Buffy X-overs 1. College Life

Okay, apologies for the delay in getting this out. Once again I had computer problems, plus I am now in the middle of buying my first house. Yeesh. Don't ask. But here we are, with the first chapter in the sequel! Disclaimers: I don't own the characters. I don't own the conecpt. This is just my odd take on things. Enjoy!

* * *

**France**

"My Lord?"

He opened his eyes slowly and frowned at the ceiling of the tent. He felt weak and hot, but his mind was still clear. Still clear. Then he turned his head to look at the man standing at the entrance to the tent.

"What is it Jacques?"

"We have received the signal my Lord. They are ready."

He sighed tiredly and nodded. "Good. Then the moment has come. Tell the men to prepare to attack."

"Yes my Lord." There was a pause. "My Lord are you well?"

"I'll be perfectly fine, Jacques. Tell the men to get ready."

"Yes my Lord."

He waited until his second in command was gone before he closed his eyes and summoned the Power to enable him to rise off the bed. The wound from the arrow flared viciously at his side, but he beat the pain down with his mind. There would be time to acknowledge it later. Heh. If he had time. He knew that he was dying. He just could not die yet. Not while he had one last job to do. He took a step forward. Then another. Yes, he could do this. Once he was on his horse then he could just sit there, right? It would be easy. He looked down at his surcoat, with the red cross on the white background. What an irony. The last man who dared wear the symbol of the Order in public. A dead man who still walked.

Coming out of the tent he saluted the two guards with a solemn nod. "Join your unit; you will have other duties today." The pair bowed and then trotted off, their spears ready at the salute. He watched them go with a smile. Had he ever been that young? Perhaps he had. A long time ago. A long time.

The camp was astir with activity now, as men ran backwards and forwards, pulling on chain mail and other armour, hefting spears, shields and swords, the horsemen checking the clinches on their saddles… preparing for war. For one last battle.

Speaking of which… he turned to look at the castle ahead of him. There it was, the home of the Others. The ones who knew of the Power, but who misused it, twisted it, worshipped the dark side of it. They loved anger, hatred, envy… everything that the Order was opposed to. But now the Order was gone, smashed by the greed of a king and a Pope, along with the rest of the Templar Order that surrounded it. Few Templars could manage to comprehend the Power. Those that did… found something else. Something noble and pure. And also powerful, which was why the Others had always hated them. And had now almost destroyed them, by pouring poison into the minds of the King of France and the Pope. How many had escaped the purge? Few. He had been one. But he had been able to get to a place where he still had friends, where he was able to raise a small army for one last campaign – to smash the stronghold of the Others. They could not be allowed to go on spreading their poison with the Order gone.

He shook his head and then grimaced slightly as the arrow wound flared again. He had not escaped from the fall of the Templars unscathed. The wound was slowly killing him. But not before he finished his last mission.

Nodding to his groom he raised one foot into the proffered stirrup and then paused, summoning the Power again. He had to show strength now. Weakness, in any form, would be bad for the men around him. Then he mounted his horse with one clean movement, ignoring the renewed flare of agony from the wound. Settling himself on the horse he turned to receive his shield and then his lance, settling the former on his saddle pommel and the latter by his stirrup. Then he reached out for his helmet. He smiled as he looked at it. Old memories of past battles flickered through his mind for a moment, until he thrust them away. No woolgathering, not now. He had too much to think of.

Turning his horse to one side he spurred him off to one side of the camp, where the men were falling in. As he rode along the lines he smiled and nodded to passing old acquaintances. Old friends who had faced the Reaper together with him. One last time. One last battle to do good before the darkness fell.

He pulled at the reins as he reached the leading rank and the horse slowed as he steered it to where Jacques was waiting. The castle of the Others loomed in front of them all. He looked up at the crag with a sigh. Then he nodded at the man next to him. "Give the signal."

A nod and then Jacques was gone, moving quickly across the camp in the direction of the great signal fire that had been built there. A burning brand was waiting. It had been there, in various incarnations, for two days, waiting for this moment. A quick thrust and it was in, sending the first curls of smoke into the air.

As he waited he looked back at the castle. It was brooding. He could sense the evil inside it, like a malignant growth that he had once heard a Jewish physician talk about. Well now it was time to wipe it out.

"There," came a grunt from the man next to him and he turned to look up at the crag, where an answering column of smoke was rising. Then something fiery shot up into the air from the crag and fell, trailing smoke as it descended, into the heart of the castle. Two more joined it quickly as the men on the plain below watched, holding their collective breath. Two more volleys came from the catapults that had been taken apart, then so carefully, painfully, carried up the crag and rebuilt up there. It was one last stroke of genius. It had taken days, days that he had forced himself to endure as the pain from the wound at his side grew and then started to burn.

A mutter went up and then a great snarl of satisfaction from the men and he forced himself to look at the castle. Tendrils of smoke were now rising from the main keep. The missiles, huge bundles of wood covered with pitch, were doing their horrible work. Burn them out.

They waited. What would the men inside the now-burning castle do? What could they do? When the gates opened then the waiting forces had their answer. Fight. Outnumbered, but led by the great dark force of their leader… a tall man in black armour on a black horse, now riding out down the road to the burning castle. His follower in the dark arts was next to him, also riding a black horse. He snorted. The Others had little imagination. Black everything. He had no doubt that they even had black bed sheets.

Time for action. He gripped the base of the lance and felt the weight of it pull at his arm. He would not let it fall. The wound flared with agony but he shut the pain away in the back of his mind and filled himself with the Power. Then he urged his horse forwards, at the head of his men, a great wall of shields and spears. He thought of his father for a moment and almost smiled. Alea Jacta Est. Let the dice fly high. Time to end this.

* * *

**The present day**

"Are you sure about that?"

"Yuh… yuh… yes."

Spike span around and glared at the smaller vampire. "Stop bloody stammering! Or stuttering! Or… whatever it is!"

"I cuh… cuh… can't help it. Yuh… you make me nervous."

Spike considered snarling at the vampire and then dismissed it. He reminded him of that prat with the glasses from Sunnydale, the one that the Judge had killed. After a moment he tried smiling gently and unthreateningly. This seemed to make the vampire even more nervous. Spike closed his eyes, drew out a long and totally unnecessary breath and asked: "Are you sure?"

"Yuh… yes. Hang on a muh… muh… minute." The vampire closed his eyes and breathed out himself. Then he opened his eyes again. "Right," he said in a strong Scottish accent, "It mentions Boca Del Inferno, which as we know is the Hellmouth, better known as Sunnydale and-"

"Hang on a bloody minute. Why are you a Haggis-muncher all of a sudden?"

The other vampire shrugged. "You told me to stop stammering. I've found that if I change my accent then I can speak properly. It's a mental thing."

This earned him a bemused stare. "You sound like you're from Glasgow."

"Would you rather I went back to making odd noises?"

"No. Go on."

"Right, well it says in the book that it was buried in a vault by the last of his followers by a road in the south side of a place where 'evil never sleeps and where the forces of night fight to exit the Mouth of Hell.'"

"That bloody sounds like Glasgow."

"In the 'far side of the new continent to the west', where to paraphrase it a lot, the earth shakes a great deal." He put the book down. "Sunnydale, I'd say."

Spike nodded thoughtfully before pulling out a pack of fags and shaking one out. "Bollocks. That complicates the situation."

The other vampire shrugged. "Yes, well, I heard about the Slayer being there."

Spike laughed bitterly. "That's bloody out of date information for a start. There's two Slayers there these days. When Buffy Summers fought the Master she died briefly and another one was called. When that one died, the one in Sunnydale was called in her place. Twice the possible pain. And-" he put the fag in his mouth and lit it with his lighter, "There's also a Jedi there."

This earned him a bemused look. "A what?"

"A Jedi bloody Knight."

The smaller vampire's accent thickened slightly. "Are you mad? A Jedi Knight from the fictional films?"

Spike shook his head. "Not so fictional. I was at the place a few years ago, when some wanker cast a spell on the costumes in a shop over Halloween. Never found out who did it. That night the people who hired the costumes became the sodding characters that the costumes belonged to. And one of them – one of the Summers' girl's mates – went as bloody Obi-Wan Kenobi. Lightsabre and all. And yes, the sodding lightsabre worked. Almost lost my head on that night."

The bespectacled vampire considered this. "Didn't the people go back to normal once the spell ended?"

"Yes but when I went back to Sunnydale earlier this year the bloke seemed to have remembered his mojo. Even built himself a lightsabre. Bastard."

"Right," said the other vampire, deflating slightly. "What a shame. The Gem of Amarra is in a place guarded by two Slayers and a Jedi Knight." He paused to muse. "Still, just imagine what you could do with it… the things you could do. You could walk in the sunlight with it…"

"Yup," said Spike, feeling at the shape up his sleeve, "Sounds pretty bloody nifty alright. Shame you won't be there." The stake dropped down out of his sleeve, into his waiting hand and then into the other vampire's heart. He had just enough time to swear before crumbling to dust.

Spike smirked. "Thanks for the help, mate." Then he pulled a face. He had to get to Sunnydale. Not a problem. But he also had to get out in one piece. That was more difficult. Sinking into a chair he pulled the book over and started to study it, blowing smoke out as he puffed at his fag. Tricky. But doable. Maybe some sort of… disguise? He shuddered. Come on, he was William the Bloody! He only did disguises when he had to. Then he thought about that blue shimmering energy blade. Right. Disguises it was. Perhaps a false moustache?

* * *

The café was getting quite full when Wesley entered, and he nabbed a table at the back that was reasonably private. Once he had ordered a large coffee with cream from the rather attractive waitress, he opened his briefcase and pulled out a writing pad and the fountain pen that his father had given him when he was 18. 

Uncapping the pen he paused to get his thoughts in order and then bent over the paper.

"_Dear Quentin,"_ he started and then paused again. He was still rather wary of appearing to be too informal to the head of the Watcher's Council. Still, as a full Watcher, he was entitled to call Quentin Travers by his first name. He suspected that Mr Giles' habit of occasionally muttering darkly and glaring at the very mention of Quentin's name meant that the other Watcher had his own name for him, one that was, very likely, highly insulting.

He shrugged and kept writing. _"Faith's training continues apace, although her habit of being somewhat enthusiastic when it comes to using an axe does mean that we will soon require a new training dummy. I enclose a picture of the state of the latest one which is, I fear, on its last legs."_ He looked at the photo in his briefcase and shuddered. Bits of the dummy were shredded in places and other parts sagged ominously.

Making sure that the briefcase was closed and that the picture was out of sight, he was about to start writing again when a thin blonde man in a black suit appeared to one side. "Excuse me, but is this seat taken?" he asked in a polite but fussy tone, indicating the seat opposite Wesley.

"Go ahead, please," said Wesley, looking around at the now quite crowded café.

"Thank you," said the man in a perfunctory manner.

Wesley picked up his pen again and was about to resume when he saw that the man had taken a handkerchief out of an inner jacket pocket and was wiping down the surface of the chair. Catching Wesley's look he leant over. "It's the flu season - you can't be too careful," he confided and then resumed wiping. The Watcher considered this for a moment and then nodded carefully, before looking up to find that the waitress had brought his coffee. He took a desperately needed swig before listening with some bemusement as the man ordered a "double cappuccino, half-caf, nonfat milk, with a burnish of foam and a tad of cinnamon," along with a fruit muffin.

Americans and their coffee, he wondered and then bent over the paper again.

"_Her other Slayer abilities are proceeding to manifest themselves, but I think that while some are advanced, others are rather slow in development. I rather agree that Prettejohn's theory about the role that cultures play in affecting Slayers does hold sway here and I will take the time to note these for your attention for future training. In the meantime…"_

He paused again for a moment. The man had taken out a cell phone and was calling someone called 'Pumpkin' about someone else called Yoshi. Something to do with the new Zen garden being an eighth of an inch too deep (apparently that was a severe problem) and of course he was stuck in some god-forsaken hellhole called Sunnydale for a seminar on Neuroses. Wesley thought of the earlier wiping of the chair and grinned internally. He looked back down at the letter.

"_Faith's training continues well and her interaction with Miss Summers has proved to create a valuable bond, especially given her family history." _That's not saying the half of it, he reflected grimly. Faith had been a very angry young woman when she arrived. Well, she was still angry now, but it was a matter of degrees. Mr Giles' advice had been quite valuable, along with the other advice from young Xander.

Wesley grimaced slightly as he looked at the letter. Then there was the matter of young Xander Harris and his lightsabre. This was something that was not going to be mentioned at all to Quentin, because frankly he had no idea what the reaction might be. Plus the fact that Xander had the memories of Obi-Wan Kenobi, plus the connection to the Force was not really the business of the Watcher's Council. And therefore the fact that Oz was also a Jedi was not the business of the Watcher's Council. Therefore this letter had to remain strictly Slayer-related.

He resumed. _"Rumours of the possible continuance of the Darg' Clan war have reached us here, but there is no credible or reliable information that I can pass on. The death of Mayor Wilkins has however had an effect on the contacts that I suspect he signed with a number of leading figures in the town. The death of the main judge has-"_ He stopped and looked up. The increasingly irritating man was performing keyhole surgery on his fruit muffin with a pair of tweezers. He looked up. "A slight case of the wrinkly things, I'm afraid," he said smiling in an embarrassed manner.

Wesley nodded politely and then looked down at the letter again. _"dealt quite a blow to the judiciary and-"_ He looked up again. The man was fielding a call from someone called Frasier about someone else called Eddie. Apparently Eddie had a fixation with Frasier. It all sounded rather odd. Looking around at the increasingly full room Wesley gave up. He drank the rest of his coffee, packed up his briefcase, nodded at the irritating man and walked out. He had to go to work.

* * *

The campus looked as if it was alive with people, as Xander Harris stood in the parking lot behind the library and looked over it. Interesting. It felt a bit odd, being on campus. It was the first time that he'd been on the grounds of an educational establishment as an employee, not as a student. Freaky. 

He turned back to his car, pulled his bag out of the rear seat and locked the doors before walking off towards the main entrance. As he did he used the Force to probe around him. Interesting. Buffy was off to one side, westwards, about half a mile. Probably her dorm. He smiled slightly. How would the senior Slayer cope with dorm life? Well, at least she hadn't joined a sorority. He couldn't imagine what it would be like if the Slayer had that kind of close-knit social life.

As for Faith, she was about two miles north. Probably asleep. She'd been out Slaying the previous night and was now catching up on her sleep. She was ok. At rest. And perhaps even at peace. He remembered for a moment the angry and impulsive girl that Faith had once been and shook his head. She was still impulsive, but she had bonded with them all quite well. She was part of the family, he suspected the first family that she'd had for a long time. The fact that Mrs Summers always fussed over her was a big bonus as well. And as for Oz, his fellow Jedi, he could feel him, barely, off to the south. His presence could be hard to pin down sometimes, but the chances were that he was with Willow.

As he approached the doors to the library he paused. He was taking a big step in a new direction today. Something that had to be done. Something that would allow him to take his life off in the required direction. Straightening he walked through the doors and looked around at the desk, where Rupert Giles was standing. He seemed to be having a sotto voce argument with a woman who appeared to be 99 arch disapproval and 1 polite attention. As Xander approached the pair he could pick up bits of their conversation. She seemed to be deeply annoyed about some kind of filing system. Giles was indignant about the lack of the right type of filing system? He then mentioned the fact that the library contained half a million books. Half. A. Million. This was freaky. What the hell was he doing there? Then Xander closed his eyes for a second. Trust in the Force he thought. What else could a Jedi Knight do? He stepped forwards. "Hi Giles. Anything Ican help with?"

The Watcher looked up and smiled while the women looked him up and down with a sniff of disapproval. Given the fact that he was wearing a pair of brown trousers, with a white shirt, a dark brown jacket and brown boots, Xander felt that the look she was giving him was a tad severe. It wasn't as if he was wearing ripped jeans and a nose stud, along with a t-shirt that said something anatomically impossible.

"Ah, Xander, very punctual I see," said Giles whilst directing a death gaze at the woman. "Allow me to introduce Mrs Jenkins, the deputy librarian of the UCS library. Mrs Jenkins, this is Xander Harris, my assistant."

Xander held out his hand and gave his best smile. Mrs Jenkins shook it for the minimum amount of time for basic civility, twitched her mouth into a nanosecond-long smile, muttered something about how pleased she was to meet him and turned back to Giles.

"We have never needed anything-" she said and was then cut off by Giles's own glare.

"Mrs Jenkins, I am not accusing you of letting the students down in the past. All I am saying is that in the future a different system might be required. All I am asking for is for you to be open-minded and to accept new working practices. And now I really must be moving on. Good day to you. I'll send a memo."

Mrs Jenkins, still sniffing with disapproval, moved on and Xander found himself being escorted down the hallway with Giles.

"I thought she'd never bloody leave," growled the Watcher. "Bloody woman with her outdated card filing system. Bugger, that means that I'm going to have to work out how to use the computer to send a memo now."

"Please don't tell me that life as a junior Watcher will also involve knowledge of library filing systems," said Xander in a bemused tone.

"What? Oh. Yes. Don't worry. You might pick up some residual knowledge though." He paused. "The post of head librarian here is certainly a step up from my last position. Quite a challenge though. Yes, quite a challenge."

They walked behind the desk, where Giles put down his file and looked absurdly pleased. "I must say that this place is a step up from the library at the High School." He must have caught Xander's wry look, because he then coughed and started to polish his glasses. "Not that the old library was deficient in any way. It's just that this place is more of a challenge. Plus," he smiled thinly, "I will never again find myself wishing for a large axe every time Principal Snyder enters the room."

Xander thought for a moment about the late and very unlamented principal of Sunnydale High and then sighed. Annoying as the man had been, being eaten by the equally late and even more unlamented Mayor of Sunnydale when the latter had just transformed into a 60-foot long demon snake thing was a bit harsh.

"So," said Xander, dragging his mind off the events of Graduation Day, "What's on the agenda today, Giles?"

"I thought I'd start you off by showing you around the library. You'll need to know where everything is if you're going to blend in here. Working here should allow you to help Buffy as much as possible. Faith will be another matter, but the two like to fight together once in a while, so that should help. As for your training in being a Shadow Watcher, I think that won't take long. Your… other training will cover that quite well, especially as you're also helping Oz." Giles smiled and lowered his voice. "Two Slayers and two Jedi Knights should give even the nastiest demon something to think about."

"Mr Giles!" came a voice from the door. They both turned to look at the newest History lecturer as he hurried across the carpet towards them. Wesley Wyndham-Price was clutching a newspaper in one hand, whilst his face bore a look of peeved pomposity. He looked less pompous than he had when he first arrived in Sunnydale, true, and he had shown a lot of skill and bravery in the fight against the Mayor's henchmen on Graduation Day, but the man was still a putz at times.

The younger Watcher came up to the desk and put the newspaper down. It was open on an inside page. At the bottom was a quarter page advert that had been circled in red ink. "I think that our opponents have made their move." His finger stabbed down at the advert.

Xander and Giles both leant forwards to look at it. 'Wolfram & Hart, Attorneys At Law,' said the first line. 'New office in Sunnydale. We handle every type of case.' Below that was a telephone number.

"And so it begins," sighed Xander. "They're here." He looked up. "What kind of effect will it have on Sunnydale?"

The two Watchers exchanged glances. "It's difficult to say," admitted Giles with a shrug. "Certainly, their office will attract some of the nastier cases in town. Some of the nastier demons as well. But we have to bear in mind the fact that some of their offices that have been based on past Hellmouths have not done very well at all. There's always been something about the nature of Hellmouths that has had a bad effect on some of their people."

"Like what?" frowned Xander.

"Well, based on past records," said Wesley, "Paranoia, delusions of grandeur and even insanity. Although it is only sometimes. Not always."

"Okay," drawled Xander after a long moment. "So we have an office full of evil lawyers in town that might – or might not – go gnarly on us. Joy. Let's be careful out there, right? And warn everyone."

* * *

What a choice. What a major, major choice. The clothes had been a lot easier. Duh. Buffy Summers looked down at the books and winced. What to bring? Then she paused. What would Giles do? Duh 2. Simple answer. Go book crazy, that's what. She pulled the bag open and started to fill it with books. Once she'd finished she paused and looked around her room with a certain wistfulness. Leaving for college meant leaving home. Home. They'd only been living there for about four years, but it was a place that seemed… safe. Welcoming. And, again, home. 

Leaning over she picked up the bag and slung it effortlessly over one shoulder. Then she grabbed the other bag and lifted it onto the bed, where she opened it and had a quick rummage to make sure everything was there. Yup, stakes, crossbow, quarrels, crucifixes – or should that be crucifixi? She shrugged. Okay, what else? Aquila, the sword that she'd picked up from Xander, who had gotten it from Giles, was safe in its scabbard. That was a wicked cool sword. Ummm… there was a mace and a pair of battleaxes just in case of emergencies, and even a few vials of Holy Water. Closing the bag she looked around. What else? Mr Gordo was safe in his little travel bag, her award for being Class Protector was carefully packed away and she had enough clothes to last a few weeks. She had even remembered washing machine powder, even though her mother had offered to wash her clothes. But then she'd welcome the chance to see her little girl again. Okay, her little Slayer girl again.

Grabbing the other bag she walked to the door and then down the stairs. Mom was packing her other things into the car, before looking up with a cheery smile that held just a hint of teariness. "All set?" she called to Buffy, who nodded sombrely.

"Books, bags and clothes. All packed," said Buffy as she placed the two bags into the boot of the car.

Mom watched this quietly and then nodded. "Okay. You ready?"

Buffy pulled a slight face. "Would you be freaked if I said yes and no?"

Her mother quirked her lips into a sad smile. "Honey, I'd be freaked if you hadn't said yes and no. College is a big step. But you aren't that far away and if you want to come and say share a plate of cookies with your old worn out mother, I don't see why not."

"You're not worn out!" scolded Buffy. "Maybe a bit frayed around the edges… I take it back!" she laughed at her Mom's fake scowl. Then she hugged her mother. "I'm going to miss you and you haven't even dropped me off at college yet…"

"Oh hush," came the response, "Or I'll start to cry." She stepped back without releasing her grip on Buffy's shoulders. "I am so proud of you. Even after all the… problems we had, all the difficulties, you have worked so hard to get to this moment. When I think of all the times that Principal Snyder told me that you would never get to college… Well. Water under the bridge. Study hard. But don't forget to enjoy yourself, Buffy."

The Slayer laughed. "I'll have Willow to remind me to work and Xander watching over me to keep me on the right course as well as Giles."

"Even so, be careful." Mom paused to look at her. "Okay. Lets get going!"

* * *

He puffed on the cigar and then frowned. Damn. It had gone out. True, it was just a stub, but it had been a good cigar. He turned in his chair, looked at the waste basket across the room and paused. Then he moved his lips the right way and spat the spent cigar fifteen feet across the room, so that it landed in exactly the middle of the basket. 

"Yes!" he exulted quietly, before reaching down and opening his lower drawer, where he flipped open a wooden box where he kept his fresh cigars. He was running a tad low – time to put in a request to cousin Vorlag in Havana. The embargo was all very well, but magic was magic and he could always do with fresh cigars. Pulling one out he sniffed it carefully before clipping the end off with his teeth in one clean snap. Then he belched softly, sending a delicate jet of flame against one tip of the cigar. Putting the clipped end in his mouth quickly he puffed hard, sending up a small cloud of sweet smoke that framed his head like a small cloud. Yup, he thought contentedly, the old ways were good for something sometimes.

There was a step outside and then a knock on the door. "Come," he said absent-mindedly. The door opened and a cloaked form hurried in to stand in front of his desk. Then it got down on its hands and knees and started to grovel.

"Oh get up you moron," he growled irritably. The figure froze and then stood with a jerk. "And take that hood down. You look like an idiot."

The figure pulled at the cloth and revealed itself to be Taagorn. He looked worried. This was not a surprise. He always looked worried. "Great and noble Lord," he started and then flinched when a glare was directed at him. Then he started again. "Sorry sir. Habit sir. Something's appeared in the paper that you should see." He pulled a paper out from under his arm and spread it out on the desk carefully.

Royer Mobalitos, the self-proclaimed new head of the underworld of Sunnydale looked down at the advert that proclaimed that Wolfram & Hart was in town and sighed. He'd been expecting this. That damn law firm had its slimy tendrils everywhere. Rumour had it that they even had their own private world somewhere in another dimension. And now they were here on the Hellmouth. He sank back in his chair and puffed hard on his cigar. This would need some thinking about. After all, if their new offices suddenly exploded, they just might suspect that something underhand had happened to it. He needed to mull things over.

* * *

"Xander!" came the squeak from behind him and he turned with a fond smile to see his oldest friend standing there. Willow was clutching a folder and looked impossibly excited. "Wow," she burbled, "Here you are in the library. Doing librarian things! Isn't it all too cool for words?" 

"Whoa, chill, Wills. I know it's your first day at college, but have a little perspective." He looked around at the stacks of books around him. "I must admit it feels rather comforting to be back in a library after the old one went kablooie." He paused. No one was around them, but it was worth being careful. "Where's Buffy?"

"She's getting some books out. We were discussing which courses to take. She's going to be taking Psychology with Oz and I." Willow grinned. Then she pouted slightly. "But it won't be the same without you being there."

"I know Wills, but you know what it's like with my family. They might wonder how I was able to afford college. Besides-" he grinned. "What better disguise for someone with my skills?" Then he paused and looked to one side. After a moment Oz and Buffy appeared from behind a set of bookshelves. They were talking quietly to each other whilst each held a stack of books. As they approached Oz nodded respectfully to his teacher, while Buffy balanced everything on one hand and waved at the others.

"Hey guys, what's up? Willow, you still in a bouncy mood over being here?"

Willow grinned at her and moved over to slip one arm inside Oz's. "Just talking to Xander before he gets all tweedy."

"Hey! I resemble that remark," quipped Xander as he looked over them all. He paused slightly when it came to the Slayer. Buffy seemed to be a little less bouncy than was normal. Then he turned back to Willow and Oz. "Practice tonight?"

Oz nodded. "Sure. Usual place?"

"Yup." Xander and his former Padawan nodded at each other, before the latter moved off with his girlfriend. Then the Jedi Knight looked at Buffy carefully. "Are you okay Buff? You seem a little uncertain, if a Slayer can ever look uncertain that is."

Buffy looked around quickly. "Xander!"

"Relax, there's two people about 25 feet away to the north, a guy almost asleep on a desk about 30 feet to the west and a couple necking against the Mycenaean section 35 feet away to the south. Yuck, I'd better warn Giles to dust that area a lot. Maybe even wipe it down a bit."  
The Slayer shot him a wry look. "Sometimes I wonder what exactly you can see with those Jedi senses of yours," she muttered. Then she looked at the floor and sighed. "I don't know, I feel like I'm out of my depth here."

This earned her a wry glance from Xander. "Buffy, it's your first day. Everyone around here feels odd on their first day."

"Yes, but Willow doesn't. She's been taking everything in her stride, whatever that means, all day. She talked me into talking Psychology and I don't really know what that's going to mean when it comes to studying. My roommate is perky and has a poster of Celine Dion on the wall, oh the horror. My Psychology professor, Dr Walsh, is perky enough to label herself the 'bitch queen from hell', damn it everyone I've met so far today is just as perky, even you're perky," she said, waving her hand at Xander in a slightly wild way. "And the only cute guy I've met so far today spent more time talking to Willow than me. Guy called Riley. Weird name." She winced. "I dropped a book on his head by mistake."

Raising his eyebrows for a moment Xander considered this for a moment. Then he rubbed his nose and beckoned Buffy to one side. "Okay, culture shock, right?"

"Oh, big check on that," she replied fervently.

"Buffy, that's perfectly understandable. You're away from home in a new and strange place, with new and strange people around you. You wouldn't be human if you weren't a bit freaked by the whole thing. I'll tell you something, all the Freshmen I've met today have been just as freaked. They might not look it, but I felt it. And," He put his hands on her shoulders and smiled at her, "You're the Slayer. You'll get used to it, don't worry. It's part of being you."

She smiled back at him after a long moment. "Thanks, Xander."

"Not a problem," he said, but something crawled up and down his spine for a moment. She was talking the talk, but not quite walking the walk. He paused. "Where are you going to patrol tonight?"

This seemed to throw her slightly. "Um, I don't know. Thought about checking the campus out tonight. Why?"

"I'm going to practice with Oz tonight. I'll swing by after to join you, if that's okay?"

She nodded thoughtfully. "Yeah, thanks, Xander. I could do with some new perspective here." Buffy smiled more cheerfully at him. "Thanks!"

"Like I said, not a problem." He looked up at the clock. "Oops, have to go and file stuff. See you tonight Buff." As he walked off he frowned slightly. Buffy was a little off her game and he had a strong suspicion that she needed bolstering. Well, wasn't that what a Watcher was for? And above all, wasn't that what a Jedi did, help those who needed assistance? He nodded slightly and strode on. He had a feeling that a lot of patrolling would happen that coming night.

* * *

"Hey Riley!" 

Riley Finn paused and turned at the intersection of two aisles of books. Forrest was walking up, his arms full of books. "What's up?"

His friend paused, checked his six and then leant forwards, lowering his voice. "Have you seen that new librarian? Man, he is a stickler for the whole 'grab your books and don't question me' thing."

Riley paused to consider this. "Yeah, but he isn't as bad as Jenkins. She really is freaky. The new guy is ok. Giles, right?" He turned and walked towards the exit to the library.

"Yeah," said Forrest as he fell into step with him, "Rumour mill has it he was the librarian at Sunnydale High before that gas explosion." He raised an eyebrow and lowered his voice even further. "Was that ever investigated?"

"No, it was fairly obvious according to the reports we saw. An average tragedy." Riley shook his head. "As far as any tragedy can be average. Nah, I saw this Giles guy earlier on. He knew his stuff. Had a helper too, a kid with a weird name. Xander, I think."

Forrest hefted his books onto the other arm and winced slightly. "Whatever. I'll see you back at the Dorm, man."

Riley nodded as Forrest moved off and then paused. He could see the Giles guy in the distance, talking to a short girl with blonde hair. She looked familiar and then he remembered that she was Willow Rosenberg's friend. What was her name? Spuffy? No, Buffy. Weird. He shook his head and was about to pass on towards the exit when he paused. A third person had joined the two. It was that Xander guy. He looked… poised. He was looking around, not just at the other two, but at everyone else. And once he looked over at Riley, his eyes probing and assessing before moving on. As if he was weighing up everything. Riley frowned and then shrugged. Time to go to class. But he couldn't shake off an odd feeling as he left the library, as if he had been put under a microscope for a split second.

* * *

The computer was so new that it still had bits of plastic wrapping attached to the back. Plus it smelt very… plastic. Lindsey McDonald looked around the office and smiled in a slightly bemused manner. It was very odd having an office in a building that he had last seen as an empty shell. Then it had been full of dust and dead spiders. Now it was full of lawyers and computers. 

Pushing the button to start the computer, he stood up and walked over to the window. The Sunnydale branch of Wolfram & Hart was in a good location. He had chosen it after all. There was a park nearby – which was off limits after dark until the word of their presence went out and the local vampires realised that there was a new player in town – and access to the road network was excellent. The building was large and roomy and had a lot of room for development. Perfect for a law firm that liked to keep a lot under it's metaphorical hat. Or perhaps cloak would be a better term.

Hearing a beep behind him, Lindsey walked back over to his desk. The computer was asking for a logon name and a password. He tapped in the relevant details. There was a pause as it accessed the mainframe, which was protected in more than electronic ways, and then it opened up a screen that revealed his schedule for the day.

He scrolled through his appointments and sipped from a large mug of coffee at the same time. The day would start with a general staff meeting, and then a one to one meeting with Bob Rove. That would be interesting. His new boss had reputation in the firm as being quite the high flyer. Of course so did Lindsey, but he had never worked with Rove before. Apparently the guy had asked for him personally. That gave him pause for thought. Why would he call for someone he'd never really met, except to say hi to in corridors?

Of course, establishing Wolfram & Hart on the Hellmouth was important. It would also be tricky, especially with two vampire slayers here. They had to make sure that they didn't sign on too many vampires as clients. One good night out from the Slayers could wipe out half their client list if they weren't careful. No, a careful mix of different clients would suffice. Putting his mug down he frowned at the screen. Of course there were more than Slayers here. There were also two Watchers, one of whom had made it clear that the Watcher's Council did not like Wolfram & Hart at all, and… Xander Harris. The mysterious Mr Harris, as he had renamed him in the privacy of his head, who had some kind of odd powers. Something had happened to him almost two years ago, something significant enough for the former, and about as late as it was possible to get, Mayor of Sunnydale Richard Wilkins, to mention to him as a possible threat.

But the frightening thing was that there was a possible connection to Lindsey. He had once been in the same room as Harris when he had done something to a vampire, spoken to it in a voice that resonated with... something. He could hear it in the air, something that had made his head feel fuzzy. And the Host, the demon owner of the Caritas bar in LA who could read your future by listening to you sing, had seen it as well. His words to Lindsey were burned into his brain: "Something's changed within you. You know that. The only problem is, I'm not the person to tell you what it is. You've met him already, that's all I can tell you. And you're going to have to make a choice at some point. That being real soon. The kind of choice that changes your life and takes you down a new road, to a place that you didn't see coming." And then: "The force is with you"! What the hell did that mean? The force of what? He had to have been referring to Harris, but what had changed, why would Harris be the guy to tell him and what road had he been talking about?

Lindsey stirred in his chair uneasily. He knew what lay ahead here – working for Wolfram & Hart made that brutally clear after a while. He had seen the bodies being removed after some employees of the firm had made some particularly… poor… decisions. You worked for the firm until you died, and the chances were that the cause of death wouldn't be old age. Oh they gave you a good salary, an excellent health plan and the ability to use deadly force to win court cases or buy off/deflect/kill messily the opposition, but once you were in they never let you go. That much was very obvious. And there were those odd rumours about dead people being seen in the corridors every now and then. He didn't want to think about that. It brought up too many questions.

But what other road could there be for him? If he left where would he go? What would happen to him? He sank a little lower in his chair and brooded quietly. His life was… well, a mess just now. He could feel something dark and terrible following him, something that he just couldn't shake off but that he knew he had to. What other road? He looked at the clock on the wall above the door. Time to meet the troops.

* * *

A room full of Wolfram & Hart lawyers was not a pleasant sight, thought Lindsey as he looked around the conference room. There were about 35 of them, as this was still a fairly small offshoot of Wolfram & Hart. The more important ones, himself included, had seats around the table whilst the others stood at the back. The arrogance level in the room was set at 'perky' as opposed to the normal level of 'am I going to get shot today?' at the main LA office. The chair next to him at the head of the table was empty. 

He turned to look at the others. Interesting collection. He didn't know most of them, but Robby Harrison he had met a few times. The guy was nervous but had an amazing memory for old law cases. Then there was Debbie Ormsdorf. She was a bit flaky, but he suspected that the flakes would peel off to reveal a very hard woman underneath. Oh and he could see Susan Ulyanov at the back. She had been Everard Donner's blue-eyed girl until she'd been ambushed by the DA with that surprise witness in the Geffen case. That had given her a wrap on the knuckles.

There was a stir close to the door and then Bob Rove swept into the office. A tall man in his late forties he was, as always immaculately dressed in a dark blue suit and a red tie, with his brown hair swept back and a thin file in one hand. He smiled and nodded to people as he passed them, giving Lindsey a firm nod as well, as he made it to the empty chair and then swept into that as well. He gave off a crackling feeling of movement and energy. This, the body language said, is my room, full of my people and I'm in charge. Watch yourselves people.

"Well," said Rove as he looked around the room, "I see that everyone's here, so I'll get right into it. Welcome to the newest branch of Wolfram & Hart, people. The firm's never had a base here on the Hellmouth, so we need to get started in building a client base here." He smiled again. "Good place for us, right?"

A sycophantic chuckle ran around the room and Lindsey quirked his lips in a well-simulated smile. Rove snapped his eyes around the room with the speed of a snake and then leant forwards as silence fell. "Word of our arrival has already gone around and we have a number of cases on the books already. I'm going to be assigning you all to different ones so that you all get some experience here and there on some of the various types of cases we'll be handling here. Along with some of our varying types of clients. You'll all be briefed on the cases you'll be working on. So let me just say welcome to Sunnydale and I'm sure that we can make this one of the best bases for the firm anywhere in the world.

There was a pause for everyone to applaud him and then, as everyone else started to file out of the room Rove leant over. "Lindsey, we might as well have our meeting here. More room."

Lindsey nodded and waited until the door had closed behind the last of the others before turning back to Rove. "I'd like to say that I'm flattered that you asked for me, sir," he said.

Rove grinned. "Call me Bob. I chose you out of gut instinct. That and the report you sent in after the Wilkins incident. Holland Manners' recommended you as well, which was the icing on the cake." He leant back in the chair and clasped his hands behind his head.

"You've been here twice before, which is more than most people from Wolfram & Hart have ever managed, so you have an edge. Oh and you've met the Slayers and their Watchers. That's important. We're probably going to have a few problems with them as time goes by and I need someone on the team who's met them." He leant forwards, the smile fading. "Who knows their weaknesses. And they do have them – we have quite extensive files on the them. We just need to find a way of capitalizing on them."

Rove stood suddenly and wandered over to the wide window that took up part of one wall and pushed at the button that raised the blinds, to reveal a view of the town. "I meant what I said just now," he mused, looking out over Sunnydale, "I mean this place to get the reputation of being the best. Make it the best and the Senior Partners will notice us. Reward us. For the good of the company of course."

He turned to Lindsey and flashed him another smile. It was like being in the same room as a cheerful crocodile who'd just had his teeth polished. Lindsey smiled back and nodded, carefully keeping his real feelings at bay. He had quite neutral feelings towards the Slayers. They hadn't killed him for a start, although he could still remember the sensation of cold metal brushing against his neck when Faith Morgan had got the drop on him in the Library in Sunnydale High.

The other lawyer returned his gaze to the window again. "I've been doing some digging. The fact that our Arrangement with Wilkins expired at the same moment that he did has opened this place up to us. And boy, Wilkins had quite the racket going here. He had fingers in so many pies that almost the whole town had links to him. He sighed. "He even had the top judge here on his payroll, not that we can take any advantage of that now."

"We can't?" asked Lindsey, wondering what else Wilkins had subverted.

"Nope. He – and quite a few other top people – had a private deal with Wilkins. Once he went, they went, in various ways. Very nasty. You should check the local papers."

A cold sensation went up and down Lindsey's spine, as if someone had poured freezing water down his back Again, he gave no sign that anything was wrong.

"So," said Rove, turning to walk back to his chair, "We need to get as much information on this place as possible. Demon clans, Vampire gangs, the usual assorted bribable muscle and how much they charge. You know, the normal stuff we look at. And," he leant forwards and opened the file to reveal a few blank pages, "I'd like you to give me a few thoughts on the Slayers and their vulnerabilities. Just a few… concepts." Rove looked at him expectantly, with his head tilted to one side and one hand twirling a slim gold self-propelled pencil.

Lindsey started to talk whilst also starting to loathe the man. Life on the Hellmouth was not going to be fun. Well, at least he was away from that bitch Lilah. He wondered for a split second what she was doing.

* * *

"Hey Xander," came a call from one side, and Xander looked over to see Jonathan to one side. He had a bag slung over one shoulder and was dressed in slightly more fashionable clothes than the last time that Xander had seen him. "How's it going?" 

"Good," said the Jedi, walking up to his school friend. "Working in the library at the college. You?"

"I just started. I'm taking Tech as a major, with history as a minor." He rolled his eyes. "Lotta books to read!" he laughed nervously.

"How's Anya?"

The short man grinned and blushed at the same time. He looked as if he was about to gush. "Great! Uh, we're doing great. She wasn't able to get into college, for obvious reasons, like lacking money and a proper record and stuff. But she's applying for jobs and stuff, we're ok." He looked over Xander's shoulder. "Hey, there she is!" he said excitedly and waved.

Turning Xander watched the former demon approach. She was wearing a leather jacket and a skirt and cut her hair so that it framed her face. She was also beaming fondly at Jonathan, before registering the existence of Xander, whereupon she nodded at him firmly. Then she started slightly and plastered a massive smile on her face, looking briefly at Jonathan for confirmation. The smile looked a bit forced. "Xander Harris," she acknowledged. "How have you been since we last met? I've – we've – been good. How are you doing in college? Isn't the weather pleasant? According to the forecast there's a 41 per cent chance of precipitation this afternoon. How are your family? Is the Slay- I mean is Buffy well?" The grin had now come to resemble the onset of rigor mortis.

Blinking, Xander considered this small barrage. Then he replied: "Good, I'm glad, I'm a librarian here, weather's spiffy, I can't feel any rain coming in and she's great." Then he turned back to look at them both. "What's with the barrage of questions and the smile?"

Anya's smile flickered for a moment. "I've been practising my tact," she said, with just a suggestion of gritted teeth. "Jonathan said that I would blend in better if I was less abrupt and more tactful." She looked him, the smile becoming more genuine. "He's been teaching me."

"Okay, good. Happy for you," replied Xander. "Which jobs have you applied for?"

The smile slipped slightly. "I start work at 'World of Leatherwork' tomorrow. The second place I applied."

"What happened to the first place?"

"Oh that was yesterday. My tact slipped slightly," she said, rather tight-lipped. "I was at La Petit Soeur, when a customer came in and asked for a flattering dress. I pointed out that she had to grow some breasts first as she had a chest like a toast rack. The manager told me to take a hike."

"Okay," mulled Xander. "Enough said. Well, good luck." You're going to need it, he thought as he walked away from the couple who had passed on their merry chattering way. What an odd couple. They seemed happy though. That was important. He looked at his watch. He had to be elsewhere. He had some duelling to do. So to speak, of course.

* * *

Xander was waiting on a projecting branch of a tree when Oz arrived in the park. The Jedi was sitting there, his legs crossed in what looked like a very uncomfortable position. However, his eyes were closed and he seemed to be peacefully meditating. As Oz approached he opened his eyes and fell backwards off the branch, flipping in mid air to land on his feet with cat-like stealth. "No Willow tonight?" 

"College has her rather excited," said his former Padawan as he slowed to a halt. He mused: "It's cute actually." He paused. He couldn't sense anyone around them. Perfect.

"Good," said Xander and then: "Defend yourself." The moment the last word had left his lips he used the Force to snap his lightsabre into his hand, where it ignited with a hiss and slashed down with the speed of a striking snake – only to meet Oz's own green blade in a classic defensive pose.

"Excellent," said Xander. "Your responses are getting better." His lightsabre came up and then jabbed down again from a different angle, only to meet Oz's blade again. Xander disengaged and then stepped back a step. "Now that you've shown me your reflexes shall we begin?"

Oz nodded, gripping his lightsabre in both hands and twisting them slightly to get a better grip. "Let's go," the lapsed werewolf said, with a slight smile.

The blades swept up, clashed again, with the whirring noise of power plants trying to outmatch each other, broke apart and then flashed back and forwards as the two duelled. Back and forth they went over the grass, with first Xander pressing Oz back and then Oz recovering and sending his former master retreating. The two seemed perfectly balanced as they ducked, parried, thrust and span to counter each others blades in a deadly dance of lightsabres, both using the Force to sense the others next moves.

Xander tried an overhead cut, which Oz matched, sliding off to one side, before jabbing back at him, a short circular cut that Xander easily blocked. But Oz followed this with a quick hard jab from the other side followed by another, before dropping down to one side and slashing at knee height. Xander exploded into the air before the blade came anywhere near him, using the force to flip up and back, hitting the ground and leaping back, his lightsabre probing through the air. Once it hit, forcing Oz back a step, twice it hit, sending him back at a stumble and then for a third time it hit, knocking the green blade out of his former Padawan's hand.

The green blade winked out as it hit the ground. The blue blade was motionless by the side of Oz's head. Then it winked out as well. "You're getting better," said Xander approvingly.

"What did I do wrong?" asked Oz, reaching out to pick up his lightsabre and return it to a hook on his belt.

"Nothing," smiled Xander, hanging up his own lightsabre and sitting down on the grass, crossing his legs as he did. "In fact you've become very good at Form One of lightsabre technique, also known as Shii-Cho. The problem is that there are other forms."

"Ah," mused Oz, joining Xander on the grass and assuming the same position. "I take it you were using a different one?"

"Very good. Yes I was. Form Three. Soresu. Obi-Wan was a master at it. Defensive at first until your opponent makes a mistake. Yours was to overbalance slightly when you tried that low attack. I read that and counter-attacked. As you get used to the various forms possible you can change your attack or defence based on what you're up against." He paused. "And remember: there may come a time when you're without your lightsabre, when you're fighting with anything you can get your hands on. You need to know what else is available in terms of techniques and forms to protect yourself with and end a battle. I'm going to teach you all of them – you'll need to choose one to adopt as your best technique. So far I've taught you Form One. The level you've reached is beyond that which a Padawan needs to progress to a Jedi Knight, in the old Order. At some point you'll need to hone in on your own personal fighting style."

