FIC: Ascension's Shadow (1/?)

[Alan Rogers <masterofwords@xxxxxxxxxx>]

After some rather persuasive pouting and painful
pummelling, belated browbeating and severe sarcasm, I have finally
relented and decided to to what I swore I would never do.

There will be two versions of a story I have written.

Not just two different endings; the would be two simple.  Two
differnt stories set to the same plotlines.  One will be a
Buffy/Willow fic -- and the other...well, if you REALLY want to know,
I'll tell you.  But ask Mad Hamlet if you really want to know. 
He knows, and he really didn't want to know.

Or so he told me after I told him.  You know, that guy can be really
expressive?

My thanks to Kimber, Mad Hamlet and a couple of others not on this list
for their help with this fic.  

And yeah, Kimber, there will be a sequel, just like we talked
about.  

Somehow, this thing ended up being written in two-chapter sections, so
that's how it's gonna get posted.  And I'm really hoping that HTML
thing is all it's cracked up to be, or this whole thing is just gonna be
so much gibberish.  

So I tell you what?  I seem to be rambling tonight, so I'm gonna
shut up and let you read.  As for feedback...well, I'm just hoping
this is the place to harvest massive overdoses of that wonderful
drug...

~alan, the mad dragon

---

Ascension's Shadow
A Buffy the Vampire Slayer Fanfiction

by: Alan Rogers (masterofwords@xxxxxxxxxx)

Author's Note:  This fanfic takes place after Graduation Day -- about an hour after the end of the episode Graduation Day Part II, to be precise.  There are going to be two versions of this fic; this version is B/W.  Don't ask about the other version -- you don't want to know.  

Rating: R, for graphic violence 

Disclaimer:  I, Alan Rogers, do not in any way, shape, form or fashion own anything of or related to Buffy the Vampire Slayer or Angel the Series.  Those rights are held exclusively by Joss Whedon, Warner Bros. Entertainment, 20th Century Fox, Mutant Enemy, Inc., and any other entities, corporations or groups not named here that have legal rights to aforementioned  series. 

Acknowledgments: To Joanne W, who made me love Buffy Fanfiction, Kimber, for showing me just how much fun it could be do create a wild Alternate Universe, to Gee, for showing me that a series doesn't have to move fast to be wonderful, and can be as much like the show as the show is like fanfiction (if that makes sense) and to Ozmandayus for demonstrating just how serious and emotional shipper-fics can be. 

Dedication: To Kimber, for endless patience with my rambling and inspiring me to write this, no matter how bad it turns out to be. 

Summary: The night of Graduation Day, Xander Harris returns home to have his life changed forever in the blink of an eye.  But when Buffy is given a new Watcher and refused admittance to UC Sunnydale, things start going from bad to worse. 

Spoilers: Graduation Day I & II especially; Seasons 1-3 (minor) -- not much of seasons 4-5 because I'm changing so much.

---

Chapter One:  Shots in the Dark 

Silently cursing his habitual late nights of world-savage and evil-slayage,Xander brushed his lengthening hair from in front of his eyes and tried toopen the door to the basement as quietly as possible, wincing at every creak and groan from the rusty hinges.  He was eager to get on with his plans for the night after high school graduation; plans painstakingly devised and put together on the lonely walk home.  A long shower and about twelve hours of sleep, preferably in that order. 

Damn, but I hope Dad didn't hear me. After today, the last thing I want to deal with is him. Everything ached. Every muscle screamed in protestwith every move he made. If it weren't for the overwhelming and unpleasantodors of burnt school, dead vampire, and drying blood, he would have been tempted to skip the whole shower part of the plan and move straight onto the sleeping part. 

And then tomorrow I throw everything in the car and get the hell away from la boca del inferno for a few months. 

Tip-toeing down the stairs, Xander reflexively flipped on the utility lamp he used as his major source of illumination. The glare from the unshielded bulb flickered for a moment before lighting the damp subterranean room thatserved as his personal sanctuary. The aromas of old bleach long gone bad burned his nose, mingling with the scents of stale laundry detergent, greaseand machine lubricants. His bed and dresser were nestled up against a wallopposite his father's tool chest and across from the washer and dryer thathis TV was snugged up next to. 

Welcome home, Alexander Harris. 

Stripping off his over shirt and throwing it into the trash - there really was no saving it - Xander rubbed his eyes and tried not to yawn, but stopped in mid-motion when he saw there was someone sitting cross-legged on his bed. 

The woman was clad in a blood-stained white t-shirt and torn, blood-smearedjeans. Barely as tall as Xander, her youthful face and build belied her actual age. Dark green eyes brimmed with tears, her face only partially hidden by her waist-length hair - a leftover from her high school hippie days - let down for the first time in his conscious memory. 

"Mother?" Xander asked, blinking in confusion. Why is she on my bed? She never comes into my room. And why is she covered in blood? He hadn't called his mother 'Mom' or 'Mommy' since the first time she had turned away while his father hit him. 

Three thoughts lined up in his mind like the multiple choice questions on his barely passed final exams. A) Father beat her BAD. B) Dad's dead. C) My mother is now a vampire, which means either Buffy is going to save me orI'm going to die. 

Seeing that his mother was only slightly bruised and was still conscious, he dismissed the first out of hand.  For the second, he doubted she would have waited for him to come home before having some kind of a huge, dramatic scene with cops and ambulances.  With the obvious lack of such a scene, Xander despondently acknowledged the distinct possibility that his third theory was right, and mentally prepared himself to stake his mother, just like he had his best friend only three years before. 

Remembering that Buffy had decided to stay the night at the hospital at Faith's side as assuage her guilt over stabbing her sister-in-arms, the exhausted teenager knew that chances of a last-minute rescue were slim to none. Casually sliding his hand into his pocket, Xander wrapped his fist around the slender back-up stake - solid oak - that he had routinely carried since the beginning of his sophomore year at Sunnydale High. 

Yeah, I think I'm going to die. 

"I went to your graduation today." Her voice was a strained whisper. 

Wonderful. Didn't see that one coming.  I guess she wanted to see me fail.  Now what? 

She looked up at her son, her eyes a swirl of conflicting emotions; fear, pride in him, shame, determination, and no small amount of sadness and despair, eating away at her from the inside out. 

The small ember of bitterness towards his parents Xander had always nursed flared to life and caught fire on the shreds of his battered emotions, making something inside him burn. His heart raced, but his breathing slowed, and for the first time in almost a decade he wasn't awkward or uncomfortable talking to his mother. 

"And?" Shamelessly he stripped off his t-shirt, revealing the cuts, bruises and lacerations he had received during the battle at graduation."Make it quick, mother. I haven't slept in two days, I just helped save the world again, and I would love to get out of here by noon tomorrow." 

Usually dry wit and sarcastic jokes were his best defense against emotions,but right then he just wanted to be left alone. He didn't want to make hersmile, or make her laugh. He wanted to make her cry, to make her feel guilty for ignoring him and everything about him since the week before kindergarten. 

The week before I met Willow. Damn, without Will, I don't know what I would have done by now. Even in the oppressive warmth of his basement bachelor pad, he shivered at the thought of losing any of his friends, especially the red-haired witch. 

"I saw what happened. What the mayor became. And I your friends did. Isaw Willow and her boyfriend, and that stunning blonde you kept casting glances at, and the two men in the suits, and even the dark stranger who fought like a demon...I saw them all. I even saw Cordelia trying to fight them." 

