She paused to catch her breath and wipe a sheen of sweat from her face, brushing back a strand of dark blonde hair. The late afternoon was sunny and clear. She looked back at the trail she had hiked so far; it curled up the mountainside like a thin snake and wouldn't have appeared on any map. She had started out this morning from the most remote forest station in Montana and was now in total wilderness. Well, almost total. Mike's cabin was less than two miles uphill, if his directions were accurate. She shifted the heavy pack on her shoulders; shouldn't have loaded all that gear, she thought.

Angel was waiting for her at Mike's. She gnawed on that idea as she braced herself and continued climbing. It had been a long time but had anything changed? For one, she was five years older than the last time they met. Yet somehow the thought of Angel was still able to set her mind reeling in confusion and emotion. She hadn't forgotten enough memories. It's going to fall into one of those awkward silences and that'll be it. Just try to keep the mood light. Get the job done, get out, thankyouverymuch and goodbye. God, if only Willow had been able to find another one of those axe things!

The Blessed Axe of Saint Jacques was a one-of-a-kind hunting antique from the early days of France. They had searched the world over and pulled every string of every contact with no results-- except for Angel.

"Ahem. Um, there's a certain nonbreathing someone in Los Angeles who might, I don't know, have old French axes lying around. Or hanging up," Xander mumbled one night over leftover pizza. He hated to mention it, but it was their last and only option. Willow had contacted him that night and sure enough, there it was. Figures. And of course he insisted on coming along, maybe for more reasons than "you can't UPS a hunting ax." Lame excuse anyway. Maybe he had some experience in dealing with evil Kobolds.

According to Mike, the troll-like creatures had tunneled in from Canada and set up home in an old mine shaft under the very mountain she was hiking up. Mike Norman, a friend of Giles, had called them two weeks ago to request a favor.

"Normally they don't attack unless they're provoked, but these suckers have taken to going after the campers and forest patrol over at the national campground," he explained. "They're the best blacksmiths around, so you're gonna need a hell of a good weapon. A Blessed Ax is the only thing around nowadays." He paused. "Sorry if this seems a little sudden, but Kobolds are vicious little beasts and I'm getting too old for killing the bad guys."

At the time she had thought something naive, like "camping trip" or "brisk day of hiking." Now there was Angel to deal with and her muscles were screaming from the uphill climb. But it was a nice break from Southern California Hellmouth activities, she admitted. The fresh air was... well, refreshing. As she rounded a bend, Mike's cabin was suddenly there.

The squat, mossy-covered cabin was old yet cozy with a sagging porch. Mike was a self-proclaimed hermit and had a pilot fly in supplies at the lake twice a week. She hadn't been too sure what to expect--maybe a crazy bearded man?--and was suprised to find him drinking a beer on the porch steps. He sprung up at her appearance and loped forward with a big grin. He did have a bushy mountain-man beard, but it was tamed like a grandfather's.

"Buffy Summers, I presume! Well how the hell are ya!" He took off her heavy pack without asking and slung it over a shoulder, leading her to the cabin.

"Sweaty. Stinky. Pretty good, Mr.Norman."

"Oh call me Mike," he said with a dismissing wave. "Man, am I glad to see you. That other kid isn't much for the light chitchat, but then most vampires aren't." He gave a boom of a laugh that sent a few birds from the pines.

She didn't try to even chuckle along. Her mouth had dried up and her heart beat palpably. Christ, he could probably hear it from inside the cabin. Mike kicked the door open and filled up the tiny hallway as he carried her gear to a spare cot. "Yeah the place is crowded, so y'all can share the kitchen space. I've got my room, but there's so much junk I can hardly sleep there myself." A huge mutt barked from another room. "Oh that's just Big Devil, he's friendly enough. You don't have dog allergies?"

"No..." She frowned. Big Devil?

Suddenly someone else was in the small cabin kitchen. He stood by the iron stove, in the shadows. She caught her breath for a second, then remembered control. Keep it light, keep it business. Mike set down her pack and glanced up, sensing a change in the mood. "I'll go get some fish started up," he excused himself.