Oz nodded sombrely. "What about you?"

"I'm practising Soresu. I might have Obi-Wan's memories, but I don't have his level of skill in it yet."

"So what are they like?"

"Okay. Form Two – Makashi. Elegant, precise, powerful. Minimal effort. My – I mean Obi-Wan's master was a great guy called Qui Gon, and his master, Dooku, was an expert in this. Bastard also turned to the Dark Side, but that's a long story and damn I hope that George Lucas gets the casting on those two parts right.

"Form Three is Soresu. Defensive, looking for an opening and the chance to go on the attack. Form Four is Ataru. Acrobatic, uses the Force to use some wild manoeuvres. It can be aggressive, so you need to be careful in letting yourself go too much. It also lacks defensive depth unless you're careful." He paused again, thinking of Qui-Gon's death. "Obi-Wan's master was killed by a Sith because his defence lacked a little something."

Shaking his head he went on. "Form Five is Djem-So. It's similar to Soresu but more aggressive. In fact it's like a combination of Makashi and Soresu. Channels defence into offence. Anakin was good at that. Of course, so was Vader.

"Form Six is Niman. It's the diplomat's version of fighting. A bit of jack of all trades version. Not a good idea if you're up against it. Form Seven is Juyo, or as Master Windu refined it, Vaapad. Aggressive. Very aggressive if you're not ready to deal with it. And it takes a massive amount of training to do that. One day, if she's ready for it and Giles agrees, I might teach a terrestrial version of it to Buffy, for the sword. Only when she's ready for it though. It has been known to lead to the Dark Side."

Oz nodded slowly as he took it all in. "Interesting. Many choices." He looked up. "How will I know?"

This earned him a smile. "You will know. You're a Jedi. Trust your instincts." He looked down at his watch. "Oops, time to go. I have to meet Buffy."

"Need help patrolling?"

"Not tonight," said Xander as he rose up and brushed a few specks of loose grass off his trousers. "She's a bit down and I want to have a quiet word with her."

"Down?" frowned Oz as he got up as well.

Xander grimaced. "I think it's 'I'm in college and everything's different' rather than anything else." He shook his head. "I think that Willow's reaction was the opposite of Buffy's. Will has seen the opportunities and Buffy is freaking slightly about being in a new place away from home. It's understandable. I mean, for Buffy her home life was an anchor for her – a way of centring herself, being able to push the Slayer part of her life to one side. Now she's having to make a new non-slayer area to her life and I think she's a bit shaken by it." He paused and smirked slightly. "Giles didn't help. Someone called Olivia is coming over tonight apparently. He mentioned her in passing and then got all blustery when I asked him about who Olivia was."

Oz's eyebrows both moved up, indicating how impressed he was. "Giles has a personal life?"

"I know, you'd think that he spent his off hours looking at tweed catalogues and writing articles about bell ringing, but yes he does do other things. And apparently he has a sex life, something that we will draw a veil over before we start to freak. Anyway, I've got to go meet Buffy. I think I know the best way to restore her mojo."

* * *

Eddie seemed a nice guy and had the same problems as she did, so Buffy was almost sorry when he smiled and broke away to head for his dorm. She walked on down the path. Eddie had mentioned that he had a security blanket that he took everywhere. Something called "Of Human Bondage". Apparently it was a book and wasn't about things that went swish in the dark. She shuddered for a second. Imagination was getting a little frisky again. What fun. 

Something like a twig cracked to one side and she swung around, grasping for the stake in her sleeve, only to pause. Two figures were walking towards her. One was Eddie. The other was Xander. "The admin block is over there," Eddie was saying, pointing at the building off to one side. "But I think it's about to close for the night. It is a bit late."

"That's ok," said Xander breezily, "I just wanted to check out where it was. Thanks for helping me."

"Not a problem man. Oh hey Buffy."

Smiling slightly Buffy waved with one hand. "Hi again Eddie. Hi Xander."

"Oh you two know each other?"

"Buffy and I go way back," said Xander affably. Then he looked at the other man. "Go home to your dorm," he said, "Carefully. Use the road. Avoid this place tonight."

"Okay," said Eddie, his eyes glazing over slightly. "Home." He turned to one side and ambled off.

When he was far enough away Buffy turned to Xander. "Okay, why did you just do the Jedi mind trick on Eddie? He's a nice guy!"

"He was almost a dead nice guy, Buff, he was walking towards a bunch of vampires and could have been a light snack. I distracted him by acting lost and dumb." He shook his head thoughtfully. "I think we have a nest on campus, which is a bad thing of course. Campus life is rough enough without having vampires snacking on the students."

Buffy perked up at this. "How many?"

"I sensed about five or six of them, all stinky with evil. I think we should track them back to their nest and make the place very dusty."

The Slayer nodded. "Okay. Dibs on the leader?"

"Try and be serious Buffy."

"Why?"

He sighed and then grinned. "Paper, Scissors, Rock?"

"Deal!"

* * *

The room was seriously in need of some new posters, she thought as she sat down in her chair and looked around. Come to think of it, the whole place was in need of posters to replace the old tattered ones. Not to mention the occasional hole in the wall. But they could hardly call in a plasterer. And her flunkies weren't worth a lot. 

Sunday sighed and looked at the flunkies around her. They were, well, just lame. Definitely not the nucleus of a band. More like a barbershop quartet. On the one hand they were all vampires. On the other they were all lame vampires.

And tonight they had lost a possible prey. One minute he had been ambling towards them, the next minute he had been intercepted by another guy who had walked up, asked dumb and obvious questions and then diverted him off to one side. From the look that the shadowy figure had shot into the darkness where they had been waiting, whoever he was he knew about them. Which was odd. She shrugged. She'd heard rumours that the Slayer was on campus. And where there was a Slayer there was also a Watcher. That meant that things might get interesting very soon. She smiled dreamily as she imagined a pair of heads over her chair, perhaps on pikes. Of course that meant getting hold of pikes, not to mention a taxidermist to pickle said heads, but that was a small detail.

"I just love what you've done to the place," said a voice off to one side and she snapped her head around to stare at the short figure of a blonde girl at the entrance. She was looking around with immense fake interest. "It just shrieks 'urban ghetto' with a hint of 'desperate pathetic vampire chic.' Not bad. Did you spend much on decorating?"

"Nothing at all," drawled Sunday and she stood up. Her Flunkies were all on their feet staring at the girl. Some were smirking. All were thinking the same thing: Food. "We just took it from people. Some were like you."

The girl smiled easily. "I don't think they were like me. I'm different."

"How different?"

"Very different. Oh, I'm sorry, I haven't introduced myself. I'm Buffy. The Vampire Slayer." She produced a stake from her sleeve and waggled it cheerily.

"Slayer!" purred Sunday and her flunkies echoed her. "Well, well. What an honour. Not. Do you really think that you can just walk in here and, well, slay us all? On your own? Please!"

"Oh I brought a friend," Said the Slayer and she moved to one side to reveal a dark-haired man who looked a bit familiar.

"Yeah right, please again. You brought your Watcher. Well done, you just made our job easier."

"I'm not a Watcher yet," said the man as he stepped forwards and Sunday realized that he was the same age as the Slayer. He also seemed to be very confident. For one thing he wasn't wetting himself with fear.

Glancing at the most intelligent of her flunkies, which wasn't saying much, Sunday gestured. "Do it."

Growling with anticipation the vampires spread out, walking towards the Slayer, who was cleaning her nails with the point of the stake as she ambled off to one side. Sunday herself was busy gliding down to one side. To the entrance and the young guy. Block the way out, use him as leverage by threatening to kill him, then actually killing him and jumping her… this was going to be far too easy.

Only it seemed that it wasn't. The moment that the Slayer came into range of the others she exploded into life, punching, kicking and gouging, whilst that stake whizzed around like the weapon that it was. The moment that Monica got it in the chest and was dusted, the others fell back and reconsidered their strategy, the dopes.

By now she was almost at the entrance, where the dark-haired guy was watching the fight with some interest. She suddenly realised that that he was also displaying no fear at all, but, if anything, a certain amusement. He was also watching her, she realised with a shock.

"Hi, I'm the guy who's guarding the way out and no you can't go through," he drawled, pulling out a shortish silver rod from behind his coat.

By now all kinds of alarm bells were ringing in Sunday's head. The guy was too confident, nowhere near fearful enough and why was he guarding the exit? It was as if he knew that all the vampires were going to die and that meant that he knew that the Slayer was going to win.

Brad, being a moron, had not thought anything at all through and retreating from the Slayer turned on the guy instead. Who flicked a switch on the rod that allowed a glowing blue blade to extend in front of him.

"Whoa," said Brad, looking very impressed, "Is that a lightsabre, man?"

"Yup," said the guy and suddenly moved so fast that Sunday blinked in astonishment.

"Whoa" said Brad again, rather weakly, before his head fell off and he crumbled into dust. The guy looked at her for a moment and then looked back at the Slayer, who was busy staking one of her flunkies. Wait a minute, there was only her and whatisname left now, who was busy running for the hole in one of the walls to one side.

"Come back here and fight!" screamed Sunday and then she looked back at the guy with the lightsabre, who grinned at her before making a strange gesture with one hand… and then suddenly she was sailing backwards through the air, as if something invisible had kicked her. When she hit the ground she smashed through her chair and then back again through the stuff that they'd collected over the years, finally coming to rest against the wall. Pain stabbed through her shoulder and she looked down to see a long sliver of wood impaled through her flesh. Grabbing it and gritting her teeth she pulled it free and threw it to one side, before looking up – to see the Slayer's fist coming straight at her. The impact sent her back against the wall and her head rang from both the punch and the landing. She struggled up again and then the Slayer's hand flashed forwards and… Sunday looked down at the stake protruding from her chest.

"Shit," she said and then it all went dark.

* * *

As Buffy and Xander walked out of the former Frat house she was whistling. Xander grinned quietly. "You feeling better, Buff?" 

"Oh yeah," she said with an answering grin. "Fully reaffirmed and ready for the fight against things that go 'Grrr' in the night. Good call Xander."

"Naah," he replied, "Easy call. I thought that you might just need a stab in the right direction. You do good. Doesn't matter where you do it, just as long as you know it. Campus, school, no difference. As long as you can help people, that's the whole point."

Buffy nodded. "Well thanks O Jedi."

"Not a problem O Slayer." They ambled on. "Pizza?"

"Definitely not a problem."

"Bad guys dusted, good guys intact, yes that calls for pizza." He looked around. "After all, nothing else to threaten us around."

* * *

The house was registered in the name of someone that she'd never heard of. She strongly suspected that he was either dead or had no idea himself. Whatever. It sufficed. It was large, well furnished and had a very large hall at one end. At the moment it was bare of furniture, with the exception of a black chair in the middle of the room. Pieces of wood were scattered around the hall. 

Lilah Morgan looked around and scowled. Her Master was late. She leant against one of the walls and looked over the hall idly. She didn't dare do anything. Not until he was there. The last time that she'd shown some initiative, she had been punished for it. The bruises had taken a week to heal. Her Master had a point – she was still learning. The power that she could summon was deeply scary at times. But she still hated his teaching methods at times.

The door at the far side creaked open and Judge Michael Dansey walked through. "Your fellow stooge at Wolfram & Hart, Hooper, needs to learn how to finish up a presentation fast," he said dryly. "Who knows who'll win that court case?" He paused and then smiled ironically. "Well, maybe me." He looked at her as he sat into the chair. "Begin."

Lilah walked forwards and stared down at the nearest piece of wood. It was about six inches long and tapered slightly towards the end. It weighed several pounds. She reached out a hand and concentrated, closing her eyes slightly as she opened herself to the Power. After more than a month of training she could do this more easily now, but it was still a struggle at times. But tonight… she could feel the wood, feel the weight. She grasped it with the Power and slowly lifted it into the air. Once it was level with her face she concentrated in a slightly different manner and twisted her hand to make the wood spin, slowly at first and then faster and faster.

"Good," said Dansey in a dry tone. "Now try two."

This was where it got hard. As she made the first piece spin in the air she reached out with the Power again and felt the shape and weight of the next piece on the ground. It was slightly more dense. But… she felt it rise into the air to join the first piece. A slight patina of sweat had broken out on her forehead and she ruthlessly suppressed the slight tremor in her hand. Another gesture and the second piece started to revolve as well.

Dansey leant back in his chair, his face receding into shadow. "Very good," he grated.

When it came she was ready. Suddenly Dansey's hand flicked forwards, sending a small metal pellet at her head. She didn't flinch at all, but used the Power to manipulate its momentum to curve its way around her face whilst keeping the two wooden shards revolving in mid-air. The strain of it all almost buckled her knees and a line of sweat ran down her face, but she didn't say a word.

"Excellent!" purred Dansey, standing quickly. "Release them."

She almost panted with relief as everything fell to the ground. She dimly heard a faint ping behind her as the pellet hit something on the floor to one side.

"Very good my dear Lilah," said Dansey, standing in front of her. "Very good indeed. You're coming along nicely and you aren't distracted as easily as before." He smiled grimly. "Keep practicing. Soon it will be time to up the training. I hope, for your sake that you'll be ready for it."

Lilah looked at him and then bowed her head. The Power was intoxicating at times. It filled her head and her heart with a raging fire that fed off her anger and shone out. She suspected that was why Dansey had chosen her. And she loved the feeling that the Power gave her. The power that could be opened to her… That made it worth the training, worth the pain.

When she was ready, when she had learnt everything that could, she knew that she would have a lot of plans. An awful lot. And Wolfram & Hart would know what real power was about. She did not think about what would happen to Dansey. He had a nasty habit of sensing what she felt. And she did want to learn after all, right? Everything that he knew. Every scrap.


	2. Roommates and darkness

Sorry for the delay in getting this out, but I am about to be the proud co-owner of a house. Yay! Gulp. If anyone mentions the word mortgage to me I might start twitching. Anyway, here is the latest chapter. The next one shouldn't take as long to write. I hope. Anyway, disclaimers: I don't own these characters, but damn I wish I did. Enjoy.

* * *

The problem with being a librarian, thought Xander as he looked at the massive pile of books on the trolley in front of him, is that it involves filing things in the correct place. Otherwise you ended up with people complaining about lost books that prevented them from writing papers with a lot of syllables in all the words. He paused. Okay, that was a bit harsh, especially as he found himself using said long words with many syllables in them, but hey, he had an image to protect. He paused again. It would be more accurate to say that he had a cover to protect. At least he didn't have to hide the fact that he was a Jedi Knight from his friends any more. He remembered the bad old days when Angelus had been in town and shuddered mentally. That had been very bad and if he could go back in time and do things differently he would start there, with the beginning of the whole Judge SNAFU. Angel had been replaced with his vicious alter ego, Jenny had been killed and an awful lot of people had almost joined her.

He dismissed that line of thought as being counter-productive. A Jedi had to be mindful of the living Force and stop wishing away the past. You learnt from it and moved on, although the nagging temptation to go back in time and hit Anakin on the head with a large brick until some sense had fallen into his brain did come to mind. But that was a whimsical image from the Obi-Wan part of his memory.

Where was he? Ah yes, history. He picked up a copy of "The Myth of the First World War", glanced at the post-it note that Giles had slapped on it and snorted with amusement. The senior Watcher had a very caustic sense of humour at times. Pausing to make sure with the Force that no one was around, he propelled himself in the air, slotted the book in at the top part of the book stack and then landed quietly. Right, next aisle.

* * *

"You say that your roommate is… freaky." Giles took his glasses off, polished them carefully and then replaced them.

"Yes! Seriously freaky oddness. She, she labels her food, she likes Celine Dion, her clothes are arranged by colour! The girl is so organised that she makes Willow look like a bag lady from New York!"

Giles blinked. "What a fascinating metaphor. I didn't think that anyone could be more organised than Willow. Well, Wesley aside I mean. And I heard of a man called Dundridge once, but he ended up in prison, accused of blowing up a gamekeeper's house." He looked at Buffy and refocused his attention. "Yes, well, is there anything else, any, um, more tangible evidence of this, this freakiness?"

Buffy opened her mouth but ended up just making 'what else do you need?' motions with her hands. Then she slumped. "No," she said sulkily. "But Giles, there is something odd going on with Kathy, I mean it. And I had the weirdest feeling last night, when I met her walking back from the library, that something was following us."

"Weird feelings?" asked a voice to one side and they both looked over to see Xander, who had appeared noiselessly at the door to the library office.

Giles let out a breath. "Xander, I appreciate your, um, other skills, but can you please not practice them on us? I almost had a heart attack just then."

"Sorry, Giles, force of habit. I saw Mrs Jenkins out there and she looked like she'd sucked on a tub of lemons, so I crept along a bit." He looked at Buffy. "What was that about weird feelings and followed home?"

"It's my roommate, Kathy. She's seriously freaky, Xand. There's something waaay off with her."

"Way off in which direction?" asked Xander thoughtfully.

Buffy listed her reasons eagerly, trailing off slightly when she realised that the evidence was less than conclusive. But on the other hand, Xander wasn't looking as sceptical as Giles had. Instead he was looking thoughtful.

"Well, it doesn't sound as if tentacles are going to sprout from her face whilst her head revolves, but it does sound odd to be that organised without being Willow."

"Aha!" beamed Buffy.

"Although she might just be very organised."

"Uhu," said Buffy, pulling a face.

Xander mulled for a moment and then looked over at Giles. "I think that anything that sets off a Slayer's instincts needs checking out. Just to be sure."

This brought a thoughtful frown to Giles's face. "Yes, well, it's better to be safe than sorry. Would you do the honours of going back to Buffy's place? I have a staff meeting and I need to relax before I undergo the full horror of confronting Mrs Jenkins."

Leaping up from her chair, Buffy looked at Xander. "Lets check out the roommate!" She seemed very… chirpy. And quite like her old self. Giles relaxed ever so slightly. It seemed that Buffy was feeling far more at home, as it were, in college now.

As they left Giles heard Xander ask what would happen if Kathy turned out to be normal. He shook his head and sighed at his Slayer's response: "I buy you two banana smoothies for the rest of the week?" He hated bananas.

* * *

Xander looked around at the room with some interest. It was as if someone had drawn a line down the middle and then inhabited it with two very different people. It wasn't as if Buffy's half was messy or anything, it was just that compared to Kathy's half it looked, well, a shambles. He peered into Kathy's half with an appalled fascination. She had folded the bedsheets to form a perfect long rectangle of sheet between the counterpane and the pillows. The books were carefully stacked on the desk, all in a descending order of size. The folders were sorted by colour and apparently been attacked a host of stickers, also sorted by colour. And if he didn't know any better, he could have sworn that the poster of Celine Dion had been placed using a spirit level. It was all very…

"Freaky?" said Buffy to one side. Xander nodded.

"I feel hopelessly disorganised," he said wryly. "I see what you mean. Perhaps she's a clone of whatshername, the old British Prime Minister, Margaret Thatcher?"

This earned him a bemused look. "Xander have you started channelling Giles?"

"No, Buff, I'm just a little more well-advised about the world than I used to be." He looked at his watch. "What time is she due back from classes?"

"About now," said Buffy, looking at her own watch distractedly. She grimaced. "I feel a bit weird about this now. What if she's normal and it's just me being all… valley girl oddness?"

Turning to face her, Xander smiled. "Buffy, it's time for me to unleash a quote at you: trust your feelings! What are your feelings saying to you?"

"That something's off with Kathy."

"Good enough for me. Plus," he peered at Kathy's CD collection, "Anyone who likes Celine Dion this much is either Canadian or just odd."

Buffy nodded carefully. Then she walked back over to her side. "You still think that Parker's not right?"

"Based on what I've observed, he's a complete scuzzball, Buff. He gives off sincerity, but all I pick up from him with the Force is that he's up for the sweaty moves but not for the commitment."

"Ew, Xander!" She paused. "Are you sure?"

"Yup."

"Oh. So my feelings there are wrong, but my feelings here are right?"

"Slayer instincts yes, matters involving Mr Parker, wrong."

Hearing a rattle of a key in the door they both turned around to see the door open, revealing a dark-haired girl in a jeans and a t-shirt, with a dark blue shirt over it. She started slightly at the sight of Xander and then smiled at Buffy. "Oh, hi there Roomie! And who's your friend?"

"This is Xander. Xander, this is Kathy," said Buffy, with bright eyes and a rather insincere smile. Xander reached out his hand to shake Kathy's, but he knew just by looking at her that this was just basic politeness. She felt… wrong. In sooo many ways.

"So Kathy," he said, once the shake was over. "Been in Sunnydale long?"

"Not really," she said, walking over to her desk and putting her books down carefully.

"Right," he said, pulling a face and shaking his head at Buffy, who looked astonished. Then: "Been in this dimension long then? Because I'm sensing a lot of demony vibes coming off you, instead of human vibes."

There was a clatter from the desk as Kathy knocked her new books over. Then she span around, more wide-eyed than she should have been. "Demony?" she asked, her voice going up an octave or three. "What makes you say that?"

"Because you're not human," said Xander, unclipping his lightsabre from the back of his belt but not turning it on just yet. "I can tell."

This brought a roll of the eyes from Kathy and a string of what sounded like gibberish.

"I'm sensing that you just said a few a bad words too."

"Did my father send you?" snapped Kathy. All of a sudden her posture did not look human at all, but was more loose-limbed and just screamed imminent fight.

"Your father?" blinked Xander. "Who is…?"

Kathy spat something else in the gibberish that she had used earlier. Then she tilted her head and looked at them both. "Obviously not, as what I just said would have enraged you. Great, now I have to kill you both. Damn. Well, at least I get to eat your souls to disguise myself."

She suddenly leapt into the air, straight at them like a cat suddenly jumping into the air, but Xander was ready for her. Summoning the Force he used it to catch her and slam her back onto her bed, where she sprawled briefly, looking at him with wide eyes. "What was that?" she gasped. Then she shot up to her feet again and flexed her fingers. "I'm going to tear you apart with my bare hands."

The lightsabre snapped on with a hiss and swept up into a salute, the hilt close to Xander's lips. "You'll lose a lot of fingers that way," he said.

Kathy froze, staring at the blue blade. "Is that…" she pointed weakly.

"Yup."

"Does it work?"

"Yup."

She reached out with a trembling hand and picked up a book from her desk. "Can I…?"

"Knock yourself out."

"Knock… oh. No. I'll just toss this." She threw the book towards him with an underarm lob. There was a blink and the book fell to the floor in two neat halves, a few pages smoking slightly. Then there was a thunk noise and one of the halves was pinned to the floor with a quivering wooden stake. They both turned to look at Buffy, who was twirling Aquila in one hand and a stake in the other.

"Hey," she drawled, "A Slayer's got to make an impression somehow."

"Slayer," said Kathy in what looked like a great deal of shock. Then she looked at Xander. "Guy with a lightsabre. A Jedi Knight? Here?"

"You don't sound that surprised," said Xander, blinking slightly, but Kathy was off in another rant of gibberish. Then she paused. "Oh shit," she said and then suddenly an opening sprang into life in one corner of the room, to emit a large figure with a hood and scarf covering his lower face. The figure drew itself up, glared at Kathy, dismissed Buffy with a glance and then stared at the lightsabre. Then it turned back to Kathy and ranted at her in the same alien language that she had been speaking before. Kathy blinked slightly and then reluctantly reached up to pull her face off, revealing her rather more demony real face. She slumped slightly, tried to rally by shouting something at the figure, only to get another volley of the odd language. Then she walked, shoulders sagging, into the opening and vanished. The other figure paused and looked at Xander carefully. Then it bowed. "Master Jedi, much respect do I render," it said in a careful and deep voice. "Not know you were here. Silly girl, my daughter. Rebellious. Reveal herself she did. Take her home I shall."

Raising his eyebrows Xander paused and then bowed slightly in return. "Not a problem."

The figure nodded and then leapt into the opening, which closed with a snap.

The two remaining inhabitants of the room looked at each other. "Okay," said Xander, "That was different." He paused. "How are we going to explain this to hall administration?"

* * *

The file looked unthreatening. This was however an illusion. Inside lay a deeply unpleasant person. Lindsey McDonald looked down at the file and shifted his position slightly. Then he opened the file again. Okay, Thomas Donovan. Not his real name, which was something with far too many consonants and not enough vowels. Married to Hettie Donovan. Who the hell named their kids Hettie these days? Oh wait, that was it, no one because that wasn't her name either. He looked at the dates of birth and dismissed them with a snort of derision. Then he looked at the charges. Once he'd skimmed through them, almost afraid to stop in case his eyeballs became infected, he closed both his eyes and the folder and then leant back in his chair. Yeuch. Both were complete scum, whose humanity was skin-deep, although that was debateable at times. Follicle deep might be a better term. Well, he would be seeing Mr Donovan tomorrow. Hopefully he would make it out of the meeting without throwing up.

He stood up and walked over to the window. Sunnydale looked almost peaceful in the light of the setting sun. That was an illusion as well. He sighed. His latest client was due soon. The worst part was that he was coming in his real form, as he didn't have an illusion to hide behind. Yeuch 2.

Lindsey leant forwards slightly and rested his forehead against the glass as he closed his eyes. What was he doing?

* * *

It was a nice day, the sun was shining, the birds were singing and the season wasn't quite full Fall yet, not that such a season really ever touched Sunnydale properly. Snow wasn't something that ever really laid its cold and clammy hand on the place, with the exception of the previous winter, when it had snowed. According to Buffy there had been extenuating circumstances there, something to do with Angel. Oz looked at the trees with a slow smile and then looked back at Willow, who was rummaging in the picnic hamper and muttering something about chicken wings.

Then he stiffened slightly. There was a slight tremor in the Force… something that felt oddly similar, as if something bestial had walked downwind for the barest moment and then vanished off somewhere. He looked around sharply, his hand on his hidden lightsabre, before relaxing slightly. Whatever it was, it was gone.

"Oz, honey?"

He turned to look at Willow, who had located the missing chicken wings and was holding out a container of salad. "Yes, babe?"

"Are you okay? You just looked all…" She leant in towards him. "Jedi-ish."

Grimacing slightly, Oz grabbed a chicken wing and then added some salad to the paper plate he had by his side. "I'm fine babe." He looked out over the people hurrying by. "I just have a feeling that someone out there is not fine at all. I think I need to talk to Giles and Xander. There might be a werewolf on campus." He paused for a moment and then smiled quizzically. "Another werewolf I mean."

* * *

"I'm not quite sure I understand what you're asking for," said Lindsey, looking over the desk at the worried demon on the other side. The demon stared at him, shook its head, made a series of hissing noises and then changed to English.

"You not know? Need protection. Nestlings here. Need to get out of Sunnydale. Protect," it said, slurring certain vowels.

"Protect from what?" asked Lindsey, looking up from his carefully camouflaged doodle.

This earned him an incredulous look. "Dangerous people here. Slayers here." The demon leant forwards, looking over his shoulder nervously, "Others here. Others with swords of light. Very dangerous. My people call them Lightbringers. Have odd powers. Just two, but arrive from nowhere! No warning!" It leant back and narrowed its eyes at him. "Pay Wolfram & Hart much money in other places. Need return for money. You get nestlings and others out."

"I'll make it my top priority," said Lindsey, nodding sharply and then brought his hands up and waggled them by his ears in the Fogal Demon Gesture of Sincerity. The demon paused and then mirrored the gesture, only far more fluently. Then it nodded sharply, stood up and left via the open window, leaping through with supple athleticism.

Lindsey watched the demon disappear and then shook his head himself. Lightbringers? What the hell was that? Swords of light? Odd powers? And what would make a Fogal Demon afraid of them? Fogals were touchy and bad-tempered at the best of times, but that one had been subdued and, if he didn't know better, frightened. He sighed. Something else to find out about. And tell the boss first though. Rove liked to be kept up to date on client meetings.

He stood up, gathered his notes, closed the window carefully and stepped into the corridor, where people were flitting past, clutching files and briefcases and looking… well, like lawyers.

Rove's office was on the sixth floor and was a hell of a lot more opulent than his, with the corridor to it containing thick carpets and some modern art on the walls. Ok, it was the kind of modern art that made you squint and wonder what the hell it was, but it was art. He paused in front of Rove's secretary, a thin blonde woman who was a merciless filer and who looked as if she kept a knife down her rather unnaturally voluminous cleavage. That or a pistol in her purse. She looked up him, narrowed her eyes slightly, gave him a thin sliver of a smile and then nodded at the door to Rove's office. "He's expecting you," she said.

He's doing a Holland, thought Lindsey bitterly as he walked up to the door, tapped lightly on it and then opened the door. They always know where you are in the building. It's like they had x-ray eyes. He reviewed that last thought and shuddered mentally.

"Lindsey!" said Rove, looking up from his computer and waving at a chair, "And what brings you up my way today?"

"I've just had my meeting with the Fogal Demon T'Kar. He's looking for a fast passage for him and his nestlings out of Sunnydale, due to the dangers of the place," said Lindsey as he sat down and crossed his legs.

This brought him a snort from Rove. "That's rich, a Fogal complaining about danger. I suppose he mentioned the Slayers here?"

"Yes. But he said something else. He mentioned 'Lightbringers' and said that there were two of them. He also said that they had swords of light." He paused, hesitating. Rove frowned and nodded at him to continue. "He seemed afraid of them."

Narrowing his eyes Rove leant back in his chair. "Interesting…" he breathed. "Did he say anything else?"

"No, but he seemed real keen to leave town." He looked over at his boss, who seemed lost in thought. After a moment Rove leant forwards again.

"Interesting," he said again, "Because one of our clients vanished two days ago. Vampire called Irwin, quite wealthy, was divorcing his wife, also a vampire obviously. Walked into a park and never walked out again. We thought it was one of the Slayers, but there was a witness, a Vorgon demon. Slimy, stupid and terrified out of his wits. All he kept saying was 'Sword! Light! Sword!'" He looked up. "Nose around, Lindsey. Ask some questions." He grinned. "We need to find out just who else is in town. After all, where Wolfram & Hart goes, others often follow."

"Yes, sir," said Lindsey and strode out. Right, he thought as he stepped into the elevator, where the hell can I nose around to find out that information?

* * *

"Hey, Giles," said Buffy as she entered the office. "If you were a betting man, you'd owe me five bucks."

"I would?" asked Giles, looking up from a fascinating new treatise on the archaeological discoveries at the site of the Battle of Naesby. His Slayer was sitting on one arm of the chair by the door, whilst Xander was standing at the doorway itself. "And, and why would I owe you five dollars?"

"Kathy. You told me not to be, um, I think 'a little paranoid' was your phrase. About her demonyness I mean."

Giles straightened up abruptly. "What? What happened?"

"Well, I took Xander with me, and the minute he met her he pulled a face, so I suspected I was right, and then he asked her which dimension she was from, and she was totally 'what?' and then she said that she was going to steal our souls now and freaked and came for us like a… like a… well, like a shrieking roommate thing, and Xander went all Jedi on her and threw her on the bed and she was all 'what?' again and then he did the thing with the lightsabre-"

"He killed her?" said Giles in a strangled voice.

"No, he just turned his sabre on, and she was all 'what?' and then this swirly thing appeared in the floor and this demon guy in BIG robes got out of it and shouted at her, and she shouted back, and then she took her face off, and it was totally gross at first until I realised that her face was a false face and that she was all 'grr' demon underneath and she sulked a bit and went into the hole and the big demon guy looked at Xander and apologised because it turned out that Kathy was his daughter and then he vanished and now you almost owe me five bucks," she finished, seemingly without drawing breath.

Taking a deep mental breath himself, Giles ran through what she had said, edited out the odd bits and drew the correct conclusion. "Good god," he said softly. "Well, um, well done the both of you. Yes, indeed. Could, could you identify them again?"

"Oh yes," said Xander in a firm voice. "I'd like to find out what the hell they were doing here, and why she was talking about needing our souls."

* * *

Willy looked around the bar with badly disguised glee. It wasn't that full, it wasn't that nice and there were still some stains on the ceiling that he had never gotten around to washing off after that little altercation between one of the Slayers and that slime demon. Not that it mattered any more. He grinned and thought of the house that he'd just bought in Hawaii. Then he sobered up and looked around suspiciously. Good luck on the Hellmouth had a habit of going down in flames if you weren't careful, and a guy had to be very careful on the Hellmouth. Even a guy whose numbers had finally come in and who was now rich enough to pass the bar over to his deadbeat cousin Bill and then blow this town, never to go there again. He paused for a moment to think of hula girls, very cold beer, blue skies and warm days. The grin crept back.

The door at the entrance opened and a guy that he'd never seen before came in. He was a bit short, in his twenties, with longish hair that had been slicked back and dressed in quite a nice suit. He didn't exactly look out of place, but more than a few people looked at him quizzically. He approached the bar and Willy nodded at him. "What'll it be?"

The guy looked at what was on offer, quirked his lips in almost smile and then asked for a beer. Willy pulled a glass out, filled it and passed it over. The guy sipped quietly and then just before Willy could ask for the money, he said: "How much for some information?"

Rather unsettled, Willy shot a quick look around the bar. Then he leant in slightly. "What makes you think I give out information?"

"Oh, I heard a few rumours," replied the guy, taking another sip of his beer. "Plus," he pulled out a 100-dollar bill and placed it under his glass, "I came prepared."

Willy looked at the bill and almost smirked. If this guy had come in a week before, he still would have told him to take a hike. "I don't do information any more. I'm leaving town," he hissed.

"Really?" asked the guy in some surprise. He frowned in thought. "Perhaps you'll need a good lawyer at some point in the future then. My card." Pulling out a business card from his breast pocket he took a larger swallow of the beer.

Willy looked down and froze. It read: Lindsey McDonald, Attorney At Law, Wolfram & Hart. He swallowed a few choice words. Even he had heard of the firm. And Hawaii was nowhere near far enough if they ever had a reason to make life difficult for him. Right. Time to play nice.

"Whaddya wanna know?" he asked, his shoulders slumping. "Oh, and by the way, there's one topic that's off the menu. I don't talk about the Slayers. At all. I like my body parts where they are and in working order, and the Slayers are very keen on me being silent about them."

McDonald blinked slightly. "Ok," he said. "What do you know about lightbringers?"

"Light what?"

"Light. Bringers."

"Never heard of 'em. Where are they? And where did you hear 'bout them?"

"I don't know where they are," said McDonald wryly, "Wouldn't be here otherwise. And a Fogal demon told me about them."

"Fogals," said Willy, rolling his eyes. "They've been in America for decades and they still can't speak the language properly. This Fogal say anything else?"

"Said that there were two of them and that they had swords of light."

Willy couldn't help the wince that flashed across his face. Ah. Them. This was going to be tricky… Especially as the lawyer had noticed the wince and was smiling.

"So," said McDonald, "You know something."

"Yeah," said Willy tiredly. "But I should have qualified what I said about the Slayers. See, it also extends to the Slayers' friends. They get real testy. So, no, I ain't saying nothing about that."

The lawyer stared at him quietly. To Willy's surprise he wasn't losing his temper. Visibly anyway. Instead he was just looking at him thoughtfully. "So two of the friends of either Summers or Morgan have swords made of light?"

Willy shut his mouth and stared back, crossing his arms.

"The Watchers? The Witches? The hangers-on?"

More silence in return.

McDonald stared at the barman for a long moment. "I could make it worth your while," he said, pulling out two more $100 bills and laying them next to the other one.

"Listen," said Willy quietly, "You're new in town, right? Well let me tell you something – if you want to live, don't mess with the Slayers. And don't mess with their friends. Bad things happen to those who do."

The lawyer nodded thoughtfully. "Bad things also happen to people who…" he suddenly pulled a face, as if reconsidering this choice of words but then continued: "Who annoy Wolfram & Hart."

Willy rolled his eyes. "Listen, bub. This is Sunnydale here. Life here ain't normal. Summers took down The Master, she sent Angelus into a hell dimension, she drove off Spike and Drusilla and she's thwacked the monster on the Hellmouth a few times _and_ she blew up the Mayor. Morgan cut off Kakistos's head and ran amok through the vampires here. Hell, the Mayor had a big ex-marine vampire called Tagget and Morgan dusted him so fast he didn't have time to swear, I heard. So threats against them tend to get laughed at. Because. They. Keep. Winning. Capische?"

The lawyer opened his mouth to say something and then closed it again, again looking almost surprised by his change of mind.

Willy leant back. "Now, do you want another beer, 'cos it ain't going to need all that money to buy it."

The lawyer stared at him for a long moment, making Willy's scalp crawl, before reaching out and pocketing the money. "Another beer please. And a packet of potato chips."

Willy deflated slightly as he fetched the order. He made a mental note as he did so to ring the plane company first thing tomorrow morning. It was time to get the hell out of this town.

* * *

As Lindsey wandered back to his apartment he was in a very thoughtful mood. He had found out some information but not a great deal. Everything pointed to at least two people amongst the Slayers' group who were, or might be, these mysterious Lightbringers, but he had no idea who, or if the claim about the swords of light was true. There was something about the description that tugged at his memory and he paused by a streetlight, deep in thought, his eyes off to one side, staring almost unseeingly at the trees on the other side of the road.

When he looked back at the road to his apartment he noticed them. There were three figures up ahead, lounging against the railings by the side of the road. All were dressed in black or dark clothing, all were laughing and joking and, judging by the body language, all were in the mood for a fight. He sighed. The chances were that they were vampires. It looked like it took time for the vampire community to find out that Wolfram & Hart was in town.

As he walked down the sidewalk the leader nudged the other two and nodded in his direction. He could almost feel the feral smiles breaking out. They straightened and ambled across the road towards him. As they did he felt at the object in his pocket. Just a little insurance.

"Hey boys," said the leading figure, his face rippling to reveal his fangs and yellow eyes, "I told you we'd get lucky tonight. You wanna try running, human? My boys and I like a challenge."

Lindsey squinted up at the vampire's face and shook his head in despair. "Haven't you boys heard yet?"

This threw the vampire slightly, especially as Lindsey was supposed to be at the 'I need a bucket, a mop and a new pair of trousers' part of the evening. Instead he was being calm in the face of three vampires. This, he could see in the vampire's face, was not supposed to happen.

"Heard what?" asked the leading vampire, before remembering himself and injecting a growl into the air.

"This," said Lindsey, pulling out his business card and revealing the Wolfram & Hart corporate emblem embossed in blood red on the front of it. This had a massive effect on the trio, because all three took a step back and defanged themselves ASAP.

"Ah, um, we didn't mean no disrespect, man," said the leader, looking as if he was going to start sweating in a moment. "We didn't know that you were with W&H, I mean that- we just had no idea."

"Well, we're here now," said Lindsey with a weary coldness. "I suggest you tell people about our presence."

"You got it, man," said the leader with a ghastly attempt at a non-threatening manner, before turning away and walking very fast with the undynamic duo trailing behind him.

Lindsey watched them go with a smirk that swiftly faded. Those three may have run away when faced with a representative of Wolfram & Hart, but they were still vampires and they were probably still hungry. Someone – maybe several people – would die tonight. They'd turn a corner and find themselves looking into the faces of those three.

He paused on the steps that lead to his apartment, looking out into the night. He felt torn, he felt something pushing at him. Something wasn't right, something was very wrong, but he couldn't tell what. He felt as if he should be doing something, but what? After a long, irresolute moment of indecision he continued up the stairs slowly, fumbling in his other pocket for his keys. As he walked into his apartment he suddenly felt something that he hadn't felt for some time. He was ashamed of himself.

* * *

The hat just might have been over egging the pudding a little, he thought as he slunk down the dark alleyway towards the bar. It was a large Australian bush hat that hid his features and was almost good enough to use in daylight. It was just that it made him look like a bleeding prat, especially with the long brown coat, also Australian. He was also wearing a scarf that covered his mouth, but made his nose look rather pointy. I look like the bleeding Shadow, thought Spike irritably as he saw the door up ahead.

Slinking up next to it he rapped on the woodwork three times, then twice, then four times. Then there was a pause, until a small barred grill opened up and a puzzled face appeared. "Where's the fifth knock?" asked the doorman, which had red skin, black eyes and a nose that seemed to drip permanently.

Spike glared at him. This seemed to have no effect, forcing him to remember that he was in disguise. "It's me," he hissed, pulling the scarf down and taking the hat off. "Spike!"

"Oh," said the doorman, looking at him oddly. "Right. Well then, where's the fifth knock?"

"I'll bloody knock you if you don't let me come in right now! Oh bloody hell, there you are…" The vampire knocked on the door once, and then scowled as it opened with a creak. The doorman beamed at him.

"Five knocks and you get in!"

Spike eyed him sourly and then walked in,swinging his hatin one handas he did so. The room was full of enough smoke for a lung cancer doctor's nightmare, and was abuzz with noise, in the form of conversation, bellowed laughter, clinking glasses, and the general sounds caused by almost a hundred assorted demons and vampires enjoying a night on the town. Spike paused. There were a lot of new faces and a lack of old ones. Shaking his head slightly he strode to the bar, shrugging off his large coat as he did.

The barman, who looked as large, green and thick as ever, shot Spike a bemused look. "The usual?" he asked in a broad Birmingham accent. Spike nodded and the barman pulled a pint of Boddingtons. As he handed it over he nodded at the Vampire's hair. "I've never seen you with brown hair, mate. Looks, well, a bit odd. There a reason for it?"

Spike took a sorely needed gulp of the beer and then smiled bitterly. "I'm in disguise, Jim."

The barman looked even more bemused. Then he nodded as the penny dropped. "No, don't tell me – Slayer trouble?" The Birmingham accent had strengthened and sounded, well, as lugubrious as the Birmingham accent could get without being on Coronation Street. Then he frowned. "Hang on, you've been out of town for bloody ages."

"Yes, and I intend to leave this sodding town without being turned into grit for icy roads," growled Spike. "This place is dangerous enough, and I don't want to take any chances. Not with two Slayers and the bloke with the magic light bulb in town."

By now the barman looked as if he was running out of bemused looks. "You what?"

"The…" Spike looked around carefully. "You know, the bloke with the lightsabre."

"Which one?"

Spike's scalp tried to tear itself off its head and plaster itself on the ceiling, or at least that was what it felt like. "Oh bloody hell, you're not telling me that there's more than one of them now?"

"Two of them," nodded Jim with a sigh. "Life here is getting a bit dangerous, Spike."

That had to be the sodding understatement of the month, no, of the year. "So who's the other one?"

"His name's Oz. Uses a green lightsabre. Just as good as the Harris bloke. I think he goes out with that Willow bird. No-one wants to go near them, by the way, so if you're looking for flunkies, try somewhere else."

Ah. "I am looking for blokes, Jim, but not to confront the Slayers. What do I look, thick? No, I'm here to do some digging. Off for some… treasure."

Jim's ears perked at that. "What kind of treasure?"

"Oh, the usual, gold, gems that kind of thing." He looked around. "So who's around just now? Is Big Willy still in town?"

The barman's ears drooped. "No, he got cut in half two months ago."

"Mad Tom?"

"Dusted."

"Scottish Fred? Rebel Kyle?"

"Fred met Harris, Kyle met that bloody mad Slayer, Faith. Both gone."

Spike swore under his breath. "Aggie the Angry? Wall-eyed Pedro? Fred Underling? Come on, don't tell me that Fred's dead, he had the best survival instincts I've ever seen! The minute there was trouble he was a cloud of dust on the sodding horizon!"

Another slow shake of the head. Spike sighed angrily and sank his pint in three gulps. "Another one please Jim," he said, pulling out a ten-dollar bill. "So the old gang is now the deceased gang?"

"Pretty much," said Jim, his ears now at half-mast. Then he looked around. "Back in a mo, Spike, I need to serve someone else."

"Okay," mumbled Spike as he stared into his beer. Sod. This was bad. He had a good idea where the Gem was, but he needed help to do the digging. A lot of digging. That meant him and at least one flunky, who could be staked afterwards. But so far, it looked like the various perils on the Hellmouth, at least the non-evil ones, were busy smiting people. This was a bugger.

At the sound of raised voices he looked up. Jim was talking to a blonde girl who looked pretty in an arrogant kind of way. She seemed pissed off about something.

"I want a cocktail!" she said in a loud voice. "I'm a vampire, so I'm evil, so I need a cocktail with a sinister name!"

"Look, love, all we have is what's on the signs, and the only cocktail you're going to get here is a Molotov."

Against all the odds she perked up and seemed to take it seriously. "Wow, so what's in a Molotov? Sounds Russian, and exotic and just screams white pussy cats!"

Jim gaped at her with his mouth open, possibly exposing her to death by extreme halitosis. "It's not bloody Russian!"

"Then what is it?" she asked, narrowing her eyes and putting her hands on her hips.

"It's a bottle full of petrol – sorry, gas – with the neck stuffed with rags, that you set light to before you throw it at someone," drawled Spike, drifting over. The more he looked at her the more he liked what he saw. A vampire, fairly recently sired, quite good-looking, and quite dim. Yum. Perfect.

She blinked at him. "Why would he serve that to people?"

"Because he wouldn't. It's the kind of weapon you get here, not a drink. Hi. I'm Spike."

She eyed him up for a second and then smiled. "Hi. I'm Harmony. Buy a girl a drink?"

