With a Little Help
“’Kay, the way I see it, we have three areas of major concern,” Andrew said. He’d outlined them in red dry erase marker on
his beloved white board. With his whip-like pointer wand, he indicated the first bulleted item to address.
“The first, as you can see, is Buffy’s absence. Giles is in the field following leads in that area. The second is Spike’s
cucumber-ish state. We have samples at the lab and teams assembled to that effect. Therefore, the third, probably most
pertinent problem is the Shamma-lamma demon tribe that seems to be headed for the nearest seat of power, which Lorne
has determined, is Triumvirate. Are there any questions at this point?”
Xander and Maya, who crowded with Dawn and Andrew into the dining area which had, in the absence of the others, become
more and more like the Round Table O’ Research at the Magic Box, glanced at Dawn for reassurance, who nodded fervently.
Xander raised his hand.
Andrew pointed at him with the wand. “Yes?”
Xander sat forward, hands on knees, and said, “Can we get a rousing chorus of Duh?”
Andrew, unfazed with his Teflon Watcher’s shield, proceeded. “You say Duh, but I say: look deeper. Now, with Giles in Peru
working out the Buffy conundrum, the rest of us should divide into teams to address the other two predicaments. Seeing as
Dawn and I have experience with demon liaising, we’ll take the, um, Sssusudio…”
“Sulskqelawtna,” Dawn volunteered.
“They Who Shall Remain Unnamed, while you two,” Andrew continued, sweeping enthusiastically over Maya and Xander with
his pointer, “Can take Spike. Which leaves us with this,” He swished the wand and thwacked the metal box on the table.
“The Taonyx Parchments, which we know the Kerploding Demon wanted, but we know not why. As of yet.”
“As of yet?” Xander piped in.
“Know not why,” Andrew said.
“By the way, Xander,” Dawn put in. “The vanquish spell and subsequent explosion damaged some of the cabinets in the
vault. You might want your crew to look into that.”
Xander sucked air through his teeth. “How is that? Those cabinets were nigh indestructible.”
“For which reason we’re standing here today,” Dawn said.
Maya touched his arm lightly. “C’mon, Xander. Give them some credit. They vanquished it, didn’t they?”
“Nigh indestructible!” Xander seethed, pointing.
“Okay,” Dawn said, cutting him off. “How ’bout we tackle some research?”
“Here’s an idea,” Xander said. “Let’s don’t.”
“But… But Buffy and Spike,” Dawn said, unable to fathom Xander’s sudden onset of stubbornness.
“This I know, Dawnie,” Xander said. “But I think we should call Giles.”
Andrew tapped the white board with his pointer. “Already did. Peru. Remember Bullet #1?”
Again, Xander raised his hand. Andrew’s upper lip twitched into a sneer, but he answered, this time with strained patience,
“Yes?”
“Who died and made you King of the Watchers?” Xander asked. Maya shifted uncomfortably in her chair.
Dawn replied.
“Giles did, actually,” she said. “Well, not died so much as bequeathed. Andrew’s a Watcher now,” she added, with a distinct
note of pride in her voice.
“Yeah,” Andrew said, risking his professional demeanor. “I’m bequeathed.”
“Andrew? A Watcher?” Xander said doubtfully. “Isn’t there a rigorous screening process? Tests? Some sort of, I dunno,
quality standard?”
“Xander!” Maya gasped.
Xander leapt from his seat with such force the chair wobbled like it was throwing its own little fit. “That’s enough. I’m
calling Giles.”
He left the room before either Dawn or Andrew could tell him not to bother, that Giles had been out of pocket for quite some
time. In the ensuing silence, Dawn felt the low ember of a blush stoke up to a full flush of fury. Doing her best to keep a
damper on her temper, she stood, stiffly, and followed Xander into the hallway, leaving Andrew and Maya alone together in
prickly silence.
“He’s really stressed,” Maya explained. “Flight delays. Airline food. Impending doom. Brings out the worst in people.”
“I’m okay with it. So...” Andrew said. He ran a finger along the table’s edge. “Wanna see my naked stump?”
Maya’s eyes widened, but softened when Andrew revealed the bare nub of arm, stitch and bandage free. She breathed out a
giggling sigh like a trail of bubbles.
“Kerplode-y demon burned off my bandages. And most of my arm hair. See?” Andrew explained. “It doesn’t look too bad.”
