Sunlight crept into the windows of Nivel's sparsely decorated bedroom. Beside his bed, his alarm clock clicked over to the KRPI Morning Show.

"..another bright and shiny Thursday morning. Say, guess who's in the news again today, Madison?"

"Could it be those wacky Scoobies?"

"You got it. The Tattle-Tale is reporting that Spike and Natalie Portman have hooked up. Sources say that the two are inseparable, but highly secretive of their affair. In other news, there was a mix-up at the cemetery last night when Buffy Summers was accosted by..." Nivel switched the radio off.

He picked up his cellphone and dialed. "Brad? Yes, good morning to you, also. Things are in place. We can proceed with the plan tomorrow. Get the equipment together. No, I don't think there will be any meddling from them." He glanced over at his radio. "They're all a bit occupied at the moment."

Gunn pulled a T-shirt on. He'd fallen asleep in his chair last night, but he sure as hell wasn't wearing those dressy clothes today. He shook his head. "Played," he muttered. No way was any brother going to get famous just for being in a wheelchair, no matter what Laurel tried to tell him. There was something going on.

He wheeled out of his room. Angel had been out carousing with a GQ photography crew when he got in last night, but he was hoping that the vampire was home for the day.

He was, sure enough. Angel was in the storage room, which has been converted into a makeshift corporate training center. The vampire was lecturing in front of four rows of seated business executives. Gunn kept himself out of view and watched.

"It's a cutthroat world out there," Angel proclaimed. "You might think you're on top of the heap, but there's always another guy above you, and they will mess with you at every turn."

The executives all moved their terribly expensive pens over their yellow legal tablets, intent on jotting down every word.

"But the people below," Angel said, "can also be dangerous. Keep an eye on them. Even the ones closest to you, the ones you really trust - every once and a while, they'll do something that sets the mission back. You have to be prepared for that."

The dutiful students nodded, and pens scritch-scratched against paper. One man raised his hand and Angel called on him.

"Uh, yeah, Mr. Angel. You say that the people closest to you..."

"They'll do the most damage," Angel said. "It's not always their fault. Sometimes they let their personal issues get in the way; sometimes they just don't understand your vision. You have to forgive them their faults and move on."

"But wouldn't it be best to just not let anybody get close at all?"

"What's your name?" Angel asked.

"Jerry Kiddo," the businessman replied.

Angel considered the question for a moment, and then walked dramatically across the room. "Jerry, the reason you need other people is that other people make your plan work. And there's going to be some days when you need somebody that close to get things done right."

He stopped and crossed him arms. "There's an old saying about keeping your friends close, but your enemies closer. It's a lie. Keep your friends closest of all and watch them carefully. The man who would die for you is also the man who would sabotage everything under the right circumstances."

Gunn coughed rather obviously and wheeled into the room. "Angel."

Angel's face spread out in bottled shock. "Gunn."

"Can we talk for a second?"

"Sure." He turned to his attentive class. "Boys, take 15 minutes to prepare some talking points about what you just heard."

They moved down to the far end of the hallway. "What is it?" Angel asked bitingly.

"What's with the shindig?"

"Just some corporate ladder-climbers looking to get a little advice from the man who chopped the ladder down."

Gunn raised his eyebrows. "Say what?"

"It's something they've been saying about me."

"This whole American idolatry thing's gotta end, yo. There's something definitely wrong about it."

"Are you saying people wouldn't want to hear what I have to say?"

"I'm sayin' people are lookin' to you based on a demon-filled brawl that nobody's supposed to know about."

"It was a pretty big battle, Gunn. These people can figure stuff like that out, and they want to hear what I have to say about it. And I really think you need to back down on the paranoid vibe just a little. I can't be bothered by this small stuff."

"Small stuff, huh?"

"Gunn -"

"Hey, if you wanna be all about the 'CEO with a sword' image, go for it. Ain't gonna stop ya," Gunn said. "I know that there's some mojo that's gotta be causin' all of this, and I know a slayer who's gonna know something's down."

"Oh, that's brilliant," Angel said. "Take your little pity party on over to Buffy. She'll be a really great stomach for you to cry into."

Gunn arched an eyebrow.

Angel grimaced. "Gunn, that's not what I-- I just--"

"Yeah, I got what you just," Gunn said.

"It's not like that. I didn't mean..."

"It's all good. You got your fancy operation to run, got some little people to step over while you do it." Gunn turned himself around and headed into the office. He called back, "It's what you do, Angel. Shouldn't expect different."

Willow stumbled a bit, but Sage caught her and helped her regain her composure.

"Thanks," Willow said.

Sage shrugged and tucked her brown hair behind her ear. "It's what I do."

Willow grinned at the slightly older woman. In just a few days at the Spirit of the Mother Healing Center, she'd really come to depend on Sage, and hardly the dour woman in sacramental robes that she had expected. Most of the folks at the Center wore normal clothes. For instance, Sage was wearing a clingy black mini-dress with cap sleeves.

"I can't thank you enough for all the help and everything," the redheaded witch said. "I mean, hey, look at me. Walkin' girl."

"No, Willow. Thank you. It's been amazing to have somebody so gifted staying with us. Even if it is only to regain your equilibrium."

"Heh. Thanks, though I don't know how gifted I feel at the moment."

Sage gave Willow a disappointed look.

"Oh, sorry. I'm a massively talented girl with a wide open future and a well body."

"You have to overcome the inner critic if you want to be well. Negative vibes are just going to make this harder."

"I know," Willow said. They walked another few feet and then she turned to Sage. "Hey, I don't know anything about you."

"I'm an open book. Anything you want to know."

"Okay, uh, where are you from?"

Sage seemed to color slightly at the question and bowed her head. “Tennessee, originally.” She straightened up, her expression becoming abruptly businesslike. “Anyway, here's your room. Get some rest, watch something if you get bored."

"You sure you guys don't mind me having a television? Cuz I know it's against policy."

"We can make exceptions for very special people." Sage gave her a toothy grin.

Willow grinned back. "Okey-dokey then. Uh, hey, while I have your ear, you guys didn't happen to reach Kennedy yet, did you?"

"Your girlfriend?" Sage shook her head. "We've only been able to get her voicemail."

"Oh," Willow said. "Well, if you get a hold of her, could you send the call up to my room please?"

"Of course. Now, please, try to get some rest."

"Absolutely. Rest, relaxation, and 'The Young & the Restless.'" She bit her lip and grinned conspiratorially. "It's kind of an addicting program."

"I wouldn't know."

"Right. With the no television or Internet."

"Oh, we have Internet. It's a good way to connect with the ever-expanding world of alternative healing."

"Oh, that's neat," Willow said. "I can see that. It'd be really cool to learn some more about that. We could do it now, if you-"

"Rest," Sage instructed.

"Right. I'm just gonna go do that now," Willow said. "Later!"

Sage smiled. "Sleep well."

"Yo, let me through. I know that girl!"

"Sure you do," the big man in the black suit said, his broad shoulders doing what they could to block Gunn's view of the soundstage. "Everybody knows Dawn. And just like all of her very special acquaintances, you can wait to see the music video when it's on MTV." He grabbed the handles of the wheelchair.

Gunn hand shot back and gripped the man's neck. "You move this chair one inch, and I promise you, it'll be the last inch you move anywhere."

"Gunn!" Dawn squealed. She ran up and gave him a big hug.

Gunn let go of the guard's windpipe and smirked. "Dawn! You... damn, girl. What the hell is that get-up?"

She was dressed in some sort of chain-mail-over-fabric outfit that covered everything adequately, but the intent was obviously to give an adolescent boy's mental undressing machine easier access. "Oh, this? Isn't it so cool? I get to keep it after the shoot!"

"It's somethin'..."

Spike struck an intimidating pose for the photographers. "Did you hear the one 'bout me and the Portman girl? Never even met the lass."

Gunn nodded. "Sounds tough."

Spike flipped up his collar. More photographs were snapped. "Well, it's showbiz. Everybody wants a little piece of what everybody else has."

Gunn shook his head. "I had my piece, thanks. There's something going on here."

"Gotta make up your mind, Chuck." Spike posed again. "Mope around or have a spot of fun while it lasts."

"Dammit, Spike, I need help. This ain't the way of things."

"You think it might be a spell?" Buffy asked, putting on a pair of earrings. They were in Buffy's private dressing room.

"Could be. I don't know. Something's up."

Buffy shrugged. "I don't really see it."

"Say what?"

Buffy rolled her eyes. "I was all on the spell thing, too, Gunn. But then we saw Andrew's movie got out. It explains everything." She stood up and spun, her red dress whirling around with her. "What do you think?"

