Disaster Relief, part three

[naol]

No actual smut in this part, just some UST. Illyria is a cast iron bitch to write, you know that? I'm sure I forced the tone a bit too much in a couple of places. Oh well. It's been two weeks now. This is as good as I can make it without seeing it actually posted. It's also where we start to get hints of something else going on in the background. One of the big problems with Two Ships was that I didn't foreshadow the trouble to come early enough, so consider yourself foreshadowed as of part three of this one 'kay? ;)


All previous parts are here
This part is continued from here
***

"Are you sure you really don't mind?" asked Dawn as she made up the cot. "I wouldn't want to put you out or anything."

Illyria hadn't raised any objections when she'd asked to share a room but that didn't mean much. You had to tread carefully around the third member of the fang gang. Several slayers, watchers and even some innocent bystanders had nearly found that out the hard way early on and only the combined attempts of both Angel and Spike had prevented there being an actual body count. As such, Dawn reasoned this room had to be the safest place in the house tonight. Even dosed up on Willow's Spanish fly, there were still limits no sane individual would dare to cross.

Most of the gang was sane and Spike was otherwise occupied, so there was little chance of sex-related mishaps in Dawn's immediate future. Of course, given what had happened when the ritual first went screwy, Dawn could hardly claim to be safe even around girls and, on first glance, Illyria was a girl too. But then you noticed that her... no, that ITS skin wasn't skin. That those leathers weren't leathers. That its human appearance was just that. An appearance. A hard shell that hid the creature within.

When they first found out what Angel had brought with him during his extended visit, Giles had showed them all the pictures in one of his oldest books. Pictures of a thing with tentacles and fangs and stuff. Yucky pictures. A monster that was sitting inside the hollowed-out shell of a dead girl named Fred. Everyone had expected him to get mad and turn the Fang Gang away, but the old watcher hadn't raised a single objection. Just sighed, rubbed the bridge of his nose and let them sign up for the magical mystery tour that was the new Council.

Anyway, disgusting as the creature was on the inside, it made Illyria the perfect roomie. Not only was there no chance that temptation would come knocking on the door but Dawn was hardly that far gone that she could hump something out of a Lovecraft novel. At least she really hoped not.

It took a moment for Illyria to respond. "The nocturnal nesting habits of your kind are futile niceties for those of my standing."

"I see," Dawn replied in the same tone, peeling back the blankets and sliding inside. "Well in that case, thanks. I guess. And good night."

And that was all that was said for several minutes.

After a while, the silence grew creepy. Well, more creepy. Creepier. Also, disturbing. Dawn hadn't expected to be sharing with something that didn't sleep. What had made her 'roomies-with-demons' plan even remotely bearable had been the fact that everywhere else was worse, true, but also that she would be able to enjoy a certain sense of privacy too. But the room was so small that they could only fit one cot inside and the creature was sitting on a salvaged wooden chair in the corner, wide awake and not three feet away.

Due to circumstance, Dawn's college experience had been put on indefinite hold but she'd nevertheless formulated some very specific ideas as to what sharing a room entailed and being stared at while you lay in bed was not one of them. Not this side of a really twisted porn movie set in a sorority house anyhow.

She shuddered and turned to face the wall, tugging the blankets almost over her head.

It was strange how facing a wall made her feel a little better when that meant her back was so exposed. Maybe it said something about the kind of person she was. Someone who felt safer with a wall in front of her even if that meant she could get stabbed in the back. Or bitten. Or gored. Or shot. Or...

Almost in self-defense, Dawn's mind sought desperately for something else to think about. Anything else.

Willow's face loomed large in her mind's eye.

Okay, perhaps not anything else. Dawn mentally shook herself and kept searching.

This was all her stupid sister's fault. Why did she have to be the stupid slayer, huh? She always had to be the center of attention. Even before the divorce and the move from LA, back when Buffy was still just a bitchy ditz, the world still seemed to revolve around her. She had so many friends. So many guys following her everywhere like puppies. She was Daddy's little girl and Mommy's little angel and Dawn was... Well, Dawn didn't exist back then, of course. Without the slayer, there would have been no Dawn. But still. As petty as it was, sometimes Dawn couldn't help but hate being such a... Such a side character. A function of her sister's life, not the main star of her own.