“No. Not at all. It’s the, uh, best amputation I’ve ever…” she averted her eyes. “Hey. I'll just check on Xander.”
Maya left. Andrew collapsed his pointing wand with a flourish and stalked upstairs to lose himself in mindless online RPG.
Oz thought the sand smelled like dried blood, like scabs, and he tried not to focus on it. It was making him sick. He thought
this must be what it felt like to live on Tatooine, right up to the harsh irony and the sand that smelled like blood.
Anya had persuaded Walter to leave his organs in her contraband freezer (which, she pointed out, was difficult to come by,
given their location) while they traveled into the desert to prepare for the ritual that would open a portal back home. They
used Walter’s travois to carry Anjelica, who remained semi-catatonic since their arrival at Geulph’s Tavern.
And now, some time later, Walter and Anya stopped mid-trackless desert to argue, leaving Oz to think of dried-blood sands
and Anjelica, who had roused enough to speak one word: Luxe.
Oz crawled to her side. “No,” he said soothingly. “Don’t say his name. Okay, Helli. Don’t say it.”
Anjelica rolled her head in the direction of Oz’s voice. Her eyes were still swelled shut – a mercy, Oz thought, considering
the fact that she could see hellish things beyond his comprehension.
“Is he here?” she wheezed.
“No,” Oz said again. “It’s just me right now. Anya and Walter are…” he glanced to see them drawing a speculative circle in
the sand, “…debating. Something.”
Miraculously, Anjelica sat up. She made a motion like she might try to stand, but Oz put a hand on her shoulder to still her.
“I’m fine,” she told him, but her voice sounded hollow.
“Right. Because you don’t need eyes to see or unbroken bones in your legs to stand on,” Oz said. “Give it time. You’ll
mend.”
Anjelica covered her heart with her hands. “Not me. I’ll never mend.”
A knot rose in Oz’s throat. “I’ll get you home, and you will. You will.”
Anjelica stared beyond him. “There was a hint of regret when he killed her,” she said. “Just a glint, you know? Sadness for
an adversary passed.” Anjelica turned her blank eyes to face Oz, and a chill shook him to the core. “I think he loved her.”
“Helli, no,” Oz whispered. “He’s a monster. A monster. He’s incapable of love.”
“Is he?” she moaned.
Oz laid a hand on hers. “Yes! Look at what he’s done to you.”
Anjelica’s gaze dropped to their joined hands. “To me, yes,” she whispered. “We were monsters once.”
“What?” Oz said. But she curled inward on herself, a morning glory withering in the sun. Oz tried coaxing her back, but she
was gone.
A shadow fell over him. Oz glanced back to find Anya there.
“Let it be,” Anya said gently. “She’s in shock. It’s as good as arguing with cats. Actually slightly better than…well. Here,”
she passed a familiar dirty, cloth-wrapped parcel to him. He took it with a shudder.
“We’re almost ready to begin the ritual,” she went on. “When we do, things will go fast, so be ready. Walter wants to get
this done before Luxe’s henchman catches up to us.”
“Good,” Oz said, getting to his feet. “When Paolo shows up, all the better to kill him.”
Walter sauntered crab-like toward them. “Your’n no fit state to fight, son,” he said. “’Sides, we aim to getcher back home
in one piece.”
“Unlike poor Andrew,” Anya said. She pulled a short, shiny dagger from the knot in her hair. She poked it toward Oz,
conversationally. “I can cast this portal faster than rabbits can breed,” she suppressed a shudder of her own, “and get you
two home in time to let Buffy & friends know what Luxe is up to. Besides, you’re not the Big Bad Wolf you once were, Oz.
Leave lynching the henchman to the professionals. All right?”
Oz considered this for a moment. Beside him, Helli twitched like a patient undergoing electro-shock therapy. Her robes fell
away from the portion of her shoulder where Luxe had burned her; it was healing fast.
Oz could get her home, and she would be okay. She would heal and live to fight. She was a Slayer. She was strong.
She deserved better than this…
Oz nodded. “All right,” he said.
“There’s a boy,” Anya grinned. She took Walter aside and together they began to scribe a circle in the sand.