"I think you're crazy," Dawn said.

"Look, it's not that big of a stretch," Gunn said.

"Who would cast a spell to make us all famous? Wouldn't that be, like, counterproductive?"

"Don't know. We all seem pretty distracted. If that cult..."

"Which cult was that?"

"The one that killed the girl? Who we didn't save? Remember?"

"Oh, that cult. Yeah. One time thing, I'm sure. Look, Gunn, it's been really lovely, but I have to go. Video doesn't shoot itself."

Spike stood, arms outstretched. Flash bulbs fired off around him. "Look, Chuck. I 'preciate you comin' to me an' all, but I've got nothin' to go on."

"You're saying you need evidence that all this is insane?" Gunn asked carefully.

"You've got that big lawyerly frontal lobe," Spike said, grinning for the cameras. "You manage to track something down, gimme a ring. We'll be all heroic-like about it."

Buffy knelt down and grabbed Gunn's hands. "I know this is important to you. And I'd be right there with you, really I would."

"But?"

"I've got this convention. Apparently, there's this huge positive uproar that I'm actually attending a 'SummersCon' for the first time." Buffy frowned. "I think it's the first one, though. Huh."

"I'd call that out of the ordinary."

"My life is out of the ordinary. Now it's just sparkly to boot. I can deal."

Willow flipped the channel to an ad for underarm deodorant. It had been way too bizarre seeing Devon on "The Surreal Life." Which, she guessed, was sort of the point of the show. Freakiness.

The commercial break ended, and "E! Entertainment News" came on. The female newscaster shuffled some papers in front of her. "In the world of the theater, Naomi Watts has signed on for a stunning triple role in the upcoming play 'Soul's Passion,' based on the life of former Wolfram & Hart CEO Angel. Watts will be playing Darla, Buffy Summers, and Nina - women who have affected the vampire at various points in his life. Peter Wingfield joined the cast earlier this week as Spike. The role of Angel himself has yet to be filled, but there is a rumor that Kevin Spacey may be interested."

Willow shut the television off. "This is getting' kinda out of hand."

"Couldn't agree more," Gunn said from the doorway.

"Hey!" Willow exclaimed. She scootched out of bed and carefully walked over to the main in the wheelchair. "I thought you'd be off trottin' about in the big glitz and glamour way!"

"Nice to see you trottin' at all. They use some kinda mojo on you?"

Willow frowned. "Not so much. This place is mojo-free, in the traditional sense. Which is good, cuz I think I'm pretty much throwing in with the 'magick makes Willow sick' school of thought."

Gunn wheeled in and shut the door behind him. "So how?"

"Changed my mind," Willow grinned.

"Okay?"

"The body is affected by moods and all that stuff. If you think you're happy, you tend to stay happy. If you think you're depressed..."

"You tend to stay depressed."

"Right. So, doesn't it follow that if you think you're sick, you're gonna stay sick?"

Gunn scowled. "So you just thought, 'Hey, I'm better,' and it all went away? We been goin' about this billion-dollar medical industry the wrong way."

Willow rolled her eyes. "It's not like that. The poison's still in my body. I still can't use magick without serious badness. But my body's dealing with it much more efficiently." Off of Gunn's disbelieving look, she continued: "Perception changes things. With a little kickstart to boost you, you can change the world around you. If you believe it to be true, then it starts to be true."

"Uh-huh," Gunn said. "Look, I'm not all about this New Age crystal stuff. I can't even deal with the magick that I know works. Like this fame spell."

"Yeah," Willow said. "It was really great for a while. I mean, they're all really nice to me here, and let me do stuff that other people can't... But it's starting to come off as crass. Have you been watching TV?"

Gunn shook his head.

"Yeah, well, if you did, you'd see it's become a circus of the freakish. We're on every single second. If it weren't for the Center's strict policy against filming, I'd be on there, too. And you know what the really scary part is? We're distracted. Nobody has time to kill monsters or figure out complicated Armageddon plots. Too busy doing a remote interview on Larry King Live."

"They're puttin' us on a pedestal we can't see down from," Gunn said solemnly. "Makin' us heroes with a capital H - means we can't be heroes at all." He smacked his fist against the side of the wheelchair. "Dammit! Played for fools."

"Not anymore," Willow said. "With a big geek brain and big lawyer brain combined? We should be able to figure something out. Though I think it's going to mean a long night of brainstorming."

Gunn smiled a little. "Hey, if we think we're awake, then we're awake."

FRIDAY:

Xander peeked out of the limo window at the crowd of screaming girls outside. "Great Jumpin' John Lennon, that's a lot of teenyboppers." He turned to Laurel. "They're all here for a fix-it show?"

Laurel was chatting away on her cellular phone. "Yes, yes, guest judging spots on American Idol. No, Ms. Summers is very against animal cruelty. No, vampires aren't a protected species. Excuse me." She held the phone to her chest. "Not now, Xander dear. Take some time to prep yourself. It's your big national debut."

"Yeah. That might be why I'm just a bit on the freaked side. Big. National. Debut. Debuting. In the nation." Xander wrung his hands together. "This is all moving too fast. Way too fast. Can't we delay another week?"

"Don't be ridiculous, dear. You'll be a smash sensation."

The limo stopped, and Xander and Laurel were escorted into the television studio as police officers held back the enthusiastic fans. Xander wanted to shrink into his own body.

"They're not here for me, right?" Xander said to Laurel as a production assistant walked them over to the makeup department. "Scott Bakula's in the building somewhere."

Laurel stopped, grabbed Xander and made him look her in the eye. "I am going to say this once, Xander, and pray I don't have to say it again. You? Are a star. You are the stuff stars wish they were made out of. If you don't stop with this whiny, I'm-just-Joe-Normal-Guy schtick, I will become very annoyed. If I become annoyed, Xander, then you will most certainly become very uncomfortable." She let go. "Are we crystal on this, dear?"

"Yes," Xander said. "I think it was the nails actually breaking skin that really drove the point home."

"That's showbiz."

They arrived at the makeup table, and Xander was guided into a chair. A bright and cheery girl wearing bangles tousled his hair.

"I think we can work with this," she said, snapping her gum.

Laurel smiled. "Faboo. Xander, darling, we simply must do something about that eyepatch for future episodes."

"What?" Xander reflexively touched the cloth covering.

"It's a little too Steve Martin in *Dirty Rotten Scoundrels.* You're new, fresh. People should feel comfortable coming to you with their problems."

"Problems?" Xander asked as the chipper makeup girl started pounding foundation on his face. "You mean their home improvement problems. Window frames. Door jambs."

"Oh, dear, don't be *silly*," Laurel said. She plucked a poster from behind her. A sympathetic-looking picture of a much younger Xander (with both eyes) stood in front of the San Diego skyline. The bold title in large, friendly lettering proclaimed his name in all caps, with an exclamation point. The subtitle ran, "He fixes the heart of your problems."

Xander blinked. "Wait. I'm a... I'm a Dr. Phil?"

"Tish-tosh, darling. Dr. Phil will look like Dr. Nick after you're through here. Xoë, dear, are you finished with him yet?"

"Just about," the girl answered, running a gel-soaked hand through Xander's typically flat locks. "Now, he has *definition*."

Xander stared in the mirror. The man who stared back would've been nearly unrecognizable were it not for the flannel and the eyepatch. His hair was immaculately groomed. The makeup made his face much thinner. In a word, he was... hot.

"Do you love it?" Xoë asked.

"Oh, he loves it," Laurel said. "Don't you, Xander dear?"

"It looks like I went on a diet and dropped three years and five major life tragedies." He grabbed a hand towel and tossed it to Xoë. "Undo it."

The makeup girl scrunched up her nose in disgust. "What?"

Laurel gave an annoyed sigh. "We simply don't have time. On stage with you, now."

"Look, Laurel," Xander said, standing up. "I can't do this. I can't fix other people. I can't fix anything."

Laurel snapped her fingers and two large ushers in blue blazers grabbed Xander by the arms and started walking him to the studio floor.

"You'll be wonderful," she called after him. "Just pay attention to what I tell you in your earpiece!"

"My what?" Xander asked as one of his escorts clapped something in his ear.

Xander was shoved out onto the set. It was a mellow shade of turquoise, accentuated with maroon here and there. There was a huge overstuffed chair that faced a pleasant, unthreatening couch.

A production assistant ran up to him. "You're here. Fantastic. We were worried. We go on live in five minutes. Do you have your opening monologue memorized?"

