“O World! O Life! O Time!/On whose last steps I climb,/Trembling at that where I had stood before;/When will return the glory of your prime?/No more—Oh, never more!/Out of the day and night/A joy has taken flight:/Fresh spring, and summer, and winter hoar/Move my faint heart with grief, but with delight/No more—Oh, never more!” ~Percy Bysshe Shelley, “A Lament”

Quinn hadn’t meant to follow Buffy and Spike. She’d been blowing off steam by hunting vampires in the warehouse district when she’d seen them climbing a fire escape.

Although it wasn’t feasible for her to follow them inside by that route without a boost, it didn’t take too long to find another entrance on the second floor. She had to climb a drainpipe to get inside, but Quinn’s parents had likened her to a monkey as a child, and she’d retained those skills.

She slipped inside, finding herself on a rickety staircase. Moving as silently as possible, Quinn edged down the stairs, wincing every time they creaked under her feet. As she moved lower, she could see a woman standing in front of a man, who was tied to a chair.  She was asking him about a key and hitting him every time he refused to answer.

Quinn saw Spike drop on top of the woman, knocking her to the ground, but Buffy was nowhere to be seen. She knew that the Slayer had to be close by, however.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” the woman demanded. She threw Spike off, sending him flying at least twenty feet. “Don’t you realize that I need some time alone with my holy man?”

“I don’t see your name on him, ducks,” Spike replied insolently. “And we managed to snatch him out from under your nose once before.”

Her eyes narrowed, and Quinn began to ease forward, recognizing that the woman’s attention was elsewhere. The woman didn’t appear to be dressed appropriately for a round of torture, and with her green satin dress and heels, Quinn would have pegged her for a high-class streetwalker.

“It’s you.” She began advancing on Spike, completely forgetting the man tied to the chair. “I’m going to rip your head off.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Spike danced backwards, just out of her reach. “Somehow, I think you’re a lot of talk and no action, Glory.”

Glory let out a scream of frustration and went after him. Quinn darted forward and pulled out her boot knife, slicing the bonds on the man with one clean stroke. “I’m getting you out of here.”

“No. Save yourself.”

“Forget it,” Quinn replied.

Buffy was suddenly on the other side of the man. “We’re getting you out of here, Luka.” She glanced at Quinn. “I want you to get him to the hospital. I need to help Spike.”

“Who is she?” Quinn asked.

“Glory is a Hellgod, and she’s not happy.” Supporting Luka between them, they managed to get him to the alley just outside the warehouse. Quinn noted that Buffy had vampire dust on the knees of her trousers and a streak of dirt on one cheek. The Slayer had been busy. “Can you get him from here?”

“Sure.”

Buffy managed a grim smile. “Thanks.”

“You must tell her,” Luka whispered as Quinn headed out of the alley, trying to support as must of his weight as possible.

“Tell her what?” Quinn asked, trying to be gentle.

He gasped. “I cannot…”

Quinn lowered him carefully to the ground. “It’s okay. It’s going to be okay. We’ll rest here for a minute, then we have to get to the hospital.”

“The Key…they must protect.”

“I’m sure she will,” Quinn assured him. “She’s the Slayer.”

“No, Spike. There are soldiers. They must…” Luka’s voice faded, and Quinn realized that they weren’t going to reach the hospital.

“It’s okay,” she murmured. “I’ll tell them whatever you want me to.”

His battered face was pale, his breath came in short gasps for air. “Tell them…” Luka’s voice trailed off, and he went limp in Quinn’s arms.

Quinn pushed a bloody hand through her short, dark hair, not caring that it left smudges on her face. There was nothing she could do for Luka, and she had no intention of sticking around and answering questions about the body when she could be helping Buffy and Spike. She made her way back inside the warehouse, trying to make her entrance as silently as possible.

Glory was still inside. Buffy was slumped against one wall and appeared to be unconscious; Spike was still battling the Hellgod, but he was obviously flagging.

She met his eyes during a brief pause in the fight, and he nodded towards Buffy’s body. Quinn decided that the defenseless person was her first priority, and she hauled Buffy up in a fireman’s carry, grateful for the four or five inches she had on the Slayer.

 

Hauling Buffy outside, she debated on going back in for Spike, but the vampire came barreling out of the warehouse. “Let’s go.”

“What about Glory?”

“She’s having some sort of attack,” Spike replied. “Let’s go while the going is good. Where’s Luka?”

“Dead. I left him in the alley. Where are we heading?” Quinn asked. Spike had taken Buffy’s still body from her, and he was moving at a fast clip, forcing her to jog in order to keep up.

“Wesley’s place is closest.”