Back home in Sunnydale, just before things went really crazy, she had thought she might be starting to find something for herself. A 'gang' of her own. A cute guy. That wasn't too much to ask for, was it? Not if you were prepared to make the effort. But then the circus came to town, as it always did, and this time when it left it took everything with it. And her friends were gone with no forwarding addresses, the cute guy turned out to be either the evil undead or a dead fish in a magical jacket or just plain dead, and Dawn was stuck in the background again as her sister and friends tried to rebuild an arcane secret organization to fight evil and save the world every week. And it was so unfair!

Dawn winced.

It had been a while since she let things get to her like that. The whiney little sister persona was not one she enjoyed. She thought she'd put it behind her but there were occasional relapses.

Truth be told, she did love Buffy. And she did love being a part of her sister's world. Part of the Scooby gang with Giles and Xander and Wuh... the other one. It was fun sometimes and meaningful most of the time and all too painful too but, when you thought about it, at least there were people to share the pain with. That counted for something. Plus, however pissed she got about being the background character to her sister's ringleader, there were undeniable perks. Like their time in Rome.

Ooh! Yes! That was a good memory. It was almost a year after Sunnydale imploded. They had been on the road ever since, dotting around the US on a quest for more slayers and the means to support them, when Giles finally managed to locate a surviving Council contact in Italy. A guy named the Immortal. Xander cracked a few choice Highlander jokes upon hearing that but the guy was the real deal and when he heard from Giles, he flew them all out to Rome for a meeting. They wound up spending six weeks in the Italian capital going a little wild to let off the steam.

And in every club they went to, it was Dawn who got the most attention.

Perhaps taking fashion tips from Faith had something to do with that. Or maybe it was the fact that Dawn was already several cup sizes bigger than her ironing board of a sister and the clothes she'd borrowed from Buffy's bags were consequently a lot more clingy in certain strategic areas. Whatever the reasons for it, Dawn had a real blast in Rome. Specifically the kind of blast that made Buffy's defense of her younger sister's virginity a long lost cause, not that little Dawnie was about to tell her that.

It had been so much fun. Like a dream, really. Everyone had cut loose and relaxed. No more demons to worry about. No more hand-to-mouth living. Then reality had landed, as it always did. Buffy started dating the Immortal and one thing led to an inevitable other. Of course he turned out to be evil. And of course her sister, after much angst and exaggerated soul-searching, wound up having to slay him. And of course all his cheques bounced. And they were back on the road again, this time backpacking through Europe. It was like a bad road movie. Dawn actually had to flash a guy once to hitch a ride.

Eventually, they made it to England. Then to London and finally up here. And then this happened.

If truth be told, she felt a little guilty. The living circle of protection idea had been hers initially. They were trying to come up with a method of blocking a dimensional rift that wouldn't be as easy to crack as the seal back in Sunnydale and Dawn had been the one to come across a mention of using living beings as guardians. After that, of course, it was Giles and Willow who took over but that didn't mean that Dawn hadn't found the idea as nifty as anyone.

Looking back, the outcome wasn't as horrific as it could have been. Even with all restraints removed, Willow Rosenberg was hardly a disciple of the Ike Turner school of grievous bodily seduction. At most, things had been getting a bit more smoochey than Dawn was used to before Willow realized something had gone wrong and put a stop to it.

Most of Dawn's anger stemmed from the fact that she hadn't been the one to call it quits first.

Not that she considered herself smarter than the uberwitch or anything but she should have known something was seriously screwy when she felt the need to shove her tongue down another girl's throat. Because that wasn't normal, was it? Not for her. She didn't... It wasn't... Well, it just wasn't something Dawn Summers did. Girls with other girls. Not that she had a problem with it, no. Of course not. She knew lesbians. She grew up with lesbians. Lesbians were her people. But not really so much in a physical, up-close-and-very-personal, first hand experience kind of a way.

So why hadn't she realized something was screwy?

Dammit!

"You didn't mind Andrew then?" Dawn asked in the darkness, more to hear the sound of her own voice than out of any real interest.

After a moment, Illyria replied, "I find his very existence objectionable."

"We all do that. I meant the Star Wars thing."

"It was strange."

"Yeah, well, that pretty much sums him up," Dawn conceded. "He can get a little intense about his obsessions sometimes."

"His response to my enquiries into the nature of the relationship between master and padawan was disturbing."