"Memorized?"

"You don't? Uh, well, no worries, sir. I'm sure you'll think of something." She guided him over to a piece of tape just behind the audience bleachers. "This is your starting mark. When they tell you to start up, run out and greet the audience and then go to that," she pointed, "piece of tape over there and deliver your monologue."

Xander scratched the back of his neck and cringed a little. "Have I mentioned how very little I want to do this?"

The production assistant smiled. "You'll set 'em on fire, Mr. Harris."

"Or they'll set me on fire. Either-slash-or."

Gunn woke up with Willow shaking him gently. "Hey there, guy."

"Willow?" Gunn stretched his torso as much as he could, given his condition. "What time is it?"

"Almost two in the afternoon," she said. "We musta fallen asleep figuring this out. I was sprawled out on the bed in the funkiest position. I have aches in places that don't exist on this plane of reality."

"Right. Yeah. Let's not talk about different planes of anything. All that tends to involve heart-wrenchin' tales of sacrifice, and I never go into those right after I wake up." He picked up the legal pad off the bed. "Okay, what'd we get last night?"

"We think it's the DVD of Sunnydale's Last Days."

"Right, right," Gunn said. "That was a problem for some reason."

"Uh, yeah. There's about several hundred thousand copies out there, maybe over a million. If each individual disc is hexed and we don't have a magick user to do a mass disenchanting..."

"...then we have to break each DVD individually. Better clear out your little black book for the next year."

"Hey, I was worried I wasn't gonna have a next year to have a black book for," Willow said. She looked down at the notes. "Something's not right about this, though."

Gunn shrugged. "Curse a DVD. Mass produce that DVD. Press it into the hands of unsuspecting people. Mayhem ensues. You said it happened before."

"Yeah. With chocolate bars. Creepy, creepy stuff." Willow chewed her lip. "It's just... this moved way too fast. The spread of everything. The distribution on that DVD would have to be better than the first *Spider-man* video, and the majority of people would've had to have bought it within a few hours of it coming out."

"Fast movin' information across a large network of people with a minimal amount of time need to soak anything up. Sounds an awful lot like-"

Willow smacked her foreheard lightly. "It's the website!"

"The website?"

"The website! Buffy-summers.net. Hold on." She grabbed her laptop, opened it, and started tapping quickly on the keys. "Oh, yeah. Bingo."

"What?"

"I ran a query on the domain information. The domain name was bought just a couple of hours before all the weirdness started. Plus, it predates any mention of us in the 'net media by at least 90 minutes."

"Somebody's lookin' for something about their favorite thrash band, stumbles on a mystically-enhanced site 'bout an entirely different kind of Slayer, and suddenly they believe that some folks they never seen before are the most famous people in the world." Gunn shook his head. "They post a link somewhere, and ten other folks visit..."

"And so on and so on," Willow said. "I ran the address given for the domain owner. The good news is, the site's based outta San Diego. The bad news is, the address given doesn't exist."

"Lemme see," Gunn said, taking the laptop. "Mm-hm. Looks to be an anagram. Pretty obvious one, too. Gimme a few seconds to crack it, and then we can bring this madhouse crashin' down."

Xander chewed on his lip nervously. He could hear the crowd murmuring mere yards away, but he couldn't see them. If he was very lucky, it was just two dozen very belligerent whisperers.

Laurel's voice crackled into his earpiece. "Xander, darling, I'm up in the control booth. How are you?"

"How am I? I'm about to face a nation of excitable and may I say wholly inexplicable fans, and I'm supposed to keep them entertained and interested? They'll throw me on a spit and garnish me with bile."

"Don’t be so crude. The nation wants you funny and heartwarming, not explicit. You'll have a lovely time." There was a hiss of static and Xander got the impression that Laurel wasn't listening to him anymore.

Yeah, this was fun. Fun like having your ears pierced with a lightning rod.

The production assistant who had guided him to his mark rushed up. "Xander! Okay, we're on in 10."

"Minutes?"

"Seconds. 5-4-3-2-"

A hardy, happy announcer boomed from the speakers that dotted the studio: "LIVE from beautiful SAN DIEGO, California! He'll build a support structure for your relationships, he'll shore up your troubles! He fixes the heart of the problem! Now, in his very first live television talk show, please welcome - XAAAAAANNNDEEERRR HAAAAARRRIS!"

Xander stayed stuck to the spot. The production assistant had to give him a little shove that sent him lurching forward, but even then, he moved at a dumb gait towards the center of the set.

"Energy, Xander!" Laurel hissed into his ear. "These people want you bright and lovable. Give 'em a big smile and a goddamn run, or so help me..."

Xander ground his teeth. Despite a supreme urge to sneer, he forced the corners of his mouth up into a big, cheesy smile and hustled out in front of the... gigantic... freaking... audience.

There were over 500 people there, every last one screaming their head off and clapping wildly.

Xander's jaw dropped open. "Oh, my - "

"If you take the Lord's name in vain on national television, we'll lose the Southern states," Laurel said. "Now, be a dear and say hi to the crowd."

Xander looked up. The bright lights were broiling his skin. Sweat was sopping through his flannel shirt. He quietly thanked whatever deity there was to thank that Laurel hadn't made him wear a suit. His tongue was suddenly very dry and felt humongous inside his mouth.

"Ha," Xander said, just missing the greeting he was going for. He coughed and waved his hand. "Sorry 'bout that. Hi!"

"Hi, Xander!" the audience yelled back in not-quite-unison.

"I want you!" one lone straggling voice cried.

"That's... nice," Xander said. "Heh. Hi. Um, I guess I'm supposed to - " Oh what to say what to say what to say - "be very entertaining."

"Which I will be," he added.

"Any time now," he threw in.

The crowd laughed.

Xander's fake smile faded a bit to make way for a real one. "Heh. Well, if you like that, I have a whole bag of non-jokes right here. I can not tell them all day long."

Another uproar of delighted laughter.

The sweat was sloshing down Xander's face. He unconsciously wiped it off with the sleeve of his shirt.

Several hundred pairs of eyes looked intently at their host.

"Um... So, uh... who here's a fan of cheese?"

About a hundred hands went up.

"That's great. Great. Because, you know, cheese. It's good. Healthy. With the calcium." He laughed. "But not too much, because otherwise..."

"XANDER!" Laurel yelled.

"Because otherwise kids in third world countries don't get as much." What the hell was he doing?

"Just... just sit in your chair and announce the first guest."

Xander clapped his hands together. "Say! Why don’t I wander on up to the chair here and then I can tell you who my first guest is?"

"You don't say it!" Laurel took a breath. "Xander, we simply must discuss your stage presence before the next episode."

Xander carefully sat down in the overstuffed turquoise chair that was his, apparently.

"Now, about that first guest." Inside his stomach, a little Xander started jumping around. He couldn't remember the name of his guest. Had he been told? Was he listening at the time? Why did they take the eyepatch out of the promo poster? Why was he letting his mind wander at a time like this? He looked out at the audience. "My first guest. I'm about to tell you who it is."

"Look at the teleprompter, Xander," Laurel said with some amount of exasperation.

Xander looked over and saw a big screen with some amazingly pertinent information. Without thinking, he read off the guest's name. "Buffy Summers!" He grinned for the crowd. Then his mouth fell open. "Wait a minute. Buffy?"

Buffy came out from the stage left curtain and waved at the audience. Her grin, recently the recipient of a dazzling whitening treatment, was at full power. She walked confidently over to the turquoise couch and plopped down as if she owned it.

Screams and hoots were still zinging out from the audience. A few production assistants ran out and made "calm down" motions at them.

"Buffy!" Xander said. "You're here. On my show. I'm so very happy to see you."

"Hey, I do what I can for my friends," Buffy said. She flashed a grin at the cameras, and then turned back to the carpenter-cum-talk show host. "I have to say Xander, this is a nice set you have here. Lovin' the maroon on turquoise look."

"I didn't design it."

"Oh. Well, still, y'know. Mad kudos to the art department."

"I'm not a fan of it."

"Uh-huh."

Xander smiled nervously. "Heh." His mind raced. What to ask your best friend that's not intensely personal? Movies? Dull. Philosophy? Way beyond him. Sex? "So, Buffy, how's your love life?"

Buffy blanched for a moment, but her color quickly returned and she smiled warmly. "You're a funny guy, Xander."

"I like to think so."

"My love life's fine. Like I'm sure you know, I'm dating The Immortal, and everything's really great there."

"Glad to hear it. You know he's a lucky guy, The Immortal."

"Yes, he is."