Oz dropped to his knees beside Helli. He cradled Andrew’s severed hand in the bend of his arm. Sand clung to him, thick and
sticky, but the first hopes of home brought thoughts of hot showers and black coffee and eggs-over-medium. They’d get
back and it would all be better. He had hope enough for them both, even if Anjelica couldn’t see.
Hours passed and Runequest didn’t absorb him as he hoped. Andrew settled then for re-arranging his action figures. He put
Riker on the dresser face down, with Deanna Troi, Beverly Crusher and Data poised to kick him in his ribs, while Captain
Piccard, at Riker’s head, stood with one arm out as if sanctioning the act of barbarism. Then, Andrew arranged a dais out of
Yu-Gi-Oh cards and placed the venerable Admiral James T. Kirk upon it like a Pharaoh overseeing the event.
Andrew, looking over his tableau, saw that it was good. As he was deciding where to position Mr. Spock, he heard a knock on
his door – a brisk, resolute rapping: Dawn.
He opened the door to find her once again dressed in woolly knee socks and Buffy’s yellow duckling jammies. She’d taken to
wearing them, just as he, secretly, had been taking Spike’s T-shirts from the laundry and wearing them under his flannels.
“Hey,” he said.
She gave him a look that was part-sympathetic, part-apologetic, with a twist of sardonic in her smile.
“Andrew,” she said with a nod, and added, “Mr. Spock.”
Andrew dipped a hasty glance at Spock, still in his hand, and tucked him in his pocket. “Xander still dissing my authority?”
Dawn stepped forward. “Can I come in?”
“Uh. Sure,” Andrew said. She came inside and he closed the door behind her.
Immediately she went to the chest of drawers whereon he’d assembled the crews of the U.S.S. Enterprise. Dawn smiled
appreciatively, then turned to him.
“Good old Captain Kirk,” she said.
“Kirk gets the best seat, on count of he’s senior officer, and because of his commanding style sense,” Andrew said.
“Of course.”
Andrew crossed the small room and took up his nervous habit of tidying his bed while he spoke. Dawn liked the way Andrew’s
room smelled – of peanut butter, fabric softener, and chlorine bleach. A deep breath took her back to their last days of
Sunnydale, when he insisted that fabric softener would soothe the savage tempers of a dozen Potential Slayers camped in
her living room. That, and funnel cake. Dawn couldn’t see it then, but had to admit now that the smell of his meadow fresh
sheets did have a certain calming effect.
Andrew tugged the lopsided comforter straight, and said, “I figure Xander’s going parental, you know, because he feels bad
that he was gone when Buffy got all abductified and Spike got catatonic.”
“He said as much,” Dawn said. “When I talked with him in the kitchen, he said he hated to be the last to know about Buffy.”
She shrugged. “No one likes to feel useless.”
Andrew looked up. He punched his pillow to optimum fluff. “Yeah.”
“Careful,” she said. “Your OCD is showing.”
Andrew smiled. Dawn smiled back. Then she said, “Spike is still in my bed.”
“Oh! You can have mine. I have this Royal Army sleeping bag Giles gave me. Goose down, with built in heating strips to keep
your feet warm in case you’re ever in the Yukon or crossing Siberia with a team of sled dogs. I’ve wanted to try it out. The
bag, not the dogs. I’m not really suited for Siberia…”
Dawn took a hesitant step forward. “I don’t want your bed,” she told him.
He squinted. “You want the sleeping bag?” he asked.
“You’re cute,” she said.
“I... what?”
“Cute,” she said. “And no, I don’t want the sleeping bag either.”
Dawn was sure she looked as foolish as she felt. She bounced on her heels, impatient for his reply.
Andrew smiled, still unsure. “Oh. You mean…share the bed. This bed?”
Dawn blushed. Andrew paled.
“What about Xander?” he asked.
“What about him?” Dawn answered in a rush. “We’ll be like bunk mates. Bed sharing bunk mates who are best friends. Best
friends who sometimes kiss. But we'll only sleep. God, I’m sorry. It’s just, this is a big house and you’re the one who makes it
not empty.”
He grinned. “That's gotta count for something, right?”
Dawn took the last step remaining to cross to the bed and sat down. “I think I liked it better when it was just us,” she said.
Andrew sighed and sat across from her. “Me too,” he said.
Dawn and Andrew faced each other from opposite sides of the smallest bed in the house, staring for what felt like eternity.