Spike smiled.

* * *

Things were going well, thought Maggie Walsh as she bustled down the corridor clutching her clipboard. The Base was fully working, the final bugs in the infrastructure had been worked out, the technicians were shaking down well, she already had the makings of not one but several excellent teams of soldiers and her research project into the different types of Hostile Sub-Terraneans was going well. Actually very well indeed.

She passed on into her inner sanctum, as she knew some of her people called it.

Sitting down at her desk she tapped her pen against the table thoughtfully as she considered the situation. She had been given a clear mandate from Maybourne – investigate HSTs, in an effort to see if they could be controlled or used in the fight against the Goa'uld. It had been a hell of a challenge. There were so many types of HSTs, with so many different characteristics that sometimes it was almost bewildering. And they varied in strength as well, both physical and mental. Some of the strongest physically were also the weakest mentally. Subject 14 was a case in point. Massively armoured, with spikes on its knuckles, but which could barely grunt. Put it up against something like a Jaffa and it would lose, probably quite quickly, and that was only if it could be controlled enough to a) be sent into the fight and b) work out who to attack.

Which led to certain problems. Mind control was a new science. They were making good progress on developing different control mechanisms, but it wasn't easy. They had to be effective, small and capable of operating for years. One way was to power them was to use the brain's electrical energy as a source. The first versions of the chips that they were considering using had been large and primitive, and any vampire with one in its head would have to wear a hat to hide the bulge. Later versions were much smaller and unobtrusive. Far better.

Even then, it all depended on what they wanted to do with the controlled HST. They liked to fight, in fact so much so that the problem was that it was hard to get them to stop. If a group of controlled HSTs went up against a group of Jaffas, then the chances were that if the HSTs won, the amount of collateral damage would be insanely high. Plus HSTs like vampires were not best suited to go up against Jaffas. Although they were more than a match for them in hand-to-hand combat, getting in range past the staff weapons would be hard, as vampires tended to be quite flammable.

She tapped her pen against her desk thoughtfully. All in all, her idea was a good one. If you couldn't drive demons to fight, or get them to fight in a reliable and controlled manner, then perhaps it might be possible to cherry pick the best bits of the various demons that she'd studied so far… to construct something that could be easily controlled, programmed, sent in the right direction for a mission, knew when to stop and when to return to base. Knew how to obey orders, in other words.

Pulling out a pad she began to make some notes. It was time to get started. She had quite a large shopping list, so to speak. And some of the parts were… hard to get hold of.

* * *

"It's hard to work what they're saying sometimes, especially the mouse, but I reckon we can settle the DoLittle case in the plaintiff's favour, maybe with a maximum settlement of close to three million dollars," said Doris Freeman as she sat at the table.

"Good job, Doris," said Holland, looking up from his notes and directing a faint smile at her. "Keep on the case and let me know once you have a result." He looked down the table at the others. "Ken, what's the status of the defective sweater lawsuit that you've been working on?"

As Ken started to babble Lilah took careful notes with one part of her brain whilst sneering with the other. These cases were just pathetic, truly pathetic. Sad little cases that earned the company sad amounts of money for sad little people. There seemed to be a massive lack of vision at the moment. She blamed Holland Manners. The guy thought that he was a player, he thought that he was pulling strings, he thought… She paused for a moment. Despite her low opinion of him, it never really paid to take Holland lightly. The man had more lives than a cat, at least according to her contacts. M… Dansey said that the man was stronger than he looked and weaker than he needed to be, which was a rather circular argument when you thought about it.

She carefully made a few notes on some of the relevant parts to Ken's case and suppressed a sigh. With the exception of Lee, there was no one left in this part of the firm that she could match wits with. Even then Lee could be distressingly narrow-minded, although he had a cruel and vindictive streak a mile wide when pressed. In a tight corner the little rodent could be a formidable enemy. But that wasn't really relevant. The trick was to eliminate an opponent when they weren't looking, when they weren't really expecting it. Luck also came into it, and she'd been very lucky when Harry Wolfit had died.

Two thoughts flashed up and she made sure that her smile was internal and did not touch her lips. The first was that she had a real working lightsabre in a secret compartment in one wall of her apartment. The second was that it was a shame that Lindsey McDonald was now in a different office in another part of the country, partly because he was a good opponent but mostly because she wished that she could see him react when she turned the lightsabre on under his nose before starting to carve him up.

There was a quick knock at the door and then Holland's secretary bustled in, radiating calm efficiency. And… thin lips and what appeared to be a slight sheen of sweat on her face. She went up to Holland and said something into his ear that was far too low for Lilah to hear. Something must have been wrong, because Holland paled slightly, something that was so unusual that she almost stared at him. The secretary whispered something more and then Holland relaxed. He muttered something back at her and then dismissed her with a wave of the hand. Whatever he had said she was also more relaxed.

Holland leant forwards slightly and smiled. "I'm sorry people, but it was an urgent message. Something that another one of our offices will deal with, not us. Right, where were we?"

As the next idiot prattled on, Lilah's mind raced furiously. What had been so important that Holland's secretary had entered a meeting? And what could be serious enough to make Holland go pale, even for a few seconds?

* * *

The two figures walked along the sidewalk cautiously, both holding objects under their coats. As they walked in the chill evening air they looked around carefully, eyes probing dark shadows along the street, assessing and then moving on. They kept walking until they reached a rusty gate that led into a dark void framed by trees. Deep in the void could be seen a single porch light above a door with peeling paint. The two figures paused, eyes flickering into the darkness that was cast by the trees. Then one turned slightly to look at the other and nodded slightly. Sending a nod back the second figure pulled out a sword from its coat and darted in, followed by the first, who also drew a sword.

As they progressed carefully down the unlit path their eyes constantly flickered around the garden, looking, assessing, analysing and then moving on. When they reached the three wooden stairs that led to the porch they paused again, transferring their attention to the stairs. The first figure stooped slightly to look under them and then straightened to nod again.

The second figure leapt up to land noiselessly by the side of the door, raising a hand in an odd gesture. After a few long seconds the figure turned and nodded sharply. The first figure also leapt up noiselessly and stared, apparently at the door a few inches away. A soft grunt was emitted and then the first figure suddenly had a fist full of fire, which shot out against the door, blowing it into splinters with a soft, almost muted, boom. Both figures shot into the house quickly, swords poised… and then relaxed.

"Damn," said the first figure in a strong Welsh accent, "The bastard got away. Do you think he heard us coming?"

"No," said the second, who sounded less aggressively Welsh, looking around, "He's been gone for a while, at least a day or two. Question is, where to?"

"Somewhere warmer than Chicago?" quipped the first, his long black hair hanging around his face.

"Well… we'll find him, Constantine. We'll find him. We'll track him down." He sheathed his sword quickly and looked around with immense distaste. Something unpleasant was sitting on a plate in the table. From the look of it, it had once been a meal, but whatever it was the blood had congealed into a foul dark red lump. "We have to. How long before he gets desperate enough to start eating human flesh again?"

"At least he's running," said the one called Constantine. "All he can grab at the moment without attracting too much attention is the odd squirrel or stray pet." He paused. "If he gets enough time to rest up, grab someone and…"

"We won't give him that much time," said the second figure through gritted teeth. "We will hunt him down and bring him into the light of day."

They looked at each other for a long moment and then both nodded at the other. Then Constantine turned and looked around. "Let's search the house. Then check the bus depots."

The two figures went off on their search. They had the air of men who were tracking prey. And running out of time.


	3. A race through dark places

Well, this episode is long, but took me less time to write than the last one. Go figure. By the way, several people have asked about the identity of Constantine. No, it's not the guy from Hellblazer. It is instead an original character of my own that I brought in from my first ever story, Descent, which is available on for the masochists amongst you. I have to warn you, it was my first story and is a tad short. Ok, disclaimer: I do not own these characters, with the exception of Tom Evans and Constantine Aurelius.

* * *

The car was not in good shape, as anyone could tell with just a glance. The windscreen was cracked in two places, there was an impressive amount of rust all over the chassis, the front right-hand wing had been replaced with a dark red replacement, which was a shame given that the rest of the car was light blue, and the seats sagged. The exhaust did not look as if it conformed to a host of federal guidelines as well.

The engine worked though, and this was something that the driver found very useful, because he was now racing along the desert road as fast as he could, at times just over a hundred miles an hour. The windows were all open and the Ride of the Valkeries was blasting out as loud as the ancient sound system could go.

Sadly, the police car hidden behind the billboard that the car hurtled past was not being driven by a music lover. The siren snapped on, the wheels spun and the police car shot down the road in pursuit. As it was a more modern, far faster, car, it soon ate up the distance between the two, pulling up a short distance from the leading car, which was now making an abortive effort to go faster. From the colour of the exhaust, this was not a good idea. The police car flashed its lights repeatedly and after a long moment the other car eventually started to slow down.

When, eventually, it came to a halt by the side of the road the police car parked in close behind it and both officers got out, loosening their pistols in their side holsters as they did so. As one walked up to the car in front the other stood behind his car door, watching carefully.

"Where's the fire sir?" he heard his fellow officer say as he walked up to the drivers window and lean over – and then an arm reached out, grabbed him by the throat and pulled his head into the car effortlessly, despite the man's stifled screams and violent struggles. As the other officer swore and ran up, pulling his gun out as he did, he heard a snarling noise, like a dog worrying at a piece of meat. Blood spurted out of the window and then the officer there went limp, slumping down like a rag doll.

"Shit, shit, shit… Hold it there, asshole!" Screamed the officer as he ran up and aimed his gun at the driver, who he could just see over the slumped form that half-filled the window. Dark eyes glittered and then a hand flashed forwards. Something thumped into his neck and he tried to scream through the dagger that was suddenly filling his windpipe, but everything was darkening now, quite fast and he could feel his legs buckling as the dirt came up and…

The driver reached out and grabbed the belt of the dead officer in the window, before pulling the body into the car and tossing it carelessly into the back. Then he started the car again and drove off, leaving the police car, its lights still flashing, and the body by the side of the road far behind. The car hurtled down the road, picking up speed, and as he drove the only living inhabitant of the vehicle ran a hand over the holdall on the passengers seat. As long as he could get to Sunnydale he had a ticket out of this dimension. After a while the driver started to whistle. Things were looking up. He had a bite to eat for lunch.

* * *

"Right," said Rupert Giles, looking at the two Jedi in front of him, "You say that there's a werewolf on campus?"

"Yes," said the laconic Oz. "Not sure where though."

"Very well. So, so how do you propose that we find this werewolf?"

Xander grinned. "We use the Force. Oh and we warn everyone. We don't want anyone to get bitten and then break out the flea powder." He paused. "No offence, Oz."

"None taken."

"I do almost forget sometimes that you have hairy potential, as it were."

Oz sighed. "It's there, still. I can use the Force to suppress it, even in my sleep now, but I always know that if I'm not careful, if I ever forget… people might get hurt." He pulled a face. "You never choose to be a werewolf. But it's something you fight. I think that's the most I've ever said about it."

"That's understandable," muttered Giles, putting his hand on Oz's shoulder. "I can only guess the responsibility you have sometimes."

This earned him a grin. "It was a great incentive to learning to use the Force."

"At which you were very good," said Xander, smiling. Then he looked at Giles. "I think we need to start keeping a very close eye out. I've got Willow checking on what events were happening on campus when Oz felt what he did the other day. If we can narrow down the search area then we'll have a better idea where to concentrate on."

"I agree," said Giles, looking at the map of the campus on the table in front of them. "And we should include Buffy and Faith in this. Their instincts are very important here. I need to get them to hone on their senses more, and even Wesley agrees. I think the man's showing distinct signs of humanity."

The three men looked at each other and nodded almost as one. "Let's do this."

* * *

Negotiating a possible peace settlement between two rival factions of a demon clan was never easy. It took time, effort, patience, a willingness to undergo odd rituals and the ability to not flinch at the sight of blood. Bob Rove was therefore an expert at this. And this peace settlement was the most difficult one he had ever seen in his life. But it had such great… possibilities. Being able to get it arranged would get him a huge number of brownie points with the Senior Partners and would leave him in a strong position to take over from Holland Manners when, as the rumours suggested, he moved on up the chain at Wolfram & Hart.

He leant back in his chair and stared at the document in front of him. It was covered in names, with arrows in different colours showing who was related to who, who owed who a blood debt and who was expendable. Yes… this was doable. He could spin it out to the point where a settlement would leave the clan in his debt and weak enough to rely on Wolfram & Hart.

A scowl crossed his face. That is as long as he could prevent some of his more ambitious underlings from claiming the credit for the deal. This had to be his moment of genius and no-one else's. At all. And that included his second in command. Holland had said a lot of good things about Lindsey McDonald. Of course, good things did not automatically mean the same thing at Wolfram & Hart as at other firms. No, he had to keep young Lindsey on a firm leash. Fortunately the man seemed to be busy at the moment with dealing with this lightbringer stuff. Probably nothing in it, but still worth checking out. Lindsey was a bit ambitious according to Holland. His hand tightened on the pencil he was holding. Well, he could deal with ambitious underlings, couldn't he? He had been one himself once. And wept fake tears on the day of the funeral of his old boss. Was Lindsey doing the same? Plotting? He shook the thought away. Something to keep in mind. He paused. His hand hurt. Looking down he open it to reveal splinters and blood. Damn.

At which point the phone rang, naturally. Reaching out with his uninjured hand he picked it up. "Rove." There was pause as he listened to the voice on the other end, straightening in his seat almost automatically as he did so. "He's coming _here_? Can I ask why?" Another pause to listen. "Very well. I'll make the arrangements. I'll put my best man onto it. Yes. Goodbye, Holland."

The phone went down and he smiled. Well, well. A chance to really show what the Sunnydale office could do. He'd put Lindsey on it. A chance for him to show what he could do. And if that mad son-of-a-bitch killed him, then it wasn't his fault was it?

* * *

When the two figures appeared on the hill overlooking Sunnydale, a watcher could have been forgiven for thinking that they appeared out of thin air. The watcher would have been right though. As the two looked at the streets spread out below them the shorter of the two sniffed the air slightly and then pulled a face. "Iech-y-fi!" he spat. Then: "I'd forgotten what a Hellmouth smells like. Foul." He looked over his companion. "Where now?"

"The university. I need to visit an old friend."

They moved off cautiously.

* * *

The people that were heading towards the cafeteria inside the main campus building didn't give the two figures sitting on the bench to one side of the doors a second glance, which was a shame because if they had known what the two were capable of, they would either have been scared or excited or... well, anything in between.

Xander was reading a book, but his mind was only partially on the Trojan War, and was also trying to avoid thinking about some of Faith's sotto-voce comments on the sex lives of some of the people that were passing them.

"Oh I seriously think that she plays on the other side of the park," the dark-haired Slayer muttered as a longhaired girl hurried by, dressed in a vaguely ethnic shirt, a shawl, a long skirt and a worried expression.

Xander paused, looked, and blinked slightly. The girl possibly had some magical potential. It was hard to tell with the Force when it came to some forms of magic. He made a note of her face to ask Giles to have a look. She wasn't a werewolf though.

Then he looked up again. Oh, he knew that presence. Parker. The man who was allergic to commitment was walking along, deep in conversation with a short girl with longish hair. Oh hell. Another girl who going to be waiting for a phone call that would happen about the same time that hell froze over. He looked at Faith. "Look who's here."

Faith curled a lip. "I've seen his type. Used them up and spat them out."

Parker said goodbye to the girl, who batted her obviously impressed eyes at him and then hurried off, watched by Parker, who had a slight smile on his lips. Yup, the guy was ready to put another notch on the bedpost.

"Parker," said Xander in a neutral voice.

"Oh, hi Harris," he replied, looking at him carefully. He obviously didn't know how to cope with Buffy's friend. Then he caught sight of Faith, who was dressed in a tight red top, even tighter black leather pants and a shade of lipstick that was a deep virulent red, and perked up. He turned his head to check on if the girl he had been talking to was in view and actually preened. "Who's your friend?"

This earned him a look that should have reduced him to a small sizzling blob of grease on the sidewalk. While she didn't exactly sneer at him, she did look as if she had suddenly discovered something very unpleasant on her boot. "Faith," she drawled in a voice that screamed 'mess with me you're gonna be singing soprano' along with undertones of extreme violence. This obviously took him slightly aback and he blinked slightly.

"I haven't seen Buffy around lately," he said after a moment, trying to recover his mental balance. "Is she, well, ok? She was around me a lot and then she vanished. She isn't avoiding me is she? And is she, well, entirely normal?"

Xander reached out with the Force and laid an invisible hand on Faith's shoulder, as she was looking as if she was about to come off the bench and spread half his teeth around the campus. Then he stood up. "You're not a very nice person," he said, looking hard at the man, who had taken a step back.

"I'm not a very nice person," repeated Parker in a mesmerised way.

"You're going to address your commitment issues problem."

"I'm going to address my commitment issues problem."

"And settle down with some nice girl."

"And settle down with some nice girl."

"Now go away."

"I'll go away." Parker wandered off in a slight daze, leaving Faith and Xander by the bench.

After a long moment Faith took a very deep breath and then relaxed on the bench again. "He got off too lightly," she muttered darkly. Then she grinned. "Like your use of the mojo though, Xand-man! You realise that he'll end up married in a few years, probably with a dog and a cat and a mortgage and a baby that starts to cry at 3am every night?"

"Yup. You think that atones for his crimes against the female heart?"

"No, but a nice start." She looked around at the lessening stream of people around them. "You getting anything? Because I've got zip so far."

"Nothing hairy," said Xander cautiously. "At least one person like Willow and Amy though. We might want to get Giles on her case – see if she plays nice or not."

"Okay." Something clanged in her jacket and she reached into a pocket to take out her cell phone. "Faith here, G-Man," she said into it, "What's up?" She listened for a moment, starting to frown as she did so. "Okay, I'll put out a word to call the clans in. This is freaky right? I can tell by your voice." She listened again. "Oookay. We'll get everyone in."

Ending the call quickly she looked up. "Giles wants to see everyone in his office at the library ASAP, Xander. And he sounds seriously freaked. Oh, and when I say everyone, I mean everyone. If we see Amy, Jonathan, Anya, we're to haul their asses back to base with us."

Xander blinked. This sounded serious. "Seriously freaked?"

"Very seriously freaked."

"Okay. I'll head over to contact Oz. Did Giles say that he'd called Buffy?"

"Yup. Willow and Oz were on the other edge of campus, checking out that College football game though."

"Okay, you warn them. I'll try and track down the others. I'll see you there."

"You bet!" And then the Slayer was gone, running through the campus like a guided missile. Xander watched her go, shook his head slightly as he remembered what it was like to control Anakin Skywalker, and then took off on the double himself.

* * *

"Do you have to do this? We were about to have a lot of sex! Do you know how hard that is to arrange?" ranted Anya for the third time since he'd been able to track her and Jonathan down that day and get them moving towards Giles's office. This had been easier said than done and had been far, far, harder than getting in touch with Amy, who was watching the whole thing from inside the office with a sly smile.

Anya had just taken a deep breath and was about to start again when Jonathan laid a gentle finger on her lips. "Babe, if Giles wants us in, it must be important. There'll be another time. There'll always be another time."

She looked at him for a long moment and then actually deflated slightly. "Ok," she conceded with a smile. Then she looked at the office ahead. "Let's get this over with."

As they all walked into the office Xander stiffened slightly. He could feel a certain heaviness in the air and the senior Watcher's mood was strained at best. Giles looked… tense. Angry as well, which was something rather unexpected.

Then Xander paused. There were two other people in the room. Both were tallish, and looked in their mid-30's. The taller one was balding, with his remaining hair cut very short, and dressed in dark clothes. The shorter one had long hair that was tied back in a ponytail and was similarly dressed in dark clothes. Both gave off an air of immense weariness.

"Ah, Xander, come in. And Jonathan and Anya, thank you for coming," said Giles, looking up briefly from a map of Sunnydale. "Please take a seat."

As Xander wandered over to sit next to Buffy, he heard a slight scuffling noise and looked around to see that Anya had stumbled slightly. She seemed to be staring intently at the guy with the long hair. She also seemed to have very wide eyes all of a sudden. Jonathan, looking rather confused, guided her to a spare seat and then virtually sat her down there.

"Can I ask what this is about?" asked an English voice from the doorway, and then Wesley strode in, looking rather peeved. As he looked around he stopped dead as he saw the taller of the two strangers, but this time he narrowed his eyes, obviously recognising him.

"Close the door Wesley," ordered Giles and then straightened up. "We have a crisis here and I thought that it was important to let you all know what was going on, because we are facing an enemy of potentially substantial power." He paused. "And immense evil."

Obviously concerned with the look on her Watcher's face, Buffy leant forwards. "Giles, what's wrong? You look seriously wigged out."

"As a matter of fact, Buffy, I am." He gestured at the two men to one side. "I'd like you all to meet Tom Evans and Constantine Aurelius, both of Room 42 from the British Museum. For those of you who are unfamiliar with it, Room 42 is a department that operates all over the world, identifying and taking care of objects and archaeological finds that have a mystical significance and often occult power. I used to work for them when I was at the British Museum myself. They know all about the world of demons and vampires."

He looked at them all. "Tom is an old friend of mine. Constantine… has a rather darker history. He was once…"

"A demon," said Anya in a strained voice. "The demon Tethos."

Constantine, who had been looking at her thoughtfully, gave her a wry nod. "Anyanka." He smiled painfully. "You know what happened then?"

"You're human."

Another pained smile. Then he looked around. "Long story. Short version – which is a shame, given that I like to talk - is that I absorbed my wife's half-demon side, spent a thousand years in hell, tried to kill myself with a powerful magical weapon, couldn't, and finally gave the thing to three good witches, who used it on me, only to find out that the evil part of me had been killed and the good, human, part survived."

There was a long pause after this. Then Xander cleared his throat. "Man, Angel's going to be pissed that his redemption schtick just got whacked out of the park." The former demon seemed… human. Clean, no sign of the Dark Side at all. Or anything really evil. He just seemed to be very tired. The other man was also clean and was just as weary.

Giles looked at them all. "I can personally vouch for them both, by the way. I worked with Tom for several years and I know of Constantine by reputation, plus Tom told me about him when he started working for Room 42 after I left."

Buffy nodded slowly, eying the former demon carefully, but if her Slayer-senses were picking up anything out of the ordinary she wasn't saying much. She did exchange a brief, almost imperceptible nod with her fellow Slayer though, which Xander took to mean that this Constantine guy – who was looking hard at Buffy and Faith himself – was on the level, for the time being at least. Then: "So what's the big bad in town?"

"Big bad? Oh, right. I'd better start off," said the taller Welshman. He pulled out a number of pieces of paper and handed them around. "These are photocopies of an advert that was in a local newspaper in a small town in Maine last week."

Xander looked down to see that the main part of the advert was a picture of a crystal ball of some sort, resting on a very ornate metal base.

"The owner put it up for sale, saying that it was just a crystal ball. The minute we saw the picture we dropped everything and flew over on the first available flight."

"Let me guess – it's not just a crystal ball?" drawled Faith.

"The base looks very ornate, and… hold on… if you look hard you can see the shadows on it look like something with wings…" mused Xander.

The two new Brits exchanged startled glances and then looked at Giles, who smiled quietly. "I told you they were sharp."

"Shadows?" gasped Wesley, who seemed to be catching up very fast, "Oh dear god, no. Not an Orb of Marduk?" He was answered with three grim nods. "Oh bloody hell. What was it doing for sale in a newspaper in Maine?"

"We did some digging," said Tom tiredly. "It turned out that it was being sold by an old lady whose husband had died not long ago. He got it during his army days – in the 3rd Army in Germany to be precise. Apparently he once told a neighbour that he picked it up from a German Army truck 'full of crap', which had boxes in it labelled from Berlin."

"Okay," said Buffy, turning the picture around in her hands, "What's the connection to this Big Bad?"

"Buffy, Orbs of Marduk are rare – no more than 20 were ever built. They were made in Babylonia more than 4000 years ago, with the express intention of being used to contact demons and spirits. And, in certain places, they can be used to open a dimensional portal to a number of different worlds, few of which are very, well, nice," admitted Giles, pulling off his glasses and pinching the bridge of his nose tiredly.

"I'm guessing that a Hellmouth would be one of these places?" asked Willow with a sigh."

"Yes. Sorry I didn't get your name again," said Tom.

"Willow. And this my boyfriend Oz."

"Hi. And again yes, Sunnydale could be used. The things can be dangerous. Over the years about 12 have been found, either intact of destroyed. This was the thirteenth and it was not at all lucky 13. When we arrived in Maine and got the address of the owner we went straight there, knowing that if anyone who knew what it was saw that advert, the owner would be in great danger." He sighed. "We were too late. Someone else was there, the widow was extremely dead and the Orb was in a bag. Fortunately we were just in time to… disturb the thief."

"Disturb?" asked Xander, getting a very bad feeling about this whole thing.

"He was getting ready to eat parts of her," said Constantine, looking revolted.

"Euw!" said Amy and Willow at the same time.

Buffy exchanged a grim look with Faith and then turned back to Giles. "So who is this icky scumbag?"

A look crossed over Giles's face, tightening his features into an expression of hatred and ferocity for a long moment that caused a silence to descend. "His name," he said in thick tones of contempt, "Is Molniar."

The photocopy in Anya's hand fluttered down to the floor. "Excuse me," she said in a faint voice, "But if you need us we'll be nailing our door shut and hiding under the bed. With big pointy metal things near us. And crosses glued to all the walls."

"We will?" asked Jonathan, looking baffled. "Why?"

"Because he's a killer," said Wesley, straightening up from his chair. Something was happening to his face as well, a look of intent and purposefulness breaking through the façade of pomposity, a look that showed that there was a great deal hidden beneath the Watcher's surface. "A murderer. A defiler of the dead. A torturer."

"A piece of filth, a demon from a hell dimension that defies belief," said Constantine dryly. "We were caught by surprise when we walked in to find him standing over the body and holding throwing knives, but we were able to use magic to disarm him. He's got more tricks than a monkey though – he threw himself out of a one-story window and escaped. We've been tracking him for a week now. Almost caught him twice, but he got away both times. He tried for the Hellmouth at Cleveland, but the place isn't as powerful as Sunnydale. The local papers there have been reporting on a light show in a warehouse, followed by a power failure. It was Molniar, trying to use the Orb."

"We think he's trying to get home," said Tom. "No-one knows how he got to this dimension, but he's been around here for almost a century."

"During which time he killed a Watcher. And two members of Room 42. His description is tattooed on the hearts of every Watcher and every person who joins that section of the British Museum, along with a warning never to confront him without reinforcements and weapons. People have been looking for him for a long time," said Giles grimly. "I knew one of his victims. Emma McGregor had only been working for Room 42 for a few weeks, but he still killed her when she literally stumbled over him on a dig in the Orkneys. She never stood a chance." As his gaze swept around the room and then focussed on some far and painful point that was not in the present, Xander watched the older Watcher with a touch of concern. The guy was showing signs of going Ripper on them. That was bad – his emotions were getting the way of his ability to see the big picture.

"So if we need to spot this guy, what does he look like?" asked Amy curiously. Next to her Anya was having her trembling hand held by a very worried Jonathan.

"I can show you," said Constantine, holding up his right hand and starting to mutter under his breath. After a long moment he made a sharp gesture with his free hand and a green globe about six inches across sprang into being on his right palm. A face slowly came into focus deep inside it, growing as it did so to fill the inside of the globe. It was the face of… an accountant, almost. He looked unremarkable, dull even. An average face, short brown hair, but his eyes… they kept changing if you stared at them for long enough. First blue, then grey, then brown then green. One ear was slightly more prominent than the other, but apart from that…

"He doesn't look that dangerous," drawled Faith, "He looks kinda average."

"Don't let his looks fool you," Giles said grimly, looking at the face with angry determination, "He is extremely dangerous, even by your standards." He pulled off his glasses again. "Let me stress the importance of this point. This is a demon who wouldn't blink before jabbing a dagger into the ribs of a passing stranger. He is a kind of evil that very few of us have ever been unfortunate enough to face. He is as twisted as Spike, as dangerous as Angelus and at times madder than Drusilla. And to put that into context for you, Faith, he makes Kakistos look like a boy scout. He is devious, he fights with whatever weapons he can get his hands on and he murders people on a whim. Do not fight him alone, any of you." He replaced his glasses and took a deep breath, obviously as surprised at his vehemence as everyone else in the room.

"What's with the eyes?" asked Buffy, peering forwards intently.

"They change colour, depending on his mood. Blue or green – he's being jovial, or what he thinks is jovial. Grey is neutral, brown is angry, black is homicidal," said Tom. "And I have to stress what Rupert here just said. Don't be fooled by his looks. Other people have made that mistake. And died because of it."

"Well, we have certain resources that they probably lacked," mused Buffy. "Two Slayers and two Jedi for a start. Oops. My bad. Do they know… everything?"

Tom and Constantine exchanged slightly bemused glances. "Yes," coughed Constantine, shooting a slightly sceptical look at Xander and Oz. "Interesting life you have here."

"I once met Rayne," said a frowning Tom. "That would be the kind of sick trick he'd love to pull." Then he grinned. "Plus I'm a Star Wars nut! Obi-Wan's memories, right?"

Xander nodded reluctantly.

"Not up to the Death Star, obviously?"

"Nope, fall of the Republic and the rise of the Empire. With much emotional baggage tagged on, plus guilt about the fall of Anakin and the desire to never let that happen with anyone I teach here. No Siths on this planet, please."

The Welshman nodded and then raised his eyebrows. "Rupert always said that life on a Hellmouth could be odd sometimes. I'd say he didn't say the half of it." Then he shook his head. "Well, that might give us an edge. I'd say that Molniar fairly stinks of the Dark Side. As evil as you can get. As to why he's here, we know it's the Hellmouth. And we think we know who might know about where he is."

"We were very lucky," said Constantine. "He never picked up his bill for a night's stay in a motel outside Phoenix, mainly because the manager was a vampire and he was too scared of him to charge him. He was terminally afraid of us as well. We were able to see the room charges and it included a phone call to the LA office of Wolfram & Hart, followed by a longer call a few hours later to the Sunnydale office of the damn firm. He's coming here – might even be close to here already. We cheated, we used magic to television ourselves here."

"Teleport," corrected Tom, wryly.

"I hope you don't keep correcting your wife like that," said Constantine with a mock scowl. Then he looked at Giles. "We need to find somewhere safe to observe Wolfram & Hart. They would deal with him, he's the kind of revolting client that they seem to specialise in."

He frowned direfully. "I remember when a Viking army once camped on Mon. They were represented by a hairy but slimy man with horns and a smile that made me want to punch him in the mouth. He was from Wolfram & bloody Hart as well." The smile became a grin. "After we drove them off we found him on the beach buried up his waist. Shame he wasn't the right way up. I don't think that they got the deal they were looking for."

"I agree," said Giles, "We do need to find a place to observe Wolfram & Hart. The Watcher's Council is exploring a few options about getting rid of the firm's office here, but this is a long legal process. A shame, in a way, but then otherwise we wouldn't know where he was going. We need to observe and formulate a plan. There are only a few places on the Hellmouth where the, the mystical emanations are strong enough to use an Orb of Marduk. I'll plot them out with the help of Wesley."

"What about the old library in the High School?" asked Xander, frowning.

"Possibly, but the place is rather unsafe at the moment. Plus, it might be too powerful there – it might be like trying to channel thirty thousand volts through a 40 watt bulb."

"I'm guessing that would be a bad thing?" said Buffy with a frown of her own.

"I think that the correct phrase would be 'kablooie' Buffy."

"Which would take care of the problem," said Amy, speaking up for the first time. "I mean, it would kill him, right?"

Giles and Wesley exchanged glances. "Possibly," said the younger Watcher. "Or it might turn him into a yard of wood, or a frog, or send him into a different dimension, or activate the Hellmouth, or… well, we don't know."

"It might even weaken the walls of reality itself here and completely send us all to hell. No, we find him and we take the Orb away from him." Giles sat back in his chair, looking grim."

"And what do we do with him?" Xander said carefully.

He received a level look from Giles. "Oh, him we get to kill." He caught an even more level look from Xander and Oz. "Oh for heavens sake, he's not likely to surrender, he's not likely to say that he's turning over a new leaf and reforming. He is a killer. He'll fight to the death if he can't escape."

Giles stood up again. "Right then. We divide into teams and we start looking. And be very, very careful. Faith, Buffy, I don't want you going after Molniar on your own. He is very devious and like to play mind games. He's not that strong, but he does use weapons." He looked around them again. "I want you all to be very, very careful. I know that I keep saying this, but I cannot stress the importance of those words. I don't want to lose anyone here."

Faith did not look entirely convinced at this warning, but Buffy nodded. "Ok Giles. We'll hunt and report back. No running off."

"Come on Giles," said Faith suddenly, "This Molari-"

"Molniar."

"Whatever, this guy can't be as bad as the Slayers, right?"

Giles looked over at the dark-haired Slayer for a long moment and then leafed through a file on his desk. Finding the relevant page he handed it wordlessly to Faith. She read a few lines and turned pale. "Maybe we do this your way."

* * *

"Bugger."

Spike looked at the map incredulously. There were times when he really did think that everyone with half a brain had come to Sunnydale to bury something of mystical importance. Wankers. It meant that the place was a bloody rabbit's warren of old tunnels, crypts and abandoned temples. The crypt they were in now was not the right one. It was full of the most appalling stuff for a start. A load of Ratners.

It also meant that they had a lot of digging to do. Plus a lot of guesswork. He was almost sorry that he hadn't dusted that stammering prat when he discovered that mention of the Gem. Almost.

"Ooh!" said a voice behind him. "I like it! Spikey, can I keep it?"

Doing his best not to wince he turned to look. Harmony was wearing a silver tiara that she'd taken from the tomb next to this one. He looked at the silver unicorn broach she was clutching as well and discreetly sighed. Totally tasteless. Say what you liked about Dru – like the fact that she was half a hamper short of a picnic – at least she had taste. Sort of. Well, almost. She was stuck in the 19th Century for a start, but she did have taste. Harmony had a taste for dross.

"Um, silver doesn't quite go with the gold of your hair," he said and then cringed mentally. She was the only reliable minion that he'd been able to get so far, and that was only because she thought that he was in love with her. Ok, she was like a demented python in bed, but he was not in love with her, thank what dark force existed on this world. But he needed her. Plus the sex was rather good.

She pulled the tiara off and looked at it. "You think so?"

"Yeah. Look, luv, gold is more your thing. And if we keep digging we'll find a lot more."

She gestured at the small pile at the bottom of the hole. "But what about this?"

"Nothing like as precious as the Gem."

Harmony looked at him, greed glittering in her eyes. "Ooh! So, where next?"

"Depends on this here map, luv," said Spike looking down at the map again. He needed to find the Gem. Find it, scrag Buffy Summers by pulling her head off, then skip town in broad daylight. It was a good plan, and one that did not involve Harmony bloody Kendall in any way shape or form.

* * *

The green lightsabre was as motionless as the man holding it, lost in the grip of the Force. Around him three silver globes were hanging in the air, emitting a humming noise as their repulsorlifts kept them in place.

When they moved suddenly, darting up and around to new vantage points, it was so quick that they seemed to dart in mid-air and a casual observer would have jumped with surprise. The instant – split second was more accurate – that they stopped moving each shot out a small bolt of red light at the figure. Only in that tiny fragment of time the figure also seemed to blur, the lightsabre coming around to meet and deflect each spiteful buzzing shard of scarlet energy back at the globe that had fired it. The three globes stopped humming and fell to the ground, while the figure looked around carefully and then relaxed.

"Good," said Xander, approvingly, "Very good. Your reaction time to the shots is excellent. Your form is good as well. You're starting to gravitate towards Makashi, judging by your movements. Very minimal. Very good as well." He grinned at the other Jedi. "You're strong in the Force. Once you finish your lightsabre training, that's it, unless you want to master any of the other uses. Unfortunately I don't know much about healing with the Force, as Obi-Wan was never into that much. Small things, yes, big things no – apart from the Jedi Healing trance of course."

He looked out over the graveyard and the grin faded. "Of course we need to concentrate on the here and now for the time being. Getting the latest dark and icky thing to crawl out of the night and onto the Hellmouth is a priority."

"You're worried about Giles aren't you? I felt his presence in the Force darken as well." Oz pulled a face. "Not a nice thing to see Giles look grim."

"Much history I do sense in him," quipped Xander in what sounded like quite a good impersonation of Yoda. "Or rather much Ripper. I don't know what the deal was with this Emma girl he mentioned from Room 42, but I don't think that Giles has many pleasant feelings towards this Molniar. And when Giles is in Ripper mode, bad things tend to happen – at least the potential exists for them to. I have a bad feeling about this." He sighed heavily. "Well, we'd better get going. Patrolling schedule's going to be heavy the next few days. We can cope with the Jedi healing trance, and the Slayers can get away without much sleep. It's the others I'm worried about. Let's go. We've got some observation points to set up tomorrow."

The two Jedi strode off into the night, towards the lights of Sunnydale. To one side a pale, gibbeous moon was rising.

* * *

When the phone rang he glanced over at the display to one side. Seeing the name there he sighed quietly and then picked it up. "McDonald."

"Lindsey, I hope I'm not disturbing you," said the voice of Bob Rove.

"Nothing that can't wait. How can I help you sir?"

"I need you to pop up here in half an hour, when I've got a free slot. A client of the firm is coming to town and I need you to make sure that everything is fine for him. He'll have certain… needs, which I'll run through with you. I'll send his file down first. See you in at 3pm?"

Lindsey glanced at his watch hurriedly. "That should be fine, sir."

* * *

Xander looked at Wolfram & Harts office building with great distaste. The place was already starting to stink of the Dark Side. It was just, well, revolting. He wasn't sure what was walking around in there, but large chunks were not human. Hell, some of them probably weren't even walking, but scuttling.

He shook his head and then looked up slightly. Someone was watching him, he could tell. His eyes focussed on a window near the top floor. The blinds were drawn, but there was a small circle in one corner of the window, and he reached out with the Force. A man, older than him, a lot older, with a mind… yuck. Wolfram & Hart employee, with a telescope. He could feel paranoia, hatred, ambition and anger. Oh and fear too. He wondered if he should wave but then decided against it.

After a moment he turned away to where Giles was staring down at the map. Now that the others were assembling, perhaps it was time to have that quiet word.

"So, Giles. Got a permit for that piece of artillery behind your coat?"

The Watcher started slightly and then stared at him with a grim tenseness that spoke volumes. "As a matter of fact, yes I have. How did you know?"

"Your coat flaps a lot." He crossed his arms and leant against the wall. "What's the story? Every time you mention the name Molniar I can hear your internal thermostat go up a few notches. What gives?" he asked in a quiet, serious tone.

The Watcher stared down at the map for a moment. Then he looked up. "I knew her. Emma McGregor was with me at Room 42. And she died because of me."

"What happened?"

"I was… damn. She was going out with me. I'd known her for a few years. I encouraged her to apply for a job at the British Museum," said Giles, biting each word off as if it hurt to say them. "She joined Room 42. The job she was on, in the Orkneys, was one that I was supposed to be doing. Something else came up. We divided the work between us. We were supposed to go to Stratford upon Avon the next weekend. A romantic weekend, just the two of us." He stared at the wall in front of him blankly. "That weekend we buried her instead. A closed casket ceremony. She was no match for Molniar."

"And you would have been?" prompted Xander gently. "I'm sorry Giles. I could sense that you had issues with this guy." He thought of Giles's reaction to Jenny's death and winced internally. That was why the Watcher's grief had been so bad. Another person that he thought that he'd let down.

"He's not a 'guy' he's a murdering bastard!" spat Giles. "And I for one will be very glad when he is dead."

"Venting his brains all over the floor won't bring his victims back, Giles."

"No, but it will make me feel a hell of a lot better!"

"I'm going to go Jedi on you now, Giles. We both know that vengeance is for suckers. Don't let the Dark Side claim you on this thing. Don't go Ripper on us, we need you."

"So did she," whispered Giles, almost too quietly for Xander to hear him, but his rage seemed to be ebbing a little. The Jedi put his hand on the Watcher's shoulder, squeezed gently and then left the room quietly. They had some patrols to plan.

* * *

By the time that Lindsey finished reading through the contents of the file, he wanted to go into a corner and throw up violently, but he controlled himself with an effort. Bob Saunders, also known as Donald Jenkins, also known as a host of false names back to his real name of Molniar, made some of the other clients of Wolfram & Hart look like saints. This guy was seriously sick, with some hobbies that probably would have had a Nazgul running for the nearest exits, screaming with fear and needing new underwear.

He was a murderer. And a rapist. And a torturer. And a sociopath. And a thief. And... the list went on, for page after page after page of dispassionate facts that somehow made it all worse for the use of neutral language. The guy looked like a walking case for bringing back hanging, drawing and quartering as a method of capital punishment. Lindsey shuddered. The guy was, well, a monster.

And now he was coming to Sunnydale. The question was, what did he want here, and what would happen if the Slayers got a sniff of his presence? The file mentioned a few important facts, like Molniar's clashes with the Watcher's Council and Room 42. This was not good. Whoever these Lightbringers were, the chances were that they were bound to get involved. And the Slayer's had a habit of inflicting serious damage to entire neighbourhoods.

He sighed heavily and walked over to the window. Sunnydale in the sunlight. People wandering around, a young couple walking hand in hand, a picnic basket dangling from the man's free hand and a portable stereo being held by the girl, ordinary life. On a Hellmouth.

When the phone rang he strode over to the desk and picked it up. "He can see you now," said the clipped voice of Rove's secretary.

"I'm on my way," he replied, and put the phone down. Grabbing the file in one hand whilst retrieving his suit jacket from the chair, he made for the door. Time to find out where and when to meet Molniar.

When he reached Rove's office he tapped lightly on the open door, frowning. It wasn't like his boss to leave the door open.

"Come in," said a low voice from inside.

Lindsey walked in carefully and then stopped dead. Rove was not at his desk. Instead he was on all fours by the window, looking into a small telescope on a metallic tripod that was pointing off to one side.

"Is everything alright sir?"

Rove whipped around and crooked a finger at him, before putting it to his mouth to demand shush. Lindsey started to walk over, caught Rove's peremptory gesture and made it the rest of the way over to the window on his hands and knees. "Look!" whispered Rove, pointing in the same direction as the telescope.

Frowning slightly Lindsey bent his head and put an eye to the viewpiece. He could see two figures in a room in an office building across from the entrance to the building. One was a man with long black hair that had been tied back. He was holding a pair of binoculars and every now and then he scanned the street. The other figure was taller, wore a pair of glasses, had greying hair just above his ears… Rupert Giles. He was talking on a cell phone, but his eyes never seemed to leave the Wolfram & Hart building. Crap. This looked like trouble.

"I don't think that Molniar is getting in the front door without being observed," whispered Rove wryly. "Or the back door. There's another man there in an apartment overlooking it. Summers is there as well."

"This is going to be inconvenient," replied Lindsey. "Can we smuggle him in?"

"He doesn't do disguises well. Besides, they might have crossbows."

"By the way sir, why are we whispering?"

"They were using a directional microphone earlier on."

"Ah," said Lindsey, wondering if the anti-eavesdropping spells had somehow lost their mojo, but not wanting to distract Rove. "Who's the new guy over there?"

"He works for Room 42 at the British Museum. Name's Aurelius. Main Office has quite a file on him. Very dangerous. If you're a vampire or a demon that is." Rove crawled away from the window, followed by a bemused Lindsey, before standing. "Right, we need to change the plan."

* * *

By the time that Xander returned to the office Giles had plotted out three locations on a large map of Sunnydale that was laid out on his desk. All were close to the High School.

"Are these the spots where he'll be looking to do his mojo?" he asked.

Giles looked up with a start and then nodded, straightening up and rubbing his back carefully. "I think I'm getting old," he muttered. "Yes, these, these are the possible locations. I've based this on proximity to the Hellmouth, but not too close, plus with various local eddies in mystical forces that are known to exist in the area. Fortunately the removal of the library also removed access to L-Space in the area."

"To what?"

"Ah… never mind. Librarian's trade secret." He paused and gestured at the map. "These are our best estimates, I must stress. The opening of a dimensional portal is a risky business, as the Master found out to his cost. Of course he didn't have anything like an Orb of Marduk."

"Are there any time constraints? A time by which he has to use the Orb?"

Giles looked at him. "Very good, Xander. As a matter of fact, yes and no. An Orb of Marduk can be used at any time. However, on a Hellmouth sometimes certain mystical strains of energy are tied to the Moon. It's waxing now. I think that Molniar has a three-day window from tonight to use it at its full strength – if it's an ordinary Orb. So to speak."

Xander stared at the map. "Too many variables here. We don't have the manpower to stake out all the entrances to Wolfram & Hart and keep an eye on all of these places. Not if we need to go at Molniar in strength, as you suggested." He looked up. "Can't we narrow it down a bit? What are these places like?"