Since he didn’t tell her to go home, Quinn followed him.

~~~~~

Wesley opened the door to Spike, moving aside quickly when he saw that the vampire was carrying Buffy in his arms. “Is she okay?”

“Unconscious,” Spike replied. “I think she’ll be fine.”

Wesley was a little surprised to see Quinn behind him, but he thought it might be a little rude to refuse her entry. “Quinn.”

“I wanted to see how she was,” the young woman explained, not meeting his eyes.

“It’s okay,” Spike said. “She’s earned some consideration.”

Wesley nodded politely. “Take Buffy back to the bedroom, Spike. She’ll be comfortable there.”

He watched as Spike carried the Slayer back into the bedroom, and he waved Quinn to a seat on the couch. “Do you want something to drink?”

“Can I use your bathroom?” Quinn asked.

“Of course. First door on your right, down that hall.”

When she emerged a few minutes later, she had washed the blood off her face and hands. “Thanks.”

“Of course. How have you been?” he asked politely.

“Well, thanks.”

“The bite wound?”

Her hand went to her neck self-consciously. “It’s healing.”

“Good.”

A heavy silence fell. Wesley wasn’t quite sure what to say to the supposed spy.

There was a brief knock at the door, and Willow and Tara breezed inside. “Hey, Wes.” Willow greeted him with a hug and kiss. “How are you?”

“Spike brought Buffy in a few minutes ago,” Wesley said. “They’re in the bedroom.”

Tara and Willow both headed back to the bedroom, although Tara emerged a few moments later. “Buffy’s awake, Wes,” she said. “You’re needed.”

Wesley glanced at Quinn, who was still looking very uncomfortable, and went back to the bedroom. “What’s going on?” he whispered. “Are you okay, Buffy?”

“A little bruised, but I’ll be fine. I don’t think we can say the same for Luka.” Buffy looked grim. “Glory worked him over pretty good.”

“Where is he now?”

“Quinn said that he died.”

“What are we going to do about her?” Willow asked.

“She’s earned some trust.” Spike didn’t appear happy but Wesley wasn’t sure if that was because he didn’t like trusting someone from the Council, or because Buffy had been hurt. “Travers wants to know how you translated the prophecy. Give Quinn what you found on the copy that the Council gave you. We’ll keep Robert’s to ourselves.”

“Anything else?” Wesley asked.

Buffy rose from the bed. “She doesn’t know about the ring, and she doesn’t know about Dawn. Other than that, I think we can let her have whatever information she needs to convince Travers that she’s doing her job. She says she wants to help us, and she has to report something to the Council, so we’ll give her a chance.”

Wesley wondered if they were making a mistake, but he couldn’t disagree with their logic. Anything they could do to control the flow of information to the Council would be good.

~~~~~

Tara sat next to Quinn on the couch. “How have you been?”

“Alright.”

She twisted to get a better view of the other woman’s neck. “How’s the bite wound?”

“It’s fine. It’s healing.”

“Can I look?”

Quinn moved so that Tara had better access, and with a gentle hand, Tara examined the wound, trying to avoid noticing the freckles across the bridge of Quinn’s nose, or how long her eyelashes were.

The wound was healing well, but there was no doubt it would scar. “Was that the first time?”

“Yeah. I’ve fought vampires, werewolves, even a few zombies, but I’ve never been bitten by anything.” Tara could see the conflict in Quinn’s eyes. “I feel like an idiot.”

“For falling victim to the most notorious vampire in history?” Tara smiled. “I think you’re being too hard on yourself.” Quinn attempted a smile, but Tara sensed that her capitulation to Dracula’s mind games was only part of the problem. “You know, if you want to talk sometime, I’d be happy to listen.”

Tara knew that such an offer presented a risk. Although it appeared as though they were going to trust that Quinn was sincere in her offer to help, there was always the chance that Quinn would betray them.

Or her. Tara had to wonder whether Quinn would spurn her offer of friendship once she discovered that Tara was half-demon.

“Thanks.” Quinn leaned back into the couch cushions, her leather jacket creaking a bit, relaxing for the first time. “You’d think I’d be old enough to not get homesick.”

“I don’t know that you’re ever too old to be homesick.” Tara decided that it was worth trying to make a connection with the other woman. “I still miss my mom.”

“Your mom? Is she—”

Tara heard the unspoken question. “Yeah. When I was fourteen.”

“I miss England,” Quinn admitted. “And my parents. I’m used to being able to visit when I’m not working.”

“Where are they now?”

“Cleveland—the other Hellmouth, with my sister. Brynn just turned fifteen.”

“Young.”

“One of the youngest Slayers called. I thought it was going to be me.”

“You?”

“I was a Potential. I trained to be a Slayer until I was 18, and then it was too late.” Quinn shook her head. “You don’t want to know any of this.”

