(notes and disclaimer with part one)

Rupert made eggs Benedict for breakfast the following morning, smiling at a yawning Buffy as they sat down together. When they were done she announced her intention to help him with his work for the day. They worked together solidly for a couple of hours, Buffy finding volumes and opening them to the correct pages, as well as using his typewriter to record references and information he was going to need in his latest report.

“Why do they need so much information about Nebraska…and how exactly are they going to benefit from the twenty year history of 'Stanthorpe Inc.'? Near as I can tell it's a tin pot little family company going nowhere.”

“Indeed,” Rupert agreed. “However their financial difficulties make them a prime target and whilst they may be far from solvent at this juncture, their infrastructure and resources are considerable. In fact, their main problem is that they've overreached themselves in setting up the company, eating into their capital past the point of viability.”

“Whatever,” Buffy muttered. She got the gist, but business and economics and the rest were Anya's thing. “So they're great organisers and lousy business men…what does our Overseer want with a transport company?”

“Not a great deal,” Rupert admitted. “What they want is the twenty-five percent share the company owns in an east coast utility company which supplies power to three states.”

Buffy rolled her eyes. “Fine. Why do they need a power company? I thought they got their power from, y'know: people juice. They were going to suck my father dry…”

He sighed. “The utility company owns a number of mines and is a majority stockholder in at least one shipping company.”

“And?” She prompted.

“Well, they don't care about the coalmines, which are the majority, but one of the other mines happens to also have a seam of high grade beryl, which they do want.”

“Okay, I'll bite. Who is Beryl and why do they want her?”

He ruffled her hair. “It's a mineral. And before you ask, I don't know why they want it, only that they do. It's no doubt part of their intricate web of trade throughout the world, providing a component in some other transaction, somewhere.”

“Okay, they're non-corporeal here. I'm guessing nothing from here can exist wherever they actually come from and vice-versa…so why all the trading?”

“Very astute of you. They are accumulating wealth with which to trade with other demon dimensions to acquire the raw materials they need to sustain the energy requirements of their own world. There are several demon dimensions which have elements of both worlds…intersection points if you will…whose inhabitants are able to travel between both worlds and from whom these creatures acquire vast quantities of the materials they require to sustain their own world.”

“So why don't these guys go do all their fancy trading on those worlds instead of wheeling and dealing high finance on Earth? What made us so lucky?”

“The currency of trade,” he said cryptically. “All funds raised here are converted into shipments of jadeite, or star sapphires, which are peculiar to this dimension but very attractive and valuable in a number of others.”

“Which…is…why the need to make a lot of money…” Buffy realised. “So juicing loan defaulters really is just a sideline?”

He inclined his head. “And a deterrent to convince others to repay their loans and the interest in full.”

“So one way of getting their attention would be to research huge sources of the gems? Cut out the middleman, right? Any of your books about gemstones? Or mining?”

Rupert looked bemused, but thought a little before rising to go and climb the ladder to the highest shelves on the northern wall. When he returned it was with only two volumes.

One was a detailed book about New Zealand and the other a geological text.

Buffy looked at them sceptically. “That's it? You know schist and granite don't really qualify as gemstones,” she told him, poking at the faded geological text. “And since when is New Zealand a gem capital of the world?”

“Since it is one of the best known sources of jade…” he offered, deadpan.

By the time they'd scoured the texts, Rupert had narrowed the search to Burma and Imperial Jade, in the geological text, despite its age. The other book was effusive about fiords, glaciers, hot springs and New Zealand's assortment of weird and wonderful extinct and still living critters but apart from a page and a half of the usual tourist spiel and photos of Maori carvings of New Zealand green stone, there was nothing solid that they could use. They returned to the geology book.

“We really should consider the consequences if we tell them about this place. It's wide open to exploitation, situated as it is in the north of the country and away from the scrutiny of the rest of the world.”

Buffy frowned as she read over his shoulder. Mogaung really didn't deserve to become the focus of the Overseer's attention, no matter what kind of place it was, or what kind of government the country had, but they had to find some way of escaping and if they tried to fake the information and they of the 'no bodies' found out, the consequences could be unspeakable…and there was always her father to worry about…

“You are hinting that this Mogaung place in the article isn't exactly…entirely…on the up and up, right?” she guessed. “So if we tell the Overseer… Wait a minute, how come, if they're looking for jade, you haven't already told them about this joint?”