"I mean, I can see what he'd find attractive," Xander babbled. "I mean, not that I still find you attractive. That's way in the past." In his earpiece, he heard Laurel hitting her head against something. Buffy's eyes were firing daggers at speeds exceeding what Einstein would have thought possible. "Wait, no!" he continued. "I mean, I find you very attractive. I mean, you look fantastic, Buffy. Really. Please stop me."

Buffy forced a smile. "It's okay, Xander. It's not like there aren't a million embarrassing things I could bring up from back in the day."

"Oh, yes? Like what?"

"You really don't have the hang of this, do you?"

"Not particularly."

Laurel's voice popped into Xander's earpiece. "Xander, dear. We're going to commercial. That gives you about three minutes to get your act together. When we come back, announce two very special mystery guests."

"Mystery whats?"

Willow sat through a Polygrip commercial, waiting for "Xander!" to come back on. She felt bad for the poor guy. Thrust into the spotlight like some sorta guy who knows how to be spotlight-bound? She couldn't imagine it being too fun, and she knew Xander probably hated it.

She double-checked the address Gunn had figured out. There was something there, but she couldn't find any people or businesses connected to the address. Which was good, mostly, because that was the sort of thing that stank of evil afoot. Then again, she was worried that Gunn was going to be facing something he couldn't handle being all trussed up in the chair like he was.

"Wish I could've gone with him," Willow said to herself. But she was still recovering and not up to those kinds of hi-jinks yet. If Gunn had only stayed and waited for her to rustle up some kind of back-up force, she wouldn't be as concerned. But no, Gunn rang up a cab company as soon as he had the address figured out. Very headstrong fella.

The program came back on. Xander was turned to the camera. "Hi. Um, welcome back to my show. They, uh, tell me I have two surprise guests - " the show cut to a split-screen of both the left and right offstage areas - "and I don't know who they are."

Willow did. She smacked her hand against her forehead while, in a studio miles away, Spike and Angel stood at opposite ends of a talk show set, waiting for their close-up.

Illyria knocked at the door to Spike's domicile. She hated knocking. It seemed so servile. However, the door was locked, and Xander had requested that she not destroy anything unless necessary. She knocked again. No one opened the door to greet her.

She had plans with Spike. They were to converse. She considered the door again. It stood between her and Spike. Removing it was necessary. She kicked the door in.

Spike was not present, nor was Xander. No clue appeared as to their location, but a note on the refrigerator listed cell phone numbers for both Spike and Xander. Perhaps she could reach him through his messenger.

She picked up the communcations device and performed the connection ritual with the symbols linked to Spike. A few irritating rings sounded before she heard Spike's voice.

"Spike here -" he said.

"Spike," she said. "You have missed an appointment with me." But he didn't stop speaking to listen to her.

"- at the Fox studio until 5 or so. Leave a message or whatnot." A grating tone sounded.

"Spike! Respond to me!" she commanded. He ignored her. She threw the phone against the wall, furious.

Fox studio? Fine. She would find him at this animal farm and show him what happened when one ignored a God-King.

The bartender smacked the television set. "Hey boss," he said with a thick Bronx accent, "the tube's on the fritz again."

"Boss" was the owner of a small New York City bar, and he was nursing his drink. "If it's not working," he said, "turn it off, Jimmy boy."

"Ah, c'mon boss. It's 'Xander!' We gotta watch it! It's the first episode. It's like a cultural milestone or somethin'."

The boss shrugged and took a pull from his drink.

A slightly blitzed woman leaned forward heavily. "Did they somethin' about surprise guests?"

The bartender gave the set another smack. "Yeah. But if they said who, we didn't get it. Too much static. Hold up." He set his hand flat against the top of the television. The picture cleared up. "There we go."

An announcer's voice crackled over the insufficient speakers. "-adies and gentlemen, we are pleased to announce our surprise guests! Both have loved Buffy and both have lost her! Give it up for SPIKE and ANGEL!"

The boss rubbed his eyes. "Shut if off, Jimmy."

"But-"

"Don't argue with me, sugarplum." He swirled the ice around in his Sea Breeze. "No need to drag that kind of refuse into my bar."

"...SPIKE and ANGEL!"

Five hundred gallons of the flu wouldn't have made Buffy queasier than she became that very second. She watched with shocked eyes as Angel entered from the right hand side of the stage. She swiveled her head just enough to see Spike coming in from the left.

The two vampires waved at the crowd. They looked over at each other.

"Oh, bugger."

"Spike. Dammit."

They both looked at the couch and saw Buffy.

Spike's skin tightened. The lights in the room became more intense. The set's maroon trimmings cheerily burned into his retinas from their mellow turquoise background. The noise of the crowd's screaming became a mindless humming.

Angel merely glowered.

Cautiously, they both walked over to couch. Buffy scootched to the side of the couch nearest the audience, the once soft upholstery abrading her rear.

Angel and Spike both reached the couch at the same time. Buffy was clinging to the arm, looking very wary of the situation. The two vampires eyed each other, glancing occasionally at the spot closest to the slayer.

"How 'bout we sit down, Spike?"

"We can do that."

Their behinds clashed together as they both tried to sit next to Buffy. Angel fell to the ground. Spike landed in Buffy's lap. He looked up.

"Sorry, Buffy. This isn't how I wanted it to be."

"Spike?"

"Yes?"

"Get off my lap."

"Sorry." He stood up.

Xander stood up. "Fellas, is it that hard to find a place to sit? One of you can have my chair."

"No, we're good with the couch," Angel said.

Xander gave a short nod. "I thought you might be." He sighed. "Don't you think it's time you guys, I don't know... moved on?"

"We have," Angel said.

"He did," Spike said. "Got himself a little dog and everything."

"I told you not to call her that," Angel growled.

"Say, whatever happened to her, anyway?" Spike asked. He smirked as an amusing thought hit him. "She get run over by a car?"

"That's enough!" Angel spat. "And hey, weren't you the one who was so big on moving on?"

"I was. I am."

"So you can take the far end of the couch."

"Now hang on a tic. If you're so very moved on yourself, why don't you take the far end?"

"GOD, just SHUT UP, both of you!" Buffy yelled. She slid to the center. "There. Now I have to be stuck between you two."

Spike took the spot Buffy had just occupied. "Sounds fair."

Angel crossed his arms and sat.

Xander flopped down in his chair. "Okay, then. I'm fix-it guy. Fixing the heart of the problem. Fixing."

Buffy attempted to squeeze as much of herself into as small a space as possible. She had managed an extra inch of space between her and Angel, and was working on Spike's side.

Spike, previously smirking, suddenly dropped his head and stared remorsefully at the carpet.

Angel drummed his fingers against the couch's arm.

Xander's earpiece jumped to life. "Get them talking, dear. It's what they're here for. Fix whatever's the matter."

"Okay, okay." Xander rubbed his palms together. He looked up at the trio across from him, and gave them a little smile in an attempt to look understanding. "Obviously, there's something going on here. Which I know, because I know all of you. Maybe it'd be best to say it in your own words?"

Spike mumbled something.

"You'll have to speak up, there," Angel said. "Can't let the national viewing audience down."

"I said 'I'm sorry,' you ponce," Spike growled.

"I accept," Angel said.

"Not to you. To Buffy."

The slayer looked over to Spike. "You're saying 'I'm sorry?' You think that somehow that's going to magically heal the relationship? It doesn't begin."

"What do you want from me, then?"

Buffy stood up and paced upstage. "I don't know. How about, 'Hi, I'm alive?' Said about a year ago?"

"I was a bloody ghost!" Spike said, also standing. "Couldn't very well pick up the phone and say, 'Buffy? How are you? Funny thing about me being dead. It's a bit undecided at the moment. I'll keep you posted.'"

Buffy tilted her head. "And how long was it between your sudden all too solid flesh and when you finally decided you might be okay with letting me know you were alive?"

Angel smirked. "She's got you there, Spike."

"Seems to me like you've got no room to talk, Angel," Xander said. "Buffy? Spike? Can I get you to sit? Let's have a little chat with Angel, shall we?"

As the former lovers sank back onto the couch, Xander put his hand to his chin. "Now, you were one of the first people to see Spike alive."

"So?"

"Can't imagine that your dialing fingers were also incorporeal."

Angel bristled. "What are you getting at, Harris?"

"Wolfram & Hart couldn't cover a single international phone call to Italy?" Xander asked. "Or maybe you were just too involved with evil."

"I fought against the Senior Partners," Angel said with gritted teeth, his fingernails threatening to break against the lush upholstery of the couch. "Worked against them to bring an end to their apocalypse. Did anybody get the memo that I'm on your side still?"