His mother took a deep breath, and Xander bit back a harsh curse, his _expression_ going cold as he pulled out his oft-used first aid kit to clean his cuts, knowing they would fester by morning if he didn't. 

She didn't even mention me. Willow. Buffy. Cordy. Oz. Giles. Wesley. Hell, she even saw Deadboy. But she didn't see me. 

"But most of all, Alex, I saw you. I saw my son stand up and order hisclassmates to fire arrows and flamethrowers at monsters. I saw my only child lead the way into a fight against things that aren't supposed to exist. And all I could do was stand there and stare like I was dumb." 

This time her deep breath was a sharp gasp. "Just like I stand there when your father hits you. Or me." 

Xander winced as he poured iodine over a gash on his arm, using the pain tomask his surprise. Never once in almost twelve years had his mother actually admitted what his father did. 

"And?" He asked again.  At least she noticed me.  And at least she knows what she doesn't do -- what I won't allow myself to do.  I won't stand aside and let the world be swallowed by blood-suckingwalking dead or a mayor with aspirations of world domination.  I won't let some little kid with good parents lose what they have because I didn't do something when I could; I refuse to become what my parents are.  I will be better than that, even if it's the only think I ever do right in my entire life. 

The familiar litany ran through his mind like a perverted mantra as he pulled bits of gravel and asphalt from a cut, knowing splinters, ash and gods only knew what else had infested the rest of his cuts.  I feel like someone used a cheese grater on me. 

His mother stood with and walked over to him with all the grace a lifetime of dance training and teaching could give a woman, and took the bandages and antiseptic from her son's hands. "Here. Let me." 

She lead him over to his bed and sat him down, cleaning his cuts and scrapes like she had when he was a child, her gentle, sure touch and soothing murmurers bringing more comfort that he would have thought possible. A lump settled in his throat and tears welled up as he met his mother's eyes. 

"And I was proud of you. I always have been, for everything you do. You worked hard to graduate...and if you do things like this often, I can seewhy you've been...different." 

Xander's chuckle held at least a hint of his normal humor. "You mean when I hit him back and he banished me to the basement." He had first fought back the night after he had killed Jesse - killed his best friend.  He had been punished, but he had barely noticed the blows.  It hadbeen when his father had punished his mother for what he had done that Xander had decided never to fight back again. 

She nodded slowly and looked up at him, wishing she could take her son intoher arms and let him cry for everything he had faced. Everything she had refused to see. 

"Tell me about it, Alex. Tell me what's happening. What happened today." Her voice was soft, gentle, but with a note of pleading that tuggedat heartstrings he thought he had cut years ago. "Tell me everything." 

Her hand reached up and caressed his cheek, but he turned away, ignoring the hurt in her eyes. "Everything? You want to know everything about theMayor turning into a giant snake and eating the principal and killing my friends? You want to know everything about Sunnydale? Then sit down, 'cause this ain't gonna be one of your fantasy books where all the good guys walk away. First off, don't call me Alex. My name is Xander." 

He gave a bitter snort before turning back to his mother with a contemptuous glare. 

"My name is Xander Harris, and I help kill vampires." 

But I can't even make my father stop hitting me.  Or her. 

He told her everything, starting with a conversation in the library he happened to overhear between the librarian and the stunning blonde he had made a fool of himself with. Twice. He told her about killing his best friend. He told her everything he had faced, from Ampata the mummy to Mrs. French the man-eating mantis. He told her about Amy the Rat, and Jack with his gangsand his bombs under the schools. He told her about nightly patrols and daily research, about rogue slayers he slept with after saving their lives, and standing up to one of the most dangerous vampires to ever walk the earth - twice. He told her about Buffy the Vampire Slayer and everything he had done and would do for her  -- then he told her everything Buffy had done for her, for him, and for everyone, even the pig that was his father. He told her about Giles the ex-watcher who was more of a father to him than his own father ever could be. She heard about Willow the witch and Oz the werewolf and Corde
lia his girlfriend. He told her about helping to save the world from Acathla and Angelus, and even about what it felt like to watch friend after friend die and be able to do nothing, even though he was already doing everything. 

When he was done, his voice was raw and dry, but his mother could barely speak. She wouldn't have believed a word of it if she hadn't seen that afternoon's graduation ceremony. 

"I'm sorry." When his mother caressed his cheek this time, he leaned into her caress and let the tears fall - he couldn't hold them back anylonger. He was too tired to try. Holding her son to her, Alexandra Harris let him cry, whispering in his ear. 

"You are so much more than I ever dreamed, and I am glad to have you as my son, even if that bastard I married isn't." 

He only cried harder - he had been waiting twelve years to hear her say that, and mean it. It was everything he wanted and had found in the Scooby Gang; complete and utter acceptance for who and what he was. I can't leave tomorrow. I can't leave her with him. 

It had been a long time since he had felt like protecting his mother -- he had stopped fighting back for her sake, but that was because of his own guilt.  Now, the emotion was something more. 

"When it was all over, I wanted to run to you, to hold you...to tell you everything. But they swarmed around you, smiling in relief that you werealive, just as you were glad they were alive. But when you went your separate ways, the two 'watchers' you called them? went together, with Cordelia...Willow and Oz left together...the blonde walked after her dark stranger and left you alone." 

Xander shrugged. "I wasn't alone, mom. If I needed them, they would have been there." Buffy had asked him to go with her to visit Faith, buthe had decided not do. "I just needed some time to unwind and get ready for tomorrow...they knew that." 

She smiled back at him. "I'm glad to hear that....I was afraid you were the outsider." 

"I'm normal-guy, research-guy, doughnut-retrieval-specialist, soldier-guy, support-guy, and the village idiot, but all of that means something with them. They want me there. If they didn't, Buffy would have sent me away a long time ago." 

Xander's mother never got a chance to answer, because the door slammed openand Sunnydale Police Captain Harris, still armed and in uniform, strode down the stairs, his belt in one hand and a bottle of brandy in the other. From the look on his face, he had already had at least one bottle. 

"Damn you, you worthless little sot...I know you had something to do with it...you couldn't graduate so you burnt down the fucking school...I swear boy, I am going to make you regret...I hate having to clean up those messes...so many damn bodies...so many dead....so much blood...boy, why can't you stay out of trouble....the army wanted their guns back...wanted to knowwhere their dynamite was...and they said it was you boy....you....." 

He trailed off into a drunken belch as he stared at his wife, holding theirson like a small child. His face grew cold and his voice hard-edged even through the slur of the chemical punishment he had inflicted on his metabolism. 

"Woman, get away from that boy. I've told you no coddling, none of your female nonsense about sensitivity. My boy will be a fucking man if I haveto beat every inch of manhood into him! Have you been letting him cry? No child of mind will cry. Only women cry." With each word, he took another step down the stairs. 

Alexandra did not let go of her son. 

"Woman...let go....or this is going to be nasty, for both of you." He drained a good third of the bottle in gulping swallows, and you could see the alcohol hit his system as he staggered. He threw down the bottle and belt with a crash of glass, adding the reek of bad brandy to the heady odor of the basement. 

Alexandra looked at her husband, and took a deep breath. "You're drunk. Go sleep it off and we'll talk in the morning." 