“No, it’s interesting.” Tara spoke the truth. She found herself intrigued by the other woman in a way she hadn’t been in a very long time. Quinn was tall and well-built, and with her short hair and dark clothing, she came across as something of a rebel, but there was a vulnerability in her eyes that told Tara that wasn’t all Quinn was.

Maybe it was foolish, and she might be setting herself up for a broken heart, but there were some risks worth taking.

Quinn looked hesitant. “This is probably going to sound stupid, but do you want to get coffee sometime?”

“That doesn’t sound stupid,” Tara assured her. “I’d like that. After our next class?”

“Perfect.”

~~~~~

Buffy sat on the bed in Dawn’s room, watching her get dressed. “Are you sure this is okay?”

“You look great, Dawnie.”

The teenager twirled in front of the mirror, the short blue skirt showing off long legs. Buffy had loaned Dawn a skirt, understanding Dawn’s need to fit in instinctively. Dawn looked older than her fourteen years, and Buffy knew that it was chancy to let her go to this party.

Then again, Buffy remembered sneaking out to go to a frat party and nearly getting eaten by a giant snake demon. It was probably a lot safer to let Dawn go with discreet  supervision.

Dawn tugged the black form-fitting sweater. “Okay. Great. Thanks for letting me borrow the skirt, Buffy.”

“You can call me any time you want to,” Buffy assured her. “If things get crazy or out of control, we’re on speed dial, and we’ll come get you.”

“I know.” Dawn held up the cell phone that Spike had given her. “I’ve got it.”

“You don’t have to go.”

“I want to.” She took a deep breath. “This is my chance. If I don’t show up, they’re going to think I’m scared.”

Buffy smiled. “You’ll be fine.”

Joyce wouldn’t have allowed Dawn to go if there was going to be alcohol at the party; Buffy knew that her mom had called the parents of the girl who had invited Dawn. They had promised that they would be there supervising.

“What if people know?”

“Know what?”

“That I’m a freak.”

“Dawn…” Buffy stopped, knowing that it would be impossible to tell her that she wasn’t a freak. “Being different isn’t a bad thing, you know. I’m different, so are Spike and Tara.”

“Yeah, but you save people’s lives. I don’t do anything.”

“You’re fourteen, Dawn.”

“Actually, I’m millions of years old—or two weeks old, depending on how you look at it.” Dawn grimaced. “How am I supposed to answer their questions?”

“You know the answers, Dawn. That’s what the memory spell was about—to help you answer those sorts of questions.” They hadn’t talked about the outcome of the spell. “How is it?”

“How is what?”

“The memories.”

Dawn sat down next to Buffy, running a hand over the striped bedspread—a hand-me-down from Buffy’s high school days. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “I remember what I knew before the spell. Before that, I knew that you were my sister, and that Joyce was my mother. I knew that Spike would protect me. I had all this knowledge from school and stuff, but I didn’t know where I got it from.”

“And now?”

“There’s all this other information. I remember when my mom sat me down and explained that my dad was a man named Hank Summers, and he didn’t know about me. She told me that he was married, and he had a daughter.” Dawn glanced over at her. “None of that really happened.”

“No, it didn’t, but that doesn’t really matter in the end, Dawn. What matters is what you do from here on out.”

“Like going to this party?”

Buffy touched her cheek. “Like I said, you don’t have to go.”

“But if I don’t, the rest of the year is going to suck.”

“Possibly, but being popular isn’t everything.”

“It can make things easier.”

Buffy pulled her close for a hug, remembering her own years in high school, and knowing that Dawn was right. She deserved for things to be just a little easier.

~~~~~

“A Friday night alone.” Joyce let out a happy sigh. “This hasn’t happened recently.”

“No, it hasn’t.” Giles pulled her close. “And there’s a good chance it will be awhile before it happens again.”

“Mmm.” She shifted slightly to get comfortable. “Have you thought about names?”

“Well, I still think that you ought to make the decision, since you’re the one doing all the work.”

She laughed. “That’s one way of looking at it, I suppose.”

“Do you have any ideas?”

“What was your father’s name?”

“Nigel.”

Joyce let her silence speak for her.

“I’m not even going to ask what you think about Rupert.”

She laughed. “It’s a perfectly lovely name for you, but I’ve never been a fan of juniors.”

“And your father’s name?”

“Maxwell.”

“That would be a possibility.” He began to nibble on her ear. “Do we really need to talk about this now? We have plenty of time to make a decision.”

She smiled, wondering how Giles could make her feel sexy and desirable, even in the midst of her pregnancy; these days, she usually felt fat. “I think we can put it off.”

“Good.” Between the two of them, they managed to shift so that Joyce was on top, facing him. He made quick work of the buttons on her blouse, looking up at her with hungry eyes. “Have I mentioned how much I love your breasts?”

“Yes, but feel free to mention it again.”