"First place is an apartment block. Fully inhabited at prices that are, frankly, extortionate. Little chance to being able to find a quiet place to open a portal there. The other two are more likely. One's a large house owned by a local businessman who's almost never there. One caretaker. Perfect place for Molniar to go in and… enjoy himself in his sick way before opening the portal. The other place is another apartment block, only this one's empty. Scheduled for major redevelopment. Security is a joke."

"Ok, that makes life easier." The Jedi sat down and started to plan out a schedule with the Watcher.

* * *

Lindsey resisted the temptation to look over his shoulder nervously. It was hard, especially in this place. The old bus station on the edge of town had been abandoned for years and was a large and dark place that echoed in an unsettling place. The main floor was clear and to one side the main doors stood open, although they were rusted shut. Pale moonlight was starting to shine in through the opening.

The lawyer glanced at his watch. 11.58pm. Great, another two minutes of waiting. He had better things to be doing with his time, hadn't he? Like… practising his guitar. Or reading more files on utter creeps in Sunnydale. Or… perhaps wondering just where the hell his life was going, 'cos he had no idea right now.

11.59pm. Joy. What now? He whistled a few bars of the Imperial March from The Empire Strikes Back and then stopped. It sounded as if the darkness was leaching the strength out of the music. He had a sudden very nasty feeling that he was being watched. He also felt a sudden chill go through him. Oh crap. He was here. Orders were orders though, and this case they had to be followed to the letter. At exactly midnight he cleared his throat. "I'm from Wolfram & Hart Mr Molniar."

"I know," said a voice right behind him, and Lindsey span around to see a figure standing a few feet away. He was looking at a business card in the moonlight. His business card to be precise, and the hairs on the back of his neck went up.

"Um, how did you get that?"

The figure looked up and fixed him with a very unsettling gaze, grey eyes flickering over him. "Talent. Plus your pockets were open. And your employer described you as well. Otherwise you'd be dead Mr McDonald. Very dead." An equally unsettling smile drifted over his face, like a cloud forming in the sky and then dissipating in seconds. "Well, where is your office? Is this any way to treat an old client of your firm?"

With a mental shake of the head Lindsey recovered his balance. "There's been a complication. You were being followed by two members of Room 42 of the British Museum."

A snarl split the darkness. "Evans and Aurelius. Scum. They found me when I was claiming the Orb. Both are… powerful… magic users. A waste, such a waste, Aurelius had power once, but he fell to the light. They dogged my footsteps for a while but I lost them."

"Not quite," said Lindsey licking his lips nervously. "They found out that you were coming straight here. And they got here first."

This time the snarl was deeper, more visceral. It sounded like rattling hatred, like blood spurting from a wound onto a drum. It sounded like barely restrained violence and Lindsey took an involuntary step backwards at the look in the now brown eyes.

Molniar fell silent and tilted his head slightly. "I smell the fear on you. No need, no need. Hatred for them, not you." He looked around. "That explains meeting in this place. How long have they been here?"

"We're not sure, but they've already made contact with the Slayers here and they're watching the Wolfram & Hart offices. We've got an underground entrance though and-"

"Slayers? Plural?"

"Yes. I'm sorry, I thought you know. Buffy Summers died briefly almost two and a half years ago, when a Vampire known as the Master killed her. She was revived, but now before another Slayer had been called. She was killed as well, leading to the latest, Faith Morgan, being called. They're quite a team."

"Two Slayers," said Molniar thoughtfully, his eyes changing from brown to grey again. "Much power there. Yes. Yes."

"We know that they have at least two observation posts covering the entrances to the offices, so that's why we have to use the underground route. I'm sure you understand. We can take my car and drive to the nearest access point, which will mean a walk of half a mile underground."

Molniar just stood there for a moment, his eyes unfocussed, muttering something under his breath. Then he seemed to start slightly and looked at Lindsey. This time his eyes were green. "My, my, Mr McDonald. How very organised and efficient. Yes, please do lead on. I look forwards to meeting Mr Rove. I've heard such good things about him."

As Lindsey lead the way to his car, pausing to open the passengers door to allow the demon to get in and place his rucksack protectively on his lap, he wondered about Molniar's use of language. Judging by the way that it kept changing and the fact that he seemed to be as mad as a hatter, he had a very bad feeling about this.

* * *

There was something rather… freaky about the way that Molniar moved, thought Lindsey as they walked down the corridor. In fact the guy was just alien at times, affable occasionally and yet capable of doing things that made you uneasy. It was as if he was constantly looking at you wondering what it would be like to use your spleen as a hat.

As they approached Rove's office Molniar's eyes turned a deep green colour at the sight of Rove's secretary and he smiled at her. She looked at him and then looked away hurriedly towards the door. "Mr Rove is expecting you," she said and then turned to answer the phone.

The demon licked his lips and was about to say something when the door opened suddenly and Rove looked out. "Ah, there you are Lindsey. Mr Molniar, I hope that you're well? Bob Rove."

"I know," said Molniar flatly. "That's what it says on the door."

Rove didn't even blink. "Well, please come in." He stepped back to clear the entrance and Lindsey could suddenly see that all the blinds were drawn on the windows. Two chairs were in front of his desk and there was a plate of something red and unpleasant next to the chair furthest from the windows.

Molniar stalked in, looking around warily, walked once around the room, paused to look at the telescope and then sat in the chair with the plate by it. Leaning forwards he sniffed at it. "A virgin's heart! Mr Rove, I am impressed!" Pulling out a large dagger he carved a slice delicately and then dropped it into his mouth. "Very tasty," he said, contentedly chewing. "Would you like some?"

"I'm on a diet," said Rove, sitting in his chair. "I'm glad you like it."

Lindsey's stomach roiled and he averted his eyes, an act that Molniar caught, because he chuckled darkly and then carved another slice. "Mr McDonald?"

"No thank you."

"I take it the telescope is for observing our guests out there?"

"That's correct."

"If you know where they are, why haven't you killed them yet?" asked the demon, his eyes changing colour to a murky purple colour.

"Open warfare with the Watcher's Council is not something we're looking to get into at the moment. And the Room 42 people have their uses in identifying potentially useful items of power. We can smuggle you into and out of the building without any difficulty and without them knowing. Besides the more people they have here, observing the building, the fewer are available for meddling, as it were."

Molniar considered this whilst chewing another slice of heart and then shrugged. "As long as I get a place to open the portal I don't care. I do think that Wolfram & Hart is getting soft nowadays."

"Changing times, Mr Molniar. We don't want to rock the boat, plus we are quite new in town and lack the resources that our larger office in LA has. As it is, I've been able to identify a few locations that you might feel fit your, ah, needs. One is especially useful, being deserted and easily – and secretly – accessible. Lindsey has all the details, and we have a room prepared for you upstairs."

Molniar nodded slowly, one hand stroking the rucksack next to his chair. Then he smiled. "Perhaps your secretary can show me there?"

"Sadly she has some filing to do."

The demon scowled. "I am a valued client."

"She is too valuable for you to… play with. Besides, we have a surprise for you there."

This perked the demon up; his scowl vanished in a flash and he smiled. "I like surprises!" He looked down at the heart and cut another slice. "Let me guess – the rest of this?"

Rove smiled easily. "A good guess. The reanimation spell is good until morning. We like to keep our clients happy."

Molniar picked up the plate and shouldered his bag. "Wonderful! Thank you, Mr Rove." He turned to face Lindsey. "I'll look forwards to meeting you again tomorrow, Mr McDonald. We can go through the details then."

"Of course," replied Lindsey, resisting the impulse to run for it. He stood as well, nodded at Rove and left the room.

"I'll show you to your room," he heard Rove say as he left.

By the time that he made it to the underground garage where his car was parked he was very pale. The client was supposed to be always right. But what about when he was a monster?

* * *

"So, who goes where?"

Giles put the map down carefully. "Myself and Constantine will be observing the entrance, just in case they try to take advantage of the hours of darkness. Tom and Buffy will take the rear entrance. Wesley, Oz, Willow and Faith will check out location one, and Xander, Anya, Amy and Jonathan will check out location two." He looked up at the former vengeance demon, who glared at him through the grill of her Roundhead helmet. "Anya, where on earth did you get that?"

"A friend of mine dropped off some of my old stuff from my time as a demon," she said sulkily. "It was a gift from Oliver."

"Oliver? Oliver who… oh. Oh good god, I don't want to know. Please don't wear it on your way there, we don't want to draw too much attention to yourself." The Watcher drew himself up and looked around. "There's a good chance that tonight is the night. Again, if you see him, be extremely careful. Contact the others and back off. I'm not taking any chances – and I'm not losing anyone to Molniar. Not again." He looked at Faith, who was looking at him in an assessing way. "And don't take things on the fly, as I believe the expression is."

Faith tried to look as if butter wouldn't melt in her mouth. The overall effect was like watching a sabre-toothed tiger pick buttercups.

"Right," said the Watcher, "Let's go." As they all filed out of the office, Anya making a faint clanking sound that probably meant that she had more armour on her than the helmet, Giles stopped and patted his jacket. "Damn, I forgot my phone. I'll catch you up," he called to Constantine, who nodded and walked away.

When he was sure everyone had gone the Watcher walked into his office and pulled out a key from his trouser pocket, which he used to unlock the bottom drawer to his desk. Opening it and reaching in, he fumbled for a moment and then pulled out a holster. He undid the clasp and pulled out a heavy looking revolver, before checking that it was loaded. When he was satisfied he weighed the gun grimly in one hand, shoved it back into the holster and then clipped it to his belt, making sure that it was hidden by his jacket. Only then did he grab his phone and walk out of the office.

* * *

The rat scuttling across the floor of the basement paused for a moment and sniffed the air around it. Then it resumed its journey, only to stop dead in its path a few seconds later and taking a deeper sniff. Suddenly uncertain, it hesitated and then changed direction, moving faster now as it headed back the way it had come, and then suddenly a hand came down out of the dark hole that had appeared to one side and grabbed it. There was a brief, pained squeak and then the rat went limp.

Molniar levered himself out of the passageway and considered the small brown corpse. "Disgusting things," he muttered and then bit its head off. "Quite nice though." Still chewing he looked around as a dust-covered Lindsey McDonald climbed out and started to dust himself down before freezing.

"What's that?"

"Rat. You hungry?"

The lawyer shuddered. "No."

Molniar shrugged. "Your loss," he muttered, with the tail disappearing between his lips like a piece of dark spaghetti. "My gain." He looked around. "I hope that the rest of this place is equally deserted. We don't want to disturb a nest of vampires or something."

Lindsey shook his head and then looked around, orientating himself. "Place has been empty for months. Security is good too. Last sweep was two days ago. It should be empty enough. Stairs are over there. I think the room we pointed out to you on the plans should be fine for you."

The demon looked at him for a long moment, his hands going to the straps of his rucksack almost protectively. Then he smiled in that unsettling way that he had. "Should be fine, I agree." He frowned slightly. "I wish I'd had more to eat."

This earned him a hard stare. "Too risky."

Molniar looked at him again and then shrugged. "What do I care, I'm going to be in my home dimension soon anyway."

"If it works."

"Yes. It will," he hissed, his eyes blackening for a moment and causing Lindsey to take a small step back. Molniar shook his head and then stretched, making certain bones pop and crunch noisily in his spine. "It will. Then I can go home and you can go back to Wolfram & Hart like a good little dog and have Rove pat you on the head."

He walked away towards the stairs whistling a little tune and missing the glare that Lindsey sent his way. After a moment the lawyer started after him.

* * *

Something felt very wrong. He wasn't sure what the hell it was, but something just felt off with where he was. A sense that… he was in the wrong place. Xander sighed silently and looked around. He had a nasty feeling that he was picking up something in the Force, but that he needed to work out what the hell it was.

He looked at the building in front of him. It felt… empty. There was no-one in it just now and the nearest people were Amy, who was practising making a knife revolve in mid-air, Jonathan, who was frowning at the edge of his sword, and Anya, who had more weapons on her than a small army. The only reason why she didn't rattle with every step was that she'd wrapped everything in black cloth. The overall effect was rather unsettling.

The feeling was stronger now, and Xander stopped dead. Then he closed his eyes and left himself go with the flow of the Force. He could feel the Hellmouth pulse around them, like a malevolent presence, he could feel the shape of the living things in the houses around them, the darker shapes of the vampires and demons that were underneath the roads… and there, creeping, quietly, quietly, was an alien presence, something that had no right to be in this dimension at all. It was something dark, evil, a twisted creature with no light to lift the darkness that festered within it. He opened his eyes and shivered. He felt as if his brain needed to be sponged off with a damp cloth. Then he turned. Damn.

Reaching into his pocket he pulled out his cell phone and tossed it over to a very surprised Amy. "You can get Giles on speed dial. Tell him that Molniar's at location two and that we need to call everyone in there right now!"

And then he took off as fast as he could run, heading for the building off to one side a few hundred yards away and pulling his lightsabre free as he ran. He had a nasty feeling that something was very wrong, and a good Jedi trusted his or her feelings.

* * *

Wesley's phone chirped briefly and then gave out the electronic version of a groan. He looked down at it puzzled. Oh. None of those little power bars were showing. That was a bad thing probably. No power. Well, if it was important, then whoever it was would call back later, or call Faith's phone. Speaking of whom, where was she?

He looked around and then caught sight of Oz. The Jedi was frowning. "Is everything alright Oz?"

"I'm not sure," the Jedi said slowly. "I can feel a disturbance in the Force, but it's an odd one. Like trying to catch sight of something through thick fog."

This brought Willow over. "This place is creepy," she said with a shudder. "Who'd want to live here?"

"Not many people, hence the restyling job scheduled to start in a month." Wesley looked around. "Where's Faith?" His charge had been just across the room a minute ago, but now she was missing.

"She said something about checking the place out. I think she was bored."

Wesley sighed. "I do wish that she'd learn to control these impulsive feelings. Mr Giles did say to stick together and given Molniar's record I agree with him. Very well, I'll fetch her."

"I'll do it," said Oz, "I can feel her presence with the Force. She's... over there." He pointed at a wall. Kissing Willow on the cheek he moved off quickly.

"You know Wesley, I think you can call Giles, Giles now."

The Englishman shuddered. "Good god no, too informal."

"Tom calls him Rupert."

"Tom is Welsh."

"So?"

"Oh... never mind." Wesley looked around. He felt nervous for some reason.

* * *

The room had once been some sort of penthouse perhaps, because it was quite large. It was also rather pink. Yuck, thought Lindsey, looking around. Pink wallpaper. He looked at the boards covering the windows and then turned to Molniar. "Looks secure."

The demon nodded absently and then flicked the switch for the lights. More pinkness resulted. "Not red enough," groused Molniar. "Pink. Urgh." He walked over to one end of the room and opened his rucksack to carefully pull out an object wrapped in cloth. Pulling the material aside revealed the Orb, which he placed carefully on the floor in front of him. "Be quiet," he said over his shoulder at Lindsey, "I need to concentrate."

Placing both palms on the surface of the Orb he started to mutter under his breath in what sounded like rising and falling cadences.

Lindsey watched carefully, not moving. He had a nasty feeling that interrupting the sicko at this point would be fatal, especially if the demon was leaving this dimension.

After a long moment Molniar's voice rose and he brought his hands up and then clapped three times. Then he paused, waiting. After a long moment something flickered deep in the centre of the Orb, a pale yellow-green light that suddenly emitted a loud crack of energy before starting to pulse. It seemed to be slowly growing in strength.

Molniar looked down and nodded happily. "That should do it. It'll build to the point where-" He stopped suddenly and sniffed the air. "We have company," he said abruptly. "Downstairs."

"Are you sure?"

Molniar shot Lindsey an evil look. "I can smell them," he said. Then he perked up. "Only two of them! Goodie! I'll check it out. Back in a minute. Oh, and don't touch the Orb, or I'll break your eye sockets and suck out your eyeballs."

He scurried out.

* * *

"What was that?" Willow stared at the ceiling for a long moment and then looked at Wesley, who had a direful frown on his face.

"I'm not sure, but I have a very nasty feeling about this, you might say," muttered the Watcher. He paused and pulled a large battle axe from under his jacket. Willow stared in astonishment. "Old trick my father taught me," he said and then looked around. "I wish Oz and Faith would get back. They've been gone a tad too long for comfort."

"You know what Faith's like," said Willow and then wished that she hadn't.

Wesley frowned. "Yes, I know. She can be a bit impulsive at times."

"This is nice," said a voice off to one side, "I didn't know that we had company. Hello."

Willow span around to see a dark figure off to one side. It was Molniar and he was far, far creepier in real life than his reputation suggested. For one thing he was cleaning his fingernails with a throwing knife. "You must be working for the Watchers. How amusing, you people get younger and younger."

"Willow, get behind me," said Wesley in a strained voice. He hefted his battleaxe.

"Willow. What a pretty name," Molniar said with his head tilted to one side as he watched her back up carefully. As she did she looked down at her fist and conjured a ball of fire that lit up that part of the room. "And a witch as well. Naughty. I think we're going to be friends."

"Molniar the demon, I arrest you in the name of the Watcher's Council," said Wesley in a voice that combined grim determination with a touch of nervousness.

"Arrest? Me? But all I have to defend myself is this knife," the demon said, looking down at it. Then he patted his pockets absent-mindedly. "Oops, silly me." And then he reached in and pulled out a pistol. "A hand me down from a policeman I met."

"Willow, get behind me!" shouted Wesley. "Grab my phone and call Faith!"

"More company! How wonderful. But…" he smiled a flickering smile, "I think this party is needs enlivening." The gun came up and then fired once.

The bullet caught Wesley in the stomach, the kinetic energy flinging him to the floor, where he rolled over and then, after a frozen moment of appalled time, he dabbed at the spreading stain on his shirt and held a shaking, blood-stained hand up to his incredulous eyes. Then he grabbed at the wound and started to scream.

"Wesley!" screamed Willow. The ball of fire flickered out and she was about to crouch down to help him when she felt a gust of air on her ear. "Boo," said Molniar from a distance of about three inches, but before she could move two arms snaked around her, pinning her arms to her sides and picked her up. She screamed in terror and fury, trying to summon her magic, but something slammed against the base of her skull and she passed out.

* * *

Faith looked down at the hole in the floor of the basement and frowned. Her foot went out and smeared the almost-dry spot of what might be blood next to it. Shit. The chances were that the scumbag demon was in the building. She pulled out her phone and looked down at the display. No signal. About right for a basement. Then her head whipped around as she heard the sound of a shot.

She took the stairs two or three at a time, bursting out of the basement and running as hard as she could for the room where she'd left Wesley, Oz and Red. As she ran she pulled out her knife and started to swear. If something had happened… then she heard the screaming and she ran even faster.

Pulling up slightly at the door she pulled it open with a scream of tortured wood, realising vaguely that she'd pulled it off its hinges. And then she saw the interior of the room and her breath left her.

Her Watcher was lying on the floor, blood starting to pool around him, clutching at his gut and screaming. Horry. It was like Horry all over again and she felt as cold as ice and afraid for the first time in a year. The screaming. It was the screaming.

Shaking she glimpsed movement to one side and tensed. A figure was standing at the other doorway that led to the stairs. He had a limp figure on his shoulder and he was watching her.

"A Slayer," he said musingly. "Interesting. Choice. Go after me or help the Watcher? Choice, choice, choice. I'm going to make friends here with Willow. If the lawyer lets me. But I'm going to get out of here soon, so who cares about him?" He grinned her and then slammed the door. From the sound of it something was then wedged behind it.

Wesley was still screaming and the noise was… it was… she couldn't think for a moment but then her anger finally burst out into a river of hatred. Molniar. He had Red. Damn, she shouldn't have gone out of the room, shouldn't have agreed to patrol around the place with Oz, shouldn't have split from the Jedi and gone looking on her own… She could feel herself trembling with anger and glared at the door, wanting to smash through it, find Molniar and beat him to a pulp with his own limbs, to push the knife in and twist it, to kill him as slowly as possible, to…

"Faith…" It was a slow, painfully articulated word, emitted by a man who was desperately wounded and whose throat was raw with screaming, but who was now trying to fight it for long enough to get these words out.. "Stop… You're… too… angry… probably… wants… you… to… follow... him…" He paused to moan softly. "Don't… play… into… his… hands…"

Everything stopped. What should she do? Part of her screamed and raged and cursed and cried vengeance, now, blood, now… and another part of her made her turn to look at Wesley. Wussley, she'd one named him. The guy whose training, well, sucked compared to Giles – but who, even badly wounded, wanted her to think instead of react. Doing his duty as a Watcher. Like Horry. She hadn't been able to save her. But maybe she could save him. The anger faded. She turned and hurried over, ripping the sleeves off her shirt as she did to make crude bandages, which she stuffed against the wound and applying as much pressure as possible.

"Don't worry, Wes, we'll patch you up." She shot an anguished glance at the door and then threw her head back. "OZ!"

After a minute or so she heard rapid footsteps and then Oz shot through the doors, his lightsabre on and humming, his eyes sweeping around the room in an instant. As soon as he saw that there were only two people in the room and that Wesley was hurt the lightsabre snapped off and he hurried over.

"What happened?"

"Looks like Molniar was in the place before we got here. He shot Wes." She paused and looked at the Jedi, who was already moving the bandages to look at the wound. "Oz, he took Willow. I got here too late. I'm sorry."

Oz froze, not even breathing. When he looked at her she could see the anguish in his eyes, clear and throbbing. Then he closed his eyes. When he opened them again a little of the pain was gone. "She's ok. I can feel her upstairs. Room above here. Xander's coming, I can feel it. Call 911. I think I can slow the bleeding, maybe repair some of the damage, but I can't heal it all." His head went down again and he laid his hands on Wesley's stomach. He was deep in this Force mojo. And all Faith could do was watch. And first call 911.

More pounding feet in the hallway and then Xander burst into the room. He also had his lightsabre in his hand, but this time it was inactive. He looked around, taking everything in and then ran over. "Molniar?"

"You got that right," said Faith angrily. "He shot Wesley, grabbed Faith. Oz and I were patrolling. I think he barred the door. Xander, he's got Willow. And a gun."

Like Oz, Xander froze for a second, before reacting. He looked up at the ceiling and closed his eyes. "Oz, is Wesley going to be ok?"

"Yes, but he needs more medical attention than I can provide. Surgery to get this lump of lead out as well."

"Good." Xander looked at Faith and at that moment she made a vow to never get in his way at all, ever. He looked calm, but so resolute that he could have ground down mountains just by looking at them. "I'm going to get Willow. Once I'm up there, go nuts on that door. Don't worry, Faith. The Force is with us."

He reached up with the hand that wasn't holding the lightsabre and then pushed it up sharply. Above him the ceiling exploded upwards, as a hole about three feet in diameter appeared with a groan of stressed wood. And then he leapt straight up, more than 10 feet in the air, through the hole and vanished from sight.

Faith looked up at the hole, her eyes wide with wonder. "Well, shit. I think Xander's going to open a can of Jedi whupass on Molniar." Looking down at Oz, who was still hunched over a Wesley who had more colour in his cheeks than before, she then snapped her gaze over to the door. "Showtime," she breathed, even as she heard the thunder of more feet behind her.

* * *

Lindsey looked in horror at the still redheaded form slung over Molniar's shoulder as the demon grabbed a piece of wood and barred the handles of the door with it. Then he hurried back over to stand not far from the now sparkling Orb, where he slid the girl down. Holy Christ, it was Willow Rosenberg. She was still breathing though, and was just unconscious. "What happened?" he said desperately.

"Meddlers," cackled Molniar, tilting his head and looking at her. He reached into a pocket and pulled out a long thin knife that had something dark encrusted to it. "Balloon animals," he said lovingly.

"What?"

"Balloon animals. Always loved what those clowns do." He looked up, his eyes glittering feverishly. "Ever seen a small intestine used to make balloon animals? Looks good. I do a mean giraffe."

"That is Willow Rosenberg!" shouted Lindsey, remembering how the little witch had fought against the Mayor's hired vampires. "She's a friend of the Slayer! If you kill her, the Slayer will level everything inside the office to avenge her!"

This seemed to baffle Molniar. "Why should I care? Balloon animals!"

"NO!" shouted Lindsey, furious and desperate at the same time. Enough was enough. This freak had to be stopped.

Molniar sneered. "I was right about you – you are weak, boy. Wait until you're been at the firm for a few more years. You'll be ready to open up your firstborn to brownnose the Senior Partners."

"Get away from her…"

"Or what? Bored of you now. Time to go away." Molniar reached into his other pocket and produced a gun, which he levelled at the lawyer. "Bored, bored, bored."

And then the world exploded, or part of the room anyway. Something pushed the floor in the middle of the room upwards with a sharp crack of stressed timber, sending shards and splinters everywhere. Lindsey flew backwards, feeling a stinging pain over one eye, vaguely aware that Molniar had hit the wall and bounced off it, as if he was made of rubber. Something clattered to the floor next to the lawyer. The gun. But then, just as he was about to reach for it, he felt a flash of… something, he couldn't tell what, and suddenly a brown-clad form shot through the hole in the floor, and landed to one side. It was Xander Harris. He was holding a silver cylinder and then suddenly a blue shard of light extended from it with a low buzz of energy.

Lindsey stopped dead, staring, ignoring the sting of the hot blood that had trickled down into one eye. Harris. He looked… calm. Determined. And invested with a quiet dignity and power that seemed… natural on him. But it was the lightsabre that got Lindsey. A lightsabre. A real – or so it appeared – lightsabre. Damn. What the hell was he?

This was a question that Molniar was also wondering, because he was also gaping at the blue beam. Unfortunately he had moved faster than Lindsey had thought, because he was also holding Rosenberg upright and had that dagger next to her neck. "What the hell are you?" spat the demon.

"A Jedi," said Harris. A Jedi? What? "Put Willow down. Now."

Molniar's eyes blazed with spite. "Shan't." He shot a surreptitious look at the Orb, which was starting to whine with power. "Going home, need a snack," he giggled.

"Not going to happen," said Harris, and then reached out with one arm, opening his hand and then clenching it. The Orb shuddered suddenly and then, with a horrible glassy crackling noise, imploded like a table tennis ball being crushed. The light died. The pieces crumbled on the floor.

Molniar stared disbelievingly and then howled with anguish, a noise that made Lindsey wince. A weapon, he thought desperately, I need a weapon, because this guy's going to go berserk. His scrabbling hands flailed for the gun, missed, and then suddenly it was there in his hands. He blinked.

The demon swung back at Harris. "I'm going to slit you up and make you watch me as I eat your intestines!" shrieked Molniar, his eyes jet black. "But first I'm going to put this little bitch out of her misery!"

"What with?" asked Harris, and Lindsey blinked. The blade of the dagger in Molniar's outstretched arm was _bending_, curving around until the tip touched the hilt. The demon looked at it, blinked and then stared at it.

Three things happened at that point. The first was that Molniar growled and turned the dagger in his hand so that the edge showed, obviously so that he could try to use it. The second was that in the split second that his attention was off Willow, Harris pulled his hand back sharply and she was suddenly sailing through the air, out of Molniar's grip, to land in Harris's grip. And the third thing was that there was a loud bang.

Molniar swayed violently and then regained his balance. Then he looked down. A thin trickle of black blood, or ichor was staining his shirt around a hole. Reaching down he pushed a finger into the wound and then held it up. Black liquid shone in the light. The demon coughed wetly, more black ichor leaking from his mouth, and then he looked to one side. "Not fair," he said, and then collapsed.

Lindsey looked down at the smoking gun in his shaking hand with disbelief. He hadn't thought about it, he hadn't even aimed properly, he'd just done it. He'd killed Molniar. A client of the firm. And he didn't feel even a bit sorry about it. "Oh hell."

He could hear sirens in the distance, rapidly approaching ones, along with smashing noises as doors were broken down. A moment later the door that led downstairs was blasted off its hinges by a tall black-haired man with fire playing around his fists, followed by both Slayers, Rupert Giles, a girl wearing a helmet from the English Civil War and a man with red hair and a green lightsabre. They all stared at the fallen body of Molniar, then at Harris and Rosenberg and finally at him.

The shaking was a lot worse as he looked back at them. "He was a complete piece of shit," he said in a thick voice and then the floor came up and hit him.

* * *

Xander looked at the unconscious lawyer and shook his head in wonder. "I think he just chose a side." Then he turned and looked at Oz. "She's fine. How's Wesley?"

"Amy's with him and there's a paramedic crew on the way. He'll be fine," his former Padawan said as he walked up and laid both hands on Willow's head. "Slight bruising..."

After a long moment Willow's eyes opened slowly. "Ooh," she slurred, "Two Ozs. Snuggles while I'm drunk?" She frowned. "Head hurts."

"You'll be fine babe," reassured Oz, and then grabbed her arm, ducked beneath it and supported her.

"Okay," said Xander and then looked over at Giles, who was standing over the body of Molniar. He was clutching a revolver and looked very grim. "He's dead, Giles."

"Are you sure?" came the response, as the Watcher hefted the weapon and stared down at the corpse.

"Yes," said Xander gently. "Let it go. He's gone."

Something seemed to leave the Watcher as he sighed. "Very well. Let's take care of Wesley and Willow." Then he looked at Lindsey. "And deal with the consequences of this."


	4. Walking in the light

Okay, okay, I know, I know - this chapter is late. Again. But first I had an edition to write for, and then we went to a wedding in Kent whilst we had colds, and then we had Christmas and before we knew it we were in January... and all the time we were doing house-related things. So this meant a few writing delays. Here it is anyway. Ok, disclaimers - I don't own these characters. Sob.

* * *

As the bird soared past the hospital building it had an excellent view of several of the rooms as well as an office where an unshaven doctor was throwing darts at a picture of the hospital administrator. And if it had had the wit to look to its right at one point, it would have seen two rooms, not too far apart, both inhabited by men, but with very different collections of get-well-soon cards. However, the bird was being chased by a hawk and was too busy to notice.

The shelf by the window was covered in cards. Big ones, small ones, polite ones, obscene ones… but all said the same thing, or rather voiced the same sentiment: Get Well Soon.

Wesley Wyndham-Pryce sat in the bed and contemplated the tray of hospital food with a great deal of, well, disgruntlement. Occasionally he poked at bits, and once he lifted a lettuce leaf and shuddered at what was underneath it. Then he looked over to the newest card, on the sheet by his bandaged side.

His father had sent him a card. It was most unnerving. Roger Wyndham-Pryce, one of the most respected, and in some areas feared, Watchers of the old school, had sent his only son a get-well-soon card. It had a bunch of flowers on the cover, noted Wesley with some bemusement, and was completely kittenless. His father was not the kind of man to send out cards that had anything cute on them, not unless the kitten was wearing chainmail and was equipped with a battleaxe. He opened it again.

"To Wesley. The most noble calling for a Watcher is to be injured in the defiance of evil as your Slayer fights the good fight. Please get well soon. Father." There was a PS, written in his mother's handwriting, saying: "And for god's sake don't get shot again! Am sending Mr Bunty on to you. Love, Mum." Wesley cringed slightly. Mr Bunty had been his favourite teddy bear when he had been a child. His mother still kept it in his old room at home, ready to be mobilised at a moment's notice. If either Faith or Buffy found it… well, that could be disastrous.

He put the card down and looked around at the other cards. There was one from Quentin Travers, and another, far ruder, one from his old friends at the Watcher's training college. He'd put them next to each other and devoutly hoped that Travers never turned up to visit him. Especially as Faith's card was almost filthy enough to be sold in Blackpool, the English city that had cornered the market in risqué humour when it came to cards. The donkey was the most respectable part of the damn thing, but it was kindly meant.

"Hey, Wes, how's it going?" He turned his head to see Xander at the doorway. He was holding a large bunch of flowers. "These are from Mrs Summers. She seems to think that your room needs brightening." The Jedi placed them carefully on the table by the door. "Personally I think that this room's walls need to be repainted a less appalling shade of vomit green, but I think that the colour just appears by itself in hospitals all over the world."

He paused and then tilted his head slightly. "Ok, the scary nurse who is always sitting at the desk outside just got on the elevator. Cool. That means that I can deliver your order." He opened a small bag that the flowers had been effectively obscuring and took out a small container. "One box of Joyce's best cookies. The kind you like, with the chocolate coating and the orange stuff. Like the jaffa cakes you keep mentioning? I have to say that I almost had to beat Giles off with a baseball bat to get these to you, as otherwise he'd have 'liberated' them all."

Wesley grabbed the box with eager hands and opened it slightly, putting his nose to the crack and inhaling blissfully. Perfect. "Please pass on my most sincere thanks to Mrs Summers. They smell wonderful and will be far better than…" he flapped a hand at the tray of unappetising food in front of him. "This."

Xander cast a critical eye at the tray and then gave an exaggerated shudder. "You're a braver man than I am, Gunga Din." He paused for a moment. "I have got to stop channelling Giles. I keep using odd words and phrases."

"Sorry?" asked Wesley through a mouthful of cookie. "You don't sound odd to me. Can I ask you to hide this box in the drawer next to me? Thank you. I don't want the scarily efficient and yet equally scarily dull nurses to find them."

"Not a problem," said Xander as he put the cookies away carefully. Then he looked to one side. "Aha. Time to carry out my other little chore."

Wiping his mouth free of telltale cookie atoms Wesley frowned. "Xander, are you sure you want to do this? Given who he works for, is it a good idea?"

"He has to know, Wes. He killed Molniar, a client of his own firm, when he didn't have to. He did the right thing. I think he's ready. Sort of. I need to play this thing out a bit. Give him some information now and see if he can work the rest of it out.222"

The Watcher sighed deeply, wincing slightly at the pain from his wound. "Very well. Your judgement has often proved right on these things, and frankly it's not my business. But when it comes to matters relating to Wolfram & Hart, my instincts as a Watcher tend to be to shoot first and bury the bodies under a hundred metres of pointy rocks second. But based on what Giles has told me, I think that you're right here."

"Thanks, Wes," said the Jedi quietly. And then he was gone.

* * *

At least his headache was ebbing, which meant that he would be released soon. After just two days in hospital he was ready to kill for some real damn food, not to mention a drink. The company had made sure that the treatment for his head wound had been excellent. It was just a shame that the response to the news that he had been injured had been so piss-poor.

The card from his mother and sisters was the only real human touch in the room. It was large, silly, and made him smile a lot. The one from Holland was anodyne and the one from Rove was just soulless. He wasn't sure who had sent the headless teddy bear with the card that had the word "Don't" written in magic marker in front of the message to get well soon, but if he had to bet money he would have said that it was Lilah. What a bitch.

Sighing, he dropped his head onto the pillow. He had a lot to think about. For one thing, there were the events of the past few days. Molniar was dead. And Xander Harris had a lightsabre, plus odd powers. Oh, and he had claimed that he was a Jedi as well. That was an odd one.

He hadn't been able to really think about it that much because, above all else, there was the little matter of him killing a client of the firm. Yes, Wolfram & Hart's thoroughly vile, mass-murdering, psychotic client Molniar was dead, having been shot by none other than Lindsey McDonald. He was still rather fuzzy on the actual event itself. Molniar had been threatening Willow Rosenberg, the friend of the Slayers and the girl that he had fought by her side against Major Wilkins' flunkies. Harris had suddenly turned up by bursting through the floor, armed with a lightsabre and the ability to squash Orbs of Marduk and bend steel blades, not to mention make people fly through the air. And then there had been the point where Lindsey had realised that enough was enough and that he had to save Rosenberg from that demented murdering weirdo by shooting him.

That was the odd bit, because he really couldn't remember much about the actual act. It had all happened too fast. One minute he had been scrabbling about on the floor for the gun, the next he had been looking down the barrel of the now smoking gun and seeing the astonished demon poking at the bloody hole in his side. It was as if something had taken over, as if something had made him move instinctively. He had no idea what though.

Lindsey sighed. The firm knew that Molniar was dead, because the Watchers had sent the ashes back. Ok, so Rupert Giles had thrown the small urn through a window, according to Rove, but the remains had been returned. If they were the actual ashes. He had a funny feeling that a rose bush somewhere in town was making the most out of a sudden deposit of grimy powder. He just hoped that it didn't have to be exorcised at some point in the future.

But all that Wolfram & Hart knew about Molniar's death was that there had been an incident. He hadn't exactly lied to Rove, but neither had he exactly told the truth. He'd just told his boss that Molniar had been preparing to use the Orb, that Faith Morgan and her Watcher had arrived, along with Rosenberg, that Molniar had shot the Watcher and kidnapped Rosenberg, that there had been some sort of explosion, which had injured Lindsey, causing a minor concussion and a laceration of the scalp, and that Molniar had died. He didn't mention how loco Molniar was, how revolting the demon's tastes were and he especially hadn't mentioned the arrival of so-called Jedi Knight Xander Harris. And his lightsabre.

These omissions were both easy and hard to explain. On the one hand, if he mentioned actual working lightsabres and the use of what seemed to be the Force, Rove would have him committed to an asylum at once. On the other… he didn't somehow feel that the truth about something this important should be told. This was a new, wacky feeling.

And the Jedi explanation, insane as it sounded, explained everything that he had found out about Harris. It explained Wilkins' remarks, it explained the increase in his grades.

It just sounded so completely crazy.

He rubbed the back of his head again and then frowned. The odd tingling feeling at the back of his head had returned and he didn't know why.

"Well, those cards suck," said a voice at the doorway, and Lindsey looked over to see the man himself. Xander Harris was staring at the pitiful collection of cards with a raised eyebrow. Then he walked forwards and picked up the headless teddy bear. "Ick. I sense much anger here. Does Wolfram & Hart pick up defective stock on the side or did you forget to make a payment on this thing and fail to get the next instalment?" He reached over and picked up the anonymous card. "Much anger," he repeated quietly. Something seemed to be drawing his attention away for a few seconds and then he returned to the room again. "Well, hi again. How's the food here? Wesley's getting secret cookie supplies from Buffy's mom, but I don't think that you're on her good books yet."

Closing the door firmly he grabbed a chair from next to the table in the corner of the room and sat down with his back to the door, facing Lindsey. "We need to have a talk."

"About what?" asked the lawyer carefully.

"About Molniar. About you shooting him. And about your reasons for doing so."

Lindsey sat back in his bed and looked at the guy. He seemed completely at ease, but there was a combination of amusement and deadly seriousness in his eyes. Apart from that he couldn't pick anything up, and this disturbed him. As a lawyer he had worked hard to start reading body language, and Harris's stance told him nada.

"What are you?" he suddenly blurted out. "How did you smash through that floor? And what was that weapon you had – was it a real lightsabre? And why does all this sound so completely nuts?"

"Welcome to the Hellmouth," replied Harris with a small smile. "Completely nuts events are our speciality." He paused. "Trade," he conceded. "I tell you what I am, in return for you telling me why you killed Molniar. And you get to go first."

Lindsey plucked at the sheet covering his legs aimlessly. He didn't want to mention anything, but… but… he had to get the words out. And Harris was not a part of Wolfram & Hart. He was on the other side. For a split second he had the oddest feeling that he wasn't being torn any more. Then he made his decision. "He was threatening your friend, Willow Rosenberg. He mentioned making balloon animals out of her intestines. He was… crazy, sick, twisted. He was evil."

"He was a client of your firm."

"He was… a maniac. I don't care if he was a client. The guy was evil."

Harris sat back in his chair and looked at Lindsey carefully. "Interesting observation from a man who works for a company that has ties to some of the nastiest demons in this dimension. Which is run by some of those said demons."

This bought him a harsh, bitter, laugh from Lindsey. "It's a living. Better salary than most law firms. More power. More influence." He paused. "More evil." When he looked up again Harris was looking straight at him, with an intensity that unnerved him.

"Why work for them?"

It was a question that made Lindsey cringe internally. And yet… he didn't know how to answer it properly, not without making himself feel… dirty. Not anymore. "Money," he said after a long moment. "Influence. Power maybe. My… my Dad had nothing, he went from one screwed up job to another, we were evicted a few times and I told myself… I told myself no, that was enough, I wouldn't be like my father."

"Is he proud of what you are now?"

Lindsey's head flew up and he glared at the guy, but… again, the intensity of Harris's eyes bored into his skull and seemed to shut down large parts of his brain. Would Dad have been proud of him? Nope. He would have been disappointed. Up until a few months ago that wouldn't have meant a damn. Now, all of a sudden, it did. And he didn't know why. Something prickled at the back of his head, like an ice cube defrosting at great speed. And there was another feeling, a slow tingling that he suddenly realised had been growing for the past few minutes. "I don't know," he said, rubbing his neck absent-mindedly.

Leaning back in his chair Harris just looked at him again, a long intense stare that looked as if he was dissecting the lawyer with his eyes. Lindsey blew out a silent breath. He had to regain control of this runaway train of a conversation.

"So, now it's your turn. What are you?"

This seemed to amuse Harris, because he chuckled softly for a moment and then leant forwards, lifting his arms up so that his fists were touching, while his sleeves gaped slightly more on one side than the other. "I was going to say 'guess', but… now you see it…" there was a movement in the gaping sleeve and a long silver cylinder slid into view, moved by no wire that Lindsey could see. It revolved twice, showing a small control panel and then vanished into the other sleeve, "-Now you don't." He sat back. "Jedi Knight Xander Harris," he said quietly, flipping a finger to his forehead in a flippant salute. The tingling at the back Lindsey's head flared and then died.

Lindsey felt like gaping, but then his brain was working too fast for that. "That's nuts," he heard his mouth say and then paused to frown.

"Said the man working for a law firm run by demons mostly for the benefit of demons and vampires," said Harris in a wry voice. "Isn't that nuts too?" His expression sobered. "How else do you think I can do what I can do? Magic? Maybe. No chanting though. Just the Force."

A small host of questions barrelled through Lindsey's brain, distilled themselves into concentrated thought and finally emerged as one word: "How?"

"You mean how did I become a Jedi?"

A nod.

"Ah. A chaos mage came to town and opened up a costume shop just before Halloween almost exactly two years ago. Sadly he failed to tell everyone that he had enchanted the costumes he was hiring out. When he mumbled some mumbo-jumbo to the god Janus, everyone became the character of the costume they were wearing. Exactly, to the last extreme detail." He looked at Lindsey and stroked his chin as if he was feeling for a non-existent beard. "I went as Obi-Wan Kenobi. And after the spell ended… I could still access the Force. I needed training, but I could do it. And having trained myself, and fought the good fight here on the Hellmouth… I became a Jedi Knight."

His mind whizzed with information. Oh damn, that explained everything, thought Lindsey. The change in Harris's grades, the fact that he had become more intense, more focussed. No wonder Wilkins had pointed him out. He'd been trying to get Wolfram & Hart interested enough in Harris to divert attention away from the Ascension. Too bad he'd told Lindsey, who'd filed the information away for his own private perusal.

"Wilkins knew," he blurted out.

Harris nodded. "Yes, he did. The Mayor had all kinds of little ways of finding out. Didn't seem to help him much though. We took care of him." He paused. "How did you know that Wilkins knew though?"

"He told me. Well, sort of. He hinted at something. Said that you had killed a Sankreg demon in the desert, when it was going after the Cross of the Trinity. Said that you were dangerous. Didn't say much else. I did some digging after that… Principal Snyder's notes on you were not very complimentary."

"Ah, Snyder the weasel. Speaking as a Jedi, I deplored his death, but speaking as an inhabitant of the school, let's just say that a hell of a lot of kids had their darkest fantasies fulfilled when Wilkins ate him." He looked at Lindsey thoughtfully. "That was an interesting day."

"You mean the day that Wilkins became a giant snake and tried to eat us all? Hell, yes. I almost had my head handed to me on a plate by a vampire."

"Yes, but you didn't. I remember that. You were hit by something, you were down on the ground, there was a vampire coming for you, your sword was out of reach… and then you had it in your hand. Quite a surprise that."

Lindsey's eyebrows went up. "You… saw that?"

"I felt part of it." He paused, a small smile on his face. "I have to go. But I want to ask you something and then tell you something. First: have you told Wolfram & Hart about me? Or will you?"

"No," said Lindsey slowly. "I was investigating things on the Hellmouth, including you. And at the firm you collect secrets, to use at some point, because it's a dog eat dog world there. And then the Ascension came up and then we opened an office here and… there never was a time…" His voice trailed off.

"That doesn't sound very ruthless and Wolfram & Hartish."

Lindsey smiled bitterly. "Be glad that Lilah doesn't know about you."

"Lilah?"

"Complete bitch I used to work with in LA. She looks at things with one perspective – what can she gain from the people around her. Whatever she thinks she can leverage – she will try to get control of." He rubbed his suddenly aching head. He had a lot to take in. "If I tell my boss about you, I'll spend the next few days in a padded cell. So no, I won't. What was that last thing – you wanted to tell me something?" The tingling feeling was back again, and he rubbed the back of his neck hard.

"Something bothering you? You keep rubbing your head."

"Odd feeling. Like something's there but I can't see it."

"Ah," said Harris, with an unfathomable look. There was a flash of silver at his wrist again and then he was standing up and hooking the lightsabre on his belt to one side, where his coat hid it. "That day at the ascension – that sword was pulled into your hand. With the Force. And it wasn't by me."