Those words made Xander's skin crawl. She had said the same words to his father the first night his father had taken the belt to him.  But his heart swelled with pride; for the first time since he was a preschooler, his mother had stood up for him. 

"I love you, mom.  We're gonna beat him this time, I promise."  Xander whispered to his mother, stepping away from her.  She smiled at him, nodding slightly. 

Tier eyes met, and they winked at each other at the same time.  Somehow, his father didn't seem such a monster to be feared after the fight with the Mayor that afternoon. 

"I love you too, Xander."  He grinned at his mother's use ofhis nickname.  I'll make a scooby out of you yet, mom. 

Xander stood up and reached into the other pocket where he kept his small pocketknife. I can fight undead, so I can fight my own drunk father. 

The police officer seemed to shrug as he casually drew his gun and fired once, right between his wife's eyes. The echo of the gun reverberated for a long moment as Xander stared her as she fell, his ears ringing. Blood sprayed as she fell against his bad, soaking the sheets in deep crimson. Even drunk, Xander's father was the best sharpshooter in the Sunnydale PD. 

"Bitch."  He spat on his wife's body. 

The man supposed to be a sworn protector of Sunnydale's law-abiding citizen's spat on his wife's dead body and turned his son. 

Pocketknife forgotten, Xander had pulled out the stake, a weapon he was much more familiar with, intending to stake his father as if he were a demon. To Xander, at that moment, he was. His vision clouding red, he screamed at the top of his lungs, able to only see his mother being shot, over and overagain in his mind.  Rage like he hadn't felt since Angelus had killedJenny Calendar exploded in his mind, and he leapt forward with a scream. 

"Die, damn you!" 

The first shot, to his knee, brought him back to reality with the shock of lucid pain as his leg gave out under him and he fell to the floor with a dull thud.  Groaning, he forced himself up, and lurched forward, the stake ripping through his father's shoulder with a satisfying crunch and spurt of blood. 

I think I'm going to kill him. 

The second shot, to his chest, made him forget about his leg as cold pain impaled him. 

Or he's going to kill me. 

He barely felt the third and fourth shots. 

And by the time the seventh shot hit his body, he was unconscious.

~ * ~

Fire bad. Tree pretty. 

Those four words seemed stuck on repeat in Buffy Summer's mind, drowning out every other thought.  She just wished she could let them drown out feeling, too.  The nonsensical phrase had almost meant something more profound when she had said them to Giles to illustrate how tired she was, but that meaning slipped her mind as soon as she sensed it was there. 

She was the Slayer.  She fought.  She killed.  She died.  She didn't muse or ponder or brood.  Or, at least, she wasn't supposed to. 

Her slender fingers reached out and ran through the dark tresses framing the face of the only human she had ever wanted to kill, and she was suddenly glad for the sterile smell of antiseptic burning the scent of blood from her nose, and the dim lighting obscuring the purple bruises her fists and feet had smeared across the other girl's face. 

I'm sorry.  It should never have come to this.  I should have been there for you.  I should have listened more and talked less.  Hell...I should have just been your friend instead of being the Slayer.  But I don't think I can be anything else but the Slayer...and you somehow managed to get beyond it, I think.  To enjoy it instead of hate it.  Maybe you accepted it better...I don't know.  I wish you were here to tell me. 

The thought of going home to an empty house and the pre-heated meal her mother had doubtless left for her before going to her aunt's in Sacramento wastoo much for the eighteen-year-old Slayer of things that went bump in the night.  All she wanted was quiet, and not to think.  She could make the thoughts go away, but as soon as she did, the emotions came back, drowning her in a deluge of things she didn't know how to feel quite yet. 

Her job.  Her duty.  Her sacred obligation, had killed them all and left her high school in smoldering ashes, and an entire senior class without diplomas.  Diplomas and cheers and happy memories replaced with the lifelong nightmares of seeing friends and family killed by things like shape-shifting demonic mayors and vampires that she, Elizabeth Anne 'Buffy' Summers was supposed to keep them from knowing even existed.  And she had failed.  All of them had fought beside her, and too many had died,because she had failed.  Because she wasn't ready. 

To each generation there is born one girl in all the world... 

But she'd changed that too, hadn't she? 

There were now two girls, and one of them, by her hands, was dying by inches.  It's odd...she loved the Mayor because he loved her.  He wanted her, wanted to give her everything she deserved and then some, just because she was willing to help him.  It didn't matter to him why, he just wanted to see her smile and feel better.  And I used that love -- the love of the one person who had ever accepted her, to kill him.  Toburn him alive in the place she should have been most accepted, because I refused to try harder, to listen more and even to want to try again. 

The rhythmic beep of her monitors and the steady hiss of her respirator wasa constant reminder of her failure.  She couldn't help but wonder if everyone that had died that afternoon could have been spared if Buffy Summers had dared to try to help her sister-in-arms just a little more. 

The knife was heavy in her jacket...so were Faith's words in the dream thathad haunted her since Angel and taken her blood to heal himself.  Thedream she hoped she and Faith had shared. 

I need to talk to Xander. 

That thought startled her.  Usually, she wanted to talk to Willow, or to Giles, or even to Angel.  But Xander was the first one that came toher mind.  Because he was the only one of use who was willing to risk everything to make his friend better again.  He always does that...he never looks away, never leaves someone if they need him.  No matter what it does to him. 

I'll let him sleep, for now.  He did as much as anyone today, and needs the chance to recharge.  He can soothe my guilty conscience tomorrow. 

She stared out the window at the night sky, still blurred from the ash and smoke from the fire at the high school.  A fire she had helped make.  Ironically enough, the gym was still standing and in decent condition.  There a small amount of perverted satisfaction that she had not broken her promise to the late Mr. Flutie; she didn't burn down the gym. 

Buffy shifted in the uncomfortable hospital chair, her hand trailing down Faith's arm to clasp her hand gently, her slightly burnt diploma crinkling inside her jacker.  Distantly, she wondered how long it had taken Gilesto find that one piece of paper amongst the burnt wreckage he had made of his beloved library.  I have to remember to thank him.  For everything. 

"We won."  Her voice sounded flat, sucked into the darkness around her.  She refused to muse on the symbolism there...she didn't want to think that hard.  "I still want to belive that you told mehow to do it.  That somewhere inside you, you forgave me and wanted to be a Slayer again." 

As she expected, there was no response. 

"Thank you." 

Buffy closed her eyes, trying to force herself to rest and not to dream, not to see the faces of those she didn't save -- some of them had even taken up arms and fought for her.  With her. 

Quiet stillness settled around her, settling in for the night as the hospital seemed to unwind.  There was a release of tension in the air, as ifSunnydale breathed a collective sigh of relief. 

Until she heard the voices. 

"....victim is male, between eighteen and twenty....severe trauma...inshock....six gunshot wounds to the chest and torso, one to the leg...bloodloss near critical..." 

Buffy stood, something tingling at the back of her mind, her Slayer 'spider-sense' going wild, but not in warning.  At least, not the warning shewas used to -- there was no great demon coming to destroy the world, or vampire to suck her blood...but something was happening.  Something was wrong. 

"...woman shot in the head on the bed....Alexandra Harris...already dead....second victim possibly her son....no ID....don't know who he is!"  The frustration in the doctor's voices was lost on her as the fear settled in with an icy shock. 