"Nope." Xander shrugged. "Of course, it was Cordy who usually handled that, wasn't it?"

Angel lunged to his feet, only to be knocked back down by Buffy's arm. "Sit down, Angel." She turned to Xander. "That was kind of low."

"Low?" Xander said. "Cordelia's gone. Fact. She worked for Angel. Fact."

"She chose to work with Angel. She had to have known the risks," Buffy said.

"There was no way she could have." Xander frowned and bowed his head a little. "There's a responsibility we have to the people around us."

"Xander..." Buffy softly chided.

"She wouldn't have been there if not for him, Buffy." Xander's nostrils flared; his jaw was set in a mean line. "He's got part of the blame."

Laurel's voice zinged into Xander's ear. "Dear, you're losing your cool. Which is fine and good, but not on *national television*. Calm down a bit. And have some fun up there, darling."

Xander felt Angel's enraged stare drilling into his skin. He let out a long stream of air. Breathe in. Breathe out. Smile for the cameras. Fake something. "But sometimes you just have to ask the tough questions, right?"

"Let me make something very clear," Angel said in a low growl. "You don't talk about Cordelia. You know nothing about what happened there."

"Flannel-boy''s got a point, though," Spike said. "If you're so much of the caring ex, you could've given Buffy a tinkle on the callbox."

"You asked me not to!" Angel reminded him.

"Since when do you listen to what I say?"

Buffy threw an arm in front of each vampire. "Stop. Angel? Shut up. Spike? I'm still waiting for a truly excellent reason for not telling me you were alive."

Spike looked away from Buffy and caught sight of the massive studio audience. Every last person was leaning forward, waiting for something good. "Bugger," he whispered, barely audible to even himself.

"Spike, don't think about the crowd," Xander said emphatically. "Think about Buffy here. She deserves an answer, I think."

Spike took a small breath. He looked into Buffy's eyes. "I wanted to. I wanted to go to you, tell you I loved you. See where things went." He gazed upward. "But I couldn't do that to you. If you knew I was alive - it'd complicate things."

"You didn't want to get in touch because you were afraid of complication?" Buffy asked incredulously.

Spike looked at her again. "You don't understand," he said softly. "That last year in Sunnydale, with The First playin' games with my gray matter - I put you through so much." He shook his head. "And with everything that happened before the soul... I couldn't do that to you again, love. You were better off thinkin' I was dead. I'd rather burn alive again than hurt you."

Buffy gave him a melancholy smile. "You know something, Spike?"

"Yeah?"

"Deep down, I really think..."

"Yes?"

"You're not that much different from Angel."

Spike drew back in shocked disgust. "Take that back!"

"Neither one of you trusts me to make decisions about my own life. Did it ever occur to you, Spike, that maybe I could have decided whether I wanted to risk that or not?"

"You wouldn't've," Spike said solemnly. "Why would you? Don't get me wrong, I appreciate what you said down in the cavern, but I wasn't going to take it for more than it was..."

"Don't tell me what I did or didn't mean then," Buffy demanded.

"What the hell did she say to you, Spike?" Angel asked.

"What is up with you?" Buffy asked Angel. "I thought we were cool with us. Didn't we get all that nasty post-breakup stuff out of the way when I was in college? Now you're stalking me and complaining about my choice of men?"

"I left so you could have a normal relationship with a guy your own age. Maybe get married, have kids. Instead you're messing around with freaks like Spike and The Immortal!"

"Hey!" exclaimed Spike.

"I tried dating a 'normal guy'! Remember Riley? Who you attacked?" Buffy asked.

"Well, Riley's a doof," muttered Angel. Spike nodded. Buffy glared at him.

"Riley was worth ten of you. Either of you," said Xander.

"Right. Forgot you guys were buds," said Spike. "You still talk or did he find someone else to follow him around like a lost puppy?"

"Stop!" said Buffy before Xander could respond. "Angel, what do you want from me? Do you expect me to get your approval for every man I date? 'Cause it's not really your business anymore."

"I want you to be happy, Buffy," said Angel. She looked at him suspiciously. "I do!" he insisted. "I know what you went through with me, and I don't want you to ever go through that kind of pain again. You've had so many burdens to shoulder in your lifetime - if I can protect you in any way, I will."

Buffy smiled softly. "You can't. I have to make my own mistakes." She sighed. "I'm 24 years old, Angel. 24. I've been a slayer for over a third of that. I've suffered at least as many apocalypses as I have fingers. I've died twice. And every man I've ever loved has left me for the most pig-headed reasons."

"Good thing you've got that Immortal bloke to keep you company," Spike said.

Buffy's face dropped.

Xander reached out to Buffy, but he was too far away to touch anything but her knee. "Did something happen with you and Morty, Buff?"

"I got a letter. Just a couple of days before this whole fame thing."

"Very classy," Angel murmured. Xander shot him a look.

"He's a busy man and he has a lot of things he needs to focus on," she said with a slightly unsteady voice. "Other things. I wish him well. And it's been coming, I guess, so I wasn't totally unprepared..."

"Did you actually love him?" Spike asked.

"In my way," Buffy said.

Spike looked at her, completely flummoxed.

"What?" Buffy asked, composing herself. "Did you think I'd just shack up on some meaningless rebound trip?"

"Well..."

Buffy looked askance. "I didn't want to be disrespectful to your memory. You have to know that."

Spike snorted. "Didn't want to be disrespectful? How 'bout fallin' in love with another bloke right after I gave my life in a very noble sacrifice? I'd rather it was a rebound trip. That I could suss out. I mean, sometimes a person's lonely and newly tangible and gets together with the nearest room-temperature body for a little fling. It doesn't mean that person loves you less."

"Nearest room temperature..." Xander's gaze wandered over to Angel. He screwed up his face. "You didn't."

"What?" Angel threw his hands up to ward off the accusation. "No. I didn't. That's... I can't even begin to... It was Harmony!"

Buffy stood and spun to stare down at Spike. "You slept with HARMONY?"

"You're watching 'Xander!'" the announcer said over the speakers. "We'll be right back after this short commercial break."

Gunn had barely rolled out of the All's Fare van when it peeled out, leaving him alone on the curb. At least he was dropped at the right address.

It was a pretty standard abandoned apartment building. He wheeled up the front walk, trying to avoid the broken glass and the weeds that spilled over onto the pavement. He got to the front door and was surprised to find it unlocked.

With a strong push on his wheels, Gunn found himself inside the building. He cringed at the first thing he saw: a gargantuan staircase. It was a pretty steep monstrosity made of creaky old wood. A single strip of grody champagne-colored carpeting was tacked down the middle. A long curving handrail was supported by splintery pine balusters that probably weren't original to the house. A little sign was nailed to the wall, indicating that apartments #8 - #14 were all to be found at the top of this ascent.

Apartment #1 was immediately to Gunn's right. #2 - #7 were all down the hallway that was left of the staircase. The street lawyer hoped that whoever was behind this caper was too lazy to drag his equipment up a whole floor. He spun around to the first apartment and slowly let the door creak open.

"Here we go."

Crowds of worshippers gathered around the Fox studio, a large building with no signs of a beastiary. Illyria shoved her way to the front of the crowd. A few people complained but she ignored their whining.

A large, cow-like man stopped her at the entrance. "No admittance," he said.

"I am Illyria, the God-King. Move aside."

"Lady, I don't care if you're the Queen of America. It's a closed show. No admittance."

She considered strangling him with his own intestines, but Wesley had asked her not to kill humans. So she simply tilted her head at him and walked away.

She could hear the voices of Spike and others from behind a blank wall. Well, if they would keep the main entrance closed to her, she would create her own entrance. She punched through the side of the building and tore away planks and crumbling bits of wall until she had an opening more than large enough to go through. Really, the buildings these days were little better than paper. In her day, castles were built of stone and mortar.

She heard bleating from the sheep behind her as they rushed towards the entrance. They mattered little. It was Spike she was here to see.

"Welcome back to 'Xander!'" the cheery voice announced over the loudspeakers. Not that anybody noticed. The audience was focused at the pissing match currently underway on the show's set. Buffy was focused on holding back Xander. Xander was focused on trying to pummel Angel for his unwitting comment about banana splits. Angel was focused on dressing down Spike for his immaturity.

Spike was simply dressing down. "Is this what I am to you?" he yelled at the audience, pulling off his aviator's jacket. "Just a spectacle? A bloody piece of meat to be toyed with?" He grabbed his t-shirt by the hem and yanked it off.