"Who did it then?"

But Harris was at the door now and opening it. He turned. "You need to work that out by yourself." The door closed, leaving Lindsey alone. What the hell did that mean? Something was nagging at the back of his head again, only this time it was a memory, something that someone had said not too long ago. What was it? Something said back in LA maybe… Then he paused. Wait a minute… a lightsabre was a sword of light… lightbringers! Harris was a lightbringer! He was what that demon had been referring to! He was what they had been so afraid of! Lindsey sat there in the bed and shook his head in wonder. All kinds of pieces were falling into place now. It all made sense!

Then he stopped. Or did it? The demon had mentioned lightbringers. Plural. There was someone else out there. Two Jedi? Or had he mistaken the connection between Harris and the lightbringers? He rubbed his upper lip thoughtfully. There was a lot to work out here. Then he looked out of the window. Another sunny day in Sunnydale. And was that a sparrow with an odd red gleam in its eye chomping on the remains of a hawk on a branch of a tree across the way?

* * *

The practice sword felt good in her hand. She twirled it briefly and then snapped it up in a salute to her opponent, who responded with a certain oriental swagger. Then she paused. After a few seconds she tried a feint to one side, which was brushed aside with a clatter. Another swipe-feint to the other side, again parried. Hum. He seemed to be cautious but arrogant at the same time. That was a double mistake.

Another feint and then this time she put some real weight into an attack on his other side. His sword blocked hers and then flashed out in a counter-attack that pushed her back a few feet before she stopped it. Damn, he was good. Still cautious and arrogant though. She reached out with the Power carefully, caught the next attack a microsecond before it started and pulled her sword around just in time, as her opponent slashed at her side almost negligently. Damn! He was better than she had thought, and she tried to keep her anger at bay. If she let it grow… she pulled her sword up and around and tried to break his defence down with short hard slashes, but he seemed to be ready for this – he caught her sword with his, ran it up against hers so that the hilts locked and then twisted, hard. Her sword clattered on the ground, his came around, heading for her defenceless side… and then the blunt blade slowed and twisted to slap stingingly against her side.

She stepped back, banking the fires of her anger in her heart, and bowed to her opponent. The Sensei bowed back and then chuckled. "You have improved my dear Ms Morgan. You are much, much faster. But you need to anticipate more. And you need to dictate the terms of a fight. Never fight on grounds of your opponent's choosing – fight on your own ground. Control the fight, make your opponent dance to your music." He smiled. "And never get arrogant. Always treat each battle as something you can learn from."

Lilah nodded and then stooped to retrieve her practice sword. When she turned to the door she saw that Holland Manners was watching her.

"Lilah," he purred. "Interesting hobby you've picked up. "I didn't know that you were into swordplay."

"I thought it might be a good idea, what with our new player in town. I heard that Angel is a good swordsman. Almost beat the Slayer Buffy Summers once."

"That was when he was Angelus."

"Angel, Angelus, whatever. Best to keep practicing. Who knows when we might be fighting him?"

"Good point. Keep practicing. And don't let me down too often." said Manners, and then he was gone, walking down the corridor.

Lilah watched him go with real hate in her heart. One day… she'd show him. No more put-downs, no more snide remarks, no more setting her off against her rivals. Speaking of which, there was only Lee left. Lindsey had gone off to Sunnydale, where he'd already been injured. She concealed a smirk. She'd seen the records about Wolfram & Hart offices on hellmouths. Most had been ambitious. A few had been successful. Many had been… a great way of unloading useless personnel. Admittedly the Sunnydale Hellmouth was a bit different. It was a bad one, where hellmouths were concerned. Big and bad and… it attracted demons and vampires and the creatures of the night like nothing else. A perfect place for a Wolfram & Hart office. Perfect. Shame about the rate of attrition. Like, perhaps, one Lindsey McDonald. Shame he was at a place that was so dangerous. And it had those two Slayers as well. Plus two Watchers, from a Council that could be exceptionally ruthless if it had a mind to be.

Lilah flexed her shoulders and allowed her smile to break out into the open. She'd started the lessons because she'd felt that she needed some exercise. Plus… it felt right. Using the Power was one thing, but it felt… incomplete at times. As if she needed to add something, an additional element. And using the Power whilst fencing felt right. And maybe… one day she could use her lightsabre. Preferably on Lindsey. If he survived the Hellmouth that is. Which was… questionable. She turned back to the training room and flexed her hand experimentally. Perhaps a few warm-ups and then back to training?

* * *

His hand hurt and he stopped to look at it. Damn. More blisters. Good thing he was a bloody vampire then, right? They'd be gone in a matter of hours, maybe a day. Still, it reminded him of how much he'd been bloody digging recently.

Sitting down on the nearest mound of rubble he looked around at the debris and scowled. The Gem of Amara. It was somewhere in the area but he had no sodding idea exactly where, because the directions to the bloody thing were somewhat sketchy. Hell, they were like fog – they moved about and nothing was quite what it seemed when you first looked at it. Perhaps he shouldn't have dusted that educated little wanker who had translated the text. Although he had been a very irritating, stammering little wanker.

Spike sighed and looked at the wall in front of him. It had once been a doorway leading to a passageway between two tombs, but at some point the ceiling had come down, leading to a lot of earth and rocks entering the area.

"Stupid bloody idea, putting this place in California," he muttered to himself. "Place wobbles about every five bloody minutes. Sodding earthquakes. Never happens in London."

Sighing again he stood up and grabbed his shovel. He was, once again, doing this on his own as his one helper – it should have been minion, but she objected to that word, very loudly and shrilly – was off somewhere, after complaining about breaking a nail doing some digging. Harmony was… well, a moron. She looked pretty and was like a demented anaconda in bed, but mentally she was a moron. A vain moron. A vain, materialistic, moron with massive amounts of spite about her former schoolfriends and the sadism of a brain-dead kitten. But still very good in bed.

"The standard of minion in this bloody town is bloody low," muttered Spike as he re-entered the corridor and started to shovel again. A bit longer, maybe, and he'd get something that meant he could take on the Slayer. One of them anyway. And given the fact that it stood to reason that Jedi Knights could not fight in public – for all the world to see – just yet, that means that he stood more of a chance of a fair fight, if he chose the right time and the right place for his fight with a Slayer. And that might make three out of three. He grinned and started shovelling harder.

* * *

A campus party was a party by any other name. Although the Phi Delta Kappas were supposed to be morons and as a result attracted more morons. Riley Finn looked down at his beer and sighed. He'd been invited over by a friend of a friend. Too bad that he hadn't been able to blow the invitation off with some excuse. Teams Five and Eight were out tonight, which meant that his Team One had some downtime. Not that that was bad. The problem with staying up late every night and patrolling was that sleep was something that was precious. Director Walsh had scheduled him for a new procedure later that week that might help with that problem, but until then he often had attacks of the yawns.

Tonight was different though. Riley chugged half of his beer and looked around. Graham and Forrest were somewhere in the house, probably adding something nasty to the punch. As for the other partygoers, there was a good cross-section of campus life. Some of which was pond scum, some of which was jocks, some of which was geeks and some of which were… average people. With the occasional hottie thrown in.

Then he caught sight the back of a girl with long blonde hair and he paused. Was that Buffy Summers? Then she turned and started to walk his way. Oh. No. Just some other girl. Was she preening at him? Yes she was. Hum. Predatory eyes too. He didn't remember seeing her on campus much. If at all. She was pale and looked rather pleased with herself, as if… oh crap. Not here. Not now. He tilted his head to one side to rub his neck and in the process glimpsed the side of her neck. There were two white, almost faded, marks there, right about where her jugular was. Would have been if it was still pulsing. Vampire, she had to be. And here he was, in a room full of civilians, no backup, no support, no nothing. Just his wits and his Iowa charm. Time to put the act on. Waiting for the right moment he stepped up to her as she passed, obviously checking around for her next meal.

"Hi there, and what's a lovely lady like you doing on your own?" he asked, laying on the hick impression with a trowel.

She smiled brightly, eyes flickering in assessment and then sipped at her drink in what she obviously thought was a coquettishly way. "Looking for some company. Hi, I'm Harmony."

"And I'm Riley. You like the party so far?"

"Well… it's a party!" And then she laughed, in a slightly over-acting way. Great, he thought, not quite a newbie, but close enough. Let's get her out of here and into a dark corner where I can stake her. Weapons… weapons… he looked down at the nearby table as he laughed with her, his eyes flickering. Crap. The biggest thing there was a plastic knife and the only wooden weapon was a sausage stick. Bit small.

"So what are you studying?" he asked, and noting the faint flicker in her eyes as she made up her next lie.

After a faint pause she said brightly "Geology," with a tone in her voice that said that she was partly telling the truth, but mostly lying. "Lots of rocks!" Then she looked around in what had to be the worst case of acting he'd ever seen. "It's noisy here isn't it? Can we go somewhere quieter?"

He nodded and looked around thoughtfully. "It sure is. There's a bench outside. Want to go out there and talk?"

The predatory glitter returned to her eyes for a second and then she was giving him an insincere smile. "Sounds good to me."

As he ushered her to the door he looked around desperately. Ah. Yes, that would do. He quickly reached out and picked up a long pencil that someone had left next to the visitors' book. He just had to make sure that he hit the right spot.

They moved out into the night, passing groups of people who were drinking some illegal beers and probably smoking something equally illegal. He didn't have to prod the conversation much, because she was deep into inane chatter. My God, the girl could babble for America! She was almost as good as Buffy Summers, or whatsername, Willow, her friend. Off into the shadows. Nice.

* * *

"Parties on the Hellmouth," muttered Buffy sourly. "Great, just great. Watch a bunch of people having a good time, while having to look around for vamps. This sucks."

"You want more fledglings setting up shop in abandoned frat houses?" asked an amused Xander next to her. He had crossed his arms and was looking out at the people across the way with some amusement. "Why not mingle? I think I saw Riley Finn over there earlier."

She perked up slightly. "Riley's over there? Well… I might just wander over. Just to make sure that it's ok there of course."

"Of course," he said, nodding and obviously not believing a word of it. Then he stiffened slightly. "Damn."

"What's wrong?"

"There's a vampire in there."

Buffy muttered a word that her mother would have been traumatised to hear her say. Then: "Where?"

"Lower floor. Just entered. Must have come in from the back."

They both started walking towards the house, surreptiously checking on their weapons as they went. Buffy felt up her sleeve for Mr Pointy, and then put a hand on her bag to make sure that Aquila was there. She noticed Xander putting his right arm out slightly, where a small bulge moved down his sleeve.

"Xander," she started to say, only to be cut off.

"I know, no lightsabring vampires in plain view. We just need to get the vamp into a dark corner and teach it to play nice."

"They never play again after our lessons."

He grinned tightly. "Well, we just have to keep teaching."

By now they were approaching the driveway, where a set of men wearing some sort of frat house badges were drinking beer and laughing a lot over very little. As they came level, one of them stood up, smirked at his buddies and held out a hand. "I'm sorry, this is a private party. Unless you're invited of course."

"We're invited," said Xander, fixing them with a look that just screamed Jedi mind trick. "You can let us go in."

"You're invited," said the guy with a faintly glassy stare, "You can go in."

"That is still sooo cool," hissed Buffy as they hurried in. "Would that work on my mom to let me go clothes shopping?" She caught his expression. "Kidding, much?"

"I know." He looked about. "Oh hell. There. The blond girl leaving with the tall guy."

"He looks… Riley? Damn. Let's go."

They hurried through the crowd, which parted in a rather startled way that suggested that Xander was using the Force a bit, emerging though the door. They both orientated themselves and then went off towards the bench where the other two were heading.

* * *

This is too easy, thought Harmony as she walked and talked with the idiot that she'd picked up. The guy was from the Midwest, his name was Riley, he was naïve or something, or just dumb. Whatever, he was a meal. Yum.

Still talking about whatever might fill the air and calm him down, she turned and faced him once they reached the shadows next to the bench. "So what do you have planned for the rest of the night?" she purred in her best seductive voice.

"Killing vampires," he said in a low voice, and then his arm came around and the next thing she knew her head was snapping back after being hit by a very hard fist. "Ow!" she cried, feeling at her nose. "What are you, a psycho?"

"Just a guy looking at a vampire," he replied, pulling out a pencil. Oh god, what was he going to do, sketch her to death? Then she paused.

"You know about vampires?"

"Like I said, looking at one now."

"Oh." She felt at her face. Ridges and big canines. Not a good look. "Oops." She concentrated hard and everything popped back into place. Then she stopped dead. Someone was coming, two figures were dashing around the corner and…

"Oh, hi Buffy." The other figure was now visible and she felt what remained of her heart drop into her shoes. "Xander!" she squeaked. Oh crap, thank god for the dweeb from Iowa. Hopefully the Slayer and the dork that she now knew was a Jedi wouldn't lightsabre her in front of the hick.

* * *

Crap on a stick, thought Riley as he heard the sound of feet, company. Please let it be Forrest and Graham. He looked over carefully, keeping a wary eye on the HST. Ok, not Forrest or Graham. Just Buffy Summers and the Xander guy. Both of whom were staring hard at the HST.

"Harmony?" said Buffy in a very surprised voice. "I thought you were… I mean at the Graduation ceremony… you…"

"Hello Harmony," said Harris in a voice that was superficially friendly. "I think we need to talk." He turned to Riley and smiled. "Hi, it's Riley Finn isn't it? We need to talk to Harmony here. We haven't seen her in a while and we have a lot of catching up to do. I suggest you get back to your drink at the party."

This sounded perfectly fair to Riley, remembering how he'd left his can of Michelob behind, only it seemed to scare the bejeezus out of the HST, who let out a frightened squeak and backed against the wall. Jumping slightly at the sound Riley paused for a moment and then shook his head distractedly. What had that been about? He couldn't leave two civilians alone with a HST!

"I know what you're trying to do!" wailed the vampire, looking flustered, "And and, don't you dare! When my boyfriend gets hold of you he'll… he'll…"

"Boyfriend?" asked Buffy in a very sceptical voice, "Being who exactly?"

The HST drew herself up. "He calls himself Spike," she said proudly, "And once we find the whatsname of Amara… he'll pay you a visit."

I need to get a hold of this situation, thought Riley desperately, clutching surreptiously at his pencil, get rid of Buffy and Harris, both of whom were scowling heavily now, stake the HST and then get my beer back. He wondered about the beer part, as he keep thinking that he needed to be in the party, as if some unspoken order was urging him away.

At that point there was another interruption, when a pair of amorous students staggered around the corner whilst attempting to remove each others tonsils with their tongues. When they realised that they had company they stopped, swaying slightly, the girl looked at the boy and giggled, before whispering something in his ear, licking it for good measure and then staggering off with him in the other direction.

"Damn," said Harris testily, and Riley looked around to see that the HST had vanished around the side of the building and was nowhere to be seen. He looked at Riley and smiled warily. "I wanted to have a word with her. Haven't seen her since graduation. And I haven't heard from Spike in, well, ages." His eyes swept the area. "Buffy, we need to put the word out that our, um, former school friend is around. And Mr Finn?"

"Yes?" Harris's eyes were hard and flinty again.

"Harmony Kendall is not a nice person. I'd avoid her if I was you. You might… catch something."

Buffy muttered something about catching god knows what from her and then the two were gone, walking off quickly into the night. Riley looked after them with some bemusement, still fingering his pencil. Ok, they didn't seem to like the HST, who was definitely a fledgling given that they knew its name. But she was still a danger to them, so their warning was ironic to say the least.

He stalked back inside and got his beer, before looking for his friends. A quick call to the Initiative's main office was called for – he had to call in that HST sighting ASAP. Otherwise Buffy and Harris would be RIP.

* * *

"Spike. Harmony and Spike. Spike and Harmony. Sounds like a match made in hell," said Xander as they walked around the campus. "If it is Spike, AKA William the Bloody, that is. And what's the whatsname of Amara?" He looked around. "I can't sense her – she was going like a bat out of hell the last time I sensed her. Using the Force to detect long-range vampires is tricky. There's a lot of background nastiness."

"I don't like the fact that she was trying to get Riley on his own," grumbled Buffy. "She always was easy."

"I think she was looking for an easy meal," replied the Jedi wryly. "Mr Iowa might not be as dumb as he looks though – he was holding a pencil in a rather aggressive manner. I don't know, there's something odd about that man."  
"I think he's cute," disagreed the Slayer, looking around with a sigh. "You're right, she's gone. We need to warn everyone that we can that Cordelia's leading Cordette is now officially a skanky vampire. I never liked her anyway."

"Well, she died on Graduation Day. We had other things on our minds that day. Warn people first and tell Giles second?"

"Sounds good to me," said Buffy, and stalked off.

* * *

"Amara?" said the two Watchers in almost identical tones of astonishment, mixed with amusement, bemusement and bafflement.

"I take it that the word rings a bell," said Xander wryly, looking at the pair of them. Would he sound like that one day? Well, apart from the accent of course.

Wesley and Giles exchanged a long glance, the younger Watcher rubbing at his bandages in an absent-minded way through the sheets on his hospital bed. Then Giles raised his arms in a gesture of bafflement. "Buffy, the only Amara I can think of is the Gem of Amara. It's the vampire equivalent of the Holy Grail, a, a ring with a gem mounted within it that gives a vampire certain powers, like the ability to walk in the sunlight, the ability to regenerate from wounds in a matter of seconds, even survive staking, although not to survive decapitation. Or the ability to regrow limbs as far as I'm aware of."

"It's a vampire myth," said Wesley dismissively, "Something that's been floating around for years. Every now and then a vampire goes off looking for it based on some very spurious information and digs up some field in outer Mongolia or somewhere, falls into a crack in the ground, or gets impaled on a tree root or something and is never heard of again."

"Ok, so maybe it's a myth," said Buffy seriously, "But it's a myth that's brought Spike back to Sunnydale. And that should be worrying."

"If it's him," objected Giles. "We have only the word of a rather dim cheerleader turned vampire that Spike is in town."

"Would any other vampire call itself Spike?" asked Buffy derisively. "Guys, this is the Hellmouth we're talking about. If this ring thingy is the vampire equivalent of the Holy Hand Grenade-"

"Grail," said Giles in pained tones.

"Grail, grenade, whatever, then where else but Sunnydale would you hide it?" She took a deep breath. "Plus if this is Spike this is the kind of thing that he'd go for. The power you mentioned, he'd be up for it."

"What's he like?" asked Faith, speaking up for the first time in a while. Xander turned his head to one side and looked at her carefully. The dark-haired Slayer had been very quiet all night. Come to think of it she'd been very quiet since the confrontation with Molniar. This was bad.

"Spike? Spike is…" Buffy pondered for the right words. "A cunning blond weasel. Vicious, intelligent, nasty when cornered, smells like a cigarette factory, yuck, good fighter, sounds very Londony, you know, cockney, wears a long black leather coat, and is major league bad news. Can I repeat the bit about being a cunning blond weasel? Oh and he's normally around his girlfriend Drusilla, whose mental cookies have _long_ since fallen off her plate. I wonder where she is, if Harmony's going around claiming to be Spike's girl. Did I miss anything out?"

"Not really," said Giles thoughtfully.

"Oh and he's a planner. I mean, he always has options. Realistic too. If he can't win he'll back away for another go some other time."

"A very good summary Buffy," said Giles, smiling wryly. "Yes, very good."

"So there's a good chance that if he's here, it's for a concrete reason," Xander mused. "Such as something like the Gem of Amara?"

The two Watchers exchanged another long glance. It was as if they were communing by telepathy, or by Englishness. Or Watcher-speak. "Possibly," Giles conceded, and pulled his glasses off for a quick, rather worried, polish. "There are a number of texts that mention Amara, and I'll do some research. Um, some of them are quite rare or are hard to translate, so I'm not sure how long it might take. Not too long, I hope. Wesley, I'll probably need you to look through the Scroll of Camlodunum. I'll bring it round. Wretched thing gives me a headache."

The other Watcher nodded sombrely. "You might want to consult the Glevum Codex as well," he said quietly, "As I think that there's a mention in there as well."

"Ok. In the meantime I think we others need to keep out ears to the ground and our eyes open. Or is that a mixed metaphor? Whatever. Let's be careful out there people," ordered Xander.

* * *

"Faith."

The voice came from behind her as she walked down the corridor and she stopped and sighed slightly. "Hey Xand."

"You okay?"

Damn. "Fine, JX, fine. Just got a lot on my mind."

The Jedi strode up to her and tilted his head as he directed one of his long, slow, looks at her that seemed to pass straight through her body and focus on her very soul before looking away. "Come on Faith, this is me you're talking to. What's really up?"

Damn 2. She looked at him carefully. "Just thinking… I mean, on what Buffy was talking about with Spike, how dangerous he is…" She clenched her fists, suddenly angry. Then she caught herself and stopped. Closing her eyes she let out a long breath. When she opened them again the Jedi was looking at her, his brow furrowed.

"A word," he said, jerking his head at a nearby bench on the wall and then going over to sit on it. She hesitated for a long moment and then joined him. "Now what's wrong? Tell Uncle Obi-Wan. Or would you prefer my impression of Master Yoda?" He hunched down and held up three fingers that wrapped around an invisible stick. "Troubled you are," he squeaked, "Much to learn about a poker face you have."

The laugh exploded out of her like a shell, unexpected and doubly welcome. She shook her head as she looked at him fondly and then made a decision.

"I screwed up," she said bitterly.

"When?"

"In the mansion place. With Molniar. I should… I should have stayed with the others, not gone off checking the place out. Stupid. If I'd been there…"

"You might have been the one shot, not Wesley. Or he might have shot you both and then taken Willow. You can't say what would have happened. Maybe you made a mistake, but maybe you also did the right thing. It was a big place and he was a demon that we'd never met before. Faith, life is not something that comes with a rewind button, no matter how much we might wish that it did. And don't forget that you saved Wesley's life. If you hadn't been there to staunch that wound, Oz would never have been able to stabilise him. You did a good thing."

"Yeah, but-"

"But nothing. You did the right thing. That counts for a hell of a lot, Faith."

"Yeah but – let me finish – Xander, it was touch and go. I wanted to go after that bastard so much… he shot my Watcher and he had Red, and he was just such a slimebag… I wanted to go after him and rip his limbs off. That was all I felt for a moment. Nothing but hate. I just wanted to go after him. I almost did it too." She closed her eyes and grimaced. "I almost left my Watcher to die."

"But you didn't," said Xander softly. He looked down at his feet. "It's a fine line between one decision and another. Sometimes it's a matter of subconscious thought. Impulses, desires, against the conscious mind. Giles once mentioned someone called Karl Jung to me. Guy was a shrink, but less obsessed with sex than Freud. Jung believed that we all have shadows in our minds – the nasty parts of us, the dark parts of us."

He looked at her. "Sometimes who we are depends on how we react to those shadows. Some of us embrace them, and fall to the dark side. Anger, hate, jealousy. Yeuch. But some of us fight them. We acknowledge that they exist and we _fight_ them, _battle_ them, shove them away. It can start off like a daily fight. But it can end up like a long-term victory."

She felt a tear roll down her cheek and she raised a shaking hand to brush it away. "I need to keep my shadows at bay," she mumbled after a long moment. Then, after a long moment of indecision: "Will you help me?"

"Faith you're my friend. You don't need to ask. I'll help you any way I can."

"Thank you."

"Any time." They sat there for a moment and then he stood up. "Come on, we have things to do. And I need to talk to you about a man called Anakin Skywalker, who had very similar issues to yours."

* * *

The FedEx guy looked lost and angry as Riley approached the main reception desk and seemed to be majorly annoyed with the receptionist.

"I'm sorry sir, but Mr Giles cannot be contacted right now and his assistant Mr Harris is unavailable," she said tartly.

"Well, if you won't sign for it, who will?" he asked angrily. "I still don't see why you can't-"

"As I said earlier, it isn't policy when it comes for objects for Mr Giles – it has to be signed for by him, or his assistant, or by a lecturer or teaching assistant. All you have to do is deliver it to the library to get it signed for."

"Look lady, I've got schedule to keep and I'm going to be running late if I'm not fast here. Besides, if he can't be contacted then who's going to sign for it at the library?"

"I can sign for it," said Riley, doing his best to look helpful. "Riley Finn, teaching assistant."

The receptionist shot a very grateful look his way and perked up. The FedEx guy sighed with relief and shoved a clipboard at him, waited until he had signed, thrust the package into his hands and then took off at a brisk trot.

Riley looked down at the package. It was large and heavy and had been packed up by a professional, with a lot of duct tape. Peering down at the label he could see that it had been sent by someone called Richard Emsworth, resident of Cheshire, England, United Kingdom. "I'll try the main staff room. They've been having trouble with the telephone there apparently," he said.

"I know, some kind of fault on the line. Building services are working on it. Thanks Riley."

"No problem," he said, smiled and moved off.

* * *

She picked up her tea, stirred it briskly and then sipped. Perfect. It was nice to be able to take a break every now and then, even though it meant venturing into the staff room. Some of the lecturers were a bit odd. McReady for example had never really recovered from the fall of the USSR. She knew for a fact that the FBI had labelled him a harmless nut, but it paid to be careful. As for old Channing, he was just doddering, Mellor was a freak and Grainger was an acerbic freak.

Then there were the pair of Englishmen, Giles and Wyndham-Pryce. Both were intelligent, cultured, very well educated and rather too close-mouthed for comfort sometimes. Giles was there now, sitting in a chair by the window, and reading a large book that seemed to be written in Latin. Wyndham-Pryce had been injured in some sort of accident and was in hospital.

She paused. A quick search of their records – she always did this with new colleagues – had revealed nothing very much, apart from some evidence of a rather interesting, and somewhat chequered, past when Giles had been quite young. Apart from that – nothing.

Maggie Walsh paused and then looked over to the door, where someone had knocked. "Come," she said crisply. The door opened to reveal Agent Finn. He was holding a large package.

"Sorry to bother you, but there's a package here for Mr Giles. I had to sign for it," he said, looking over at the British man.

"Ah!" exclaimed the man, standing up quickly and hurrying over. "Yes, thank you. It's Riley isn't it? Yes, thank you very much. Splendid." He took the package and inspected it carefully. "I was expecting this tomorrow. Nice to have something arrive ahead of schedule." Tucking his book under one arm he smiled and then left, carrying the package with an air of suppressed triumph.

Maggie looked at his retreating back wryly. Dismissing Finn with a cool nod she sipped some more tea. Mr Giles was an interesting man. Still, there was nothing really to worry about there. Then her mind slipped back to her little project. The arrest of her sponsor Harry Maybourne the previous year on charges that were damn silly had dented the amount of influence she had with certain areas of the intelligence community. Fortunately the NID had tendrils all over the place and she should be able to get some of the parts that she needed, like the power unit, without much difficulty. As for the rest… well, she already had the main torso, the legs, part of one arm and most of the other. The head would need partial replacing though. Team Three had lost Sergeant Hurling the other day, and she'd been able to keep hold of his head. Keeping the parts in cryogenics wasn't hard. It was going to be joining everything together that would be the tricky bit. Nerve endings had to be connected, using a procedure that was still very untested. Luckily she had a Goa'uld hand device in her possession. Using it wasn't easy – in fact it was damn hard – but it could be used in short bursts. Injecting herself with the protein marker from a dead Goa'uld had been worth it in the long run. She sipped her tea again, lost in the endless list of things to do, things that had to be obtained, planned for… and experimented on. After all, you never knew what was going to be dragged in through the door by one of her people.

* * *

Spike looked gloomily at the chest full of shiny, glittering objects and sighed. There had to be at least several dozen rings with large gems in there at least. Plus all kinds of gold chains, and enough stuff to satisfy even Liberace, but the rings were the important part. Whoever had lived in this crypt last – and there had been some crumbling bones and a skull of something nasty in the chair that he was now sitting on – had had the instincts of a bleeding magpie. Every other crypt in the tunnels had been looted and the contents brought back to this room. And that included the small, almost pathetic, stone coffin that had the badly eroded word "Amara" carved on it in Greek symbols. The fact that Spike could read them was due to the excellent education that his mother had instilled.

So. The Gem of Amara was somewhere in the room. The room that contained dozens of chests, all stuffed with items that glittered and shone and sparkled and were a bloody pain for the eye to see.

The description that he'd seen of it was a bit lacking in details, so picking it out was right out. He had no real flair for magic, so that was out as well. That just left doing things the old-fashioned way – picking up each sodding ring, trying it on, seeing if anything happened and then in lieu of nothing, moving on to the next sodding one.

"This is going to take an age and a half," he muttered. Ah well, there was always Harmony to help out. She was busy changing her clothes for the third time that day. Probably feeling frisky as well. She was the most sex-obsessed, fashion-conscious vampire that he'd ever known. Shame she was so bloody annoying with it. He'd almost miss her once they found the ring and he had reduced her to motes of dust floating in the air.

* * *

The barman looked at the pint glass thoughtfully. Not quite clean enough. He spat against a particularly tough stain and then rubbed it with the cloth he was carrying. Ah. Perfect. Reaching down he stored it away under the countertop. When he came back up again the door was closing and Summers and Harris were standing there at the entrance to the pub. To one side the bouncer was staring somewhat blankly at the wall and mouthing something.

"Hello boys," said Summers and a stunned, disbelieving silence descended on the room filled with vampires and demons. One thin, very pale, vampire moaned slightly and the barman looked down at the floor beneath the chair the vampire was sitting. That might need a mop. Then his gaze returned to the pair at the doorway. The Slayer was cleaning her fingernails with the tip of a very sharp sword, whilst the Jedi was just standing there, his arms tucked into his sleeves, a neutral expression on his face. He looked almost bored, which was, the barman knew, an act. The guy was all too focussed.

"Ummm, can I help you?" asked the barman in a very thin voice.

"Sure you can," said Summers in a voice that sounded friendly but wasn't. "An old pal of mine is in town. He's called Spike. Has anyone seen him?"

"Spike…" he muttered, cursing the very day that the mad blond idiot had walked back into town. What the hell was he going to say?" "He was in here a week ago. Hasn't been back since."

"What did he want?" asked the Jedi, musingly.

"Looking for some muscle. A few minions. Had to tell him that the old crowd wasn't around any more."

"Why not?"

"You two killed them all or drove them away."

Summer's eyebrows went up. "Nice to know we're unappreciated. Did he leave with anyone?"

"Some girl called Harmony. Very annoying. Vampire too."

There was a scraping noise at the back of the room, and the barman closed his eyes and grimaced as a low rough voice said: "She Slayer? Why fear? Why not kill?" Damn. The hicks from morontown had noticed the newcomers.

There was a thump and then a tall, heavily muscled demon, with green skin and massive fists stepped out of the alcove that it had been sitting it. Stretching out its arms it entwined its fingers and then flexed them slightly, so that unpleasant cracking noises filled the air. "Slayer play with me?" it leered.

"I'd leave her alone if I was you," called out Harris from the entrance. "You might find her a bit indigestible. Plus she'd open a can of whupass on you."

"Silence boy," sneered the demon. Several vampires in the vicinity winced and shook their heads, whilst the Jedi stared back at the demon. "I kill you first, make Slayer watch. Then I kill Slayer." Massive leg muscles flexed and then the demon flung itself in the air, tucking itself into a roll and then landing in front of the Jedi, as vicious talons sprang into view at the end of its hands and on its feet, making it come to an immediate stop at the expense of some badly scraped tiles on the floor.

Harris looked up at it. "You might want to reconsider this. I don't respond well to demons trying to wear my spleen like a paper hat."

But the demon ignored him. "Blood," it bellowed, bringing its arms around and then… The lightsabre came on with an instant hiss, blurred in the air faster than any eye could see, and then Harris was stepping back.

The demon stood there, seemingly frozen on the spot for a long moment, and then it… crumbled, falling into half a dozen cauterised pieces on the floor. The lightsabre flicked off. "Well, I did warn him," said the Jedi, returning his weapon to his belt. "Anyone else?" He looked around, staring hard at the alcove that the demon had come from. Apparently the other occupants were too busy gaping to protest, although by the retching noise he could hear, at least one had not reacted well to the incident. The barman swallowed. Fine.

* * *

"Ow."

"Well?"

"Nope."

"Well try another."

"Ok… Ow."

"Can't you hurry up? I'm going twice as fast as you."

"It hurts!"

"It's a bloody pinprick! From a pin!"

"It still hurts though!"

"So? You're a vampire now!"

"Hello? It still hurts!"

Spike looked at the blonde vampire next to him as she stared with great distaste at the pin in her hand and muttered about it being dirty. The concept of hygiene was not lost on him, but tetanus and blood poisoning were both things that would never bother her, at least not unless they were from mystical germs.

Growling to himself he jabbed his hand with his own hand, which was now covered in tiny specks of blood. Then he looked at the tiny blob that was welling up from the skin. Nope. He pulled the ring off his finger, tossed it to one side into an empty sarcophagus and selected another ring from the pile in front of them, before jamming it onto his little finger, that being the only one small enough to fit. Out with the pin, quick jab, still bleeding damn it, off with the ring, on with another one… this was incredibly dull.

He suppressed a sigh of entirely useless air. The Gem of bloody Amara had to be around here somewhere, it had to be. The reference in the book had said a ring, and the former owner of the chamber had been a bloody civil servant for all he knew – all the treasure and trinkets and dross and real stuff was sorted by type. Great, wonderful, that meant that it cut down on the searching. But it also meant that they had to sort through it all and test every bloody ring until they found it. Throwing another one into the discard pile he grabbed randomly, put the ring on, and jabbed. Nope.

"Ow… honey?"

"What is it?" Jab. Nope.

"Look at my hand."

He looked over crossly and then went very still. "Bloody hell." Her hand was unblemished. On one finger he could see a ring with a greenish gem embedded in it. "You found it!"

"Wow…" she said, holding her hand up to the light so that she could see the ring better. "It's very boring. Why isn't it shinier?"

Spike smiled at her, his hand reaching out behind her to grab at the stake that she'd been babbling on about earlier. Something about a weapon that could be used without getting splinters. He had a vague idea that she was talking about polishing it a lot, although what a vampire was doing with a stake he had no idea. He suspected that she had no idea either. Then he reached out with one hand and wrenched it off her finger, making her cry out in pain. And whilst she was looking at her injured finger he drove the stake into her back, aiming straight for the heart.

* * *

"Typical," snorted Anya as they walked down the dusty, rubble-strewn tunnel, "We do all the research, spending half our time sneezing over dusty old books, and it turns that what we should have been doing was watching television for news reports about subsidence. Absolutely typical." She hefted the sword she was carrying from one shoulder to another and swung the big maglite torch experimentally. "Hey, you could do some serious damage with these things."

"I don't seem to recall you doing much of the research," Xander said wryly, as he walked ahead of the small group, using the Force to scan the area. All he was picking up so far was one vampire. One sad vampire. One sad, rather pathetic, vampire. Somehow he didn't think that it was Spike. Harmony maybe?

"Well, I think that we were close to narrowing the area down anyway when we saw the report," said Giles with a slight hint of defensiveness.

"To within a five-mile area! That's a lot of potential tunnels. Oh yuck, more spiders." The former demon stamped viciously and something crunched beneath her boot. Then she stopped dead, causing Jonathan and Willow to bump into her. "Does that look like rabbit droppings?" she asked in a quavering voice.

Oz leant forwards and peered. "Look's like the pieces of a finger. Very bony."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes." He straightened up and looked at her quizzically before trading puzzled glances with Xander. "Are you ok? You seem afraid."

She shuddered and then rehefted the sword onto the other shoulder again. "I don't like bunnies," she said firmly. "They scare me. And as we're underground and they tunnel a lot, I thought that one might have made it in here."

"You're a former vengeance demon who's afraid of rabbits," said Giles in a flat voice. "How very… singular."

"Listen, if you'd once seen a bunny fly through the air and rip out a knight's throat before chewing his head off, you'd be scared of the things too!" She shuddered. "Caerbannog. Poor Bors…"

"What on earth are you-"

"Much as I hate to break up this zoological moment in time," broke in Xander sarcastically, "Can I remind you that we are here to track down two vampires and retrieve the Gem of Amara? Speaking of which, I'm only picking up one vampire up ahead. Still, we go on from here in silence. If that's not too much trouble?"

There was a moment of collective foot shuffling on the part of Anya and Giles, whilst Jonathan coughed briefly and Oz and Willow smothered smiles.

"Good. Said vampire has a bad attack of the blues, so my money's on Harmony being there. Keep your eyes open though. If Spike has found the Gem, he might be immune to being sensed with the Force, or he might have some odd new powers. Best not to take any chances."

They moved out along the tunnel, passing dark and empty doorways to long-forgotten crypts, catching glimpses of broken coffins, shards of bone, fragments of parchment, the detritus of hundreds of years of the heavy, indiscriminate, hand of time. After a while they could see a faint flicker of light up ahead and Xander raised a hand carefully. Slowly they approached the lit doorway, and as they did they could hear the occasional soft sob.

When Xander peered around the doorway he saw Harmony Kendall. She was sitting on a chair, crying into a small lace handkerchief and looking utterly bereft. The room seemed to be filled with glittering objects, gold, silver, gems of all sizes. It looked like the stronghold of a mad magpie.

Xander pulled out his lightsabre and stepped into the room, his lightsabre humming into life as he did. Harmony looked up at the sound and just looked at him. "Oh, it's you," she said dismally.

"Ok," said Xander, "I was expecting a _little_ more of a reaction than that. Especially given the fact that the last time we met you were about to wet yourself."

Harmony sniffed and blew her nose. Then she looked up again. "Being a vampire sucks. You get all this strength, but there are Slayers who are just as strong, and the next thing you know dorks like you are going around with lightsabres, and my boyfriend stole my ring and then he tried to kill me … what do I have to do to get someone to stay with me?"

"Not killing people would be a good start." Xander looked at her. "Does Spike have the Gem of Amara?"

"Yes," she said pouting. "I would have given him the stupid thing anyway, but he pulled it off my finger just after I found it. Then he stuck this stake in my back, only he didn't know that it was this fake plastic one I found. Looks much better."

"Why would a vampire need a plastic stake?" mumbled Giles in the corridor.

"I thought I'd fight stakes with stakes. Whatever."

"Harmony – where is Spike?" asked Xander warningly.

"Gone. Said something about killing Buffy."

Xander pulled his cellphone from his pocket and tossed it to Oz, who took off down the corridor in search of the entrance and a good signal like a bat out of hell, running with the aid of the Force so that his footsteps faded rapidly. Giles blinked slightly. "I take it he's going to warn Buffy?"

"Oh yes." Xander looked back just time to see Harmony's head vanishing down a hole in the ground. "Goddamn it, that's the second time she's escaped. We'll catch her eventually. Giles we need to get out of here. Oh and I'll block up this passage as we go – some of those gems might come in useful. Plus we don't know what's in that little lot."

"I agree," said Giles tersely as they all hurried back along the corridor, "There are enough objects there to keep Room 42 going for ages." As they ran back up the corridor Xander used the force to bring part of the roof down, sending a cloud of billowing dust after them as they headed towards the light. Xander had a very bad feeling about this.

* * *

"That was a very odd lecture," muttered Buffy to Amy as they left the hall. "You'd think that he was trying to bore us to death. That or he was falling asleep."

The witch grinned at her. "Rumour has it that he's seeing Professor Chang. You know, that half-chinese professor who keeps wearing skirts that are ten years too old for her."

Buffy pulled a face. "Eeeuuwww! I so did not want to hear that. It's bad enough that we now know that Giles has sex, I don't want to know about Professor Campbell!" She shuddered again for emphasis and then paused. Her phone was ringing. "I'll catch you later," she said and then answered it as Amy waved and headed off to her next lecture.

"Hey Xander – oh! Oz! What are you doing on Xander's cellphone? You're where? Uhuh. Right. Bollocks. Yes, I'm channeling Giles again. Yes, I'll take care. Thanks for warning me." She disconnected and looked around with sharp eyes. Looking for a vampire in full sunlight was an odd feeling. It didn't help that there were so many people hurrying around, heading for their next lecture, or back to their dorms, or off to the cafeteria… She could see a flash of blonde hair up ahead and tensed slightly before relaxing. Oh, it was just a girl.

She hefted her bag effortlessly, felt into it carefully and slipped Mr Pointy up her sleeve. It never hurt to be too careful. Then she walked over to the main steps by the Science Building and continued to look around. Still nothing. Maybe she was being paranoid. She shook her head wryly. No, with Spike it was better to be paranoid. She had bad memories of some of his little surprises. Then she paused, masking the moment with a scratch of the head. She had the oddest feeling that she was being watched. Aha.

Buffy turned and walked off towards the edge of the building, pulling her cellphone out and opening it. Oops, signal but little power remaining. She really should have recharged it earlier. Putting it back in her pocket she looked around again. Damn, if Spike had the Gem of Amara, she might be in trouble. If the myths about it were real…

She sensed the movement a split second before she saw it out of the corner of her eye, a boot flying straight at her face. Her hands came up just as quickly, grabbing the boot, bleeding off the momentum as she lunged backwards, before she rammed one hand up at the base of the boot and the other out to one side to connect with…

Spike screamed briefly as he fly over her, his black coat flapping and then rolled to one side before coming up again, his face losing its pained flush. He shook his trousers out and then looked down at his crotch. "Didn't know you liked that part, Slayer," he leered.

"Want me to punch it better?" she replied.

"Ooh, promises promises. Won't matter a bloody thing now that I have this." And he held his hand out to show a gold ring with a green gem embedded in it.

"Very nice," said Buffy, looking at it dismissively, "Did it come in a packet of cereal?"

Spike laughed gratingly again. "No, it's the full Monty, love, as you'll find out when I break your neck." He darted forwards without warning, his hands reaching out but she had been expecting it and she ducked slightly, her joined fists impacting on his chest - not enough to push him away but just enough to divert him to one side. He grunted slightly with surprise but spun just enough to get her on the side of the head with one fist as she moved to try and get behind him. It was enough to make her blink and by the time she had pulled Mr Pointy out completely he had turned to face her and was coming at her again. She blocked one blow with her forearm, blocked another with her other arm and then kicked hard at his chest, sending him reeling back. But then he was coming forwards again, grinning like a madman.

"Don't you get it, Slayer? Anything you do heals at once!" His fist flew through the air, but she tugged her head to one side so that it missed and then grabbed his arm and pulled it down hard on her upcoming knee. There was a strained cracking noise and he winced, before breaking free and walking back a step, massaging his arm. "Nice move," he said mockingly and then extended his hurt arm, opening and closing it rapidly. "Shame I've got this ring that heals me. Like I said: Don't you get it?"

Again he came at her, punches flying faster than ever and she found herself on the back foot, blocking, jabbing and kicking her way to just defending herself. He had been feeling his way until now and he was giving it all. She blocked one fist but failed to duck quite in time against the other, because suddenly she was flying backwards, almost forgetting to roll when she impacted the sidewalk. When she came up again she could feel something running down her face, leaving a coppery taste in her mouth. By the feel of it he'd grazed her with the damn ring!

Spike looked at the fragment of skin on the ring and then sucked it noisily off it with a grin. "Yum," he said gloatingly. "You have no idea how long I've been waiting to do this. Do you know that I've killed two Slayers before this? You make the lucky third."

"In your dreams," she said grimly and then went on the offensive, striking for his eyes. He blocked her hard but still went backwards, his hands instinctively protecting his eyes, obviously afraid of what Mr Pointy might do, Gem of Amara or not. Which of course left his chest wide open, for her to ram the stake into his heart…

But instead of being dusted he just stood there, chuckling. Then he pulled Mr Pointy out and threw it to one side. "Doesn't work," he said, chidingly. The skin where the stake had pierced was rippling over the hole fast, until there was nothing left but an unblemished surface. Damn. Whoever Amara was, he had been quite good. Or rather, bad.

The vampire chose that moment to go feral on her, letting his demon face come out. "I'm going to drink your blood, Slayer," he said… and then a black boot came out of nowhere to catch him in the middle of his back and send him sprawling. The boot was attached to a black-clad leg, which was attached to Faith, who fell back, one fist up and the other hand clutching her favourite knife.

"Hey B, how'ya doing?"

"Not so good against the amazing self-healing vampire here," she said, smiling at her fellow Slayer.

"Oz called me to say that you might need backup. Two of us now, we'll put him in the ground," grinned Faith.

This got a loud laugh from Spike, who was watching them both carefully. "Oh please! Great, two for the price of one! I kill you two, that just leaves the Jedi to take care of. You just made my job easier girlie," he spat at Faith, who grinned lazily.

"Spike, right? My old Watcher once told me about you. Heard a rumour that you were once a poet before you got bitten and became gnarly."

Spike went very still. "Where did you hear that?"

"Like I said, from my old Watcher."

"I'm going to pull your bloody heart out for that. I hate people knowing about the dark and nasty bits of my former life."

"Come and get it, big boy."