"Hey." He was the first to speak, shifting slightly in the shadows.

"Hey." She registered that he looked the same. That ever immortal face.

"How was--"

"Good," she rushed, then backed up. "I mean, fine. A little tired." A lot tired and in dire need of a shower; she was painfully aware of her sweated appearance. "You have the axe?"

"Yeah. Spent some of the morning sharpening it up."

"Good. Okay."

He cleared his throat awkwardly. She wanted to move, to unpack, but she stood rooted. Oh God. "How...how have you been?" he ventured tentatively, as if walking on glass.

"I've managed. You?" Keep it to a minimum.

"Not much changes." He tried to joke a little. The amount of suppressed emotion and tension was beginning to fill the room. "Buffy..."

That way he said it, she could nearly taste the feeling. A tight ache in the chest. But things had happened since then, she had changed, life had gone on. "Listen. We camp out for a day or two, kill the troll thingies, and go home. Let's not make this--"

"--more than it needs to be." He finished her thought and nodded slowly. He was a mask and she couldn't read what he was thinking.

"Right. So." She took a deep breath and bent to unzip her pack. "We scout out the mine tonight, make our move tomorrow. How many are we dealing with?"

He seemed relieved to discuss business. "No more than five. They don't live in large clans. I brought along a second axe; it's not blessed, but it should hold the Kobolds off."

Buffy nodded. "And the mine shaft is...?"

"Right at the base of the mountain, I passed the old entrance trail yesterday. Shouldn't be too hard to access."

Mike stuck his head into the room, holding a fish kabob. "Trout's ready! Who's hungry?" He glanced at Angel and then boomed a laugh again. "Guess only one, right? C'mon, I'll show you the maps of the mine awhile." He gestured for them to follow.

Buffy wolfed down the delicious fish as politely as possible, Big Devil licking his chops the entire time. Her lunch had been an apple and a granola bar. She guessed that Angel was storing some food of his own in Mike's beer cooler. Reaching into said cooler, Mike snapped open another Coors and spritzed a bit of foam over the mine shaft maps. He spread them out with a palm and pointed to a faded red triangle in the far left corner. Buffy peered over the picnic table, catching a whiff of Angel's scent--was it cologne?--in the process.

"Now. Here's the entrance; base of the mountain. Angel knows how to get there, am I right?"

Angel nodded curtly. He wasn't too friendly with Mike, Buffy noticed. The bearded hermit moved his finger diagonally, tracing the shaft descent. "This is going down pretty far here, but the Kobolds are gonna be hiding out on this first level. It dead ends about two hundred feet in, so you can't get turned around."

Buffy interrupted. "You're sure they're on the first level?"

Mike took a swig of beer. "They're miners but they come up quick to be getting at these rangers. Any farther underground and it's hard to hunt. Besides," he lowered his tone seriously, "the shaft's decades old and it's not safe for your pretty little self, structure-speaking. Wooden planks rot."

"Understood." She resisted the urge to ask for seconds and instead downed the rest of her water. Big Devil was splayed on a woven rug, woefully eyeing the trout remains.

"It'll be dark soon." Angel noticed the lengthening orange strips of light inside the cabin. "We should start out early, give ourselves time to look around." It was a decision, not a suggestion. He had the ability to build up a cold shell of objectivity, and Buffy realized he was determined to stick by the vow of business only. She felt a small well of ... regret? It stayed only a moment before she pushed it aside with equal detachment.

"We'll need flashlights, weapons. I don't want these Kobolds giving us a welcome party."

Mike interjected. "I've got a crossbow, some daggers in the cellar."

The sun spread its last red rays across the tips of evergreens, then winked out on the horizen. A hazy glow remained to hold back the night for a few more minutes. "You'll see the best stars in the Northwest out here," Mike sighed, looking east.

"Yeah?" Buffy glanced up in mild interest. Stargazing wasn't high on her agenda.

"Let's see the crossbow." Angel brushed past them.