"Ah. Yeah. When Giles finally caved and agreed to let him stay with us and join the Council, he walked around with his hair in a top knot for weeks and wouldn't stop calling Giles 'Master'."

"Why has no one killed him yet?"

"Too much trouble, mainly. The hassle of getting rid of the blood stains afterward outweighed the momentary relief of definitively shutting him up. At least that's what the slayers decided. It was a close vote, though. If Buffy hadn't used her veto, we might have buried him back in Oxnard."

Illyria took a while to consider this information. "Why does she wield such power among your clan?"

"Our what?"

"This Council you are attempting to build."

"Oh. I guess it's because she's Buffy, you know?"

"No."

"No what?"

"No, I do not. No one will explain things to me."

There had been no change in Illyria's tone of voice.

"No one explained?"

"No."

"About Buffy or...?"

"About anything. The sparks of memory left behind in this shell provide some information but no context. With only such leavings to base myself upon, watcher Wells' dissertation on the campaign of the star wars is the first time anyone has deigned to converse with me since..."

"Since?"

"Since Wesley."

"I see," Dawn said, although she didn't. It was impossible to deduce any deeper context from Illyria's voice because it lacked almost all the appropriate emotional cues. Frustration was about the extent of what Dawn could glean of the creature's current state of mind but perhaps there was more going on under the surface than it let on.

This was the first time any of the fang gang mentioned Wesley, after all.

Oh, they answered questions readily enough if you asked them but always gave the impression you'd just stabbed them through the heart in the process. Eventually, everyone just stopped asking. All that was reliably known was that he was one of the casualties of a large battle that took place in LA not long before Angel, Spike and Illyria all turned up on the Council's metaphorical doorstep. And as far as emotional cues went, Illyria had hesitated before saying his name.

"You cared for him, didn't you?"

A few minutes passed before Illyria replied, "He said he would be my guide."

"Huh?"

"Wesley said he would be my guide. But he died."

After searching for the right words and finding none, Dawn could only say, "I'm sorry."

"You were not responsible for his death."

"No, I meant..."

"When Wesley was killed, I avenged him. I killed the warlock responsible. I killed the scions of the Black Thorn. I killed the demons sent by the wolf, the ram and the hart. I killed until my arms were covered in so much blood, the rain could no longer wash it away."

Dawn felt queasy. "Oh. That's... nice."

"I did not wish to stop."

Illyria's voice was still emotionless but... For some reason, Dawn thought about Glory's tower. And she said, "I knew someone who went through something a bit like that. It wasn't exactly the same. I mean, she'd lost someone, but it wasn't the same kind of a someone as you and her problems weren't really about that anyway. It was... Well, Buh... This person, she was really angry because of something the world had taken from her. And she went out to kill things, just like you. And she... did other stuff. And nothing helped."

"After the violence was done, Wesley was still dead."

"So you wanted to lash out some more? Do more violence?"

"Yes. A lot more."

"My si... My friend was like that too. With her, it lasted a lot longer. She nearly imploded herself."

"Was her method effective?"

"No. Not even a little bit. Her method was stupid, selfish and wrong. You can't get rid of pain like that. You can't bury it or leave it behind. If you did, you'd be leaving a part of yourself. Removing an experience that shaped you into who you are now." Dawn frowned. "I guess that's really how we build ourselves. Through experience. Good times and bad. You learn how to deal with the world through dealing with it, not running away."

"I never ran!"

Startled back to reality, Dawn had to stop herself from flinching at the sudden outburst. "Sorry! I was only-"

"I never ran." Illyria's voice was emotionless again. "I sat with Wesley when he died. I attempted to give him peace before he closed his eyes. I did not run. I wished to do violence but we were alone, so after he stopped breathing I proceeded to fulfill the plan against the Black Thorn."

Unbidden, the memory of Tara's lifeless body came to Dawn's mind. She would have liked to do some violence then herself. Or screamed. Or both. Turning, she propped herself up on one arm to look at Illyria.

"At least he didn't die alone."

The Old One tilted her head. "I suppose."

They stared at each other for a while. Eventually, Dawn relaxed and slumped back into bed.

***

Somewhere in the house, there was a room. Unlike all the others, this room was entirely empty. No one inside. No furniture. No air or light or time. It was a void that should not exist. And somewhere within its unfathomable depths, something was growing restless.

***

After almost half an hour of solid silence, Illyria shifted in the chair.