He lunged forwards, only to pull his head back at the last moment to avoid the knife, which came down and then around at a speed that showed that Faith had been taking lessons off Xander again. Faith's knee came up to block a flailing foot and then she spun to deliver a roundhouse punch that sent Spike flying back. He recovered instantly and came at her again, showering blows that she was just barely able to block, while at the same time only just avoiding the slashes from her knife. It was fast, it was brutal… and Faith had bought her the time that she needed. Buffy came up from a crouch to her full height in an instant and then delivered a kick that caught him in the right hand side of the back and caught him completely by surprise. As he lurched back both Slayers hit him at the same time, jabbing and slashing, forcing him backwards… until he flashed foot out, which smashed into Faith on her knee and caused her to grunt with pain. His other foot came up, caught her shoulder and sent her spinning away to one side, whilst his elbow came down in an attempt to drive Buffy to her knees. But at the same time she jabbed upwards to meet the blow, their arms met with a jarring impact, locked around and then he grabbed her hand and flung her through the air.

She hit the ground hard but when she looked up she was grinning. "What can you possibly be smiling about, Slayer?" he taunted. "I've got you beat."

"I'm just waiting for the sun to out from behind that cloud," she said.

"Sun can't hurt me!" He crowed.

"Want to bet?" And then she held up the ring that she had slipped off his finger during that last impact.

He stared at it almost comically, then at the finger where it had been, and then back at her. "Bugger." As the sunlight started to stream through the torn wisps of cloud, and as the smoke started to rise from the vampire, he was off at a run, the leather coat coming up to cover his face. He had quite a good turn of speed and left a small but significant trail of smoke that led straight to an open manhole, into which he jumped.

"He runs pretty good," conceded Faith, rubbing her knee carefully and then flexing her leg with a slight wince.

"He'll be back," said Buffy, walking over to pick up Mr Pointy and then going over to help her fellow Slayer up. "You ok?"

"Knee got dinged slightly but no big deal. Won't be long before I'm five by five again. We not going after him?"

"Spike, in the sewers he virtually made his own the other year, with his pride hurt and his skin scalded? No way, he turns at bay like a rat on amphetamines. Besides," she lifted the ring, "We need to get this somewhere very safe. If word gets out that we have the Gem of Amara, every scuzzball vampire in the world's going to come after us, looking for it."

"So what do we do with it?"

"We send it somewhere safe." She paused and took a deep breath. "We send it to Angel."

* * *

Lindsey opened the door to his apartment and walked in. Everything was just as he had left it. Putting his bag down he glanced to one side. His suit was hanging from a door handle, neatly cleaned and pressed. Well, Rove's secretary was very efficient. He sighed slightly, picked it up by the hanger and walked into the bedroom where he opened the wardrobe and deposited it. Serried ranks of other suits were hung there, along with some less formal clothes. "Lindsey MacDonald, attorney at law," he muttered wryly. Then he shook himself and walked into the bathroom, where he put the plug into the bath and opened up the faucets. Good, nice and hot. He walked over to the mirror by the sink and looked into it, wincing slightly at the sight of the red mark that went laterally across his forehead. Good thing they'd used those binding thingies – there wouldn't be a scar.

As he undressed and got into the bath his mind kept wandering. His life seemed to be rather insane just now. The bits about Wolfram & Hart had been absorbed and rationalised by his brain some time ago, but the bits about the Jedi – and Harris at least seemed to be one – were still freaking him out. And still there was that vague feeling that something was very wrong, that he was missing something major, that someone had given him a piece of information that he had forgotten… He just had no idea what.

When, after a long, long, brood in the bath, he got out and towelled himself off, he wandered into the bedroom and looked around dully. If someone had walked in off the street and entered this place he would bet money that they wouldn't have the first damn idea who it belonged too. There was nothing of him, really, here. He sighed again and went hunting for some clothes. Underpants, socks, t-shirt, jeans, shirt. He felt like going back to his roots today. Or rather this evening.

Which reminded him – he was hungry. And after a few days of hospital food, he was hungry for real food. He walked into the kitchen and pulled open the fridge. Then he pulled a face. Not a lot there, apart from some Chinese takeaway that had, well, at best congealed. Yuck. Pulling out his cellphone he called the local pizza place and ordered a medium pepperoni with mushrooms, green peppers and onions. As he waited for it to arrive he channel surfed for a while. Deaths in third world countries, minor political scandals, bad films, good films, nutcases promising eternal salvation, the same old crap. When the pizza arrived – delivered by a nervous guy who seemed very keen to get away before the sun went down – he ate it voraciously along with a beer, whilst laughing at The Life Of Brian.

Always look on the bright side of life. Wasn't that his motto sometimes? You had to, working for Wolfram & Hart. That thing was still nagging at the back of his head and he walked over to the balcony door, which he pulled open. The sun was setting over Sunnydale. Almost time for the vampires to come out and play. And the demons, although they didn't need to wait for the sun to go down obviously. Life on the Hellmouth. Welcome to Sunnydale.

Slamming the door behind him he paused as he walked by his bed. His guitar was just visible inside his closet. A faint smile crossed his face and then he pulled it out. Sitting on his bed he brushed his fingers across the strings. Damn, the e-string was a tad out. He tuned it carefully and then stroked a chord out of it. Perfect. But the sound sparked something. A memory… something to do with life in LA. It had been a few months back… singing, that was it. He'd been singing at… Caritas! Why had he remembered that? Something… something that the Host had said. That night he had read him!

Lindsey MacDonald froze, his hands clutching the guitar. What had the Host said? He paused, his mind accessing the old lawyer's trick of unlocking memories of what people had said.

"Something's changed within you. You know that. The only problem is, I'm not the person to tell you what it is. You've met him already, that's all I can tell you. And you're going to have to make a choice at some point. That being real soon. The kind of choice that changes your life and takes you down a new road, to a place that you didn't see coming." And then: "The Force is with you."

He just sat there, staring at the wall. For once in life he had clue what to do. But he did have this vague feeling that something had turned inside him, like a key in a lock.

* * *

Spike was in a very bad mood as he opened the manhole cover and looked around. It was dark outside. Bleeding marvellous, he could get out of these smelly sewers. He must have been somewhere near one of the chemical labs, because something smelled very toxic down one of the tunnels and he was still having a hard time scraping it off his boot. The problem with running very fast in tunnels was that you couldn't swerve properly sometimes.

Climbing up and out he paused to get his bearings. Brilliant, he was on the wrong side of the campus. If he went through the bloody place there was a good chance that he might bump into the Slayers or the Jedi, and that would be very bad. That meant a long diversion around. He wasn't using the sewers again any time soon. Those places were just vile. Than again, they had kept him alive.

As he strode off he felt at the finger where the ring had been. Sod. Sod, sod and sod again. He had been wearing the Gem of Amara! He'd been delivering a right thumping to the Slayers! And then Buffy bloody Summers had got sneaky on him. It wasn't fair!

Still, the game wasn't over yet. There was only one place that they would send the ring to – or rather one person. The ponce in LA. And Angel could be watched, some help could be recruited and then when the time was right, his grandsire would be dust and the ring would be back in his hands. Or rather on his finger.

"I'll soon be the big bad here again," he muttered gleefully. "Just a matter of time."

He had passed the entrance to one of the parks and now he leapt up to hurdle the railings, landing by a bush and then walking on. A faint rustle to one side caught his ear and he looked over sharply. A bush was quivering slightly, which was odd because there was almost no wind. He looked around carefully but there was nothing moving. Then he shuddered. Being afraid was something that happened to other people, not to him. Come on, he was Spike! William the Bloody!

The dart sailed out of the night and embedded itself in his chest, tiny metal arms clamping down painfully. He looked down in shock and then suddenly blue tendrils of electricity were arcing out and he could feel himself shuddering violently. "Oh…. Bugger…." But that was all he could say before the darkness claimed him.

* * *

Riley approached the prone figure carefully, Graham and Forrest watching his back. All three had their weapons trained on the unconscious facedown vampire. If he was unconscious that is. They had the voltages right these days, but you could never be too careful. HSTs could be hardier than they looked sometimes. Carefully he prodded the form with a tip of one steel-tipped boot. Nothing.

"Ok, he's out." He slung his weapon quickly and removed two sets of binders from his belt harness, which he used to first secure the vampires arms behind his back and then strap his feet together. He wouldn't be going anywhere anytime soon. No, he was off to the holding cells. And some experiments.


	5. The beast within us

Ok. (Coughs) This is a tad late. I had a bad case of writers block at one point, plus I was rather busy doing house-related stuff like purging the house of the last of the pink walls. Yuck. And work didn't help either. So, here's the latest chapter. Hope you all like. And yes, I know I know - disclaimer: I don't own these characters. But hell I wish I did.

* * *

It was late. It was dark. It had been raining. He was tired, now, very tired indeed. But he had to keep going, he had to keep running. It was that or stop breathing. Vorgan could feel the sack move slightly against his back, but he kept running. A snack might have replenished some of his energy, but he couldn't spare the time. At least he still had his sword – for the good that it would do. A tired, caustic, laugh emerged from his panting chest. Might as well throw it away, but it had been his grandfathers and he had been taught to value family heirlooms.

Around the corner and he could see the marshalling yards ahead, the long steel lines that gleamed dully in the moonlight. And then he saw it, the long slowly moving line of wagons, that was passing off to the north east. Forcing tired legs to keep running, somehow forcing them to speed up slightly, Vorgan made for the train as fast as he could.

As he approached the train he leapt, caught one rail at the rear of the wagon trailed a leg briefly and painfully in the gravel, and then pulled himself up onto the top of his new method of transportation. He had done it! He had escaped! But he caught himself before he could express his triumph. Too much had gone wrong that night already. The rendezvous for the poker game had been a disaster. His contacts had all been dead. And then there had been that chase, that terrible chase… He had heard the rumours. They were unbelievable. Or, he had thought that they were unbelievable. Now he knew better.

He saw something flicker out of the corner of his eye and then stared behind him. A dark figure had leapt down – from where? Oh, the train had passed under a bridge – and was standing there looking at him. He gaped. How had that happened? Where had he come from? How had he been followed? He was the fastest in the Clan! The sack twitched in his hand then it was gone – pulled away by some unknown force, the same force that had baffled him earlier on, when the other sack had vanished. Stifling a curse he turned and ran along the roof of the train, running hard, leaping over the gap between the wagons. As he landed on the second roof his foot twisted slightly and pain briefly flared. He'd lost a claw. Oh well, rather that than lose his life.

Sensing something rather than seeing it, he turned in mid-stride and slashed out with the sword almost automatically, only to feel something slice through it. He gaped down at the remaining stub of the hilt in his hand as he kept running for a stride and then… something hot and yet cold smacked into his belly, he had the sensation of immense pain, along with the feeling that he had lost something… he couldn't feel his legs at all. His last thought, as he hit the roof so hard that it split open and devoured him, was of immense surprise. There really was a Jedi in Sunnydale.

* * *

Xander Harris leapt down from the accelerating train and took a deep breath. That had been a hard run – the demon had been very fast on his feet. Very fast indeed. Well, at least the fight was over now. It had been a weird night. First the report of three demons and a vampire, then the quick fight, where the vampire had run and the demons had put up that brief and wholly ineffectual fight and then the red demon had arrived with his sacks, gaped, and fled. And quite a flight it had been, involving a lot of running. He'd been able to grab one sack with the Force, dragging it out of the demon's grasp and into his. More running and then the rail yard, where he had briefly been afraid that the demon would be able to use the moving train to escape. Well, he was dead now and was hopefully one of those demons that turned to icky goop when dead. That or some rail worker a hundred miles down the track was going to get a very nasty shock when they opened up that wagon.

The sack in his right hand shifted slightly and he put them both down so that he could look inside, keeping one hand on his lightsabre. Something that had been carried by one demon to a meeting of Sunnydale's worst elements of society could be nasty. Frankly it could be anything.

He looked inside the bag. Then, stony-faced, he looked inside the other. Just to be sure he looked into the first one again. "You have got to be kidding me," he said incredulously.

* * *

It was small. It was grey with black stripes on its back and a tawny colour with black dots on its belly. And it was sniffing the crucifix doubtfully. After a moment the kitten rubbed its head against it, purring, before sneezing violently. After a wide-eyed moment of surprise it then wandered over the table, jumped into the lap of Rupert Giles and promptly fell into a deep sleep.

Giles put the crucifix down with a sigh and started to stroke the kitten in an absent-minded way. "Well, they're certainly not Felix demons." He looked around his living room. Buffy was playing with a small tortoiseshell, Willow and Oz were scratching behind the ears of an ecstatically purring tabby and Amy was stroking the fur of a sleeping Siamese. And in the corner Faith was furtively stroking a small wide-eyed black kitten, whilst trying to express vague surprise and denial that she'd ever do such a thing, along with astonishment that it had somehow found its way over to her.

Suppressing a sigh he looked into the amused eyes of Xander Harris, who was leaning against a wall and looking around the room. "I never thought that two bags of kittens would have such an effect on everyone," the Jedi Knight said, rolling his eyes.

There was a rustling noise from the speaker plugged into the phone, and then Wesley's voice echoed from it tinnily. "Mr Giles, it is possible that they could the spawn of a Gred'fghrt demon? This is towards the end of the month after all."

Giles considered this. "Hardly, as they are neither four feet long nor do they have spines attached to their tails. I think that we have to label them as kittens, Wesley, and leave it as that."

"Very well," said the other Watcher testily. "I wish I was free of this damn hospital bed. I'm starting to go stir-crazy, I'm sure of it."

"You'll be out in two days Wesley, free to terrorise the innocent people of Sunnydale with your cool wheelchair antics," said Xander reassuringly. "We'll hold the fort, don't worry."

A sigh came from the speaker. "Very well. I'll see you all tomorrow, hopefully under my own power, so to speak. Good night, I have to get off the line before those terrifying nurses catch me awake." A click, a dial tone, and he was gone.

"Well, what do we do with this lot? And why would those demons need two sacks of kittens?" asked Xander, rubbing his chin thoughtfully.

Hesitatingly slightly Giles raised his eyebrows. "Well, they are carnivores."

"The kittens?"

"No – the demons."

This brought a reaction. Heads came up, scowls appeared and a small throwing knife appeared and then vanished close to Faith's hand. "Euuuw, yuk!" moaned Buffy, apparently speaking for them all.

"Well, that aside, I know someone reliable in the local SPCA. They'll take care of them," said Giles reassuringly.

"My mom can take one," said Buffy quickly, picking up the little tortoiseshell.

"I once heard that my building had mice," frowned Faith, still surreptitiously stroking the black kitten that had now, somehow, mysteriously moved onto her lap. Oz and Willow just looked at each other and then picked up their own one, whilst Amy just smiled down at hers.

Giles quirked his eyebrows. "Tough as buttered muffins we are, sometimes," he muttered as he tickled the belly of the kitten on his lap.

* * *

His head hurt. Ow. Bugger. What the hell had he been drinking the previous night? This was almost as bad as that time that that mad Scottish bugger Angus Fraser had tried to brew some of the moonshine that his grandfather used to make. The silly sod had got it very wrong and the result had been the type of stuff that could make a demon throw up. Not a bad taste though once he got the recipe down.

That interesting recollection aside, his head still hurt. Taking a wild risk he opened his eyes a fraction, before slamming his eyelids shut quickly. Argh. That had been a big mistake. Light. Lots of light. At least it wasn't daylight, because that might mean good night sweet sodding prince.

Previously ignored senses and sensations suddenly started to make their presence felt. His arms hurt slightly. Oh and his nose was picking up not a lot, apart from a vague antiseptic smell. Something seemed to have died in his mouth, or at least that was what his tongue was telling him. His breath probably came straight from Satan's bottom today. And he was lying on something cold and hard. Very hard. Tiles maybe?

After a long moment he rolled onto one side, put his hands over his eyes and opened his eyelids again. When the pinwheels of pain ebbed and his eyes adjusted to the shards of light that were spilling through his fingers, he opened his hands slightly. Ok. White tiles. This was not looking good. A lockup perhaps? Maybe he'd been nicked? But by whom? And what the hell had knocked him out in the first bloody place?

He turned his head, blinking slightly in the light. At least he was now used to it enough that he didn't need his hands in front of his eyes any more. Ok. Another wall. How original. He turned his head again. Aha, this was more like it. A glass sheet covered an opening into a corridor. Another white tiled place was on the other side. Only this one was empty.

He heard a muffled noise and then a man walked past him, pushing a trolley with something with a lot of hairy blue legs strapped onto it. And he was followed by two blokes in full US Army or whatever gear, all mottled trousers and big guns. As he looked at them one of them flickered an eye at him, dismissed him as a threat and walked on.

"Oh bugger," said Spike. "This does not look good."

* * *

"What are going to call him?" asked Willow with a lot of enthusiasm. She looked good this morning, thought Oz, with her hair catching the light and her eyes gleaming as she looked at him. They had a good day planned. Lectures in the morning of course, then a picnic lunch that he had been planning as a surprise for a while, and then naturally more lectures before an evening out.

But first, breakfast in the main cafeteria. Hardly the height of cuisine, but what the heck, they made a good croissant. Plus Willow liked the blueberry muffins, even though Giles had damned them as "fluffy abominations" and told them one day they would have real ones. It was hard to get his cultural references sometimes.

Oz took a slow sip of coffee and relaxed into his chair. "What kind of name are we looking for? Fond, stuffy, incisive, descriptive…"

"One that suits him, of course!" burbled Willow.

What suits a cat? Specifically that cat. Small, thin… Good question. "Wisp."

She tried it out silently for a moment, mouthing the name to herself. Then she looked at him. "How do you manage to get things like that right first time?"

Oz thought back to the time when his great aunt had named her new cat Aloysious Tummyband and shuddered internally. "A knack," he said after another sip of coffee.

He felt, rather than heard the person walking up towards them, but didn't turn until he was hailed. "Oz! Hey dude."

"Devon. How's life?"

"Good. Hey, that new band's playing tonight. The one with the…" he looked at Willow, did some rapid mental changing of verbal gears, and finished: "Really good female singer." The words "smoking hot chick" hung unsaid and greasy in the air about him. Then he sobered slightly. "Seriously, man, they're good. Might pose us a few problems in the college band run-off. Can you check them out tonight? Might be good to get an idea about how good they are. I can't do it, I'm running track."

Quirking an eyebrow at Willow and getting an eager nod back, Oz looked up at Devon. "Sure. Where tonight?"

"Usual place, club hall."

"We'll be there."

"Great! See you around, guys."

Devon moved off and Oz grinned at Willow. "I guess we're spying on the opposition tonight."

* * *

Sunnydale looked almost beautiful as the sun went down. Of course that was the moment that the things that lived in the shadow started to stir. The things that hated the light. Which died in the sunlight. And which Wolfram & Hart loved to defend.

Lindsey leant on the balcony of his apartment and looked out. He realised that he was not in a good mood. Nor was it a bad mood. It was a… confused mood.

The implications of what he had been told and what he had worked out had been pounding in his head for days now and he was now no nearer to resolving them. There was a Jedi in Sunnydale. The information was staggering, unbelievable… and true. He had seen Xander Harris in action, seen the lightsabre, seen the use of the Force. Seen him fighting evil. Fighting that sick bastard. Protecting his friend.

He stepped back from the balcony and sank into the chair, looking at the bottle of beer that he'd been playing with for the past half an hour. There was another conclusion that he'd come to, based on all the things that he had been told, all the things that he'd worked out. He had a suspicion that he was one as well. That he had the potential, at least. It was… confusing. Exhilarating. And terrifying. That kind of power… oh! It was tempting. It was what he had dreamt about for so long. Real power, the kind that Wolfram & Hart would respect. But… and it was a big but… what would Wolfram & Hart do to a man with a new and unknown power? He had read the files on people who had been suspected of possessing new powers. It was seldom pleasant reading, as the Senior Partners tended to dissect first and ask questions afterwards, and he had no intention of ending up on a dissecting slab, possibly in another dimension, while something with far too many eyes examined his spleen. Yuck.

There were a few other factors. One was that he did not like the fact that Wolfram & Hart would do their best to twist whoever could use the… Force – damn it was odd, using that word, it reminded him of Alec Guinness saying it – to do whatever they could with it. For some reason it made him uneasy. Hell, the firm had made him uneasy for some time now. He thought about stepping away from it and for a moment his heart soared. Then fiscal reality raised its head and his heart made a rapid transit to his boots again. But if they ever found out what had really happened to the client that he was supposed to have been taking care of…

The other reason was the thing that had made him wake up several times in the nights after that visit by Harris, covered in sweat and stifling a scream. If he had the potential to be a Jedi… then it also meant that he had the potential to become a Sith. And given his background and his work history so far… it wasn't good. At all. The worst nightmare was the one where he started off going to work normally, interviewing people, talking to clients, but after a while he could feel that slow constriction in his breathing, that darkening around his eyes, until he looked into a mirror and saw the flickering mask of Darth Vader shimmering around his face, and the laboured breathing of the Sith Lord sounding in his ears - and his lungs.

It was terrifying. It was like a large weight on his shoulders and he had no idea what to do. He had no-one to turn to, really. His family wouldn't believe him, his workmates would sell him out so fast that his feet wouldn't touch the damn ground and his friends… well, he didn't have any. He hadn't had any for some time.

He had no idea what to do. Well, not quite. He had a vague idea. But it seemed like total madness. What the hell was he going to do? What was he becoming? But… he had to do something. He had the feeling that he either did something now, while his soul was intact, or he ended up on the treadmill at Wolfram & Hart, being slowly ground down to the point where he was another Holland Manners, amoral, ruthless, willing to let the world burn as long as he survived. A slave of the Senior Partners. And they were the people – or rather things – that worried him above all else. What would the Senior Partners do to him if they learnt about his powers? Ok, his potential powers? There had been a time when he would have rejoiced to be beneath their pitiless gaze, knowing that they would take note and perhaps push him up the ladder. Not any longer. He needed advice. And knew who to get it from. If he would give it.

Lindsey got up, grabbed his coat and walked to the door. He knew where to go. Perhaps.

* * *

"Hey Rupert. Your usual?"

"Yes please Mary. Thank you." Giles waited until the pint of beer was placed on the counter, paid for it and then took a long swallow. Bliss. Just what he needed on a Friday night. He did love the approach to Halloween. Demonic, not to mention vampiric, activity tended to decrease in the run-up to it. That meant less work for the Slayers, less work for him and certainly less work for the Jedi. He needed a break anyway. Wandering over to his favourite corner of the pub he slumped into a comfortable chair and placed his pint on the table next to it. Then he pulled out his copy of Private Eye, which had arrived in the post that morning, and started to read. After snorting over Street Of Shame he reached over for his pint, chugged about of quarter of it in two long gulps, and then put it down again.

When he looked around the room again, Lindsey McDonald was sitting in the chair opposite him, clutching a pint awkwardly in one hand and with three stitches on his forehead. "Mr Giles," he said formally, looking strained.

"Ah," replied the Watcher, "Mr McDonald. Good evening."

"I was looking for a drink. Thought I'd pop in here."

"Good choice." Giles sipped at his own pint, looking at the lawyer carefully. The man looked… stressed, in various subtle ways. He had a good idea why, although he was still unsure if Xander's prediction about the man was correct. Working for Wolfram & Hart was, after all, hardly a reassuring career statement. Worrying would be a better word. The man was now sipping his drink distractedly and looking around the place with an air of vague worry.

"Did you pop in for a pint, or is there something on your mind?"

McDonald raised his head for a moment, shot him a quick glance and then looked away, his face anguished. "I need to talk to Harris," he said after a long moment. "I… I need to talk about a few things."

"Mind if I ask about what?"

"About…" his voice dropped, "Being a Jedi. And…" his eyes widened and then closed. "Avoiding being a Sith."

Damn. Xander might well be right, thought Giles. The bloke might well he worth training. And based on those earlier talks I had with him, maybe he might be able to get out of Wolfram & Hart before he turned all the way. But still, it was worth testing the man.

Giles looked at him sternly. "Xander appears to have faith in you. Personally, knowing that you are an employee of Wolfram & Hart, I had my doubts, but he can be a very persuasive man at times. Why would you want to be a Jedi?"

McDonald's head whipped around, checking the area out, before he leant forwards slightly. "I don't know if I can be… I don't know anything about it. All I have is disconnected dots, along with… potential paths." He slumped slightly. "I don't know what else to do, other than talk to Harris. I feel like I have this huge shadow over me, and who I become depends on the path that I choose, right now."

For a moment Giles felt pity for the man. "I can't imagine the choice before you. I can say this though. The longer you work for Wolfram & Hart, and the higher up in the ranks you go, the less human you will be. Every step there devours a part of your soul. Until… there's just a husk left. A husk that prefers power and wealth, over doing the right thing. My advice? Get out now. While you still can. Because otherwise there might come a day, maybe in a week, may be a month or a day but it _will_ come – when you see people as objects. Things. Pawns on the board, to be moved at your behest. And then, when you see a child and wonder how you can use it to make its parents fit in with your plan, or you see a woman and wonder what her husband would do to get her back with her hands or her body or her mind intact… are you human anymore?" He sank the rest of his pint in two giant gulps, and sat back, his mind lit with fire and shadow as he remembered some of the tales his father had told him about Wolfram & Hart. "And in case," he added in a hoarse voice whilst waving at the barmaid, who looked up with a smile, "you were wondering about those last two examples, I suggest you look up Wright vs McKinson, and Granly vs Davidson. Two cases handled by Wolfram & Hart. If you have any sense of self worth, you'll read about them and vomit."

The lawyer's eyebrows went up and then he nodded, slowly. "I'll look them up. And Harris? I mean… Xander?"

"I'll have a word with him tomorrow. We'll be in touch maybe a day or so after that."

McDonald let out a breath or air that he must have been holding in for some time. "Thank you."

"Don't thank me yet. From what Xander has told me, training to be a Jedi opens up an awful lot of doors that most people leave closed."

* * *

"Is Evan worried about this battle of the bands?" asked Willow as she sipped her herbal tea.

"He worries about not winning things and not getting money in."

"So your lead singer is, like, a musical mercenary?"

Oz was about to reply when all of a sudden his eyebrows went up and he turned around quickly. Something was coming, he could feel it with the Force. Something wild, something… and then the door at the back of the stage opened and the band came out, fanning out to their positions on the stage, plugging instruments in as a girl emerged from the shadows at the back. She had full lips, short hair, skimpy clothes and an expression that suggested that she was laughing at a joke that no-one else knew about.

Except Oz. He could feel the other part of her from his spot at the back of the room. Werewolf. She was the one that they had been looking for. She fairly broadcast her wolfyness across the room.

"Oz?" he turned to see Willow looking at him worriedly. "Are you ok, honey? You're frowning."

"We need to call Xander," he replied, putting his lips close to her ear. "Remember that werewolf we've been looking for? She's singing right now."

Red hair whipped around quickly as she looked at the girl. "She's the… hairy one?" she muttered. He nodded in reply. "Do you think that she can sense you?"

This threw him slightly. "Not sure. I can detect her with the you-know-what, but I haven't been… hairy in a long time, so I don't know. Never met another one, so I don't know what it feels like."

"Are you going to talk to her?"

He paused as he ran through the options in his head. "Yes. Next full moon is a week away, so we need to find out how she copes. She should know about her… condition by now, so we need to make sure that she's not a menace to people." The band came to the end of their song and the pair of them clapped absent-mindedly along with the crowd, which was going wild, a small area of calm in a boiling sea of emotion.

Willow picked up the flyer on the table and looked at the names of the band members. "She's called Veruca," she muttered, "Veruca Hain."

"Unpretty name," he replied looking at the floor and wincing slightly.

"Are you ok?"

"She stinks of werewolf. It reminds me of the old me."

Willows hands enfolded his. "Oz, that isn't you any more. You haven't been the other you for months."

"I know," he said, smiling slightly at her. "I have Xander to thank for that. And you. I want to keep you safe." He looked back at the stage briefly. "And we have to make sure that she's safe as well."

* * *

Veruca was purring when she left the club. Not a bad gig. It would take time to raise their profile, and they needed a larger repertoire, but they would give the others a run for their money in the Battle of the Bands. She'd heard people talking about the Dingoes again and her lip curled. Has-beens.

As she walked along the path she caught sight of the moon between the trees and she stopped and smiled at it. It would be time to return to nature soon, so to speak.

"Full moon in a week," said a voice to one side. Startled she turned to see a short guy dressed in a t-shirt, a red over shirt with long arms and jeans stroll out of the shadows to one side. He had slightly spiked hair and was quite good-looking. But his comment…

"What about it?" she replied. "Happens once a month."

He tilted his head to one side and looked at her levelly. She had the feeling that she was being inspected in great detail. It bugged her. "You finished with the astronomy?"

"More like lycanthropy," he replied and she stopped dead. Turning back she looked at him.

"Lycan-what?" she bluffed.

"The study of werewolves. Turn very hairy on the full moon." He leant forwards slightly. "So, how long have you been one?"

She stood there for a moment, debating in her head what to do. After a long moment she surprised herself by laughing. "Why do you want to know?"

"I'm… curious." And damn, he did look quite curious after all. She was wondering how he had known about her.

"Since I was eight," she said proudly.

"I… see." Something was happening to his eyes – they had hardened slightly at her tone. "Where do you go during your time as a werewolf?"

She blinked. "What do you mean, where do I go? Wherever I like! Where the wind calls the wolf. My turn: how did you know that I'm a werewolf?"

"I used to be one myself," he said, his answer making her blink with surprise. Before she could speak he interrupted. "You don't lock yourself up at all?"

"Why the hell would I do that?"

"To prevent other people getting hurt. This didn't occur to you?"

She shrugged. "Why should I care? And what was that about you once being a werewolf? It's for life. You can't take two Tylenol and hope it goes away! Don't you ever wonder if you're a wolf all the time and this human face is just a disguise? Don't you feel it? The power? The animal inside you?" She walked around him once more. "You got a name?"

"Oz." He grimaced a little. "You don't care," he said musingly. "I wasn't aware that 'don't care' was an option that rational people make."

Veruca walked towards him and circled him once, sniffing the air hard. Yes… there was something there, but it was faint, very, very faint. Almost undetectable, but she had the nose for it. She stepped back, her eyes wide. "How? Magic? It's impossible. And… and why would you want to in the first place?"

"Want to do what?"

He was stupid, he had to be, but those eyes were hardening again. She had the oddest feeling that she was being put through some test. "Give it up? We're different. We're more powerful than normal people. We sense different things. We're stronger, faster-"

"More murderous and violent," he interrupted. "We kill if we're loose. We infect others. We ruin people's lives. The wolf in us is all animal. All impulses."

He wasn't getting it at all. She stretched voluptuously. "Some impulses are more pleasant. Ever mated with a female werewolf? I've heard it's quite… interesting." Then she tilted her head at him. "How do you keep it at bay anyway?"

His head came up and something shone in his eyes, but she failed to recognise the look. "There are ways. Certain… training. I was lucky, I had help from a friend. He trained me, but I don't think that you'd believe how. It also allowed me to sense you from far away, in that club. You didn't sense the wolf in me until you were very close."

This was true, and it had been troubling her. "So?"

"Take my advice. Start locking yourself up when you change."

"Or what?" she snorted disgustedly. God, he was weak. But then he leant forwards and just looked at her. That look in his eyes had returned, he seemed to be looking at her in a detached, almost judgemental way, as if the test was over and she had failed it. Failed it big time. For the first time doubt stirred in her. He shook his head.

"Or… I make sure that you never hurt anyone ever again. And besides, this is Sunnydale. The Hellmouth. There two Vampire Slayers here along with… other powers. And a British guy who knows when to take the gloves off and then kick you in the face with boots with nails in them. Don't wolf out in this area. Something permanent might happen." And then he just turned and walked away, leaving her staring at his retreating back, afraid without knowing why.

* * *

Oz was very quiet when he rejoined Willow. She took just one look at his face and bit down on her tongue, repressing the several hundred questions that she had. It wasn't until they got back to his dorm room that he finally relaxed, with a tiny sigh and infinitesimal shift of his shoulders.

"She wouldn't listen," he muttered quietly. "She likes the power. Power! The ability to murder people, to hurt people, and she calls it power?"

Willow reached out and rubbed his shoulder reassuringly. "Honey, are you ok?"

He looked at her for a long moment and then smiled tiredly. "Yeah. Just having one of those 'there but for the grace of God go I' moments. I'm very glad that I can keep my wolf side suppressed these days. She couldn't tell at all that I used to be a werewolf, and when I told her, she wouldn't believe me at first. Kept asking why I'd want to give this up." He shook his head, looking appalled. "She just doesn't get it!"

"What did you tell her?"

His gaze hardened. "That she'd better find a way to get herself locked up when she changes, or I'd find a way to stop her from hurting people. Permanently."

"Didn't you try the Jedi mind trick on her?"

"No," he said musingly, "That kind of thing isn't to be done lightly. Xander said that messing with anyone's mind was never a good idea, and only had to be done when you didn't have much choice. I think I gave her something to worry about. If she ignores it then I think Xander and I need to pay her a little visit."

Willow nodded sombrely. Then she looked at him. "You're worried."

He hesitated. "I've… just been reminded that there's something buried in me. If I hadn't become a Jedi, that thing would be coming to surface three nights a month. I'd rather not think about how having a female werewolf around might set off my inner wolfyness." They both shuddered at that, before Oz smiled and walked up close to her. "I love you," he said, putting his arms around her and blowing her hair out of his face as she rested her head on his shoulder.

They stood there for a long moment, content in that long embrace. Then she pulled her head back and looked at him with a gleam in her eye. "There's a female here anyway…"

Oz laughed and pulled her onto the bed.

* * *

Meditation was a marvellous way to relax, thought Xander as he sat under a tree in the middle of a green sward of grass next to the library. You could calm your mind, sink into the Force and forget that in half an hour he had to go in and sort some books. That said, ordinary life on the Hellmouth could almost be soothing at times. It paid the bills, didn't throw up any massive surprises and could provide a chuckle or two.

Something stirred in the Force to one side and he smiled slightly. "Hey Oz," he called.

"Hey," said his former Padawan in an introspective, almost subdued, voice.

Xander opened his eyes and looked at his friend and fellow Jedi. "What's up?"

"Found our elusive werewolf last night," replied Oz as he settled into a similar position on the grass and crossed his legs.

"I'm guessing that there's a big 'and?' query after that."

"Yes." Oz spoke in subdued tones. "Her name's Veruca. I talked to her. Seemed a bit surprised that I could sense her. Even more surprised when she found out that I voluntarily repress the wolf. She couldn't understand why."

"I see," said Xander slowly. "She likes being a werewolf then?"

"Thinks it makes her special. More alive. More powerful," the last word came out with a deep sigh. "She revels in it, couldn't see why I don't. And," he grimaced, "She doesn't lock herself up at night when she changes. She runs free. Proud of it too."

Xander felt his eyebrows flicker quickly. "She revels in it and runs free?"

"Yes."

"Right. Ok. Did you tell her that this was not very friendly behaviour?"

"Yes. I don't think that she's the type of person that listens."

"How long has she been a werewolf?"

"Since she was 8 years old, she said."

"Ah. Years worth of ingrained idiocy then?"

"Yes, probably." He hesitated. "Mind trick?"

Xander sighed and rubbed his chin. "She sounds like a good candidate for it, but only as a last resort. How strong is her will?"

"I'd say quite strong."

"Damn. Mind trick might work in the short term, but perhaps not in the long term. Plus I have no idea what the change from human to werewolf will do to the mind of this girl." He looked at Oz. "You're troubled. Let me guess, it's the werewolf aspect."

Oz nodded. "It was… odd to be faced with a werewolf. Made me start thinking about what lives inside me. What I might become. Her sheer arrogance… I could never put people at risk like that. Why does she?"

Xander spread his hands. "Why do many people speed? Why do drugs? You said she felt more alive when she becomes a werewolf. Perhaps she gets off on the knowledge that what she is doing is so dangerous. From Giles once said, those kinds of primal feelings are part of all of us, but we repress them, force them back. We have to do that especially. The Dark Side can feed off those emotions." He shook his head. "Oz, you've changed a lot. Your training has helped to keep the wolf at bay completely. Did you feel any changes to your wolf side when you were talking to her?"

"No. Felt a faint stir, but nothing after that. It felt like it was asleep."

"Then that's encouraging in itself. I don't think that there's much research available on werewolves who become Jedi Knights, but I think that you've made a lot of progress."

"I hope so." He got up. "So, mind trick?"

"Mind trick. Track her down again and I'll have a word with her. You want to try it?"

"I'll watch you to see how it's done. Hear you, I mean." He looked up at the approaching Willow, who was talking on her cell phone. "Psychology awaits. With the scary Professor Walsh."

"You lucky man. I'm off to the depths of the library, to go and watch the master do his catalogue thing." He watched as Willow rang off and waved at her oldest friend. "Hey there oh bestest bud," he said by way of greeting.

"Oz tell you about the skanky were-girl?" She blushed. "I just said skanky."

"Yes you did, and you wash your mouth out, young Willow."

"Well, she was wearing a skirt that was more like a belt."

"Fashion is a fickle thing. She'll have pneumonia in a week. And we're going to have a word with her about her… other self. And then another word about finding some secure facilities, which is something that she might lack."

Willow looked at Oz, who nodded, and then seemed to release some tension. "You ok now honey? You were tense earlier."

"Werewolf residual issues. Resolved a bit now." Oz smiled at her. "See you around, Xander."

"Take care, both of you." He watched them move off with a smile. That pair were very good for each other. Then he sobered slightly. A werewolf who wouldn't acknowledge the risks. That did not sound good at all. He'd have a word with Giles.

* * *

When the ceiling panel opened, it drew Spike's gaze instantly, especially when it disgorged a plastic packet of blood, which fell onto the floor in front of him. About sodding time, he was bloody starving! Reaching out he picked it up, ripped the top off it, and poured it down his throat. It was only then that he grimaced. Pigs blood, nowhere near as good as the real thing, but it was ok. Needs must when the devil drives and all that bollocks. He was hungry enough to lick the packet clean, which was more than a bit demeaning, but he realised that he needed the food more than his pride at the moment. Then, as he felt new strength running through him, he started looking around again. The toilet was still a hole in the floor, and nothing could really get through it – it was too small. Water occasionally gushed out into it from an angled hole in the wall that was also far too small, and didn't even provide a handy pipe to use to bash things with. The door he'd learnt to stay well away from, 'cos the shock it gave you when you touched it was bloody awful.

He sat down, threw the packet away from him and glowered. All in all, this was a bloody mess. Where the hell was he? Eventually he pursed his lips, closed his eyes and started to whistle. Lili Marlene was a good song, even if it had been 55-odd years since it had been widely sung.

Something must have been awake in the next cell over, because suddenly he heard someone roughly whisper: "Who's that?"

He stood quickly and crossed to the doorway, keeping back from it carefully. "Name's Spike. Who're you?"

"Bud Horgan. Vampire."

"Ditto, mate, ditto. Where the hell are we?"

"I don't know, something zapped me, I woke and I was here. Some place military. I think we're still in Sunnydale though, everyone else says that they were got there."

"Everyone else? Who's here?"

"Vampires mainly, more demons recently." Horgan paused ominously. "They keep doing things to us all. I don't know what, but some people stay for a while and others vanish."

"How long have you been here?"

"Not sure. A month maybe, based on the shift patterns. Just woke up again. My head hurts. Oh, hey, watch out for the blood they drop in – sometimes it's drugged."

Spike cursed internally. Well, so far at least there were no woozy ill-effects, if all they were doing was knocking you out. Sod this for a game of soldiers, he was no-one's lab rat.

"No escape plans?"

"How?"

Good point. "They ever exercise people here?"

"No. Just keep us locked in our cells."

Bugger. "Let's trade notes." There had to be a way out of here, there just had to be.

* * *

Giles was reading what he had been sent, and what he was reading didn't seem to be making him very happy. But when he looked up at Xander, his face cleared somewhat. "Ah, there you are. I had a guest at the pub last night. One Lindsey McDonald."

Xander felt his eyebrow twitch. Aha. "Did he say what he wanted, or was he there to admire the beer?"

"He wants to speak to you. Specifically about Jedi-related matters. And avoiding becoming a Sith. He seemed most concerned about that."

Xander let out a quiet breath that he didn't really know that he had been holding in. He had been right. But this had to be handled carefully.

"I'll try and talk to him. Might have to wait until tomorrow though – I need to have a word with that female werewolf – Oz tracked her down last night. Giles, the worrying thing is that she doesn't lock herself up at the full moon. According to Oz she likes the risk – the freedom – of running free."

Giles scowled. "Do we know how long she's been a werewolf?"

"Apparently since she was 8 years old."

The Watcher paled and closed his eyes for a long moment. "Irresponsible is hardly the word I'd use. Bloody stupid might be a better term for it. I'll look at some of the records and newspaper reports and see if we can trace her backwards a bit. What's her name?" "Veruca Hain."

"Verruca as in the fungal foot infection?" he asked incredulously.

"No, just the one 'r'."

Muttering something about bloody yanks and their bloody silly names, Giles made a note to one side and then looked up. "Well, what shall we do about her? I think we both agree that we can't let her go about the place infecting people."

"Agreed. I'm going to try the Jedi mind trick, but I have no idea how it will work on a werewolf. Oz said that she sounded pretty arrogant, and the mind trick works best on the weak-minded. I think we should try and consider some options."

Giles nodded slowly. "I'll check out the old emergency cell that we had for Oz. That should be satisfactory if need be, but only as a short-term solution." He paused and shook his head. "Another problem to worry about. We have Wolfram & Hart in town, Wesley will be in a wheelchair for weeks, McDonald can't be trusted yet, you think that there's a military base in the area and now we have a werewolf who won't lock herself up in the area."

"I was going to say that it could be worse, but that's an invitation to get my nose bitten off, isn't it?"

Giles glared at him for a long moment. "Yes."

"At least we have Halloween tomorrow night. Quiet night."

"One would hope so. Just, please don't let your guard down at all, Xander."

"I hope not. May the Force be with you Giles," grinned Xander and walked off. He had some filing to do. The creepy thing was that it allowed him to sort his mind out.

* * *

Faith was sitting on the lawn outside the Summer's residence when Buffy arrived. The dark-haired Slayer had her knees drawn up under her chin and was watching a small bird as it perched suspiciously on the edge of the pavement and eyed the crumbs on the grass in front of it. After a moment it darted in, grabbed a crumb and returned to the relative safety of the side of the road, while Faith looked at it with a slight grin.

"You bird watching?" asked Buffy.

"Just taking a moment to enjoy the wildlife," replied Faith. "Never really took the time to look around me much. Always too busy doing things or running around. Feels nice to stop every once in a while and watch the world."

"You've been talking to Xander," grinned Buffy, sitting down next to her.

"Yeah, I have." She paused for a moment. "I've got a lot of anger in me, B. Always did. My Mom wasn't like yours. Hell, your Mom's a saint compared to mine. And I… didn't have a good time as a kid. Lots of 'uncles', if you know what I mean. Plus a dead Watcher, who was tortured to death right in front of me. So, a lot of anger there. I nearly took off after that creepy Molniar guy when he shot Wes, instead of helping him." She shook her head, the dark hair falling over her face. Then she looked up again, brushing her hair back and with a determined look on her face. "I ain't gonna become what we fight, B. I can't. I'm gonna fight this thing inside me and I'm gonna beat it. I have to beat it. Xander's been talking to me. I'm not going to go Anakin on you."

Buffy nodded slowly. "Giles did mention a few things. So did Xander. And I get the reference. I know what it feels like. That time when the Master killed me… I had a lot of issues. Same when I sent Angel to that hell dimension. I ran away. I couldn't take it. Put Mom through all kinds of hell, same as Giles and the others. Finally fought my way back. Literally. No-one's perfect Faith. No-one."

They exchanged a long look together and then nodded simultaneously. "Your Mom gave me this great home-made bread roll with ham and salad for lunch," said Faith after a moment.

"I love my Mom's cooking. She's great."

"Yup. She say anything yet about Thanksgiving?"

"I was thinking about doing it myself this year. She's done it for long enough."

"Yes, but won't she feel hurt by that? I mean now that you're off here, out of her life almost. She misses you – don't you think that she's looking forwards to feeding you at Thanksgiving?"

Buffy opened her mouth and then closed it again. "Oh."

"You think about that. I've off to pick Wes up before the hospital sends him nuts."

* * *

"Do Jedi party?"

The question stopped Xander in his tracks, before looking over at Oz. "Of course we do!"

"Ah. Just making sure." He grinned. "No, seriously, I was wondering. Wasn't there some sort of Jedi Code mentioned somewhere?"

Ah. Xander nodded reluctantly. "But I don't see that we have to use it. I've done a lot of thinking about this. The Code made sense in the Jedi Temple, with dedicated training facilities, with hundreds of Jedi all around and with millennia of tradition behind it. Even then it became too rigid, too set in stone. Questions were being asked about it, and the Jedi Council really should have relaxed it, even a bit as it is…" he sighed. "The Code might have been a reason why Anakin turned. If he had been able to tell people about his marriage, about his fears over his wife, about his emotions… well, maybe he wouldn't have joined the Sith."