The majority of the females in the audience and a good chunk of the men switched their focus from the group to Spike's abdominal region.

One four-year-old girl sitting on her mother's lap giggled. "Mommy, I can see his tummy!"

"So can I, baby. So can I."

"They're just stories!" Xander yelled. "Made up by some demented mind. I don't even *like* maraschino cherries!"

"Yeah, just parade around without your top on, Spike," Angel huffed. "Give the people what they want. See where that gets you."

"And what are you doin'?"

"I'm being a grown-up, Spike. I'm biding my time so I can give them what they need."

"Geez, Angel," Buffy said. "Are you making decisions for the world, too?"

"Doesn't matter, Buffy," Spike scoffed. "This is all they care about. Flesh and blood. Something to thrill 'em until the next thing comes along."

"Oh, don't get on your high horse," Angel said. "This was an excuse to get shirtless in front of Buffy, and you - Hold on."

"What?"

"Do you hear that?"

Spike's ears perked up slightly. "Oh, piss."

A beam of sunlight poured in from a suddenly gaping hole in the far wall. Angel and Spike jumped back. Illyria stood in the opening she'd created, a dark silhouette in the sunshine.

"Spike. Your disregard of me is unacceptable. I-"

"He's not wearing a shirt!"

"Ohmigod!"

"It's Xander!"

"Angel! I love you!"

"Slay me, Buffy!"

A mob of fans pushed past Illyria, tore away more of the wall, and rushed the stage. The crowd pushed in until the gang was backed against the wall.

Angel grunted as he fended off dozens of grabbing hands "You had to take your shirt off, didn't you, Spike?"

Gunn's eyes widened as he took in the sight behind the door to Apartment #1.

Nothing. Empty space.

"Hmph." He backed into the hallway. "Whole lotta suspense for nothin'."

#2 was unlocked and empty, too. Same with #3 - #6.

He stopped in front of the apartment with the tarnished metal "7" on the door. Gunn turned the knob and pushed, but nothing budged. It was locked.

"Gotta be it," Gunn said, scoping out the wooden obstacle. He noticed some rotting around the hinges. He pounded his fist against the edge of the door and listened to the hardy cracking noise that resulted. He busted a knuckle with the second punch, but he could see the door coming away from the frame.

He let loose with an almighty smack and the door crashed inward, sending up plumes of dust from the disused carpet inside. As the air cleared, Gunn peered inside and found... another empty apartment.

He glanced back toward the front of the house. He could see the oversized first step - the first in a long set he'd never be able to ascend. He pulled out his cell phone, but as he was about to dial, it rang. "Hello?"

"Gunn?"

"Willow! I'm here at the place, but it looks like - "

"Have you found anything yet?"

"No," Gunn said. "I haven't. And I might not - "

"Things have gotten way freakish. The spell's taken a turn for the seriously bad."

Gunn glanced back at that first stair. "Might not be able to do this, Willow. There's - "

"You're the only one, Gunn," Willow said. "Please. Xander and Buffy - "

"Okay. Okay. Got it, yo." Gunn said. "Call you back when I get this mess sorted out." He hung up and wheeled back to the front of the house. The staircase loomed over him, twenty steps of doom.

He looked at his left leg, ran his eyes over the cast that held his excuse for bones together. It was dead weight, the chain that attached him to the rolling ball they called a wheelchair. With a leg like that, a man was pretty much useless.

There wasn't time to wait for the cavalry. Hell, as far as he knew, there wouldn't be a cavalry until somebody did something.

Gunn took a few deep breaths. "Better be somethin' worthwhile up there," he said as started unhooking his injured leg from the chair.

A plump woman in a plaid skirt grabbed Xander and thrust a photo in his face. "Look! It's me and Buffy! I met her the other day and we're great friends now! Can I take a photo with you, too?"

"Well, uh --" Xander began. Another woman pushed her aside.

"I love you, Xander!" She tore off her shirt to reveal a tattoo across her left breast that said "Xander!"

A dark-haired woman in a very minimalist outfit ran her hands over Spike's chest. "Oh, sugar, I could make you forget all your problems." A blond man shoved her away.

"Back off, honey, you're not his type."

A shabby, overweight man in his fifties begged Buffy for a hug. Several women tugged at Angel's shirt until it tore to shreds. One aggressive fan pushed Xander's groupies aside and yanked the eyepatch off his head.

"Hey!" Xander cried, clapping an eye over his socket.

The fan danced around in celebration but was quickly pulled down by three others who then fought for possession of the patch.

A young man in his teens grabbed at Buffy's hair and pulled until a clump came out. She shrieked, and backhanded him. He flew back through the crowd, but the gap closed instantly and others started grabbing for her hair. She pulled it back protectively. A skinny man in his forties yanked at the front of her blouse, and it tore open, buttons flying.

"Buffy," yelled Xander. "Help!" His flannel shirt was in tatters, and the pockets of his jeans were torn off.

Buffy kicked at her attacker, holding her hair back with one hand and her shirt closed with the other. "Sorry, Xand. Can't help you."

A very large man had enveloped Angel in a bear hug and kept mumbling, "I love you, man. You're my hero. I love you, man."

They pushed their attackers away but the crowds were so thick they had no where to go. Fights started breaking out among the fans.

"Bitch!"

"Whore!"

"Impotent son of a mutant cow!"

Illyria burst through the crowd. "Spike!"

"This isn't the best of times, pet," he gasped, as he tried to disentangle a young lady's legs from his waist.

She cocked her head. "You do not command proper respect from your worshippers?"

"Working on that part," said Spike. "Mostly? I'd just like to get away. Could you do that thing with the wall again?"

"You would flee from mere mortals?" she asked.

"Yes!" yelped Xander. "We'd flee! Let us flee! Please!"

"Very well," she said. She shoved her way to the wall behind them and punched her way through. Spike, Xander, Angel and Buffy ducked out through the hole while she pushed away any fans that tried to follow. Spike and Angel grabbed a nearby bookcase and blocked the hole with it as soon as Illyria came through.

"That probably won't hold for long," said Buffy.

"Then we'd better move," said Xander, heading down the hall to their left.

"Hold up," said Angel. "That way goes straight outside."

"Exactly," said Xander. "The sooner I'm out of this place, the better."

"The very sunny outside," said Spike.

"So?" asked Xander.

"Is there another way out?" asked Buffy.

"I think there's an underground parking garage that way," said Angel, pointing to the right.

"You think? Reassuring," said Xander.

"Come on, Xand," said Buffy.

"No way," Xander replied. "I'm taking the fastest way out." He turned to the left. A door burst open in front of him, and fans started streaming into the hallway. Xander made an abrupt swivel turn. "And that appears to be this way," he said, running down the hallway to the right.

Untethered, Gunn inched his chair up until the wheels were resting against the first stair. He strained his arms forward, grabbing wildly until he managed to get fingerhold on the banister. He used the purchase to fall forward a bit and grab on.

He leaned against the railing, holding on as tightly as he could. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw his chair. His chair which he wasn't sitting in. No, Charles Gunn was actually approaching vertical. He smirked.

All right. He pulled his right foot up to the first stair. He eased his grip on the banister and tested the leg. Wasn't the strongest it could be, but it'd hold. He brought the left up, but he couldn't bend it properly to get it to sit on the stair.

"C'mon, yo," Gunn muttered. He tried to swing the leg out and up, but it smacked against the newel post with a dull clunk.

Gunn grimaced as the pain rose out of the limb. He chomped down on his lip.

He waited for the sensation to spiral down to a dull ache. Brushing his hand over his mouth, he noticed he'd drawn blood. He expelled a blast of air and looked up the steep path before him. He glanced down at the damaged leg. "Fine."

He hugged himself to the railing and lifted his right foot to the second step. He climbed up the banister a little and lugged the left leg up from behind, unable to really set it down. "One small step for man... one giant pain in the ass for me," he grumbled.

Another step with the right, another crawl up the railing, another drag on the useless limb. Another step, crawl, drag. Step, crawl, drag. Step, crawl, drag.

Sweat cascading off his brow and slicking down his hands, Gunn slammed his right foot on the sixteenth step and pulled his body up to meet it. He reached out with his hand and gripped a section of railing above him. His fingers curled underneath, and his index finger met with a jutting nail.

"Gah!" He ripped his hand away. His other hand slipped off the banister and his balance tipped in favor of his backside. He cried out as he started to tumble...

They ran through the studios, led by Angel. Down the hallway, first left, second right, down three stairs, and there was the parking garage. Angel yanked the door open and cheers streamed in. He slammed the door shut.