Harris.  Eighteen to twenty years old.  Shot.  Blood lossnear critical... 

Buffy didn't remember jumping from the chair.  She didn't remember running into the hallway, or shoving past the nurse coming to check on Faith.  She did remember running up alongside the stretcher being rushed towards the ER, and looking at the familiar face, twisted in cold fury that waspale from the loss of blood. 

Xander. 

"Ma'am, please, get out of our way!  He's dying!" 

Buffy resisted the sudden urge to kick the paramedic, and instead shot back.  "Alexander LaVelle Harris, eighteen years of age.  Blood type AB positive, I think." 

She didn't pause to think about it; they had been to the hospital so many times before, filled out forms time and again, so that they knew each other in and out.  She could have done the same for Willow, or Giles. 

The man's head shot around to look at her.  "You think?  Whoare you?  Are you family?" 

Buffy shook her head, lank blonde hair getting in her face.  Brushing it away, she looked at the medic.  "Buffy Summers.  Friend.  But I might as well be family.  And he's been here before...contact name either Joyce Summers or Rupert Giles...." 

The shock was setting in.  Xander was dying.  He had been shot.  Seven times. 

Guilt was the first thing she felt -- she should have been there.  Next was the overwhelming despair...What am I...are we....going to do without him?  He's been there since the beginning...he never left.  He's been Willow's best friend for forever... 

Oh god...Willow...I have to call Willow...Giles, Oz....and lord help me Cordelia.... 

One thought surfaced above the emotional morass.  Someone was going tobe very sorry they ever touched a gun. 

She felt it slowly begin, starting with the cold, creeping, burning rage that ate her alive every night.  Senses sharpened and fatigue vanished as her body adjusted itself, opened itself to the power, the strength, speed, skill and raw, unadulterated predatory cunning that was the Slayer. 

"What happened?"  Her voice was calmer now. 

The paramedic shrugged as he handed her a clipboard and thick medical file an orderly had just run over to him.  " 'Dunno.  Neighbor called the cops when he heard gunshots.  Police got there to find their own captain getting drunk at his kitchen table, his firearm on the counter,all eight shots fired.  Downstairs they found his wife and the son they didn't even know he had." 

His own father.  His mother.... 

oh god.... 

Orderlies came as she scanned the paperwork, knowing it would wait for Giles to fill out.  They wheeled Xander away towards two waiting doctors...only when he was gone did she realize how fast everything had happened until that point.  Still stunned and once again exhausted, Buffy made herway over to the counter where the courtesy phone waited, and started dialing, her mind stuck on repeat. 

Fire bad.  Tree pretty.

~ * ~

It took them all night to put the fires out. 

By the time the firefighters finally had the blaze under control, most of Sunnydale High School was a flame-gutted wreck, no few of the bodies thoughtto be dead students burnt beyond recognition.  Police and emergency crew moved among the rubble in a state of shock, finding more bodies and more dead than anyone had suspected silently thankful that even a few had madeit alive. 

Investigators refused to ask themselves what happened, trying as hard as they could to find a cause for the fire that had nothing to do with an evil mayor attempting to Ascend to Demonhood.  And for some reason, none of the students they questioned were willing to give any answers.  No oneknew how to prove anything about the explosion, and most everyone wanted to escape the area thick with the scents of ash, burnt plastic and warped metal, and worst of all, the aroma of crisped flesh. 

By the time midnight rolled around, the site had cleared of all but the last few firefighters and police remaining to set up a barricade.  They died in a matter of moments, the remaining vampires stepping into the night and regaining their strength from the hapless public servants.  From the ash a man stood, wrapped in a fire-blanket, his honest face contorted indismay. 

"That was an expensive suit!  I think I'll just have to bill her for that too!" 

The seven remaining vampires chuckled nervously, silently hoping that he would not take that afternoon's failure out on any of them; the Mayor was notknown for his merciful generosity in demonic circles.  Rather, he wasfeared for what he was even before the Ascension. 

"I knew it wasn't that easy."  The deep voice held a note ofsmooth arrogance hiding despairing resignation.  Torment etched everyword as the dark clad figure stepped out from the shadows, his hands clasping a sword, his face locked into a grim grimace of dark promises for anything that dared cross his path.  The Mayor and the cursed vampire knew each other, all too well.  Both licked their lips in anticipation of finishing the fight they had begun at the hospital the night before. "Iknew you wouldn't die that easy." 

"This isn't really about us, you know.  It's about them.  The humans.  Who gets to rule them, protect them or destroy them"  Wilkins' voice carried over the silence with ease, his piercing eyes seeing through Angel's mask of emotions as easily as they read the words of forgotten spells and arcane mysteries painted on his tormented soul.  "It's about them, but we fight the war." 

"We should finish this.  Send your enforcers home."  Angel gestured to the vampires contemptuously, knowing right then they were no match for him; the blood of a Slayer burned hot and strong inside him, giving him a power and strength he had never felt before.  This is why Spike killed them.  This power...it's almost too much.  It's almost enough to make me want to let go. 

The mayor smiled.  "You feel it, don't you?  Her blood, inside you, making you wonder what you gave up when you fought against the demon inside." 

Seeing that their master didn't order them to stay, the vampires ran, knowing it was the one chance they had to survive; and if anything, the survivalinstinct in vampires ran deeper and stronger than it did even in humans.  Above them, stars were hidden by clouds of smoke and ash and at their feet broken and spent weapons littered the battlefield. 

They won, but they lost, because the demon was still alive, and apparently powerful enough not to care about what had just happened.  The Mayor of Sunnydale stood slowly, his hands turning to face Angel.  The air seemed to thicken around him as his eyes lit up and lines of electric blue fire wrapped around his fingertips.  Calling upon his power reminded theMayor that although not in demonic form, few could stand before his power and survive.  Of course, he wanted Angel to survive, didn't he?

Clouds blew in quickly as an unnatural rain fell, putting out the fire.  Mayor Wilkins didn't like his town on fire, not one bit. 

Night's darkness seemed to thicken as Wilkins' smiled at Angel, shrugging his shoulders casually.  "I know eloquent words have little effecton you, Angelus, so I won't waste my breath.  I'm going to use you todestroy her for what she did to my Faith.  I'm not going to hide a word of my plan from you...I'm going to tell it all and let you listen to each word, each step of the way and imagine how much pain each thing I do willcause her.  And then, when you know everything, I will rip your soul away and scatter it to the winds, leaving you with only your demon for company."

~ * ~

Lighting flashed, streaking across the newborn clouds that hid the stars, burning her eyes.  The woman leapt back, feeling stinging needles of cold rain punish her bare skin.  Bare feet scrambled across sharp stonesand broken glass, leaving streaks of blood to be washed away into the gutters of Sunnydale, the scent tempting to the vampiric denizens of that unlitsubterranean world, but even they knew that tonight was not safe for them.

The Slayer slept, but her enemies walked the night, eager for the violence she had denied them. 

The woman ran, aware that nothing was behind her, but she had to run. The face in her mind taunted with promises of death and worse, laughing and mocking her every effort to escape.  Dark eyes peered into her and saw that fear and drank of it deeply, drawing every aspect of it out of her until there was nothing but a numb resignation of what was to come. 

But still she ran. 