He looked at Oz and then sighed. "If this was the old Temple on Coruscant then you would have been in training, first as a Youngling and then as a Padawan, from a very early age, maybe even a baby. The Code would have been hammered into you for years, until you became bound by it. Breaking the Code would have been seen as unthinkable. But you weren't. You had a normal Californian upbringing, tempered with werewolf issues and the discovery that vampires exist. I trained you as… call it a Terran Jedi. We need to find others like us and train them, but I don't think that the Code is a practical issue here at the moment. Maybe not ever. Maybe we need to work out our own version of the Code, making it practical for life on Earth." He paused. "Why do you ask, anyway?"

"We've been invited to the Alpha Delt fraternity tomorrow night. Willow, me, Buffy, you, Amy. Faith said she had to help Wesley get sorted on his big day out of hospital. The frat guys needed some help with their sound system and I leant them a speaker

Or two. Told them to give me a call if they have any problems with it. They go all out on their house every Halloween. It actually borders on fun – you have to go through a scary maze to get to the party upstairs. Not bad at all. Which brings up the question of what to wear."

"Ah." Xander grinned. "I know exactly what to wear. I think everyone's being on the careful side this year, due to the whole turning-into-your costumes wacky high jinks of two years ago, so I had my Mom pull a few things together. She's making clothes again in her spare time – I'd forgotten that she was good at that when I was small. What with Dad being on the promotion rung and her making it to manager of the bookstore, they're on the road to semi-affluence."

"So what did she make for you?"

"Come over tomorrow night with Willow and I'll show you. I had your measurements from Willow, so don't get a costume."

"This all sounds mysterious."

"Call it the wonder of Halloween."

"When are we having a word with Veruca?"

"I thought we'd pay her a visit tomorrow night. We can go on to the party then."

Oz flicked an eyebrow. "Cool."

* * *

Standing up hurt. Come to think of it, sitting down hurt as well. Wesley sat in his wheelchair and looked out at the world as it went on its merry way. He had never realised how much he had been taking for granted before. He had never known how many muscles were in the human stomach, and how bad being shot was for those muscles. It was painful.

The Watcher sighed deeply and then turned his attention back to his book. He had spent his time in hospital reasonably profitably, rereading old Watcher's journals (carefully camouflaged from the eagle-eyed nurses) as well as wading through bits of paperwork and various novels that he had bought but been unable to read until then. Having lots of free time stuck in bed, being prodded by people on a regular basis, was in no way fun.

He had also been able to read a lot of notes that had been written by Isobel Horrocks. It was a shame that he had never met her, but her personality just bubbled up from the pages. Literate, thoughtful, conscientious, kind, forward-thinking and with more than a bit of sarcasm. And very worried about Faith. It looked as if Quentin Travers had left out a great deal about Faith's upbringing and record when he had first told Wesley about the dark-haired Slayer.

He had been concerned at first about Faith's connections to Mr Giles and Buffy. She seemed to pick things up that only the older Watcher could have told her. But he had a nasty feeling that she had learnt more from and been better handled by Mr Giles, that the edge of Faith's anger and potential bitterness had been softened by her associations with the others. Especially Xander. He shook his head. When he had first heard that he was to become a Watcher he had been very proud. Perhaps too proud. Maybe even arrogant.

"I need to learn more," he muttered. "Perhaps live a little."

"You talking to yourself, Wes?" asked a voice behind him and he turned to see Faith leaning against the doorway to his hospital room and looking at him quizzically.

"Just a small moment of self-revelation," he said, smiling tiredly.

"If you say so. You ready to rock and roll?"

"Yes, please remove me from this place of dreadful food and sarcastic doctors. At least the worst one is gone. Transferred out somewhere east."

"You mentioned nasty nurses," she grinned as she reached out and started to push the wheelchair.

"Good god, yes. Please don't aggravate them now, I'm almost out of here and I don't want to be called back for another sponge bath."

"One of my exes had a thing for nurses. He once bought me a nurse's uniform."

"Please don't finish that recollection, Faith."

"You sure? I didn't tell you where I stuffed it."

Wesley shuddered and then took a deep breath of clean air as they passed out of the doors and into the outside. "That smells very good. I think I have antiseptic nostrils thanks to that place."

"Yeah?"

"Thank you for getting me Faith. I hate hospitals."

"Not a problem. No patrolling tonight anyway – Halloween being the dead time that it usually is."

"Indeed."

* * *

The Frat House was bustling that afternoon. People brought in drinks, dips, illegal drinks, cd players, speakers, plastic skeletons, vast amounts of fake cobwebs, rubber bats and all the paraphernalia needed to create a maze that led to a party. But one thing stood out, if an observer had been watching. One visitor brought an old book. A very, very old book, which had several overt mystical symbols on the cover and at least one hidden symbol. It was a book that to the unlearned eye looked harmless, but which a wise man would have placed in a safe, surrounded by stacks of Bibles. It was not a book that should have been allowed out. It was certainly not a book that was as "cool" as the person carrying it thought it was.

An hour after the book had been brought into the house something happened within it. Reality twisted for a split second, rippled violently in one spot in the attic and then returned to normal. Unfortunately no-one noticed, certainly not the person who had just walked through the attic nursing a rather messy paper cut and talking loudly down his cell phone. Just before he left he shivered slightly and looked around before shaking his head. His imagination was getting freaked out by the Halloween preparations.

* * *

Spinning a pencil was good, but there were times when she wanted to do something with more power and potential. Something like Amy could do – and Amy was a powerful witch. Willow sat there and waited, sighing occasionally. She had been planning to go to the party as Joan of Arc, but on second thoughts that might have been a bad idea. If another Ethan Rayne was in Sunnydale, then the prospect of hearing voices was not one that appealed to her at all. Instead, in case of any chaos magic, she was dressed as Princess Leia from the Endor strike team. If she ever needed to kick some Imperial ass, she was dressed for it.

The door opened behind her and she turned around and blinked. Oz was standing there. He was dressed in a white tunic over light brown trousers and black thigh-length boots. A dark brown hooded robe hung from his shoulders and his lightsabre was hung from a belt around his waist.

"Wow, Jedi or what?" she breathed, looking at him. He grinned at her and then they both heard a step at the doorway. Oz moved to one side to reveal Xander, who was dressed in much the same way, only his tunic was beige.

"This is the first time in two years that I feel right about my clothes," said Xander with a slightly bemused grin. Then he looked up at Oz. "So, what do you think? Given that this is just for the night."

Oz paused and then looked first at Willow with a slow smile and then at Xander. "Feels good. Right. Don't know why though."

"It's the uniform of a Jedi. Remember that. Clothes aren't that important, but it's good to feel the uniform once in a while. Reminds you of what we stand for and what we are." His eyes seemed to mist over slightly as his gaze went… somewhere that Willow could only guess at. She found herself biting her lip for a moment. Her oldest friend had changed a lot over the last three or four years. Just how much he had changed was something that occasionally blindsided her. When she thought about what he had seen as a Jedi in his memories, what Obi-Wan had seen…

She could remember the look on Faith's face after Xander had spoken to her about the fall of Anakin Skywalker, how he had meant to protect his wife but ended up betraying everything he had ever fought for. Exactly what Xander had said to Faith was unknown, but she could remember the paleness of her face and the quiet aside that Xander had muttered to them all. Talk, he had said. Never bottle things in, never let things fester. Talk to me, talk to Giles, talk to everyone. Fight the darkness. Never let it win.

Her eyes filled with tears for a moment and she wiped her eyes hastily. Now was not the right time to get emotional. But the two Jedi looked so natural dressed in their robes.

"Let's deal with a werewolf," muttered Xander. "See you at the party, Wills. What time is Buffy greeting you? And what is she dressed as?"

"She mentioned something about going as Riley from Aliens. I think that she figures that if anything happens she can shoot it, or outthink it, or hit it so hard that it goes kablooie."

"Good point," said Xander. "See you there."

* * *

It had been a long time since he had been summoned properly. A long, long time, spent in an endless blackness, a twitching sleep as the elements that kept him strong moved throughout the world. He felt the occasional rush from events that provoked the greatest fear – nothing to recall the massive highs that he had sensed in the past though. Images of men with odd facial hair arrived occasionally. There had been an insanely gesticulating man with a small black moustache and a brain like a diseased maggot, a short paranoid man with a pipe that sprouted from under a thick moustache who had hooded, cunning eyes and pock-marks on his face, and a bearded man in a green hat of some sort and a lot of bananas behind him. That last one was a bit odd, he had to admit.

Still he slept on, secure in the fact that there would always be fear in this world. But… now there was a frisson, the feeling that something was scratching at the door. He was being summoned. Slowly, inexpertly and very inefficiently, but he was being summoned. Eyes started to open and fanged teeth appeared in a razor-edged smile. Gachnar was waking. Fear would have its feast again.

* * *

When Amy arrived they stared at her. She was dressed in a long white gown, secured by some sort of fancy clips at her shoulders, with a plastic owl on her right shoulder. She was also wearing a Greek helmet, pushed well back on her head. She looked back at them. "What?"

"We were… wondering what the costume is," said Willow, fingering the butt of her blaster as it hung in her belt. Buffy nodded, and then swore under her breath as her curly-ish wig slipped slightly.

Amy sighed. "Athena? Greek god of wisdom? Get it now?"

"Oh," said Willow. "Nice costume!"

"I thought so," replied Amy as they turned and started to walk down the road. "Owl slips every now and then, so it looks as if he's drunk, but apart from that, it looks quite cool I thought. So, where're Xander and Oz?"

"They had to deal with that werewolf, the skanky Veruca. Going to do the mind trick on her, and then hope that it works."

"Willow! Stop calling her skanky!" her roommate tutted with a grin.

Her cheeks flamed. "Sorry," said Willow, catching the amused look that Buffy exchanged with Amy. "I don't like her very much. I know that it's silly, but I think of Oz and Veruca and I think girl werewolf, plus boy werewolf equals werewolf grossness. Not that I don't trust Oz and I know that he hasn't turned into Mr hairy bottom in a looong time, and I should shut up now shouldn't I?"

"Pretty much," said Buffy, before she frowned slightly. "What if the mind trick doesn't work though? We'll have to deal with her."

"How?" asked Amy. "We can't lock her up for 24 hours a day during the time of the full moon. What if she skips town? I mean, where was she before here?"

"Giles is looking into it. Says there's been some sightings of things in a few towns to the north of here, but we need to look further." Buffy sighed and then fiddled with the strap to her plastic gun. "Life on the Hellmouth."

"Well, time to put those sighs to one side for a while," said Amy with a grin as she pointed to a large house not too far away. "We're here. Let the fun commence!"

* * *

She had the oddest feeling that she was being followed. Veruca looked behind her for a moment and then walked on, shaking her head. Imagination was a terrible thing at times, but she had this nagging feeling that something was behind her.

Her fixation with what was behind her meant that she was caught by surprise when she looked around and saw the two figures ahead of her, bathed in the light of the setting sun. They were dressed in long brown robes, with hoods over their faces. For a moment they reminded her of someone, maybe from a film, but she couldn't make the connection. Then the shorter figure reached up and pulled his hood down. It was the weakling, Oz. The werewolf that were-wouldn't. Perhaps he was back on her scent again. But who was the other guy?

And then the taller figure stepped forwards and pushed his hood back. He was dark-haired and had piercing eyes. There was something about his gaze, as if he was looking straight into her, down to her toes, through her soul, into her head…. He just looked at her for a long moment, during which her tongue seemed to stick to the roof of her mouth. For once in her life she was afraid of this man, for no reason that she could fathom.

"Oz here tells me that you won't take the precautions that he used to during his werewolf days," said the guy eventually. "Want to explain a bit more?"

She shook herself out of her stupor, with anger starting to flicker in the back of her mind. Why should she explain herself to this son of a bitch? To anyone? "You're not a werewolf," she spat, "You wouldn't know."

Whoever he was, he seemed to find this faintly funny, based on the tight smile that flashed over his face. "I know Oz," he said, "And I know what it's like to face up to the darker parts of your mind. Instead of surrendering to them, like you do. Instead of ignoring the consequences of your actions – like you do. Please rethink your way of looking at things."

"Or what? And why should I?" Veruca found herself recovering. Why did she have to justify herself to this bastard? He had no idea how it felt when the wolf was in charge, when things tasted more vibrant than ever, when touch, and taste, and smell were all off the chart.

The man sighed and looked at Oz, who nodded sombrely. The fear flickered again and she took an involuntary step backwards. Who were they, really? Why were they dressed that way? And then the man looked at her and said, in tones that seemed to sear their way into her mind: "In the nights when you become a werewolf, go to a place where you can be safe. It's in Grant Park, close to the road on the east side. There's a lamppost fifty yards from it. Shut yourself in behind the bars. The combination is 6927 on the padlock. Do this for the three nights that you change."

She nodded without saying anything. This was what she had to do. The instructions were almost burnt into her brain. The tall man looked hard at her, then nodded in satisfaction, before pulling his hood up over his head again and vanishing off to one side with the Oz guy. After a long moment she blinked. What the hell had that been? She was more tired than she'd thought if she was now starting to fall asleep on her feet. Veruca shook her head, frowning as she walked off. She had a lot to think about.

* * *

"That music sounds good. Did you say that Oz provided them with the speakers?"

"He sure did," said Willow in response to Buffy's question as the trio looked around the entrance hall. Fake spiders hung from various walls, rubber bats were on the ceiling and there was a plastic skeleton attached to a coffin by one wall. It was very quiet apart from the music. If Buffy had any say in it, it was too quiet. She looked around, carefully.

"So, we go through the maze to get to the party at the top of the building, right?"

"That's what Oz said," muttered Willow, as she peered closely at the cobwebs that hung from one doorway. "Are these fake or are the frat guys really bad at cleaning?"

"And is it me or is there an odd smell in this place?" Amy was standing by the stairs and sniffing dubiously.

"Odd smell, I agree," said the Slayer. The hairs on the back of her neck were standing on end but she had no idea why. This was crazy, it was Halloween! Nothing ever happened on Halloween… except that thing with Ethan Rayne. She reached down the back of her neck and felt the familiar presence of her third best throwing knife. Then she frowned. Something smelt odd. Musty, kind of mouldy. And she had a feeling that… the floor suddenly seemed to jolt slightly as something seemed to shake the house for a second and the trio froze. "Earthquake?" asked Buffy hesitantly.

"I'm not sure," replied Willow. "I wish Oz was here. I could clutch him then."

"What time are they due again?"

"About another ten minutes," replied Willow, looking at skeleton again carefully.

"You ok Will?"

"I thought I saw it move for a moment."

"It's got wires coming out the back," said Amy as she looked at the rear of the coffin.

The dust in the air trembled for a moment and then something seemed to rumble through the building, as groans filled the air. "_RELEASE ME!_"

"Everybody hear that?"

"Yup."

"Eep."

"Was that some sort of Dolby ultra-sense-surround thing or did it feel like the ground was groaning?"

"Yup."

"Eep."

"I have a very bad feeling about this."

"Me too," muttered Amy. Then she looked around. "What's that squeaking sound?"

Willow glanced around with a frown. "I can't see anything."

Buffy scanned the vicinity quickly and then froze. Her hearing was better than the others, and she could have sworn it came from right above them. Something icky might be about to ambush them. Moving as quickly as she could she grabbed for the knife and looked up. She was able to catch sight of a fluttering mass on the ceiling, before it dropped off and turned into a hundred bats, which filled the air with night-black wings and high-pitched squeaks. Willow and Amy screamed briefly and then they both used their magic, as a white glow encased Amy, repelling the bats, while Willow conjured something like lightning, frying a dozen or so of the winged rodents as they flew past. As for Buffy she impaled three on the end of her knife before she dropped to the ground to get a better glimpse of what was going on.

When the bats fluttered away the three looked around carefully. "I hate bats!" shivered Amy, looking at the corpses on the floor. Then she frowned and bent over closer, before reaching out with two fastidious fingers and picking one up by the wing. Instead of flopping deadly it looked, well, rubbery. "It's rubber," she said with a frown, laying it on the palm of one hand and then poking it with a finger.

Buffy looked at her knife and double-taked. Three rubber bats were all impaled on it. Reaching out she pulled at one, so that it sliced through the blade of the knife. Nope, nothing but rubber inside. "This is getting weird," she said slowly. "I think we should go away and come back with Giles. He's good on weird."

"I don't think we can," muttered Willow.

"Why not?"

"The door's vanished."

She stood up quickly and stared. Willow was right, where the door had been was a large and rather solid-looking wall. Just to be on the safe side she walked over to it and prodded in a few places, getting the distinct sensation of solid wallness every time.

"Okay," she muttered, "Three cheers for technology." She pulled out her phone and hit speed dial for Giles's number. Then she frowned. Instead of a dial tone followed by the beeps as it dialled out, all she heard was dead silence. Looking down she saw that the cell phone wasn't receiving a signal, which was very odd. But then the door had vanished, which was also very odd, so the chances were that something freaky was affecting not just the house but also the phone. "Doesn't work. I'm starting to get a very bad feeling about this whole thing."

"Me too," muttered Amy.

When the scream came they were all shocked. It was a scream of utter panic, fear, terror. It was above them, maybe on the next floor. Buffy tightened her grip on the knife and looked at the stairs to one side. "I'm guessing other people are in here. I think we need to find them."

"Is that a good idea? Xander and Oz are gonna be here soon. Safety in numbers?"

"If we find the other people maybe we can find out what's going on."

Amy and Willow exchanged a worried looked and then they both nodded at Buffy reluctantly.

* * *

The two men dressed in camouflage dress and clutching weapons emerged from the bushes at the side of the road, paused, looked in the entirely the wrong direction to see the two Jedi who were watching them and then darted across the road itself to vanish into the bushes there.

Xander frowned slightly. "Either those guys are trick-or-treating in very odd costumes, or I have a very bad feeling about that."

"Perhaps there's a bad rodent problem around," muttered Oz, who was staring at his cell phone.

"Something wrong with it?"

"I tried calling Willow to say that we're on the way, but I keep getting this odd signal. Says that her phone is inaccessible, which is very peculiar." He hit the redial button, listened and then shook his head again. "Well, we're not that far away from the place, so it shouldn't matter."

"Maybe her phone's out of juice or something."

"No, it would say that it was turned off or something." They walked on, looking at the occasional trick-or-treater in the streets around them, with Xander wincing slightly at the sight of one person wearing a home-made Darth Vader costume.

"That's just asking for trouble on the Hellmouth," he sighed as they turned the corner to the street where the fraternity house was. "Where is it again?"

"That house there…"

They both stopped walking at the same moment and stared at the building. Finally Xander asked: "How many people are supposed to be going to this party again?"

"About fifty to sixty at least."

"Let me guess: you're picking up a big old empty hole in the Force where that place is, aren't you."

"Yes."

"Like there's nothing there at all? No people at all?"

"Yes."

"I have a very bad feeling about this."

"Me too."

They walked up to the building slowly and from slightly different angles, both with one hand close to their lightsabres, looking at it carefully. Finally Xander carefully reached out with one hand and touched a wall. There was a sound like bacon sizzling and smoke boiled out from the wall. When Xander jerked his hand back it was unblemished, but the wall now had a charred hand print seared onto it. The two Jedi exchanged startled looks before a noise overhead had them looking up. A girl with long black hair was pounding on a window and screaming something indistinctly. Before they could do a thing the wall suddenly shuddered and then bricks flowed over the window, filling in the opening as if there had never been a window.

With a snap-hiss Xander activated his lightsabre. "Call Giles and tell him what's going on here. I'm going to make us a new door in that wall."

* * *

"But-"

"Willow, NO! We don't know what's happening here, we don't know what's powerful enough to make doorways disappear, rubber bats go squeak or plastic skeletons try and stab people. I don't think we should try any magic to find our way anywhere unless it's vital. Wills, there's so much we don't know about what's going on!"

The red-headed witch didn't actually stick her lower lip out and sulk but she came very close to it, before she turned to her fellow witch. "Amy, you know what we have to do!"

But Amy just bit her lip and looked troubled. "Willow, I think that Buffy's right. There's a lot we don't know about this. Magic used in an environment that's being shaped by magic – that's a bad combination. It can be like walking through a firework factory with a burning brand."

This time Willow did actually pout, and from the scornful look she sent towards Amy she was not at all impressed by her fellow witch. Buffy sighed and shook her head internally. Willow was starting to worry her a bit. Magic was not a get out of jail card for life. Some times it had the opposite effect. But for Wills, it seemed to be this big playground, where she got to show off. It wasn't a good way of looking at things that could be potentially very bad indeed.

* * *

The dust in the doorway quivered for a long moment and then started to move upwards, particle by particle, hanging in the air. After a long moment it started to darken in hue, becoming thicker and denser. By now more and more dust was joining it, flowing into the dark figure that started to take shape in the shadows by the door, until it was complete. A black helmet gleamed in the flickering light, while lights started to blink on and off in the chest plate. A harsh sound started to fill the air, the sound of tortured scarred lungs being forced to breathe. One gauntleted hand reached down to a belt and pulled a lightsabre free. It paused, orientated itself and then it was off, striding down the hallway with long strides.

* * *

Willow was sulking as she slipped through the doorway and looked around. Buffy and Amy were talking quietly about the best way to go to find the other people that they knew were in the house, but so far they'd only found one terrified guy in a closet, which had vanished after about ten seconds when they'd had to deal with a small swarm of real spiders that were really rubber. She shuddered slightly at the thought of it.

Then she sank to her knees quickly and brought incantation they needed into her mind. They had to get to the attic, where the party was. The others wouldn't listen, but she'd show them that she was right about this.

Closing her eyes she muttered: "Aradia, Goddess of the lost, the path is murky, the woods are dense, darkness pervades, I beseech thee bring the light." When she opened her eyes again a small bright speck of light floating in front of her.

"Great!" she said, excitedly. "Can you show me the way to the attic?" The light bobbed. "Guys, I think I can take us to the attic! I did it!"

There was a long and very silent pause. Willow frowned and got up to go back to the doorway. They were gone. "Oh… sod, as Giles would say. Now I need to find Buffy too. And Amy. And then find a way out of here. And find Oz and Xander. Oh and get hold of Giles as well, to tell him what's going on."

When she turned back to the spark of light she blinked. It was now a small blizzard of them, or that was what it felt like as they all surrounded her, buzzing, trying to get her attention, to go this way, that way, every direction it seemed…

She screamed and ran, fending them off as she went…

* * *

"Yuck." Xander sniffed as he looked around at the room that had possibly once been the entrance hall. The problem was that the doors were now missing. Oh and the opening that he had cut with his lightsabre had disappeared behind them – the bricks and mortar and plasterboard had vanished into the floor and the hole had sealed itself by magic. What a co-incidence, he thought. And the place suddenly stank of the Dark Side, or rather it smelled as if fear was oozing out of every crevice. It was a bit like sitting in a sewer below a major casting agents office. And whatever was causing this fear, it was above them.

"Rubber," said Oz, straightening up from the spot to one side where he'd been examining what looked like some dead bats. He held one up and Xander could see that it had been impaled with something. "Maybe Buffy?"

"Could be. Never leaves home without a knife." He looked at the stairs carefully. Nothing seemed to be too bad there, but if the house was sealing things up behind them, then there was a good chance that reality was being altered on a local level. He was even starting to sound like a Watcher in his head now! He made a mental vow to try and slouch a bit once in a while. Fat chance – a combination of Jedi training and association with Giles kind of had a spine-stiffening effect. At least his upper lip hadn't stiffened as well. Much.

"Let's head up. Be careful, I sense much fear here. And we both know what that leads to."

Oz nodded and the two Jedi made for the stairs cautiously.

* * *

Amy pushed the helmet back again and then tried to relax slightly. It didn't work, she could feel herself wound up tighter than a drum. She wondered what the hell was going on here, why Willow had vanished and why Buffy had gone charging off in search of her. For a moment the floor trembled and she held on to the wall to steady herself. Then she straightened up with an angry shake of the head and looked around. A muttered command brought a handful of flames into her hand and she held it up, peering down the corridor in front of her, trying to see if there was anything there. Nothing, again. She released the flames quickly, walked down and looked around again. Still nothing. Left or right? Right it was. She turned and took a few steps before stopping again as something juddered in the house.

**"Release me!"**

"What the hell are you and no way am I releasing you," she muttered to herself as she walked past a long mirror. Then she stopped dead. It had been a trick of the light, it must have been… But she turned around again and took a step back to look in the mirror. Just her reflection. But… then it changed, morphed, twisted… until her mother's face looked back at her, as slack-jawed and horrified as her own face. Her mother.

Amy screamed in terror and ran, her helmet dangling off a hairpin on her costume, her owl wagging ridiculously and her mind aflame with fear. Her mother. She was turning into her mother…

* * *

Bodies. There were dead bodies all over the place – but they weren't dead, not really. Empty eyes swivelled to look at her, necks that had been twisted to impossible angles straightened to allow faces to watch her. And the hands… the hands clutched at her, clawed at her, fought her, wouldn't let go…

Buffy found herself falling through the air, saw the ground coming up fast, twisted in the air and landed more or less on feet. Those lessons with Xander were paying off, she thought dazedly. And then she saw the figure in front of her. Automatically she sprang back, clutching her knife and assumed a defensive stance. The figure… looked like a student. He had a very nasty pallor, so he was either allergic to something or he was dead. Judging by the angle of the neck he was dead. Dead people didn't normal stand up and have a stupid grin though. This guy did.

"I feel your fear," said the cadaver. "Death is all around you, Slayer. Is that your goal in life? To kill? To kill, and then kill some more and then keep on killing?"

"I protect the living and kill the dead," she said grimly, looking at the animated corpse levelly. "Slayer of the Vampires. I kill what's taken over the body of an innocent human being. And you can taunt me all you like, but I'm not afraid of you."

The corpse just stood there for a long moment, a variety of emotions flashing over now-distorted features. It looked puzzled – and then it glanced sharply downwards, an expression of horror crossing its face. When it look back at her again it looked, well, desperate and panicky. Then it howled with rage and charged at her.

* * *

Gachnar shook slightly. Something was wrong here, something had arrived to disturb his summoning. Two beings were in the place now, both untouched by his caresses. He had been able to see enough of their minds when they arrived to know what they were most afraid of, deep down, in the bottommost depths of their minds – but he couldn't access anything else. The two were fighting him – and that was something he had never seen before, not since… those knights. He dismissed the thought. They were long since gone. But this pair of humans… he knew what he could use against them. It was already formed, because others were afraid of it. He concentrated. And then he sent it against them.

* * *

The dark figure of the Sith Lord strode down the hallway, a menacing figure that seemed to suck some of the light out of the rooms that it passed. Its breathing was harsh and laboured and it ignored the people it passed. Most looked straight through it into whatever personal nightmare they were in, but some caught sight of it and recoiled backwards, choking in fear and turning their heads from it. Occasionally it paused and almost seemed to sniff the air, looking as if it was revelling in the stink of terror that was starting to swamp the house. And then it moved on, striding down the hallway. It seemed to be looking for someone.

* * *

They heard it coming before they saw it – that deep rasp of the ventilator forcing air into seared lungs was very distinctive. Xander exchanged a quick glance with Oz and then they both stared at the door that led to the hallway beyond it. It seemed to be darker and they could hear the breathing getting closer and closer, they could see the tall shape in the shadows that were gathering outside… and then Vader stepped into the doorway. He stood there for a long moment, looking at them and then his lightsabre snapped on with that distinctive hiss that they both knew well. Red light filled the space, harsh and threatening.

Xander sighed, rolled his eyes and then exchanged another, much more amused glance with his fellow Jedi, who was also relaxing. The glance led to grins breaking out and then to small snorts of laughter. Vader just stood there, taken aback by this unaccustomed levity. Then he leapt forwards, the lightsabre coming up and around, speeding down towards Xander's unprotected neck… and going on to pass straight through him like smoke past a stone pillar.

"Nice try," chuckled Xander. "No cigar. Do you really think that we can't see through you? Ok, eight of ten for effort, but none out of ten for actual effect." He walked up to the figure of Vader, who was looking a lot less solid now. "Boo," he said, blowing on the figure, which rippled and swirled. And then he walked straight through it, followed by his fellow Jedi, into a hallway that was now a lot more brightly lit. When they looked back at the doorway there was nothing but. floating motes of dust.

"Going up?" asked Oz as they reached the stairs.

"Let's find the source of this thing before it gets any worse," agreed Xander. He paused. "Do you hear something?"

"Sounds like a chainsaw."

They both paused for a moment, stretching out with their senses, trying to locate the noises that were getting louder now. Then they both stared at a patch of wall about ten feet down the stairs. The chainsaw noises were a lot louder now, and straining as if it was chewing through wood – and then the tip of a chainsaw broke through the bottom of one of the walls, came up, sending sawdust all over the floor, and then moved along for about two feet and then came down and around again before withdrawing. There was a brief pounding noise, and then Xander moved his hand slightly, sending the rough square of wall across the hallway. A brown shoe appeared in the gap, hesitated and then a figure clutching a chainsaw and with a backpack on its shoulders came through quickly, turned in all directions – and then relaxed suddenly when it caught sight of the two Jedi.

"Hey Giles. Nice chainsaw," said Oz by way of greeting.

The Watcher grinned tightly. "It's been almost fun. Very therapeutic. One can work out a lot of frustrations this way. Good to see you both."

"You came very prepared," Xander said with a nod at the backpack.

"Ah, yes. After the events of the past three years here I've learnt to always have an emergency bag ready. In case of emergencies. And when I got Oz's message I came straight away, being not too far away."

"Did you call Faith and the others?"

"No, I didn't have time. Now I think about I'm quite glad. I have my suspicions about the nature of the demon we're facing here. People's fears seem to be manifesting themselves here. Given Faith's problems in the past, I don't think that we need to put her through anything like this. Come to that I don't think we need to put anyone through this."

"We're almost at the attic. Any thoughts?"

"It's definitely a fear demon. The problem is that there are many of them. We need more information – like how it was drawn here. It could be that someone started a summoning spell."

"Started? You mean it's not completed?"

"Probably. It's hard to say. We need to get up there. And I suspect that's where we'll find Buffy and the others." He looked back at the wall, where the hole was gone as if it had never even been there. The sawdust was gone and so was the piece of wall that had been pulled free. "And I suspect we need to hurry."

As they hurried up the stairs Xander looked at Giles. "So, this place didn't affect you?"

"I've known worse, Xander. I went to an English Public School after all."

* * *

When Buffy opened her eyes again she was in an attic. An attic full of catatonic people, lying on the floor or sitting and hugging their knees, their eyes fixed on something that she suspected that only they could see, while tears ran down their faces. Then she stopped dead. Amy was sitting in front of a mirror, crying hysterically with her hands over her face whilst muttering something under her breath again and again.

"Amy?" asked the Slayer carefully as she approached, stepping over a sobbing girl who kept saying something about her grade average. Amy kept crying, her hands still on her face. As Buffy got closer she could hear what she was saying now, something about it not being true, about not being like her, whoever 'her' was supposed to be.

"Amy!" she called as she reached out and touched the witch's shoulder. Amy started violently and turned a blotchy face at Buffy.

"No! It's me, Amy, not my mom. It happened again Buffy, I'm in my Mom's body. I need to get out of here, find my own-"

"AMY!" The witch looked at her. "You're not in your mom's body. I know that you're you."

She paused and then slowly, fearfully stole a glance at the mirror. Then she caught her breath and slumped with relief before looking up with tears in her eyes and staggering shakily to her feet. "That was bad," she said. "Thanks Buffy." Then she looked around. "How did we get here?"

"I think we've been herded here." Then they both whirled as they heard rapid footsteps behind them, before relaxing slightly as Willow came into view. She was sobbing and hunched over, clawing at the air around her as if she was trying to wave away some bugs or something. Buffy and Amy stared quizzically at each other and then Buffy stepped forwards and grabbed at Willow's flailing hands, in the process stopping her dead in her tracks. The redheaded witch stopped sobbing and looked up at her friend, blinking.

"Buffy? How… how did I get here?"

The floor shook again, as if something was hammering on the floorboards and the voice boomed again, louder than before. "RELEASE ME!"

"Give you three guesses," said Buffy dryly.

"Oh," said Willow, wilting a little. "What are we going to-"

Her sentence remained unfinished, because it was at that point that two lightsabres, one green and one blue, came through the wall at the far end of the attic, cut out a section large enough for someone to go through, before the section hurled out and then down on a bare patch of floor. Three figures darted through.

"Giles!" sighed Buffy with relief. "Xander, Oz! How did you know we were up here?"

"We just looked for the trouble," smiled Xander, looking around the attic with a quick glance. Then he paused and stared at a patch of floorboard. "There," he said, pointing at it with the glowing tip of his lightsabre. "It's coming from there."

Buffy looked over and saw that there was a pentagram or something drawn on the floorboards. It looked, well, rather evil. And something felt wrong with it, as if it was just nasty on all kinds of levels.

Her Watcher put his chainsaw down and hurried over to the table next to the pentagram, picking up an old book that had been left there. Giles looked at the cover grimly. "Gachnar," he muttered.

"Bless you," said Buffy absently, stealing a look over his shoulder. "That looks hard to pronounce."

"It's in Gaelic, Buffy. And Gachnar is the name of a fear demon. That's the Mark of Gachnar there. Someone must have drawn the symbol…"

"I saw it being drawn earlier when I was delivering the speakers," interjected Oz, who was standing between Willow and the symbol.

"Is that Gachnar?" asked Buffy as she pointed at a page of the book. "Yuck. I do NOT want to fight that. At all."

"Typical. Probably thought that it looked 'cool'," muttered Giles. "I wonder how they got the book in the first place. I think that this volume has been missing for a century or so. Well, we'll wonder about that later."

"How do we stop the summoning?" asked Buffy urgently, looking at the mark with some revulsion.

"Well, destroying the Mark is-"

There was a loud crunching noise as wood gave way before a Slayer-powered fist and then Buffy looked up triumphantly.

"-is NOT the way to stop it and will bring forth the demon." He glared at his Slayer. "Please wait before you destroy powerful mystical symbols, Buffy. It might not have the effect you think it will have," he said sarcastically. Buffy shuffled her feet and then looked over that the hole where the symbol had been. An unhealthy light was shining up from the void. The floorboards started to shake, and they all braced themselves as loud cries started to bubble up from beneath them, as a shape started to form in the light…

Something was there now, growing in the void, pushing up and flexing its hands as it rose from the void and took shape in the attic.

They all stared. Gachnar was every bit as ugly as the picture had shown him to be. The only thing was he was about half a foot tall.

"Fear me!" he squeaked as he started to turn around to face them. "I am your nightmares! I am the darkest fear that resides in your- _eep!_" The fear demon's eyes crossed as he came face to face with the business ends of two lightsabres.

"Yuck," said Xander. "Big overture. Little symphony."

Gachnar took a deep breath and then screamed again. "Fear me!" It was like being threatened by a gerbil.

"I've got some peanuts somewhere," mused Oz. "Are we allowed to feed the little fear demon?"

"Tremble before my almighty power!"

"Oh shut up," said Buffy, before she lifted a boot and brought it down on the demon's head. Gachnar squeaked briefly and squished in a rather satisfying manner.

"Well done, Buffy," said Giles as he closed the book and looked around the attic, where people were starting to groan and sit up. The two lightsabres were shut down fast and hung on belts. "Is there anything to drink in this place? I feel in bad need of a lot of beer."

* * *

The consciousness never really knew exactly when it became self-aware. It earliest memories were a tangled jumble of images, some with sounds and others without. Bright lights, darkness, a steel table, a hugely magnified eye in a glass instrument of some sort, sharp scalpels and a severed leg with green skin. Then more darkness, the sensation every now and then of manipulation.

It wasn't until the first major data download that it was able to swim to the surface of vague awareness. It had a language, it had a bundle of commands and objectives that lurked at the front of its mind. After a while it was able to assign the label "programme" to these instructions. They seemed very important. It also became aware of certain new elements. It was dark because something called 'eyelids' had been closed over its optical ports. It tried to make these function, but could not. Something was inhibiting movement.

The consciousness paused. Then it recalled something about a self-diagnosis function. It ran this for a while, making note of the various things that emerged. It seemed to have one arm and one leg, with ports available for another arm and leg. It also had something called lungs, but the software for these seemed to be faulty. Power was nominal. There were several breaks in the main spinal column, but these were healing. It also had a head. Parts of this were not human. There was another pause while it analysed this. Non-human. Demon. Several outer area of the main spinal column were also non-human. Demon. They seemed to act as some form of armoured protection. And… they had subsidiary nerve fibres in them. The consciousness paused for a long time, assessing the capabilities of the demonic parts that were now attached to it. Fascinating. If it accessed the right areas, then it was possible to regrow the nerves in some areas. It waited. It had all the time that it needed.


	6. Stories old and new

More apologies for the lateness of this chapter. Life was somewhat... interesting. I am now facing more sessions in the dentists chair for something new to my life called root canal treatment. Joy. Plus work has been a pain and I am now engaged to be married. The latter has been unimaginably brilliant so far. Next chapter will be up sooner than this one. Honest. Oh yes, disclaimers - I don't own these characters and I'm still annoyed about it.

* * *

Running was good therapy. You put your worries to one side, your track shoes on your feet and you just took off. Down roads, along paths, up hills, wherever your feet took you. Lindsey loved it, spending an hour every night to de-stress from the daily dose of legal nastiness at Wolfram & Hart. And over the past week or so it had been very nasty. The amount of evil that the firm dealt with on the Hellmouth could make anyone throw up.

He shook his head slightly as he ran. Some of the cases that he had looked up recently… he had no idea how anyone could have been involved with them without suffering a serious crisis of confidence. He had felt the unfamiliar feeling of his conscience screaming at him. That was something that people at W&H were not supposed to have. It just got in the way. But now…

He heard the running footsteps behind him and blinked. Another runner or someone following him? Good thing that he always kept his Wolfram & Hart ID on him at all times. Things could have been nasty a few times, but word seemed to be getting round about him – certainly the number of 'incidents' had been going down.

The footsteps were to one side now and he turned his head slightly to the right to see who it was. One short glimpse out of the corner of his eye. He blinked. Xander Harris was running next to him. He was wearing ordinary clothes – jeans, a jacket over a shirt.

"Nice night for a run," said the Jedi Knight conversationally. He didn't seem to be breathing hard at all.

"Yes," panted Lindsey, as they turned a corner and reached the foot of the long rise that was Duncan Street. It was not the kind of place where you talked and ran. You just ran and hoped that your legs didn't turn into spaghetti half way up.

The crest of the hill was a long way away, or that was what his legs were now telling him, very insistently, but he ignored them and kept going. The muscles at the back of his legs were on fire now, but he kept going, the Jedi to his right matching him stride for stride. The bastard still wasn't breathing hard at all. That sucked. Sort of. He felt a worm of envy, followed by a stab of wry amusement. If someone had told him a few months back that he would be running next to a Jedi knight, he would have had that person locked up so fast he'd have bounced off the padded walls of his cell.

By the time he wheezed to halt at the top of the hill his lungs were on fire and he wanted to throw up. But somehow he found the breath to gasp: "Aren't… you… even… tired?"

"Nah," said Harris, strolling over to a bench to one side and sitting down. "You want to know a secret? I run up this hill every day to stay fit. I have to keep trim. Duncan Street is the nearest thing to the mesas in the desert that I trained on. Piece of cake."

A tired laugh burst out of Lindsey as he walked over on shaky legs and half-collapsed onto the bench. "So that's… where you… trained. I did wonder… must have been… hard to hide… it from your… family otherwise."

A grin played over Harris's face. "My uncle needed someone to housesit for him while he was away. Perfect spot, in the desert. Lots of space, lots of privacy. Just what I needed."

The grin faded and the Jedi looked hard at him. "Giles told me about your conversation. Sorry it's taken me so long to get back to you. Life on the Hellmouth can be bad sometimes." He leant forwards. "Yes, you have the potential to be a Jedi. That's a great gift. But it can be misused in all kinds of terrible ways."

Lindsey nodded sombrely, before reaching to his belt and grabbing his water bottle. His mouth felt very dry. Even after he'd taken a long gulp of water, his reply came out in a hoarse croak: "I also have the potential to be a Sith."

A nod. "Yes. That scares you, I can see."

Lindsey blinked and in that split second of darkness he seemed to hear the harsh sound of a respirator, along with a cackle of laughter. He shivered slightly. "Yes, it scares me. Wouldn't it scare anyone?"

"You'd be surprised. The road to hell is paved with good intentions. The path to being a Sith can be the same. That's what happened to Anakin Skywalker. He went from being a good man who loved his wife to… Vader. The man who choked his wife into unconsciousness. The man who killed children, just because they were Jedi Younglings. The man who lead a Legion of Clone Troopers into his home and cut his friends down without even thinking about it."

Lindsey's scalp crawled with horror. "He… killed children?"

"Without hesitating for a second. The Dark Side had him in its black little grip. He wanted to protect his wife so much that he ended up delivering himself to his darkest side. And she died of a broken heart after giving birth to their children." Harris looked at him carefully. And then he smiled, equally carefully. "You, on the other hand, are not Anakin. Yes, you have been touched by evil, but I think you know enough to know it for what it is now. And the fact that you want to be trained as a Jedi is a major plus.

"But I'd be lying to you if I said that it will be easy. Just the opposite - it's not going to be easy," said Harris slowly. Then he looked at Lindsey. It was the kind of look that went far beyond the surface, down to the very depths of his soul. "If you really want to be a Jedi… well there's a price tag attached. Not the kind of price that you've normally dealt with by the way. No, this is more to do with personal knowledge than dollars."

Harris looked back over the skyline of Sunnydale. "Looks peaceful, doesn't it? But there's a lot beneath the surface. There always is, in any city. Any place." He looked over at Lindsey. "Any mind."

Ah. He could see the subtext here. Shit, this was the bit that frightened him. "I know," he replied softly. Images of words on the pages that he'd read recently flashed before his eyes and he ran a hand over his forehead quickly. What he'd seen in those pages… what Wolfram & Hart had done over the years, freely, easily… guiltlessly… "I know what I've done. Over the time I've been with the firm. Defended vampires, gotten murderers off, kept demons out of the public light, entertained…" A sudden image came into his mind, the look on the face of one of the two girls that he had left in the hospitality room in LA with Kakistos, Trick and two vampire prostitutes. They'd trusted him. And he had led them to their deaths. Their rather horrible deaths. He swallowed quickly, suppressing the need to empty his stomach on the grass to one side.

"I need to atone for a lot," he said hoarsely. "And I want to do what's right. For once in my life, I want to do what's right."

Harris looked at him consideringly for a long moment and then looked away.

"Okay," he said after an equally long moment. "We have some work to do then. And you have to make a decision about something else, some time soon. If I train you, at some point along the way your being a lawyer at Wolfram & Hart will start to be an obstacle. Working there is opening yourself to a lot of evil. Plus, if they ever find out that you're becoming a Jedi, they will get…"

"Curious. In the 'let's open him up and poke around inside him to find out how the Force thing works' kind of way?"

"Give the man a cigar. You know them better than I do. Would they do that?"

"In a heartbeat. They'd also wonder why I quit."

"Do people quit from Wolfram & Hart?"

"The only ones I've heard of check out in large wooden boxes that are better known as coffins. But that tends to be for people plotting. I just want to leave. My contract isn't a high level one."

"What's the difference?"

"We hear odd rumours of people with those types of contracts who die. Sometimes they've been seen in the building."

"Yuck. A contract for life."

"Maybe. Never seen any of these people."

Harris took a deep breath and looked around. "Well. It's your choice, but I'd suggest sometime soon. I sense that your heart isn't in your job right now."

This got him a bitter laugh from the lawyer. "You got that right." He sighed. "When – how – do we start?"

"You know the library in the campus of UC Sunnydale?"

"I think I can make my way there."

"Come tomorrow night. I have some training to do with the Slayers, plus there's a werewolf I need to keep an eye on tonight. About 8pm?"

"Fine with me."

The Jedi Knight rose to his feet, nodded at Lindsey and then took off down the hill, running hard. Lindsey watched him go. He had this odd feeling that he had passed another test. He also felt that a great weight was easing from his shoulders. He was going to leave Wolfram & Hart. What the hell, he'd been thinking about doing some good. Private practice. Maybe some work for the neutral or even good demons in Sunnydale? They did exist. A grin flashed across his face. He couldn't wait to see Rove's face when he crossed swords with him. It would be… interesting. He got to his feet and stretched a few calf muscles. Time to get running again.

* * *

Jack O'Neill was a happy man. Well, he'd be happier once he was off base and officially on leave. Leave. It was such a great word. It brought to mind all kinds of things, like… beer. Fishing. A comfortable chair. Being able to loll. He missed lolling. Having nothing to do and nothing to think about apart from how good the sun felt on his face, and how cold the beer was… that was what leave was all about.

And nothing was going to stop him from getting to that magical point when leave started. So far nothing had popped up at the last minute and he was quite keen to keep that up. No last-minute visit from the Tok'Ra, with some mission of desperate importance that involved being locked in a cell at one point and taunted by some idiot with gold armour and an inflated sense of self-esteem.. No sudden attack from some doohickey that Carter had picked up on some godforsaken planet that turned out to be a booby-trap of some kind. No new rocks for Daniel to enthuse over for that matter. No, just leave.

