Ascension's Shadow (1/?)

[Alan Rogers <masterofwords@xxxxxxxxxx>]

Hey everyone....

For those of you who remember me, or this series...I know I haven't posted 
in awhile. The start of college and real life catching up to beat me up a 
little bit (as real life so likes to do) has kept me away from my keyboard 
for awhile. However, Ascension's Shadow is back and slightly revised, for 
those of you who are remotely still interested.
And for those of you who haven't ever heard of me (which is no big 
surprise...I'm no one big, famous or important...but I want to be! I hope 
you enjoy!
~alan, the mad dragon

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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. This is an Alternate Universe fanfic; It will most likely not 
have Riley, Dawn, or the Initiative. Spike will be his traditional, very 
wonderfully evil self. Unfortunately, I don't know if Tara will come into 
this or not (of Seasons 4-5, she's the only change I like!) A few changes 
you might want to be aware of though: 1) Buffy did NOT get accepted to UC 
Sunnydale -- she's a townie like Xander; 2) The Watchers' Council did NOT 
accept Buffy's resignation.
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 to 
open 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 protest with 
every move he made. If it weren't for the overwhelming and unpleasant odors 
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 subterranian room that 
served as his personal sanctuary. The aromas of old bleach long gone bad 
burned his nose, mingling with the scents of stale laundry detergent, 
grease and machine lubricants. His bed and dresser were nestled up against 
a wall opposite his father's tool chest and across from the washer and 
dryer that his 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-smeared 
jeans. 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. He hadn't called his mother 
'Mom' or 'Mommy' since the first time she had turned away while his father 
hit him.
Why is she on my bed? She never comes into my room. And why is she covered 
in blood?
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 or 
I'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 to 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 her 
smile, 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. I saw 
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 his 
classmates 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 to 
mask 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-sucking walking 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 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 murmurings 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 see 
why 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 had been 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 into 
her 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 tugged at 
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 the 
Mayor 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 gangs and his bombs under the school. 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 Cordelia his ex-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 any longer. 
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 beccause 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 were 
alive, 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, but he 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-retrevial-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 open 
and 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 know where 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 their 
son 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 have 
to 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 upt 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.
Thier 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 of his 
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 over again in his mind. Rage like he hadn't felt since Angelus 
had killed Jenny 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 Sacremento 
was too 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. To burn 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 was 
a 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 that 
had haunted her since Angel and taken her blood to heal himself. The dream 
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 to her 
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 hadn't burnt 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 Giles to 
find that one peice 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 beleive that you told me how 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 
if Sunnydale breathed a collective sigh of relief.
Until she heard the voices.

"....victim is male, between eighteen and twenty....severe trauma...in 
shock....six gunshot wounds to the chest and torso, one to the leg...blood 
loss near critical..."
Buffy stood, something tinngling at the back of her mind, her Slayer 
'spider-sense' going wild, but not in warning. At least, not the warning 
she was 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 knw 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 loss near critical...

Buffy didn't remember jumping from the chair. She didn't rememer 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 was pale 
from the loss of blood.
Xander.

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

Buffy resisted the sudden urge to kick the paramedic, and instead shot 
back. "Alexaner LaVelle Harris, eighteen years of age. Blood type AB 
postitive, 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 agian, 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? Who are 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 to be 
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, unadultered 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 thier own captian 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 exauhsted, Buffy 
made her way 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 Schol was a flame-gutted wreck, no few of the bodies thought 
to 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 made 
it 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 one knew how 
to prove anything about the explosion, and most everyone wanted to esacpe 
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 thier strength from the hapless public servants. From the 
ash a man stood, wrapped in a fire-blanket, his honest face contorted in 
dismay.
"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 
not known for his merciful generosity in demonic circles. Rather, he was 
feared for what he was even before the Ascension.
"I knew it wasn't that easy." The deep voice held a note of smooth 
arrogance hiding despairing resignation. Torment etched every word 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 thier lips in anticipation of finishing the 
fight they had begun at the hospital the night before. "I knew 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, givng 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 thier master didn't order them to stay, the vampires ran, 
knowing it was the one chance they had to survive; and if anything, the 
survival instinct 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 
thier 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 the Mayor 
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 effect on you, 
Angelus, so I won't waste my breath. I'm going to use you to destroy 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 will cause 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 comapny."