“’Kay, the way I see it, we have three areas of major concern,” Andrew said. He’d outlined them in red dry erase marker on
his beloved white board. With his whip-like pointer wand, he indicated the first bulleted item to address.
“The first, as you can see, is Buffy’s absence. Giles is in the field following leads in that area. The second is Spike’s
cucumber-ish state. We have samples at the lab and teams assembled to that effect. Therefore, the third, probably most
pertinent problem is the Shamma-lamma demon tribe that seems to be headed for the nearest seat of power, which Lorne
has determined, is Triumvirate. Are there any questions at this point?”
Xander and Maya, who crowded with Dawn and Andrew into the dining area which had, in the absence of the others, become
more and more like the Round Table O’ Research at the Magic Box, glanced at Dawn for reassurance, who nodded fervently.
Xander raised his hand.
Andrew pointed at him with the wand. “Yes?”
Xander sat forward, hands on knees, and said, “Can we get a rousing chorus of Duh?”
Andrew, unfazed with his Teflon Watcher’s shield, proceeded. “You say Duh, but I say: look deeper. Now, with Giles in Peru
working out the Buffy conundrum, the rest of us should divide into teams to address the other two predicaments. Seeing as
Dawn and I have experience with demon liaising, we’ll take the, um, Sssusudio…”
“Sulskqelawtna,” Dawn volunteered.
“They Who Shall Remain Unnamed, while you two,” Andrew continued, sweeping enthusiastically over Maya and Xander with
his pointer, “Can take Spike. Which leaves us with this,” He swished the wand and thwacked the metal box on the table.
“The Taonyx Parchments, which we know the Kerploding Demon wanted, but we know not why. As of yet.”
“As of yet?” Xander piped in.
“Know not why,” Andrew said.
“By the way, Xander,” Dawn put in. “The vanquish spell and subsequent explosion damaged some of the cabinets in the
vault. You might want your crew to look into that.”
Xander sucked air through his teeth. “How is that? Those cabinets were nigh indestructible.”
“For which reason we’re standing here today,” Dawn said.
Maya touched his arm lightly. “C’mon, Xander. Give them some credit. They vanquished it, didn’t they?”
“Nigh indestructible!” Xander seethed, pointing.
“Okay,” Dawn said, cutting him off. “How ’bout we tackle some research?”
“Here’s an idea,” Xander said. “Let’s don’t.”
“But… But Buffy and Spike,” Dawn said, unable to fathom Xander’s sudden onset of stubbornness.
“This I know, Dawnie,” Xander said. “But I think we should call Giles.”
Andrew tapped the white board with his pointer. “Already did. Peru. Remember Bullet #1?”
Again, Xander raised his hand. Andrew’s upper lip twitched into a sneer, but he answered, this time with strained patience,
“Yes?”
“Who died and made you King of the Watchers?” Xander asked. Maya shifted uncomfortably in her chair.
Dawn replied.
“Giles did, actually,” she said. “Well, not died so much as bequeathed. Andrew’s a Watcher now,” she added, with a distinct
note of pride in her voice.
“Yeah,” Andrew said, risking his professional demeanor. “I’m bequeathed.”
“Andrew? A Watcher?” Xander said doubtfully. “Isn’t there a rigorous screening process? Tests? Some sort of, I dunno,
quality standard?”
“Xander!” Maya gasped.
Xander leapt from his seat with such force the chair wobbled like it was throwing its own little fit. “That’s enough. I’m
calling Giles.”
He left the room before either Dawn or Andrew could tell him not to bother, that Giles had been out of pocket for quite some
time. In the ensuing silence, Dawn felt the low ember of a blush stoke up to a full flush of fury. Doing her best to keep a
damper on her temper, she stood, stiffly, and followed Xander into the hallway, leaving Andrew and Maya alone together in
prickly silence.
“He’s really stressed,” Maya explained. “Flight delays. Airline food. Impending doom. Brings out the worst in people.”
“I’m okay with it. So...” Andrew said. He ran a finger along the table’s edge. “Wanna see my naked stump?”
Maya’s eyes widened, but softened when Andrew revealed the bare nub of arm, stitch and bandage free. She breathed out a
giggling sigh like a trail of bubbles.
“Kerplode-y demon burned off my bandages. And most of my arm hair. See?” Andrew explained. “It doesn’t look too bad.”