Rupert looked sheepish, but made a silencing gesture, which Buffy read, and followed him out of the room. Once they were beyond the grounds he spoke.

“I tell them as little as I possibly can. Just enough to keep them believing that I'm doing my job, but compromising as few places or individuals as I possibly can,” he told her. “If I had told them about Mogaung they would be virtually running the country by now.”

“Are you sure they aren't already?” Buffy drawled.

Rupert looked surprised. “You do know something about world affairs?”

She rolled her eyes. “I read. Not all Americans think the world ends at the Mexican and Canadian borders or the west or east coast.”

“I'm impressed,” he said dryly.

“Just tell me what you think we should do,” she grouched.

“I think I should investigate Mogaung as extensively as possible, so that we have some idea what we're getting ourselves into before we try to formulate a plan of action.”

“So in the meantime we can still have our Christmas?” Buffy ventured.

For a moment he seemed nonplussed then the amusement returned to his eyes. “Down to the last chestnut,” he agreed.

“Cool,” she said happily, then sobered. “How do I help?”

“Do you know how to tame a computer…? I think I can get them to give us one, much as I hate the blasted things…”

Buffy and Rupert surveyed their Christmas table with satisfaction.

“I like the red candles,” she sighed. “The crystal candle sticks are really working there too.”

They looked at each other and then at the banquet of traditional food.

“But the food is wonderful!”

“But the food…!”

Each said in unison, and Buffy giggled while Rupert snorted softly, his eyes dancing.

“Is it going to be enough?” Buffy asked quietly as they took their seats.

The creature knew exactly what she was referring to. “It's plenty…more than I've ever given them before…more quality, more variety…much more.”

“Then we have to convince them we're their only hope of getting into the area. How do we do that? I'm sure they've got plenty of henchmen like Cyrelle who could do their handiwork, or they could transport a taxi-body to Mogaung for one of them and do it all themselves.”

“Remember, they cannot exist here in real time…even using a corporeal body…they're simply don't exist in the same time space. And Cyrelle, himself, has all the subtlety of a jackhammer and the intellect of a cantaloupe. He'd be more likely to start a war than to successfully complete any commercial negotiations,” Rupert explained. “It is possible they might want to go through contacts like your father…people in large companies, high places, who owe them, but if they want to remain entirely covert, as they have done thus far, they are unlikely to want to recruit from businesses and places of power which might ultimately either leak or use information against them.”

He offered a curious Buffy a cracker to pull. A moment, and a loudish snap later, she was looking in her half for the prize, on his advice. It was a child's plastic gold ring with an acrylic green 'stone' in it. “An omen,” she smiled, sliding it onto the ring finger of her left hand.

Rupert stared at it for a long moment then offered a second cracker, which they pulled before he found his own treat: a small pencil sharpener.

“Wow,” Buffy deadpanned. “A pencil sharpener. That's right up there with the little plastic animal of no recognisable genus Dawn got out of her favourite cereal box just before I left...”

“Piffle,” he agreed, “but at least this is practical.”

“Exactly…not a word synonymous with 'fun', Rupert, babe.”

Rupert tilted his head to one side, his eyes clearly twinkling. “I'm a babe?”

Buffy looked up, the laughter dying in her eyes as swiftly as it had bubbled up. “You should carve,” she said quietly.

Rupert didn't know what he'd done wrong, but he proceed to carve portions from each bird and joint of meat on the table.

“Something is wrong?” he finally asked when, halfway through his own plate, he realized that she had barely touched hers.

Buffy shook her head. “Not really. You just reminded me of someone.”

“Ah,” he said. “We will find him.”

“I wish I could believe that, but Giles wouldn't disappear like that…not so completely …so scarily. Not without saying something first…even if it was just some kind of message…”

“And you don't believe he left you one?”

She shook her head, looking suddenly bereft, her mouth losing its stubborn tension and her eyes growing very bright.

Rupert studied her for a long moment. “You love him,” he said simply.

Her eyes shot up to his. “Of course I…I mean he's my…he's a friend…my best friend.” But she looked anything but convinced of her own words.

“You love him,” Rupert repeated gently. “It's in your voice, your eyes. As I said before: he's a very lucky man.”

Buffy shook her head again. “No he's not. I never told him…even once. He left because I was so awful…”

He frowned. “Surely…” he began.

“Oh, no…don't get me wrong,” Buffy interrupted. “He was right to go. I couldn't deal…letting him do it all because I didn't want to…leaning and using…”

“You are not so, now,” he observed, and began to eat again.