Even in Sunnydale, the sight of a naked woman running wild through the streets as if the hounds of hell were nipping at her heels was not that usual asight, but people had long since learned to ignore such things and blissfully allowed their subconscious to rationalize away what would soon be remembered as nothing more than a half-glimpse nightmare or a bit of horrific deja-vu from the B-rate horror movie they could never quite remember the title of. 

Long dark hair was slicked to her back -- it felt strange to have long hair.  She was used to short locks that tickled her ears.  Desperate panic ate away reason, devouring any form of coherent thought, except one.  Kind eyes, smiling at her with a sadness she had helped put there.  Kind eyes and kinder hands and a gentle heart that begged for someone to share its burden.... 

Her pace leveled out, her breathing evened.  She knew where she was going.  Where she needed to be.  He couldn't get her there.  He couldn't. 

Shivering in the rain, she felt the call of her people coursing through herblood, hotter and stronger than ever, calling on her to shout a warning noone would hear.  But she couldn't.  Her debt had to be re-paid. 

An image of a petite blonde flickered in her mind at the side of the gentleman -- she was safe with them.  Safe. 

The scream pierced the night with a howling pain that refused to stop echoing through her.  Around her, the whole town seemed to stop and turn toward the steam and smoke rising from the devastated high school and wait tosee what walked out of the mist. 

She ran faster.

---

Chapter Two: Fast Changes 

Pacing across the all-too-familiar waiting room, the all-too-familiar facesof the orderlies and nurses she had seen time and time before smiling reassuringly at the anxious blonde, knowing from experience nothing they said or did would calm her down until whoever she was waiting for either got better or she collapsed from exhaustion.  Not even 24-hours after she had been released for massive blood lose, her friend had been brought in for multiple gunshot wounds. 

The doctors refused to dwell on what made this close-knit group of teenagers and their librarian patron so catastrophe prone.  They really didn'twant to know. 

Clenching and unclenching her fists, Buffy shook her head, and listened to the rain drumming on the windows of the hospital.  Willow will be here soon.  If anyone can wake him up and make him better just by beinghere, it's her.  She's his best friend.  Hell, if we lose him, we'll loose Willow too...and I don't know what I would do without either of them. 

Especially now that Angel's gone. 

That thought sent a chill down her spine.  Biting down on the urge to cry, or barge in on the doctors trying to save Xander's life, Buffy bit herlower lip and paced just that much faster. 

Enhanced hearing, eyesight, sense of smell, and touch; super-speed and super-strength.  Inherited skills, knowledge and a set of instincts, her 'spider-sense' that made it impossible for creatures that went 'bump' in thenight and meant it to sneak up on her -- all that gave her the powers, thebody, the mind to be a Slayer and save the world, time and again. 

But it was her friends and family that were her heart; they gave her the will to fight, the spirit that hadn't broken yet.  If not for them, she would have been dead and the world destroyed years ago, because without them, she would have never picked back up a stake or grown to be the Slayer --the woman -- she was right then. 

Wiping away her tears, she sniffed and hugged herself, wishing Willow wouldhurry up and get there.  She knew the sudden thunderstorm was a problem for drivers, and Oz would never endanger Willow, which meant he was taking it slow and safe on the way to the hospital. 

And Wills is probably going frantically insane with worry right now.

She stared at the doors for a long moment, begging them to open and have the red-headed witch and her boyfriend come running through the doors, soaking wet.  Buffy knew Oz would have his stoic calm that the group had come to lean on so much recently and Willow would be inseparable from Xander'sside until he woke up.  Giles would be the eye of the hurricane, holding down the fort wherever it was needed.  She was even reasonably sure Cordelia would come and help with donut and fast-food runs, and take her turn at Xander's side.  Buffy herself would go out and slay everything, living or dead, that dared cross her path, knowing that she could never slay the human trash that had nearly killed one of her best friends. 

But one thing was etched in stone; they would not leave Xander to wake up alone. 

Around her orderlies scurried around her, leading children and adults in various stages of physical harm from one place to another, she stood and stared out the doors, a steadily sinking feeling that something else was going horribly wrong. 

She watched the raindrops explode against the glass panes for another moment before turning around, suddenly desperate for coffee.  She heard thedoors slide open and closed, and felt the biting wind carry a few dropletsof rain inside to splatter against her cheek and neck.  Whirling around, hoping to see Willow,  Buffy stopped dead in her tracks, her breath caught in her throat. 

Somehow untouched by the rain, the black-clad figure walked towards her, his broad shoulders and lean, muscled form carrying him closer with the controlled grace of a born warrior; a hunter.  The dark coat draped over his tall frame made his presence all the more powerful.  He reached her,and his hands slid up her arms to wrap around her back and pull her close.  Limply sagging against him, she clutched his shirt. 

"Angel?" 

He pulled her down into his lap on a nearby bench, holding her tightly to him.  His deep voice rumbled in her ears.  "Yeah.  I couldn't leave...and I had to come see you.  It took me awhile to find you...but I'm here." 

How can anything be wrong?  He came back... 

Curling closer to him, she sank into his embrace, the stress evaporating into thin air just like it did every time he touched her.  "I'm glad your here.  Thank you..." 

He came back.... 

He shrugged and kissed her slowly, gently.  "You know I love you.  I couldn't just leave you behind...not after what you did for me." 

Smiling into him, Buffy ran her hand through his hair as he nuzzled into her neck.  She indulged herself for a moment, letting herself get lost in the smell and feel of him holding her.  The  sights, sounds andsmells of the waiting room blended together into a tapestry of sensation, all surrounding him.  He came back.  For me. 

"Xander's been shot." 

The words came out feeling empty and hollow.  His head came up and he looked into her eyes intently, stealing her breath.  "Is he all right?" 

Buffy shook her head.  "No.  Not really.  He's in surgery right now...they don't know if he'll make it." 

Gently stroking her hair back, his fingertips played down her back.  "I'm sorry....I really am.  If there's anything....?" 

She shook her head and looked at a clock.  "No...not right now.  You'd better go...I don't think it's a good idea for you to be here, not after you and the Mayor fought...."  She paused biting her lower lip for a long, silent moment before leaning over and kissing him, letting her mouth and tongue mesh with his. 

"You're warm..."  She whispered.  He was almost never warm when he kissed her; the cows blood he often drank couldn't keep him warm like human blood could. 

He nodded slowly.  "Your blood, beloved...keeps me warm all over.  I'll be back to see you later, all right?" 

Gathering her to him, Angel stood and set her down carefully, letting his arms brush the sides of her breasts, where his fingertips lightly grazed, asif accidentally.  Grasping, she arched into him, but he pretended notto notice.  Leaning over, he kissed her forehead, whispering, 

"Later, lover...."

~ * ~

Willow stood under the cold rain, letting it soak through her coat and clothes and mingle with the tears running down her face.  She watched Oz'svan roar away from her house at dangerous speeds, and tried to let the rain wash away the pain with it.  Xander needed her; she didn't have timeto worry about Oz's sudden issues. 

She just wished it didn't hurt so much. 

He left me because I wanted to see Xander.  Why did he do that...Ozdoesn't do stuff like that...that's why I love him...he's supportive.... 

but there was the fluke and he might still be mad, but this is Oz and Ozunderstands this sort of stuff and he doesn't act like this so something has to be wrong... 

something's wrong with Oz... 

The harsh reality of that idea settled in the pit of her stomach right nextto the place where she kept her pain over Xander being shot. 