"How were you built?"

Dawn, who had been on the verge of almost being nearly able to contemplate going to sleep at last, blinked. "What?"

"Experience. According to your claims, it is what shapes an individual."

"Oh. Yes. Probably, yes." Dawn punched her pillow into a more comfortable position. "In a roundabout way, you could say that, I guess."

"You are not certain?"

"N-Not entirely."

"Then escape from that which causes unrest is possible?"

"No. You can't escape stuff like that."

"That is a paradox."

Dawn frowned. "How'd you make that one out?"

"Either all experience is essential or it is not. If the value is purely subjective then it is possible to dispose of that which we do not wish to keep."

After using her mental decoder ring on this statement, Dawn tried to come up with a counter argument. "Um." Dammit, philosophy had never been her strong point!

"Experiences only have the value we assign to them. Nothing more."

The Key glared up at the Old One. "So Wesley dying like that didn't hurt, is that what you're saying?"

"He was the one who got stabbed. His was the only pain."

"You believe that, do you? And when you think of that horrible peaceful expression on his face and you want to throw up or scream or lash out at the world, that's just a normal reaction, is it?"

Illyria hissed. "Such matters are none of your concern."

"I wasn't just talking about you. Everyone gets hurt like that sooner or later. That's just life. And if you ignore the pain and the fear and the... the... the anger or whatever you want to call it, the only person who is going to end up hurt is you."

"You do not know that of which you speak."

"Shut up!" Dawn snapped. Illyria blinked. There had no doubt been those who had died for less in the past but Dawn suddenly didn't care. "You're not the only girl who's seen friends dead. You're not the only one with things she'd like to forget!"

"Then why-"

"Because the past is important. The real past. What you saw and felt and wanted and... It's all important because it makes you real."

There was a sense of the world teetering on a knife's edge as Illyria considered how to react to Dawn's words.

"Angel and Spike do not accept me," she said finally. "At best, I am tolerated. Were it not for the loss of my guide, I would exact painful retribution for their disrespect."

Choosing to ignore the implicit threat, Dawn just smirked. "Well in Spike's case, that might actually be a turn on."

But Illyria wasn't finished. "Being forced to exist among primitives is not the fate I chose for myself. Neither was being crippled by circumstance. I am a god. A king. I am all powerful. I am absolute. I do not lie with cockroaches. I do not abase myself. Wesley was my guide. A human. Not an equal."

"He was important, though."

"Do not try my patience."

"He was important. You're locked into this new world now, same as the rest of us. And he was all you really had, wasn't he? So he was important. I don't know what it felt like to see him die. I can't. What happens inside you is... It's yours. No one can tell you what to feel or why. It just happens. And once it's real for you, that's like the only thing that no one else can ever take away."

The Old One stared at her.

"I should end you now. I should silence you."

Dawn didn't flinch. "Maybe. But will you?"

Standing together on the knife's edge, they stared at one another.

Then, finally, Illyria shook her head. "No."

Something hot bubbled up in Dawn's chest and she heaved a sigh of relief. "Good. That's... good."

A few minutes passed before she'd calmed down enough to properly to face the other woman again. "Look," she said, "I can't completely explain everything to you. I can't know why Angel and Spike are acting the way they are. Not entirely. I can tell you that losing Fred must be a part of it. A lot of it. If she was as important to them as my friends are to me then they're never going to forget that you're responsible, even if you weren't the one who chose who to use as your new body."

"Then what use is the effort?"

"Experience. Good or bad, it's yours."

"The Primordium had no such troubles."

"Back then, you were at the top of the curve. Now you're at the bottom. Each has its own drawbacks."

"At the height of my glory, I had control over my existence."

"Until you were murdered, you mean?"

Illyria paused. "True."

Dawn almost laughed. "I didn't know Fred."

"You wish this were not the case?"

"No, I... I was just saying. I didn't know her. Buffy didn't either. Or Xander or Giles or Faith. Willow met her once, so she's got that hurdle to get past but, really, none of us see you as anyone but who you are now."

"I do not-"

"Care, I get it. But I just thought you should know, that's all. I'm not saying we like you or anything, because we don't, but then we don't much like Andrew or Spike and we put up with them."

"I see."

"Okay. Good."

Illyria shifted in her chair, not so much relaxing as settling for the first time into a comfortable position, and nodded. "Your guidance is acceptable."