“I've learned a lot…a lot has happened. He came back…and he saved us all…and it felt so good to have him back, but he had to leave again…had to take W—someone with him, to make them better, teach them stuff…”

“And?” Rupert asked, sensing an unfinished thought.

“…And to go home. His home. He's happy here in England…his home; happier than he'll ever be in California.”

“You underestimate yourself.”

Buffy snorted. “More likely I overestimated myself. If I hadn't spent so much time angsting about how I came back…what I thought I was…he might not have left. He doesn't need me…all I do is complicate things and stop him having a life of his own.”

Rupert shook his great head and put his fork down. “Whatever it is you think you've done, if he has a heart, he already loves you…” As I love you…

The unspoken words hung in the air.

They stared at each other for a long time before both went uncomfortably back to their meals.

Only when Buffy rose to bring dessert from the kitchen, did she speak again. “Any luck getting a computer?”

He shook his head. “I suppose a computer with internet access was a little too much to ask for, considering the opportunities it presented.”

“Like they couldn't stop us from communicating with anyone. These are the people who invented the 'Yorkshire treadmill'. Going around in circles on a computer couldn't be that much harder for them.”

He shrugged. “I suppose, but the opportunities for me to extend my research are such that I would have expected them to at least try to address the issue.”

“Have you checked the den today?”

Both of them looked at each other then turned simultaneously and headed for his den.

The new computer was the latest and best as far as Buffy could tell. The only thing was, Rupert had left things out of his order. It didn't have a printer or a scanner. There was, however, a modem. It took them some time to check out the contents of the hard-drive and familiarize themselves with the internet software, neither of them particularly adept at either, before they were able to log on to the account provided. As expected, any effort to send an email to anyone produced only error messages, no matter how many different ways they tried, despite the browser working perfectly.

“Great, we can visit any porn site on the net, but we can't talk to anyone,” Buffy growled, dragging a hand through her hair in a harried fashion, after yet another failed attempt, this time using a newly created online account.

Rupert, looking over her shoulder, straightened and turned without speaking, to prowl the room.

“We'll keep gathering the information about the gems but in the meanti—”

Buffy looked around just in time to see him crash to the ground.

“Rupert!!!”

When she reached him, he was sprawled on the floor, on his face. She rolled him over but found him a dead weight, awkward despite her Slayer strength.

“Rupert? Rupert, can you hear me? Don't leave me here. I'll go insane here without you. Please, come back!” she cried, even though all she really wanted was for him to be alive.

Despite her fevered caressing of his brow and shaking of his shoulder he didn't move and it was becoming difficult to detect any breathing.

“Rupert!” she cried again, then looked up. “Is this what you want? Are you just going to let him die? You've probably given him a heart attack!” She shook him again, hard, and lifted an eyelid. He was out cold, whatever was wrong with him. In desperation Buffy unbuttoned the first few buttons of his shirt and laid her head against his chest. His pulse was thready and very rapid.

“No!” she cried, trying not to panic, but continuing to shout nonetheless. “You can't have him. If you did this to get my attention, you've got it! What do you want? Whatever it is, you have to tell me! He doesn't deserve this! You hear me?”

By the time Cyrelle appeared, Buffy had drawn Rupert's head onto her lap.

“Is it dead yet?”

Buffy looked up at the stocky creature. “What do you think, stupid? Do something or I'll make you sing like Celine Dion. And I'm guessing your bosses wouldn't even be *that* kind if he dies because you were too slow…”

“What am I supposed to do?” Cyrelle demanded irritably. They bring me here like I'm supposed to know what to do…Do I look like I have a medical degree?”

“Then find someone who does. Either bring them here, or take us to them.”

“I can't do that. They won't do that. Besides where exactly am I supposed to take *him*…the local vet?”

“If you have to,” Buffy growled. “If he doesn't survive they'll lose their researcher and I'm sure *you'd* make a peachy replacement…*not*. How long, do you think, before your ass is grass when they realize what you've cost them…? How long can they go without more sapphires and jade to trade to keep their crappy little world alive?”

Cyrelle looked as though he could cheerfully have throttled Buffy if he wasn't so intimidated by her.

“Wait,” he growled and vanished. Moments later he was back, looking sour and putting a hand on Rupert's vast one. Buffy realised immediately what he was doing and clutched at his shoulder as they started to fade.