~ * ~

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 stones and 
broken glass, leaving streaks of blood to be washed away into the gutters 
of Sunnydale, the scent tempting to the vampiric denziens of that unlit 
subterranian 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 a sight, but people had long since learned to ignore such things and 
blissfully allowed thier subconcsious 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 her 
blood, hotter and stronger than ever, calling on her to shout a warning no 
one 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 gentle 
man -- 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 
to see 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 faces 
of 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 exaushtion. 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 thier librarian patron so catastrophe prone. They really 
didn't want 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 being here, 
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 her 
lower 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 insitncts, her 
'spider-sense' that made it impossible for creatures that went 'bump' in 
the night and meant it to sneak up on her -- all that gave her the powers, 
the body, 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 would 
hurry 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 inseperable from 
Xander's side 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 stagres 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 the 
doors slide open and closed, and felt the biting wind carry a few droplets 
of 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 depp 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 and smells 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, 
as if accidentally. Grasping, she arched into him, but he pretended not to 
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's 
van 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 time to 
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...Oz doens'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 Oz 
understands 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 next 
to 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 you can 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 cab 
came, 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 had that 
afternoon; the Mayor's fire had washed harmlessly over her protective 
spell, 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 his mother 
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 
exaushtion, he had unflaggingly done menial grunt-work, clearing rubble and 
wielding a hammer so the trained help could spend thier 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 
and tests. It had usually been Xander who drove her, because Oz invraiably 
had band practice. Still crying, Willow watched the rain through the 
windows, a detatched part of her mind hoping the storm would wash away 
whatever evidence remained of thier 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 Nightengale 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 a lift, 
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 people out there -- 
they're called vampires and I help fight them."
Feeling somewhat proud of herself and slightly less scared, Willow Rosenbeg 
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're pretty 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 own to 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 readhead 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. To try 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 hot 
tea and dry clothes for Willow. "Here you go...I hope you get warmd 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, all I know is 
beaucratic. No one could reach Joyce Summers or Rupert Giles this evening, 
so you're officially his representative since you checked him in this 
evening. He has and aunt in San Francisco, but she said she wouldn't be 
able to make it downAnd 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 has and 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 postion 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 of this, not at 
all.
For the second time that night, Buffy found herself at the courtesy phone 
dialiing Cordelia's number.
~ * ~

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

Wesley Winham-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 regretabbly 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 dissapear 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 detatched 
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 thier lives from 
the moment of first contact to the moment the phone call had come, severing 
that relationship that only the most dedicated personal atheletes and thier 
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 
paper for the edification of men who would never in thier 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 thier 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 the 
plane 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 
what he thought she should be; that he would take away her friends and her 
family and leave her wiith 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 question 
for 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 cunning edge that 
set Wesley on edge. Every moment they waited, Rupert Giles became 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 take Buffy 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 tenascious stubborness 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 laughted, 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 
thier own humanity, parts of themselves they could never get back fighting 
the war Giles had brought to Sunnydale, intent of pushing back the forces 
of darknes 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 turnd out to be the special forces humanity 
was looking for. Even withouth 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 was 
very little the Council could do to prevent what he had set in motion as 
soon as he had recieved 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 
and raincoat, make-up apparently forgotten and her hair streamling 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 did you find 
us?" He stopped, and shook his head. "Nevermind that. Just go; you 
can't be here when that plane lands, or you'll be taking a one way trip to 
England."
Cordelia stared at him as if he were speaking greek. "Xander has been 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 heere to be taken 
back. Get in my car adn 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 missles 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's 
landing gear with the hissing whine of pnuemtaic shocks and the deafeaning 
thunder of the wing-mounted turbines.
Everything settled for a moment, a heavy stillness falling as slowly as the 
drizzling rain. An eternity of seconds later, the hatch on the plane fell 
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 and 
gray eyes melted into the darkness of the landing strip, but his youthful 
aristcratic 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 descened the gangway, smiling amiably with all the smug 
arrogance someone who knows they cannot be touched can have. Looking to 
Wesley, 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 throat and 
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 her 
not 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 masqurading 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. Though she 
would never admit it, Faith still loved Buffy as a sister, and I would 
never 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 by bit 
while her eyes feasted on the corpses of her friends -- the last sight she 
would ever see.
Light knocking on his heavy oaken door interuppted 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 unconcsious 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 was wary of working with vampires, he had been impressed, and 
expected to continue to be pleased with thier 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 intitiave on thier 
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 words 
under his breath, bringing the unfortunate creature back to it's 
senses. From his pocket, he pulled out a small peice of polished bone 
carved with arcane symbols.
"Do you see this? Good." Excellent. It appeared the 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 a talisman 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?"