Dawn raised an eyebrow "Such lavish praise."

"The fetters of loss are less so."

"Tell me about it. But time helps. The pain never really goes away, but time brings other things to think about. Other friends, maybe."

"Maybe."

***

Rupert Giles was far too busy reading to pay any attention to the suspicious noises echoing through the empty house at the moment. He had to find a solution to their current predicament as quickly as possible so that they might pursue the original ritual and seal the dimensional rift once and for all. There were serious, life-threatening consequences to leaving it untended much longer.

Well, perhaps not life-threatening. The imps that had infested the property before the new Council managed to acquire it were little more than the demonic equivalent of rodents. But the threat was there nonetheless, to the local animal population if no one else. In the years to come, when Giles thought back to his first impressions of their new HQ, it was the memory of the small dog's corpse he had found in the old bathroom that would probably haunt him the most.

"OH GOD BUFFY!"

Please Lord, let him be haunted by a dead corgi in the toilet!

With his eyes still fixed on the page in front of him, Giles reached out blindly for the CD player he had managed to borrow from one of the girls and fumbled for the volume button. One would have thought that music from a group going by the moniker 'Rabid Zombie Skull F*ckers' would effectively block out anything even at half volume. His eardrums were already bleeding as it was.

If only he had payed more attention to what Willow was doing. Despite his initial anger, he could hardly lay all the blame at the young witch's door. With the locals to deal with and the move to organize, he had not been as present as he should have during the crucial stages of the ritual's development. After Dawn first suggested the idea, his involvement had been mainly restricted to an advisory capacity, approving or censoring language based upon other people's research work. It was a shoddy way to do magic and had he been able to focus more on the essentials, the current bacchanal might never have happened. But there were simply too many things to get done nowadays. Too many responsibilities claiming a piece of his attention.

Ten years ago had you told Rupert Giles that the day would come when he admired Quentin Travers, he would have laughed in your face. Now though, as the head of a ragtag band of inexperienced watchers, unprepared slayers and supernatural nuisances such as Angel, Spike and Illyria, he was forced to admit one simple fact: at least Quentin got things done. Under his rule, the Council was a well oiled machine. It functioned instead of merely survived. Of course, the resources at Quentin's disposal were several orders of magnitude greater than those Giles had to contend with. Billions in bank accounts across the world. Hundreds of researchers. Only one slayer.

And that's where it all fell down. Because the game was changing slowly. The days when a single young girl could be used as cannon fodder to fend off Armageddon were drawing to a close. It was perhaps emblematic of the changes in this new millennium that the dangers were progressively getting worse. Vampires and demons were positively tame in comparison to hell gods and primordial forces such as the First Evil. And now it appeared that the Old Ones could return as well and there was no one guarding the Deeper Well. Soon, the challenges facing the new Council would be too much to handle even for Buffy and by then all he could hope for was that their fortunes had somewhat improved, that the other slayers were sufficiently prepared and that those inexperienced watchers had gained enough experience not to get themselves or their charges horribly killed.

When you considered things from that viewpoint, perhaps a night of mild debauchery was not such a terrible thing. It was not as if any of the girls were underaged now. The first thing that the original gang had done when they established the new Council charter was to set a minimum age of eighteen for active duty. Concretely this meant that all new slayers discovered post-Sunnydale under that age were left to lead as normal a life as they could, sheltered from appearing on the supernatural radar by a warding charm developed by the coven in Devon. Added to this the fact that the girls who had joined up had all been leading the harsh life of a vampire slayer for almost two years now and, while he could by no means vouch for each young woman's level of personal experience in dealing with the opposite (or in certain cases, the same) sex, Giles was at least reasonably certain that no one was abusing anyone else tonight. Well, not without their partner's consent, anyway.

It was more than a little disturbing. But it was also not the first time Giles had been locked in a house with others while they found some measure of solace together. The night before the final battle with the First Evil, there was barely a room at 1630 Revello Drive that didn't have a sweaty couple getting intimate with one another. It was not as if anyone had been very discreet. And if Giles had been able to ignore such activities then, openly forbidding them now would only be hypocrisy on his part.

Knowing this did not prevent the thought of what must be going on upstairs from making him slightly queasy, however. Or the certain knowledge of what was going on in Angel and Spike's room from making him want to claw his own eyes out. The next time he wished to borrow a book, he would remember to knock first. And to wear a blindfold.

