
They waited, silent, as the sound of Connor’s frightened cries diminished with distance and finally disappeared.
With an attempt at remaining calm, Angel said, “Dawn’s presence here makes Buffy’s problems our problems.” To
Buffy he said, “You mentioned witches. Who are they?”
“Ariadne and Margot. They h-helped us get out.”
Tara hurriedly scribbled on her pad but shared it only with Willow.
“Right,” Willow said, nodding. “They’re from the Coven in London. The ones who didn’t go all Dark Side when…”
Angel gave Willow a dark look; she hushed mid-sentence.
“Why is she writing?” Buffy interrupted. “Why did Spike say that Willow was dead, when, behold: land of the living?
You’re not a vampire, are you?”
Tara took the pad back, jotted, returned it.
This time Xander read, and when he did, a tear coursed down his cheek. “It says, ‘Welcome back.’”
Buffy shuddered. “I don’t understand. What’s…” she swallowed hard. “What’s going on here?”
Fred’s expression softened to one of concern and compassion. She said, “You should probably sit down. There’s a
lot to tell, so you may as well get comfy. We’ll try to explain as best we can.”
The afternoon proved long and difficult. The narrative passed from one to the other, as each member of Team Angel
told their part. The pain lay in the re-telling, though, for there were many pieces of the tale no one wished to
remember.
Xander began by explaining that after Willow’s attempt to resurrect Buffy failed, she did go ‘a little Blair Witch’ but
she straightened out once the very real threat of the Coven moved into Sunnydale.
“And that’s when Dawn was blinded?” Buffy asked.
“Don’t skip ahead,” Anya scolded. “You’ll miss all the gruesome details.”
Xander sneered. “Okay,” he said. “So, the Coven came in all business. They seemed to know everything about us…”
“And everything about Sunnydale,” Willow added.
“And since there was no Slayer,” Xander went on. “They set up shop over the course of the summer. By September,
TriadCorp had moved in over the Hellmouth. The bold new face of Sunnydale took shape.”
“The Compound,” Buffy said. “I saw it.”
“At first, we didn’t think things were so bad,” Willow said. “The Coven didn’t like competition. They killed off any
potential bads and we all thought they were a pack of Glinda Good Witches for that.”
“Yeah, they took out the trash,” Xander said. “But…”
“It didn’t stop there,” Anya said. She sank into the cushions, suddenly sullen.
“They shut down the Magic Box,” Willow said.
“Took it over,” Anya said, incensed. “They stole it!”
Xander nodded. “We all have our tragedies,” he said.
“And then?” Buffy asked.
“Tara became vocal against the witches. She started a petition within the magical community to peacefully ask the
Coven to leave Sunnydale,” Xander said.
Willow took Tara’s hand and squeezed it. Xander stared down at his own hands. He said, “She was one of the first…
examples.”
Buffy pressed her fingertips to her swollen eyes.
“Like Dawn was an example?”
Tara wrote on the page of her notebook and turned it to face Buffy. “She saw too much,” Buffy read aloud.
“They’re really about the punishment fitting the so-called crime, huh?”
“Very Hammurabi,” Anya said.
“So then what? You all came here?” Buffy asked, but quickly added, “That came out way more accusatory than I
wanted it to sound. I mean, you left Sunnydale.”
“Not all at once,” Angel said, coming the Scoobies’ aid. “We had to make it look like we had given up. If the Coven
thought they had broken us, we could re-group here and return with more strength.”
“Tara left first,” Willow said. “And then I… faked my death.”
Buffy snorted in disbelief. “You didn’t.”
“Really Guiding Light, I know,” Willow said, grinning. “But necessary. And effective.”
“We were last,” Xander said.
“We visited at first, but then gas prices got so high we had to…” Anya said. Xander tugged the sleeve of her blouse.
Anya folded her arms to sulk. “What? It’s true.”
“That explains all of you,” Buffy said, annoyed. “Where does Spike come in?”
Angel leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “We had Spike’s chip removed. He was useless against the witches with
that thing in his head. We enlisted Warren. He’s head of R&D at TriadCorp and from time to time, he helps us out.”
Wesley said, “After that, Spike remained in Sunnydale to protect Dawn while keeping a watchful eye on the Coven.”
Buffy could no longer sit still. She was tired and hungry and Dawn’s restless wandering had made everyone on-edgy.
None of them wanted to look at Dawn, to acknowledge the fact that she had been the one left behind.
“So you’re saying Spike works for you? He’s your Sunnydale inside guy?” she asked.
“That’s nut-shelling it,” Xander said.
“He really did keep his promise,” Buffy marveled.
Dawn floated across the lobby. Her dingy white gown draped and puckered in the wrong places on her bony frame.
Buffy pulled it straight and ran her hands down Dawn’s arms to soothe her.
“I’m sleepy, Buffy,” she said quietly. “Can we go back home?”
Buffy pulled Dawn into her arms. Behind her, she heard someone sniffle. Buffy buried her face against her sister’s
shoulder to dry her eyes. After all Dawn had been through, she still considered Sunnydale her home.