“No. Not at all. It’s the, uh, best amputation I’ve ever…” she averted her eyes. “Hey. I'll just check on Xander.”
Maya left. Andrew collapsed his pointing wand with a flourish and stalked upstairs to lose himself in mindless online RPG.
Oz thought the sand smelled like dried blood, like scabs, and he tried not to focus on it. It was making him sick. He thought
this must be what it felt like to live on Tatooine, right up to the harsh irony and the sand that smelled like blood.
Anya had persuaded Walter to leave his organs in her contraband freezer (which, she pointed out, was difficult to come by,
given their location) while they traveled into the desert to prepare for the ritual that would open a portal back home. They
used Walter’s travois to carry Anjelica, who remained semi-catatonic since their arrival at Geulph’s Tavern.
And now, some time later, Walter and Anya stopped mid-trackless desert to argue, leaving Oz to think of dried-blood sands
and Anjelica, who had roused enough to speak one word: Luxe.
Oz crawled to her side. “No,” he said soothingly. “Don’t say his name. Okay, Helli. Don’t say it.”
Anjelica rolled her head in the direction of Oz’s voice. Her eyes were still swelled shut – a mercy, Oz thought, considering
the fact that she could see hellish things beyond his comprehension.
“Is he here?” she wheezed.
“No,” Oz said again. “It’s just me right now. Anya and Walter are…” he glanced to see them drawing a speculative circle in
the sand, “…debating. Something.”
Miraculously, Anjelica sat up. She made a motion like she might try to stand, but Oz put a hand on her shoulder to still her.
“I’m fine,” she told him, but her voice sounded hollow.
“Right. Because you don’t need eyes to see or unbroken bones in your legs to stand on,” Oz said. “Give it time. You’ll
mend.”
Anjelica covered her heart with her hands. “Not me. I’ll never mend.”
A knot rose in Oz’s throat. “I’ll get you home, and you will. You will.”
Anjelica stared beyond him. “There was a hint of regret when he killed her,” she said. “Just a glint, you know? Sadness for
an adversary passed.” Anjelica turned her blank eyes to face Oz, and a chill shook him to the core. “I think he loved her.”
“Helli, no,” Oz whispered. “He’s a monster. A monster. He’s incapable of love.”
“Is he?” she moaned.
Oz laid a hand on hers. “Yes! Look at what he’s done to you.”
Anjelica’s gaze dropped to their joined hands. “To me, yes,” she whispered. “We were monsters once.”
“What?” Oz said. But she curled inward on herself, a morning glory withering in the sun. Oz tried coaxing her back, but she
was gone.
A shadow fell over him. Oz glanced back to find Anya there.
“Let it be,” Anya said gently. “She’s in shock. It’s as good as arguing with cats. Actually slightly better than…well. Here,”
she passed a familiar dirty, cloth-wrapped parcel to him. He took it with a shudder.
“We’re almost ready to begin the ritual,” she went on. “When we do, things will go fast, so be ready. Walter wants to get
this done before Luxe’s henchman catches up to us.”
“Good,” Oz said, getting to his feet. “When Paolo shows up, all the better to kill him.”
Walter sauntered crab-like toward them. “Your’n no fit state to fight, son,” he said. “’Sides, we aim to getcher back home
in one piece.”
“Unlike poor Andrew,” Anya said. She pulled a short, shiny dagger from the knot in her hair. She poked it toward Oz,
conversationally. “I can cast this portal faster than rabbits can breed,” she suppressed a shudder of her own, “and get you
two home in time to let Buffy & friends know what Luxe is up to. Besides, you’re not the Big Bad Wolf you once were, Oz.
Leave lynching the henchman to the professionals. All right?”
Oz considered this for a moment. Beside him, Helli twitched like a patient undergoing electro-shock therapy. Her robes fell
away from the portion of her shoulder where Luxe had burned her; it was healing fast.
Oz could get her home, and she would be okay. She would heal and live to fight. She was a Slayer. She was strong.
She deserved better than this…
Oz nodded. “All right,” he said.
“There’s a boy,” Anya grinned. She took Walter aside and together they began to scribe a circle in the sand.