"They're everywhere!"

Footsteps behind them grew louder.

"We can't stay here," said Buffy. She turned, ran back up the three stairs and headed left down the hall. The others followed. The only safe way appeared to be the stairwell, so she led them up a flight of stairs, down the hall and into an office suite furnished with large leather couches. Xander went through the desk drawers for something to tie over his eye socket while the others moved the couches to block the doorway.

"This guy's got a towel in his desk drawer," Xander said, pulling it out.

"Why would somebody do that?" Angel asked.

Xander tied his discovery around his head. "So he always knows where it is?"

"You are not worthy of such devoted worship," declared Illyria.

"Fine by me," said Spike.

Inhumanly savage pounding rattled the door.

"What are we going to do?" asked Xander.

Spike glanced down at his naked torso. "Maybe if I put a shirt on..."

Adrenaline ripped through Gunn's veins. As he hurtled backwards, he felt time slow down and he wondered if this is how Illyria saw the world when she still had her god mojo.

Weirdly calm for falling backwards towards almost certain death/paralysis, he swung his left leg out as if it was the most natural plan of action. The cast crashed through the pine spindles and caught on the banister. Gunn's back smacked against the carpet and his head's collision with the wall was relatively easy, all things considered.

Familiar ripples of pain shot up and down his leg, complemented by an ensemble choir of ow running from his mid-back all the way to the spot on his head where a bump was slowly raising.

"Ow." He lay motionless for a few moments. "Ow."

He sat up, rubbing the back of his neck. He carefully dislodged his leg from the banister. Carefully, he stood up on his right leg, bracing himself against the wall. He grabbed onto the railing and looked up. He'd only lost a few steps in all of that.

He nodded and lifted his leg to the next step, crawled up the banister a bit, and dragged his left leg up after him. Another step, crawl, drag. Step, crawl, drag.

Step. Crawl. Drag.

Xander shoved against the couch-barricade. Above him, the door had started to splinter a little.

Outside, the fans called out to them. "Buuuffffy. Spiiiike. Xaaaaander..."

Xander gaped. "It's like A Hard Day's Night of the Living Dead."

"You do not go to answer your followers. They scream your name and you deny the power you wield over them."

Spike looked at Illyria. "Funny how they're not screamin' out for you. Seems like the God-King would be the one with the most worship."

"I find it strange but unnotable. This is not how the world is meant to be."

Buffy marched over to the desk and picked up the phone. "Maybe Willow can figure this thing out," she said. She dialed a number. While waiting for Willow to answer, she turned around to lean on the desk and screamed and dropped the phone.

Half a dozen fans standing on the ledge outside smashed through the tiny window, sending broken glass flying into the office. They fought each other to be the first to squeeze into the ridiculously small opening.

The couches blocking the door shook as the fans attempted to force the entrance open.

Angel grabbed a nine-iron from the corner. "Weapons, everybody. It's about to get ugly."

Gunn leaned against the wall and pushed open the door to #8. Bingo. Sitting in front of him were rows of evenly-spaced Dell servers, whirring and calculating. They all connected to a single wall outlet through a series of daisy-chained surge protectors. In the corner, a monitor showed the Buffy-summers.net frontpage.

Using the wall as a guide, he carefully made his way to the terminal and noted that this was, indeed, the place the site was coming from.

"Time for a little magic of my own," Gunn said. He lifted his left leg and kicked the plug out of the wall outlet. The monitor blinked off. The whirring ceased.

Gunn looked around for a mystical energy swell or ethereal noise. Silence.

"That's it?"

"Weapons, Angel? They're human! We can't kill them!" yelled Buffy.

"We can't let them kill us, either," said Angel.

"I hate to say it, but I agree with Angel," said Xander.

"Same here. With the hating and the agreeing," said Spike.

"It must be the apocalypse if you three agree on something," Buffy said. "Okay, we defend ourselves, but go for minimum damage!"

Willow's voice came from the dropped phone. "Hello? Buffy, is that you?"

Buffy picked up the receiver. "Wil! Major badness at the studio. Can you --"

The door flew open just as one demented admirer forced his way through the broken window. The screaming fans poured in the the room - and stopped suddenly. They looked at each other, confused, and turned around to leave.

"Sorry about that," said the man from the window said as he left. "Don't know why I did that."

Buffy realized she was still holding the receiver. "Thanks, Wil! Whatever you did, I think it worked."

"I didn't do anything," said Willow. "Gunn must've destroyed the server."

"The what?" asked Buffy.

"Never mind, I'll tell you later," said Willow.

Dawn's burly escort, who had been her personal bodyguard not five minutes ago, gave her a light shove out the front door. "If I ever catch you on company property again, I'll call the cops, dig?"

"But-"

The guard slammed the door in her face.

Dawn frowned "I guess tomorrow's session with Bowie is off."

Gunn hobbled to the landing and hit the speed dial on his cellular. "Hello, Wil-"

"Gunn, you did it!"

"Good to know."

"I just got off the phone with Buffy. Other than some ripped and missing clothing, they're okay!"

Gunn smiled. "Cool, cool. What about the rest of it?"

"I'm watchin' E! right now. It's like we were never there. They're doing a report right now on how all these magazines and newspapers that came out in the last week are turning up with blank pages, and nobody can remember what went there."

"How does that work?"

"I don't know. I think it might be like a Ben-is-Glory deal."

"A who is what?"

"It's a Sunnydale thing. Do you need somebody to come get ya?"

"Yeah, but no hurry," Gunn said, looking down the staircase. "I got somethin' to take care of still. Could be a little while."

Sage walked into the room just as Willow was hanging up the phone. The redhead sighed. "Don't worry, Sage. I know you probably don't remember who I am. I'll get going."

"Willow."

"I, uh... You know who I am?"

Sage nodded. "You're Willow Rosenberg. One of the most powerful witches in history, opener of the proverbial slayer floodgates, and, apparently, victim of some sort of fame spell."

"But that spell ended!" Willow said. "I think."

"It did. I felt it. Also, the morning paper has some blank spots in it."

"Okay. Fame spell over. You still remember me." Willow scrunched up her nose. "I get the feeling I'm missing something sort of vital here."

Sage sat down on the edge of her bed. "Willow, if I'd known your condition before all of this, I would have invited you to stay with us anyway. Your name's made its way around my circles quite a bit. You gave the world a gift." She shrugged. "The least I could do is give you a little something back."

Willow sighed with relief. "So, you're not here to kick me out?"

"Actually, I am," Sage said.

"I don't know if it's the sickness, but I'm really feeling loop-free today."

Sage took Willow's hand in her own. "You've made some excellent progress with us. You have color in your cheeks, you have a bounce in your step, you have a step to have a bounce in."

"Right! Which is why I should stay, so I can do more."

"You can't. We helped you on starting a journey. You have to do the rest on your own." Sage stood. "You're a remarkable lady, even without the magick. But you're only going to discover that outside of these walls."

"Kind of a baby bird outta the nest thing?"

"Pretty much," Sage said. "Here's my card. Give me a call if you need anything. Even if it's just to talk or get out of the house."

Willow took the proffered card and looked at it. Sage Silverman. With a home phone number. "Heh. You do know I have a girlfriend, right?"

"And I have a boyfriend. I hope that doesn't mean we can't do something sometime."

Willow smiled. "Course we can."

"Okay, big weirdness," said Buffy. "And I know who might have some answers."

They found Laurel in the green room, talking on her cell phone to someone. She broke off the conversation as soon as she saw them.

"Oh, darlings, thank God you're all right!"

"You remember who we are?" asked Buffy.

"Of course! What kind of silly question is that?"

"It seems like the rest of the folks out there have forgotten us," said Spike.

"Weirdest thing," said Buffy. "It's like a spell was suddenly broken."

Laurel smiled. "So soon? I expected it to last another week, at least."

"You're not denying it?" asked Xander.

Laurel shrugged. "You're smart folks. You'd have figured it out sooner or later. There'd probably be some physical threats, maybe a little flashing of the fangs, and I might get a black eye. I just had a chemical peel, and I really don't want to mar my complexion. Anything else you want to know?"

They looked at each other, startled by her non-resistance. Angel recovered first. "Who do you work for?"

"Patterson Agency," she said. "Though I suppose I'll need some new clients now."

"You know what I mean," growled Angel.

"Oh, sweetie. I'm not allowed to be coy?"

"No," said Buffy. "Explain it to us. Use small words. Who did the spell?"

"Oh, I can't tell you that. Client-agent confidentiality. You understand," said Laurel.