“We’re working on it,” Buffy told her. “It won’t be long now.”
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.Chapter Index.
Anywhere Out
of This World
Blood, Pressure
The Drawing Board
All's Well
Anywhere Out of
This World
Mourning Sickness
Welcome to Hell
Relative
Matters of Time
& Fishes
International Calls
Empty as Houses
Lusty Wrong Feelings
Enthralled
Thanksgiving
Seduced
Innocents Lost
Burn
Flashback
Not A Chance In Hell
Empty Rooms
Two Roads Diverged
Starfall
Blindsided
Not Her Own
Outta Here
The Valley of the
Shadow of Death
Comes the Rain
Smoke and Mirrors
Drawn to You
Team Angel
By Fire Reborn
Salvage
Ashes to Ashes
Life Is...
With A Little Help
Appearances Deceiving
Familiarity
Sweetness
Not All Who Wander
That Old Black Magic
For Lorne
Drawn Together
Lost to Sand
Fall of Triumvirate
Parallel Lives
The Lovers
Avenger
Double Cross
Pursuit
Ripper's Girl
Pandemonium
Negative Space
Raveled Threads
Asunder
Human Hands
Singular
Fragmented
Symmetry
Plans
Rogue Squadron
Legends
Anywhere Out
of This World
Blood, Pressure
The Drawing Board
All's Well
Anywhere Out of
This World
Mourning Sickness
Welcome to Hell
Relative
Matters of Time
& Fishes
International Calls
Empty as Houses
Lusty Wrong Feelings
Enthralled
Thanksgiving
Seduced
Innocents Lost
Burn
Flashback
Not A Chance In Hell
Empty Rooms
Two Roads Diverged
Starfall
Blindsided
Not Her Own
Outta Here
The Valley of the
Shadow of Death
Comes the Rain
Smoke and Mirrors
Drawn to You
Team Angel
By Fire Reborn
Salvage
Ashes to Ashes
Life Is...
With A Little Help
Appearances Deceiving
Familiarity
Sweetness
Not All Who Wander
That Old Black Magic
For Lorne
Drawn Together
Lost to Sand
Fall of Triumvirate
Parallel Lives
The Lovers
Avenger
Double Cross
Pursuit
Ripper's Girl
Pandemonium
Negative Space
Raveled Threads
Asunder
Human Hands
Singular
Fragmented
Symmetry
Plans
Rogue Squadron
Legends
.Chapter Index.
Anywhere Out
of This World
Blood, Pressure
The Drawing Board
All's Well
Anywhere Out of
This World
Mourning Sickness
Welcome to Hell
Relative
Matters of Time
& Fishes
International Calls
Empty as Houses
Lusty Wrong Feelings
Enthralled
Thanksgiving
Seduced
Innocents Lost
Burn
Flashback
Not A Chance In Hell
Empty Rooms
Two Roads Diverged
Starfall
Blindsided
Not Her Own
Outta Here
The Valley of the
Shadow of Death
Comes the Rain
Smoke and Mirrors
Drawn to You
Team Angel
By Fire Reborn
Salvage
Ashes to Ashes
Life Is...
With A Little Help
Appearances Deceiving
Familiarity
Sweetness
Not All Who Wander
That Old Black Magic
For Lorne
Drawn Together
Lost to Sand
Fall of Triumvirate
Parallel Lives
The Lovers
Avenger
Double Cross
Pursuit
Ripper's Girl
Pandemonium
Negative Space
Raveled Threads
Asunder
Human Hands
Singular
Fragmented
Symmetry
Plans
Rogue Squadron
Legends
Mea Culpa
Things Unsaid
Home Sweet Gone
Eleventh Hour
Last Call
Anywhere Out
of This World
Blood, Pressure
The Drawing Board
All's Well
Anywhere Out of
This World
Mourning Sickness
Welcome to Hell
Relative
Matters of Time
& Fishes
International Calls
Empty as Houses
Lusty Wrong Feelings
Enthralled
Thanksgiving
Seduced
Innocents Lost
Burn
Flashback
Not A Chance In Hell
Empty Rooms
Two Roads Diverged
Starfall
Blindsided
Not Her Own
Outta Here
The Valley of the
Shadow of Death
Comes the Rain
Smoke and Mirrors
Drawn to You
Team Angel
By Fire Reborn
Salvage
Ashes to Ashes
Life Is...
With A Little Help
Appearances Deceiving
Familiarity
Sweetness
Not All Who Wander
That Old Black Magic
For Lorne
Drawn Together
Lost to Sand
Fall of Triumvirate
Parallel Lives
The Lovers
Avenger
Double Cross
Pursuit
Ripper's Girl
Pandemonium
Negative Space
Raveled Threads
Asunder
Human Hands
Singular
Fragmented
Symmetry
Plans
Rogue Squadron
Legends
Mea Culpa
Things Unsaid
Home Sweet Gone
Eleventh Hour
Last Call