For now, Giles cranked up the volume to listen to the melodies of the Rabid whatchamacallits as they sang a ballad entitled 'I want to do your corpse' and immersed himself in the leather-bound tome in front of him once more.

***

"OH GOD BUFFY!"

Dawn nearly choked on her tongue.

Illyria looked startled. "Are we under attack?"

"Um. No."

"That was the voice of the one-eyed watcher."

"Um. Yes."

"He sounded distressed."

"Not... Not exactly." Dawn's shock faded into dark humor. "Not yet anyway. Not until I get my hands on him."

Shifting again in the wooden chair, the Old One shot Dawn a look. "You are upset."

"Upset? No. Not in so many words. It's just that some of us are actually trying to resist the urge here."

"I do not understand."

Dawn frowned. "You don't? I thought... You do have Fred's memories, right?"

"Some."

"You know about... You understand what is going on tonight, don't you?"

"The ritual was flawed. As a result, those within the affected area will be prone to erratic behavior until it's effects are terminated."

"...Erratic."

"Such as the watcher Wells' excessive enthusiasm on the subject of Han Solo."

"Riiiight. You were with Andrew when it all started. Um..."

Dawn wasn't entirely sure what to say. Explaining the birds and the bees to an inhuman prehistoric Old One was not something that her life up until now had prepared her for. Not that Illyria really needed an explanation, did she? It wasn't as if it mattered whether she understood all the 'ins and outs' of Willow's backfired ritual.

"Perhaps I should go to check on Angel and Spike," said Illyria.

"What? No!" Wide-eyed, Dawn sat bolt upright. "No, no, no, no, no. Bad idea. Really bad. You shouldn't do that. Nope."

"They appeared to have been heavily affected by the ritual's fallout."

"They're not... They won't..."

Illyria was already starting to stand up.

Dawn reached out and grabbed her arm. "It's not that kind of a ritual, okay? Trust me."

Glancing down at Dawn's hand, the Old One looked almost shocked.

"You are touching me."

"Sorry." Dawn pulled away. "I just..."

"I do not allow lesser beings to touch me."

Biting down on a surge of irritation, Dawn just nodded. "Like I said, I'm sorry. But Angel and Spike really don't want to be disturbed right now, trust me."

"How do you know?"

"Because... Well, they're both big boys, aren't they?" Viciously ignoring all the imagery that assailed her as she said this, she continued, "And the ritual isn't hurting anyone."

"Irrational behavior can cause pain."

"Yes but no. Look, I promise, it's nothing bad."

The Old One frowned. "You promise?"

"Yes."

"Although the half breeds' welfare is none of my concern, it would be troublesome if your word was broken."

Death threats and sex talk. Great. "Fine, fine. Look, it's harmless enough. The magic is just making everyone a little excitable, that's all."

"Yes." This much, Illyria knew already. It was why she wanted to go and make sure the two vampires were still undead and kicking.

Dawn sighed. "No, I mean... like sex. You understand that concept, don't you?"

Illyria frowned. "A custom among primitives. Two individuals locked one inside the other for the purpose of procreation or pleasure."

Even in Mrs Larrity in Sex Ed hadn't managed to make it sound quite so disturbing.

"Close enough," said Dawn with a wince.

"Is that what the ritual has triggered? Sexual behavior among the members of the Council?"

Dawn nodded.

"I see."

Silence fell as they both considered what to say next. It stayed down for a long while. Eventually, more out of desire not to be smothered by it than anything, Dawn said, "You never...?"

Illyria frowned.

"Sorry. I just wondered... How did they make new Old Ones?"

"They do not. The Old Ones are long dead."

"But back in the day. How?"

"We were called forth by the surge of occult energies. Creatures of pure magic and power."

"Oh."

More silence. Dawn wondered whether she should lie down again and try to get some sleep. Xander's little outburst had her feeling a bit of a surge herself but she would be no good in the morning if she didn't at least try to get some rest.

"I once offered to have sex with Wesley."

"... Say what?"

Illyria leaned back against the wall. "When I was newly hatched into this shell, the shards of memory were more vivid. There were experiences I wished to understand. I knew that he craved the one to whom this shell had belonged. I thought making such an offer only kindness. He refused."

"Did he?" Dawn rolled her eyes sarcastically. "I wonder why?"