Something's wrong with him and he needs me but Xander might be dead and he might need me more but I love Oz.... Willow took a deep breath. Stop babbling.  Xander will be fine.  The cab will be here soon and you will get to see him soon.  When you get home, call Oz...then youcan help him. 

Even as she stood in the rain, waiting for her cab, she watched for Oz's van to pull up and take her to her best friend.  But by the time the cabcame, there was still no sign of Oz.  The relentless rain had washed away even the tire-tracks he had made pulling out of her driveway.  Soaked and chilled to the bone, unable to feel her fingers or her toes, Willow waited in the dark, her numb fingertips caressing the leather pouch she wore around her wrist, counting on it to protect her from harm.  It hadthat afternoon; the Mayor's fire had washed harmlessly over her protectivespell, and the attacking vampires hadn't been able to reach through the barrier the herbs and symbols had created -- but she had been able to reach them. 

Even through all her pain and despair, she was proud of herself for having been able protect herself.  A slight smile came to her thin face as she remembered something she needed to tell Xander.  I know I saw hismother there, in the crowd of proud parents, watching her son graduate.  And I know I saw her helping the paramedics later, same as Xander. 

And I bet Xander doesn't know I saw him helping the paramedics, either.  He didn't tell any of us what he did after we left, but I saw him. 

Pulling her coat tighter around herself, more to protect her from the pain inside than the rain outside, her smile grew a little.  Silently helping the medics was typical of Xander.  Ignoring his own aches, pains and exhaustion, he had unflaggingly done menial grunt-work, clearing rubble and wielding a hammer so the trained help could spend their time and energy on saving the wounded.  She had watched from the peace of Oz's van as they sent him home.  Oz had watched her watch him, his arm around her waist, content to let her do what she needed. 

Tears threatened again, and Willow didn't try to fight them.  The salty pain was washed away in the rain, leaving her empty and cold. Now Xander is hurt and Oz is mad at me and I can't do anything about either of them. 

The cab pulled up beside her, the cabbie giving her a strange look.  "Get in, kid, before you get washed away." 

Willow silently did as she was told, shivering as she finally realized she was cold.  The gray-haired old man threw her a towel and turned the heater on full.  "Where to, red?" 

Swallowing hard, Willow forced her voice to be loud enough he could hear her.  "Sunnydale General." 

Simply nodded, the cabbie pulled out into the streets, heading for Sunndayle General Hospital.  She didn't notice that he didn't turn on the meter.  Willow could have told him a half-dozen ways to get there; she'd been there enough times after her own coma, for check-ups and follow-ups andtests.  It had usually been Xander who drove her, because Oz invariably had band practice.  Still crying, Willow watched the rain through the windows, a detached part of her mind hoping the storm would wash away whatever evidence remained of their arson at the blown-out high school. 

"You okay, kid?"  The cabbie asked, sounding genuinely concerned.  She saw him fumble with something by his seat and saw out of the corner of her eye it was a wooden cross that doubled as a stake. 

Smart man.  He knows something of what's up in this town. 

Willow smiled weakly.  "No.  My best friend's been shot and my boyfriend is mad at me because I want to go see him..."  She sniffed, and swallowed hard. 

The cabbie smiled, his gray eyes easing some of her tension.  "Red, if your boyfriend loves ya', he'll get over it.  Guys are territorial as they come, and male best friends are the worse threats...there's nothing I can think of that can scare one of us more when we love a gal.  And then when you think about the Florence Nightingale complex girls get about us guys...well, we get stupid.  Ain't no excuse, but probably the truth." 

He shrugged.  "And red, about your friend...who shot 'im?  Do ya' know?  'Cause there are some..."  he coughed, and thought for a moment.  "Odd people in Sunnydale who like to hurt people." 

Willow nodded slowly, and took a breath to compose herself before answering. He knows, and he wants to warn me in case Xander's going to rise again.  "His father.  He was drunk..he...he shot Xander's mother first....and then Xander..." 

There was no way for her to hold it in anymore.  Willow started sobbing quietly, hugging herself.  The cabbie stopped at a red light and turned around to face her.  "It's all right, red.  I didn't mean to upset you...just ignore what I said.  Name's Charlie..." 

Willow nodded.  "I'm Willow..."  she swallowed again.  "Thank you, Charlie." 

They drove in silence for awhile, and Willow used his towel to try to dry her hair a little bit.  When they reached the Hospital, Charlie looked at her and smiled warmly. 

"Red...the cab number is 63.  This ride's free, and if you need alift, call 'em and ask for me by name and number.  It can get a little dangerous out her at night..." 

Willow smiled and leaned in towards him, her green eyes twinkling.  "Thank you, Charlie.  And I know about those oddly dangerous peopleout there -- they're called vampires and I help fight them." 

Feeling somewhat proud of herself and slightly less scared, Willow Rosenberg gave Charlie a quick hug and walked towards the hospital.

~ * ~

Buffy watched Willow stumble into the waiting room seconds after Angel had faded away into the background.  Silent tears coursing down her face, the redhead sat next to her best friend, shivering. 

Green eyes met hazel, and Willow nodded.  There wasn't any news yet.  Wordlessly, Buffy grabbed an orderly, and looked at Willow.  Startled, the orderly stopped and knelt down in front of the chilled, haggard girl. 

"Are you here to get treated?" 

Willow shook her head.  "I don't look that bad, do I?" The orderly pursed his lips, his eyes darting around the room.  Willow touched his shoulder.  "I'm fine...I'm just here to see if my friend is all right...." 

Somehow, she managed to stay calm. 

The orderly nodded, and grabbed a passing nurse, who ran off quickly. "She'll get you some clean clothes; we have plenty of spares around here.  There's a bathroom you can use to change, and I'll bring you some tea...we ran out of coffee a couple of hours ago."  He yawned, showing the lack.  "With what happened at the school today, we'repretty busy..." 

For the second time the evening, a stranger had helped her for no reason.  She looked up at him.  "Thank you...." 

He smiled.  "I'm glad to help...for the first time today, I can actually do some good, and know it helps." 

Yawning again, he walked off to get them both tea. 

"Where's Oz?"  Buffy asked, taking Willow's hands in her ownto warm them.  Willow scoot closer to Buffy, leaning her head on the Slayer's shoulder, grateful for both the warmth and the comfort. 

"He had someplace to be, but he might stop in later after Xander is awake."  I hope. 

Buffy nodded, barely noticing the redhead was dripping on her.  She managed a wan smile, surprised at herself.  She felt she should have been jumping for joy with her good news, but she wasn't.  "I have good news, though...Angel came back, and I think he's going to stay.  Totry to let us work this all out..." 

After seeing the stricken look on Willow's face, Buffy wondered about the wisdom of telling her right then.  Willow forced herself to smile.  "I'm glad...I'm glad he's staying for you Buffy.  You deserve happiness." 

 Buffy held her friend for a moment.  "So do you.  And I don't think Oz was happy about you coming here, was he?" 

Green eyes met hazel again.  "Not now, Buffy.  Please?"

Before Buffy could answer, the orderly showed up with two large cups of hottea and dry clothes for Willow.  "Here you go...I hope you get warmed up and feel better.  Hey, you two are here with that Harris kid,right?" 