Buffy shrugged. "So much for your complexion," she said, raising her fist.

"Now, Buffy," Laurel said, holding up her own hands in defense.

Buffy advanced on Laurel, who backed up and stumbled over a low coffee table. She fell backwards and grabbed for her purse, clutching it to her chest. Buffy leaned over Laurel. "I think you'd better explain yourself."

Laurel pulled something from her purse and threw it at Buffy. The Slayer ducked, but the object exploded in the air before it reached her. A bright light flashed, and the room filled almost instantly with smoke. By the time their eyes stopped watering enough to see, Laurel was gone.

"Damn!" exclaimed Xander.

Angel stood over the spot where Laurel had fallen. He held up a necklace he'd found on the floor. It was the same symbol he'd found on Julia after she'd been sacrificed. "This has to end now."

Buffy picked up a battered envelope from the floor where it lay among makeup, gum and other items from Laurel's purse. She pulled out a folded piece of paper. She opened it. "It's in code," she said, showing it to the group. "Anybody here good with that sort of thing?"

They all shook their heads.

Angel scratched the back of his neck. "Usually, I just hand it off to Gunn or Dawn."

"This is Willow's gig, not mine," said Buffy. "There's five of us in one room, and we still manage to be short a good brain person. Fine. We'll get it figured out."

Nivel watched Todd bark commands out at his hand-to-hand combat class. With things progressing so swiftly, it was important that all of the brethren were well prepared. While he hoped that their function would be merely spiritual, he had acknowledged that there was a possibility of physical altercation, especially during what would be a volatile time.

He put his hand on Todd's shoulder. The combat instructor jumped. Since the incident with Walt, Nivel noted that there was a certain fear in the hearts of the Brotherhood. He could live with this, so long as the feeling was transferred to the appropriate recipient when the time came.

"Lord Prefect Nivel, sir," Todd said. "What can I do for you?"

Nivel smiled. "Nothing. I merely wanted to comment on your good work. When our purpose is known to the world, your contributions won't be forgotten."

"I do what I do in the name of The Reborn One."

"In the name of The Reborn One." Nivel patted Todd on the back. "Carry on." The Lord Prefect turned and walked toward one of the storage rooms. He stopped when the exterior door opened and three brothers in street clothes crept inside.

"Coming from somewhere?"

One of them coughed. "Um, in a sense, sir. We were keeping an, um, eye on the misguided heroes. We found ourselves in a television studio. Can't tell you why. We think one of them might have cast a spell to confuse us."

Nivel studied them carefully. "Have any of you been using the Internet?"

Another of the brothers hung his head down. "I... I just wanted to check my e-mail."

"I told you all. No Internet until further notice." He sighed. "Which, I suppose, I can lift now." He gave them a stern look. "If I find you've gone against another one of my edicts, I can promise that you won't live to see the coming days."

"Yes, sir. Sorry, sir." The three ran off.

Nivel watched them go, and then strode into the storage room they used for mystical artifacts. Brad was kneeling in front of the box they had retrieved from the San Diego museum earlier in the summer. In his hand, the acolyte held a strange apparatus with clockwork pieces and metal tentacles.

"So, we have it, then."

"Yes, sir. The team just brought it in." Brad handed the gizmo to Nivel.

The Lord Prefect turned it over in his hands. "The 47 Fingers. The only device capable of opening that box. With this, we have almost everything we need."

"Yes, sir."

"When were you going to get around to telling me we had it?"

"Um..."

A ringing emenated from Nivel's breast pocket. "Never mind, Brad." He looked at the caller ID. "I have to take this. Alone."

Brad nodded and left. Nivel hit the "talk" button and put the phone to his ear. "Hello."

The voice on the other end sounded amused. Then again, he always sounded amused. "Hello, old friend."

"The spell worked marvelously; I cannot thank you enough for that distraction."

"Not at all. Magicks like that are something of a speciality of mine. I take it you have it, then."

"We do. The liberation took place at noon today," Nivel said. "Although, I must ask something, and I hope you'll forgive my curiousity."

"No worries. What is it?"

"We needed only a day's worth of diversion. The spectacle seemed a bit..."

"Overmuch? Yes, well - unfortunately, one of my vices is excess. When the time has come and the reins have been taken up, I hope to stand in utter humility of The Reborn One."

Nivel smiled. "You will, friend. You will."

Spike pulled on one of Gunn's t-shirts. "Look, don't tell me I'm the only one that thinks it's weird that Blue wasn't involved in the whole hero worship mojo."

"Maybe she gets a pass for having used up all her adoring masses during her ancient reign," Angel said, spreading the coded note out on Dawn's desk. He stared at it. "You know, this decryption stuff isn't really my thing."

"Mine either." Buffy looked around. "Nice office."

"Thanks." He studied the sheet. "Wait a minute..."

Buffy hurried over behind the desk. "What?"

"Did you say Gunn ended the spell?"

Buffy groaned.

Spike shrugged. "Doesn't seem that big a deal to me. I seem to recall Charlie Boy was very good with the comin' through bit once upon a very short time ago."

"Yeah, but..."

Spike cocked an eyebrow. "You sayin' he can't be a hero now that he's got an impediment?"

"No." Angel looked back down at the sheet. "I just wish he was here to figure this out. I'm used to being able to just pull him from a moping session in his room."

"People. They'll surprise ya," Willow said from the doorway.

"Willow!" Buffy squealed. "Oh my God, look at you! Walking Willow!"

"An' look at you, all in the same room with Spike and Angel girl," Willow said with a grin. "Where's Xander?"

Buffy smirked. "He offered to go pick up Gunn. Said something about making sure those servers stayed off. He took an axe with him."

"Lad was on a mission of devastation," Spike said. "You're lookin' good, Red."

"Can we get on this, people?" Angel said. "Willow, nice to see you. Any chance I could get you to do some code-cracking?"

"Yes, Angel, I'm feeling much better. Thanks for askin'."

"Sorry. It's been a long day."

Willow grabbed the sheet. "Huh."

"What?" Angel asked.

"It's kind of an easy code. Does Dawnie still have my cryptography book here?" Angel pulled open one of the desk drawers and handed the volume to her. She flipped to a point about a quarter of the way in. "Yup. Easy peasie." She grabbed some scratch paper and wrote out the translation in mere minutes.

"Brotherhood of Renraw?" Angel glowered. "The cult. These are the people that killed Julia." He stormed into his office and came out with five or six books. "Let's get cracking on this. Highlight and cross-reference any mention of Renraw you can find. By the end of the week, I want a full outline of their operations, a location of some kind, and a detailed biography of all their major players, including any deities they might worship."

Buffy crossed her arms. "Raise your hand if you work for Angel."

"This is a major clue, Buffy. These might be the people who made Willow sick."

"Don't know," Spike said. "Red said it herself - figurin' that out was a bit easy."

"We're just going to let this sit?"

"Hardly," Buffy said. "There's just something more to this, like..."

"...like something from the past," Willow finished for her. "I get the feeling of old school mojo."

Buffy nodded. "I just wish I could put my finger on why this was so familiar..."

"In the name of the Reborn One," Nivel's voice chattered out of the phone.

"In the name of the Reborn One." The man dropped the phone back into the receiver and leaned back in his chair.

Laurel leaned against the wall, rubbing her forearm. "I went through all the trouble of getting that silly Renraw tattoo, and they don't even check my wrist. Ethan, darling, is that any way for them to treat their betrayer? Honestly."

Ethan Rayne smirked. "Well, I never found them to be terribly bright with Ripper around, so I suspect they've gotten dimmer in his absence. So long as they found the note you planted, everything should be fine."

"I simply don't know what I would have done if I had to start spouting that worship crap that I hear you dribbling when you talk to Nivel."

"A necessary inconvenience, I'm afraid," Ethan said, standing up. "Speaking of which, I think it's best that you skip town for a few weeks, my dear. If you're spotted by either the Renraw lackbrains or Ms. Summers, things could get rather complicated."

"I wanted to be here for everything, though," Laurel pouted.

"You will. You will," Ethan reassured her. He looked out of the window. "You know, before my incarceration, the games were always so small. Little bits of madness to liven things up and stop the world from being boring."

"And after?"

"You learn patience. By allowing one man's desire for order to go unchecked, I'll be able wreak havoc on levels I'd only ever dreamed of." He turned to Laurel and smiled.

She looked at Ethan and shivered. Despite his delighted expression, there was no joy or mirth in his eyes - just a cold, bitter blackness which seemed to get even darker when the chaos worshipper began to laugh.

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