"Perhaps because I was the beast that slaughtered his beloved."

Her sarcasm faded and Dawn searched Illyria's impassive face. "You do understand."

"The concerns of primitives and half breeds are beneath me," said the Old One. "This does not mean I am unaware of their existence."

"I... I see."

"Why were you angry with the witch Rosenberg?"

This apparent hairpin turn nearly caused Dawn to laugh in self-defense.

"What's that got to do with anything?"

"It is a matter upon which I require information. You may provide it for me."

"It's none of your business."

"Your questions were answered. That is more consideration that I have shown others before you."

The words sounded like another threat but there was less bite to them this time. Something reckless in Dawn decided to play along.

"Willow... abused my trust."

"I do not understand."

Neither did Dawn. Not really. There were so many different reasons why she could be angry with Willow Rosenberg but none of them were enough to deserve such a ferocious reaction to what had happened.

"We got caught up in the magic," she said at last. "And Willow... We started to get close. Physically close."

"Was it a painful experience?" Illyria asked.

"Huh? No. Of course not. Willow would never hurt me."

"But you were upset."

"Because I didn't choose to... I mean, that wasn't... Oh, I don't know." Dawn hissed and hugged her knees. "Remember what I said about experience? I guess sex is a part of that too. No, I know it is. Everyone knows it is."

The Old One crossed her arms. "I would not know."

"Yeah well, trust me. Sex is... Sex is a lot of different, confusing things. Scary things."

"Such as physical proximity to the witch?"

"Such as." Dawn agreed. "Don't get me wrong, she didn't force me or anything." Illyria didn't comment. Perhaps she had nothing to say. Perhaps the ramblings of a confused young woman were equally confusing to an Old One. But there was a sense of expectation in her silence that drove Dawn to try and explain herself. "That's why I was so angry, I guess. Because... Because Willow didn't force me."

"You would have preferred that she did?"

Dawn glared. "Not funny."

Illyria didn't apologize, but she didn't attempt to pretend it had been anything other than a deliberate misunderstanding on her part either.

"In the days of the Primordium," she said instead, "The Old Ones reigned supreme. Each had a fief to defend. Slaves and land and worship. Each stood alone. This human urge for contact is anathema to my kind."

"Those were the days, huh?"

"Your fear is senseless."

"Hey!"

"You are here with me because you wish to hide. To escape from experience. You are a hypocrite."

"Hey again!"

"Your reaction to physical contact with the witch Rosenberg was not what you had expected. You are concerned for the implications. You attempt to avoid the issue by avoiding others affected by the current ritual magic. It is the same as denying such a reaction ever existed in the first place."

"I am not!"

"Did you enjoy it?"

"No!"

"You lie."

Dawn glared at the blue-haired bitch. "What the hell do you know anyway?"

Unmoved, Illyria simply stared at her.

"Okay." Dawn scowled. "Dammit, okay. So maybe I didn't hate it."

"Why does this disturb you?"

"Are you serious? Because she's... Well, she's a she, for starters. I never thought of another girl like that. And she's Willow, which is worse. It's like I had sexy thoughts about my sister or something!"

"Which is more disturbing? That you experienced such need for another female or that the female was a member of your clan?"

With a furious snort, Dawn opened her mouth to reply. And then shut it again with a loud click.

"You do not know?"

"I..." She buried her head in her arms. "It's not that easy."

"Yes it is."

A hand on her shoulder caused Dawn to look up again only to find a naked woman standing beside her. An attractive brunette with an unreadable expression on her face.

"I'm still confused about a lot of things," said Illyria in a stranger's voice. "Looks like you are too. What say we give each other a hand?"

***

It was sitting there, buried between a paragraph detailing the casualties of the battle of Desered Monash and the resulting decrease in population. Foreseeing an era of hardship for his people, an unnamed mage had cast a ritual much like the one Willow had inadvertently rediscovered. He too had cast it near a point of flux in the dimensional energies.

Giles straightened in his chair and started reading more avidly.

Five minutes later, he said, "Oh. Bugger."

***
TBC...
<< (03) >>

Author's notes: Again, feel free to request pairings and whatnot. So far, we've got some Giles/Faith to look forward to next time and also a redhead sandwich for Xander who will wind up in a threesome with Willow and Vi further on down the line. The fun is only just beginning *grins*