Willow nodded weakly, sipping a the tea, her shoulder still touching Buffy's.  Buffy looked up at him.  "Yeah, we are.  You have news?" 

The orderly nodded slowly, with a sigh.  "Well, Miss Summers, allI know is bureacratic.  No one could reach Joyce Summers or Rupert Giles this evening, so you're officially his representative since you checkedhim in this evening.  He has and aunt in San Francisco, but she said she wouldn't be able to make it down.  And if he goes into Intensive Care before either one of them contacts us, then you will remain his representative until he's capable of informed and rational decisions.  He hasand aunt in San Francisco, but she said she wouldn't be able to make it down.  Do you understand what that means?" 

Setting her tea down to keep her suddenly shaking hands from spilling it all over her and Willow, Buffy nodded slowly.  "I think so." 

"Good."  The orderly smiled, his tired face lighting up as he had one less thing do to.  "Hey...he'll make it.  He's tough.  You all are." 

And he would be in a potion to know....he's seen us all here. 

As the orderly walked away, Willow stood up to go change with a sigh. "Buffy....now I'm freaked...no Giles?  Can you try to call him?" 

Buffy nodded, taking a careful sip of her tea.   "I need to anyway.  I can't be in charge of Xander...that would just be...well, bad." 

Shivering, Willow dashed towards the bathroom to get changed. 

Someone has to find Giles.  Soon.  I don't like the feeling ofthis, not at all. 

For the second time that night, Buffy found herself at the courtesy phone dialing Cordelia's number.

~ * ~

"How can you be so bloody calm at a time like this?" 

Wesley Windham-Pryce wrung his hands and stared up at the sky for the umpteenth time, blinking cold droplets of rain out of his eyes, not daring to hope the sudden change in weather would provide a reprieve for the two men waiting on a private landing strip near Sunnydale's small international airport. 

"By not panicking."  The older of the two scratched idly at his two-day stubble that was regrettably more white than brown.  "Most likely, we shall never see Sunnydale or any of them again.  And most likely, we can do nothing about it." 

It wasn't as if both of them hadn't thought about running, and hiding.  Both had the skills to do so, the knowledge to disappear and never be found, even by the men they were waiting for -- but if they did that, even that slim chance of coming home would be lost. 

Both men sitting there found themselves thinking the same detached thought.  When did Sunnydale become home? 

Both were dressed the same, in dark suits and overcoats, carrying matching attache cases that held the diaries both men had so painstakingly recorded.  The handwritten words chronicled the purpose of their lives from themoment of first contact to the moment the phone call had come, severing that relationship that only the most dedicated personal athletes and their personal coaches might have understood.  Those same lovingly crafted words reduced heroines from living, breathing, vibrant young women that they wanted to guide and teach reduced to words written in ink on expensive paperfor the edification of men who would never in their lives have the honor of meeting anyone like the girls the two men were being forced to leave behind. 

Both men understood the exquisite price and pain of loyalty, and had stood toe-to-toe with things their class and creed were never supposed to see face to face and had walked away, but not unscathed. 

Both men were also considered abject failures. 

Rupert Giles hung his head, not really wanting to stare up and wait for theplane that would take him back to England and deliver the man who would take charge of the girl that had become his daughter, in fact if not in name.  That same place in his gut that told him he might never see her again also told him that this man would try to break her and mold her into whathe thought she should be; that he would take away her friends and her family and leave her with nothing but the sacred duty that had already taken so much from her. 

And I can do nothing but sit here in the rain and wait.  Anything more and I would hurt her cause far more than I would help. 

Wesley sat down next to him with a sigh of his own.  "I am going to miss America, Rupert." 

Giles shrugged his shoulders, and patted the younger man's shoulders. "You're going to miss them almost as much as I am...if only because they were honest with you.  When you acted like a man, they respected you.  When you acted like a fool, they laughed at you." 

Wesley sighed again, thinking that as gestures went, it wasn't as satisfying as it used to be.  "Do you think there's still time to run?" 

The low whine of a jet plane coming in for a landing answered that questionfor them both. 

Wesley looked at his comrade in arms, his expressive face downcast, his aristocratic features making him look like a pouting child.  "Why did they take us back?" 

Giles shrugged.  "You mean, 'why did they draft us back into the Council'?"  His eyes bored through the younger man with a cunningedge that set Wesley on edge.  Every moment they waited, Rupert Gilesbecame less and less a high school librarian and became more and more a harder, sharper man that had none of the simple affectations of his almost foppish persona Wesley had become accustomed to.  "They brought us back because we lost both Slayers.  Whoever replaces us will be true-bred Council with none of our modern or liberal leanings.  He will takeBuffy in hand and try to force her into becoming what the Council feels a Slayer should be, by any means he can.  And to do that, we need to be out of the way." 

"I wish all the luck in the world to him, whoever he is.  He'll need it." 

Remembering the tenacious stubbornness of the Slayer, Wesley nodded, silently smug knowing whoever the Council would send would fail far more ignobly and abjectly than he had. 

Giles stood, allowing himself a few moments of regret while the plane slowly circled, preparing for it's final approach.  His thoughts automatically went to the young men and women he had helped become a cohesive fighting force against creatures that so many refused to believe existed. 

Buffy Summers; his very first Slayer, and the girl he thought of as a daughter in the most private recesses of his heart.  He had watched her mature from a bitter and angry teenager into a young woman he could be proud of, staying true to her sacred duty by staying true to herself.  A warrior at heart, she was also one of the best people he knew. 

Willow Rosenberg; shy hacker and budding witch, he had seen her go through emotional turmoil and trauma that would have destroyed people twice her age, but somehow she kept her innocence and kept her laughed, while somehow becoming the strong backbone of the 'Scooby Gang' 

Xander Harris; if there was any man Giles would want as a son, it would have been him.  Selfless in his devotion to his friends, Xander fought wars both at home and at school to be allowed to be himself.  Although he never allowed the grim reality of any situation to win out against optimism and hope, Xander was still searching for his own path. 

Cordelia Chase was a young woman with her own agenda and her plans in life that saw something she knew she had to be involved in, merely because it was right thing to do, regardless of what she felt about the people who were already involved.  If just for that, he was proud to have known her and fought at her side. 

Oz and Angel were strong warriors for the side of humanity, giving everything they had and more without a word of complaint -- all to stand by the women they loved more than life itself.  Both had sacrificed parts of their own humanity, parts of themselves they could never get back fighting thewar Giles had brought to Sunnydale, intent of pushing back the forces of darkness that wanted to take the world away from humans. 

I could not have asked or hoped for better.  Where I thought I had one reluctant Slayer, I found what turned out to be the special forces humanity was looking for.  Even without me, they will not falter or fall; and not even this new Watcher will be able to separate them. 

And then there his Dark Slayer; Faith.  Giles knew the Buffy felt her fallen sister had helped her defeat the Mayor in the end, but he couldn't be for sure.  Still, he wished there had been more he could have done to help her; more he could have done to heal her.  Now, there was nothing he could do except take precautions that would prevent the Watchers' Council from being able to reach her until she woke from her coma. 

Not even they can undo what I have done now. 

Giles felt the thunderclap that sent the plane spiraling higher into the sky, but knew the Council pilot's would eventually brave the storm and land; they felt this had to be done now before things got too out of hand.  But he had taken other precautions that would keep the Watchers' Council from controlling his Slayer and her friends too much; there wasvery little the Council could do to prevent what he had set in motion as soon as he had received the phone call from Quentin Travers. once his superior in Council hierarchy. 