Oz dropped to his knees beside Helli. He cradled Andrew’s severed hand in the bend of his arm. Sand clung to him, thick and
sticky, but the first hopes of home brought thoughts of hot showers and black coffee and eggs-over-medium. They’d get
back and it would all be better. He had hope enough for them both, even if Anjelica couldn’t see.
Hours passed and Runequest didn’t absorb him as he hoped. Andrew settled then for re-arranging his action figures. He put
Riker on the dresser face down, with Deanna Troi, Beverly Crusher and Data poised to kick him in his ribs, while Captain
Piccard, at Riker’s head, stood with one arm out as if sanctioning the act of barbarism. Then, Andrew arranged a dais out of
Yu-Gi-Oh cards and placed the venerable Admiral James T. Kirk upon it like a Pharaoh overseeing the event.
Andrew, looking over his tableau, saw that it was good. As he was deciding where to position Mr. Spock, he heard a knock on
his door – a brisk, resolute rapping: Dawn.
He opened the door to find her once again dressed in woolly knee socks and Buffy’s yellow duckling jammies. She’d taken to
wearing them, just as he, secretly, had been taking Spike’s T-shirts from the laundry and wearing them under his flannels.
“Hey,” he said.
She gave him a look that was part-sympathetic, part-apologetic, with a twist of sardonic in her smile.
“Andrew,” she said with a nod, and added, “Mr. Spock.”
Andrew dipped a hasty glance at Spock, still in his hand, and tucked him in his pocket. “Xander still dissing my authority?”
Dawn stepped forward. “Can I come in?”
“Uh. Sure,” Andrew said. She came inside and he closed the door behind her.
Immediately she went to the chest of drawers whereon he’d assembled the crews of the U.S.S. Enterprise. Dawn smiled
appreciatively, then turned to him.
“Good old Captain Kirk,” she said.
“Kirk gets the best seat, on count of he’s senior officer, and because of his commanding style sense,” Andrew said.
“Of course.”
Andrew crossed the small room and took up his nervous habit of tidying his bed while he spoke. Dawn liked the way Andrew’s
room smelled – of peanut butter, fabric softener, and chlorine bleach. A deep breath took her back to their last days of
Sunnydale, when he insisted that fabric softener would soothe the savage tempers of a dozen Potential Slayers camped in
her living room. That, and funnel cake. Dawn couldn’t see it then, but had to admit now that the smell of his meadow fresh
sheets did have a certain calming effect.
Andrew tugged the lopsided comforter straight, and said, “I figure Xander’s going parental, you know, because he feels bad
that he was gone when Buffy got all abductified and Spike got catatonic.”
“He said as much,” Dawn said. “When I talked with him in the kitchen, he said he hated to be the last to know about Buffy.”
She shrugged. “No one likes to feel useless.”
Andrew looked up. He punched his pillow to optimum fluff. “Yeah.”
“Careful,” she said. “Your OCD is showing.”
Andrew smiled. Dawn smiled back. Then she said, “Spike is still in my bed.”
“Oh! You can have mine. I have this Royal Army sleeping bag Giles gave me. Goose down, with built in heating strips to keep
your feet warm in case you’re ever in the Yukon or crossing Siberia with a team of sled dogs. I’ve wanted to try it out. The
bag, not the dogs. I’m not really suited for Siberia…”
Dawn took a hesitant step forward. “I don’t want your bed,” she told him.
He squinted. “You want the sleeping bag?” he asked.
“You’re cute,” she said.
“I... what?”
“Cute,” she said. “And no, I don’t want the sleeping bag either.”
Dawn was sure she looked as foolish as she felt. She bounced on her heels, impatient for his reply.
Andrew smiled, still unsure. “Oh. You mean…share the bed. This bed?”
Dawn blushed. Andrew paled.
“What about Xander?” he asked.
“What about him?” Dawn answered in a rush. “We’ll be like bunk mates. Bed sharing bunk mates who are best friends. Best
friends who sometimes kiss. But we'll only sleep. God, I’m sorry. It’s just, this is a big house and you’re the one who makes it
not empty.”
He grinned. “That's gotta count for something, right?”
Dawn took the last step remaining to cross to the bed and sat down. “I think I liked it better when it was just us,” she said.
Andrew sighed and sat across from her. “Me too,” he said.
Dawn and Andrew faced each other from opposite sides of the smallest bed in the house, staring for what felt like eternity.
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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