A slight smile crossed his face.  Yes, yes, I've protected them as best I can.  Now they just have to use what I've left them. 

The sound of squealing tires on wet pavement brought him out of his brooding.  He turned to see Cordelia, dressed in only jeans, sneakers and raincoat, make-up apparently forgotten and her hair streaming out wildly behind her. 

"Giles!  Xander's been shot!" 

Skidding to a breathless halt in front of him, Cordelia waited for him to join her in her panic, and rush with her to the hospital.  Instead, Giles took a deep breath and concentrated on not laughing. 

Of all the dangerous and foolhardy things the boy has done, he gets shot? 

Taking a deep breath, Giles met Cordelia's gaze evenly.  "How didyou find us?"  He stopped, and shook his head.  "Nevermind that.  Just go;  you can't be here when that plane lands, oryou'll be taking a one way trip to England." 

Cordelia stared at him as if he were speaking Greek.  "Xander hasbeen shot and all you can do ask me to leave?!  And what do you mean a trip to England?!" 

Giles nodded, motioned Wesley to keep quiet.  "In a matter of minutes, a plane carrying Buffy's new Watcher will land and take Wesley and myself back to England.  The Council, you see, has NOT accepted Buffy's resignation, and will no longer allow me to be an influence on her life.  No one is supposed to know this yet; anyone here will be taken to England with us to prevent Buffy from learning of it.  If you leave now, then you can still get to Buffy and warn her. 

"And I have faith that all of you can take very good care of Xander, and whoever it was who shot him." 

Cordelia leveled a heated glare at Giles.  "It was his own father-- I knew I never liked the man!  And I'm not leaving you two here tobe taken back.  Get in my car and let's go, now!" 

They were having to shout to be able to hear over the wind of the VOTL (Vertical Take-off and Landing) plane slowly descending. 

"No time!  Go, now!" 

Wesley turned and shouted.  "Too late!" 

Roaring jet engines turned droplets of cold rain into icy missiles pummeling the three of them.  Dashing back towards Cordelia's car, they watched with growing apprehension as the sleek Council jet settled down onto it'slanding gear with the hissing whine of pneumatic shocks and the deafening thunder of the wing-mounted turbines. 

Everything settled for a moment, a heavy stillness falling as slowly as thedrizzling rain.  An eternity of seconds later, the hatch on the planefell open, the gangway being lowered by softly whirring gears.  Only one man strode down, but he was enough. 

Slender and lean, he moved with an assurance and ease the spoke of an arrogant assurance that made Giles want to grind his teeth.  Brown hair andgray eyes melted into the darkness of the landing strip, but his youthful aristocratic face was more grating than Wesley's prattle. 

"Rupert Giles?  Wesley Windham-Pryce?  My name is Andrew St.Clair.  The Watcher's Council has sent me to take over as the active Watcher for Elizabeth Summers and 'Faith'.  As soon as I have your diaries, you can your young lady there can be on your way back to England." 

As he spoke, he descended the gangway, smiling amiably with all the smug arrogance someone who knows they cannot be touched can have.  Looking toWesley, he indicated Cordelia with a tilt of his head.  "You're apprentice, I presume?" 

Giles stepped forward as St. Clair's feet touched the asphalt.  "Not his.  Mine." 

Nodding, the new Watcher shrugged and offered his hand to shake.  "Very well then.  I have to say, gentlemen, it is an honor to meet you." 

Wesley nodded, and shook the proffered hand, responding dryly.  "I'm sure it is.  It's not often you get to meet the two men who lost two Slayers." 

Giles eyes grew cold, and his body language changed, almost as if his edge was 'sharpened'.  In a blur of motion, he took St. Clair by the throatand slammed him against the side of the plane.  Rain started to pour down faster around them. 

"If you hurt her, break her, or make her miserable in any way, you'll regret it. "  He took a deep breath, and released the Watcher.  "And the name's Ripper." 

Glancing over his shoulder, he caught Cordelia's eyes, silently warning hernot to argue.  "Get my bag and get on board."

~ * ~

Richard Wilkins stood at his window, watching the clouds he had summoned wash his city clean of the battle with cold water and darkness, punctuated with lightning and winds to carry the ashes away. 

It is a beautiful thing I have wrought.  More beautiful still is what I will wreak upon her. 

Each drop of rain on the window was a reminder to him of each tear Buffy Summers would cry as he stripped from her everything she held dear.  In his life, the warlock masquerading as Sunnydale's mayor had felt true emotion for a very few things -- and only one person.  And Buffy Summers had taken his Faith from him in a single act of malicious betrayal. 

Even I was never cruel enough to pit Slayer against Slayer.  Thoughshe would never admit it, Faith still loved Buffy as a sister, and I wouldnever hurt her like that. 

One of the things the warlock had often felt was the savage joy of revenge;it was a satisfaction he had often indulged in and had never been denied; now that he was a Demon Lord, albeit a Demon Lord trapped on Earth, he did not intend to let that change now.  He had already begun her torment, but she would not know that until her lifeblood was drained from her bit bybit while her eyes feasted on the corpses of her friends -- the last sightshe would ever see. 

Light knocking on his heavy oaken door interrupted his thoughts.  Nodding to himself, he wiped his hands with a sanitary cloth -- being a Demon Lord didn't mean one could neglect hygiene, after all -- he waved a hand at the door, opening it wide with just a touch of his power. 

His two newest employees carried in the unconscious body of his prisoner.  Wilkins couldn't help but smile in satisfaction at a job well done.  These two had worked together in the past and had done extraordinarily well then, and the mayor expected even better results now, when they had his resources to draw on.  And although after Mr. Trick's demise, he waswary of working with vampires, he had been impressed, and expected to continue to be pleased with their job performance. 

Although a thousand of them would never be the equal of my Faith. 

The wordlessly dropped the body at his feet and left to wait outside, knowing what he would want without even asking -- good initiative on their parts.  The less managing he had to deal with, the more time he had to destroy the Slayer and bring about the end of the world.  In that order, of course.  Even a Demon Lord would be hard pressed to bring about the apocalypse while there was a trained, experienced Slayer with a proven track record running around to interfere. 

But that wouldn't be much of problem for very long. 

Kneeling down in front of the unconscious boy, Wilkins muttered a few wordsunder his breath, bringing the unfortunate creature back to it's senses.  From his pocket, he pulled out a small piece of polished bone carved with arcane symbols. 

"Do you see this?  Good."  Excellent.  It appearedthe boy was intelligent enough to process what was happening without the need for the quips the Slayer and her groupies were so fond of.  Perhaps he would be worth keeping around awhile, after all.  "This is atalisman that gives me absolute power over you -- at least, over your emotions and darker nature.  With it, I can command the beast inside and call it and it's instincts forth at any time...and then command it to do as I wish.  Do you understand what that means." 

The boy just met his gaze with a pair of implacable eyes, nodding ever so slightly, his dyed hair catching the light. 

"I thought you would.  You and I are going to have a small chat, and then you are going to go home and have a pleasant evening with your lovely lady." 

Sitting comfortably in his chair behind his desk, the mayor gestured for his guest to sit.  "Please, make yourself comfortable.   Would you like some tea?"