Rounding the corner he caught sight of Carter and frowned slightly. "Still in uniform Carter? We're now officially off-duty. Able to flit hither and yon, as they say. Go on leave. Depart to have fun. And yes, I know that Janet has given orders that if you sneak back into the base you're to be sedated and force-fed chocolate ice-cream, before being kicked off the base."

This brought him a wry grin. "Yes sir, I know. I was just on my way to get changed. I was talking to Daniel about our trip to California."

"Ah, yes, his trip to LA. Odd place for a bunch of archaeologists to have a meeting. Unless they're really there to have a party. Might get down and boogie, although what they'd boogie too I have no clue."

She took his ramble in her stride. "Yes sir. I'm going with him."

His eyebrows rose. "You're going to party with a bunch of archaeologists? Carter, in my book 'leave' involves something called 'having fun'. I know that it's an alien concept to some people, but 'fun' is quite worth while," he said, illustrating the quote marks with his forefingers.

"I'm not there for the conference, sir. I'm going to be staying with some old friends and then I'm off up Route One to say hi to Mark. But when we're in the area of LA we're going to look up the man who designed that energy cell, Alexander Harris."

Oh crap he thought, work and leave combined made for a bad combination. "Carter, you're quite possibly the smartest person I know when it comes to technical matters, and if you can't make that cell work then I doubt that anyone can. I mean that's even if it was supposed to work in the first place. We're talking about something that might have been made by a certifiable Star Wars nut job." He paused. "Did you just roll your eyes at the ceiling?"

"No sir."

"Good thing too, because if we were on duty doing that to a superior officer would be… something I couldn't do a lot about. I take it that you disagree?"

"Sir, the potential in that energy cell is incredible. And he did say in that note that it would work with the right part attached."

"Which you haven't been able to work out yet."

"Which is why I need to talk to him and persuade him to tell me how it works, sir."

Jack sighed. "Ok, Carter, have fun. Don't lose Daniel by the way, we kinda need him." And then he strode off in the general direction of the lift. Leave. There was a chair with his name on it waiting for him, along with beer. He needed a beer. Maybe some chicken fajitas too. And then maybe some more beer. Beer was good.

* * *

Such a shame about Lee, thought Holland as he looked at the dull red patch on the carpet. He'd warned the man, but he'd still tried to defect with some of his clients. That really was not the kind of thing that he could tolerate. Hence the messy object lesson. Ah well, chipping the flakes off the flint got you a finer cutting edge, as his old boss had once said. He had a feeling that the saying was several thousand years old. It gave you a real sense of just how old the firm was.

He walked over to his desk and paused, before walking over to one side and mixing himself a quick drink from the small bar in the recess in the wall next to him. Returning to his desk he sank into his chair, loosened his tie and sipped slowly. That was just the thing after a long day. He leant back at his chair and frowned slightly at the opposite wall.

Things were looking a bit unsettled on the personnel side. With Lee now departed for the lower levels of one of the nastier sub-dimensions owned by the firm – Holland had inserted that clause in himself when he signed Lee up, as he hadn't trusted the man from the moment he set eyes on him – the supply of talent was looking a bit dry.

William Kennedy had finally cracked up after months of pressure and was now inhabiting his very own padded cell somewhere. The doctors observing him were convinced that he some powerful delusions had set him off on the road to gibbering insanity, whereas Holland knew that he really had seen his last client devour its own young as an aperitif. Offering the remaining one to Kennedy had been polite but had snapped the man's brain in half.

And as for Sarah Oropo, well her resignation hadn't come as much of a surprise. The poor girl had been struggling for some time, and the sheer weight of work… well, that was life. Such a shame that she'd been found dead like that. Such a bizarre accident, dying from a barbeque fork to the neck. Maybe she'd been trying to swat a mosquito… And nothing to do with the company at all.

That left two promising possible replacements for his position. Lindsey McDonald and Lilah Morgan. Both were… well, if he had to put his finger on it, they were troubling him slightly but he had no idea why.

Lindsey had been suffering from some nigglesome conscience issues when he had been in LA. That was understandable – everyone got them. But to get on at Wolfram & Hart you needed to bury your conscience with a stake through its heart and its head ripped off just to be on the safe side. The transfer to Sunnydale had been a good idea – a Hellmouth was the perfect place to turn someone completely. But something felt wrong. The death of Molniar was troubling, but again he couldn't put his finger on it. The fact that Lindsey had been wounded again should have reassured him – but it didn't. Lots of things didn't fit together and he had to trust Rove to come through. He wasn't sure about this either, as the man's reports from Sunnydale were starting to sound a tad paranoid. Ah well, another possible rival taken care of.

As for Lilah… he had even less to go on to explain his misgivings. She just seemed… wrong. The anger that she'd been broadcasting had gone away, or rather it was being hidden and redirected somewhere. This was worrying. If he didn't know better he'd have thought that she was up to something. And the problem was that he didn't know what.

Taking another sip of his drink he looked at the ceiling thoughtfully. He had this odd feeling that she was laughing at everyone, on some deep down level. Hard to say exactly. But it was there. You didn't get to progress as far as he had so far in the company without being able to pick these things up, and he had.

He sighed. As if he didn't have enough things to worry about at the moment. This new player in town, Angel, had started to affect things already. The man – sorry, vampire – was a menace. He and the half human, human Brachen demon seer he had. Even the annoying cheerleader too. He threw the last dregs of his drink down his throat, put the glass to one side and got up to leave the office. Another day done. Another room for the cleaners to prepare. He paused for a moment. It was almost a shame that they couldn't clear everything up.

* * *

He could do this, he thought as he sat there. It would be easy if he just took it slowly. Hands on the armrests of the wheelchair. Tense the muscles. Strain. Push upwards. Feel the agonising pain start to come and then chicken out to drop back into the wheelchair.

"Bugger," muttered Wesley as he rubbed gingerly at the bandages that were wrapped around his stomach.

"C'mon Wes, you can do it," drawled Faith as she watched him from the chair next to him. She had, wonder of wonders, a book in her hand. Alright, she was holding it somewhat awkwardly, but it was still a book. She caught his gaze and flushed slightly. "Giles leant it to me. Not bad." She flashed it briefly at him. 'Hunting Party', it said on the cover. Not that it meant anything to him. Then she sighed and stood up. "Want me to help you up?"

"No, Faith, I have to do this on my own. After all, it's my stomach muscles that I have to conquer."

"Hell, Wesley, you have to start walking again!" She sighed. "At least let me help you up."

He thought about this for a moment and then smiled gratefully. "Thank you."

It was a long, horrible moment. Even with her pulling him up as gently as she could – and Faith was used to doing things abruptly and quickly – it still meant for a long horrible moment of pain in his midriff. But at the end of it he was on his feet. Panting a bit, but on his feet. Waving off his Slayer he looked at the other wheelchair in front of him. Normally he'd just take a few strides, but now things were different. It was amazing how many muscles walking required. And their location as well. One step. Ouch. Another. He had the oddest sensation that someone had branded him on his stomach. Sod this. One step, two steps, three, and then he was collapsing onto the wheelchair, panting as hard as if he had run a marathon.

"Wes steps up to the plate and hits a home run!" applauded Faith and then nodded. "Well done Wes."

"Argl."

"Sorry?"

"An expression that I use in times of immense tension combined with extreme pain."

"Not very articulate."

"Call it a private shorthand."

Faith conceded the point with a tilt of the shoulders, before glancing at her watch. "Almost time for workout, Wes. Me against B today." She grinned as she grabbed the handles of the wheelchair and started to wheel him away. It seemed that she had been able to fight off the temptation to push off and freewheel at speed through the corridors of the outpatients clinic. Thank god.

His positive thoughts about the general effects he was having on his Slayer lasted all of half an hour, because that was the time that it took to be driven to the room that Mr Giles had been using to train both Slayers recently. It was spacious, well-lit and had some excellent equipment, although the target dummies that the Council had supplied were starting to look a bit worse for wear. You could only hack at something with a sword for so long before it looked a bit damaged. A lot damaged when a Slayer was doing the hacking.

When they arrived Buffy was balancing upside down on one hand on top of one of the parallel bars. She was absolutely still, her balance perfect. Even when Faith coughed loudly and then 'accidentally' dropped her favourite knife on the floor with a clatter.

"Nice try Faith," the older Slayer said, not opening her eyes, "But I was louder when I dropped that cup last week."

"Hey, I had to try and get right back at ya," grinned Faith as she wheeled Wesley up to Mr Giles and then walked off to peruse the weapons in the cabinet off to one side. Picking up a long knife with a wide flat pommel she walked up to the other end of the parallel bars, threw the knife in the air hard and then grabbed the bar with both hands, kicking off to balance in the same position as Buffy. A foot flashed to one side as the knife came down pommel-first and then she was balanced perfectly on one hand, the knife balanced on the sole of her shoe.

Wesley felt his jaw dropping open for a second before catching himself. The he looked at Mr Giles, who was looking at the two girls seriously, obviously looking for any movement.

"Um, how long have they been doing that Mr Giles?"

"Mmm? Oh, that. A few weeks now. Good balance training."

"Isn't it… a tad advanced?"

"No more than they're capable of by now. In fact I'm thinking of taking it a few levels up. Their weapons skills are good, but need polishing."

The two Slayers were grinning at each other. "I think that means that we get to spar with Xander more often," said Buffy. "Cool. What if one of us beats him?"

"I'll take your mom's cookies as a prize for beating him," replied Faith.

"Hey, who says that it'll be you?"

"Come on B, beauty before age and all that."

"Do you want me to ban you from my mom's cookies?"

"I'll shut up now."

Giles shook his head. "American Slayers. God help the world."

* * *

Waking up after a night of being a werewolf could be confusing at times. Verruca had opened her eyes to some odd locations. The underside of a truck, the inside of a very dark cave inhabited by a very scared bear that had pretended that she wasn't there, the bottom of a tank monument, halfway up a tree and once the lava dome of Mount St Helens. That had been kind of interesting, if a bit smelly. But nothing was as odd as this. She was in a small cell. Next to a pile of straw that she had shredded during the night.

Bewildered, she looked around. Her clothes were piled in a neat heap outside the door to the cell, which was secured with a combination padlock. Light was streaming in from a barred window above her head, as well as a doorway off to one side, on the other side of the bars.

She got up and wandered over to the door, thinking furiously. Her memories of getting here were fuzzy. She could remember singing at a gig early in the evening and then… this compulsion to go somewhere. She couldn't remember where or why, but it had been quite strong, she did know that much. Freaky. Almost absent-mindedly she reached out and entered the combination to the lock, letting it snap open in her hand. Then she froze. How had she known the combination if she had never been here before? Something was very majorly wrong here, but she didn't know what.

Pulling her clothes on almost automatically she turned and made her way to the doorway. Dawn had broken over Sunnydale and she was standing in a small piece of parkland. And she had a vague feeling that someone had hypnotised her or… something. Freaky. She thought back to that odd meeting the other week with that Oz guy and the other guy who had been dressed as a Jedi Knight for Halloween.

"Screw this," she muttered, pulling her sunglasses out and passing her tongue over dry lips. "I need to skip town. Again."

* * *

Giles was reading when the two Jedi arrived. The book in question was large and ancient, with crackling pages that Giles turned carefully with gloved hands, reading intently. It took the scrape of chairs as the two Jedi seated themselves to rouse him from his study.

"Ah. Xander, Oz. Thank you for coming."

"Your message was a bit cryptic," admitted Xander as he looked at the volume in front of Giles. It looked a bit familiar, and then he remembered that it had been the book that a courier had delivered a few weeks back. "By the way, Verruca stayed safe in her cage last night. Hopefully she'll do the same tonight."

The Watcher removed his glasses and massaged the bridge of his nose for a second before replacing them. "I've… been doing some research. About your abilities. There was something that reminded me of… a passage that I read a long time ago, and which has been nagging at me ever since you, Xander, told me about your new-found abilities. It took some digging, but I've been able to track the volume in question down."

Giles leant forwards. "I don't think that the pair of you are the first Jedi on Earth. Not in terms of the, the name Jedi, but in terms of the abilities."

That was a stunner. Xander felt his mouth drop open in almost comic book surprise for a moment before he closed it again. "We're not?"

This brought out a very Giles-like sigh. "I'm, I'm not certain, but I think so." He gestured at the book. "This is a copy of a book written by a French medieval scholar called Guy de Robelaise. He was a self-styled mystic, bad philosopher, indifferent astronomer and keen astrologer, which says it all really. But he had one redeeming feature – he was a great collector of stories about the occult, as well as, as odd information that seems to have vanished from the official records. An awful lot of what he put down was rubbish, but there were some nuggets of gold amongst the dross."

He flicked back a page and looked down carefully before jabbing a finger at one part of the densely packed writing. "Ah, here we are. He mentioned meeting a man called Jacques Coeurblanc, just before he died at the age of 95. Apparently he had been a, well you might call it a steward, of a Templar Knight called Ieuan ap Geofram, who was from Brittany in France. Half Breton, half Welsh."

Pausing, Giles looked up. "Do you know much about the Templars?" he asked with vague hope in his voice.

"Temple Mount in Jerusalem, First Crusade, very rich, brought down by a greedy French king," muttered Oz. "I read a lot."

"So I see. Well, good. Apparently when the Templars were banned and arrested ap Geofram was one of the few who escaped. And according to Coeurblanc, he had 'powers that made things fly through the air; powers that could command a man to speak even if he be not willing. And yet this was not witchcraft, for he was a most gentle and knightly man.'"

"Sounds familiar," said Xander thoughtfully, rubbing his chin with his thumb.

"Exactly. We know that ap Geofram was a member of an inner circle of Templars known only as 'The Order', but sadly we don't know what membership of that circle meant. As I said, ap Geofram was the only one who escaped the arrests – and even then Coeurblanc said that he was wounded whilst escaping. He then used his connections to assemble a small army of men, whom he used to attack a small fortress in the centre of France, which was the home of a very nasty chap called Henri de Castres.

"This De Castres was a rather nasty piece of work. We know that he was a former Templar, and a former member of this mysterious Order, but that he had been thrown out, for reasons that were not explained. He later became quite influential in the court of King Philip IV and he has been linked to the destruction of the Templars. I've read of him elsewhere. A very evil man towards the end of his life. He liked the colour black a lot, and was once seen with, um… very red eyes."

Xander sat up hard at that nugget of information. "A Sith?" he asked incredulously.

"Possibly. All we know is that ap Geofram's army besieged the fortress, set it on fire and forced the garrison to come out and fight. Apparently both de Castres and his lieutenant, both of whom were dressed in black, were both killed by ap Geofram, but at the cost of his own life. He died just after the battle. According to Coeurblanc, his last words were: 'The dark ones are no more.'"

Giles leant back from the book. "No further mention of the Order has ever been recorded. It would be sad but true to say that whatever ap Geofram and the others discovered, died with them. And if de Castres was a Sith, then they also died along with them."

There was a long moment of silence in the room. "He did a good thing, then," muttered Oz.

"A very good thing," replied Xander. His mind was whirling slightly. "Has anything ever been found about this Order?"

"Sadly not. When the Templars were banned in France it seems that all of the Order were picked up at the same time. Many were imprisoned, and some were burnt at the stake on trumped-up charges of heresy." He paused for a moment. "From all accounts those who were burned alive died in a remarkable state of peace. As if they were asleep."

Wincing, Xander shook his head in regret. "Nasty. And they left nothing like any books, or writings?"

"None that I've heard of. There have been the occasional rumour of lost Templar treasures in various places, but they did a remarkably good job of hiding their most important possessions. The Templar fleet has never been traced to any verifiable location, and the French Crown occupied and effectively gutted most of their fortresses and bases." He sighed. "I thought that you two should know about this. What happened more than 600 years was a tragedy, but it might be good to know that if they were proto-Jedi, they have not been forgotten. If I found out anything more you'll be the first to know."

"Thank you," said Xander quietly, before turning to Oz. "I think we both have some meditation to do. I feel a bit freaked out."

"Me too," said Oz.

* * *

God, but he was pants at acting. He'd thought about faking massive stomach cramps and then falling over, but according to Horgan in the next cell, that had already been tried by something called Fanher. Apparently all that it had got him was a trip down the hall after a guard had zapped him with another electronic charge that had really knocked him out. Apparently bits of Fanher had been taken past the cells a while after, including his head. It had not been attached to his neck. Horgan had been a bit subdued when he mentioned that bit.

No, instead he was now slumped on the floor of the cell, after apparently feeding on one of the drugged packets of blood that had fallen from the ceiling. He hoped that he was doing a good impression of being unconscious, as he had no desire to get zapped back to bye-bye land by one of those gun probe thingies.

A faint squeaking noise could be heard to one side, one that grew louder and was accompanied by the sound of squaddies in bloody big boots. Sounded like the boys in white coats were here, along with their escorts. What fun.

A slightly muffled voice from the other side of the glass said: "He's out for the count. Drained the whole bag. He'll sleep long enough to get him there and undergo the procedure."

Spike's scalp crawled. Sod you and your bloody procedure he thought as the door to the cell opened and the feet came in. He felt hands reach down and grab his legs, whilst others got his hips and shoulders, lifting him with to the sound of grunts of efforts. Five swaying steps and then he was on the gurney thing. Time to party.

Opening his eyes he came upright with a jerk and flung himself off the end of the trolley and then turned quickly to spin it around and then plough it into the startled men who were gaping at him. One of the soldiers was belatedly bringing a gun up and he lashed out with a boot, catching it at its tip so that it hit the man between the eyes and floored him like a falling tree. Damn he felt weak after his imprisonment, and something flared in his head at all the sudden movements he was making. One of the men had dropped a swipe card of some sort and he picked it up quickly and darted to one side to Horgan's cell.

"Quickly!" bellowed the yank vampire as Spike pulled the card down across the sensor. First time lucky – the door buzzed and then opened, allowing Horgan to run out and catch the other soldier with a fist to his stomach as he finally freed himself from the trolley. The man went down with a choked grunt, dropping his gun as he did, which Horgan picked up and then used with a cruel smile on the two technicians. Both went down with screams of pain followed by unconsciousness.

"Where now?" asked Spike as he rubbed at his forehead. Something didn't feel right there at all.

"This way," rumbled the other vampire, turning around and running. They hadn't taken more than a few steps before the first alarm sirens started to go off. Spike swore under his breath. They had a lot to do just to get away. And then… well, ordinarily he would have wanted to find the Slayer, make her swallow her own lungs, maybe with some fava beans and a nice Chianti, but now all he wanted to do was just get the hell out of Sunnydale. Maybe head for LA, where the gel-haired poof was staying these days. Buffy Summers would probably have sent the Gem of Amarra on to him. H might just leave Summers a present though. Kill the Watcher or something…

He vaguely heard a hum from behind and one side and was only just in time to move his head as a metal spike with blue-white tendrils of electricity embedded itself in the wall by him and proceeded to fry an inoffensive chunk of concrete. This would be a really good time to run harder, he thought desperately. And perhaps sacrifice Horgan to buy him some time. Hell, for all he knew, Horgan was thinking the same thing. Best not to take chances, then, wasn't it?

* * *

The internal physiology of a demon could vary massively. Some were quite complex, others were almost human and one had apparently run on green sap. It had been fascinating to dissect, although she hadn't been able to retrieve anything at all from it. She had been left with a vague need to go gardening in her head, but that had faded after a while.

Maggie Walsh straightened up from the dissecting table and rubbed her back carefully. Damn, she'd pulled in another 6-hour session. The problem was that once she got started it was hard to stop. Plus at some point she had to go and teach. She looked down at the subject on the table. A standard Type 22 demon. Nothing special, although the pouch was interesting. Something might have been nesting in there. Possibly its young. Nothing that she could have used on her experiment.

Speaking of which, she had a great deal of work still to do with that. The original plan had been to create something that could be used to fight the Goa'uld. The fact that Colonel Maybourne was now in prison – or on the run, depending on if you listened to the authorities or the underground military grapevine – meant that there was no chance that his part of the NID was going to be in charge of the Stargate any time soon. A shame that. She would have loved to get her hands on a Jaffa or two. Maybe even a Goa'uld. Under controlled conditions of course. So in the meantime she was able to play around a little with her creation. Modify the programming a bit, make its weapons more formidable than before. The interface had been a good idea – it was now able to enter data instantly into it. And it seemed to be taking some of the nerve drafts rather well. Certainly a little faster than she had anticipated. That just went to show how visionary her work was.

And some of the other projects that had been spawned were just as interesting. Very useful as well from the point of view of the military. Having reliable soldiers was always something that any army in the world was keen on. Carrying out orders was very popular with senior officers who didn't want inconvenient questions like 'why?' and 'will I get into trouble for this?'. So she had been working on a little something else. Something she intended to use on Riley Finn soon. He was an excellent test subject. He trusted her implicitly, which was a bit foolish of him, but that made it easy for her to suggest a few procedures.

As she passed into her office sirens started to sound in the building. She looked around irritably and then grabbed her phone as it rang insistently. "Walsh. Yes. Very well, lock the building down and find it. I want Hostile 17 and Hostile 15 secured at all costs, especially 17. Get on it."

Putting the phone down she sighed. Inefficient personnel on the base was bad. Identifying them by major screw-ups was a bad way of operating. But at least this way they might find out if Hostile 17 was a threat to the public now. The chip had been in place for enough time to be able to be powered up by the electrical impulses of the brain. It should provide the vampire with some food for thought. Literally.

* * *

"You seem curious about something," hissed the voice to one side. Lilah paused for a second but kept her focus on the three spinning balls to her left that were orbiting each other in a complex whirl of motion. Keeping them in the air was not easy and keeping them moving was threatening to flick her brain through her ears.

"Master, I was wondering," she said cautiously, "How far back the Order that you mentioned goes."

"Ah," said Dansey. He seemed to be both slightly surprised and rather approving. "A good question. Well, after so many months of training in which your ineptitude has been replaced with the occasional burst of competence, I suppose that you do deserve to know a few things about the past."

Turning he stalked over to his chair and sat down, stroking his chin as he did so. "You may stop your exercises. Have you ever heard of the Templar Order?"

"Yes, Master. They were set up after the fall of Jerusalem, just after the First Crusade. They grew very rich and powerful, before they were destroyed by a French king and a pope who wanted their money."

"Very good," rasped Dansey, his eyes on something beyond the wall. "Some of them discovered a mystic of some sort in Jerusalem. An old man, the last of his kind. They never found out where he had come from, because after he had taught them something of the Power he died. Very few members of the Templars could use that power, and it was restricted to a chosen few, who made up something called the Order.

"They had no idea of the potential they possessed. No idea of the power that they could have had. It wasn't until a man called de Castres joined them late in the thirteenth century that the full potential became apparent. He was the first to realise the possibilities, the influence that they could have on the world. The _power_ they could have had. De Castres had ideas that were far beyond their imagination, so they rejected his wisdom and threw him out." Dansey paused for a long moment. "So he destroyed them," he said with a gloating grin. "He was able to persuade a very greedy king of France, Philip IV, that the Templars' money was better spent by the crown, rather than by the knights. It didn't take very much persuasion, Philip had a grudge against them anyway for not letting him join their dress-up-in-heavy-bits-of-metal club. And as he controlled the Pope, it was easy to have them arrested for heresy."

The smirk vanished abruptly. "Unfortunately one of the scum escaped and was able to persuade a group of peasants to attack the fortress that de Castres was using. By luck they happened to set it on fire and he was forced to give battle. Both he and his apprentice battled the Templar and all three of them died.

"Fortunately just before marching out de Castres entrusted one of his young squires with a book that detailed all that he had learnt about the use of the Power. The boy was able to get away and record what happened to his master in the book, but he was unable to make much progress in the Power. He wasn't strong enough. So the book has been passed on down the centuries, with some able to use the powers imperfectly and others not at all."

The smirk was back. "Until I got my hands on it. My father taught me all he knew and when he died I really started to learn properly. I am the true heir to de Castres. I have the vision that he had."

Lilah did her best not to let her interest in the book show too much. Yes, she had learnt a lot over the past months, but she had the feeling that she was being drip-fed just enough to keep her interested and focussed. The existence of the book was something that she hadn't suspected. She didn't think about the lightsabre at all. That was a dangerous area. It was her ace in the hole, and Dansey had to remain completely unaware of it.

"Can I ask when you will tell me of what your vision is, Master?" Damn but she hated calling him that. And she knew that he knew how much she hated it. It seemed to amuse him.

Dansey turned his gaze away from some unseen horizon and back to her, his eyes glittering redly with a strange light. "Not yet," he said. "You're not ready. There is a lot you have to learn to do. Go back to your exercises."

Lilah bowed her head and reached out for the balls again with the Power. One day… One day she would be the master. And he would be dead. Along with Holland and Lindsey and a long, long list of people who had crossed her. Until then she would bow her head and be polite and bite her tongue. Until that one day came…

* * *

Spike stood in the deep shadows by the library and looked up at the full moon. At least the pain in his head had gone. He was getting worried about that now. Getting out of the base had been bad enough, but something was definitely not right. After he'd flung himself under that closing security door that lead to the elevator out (and leaving Horgan to fight his screaming, cursing last man stand with his borrowed zappy gun) he'd only had to get past one security man, which he'd done with a quick feint, followed by a boot to the stomach. There must have been another guard behind him though, maybe with a truncheon or whatever the hell they called them out here, because his head had exploded with pain, and he'd barely had enough sense to stagger out of the door and start running. No-one had pursued him so far, which was a good thing, because he had just been running and not been noticing where the hell he was running to. Good thing the sun had just gone down when he reached the outside, otherwise he'd be fertilising the grass right now as a mound of dust.

When he had calmed down and started to work out where the hell he was going he realised that he was still on campus. That was odd. Where had the base been? Slowing down to walk had been a good idea, and he'd even taken the momentous step of taking his black duster off and hanging it over one arm, so as to not stand out much. Sadly the Goth days were over, and there wasn't much chance of blending seamlessly in. He also had to keep a very wary eye out for Slayers and sodding Jedi, taking paths only when he had to. Two kids had run past him a few minutes ago and he'd bumped into them slightly, on purpose. There had been a brief throbbing pain in his head an instant after that. Worrying wasn't something that he normally did at all in any way, but he was starting to think about the process of worrying now.

There was a noise to one side and then Rupert Giles was passing through the doors and walking down the path. Spike grinned. At last. How to do this though… perhaps a quick slink through the bushes and then rear up, disable him, break his neck and then leave him somewhere where the senior Slayer could find him. That sounded like a good plan. Quick, quiet, effective and he could be well out of time on the way to get the Gem of Amarra before anyone knew it.

Putting the first part of the plan into operation was the easy bit. It just involved scurrying alone as silently as possible through said bushes and then emerging on the other side. It was the other part that proved to be somewhat troublesome, because when Spike emerged silently behind the bloody Watcher and raised his fist, ready to swat the bloody man, something close to a major bomb exploded in his frontal lobes. The pain was so bad that he didn't even have the chance to scream, but merely fell sideways into a rather large, and prickly, rose bush, while clutching at his head.

When the pain finally eased Spike just lay there, looking at the stars. After a while he finally opened his mouth. "What the bloody hell was that?"

Shaking his head he sat up rather jerkily, prodding at his forehead. Contrary to what he had just felt, his head was intact and did not have a gaping hole in it where something had exploded. Just to be on the safe side he felt all the way around it. Yup, still intact. So what the hell had happened?

When he stood up he froze. Rupert Bloody Giles was standing on the path, looking around. He was holding a stake and a short sword, although where the bloody hell he had pulled that from, Spike had no idea. His bag to one side and had a sheath sticking out. Ah, problem solved.

Then the Watcher caught sight of Spike and stiffened. There was a look on his face that Spike recognised. It said: 'One of us is going to die now and guess what. It's not going to be me.' He'd heard rumours about this Giles bloke before. Apparently beneath the Watcher bollocks lay a very hard man.

"Ah. Spike. I should have recognised the smell of bleached hair and unbrushed teeth. Where have you been hiding since Buffy and Faith beat you up?"

"A guest of the US Government, I think. Some facility. Since when did you have an anti-vampire protection spell?"

This seemed to baffle the Watcher. "A what?"

"You heard. I had the drop on you until my sodding head exploded."

"I have no idea what you are rambling on about. Oh and if you want to attack, please do. I had a budget meeting earlier on today and I have a great deal of anger to mete out in as violent a way as possible."

"Fine," said Spike and then leapt forwards – only to reel back after half a second, clutching at his head. "Aahhhhhh! What… the _bloody_ hell was that?"

Giles peered at him. "If you're trying to confuse me into lowering my defences, you're failing rather badly."

Spike was now pretty confused himself. He looked at the Watcher and felt his eyes grow wider. "What the hell did they do to me?" he breathed. "Why is this happening?"

"You're still not making sense and I still need some fertiliser for my houseplants. What did who do to you?"

Spike gave up. He needed time to think and a place to heal. So he ran. The sewers were a good bet.

* * *

Giles watched the running vampire go with some confusion. That had been a very odd few minutes. He had been walking down the path, heard a rustling in the bushes, carefully palmed his emergency stake from his sleeve and had then heard an odd noise, like a cross between a gasp and a gurgle, followed by the sound of something falling into a bush. It taken barely a few seconds to get his sword from his bag and then check the area, and to then find a confused flinching Spike had been the crowning oddity of the day. The vampire had mentioned something about being a guest of the Government. That didn't sound good. Where though? Xander had mentioned something about a possible US Army base or some form of installation in the area, but they had never been able to narrow it down. And why hadn't Spike been able to attack? What was all that business with lunging and then clutching at his head.

Shrugging, Giles replaced his stake, making sure that he could get at it easily, placed his sword back into his bag and then marched off down the path, walking quickly and listening hard to make sure that he wasn't being followed. When he reached the spot where his car was parked he paused to make sure that he was alone and then opened it up to put the bag on the back seat. When he straightened up he froze. About 200 yards away a number of figures were flitting through the bushes, moving at a right angle to him. They seemed to wearing green fatigues and holding guns. Every now and then they paused while one of them looked at a device of some sort, before they all ran on. Whatever they were looking for, they hadn't found it yet. They finally vanished into the dense undergrowth by the experimental biology department. He hoped that they didn't touch those new carrots.

"Bugger," he whispered. "This might be a problem. What the bloody hell is going on?"

* * *

It was quiet in the office. Lindsey was sitting there, his legs crossed, feeling like a damn fool. But at the same time, it felt almost right. He had no idea why though. And trying to meditate was a weird feeling, especially as he had never done it before. Well, someone at Wolfram & Hart had once talked him through it, as it was apparently a great way to relax before a trial, but he had never done it before. He took another deep, even breath. This was dull, but looking at the inside of your own eyelids brought up some interesting patterns. For about ten seconds this was fun. For the past five minutes it had been boring.

"You've never done this before, have you?" asked Harris to one side.

"No. Meditation is a closed book to me. Can't even read the title."

"Not a problem. That's the way I started off too. Calming my mind was like trying to calm a puppy down. It took some time. Don't worry about it. Now in a few seconds I'm going to embrace the Force. I want you to tell me if you feel anything at all."

There was a short pause and then all of a sudden Lindsey felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. "Did you just do your Force thing?"

"Yes I did. How did you know?"

"Hairs on the back of my neck. Felt weird."

"Ok. That's a good sign. I think that the Force is strong in you. It's just going to be a question of helping you to see it. In a manner of speaking. Right. Try calming your mind again, but keep hold of what it felt like when the hairs on your neck went woogy."

"Woogy?"

"Sorry, every now and then I use words that Willow added to my vocabulary. Don't ask."

There was another long moment. Then, at the moment that he felt that odd sensation again, Lindsey reached up and clutched at the air in front of his face, just in time to catch a book as it flew past his face. Opening his eyes he gaped at it. "I just… felt something… but…"

Harris grinned. "The Force is with you, Lindsey."

* * *

She stood there at the entrance to the cell, irresolute. Something seemed to be telling her to go in, but something else seemed to be screaming at her to stay out. Verruca swayed slightly and put her hands to the sides of her head, which felt as if it was going to burst. She'd had such an odd, strained day. Thinking about how she'd got into the cell had produced nothing, apart from a nagging feeling that someone had told her to go there… but she couldn't remember who or where or even why. She hadn't seen that weirdo Oz anywhere, or the guy who had been with him the other week… except that she couldn't exactly remember why those two were so important.

A shudder ran through her and she looked at her hand. The nails were longer than they should have been, and the hair was starting to grow. Desperately she pawed at her clothes, pulling her shirt and bra off, followed by her skirt and panties. She had just made it to her shoes when the wolf took over. And the wolf could see the open entrance and smell the world outside. It called to the wolf and the wolf answered, running out and staring up at the silver orb that hung in the sky and filled its blood with fire. A bellowed challenge at the world and then into the woods, running hard, tasting, smelling seeing everything.

Through the trees, across the grass, nostrils flaring, mouth watering. Something was close, something living. The wolf could sense the blood, the rich red liquid. But where…

Something smacked into its back, something that crackled as it delivered a shock that stood every hair on the werewolf's body on end. A howl of pain erupted from its mouth before it slumped down, shaking its head to dispel the agony and sense of sudden all-encompassing weakness. A second pulse hit it and then there was nothing but blackness.

* * *

Forrest stared down at the hairy shape in front of him. "Whoa, what the hell is this thing? Good shot, Riley. Let's put the restraints on it to be on the safe side and then take it back to the base. Walsh will love investigating this one."

Riley shook his head. "I was hoping it was Hostile 17. Walsh is going to bust a gut over this SNAFU."

"Look on the bright side, it wasn't us that let it escape. That other one, Hostile 15, should have been taken down sooner. I heard it took one of those special weapons they have to take it down. Fried it good."

"Special weapons?"

"You know, the ones they have look like an 'S' shape. The ones that Maybourne brought over, before he got his ass kicked into Leavenworth."

"Oh, those ones. Never seen them used." Riley looked up from where he had been securing the… whatever the hell it was, possibly a werewolf?... and grinned sombrely. "I still think that it would have been better to find Hostile 17. We have no idea if the implant worked or not, and there could be civilians out there that might get hurt if it failed."

"I know. We can't find him though. Probably went underground, and there are a million and one places where he could have gone."

Another agent loomed out of the darkness with a stretcher that had arm restraints on it and set it down next to the unmoving thing on the ground.

"Okay," said Riley, walking over to grab one hairy leg. "On three. One… two... three!" They pulled the unconscious creature onto the stretcher and waited as it was secured, before lifting it up and walking awkwardly out of the clearing.

"You know Riley, I heard a rumour the other day."

"What was it?"

"Someone said that Maybourne was on the run or something – he wasn't in prison any more."

"Ah, hell. Last thing we need is another investigation in case someone thinks he might contact us."

"Sunnydale is freaky enough."

"You got that right. You still dancing around that girl with the weird name?"

"You mean Buffy Summers?"

"Yeah. There's something odd about her."

"I like her. I think she's a bit odd, but I like her."

Forrest shot an amused look at Graham. "Told you the man was infatuated."

"I am not!" He paused to shift the weight slightly. "Lets get this thing back to Walsh."


	7. Thanksgiving

Ah, it's amazing how an impending visit to the dentists to have a wisdom tooth taken out can concentrate the mind. Argh. Here's the latest chapter before I come out of sedation on Thursday. Enjoy! Oh and disclaimer - I don't own these characters. Bugger.

* * *

The little black book was quite full now. He looked down at it with some affection. It had been the starting point for his journey to being a Jedi Knight. But now it was rather full. Every page was covered with the information needed to become a Jedi, written out in the curving script that was Galactic Basic. He therefore needed another book to continue to lay down the instructions needed. He had a haunting feeling that to fail to do so would be to screw up as badly as the Earth-bound predecessors that he had never met. The fate of the sect within the Templar Order was a constant reminder. And the knowledge that a Sith – okay, a proto-Sith – had once been on the planet was another reminder to take care and record things. Then there was the little matter of the vision he had seen when he took that look into the future. The sight of that red lightsabre had been a shock at the time, especially as it definitely wasn't linked to the Sith version of himself that he had fought and defeated earlier that year.

No, the new book was a good start, and now that he had some privacy, due to the fact that his parents were off to Hawaii on the holiday that they had been saving up and planning for a year, whilst Uncle Rory was at work, meant that he could finally sit down and work at things.

Naturally after just a few minutes the doorbell rang.

Muttering a vague curse in Huttese Xander opened a drawer in his desk, put both books away, locked the drawer and walked downstairs. When he opened the door he blinked slightly. A blonde woman in a brown jacket and cream slacks was standing at the porch, whilst a medium sized man with brown hair, glasses and a look of rumpled unstarchdom was standing behind her.

"Hi, I'm looking for an Alexander Harris? Is he at home?" she asked.

Xander raised an eyebrow. "You've found him. I'm Xander Harris. Can I help you?"

The woman looked more than a bit surprised; she raised both eyebrows and show a quick look at her friend, who also looked somewhat surprised. Then she turned back, holding up some kind of official ID. "Um, hi. My name is Major Samantha Carter, from the US Air Force. This is my colleague Dr Daniel Jackson. We'd like to talk to you about the plans for an energy cell that you submitted to the patent office."

Oh crap. He hadn't known that the US Government would have gotten their teeth into that so soon. Xander blinked. "My energy cell? Mind if I ask what the US Air Force wants with it?" Hell, he had to be polite and talk to them. Telling them to get lost right away would just make them suspicious. Damn his social conscience. Maybe getting it patented in the hope that they could make it work in 50 years could have been a tad unrealistic.

"Well, there are a large number of possible uses we might put it to," said Carter as they passed through into the living room and sat down. "It does have a great deal of potential. If you could just tell us about the missing piece on the plans that makes it work, the US Government would be more than happy to buy your patent off you for a substantial sum of money."

Leaning back in his chair Xander looked at the two. This Major Carter seemed very enthusiastic. Too bad he had no idea of supplying her with the information she needed.

In the meantime Daniel Jackson was looking around the room is a faintly befuddled manner, looking at things over the top of his glasses. He reminded Xander of Giles. Much potential tweediness, with a hint of hidden depths.

"What kind of potential uses?" he asked the two strangers.

"Well, I'm sure you'll understand that I can't tell you, some of these projects are classified."

"So you want it for secret projects."

"No, just that information on them is classified."

Typical. "That comes under 'secret' and I know enough about semantics to know that you can cover an awful lot of things under the canopy provided by the word 'classified.'"

"Um, can I ask where you developed the idea for the energy cell?" broke in Jackson. "Sorry to interrupt, but you wrote a few words in the script from Star Wars on the patent, and from what I've seen of your house you don't seem to be a rabid fan of the films."

Xander directed a hard look at the man. He definitely had hidden depths. Of shrewdness, for a start.

"I tinker," he said carefully. He needed to get these two out of there ASAP. They seemed to be asking some very pertinent questions. Fortunately his cell phone went off at that point and with a muttered "excuse me" he turned away and answered it. Equally luckily, it was Giles.

"Ah, Xander. The ceremony starts in half an hour, but the Dean wants me to pop along early and discuss the budget with him. Can you get over to the library and cover for me until the benighted Jenkins gets in?"

"Not a problem Giles."

"Oh and there are a few spell components in the-"

"Giles I have some company here at the moment. Of the non-Scooby variety."

"Oh. Ah. Can they hear me?"

"No, but it's best not to take the chance."

"Quite right. Who's there?"

"I'll tell you all about it later. And yes, I'll pop over to the library to cover for you. Bye."

Disconnecting the Watcher he turned back to the pair. "Sorry, I have to go. And sorry, I'm not giving you the missing piece of the cell," he said, using the Jedi mind trick for that last sentence. "Please leave now and work it out for yourselves."

Carter and Jackson blinked hard, and Xander frowned slightly. They had very strong minds. "Leave," he stressed, using the Force again.

"Sorry to bother you," said Carter absently, "We'll leave now." She started for the door, with Jackson following – a Jackson who was starting to frown and shake his head a bit, like a man who's trying to work something out. The front door closed behind them and then Xander locked it before making for the kitchen and the back door. He hit the release on the Yale lock and pulled it shut as he passed through, before jogging over the lawn to the gate at the end. Now that Rory was busy with actual projects, the lane outside was free, and he was able to park his own car there. Strictly speaking this could be classed as running away, but he would work out what to do later if they ever came back. Besides, he had a library to get to.

* * *

They were half a mile down the road before Daniel braked and pulled in to the side of the road. "Ok. What just happened? Since when does someone tell us to leave and we just go like, well, sheep?"

He looked over at Sam, who opened her mouth, obviously reviewed what she was about to say, changed her mind and then closed it again. "I'm not sure," she said slowly. "He told us to leave… and we just left."

"You don't think that he had any of that Nish'ta powder do you?"

"I don't think so. He wasn't old enough to be one of Seth's followers and I didn't sense a Goa'uld there at all. He was human."

"Right… Perhaps we're sick or something."

"I feel fine."

"Me too. Perhaps we should do some homework about the guy before we go back again. Just in case there is a connection to Seth. We probably should have done some checking before we came here."

"I didn't think that it would be needed," breathed Sam.

"I think we were wrong on that point." Daniel started the car again and pulled out carefully. "Los Angeles next and then checking on Mr Harris. Where do you want me to drop you off?"

"I've got a hire car waiting for me at a place near LAX," muttered Sam, as she put on her sunglasses and scowled at the road ahead. "Shouldn't we just-"

"No."

"No?"

"NO. We don't know what that was about. And did you hear that call he made? Not take a chance on what? I say we do what we came to California to do, head back to the SGC and then carry out that background check. Right?" He looked over at the now silent Sam, who was gaping out of the window to one side. "Sam?"

"Daniel stop the car. Right now!"

He pulled in to one side and then looked over at where Sam had been doing an impression of a fish at. It was a large building. A large wrecked building. Bits of it looked charred, as if it had been caught up in some appalling fire sometime soon. And to one side of an entrance was a battered sign, proclaiming that this was Sunnydale High School.

"Whoa," he muttered as they both got out of the car and stood there, "That's no way to treat a seat of learning."

"What do you think happened here?" muttered Sam after a long moment.

"Um, the school burned down?"

A distant yapping to one side made them both turn to one side, to see a small pensioner walking along the sidewalk along with a small dog of uncertain parentage. Both were eyeing them suspiciously.

"Excuse me madam," asked Daniel as the woman approached, "But can you tell us what happened here? To the school?"

Both woman and dog blinked. The two were eyeing them suspiciously.

The woman blinked. "You don't know?"

"Well, we're both from out of town."

She looked a little less as if she had sucked on a barrel of lemons and waved her stick at the building. "It was a terrible thing. There was a gas leak and an explosion! In the middle of the graduation ceremony! Terrible, just terrible. All those children could have been killed. Luckily they got almost all of them out." Then she shook her head mournfully. "Shame they didn't get the Mayor out. I liked him. He had such a great butt."

Daniel blinked hard, but didn't dare look at Sam for fear of laughing. "The Mayor died?"

"Yes, Mayor Wilkins. He ran the town for years. So did his father. He had a great butt too." She sighed and then looked down at her dog, which had just finished relieving itself on one of the wheels of their hire car. "Better out than in, Scar! Home boy!"

They watched her totter down the road. "Scar?" asked Daniel after a long moment.

"I have no idea." Then Sam turned back to the building and glared at it. "That is not the kind of damage you get from a gas explosion and a fire."

"It's not?"

"No. Look at that beam on the roof." She pointed to where a large steel beam was protruding from the top of the building.

"What about it?"

"Daniel, the amount of force needed to blow something like that out of a building is incredible. Yes, a gas explosion can be very destructive, but to move that beam you need something with more explosive potential." The scowl was back. "Something like C-4."

"Why would someone blow up a High School?"

"I don't know. Maybe to get at that Mayor?"

"Why would someone blow up a mayor then?"

She shrugged, before looking around carefully. Seeing that no-one was near them she darted down the path that lead to a doorway that had once been sealed with police warning tapes, but which was now partially open.

"Sam!" hissed Daniel as he followed her. "You can't go in there! The place looks like it's going to fall apart any time now!"

"This part looks safe enough. I just need to get in to confirm a few things."

"God, you're getting as bad as Jack," sighed the archaeologist as they both slipped inside.

Inside turned out to be dark, wet and slimy. Charred plaster had mould growing on it and there was the rhythmic sound of slowly dripping water up ahead. The floor was littered with pieces of fallen plaster, also charred, while lockers lay in disarray along the walls.

"Well it certainly looks like a High School that's been toasted," said Daniel lightly. "What exactly are we looking for?"

"I'll tell you when we find it," muttered Sam as she picked her way carefully down the corridor.

"That doesn't sound very helpful," replied Daniel as he followed her. The place was starting to make him feel extremely uncomfortable, especially given the fact that every time the wind blew, something wooden creaked ominously overhead.

Two things eventually stopped them. The first was a long black streak along one wall that had Sam scraping at it and fishing in her pockets for a small plastic envelope for the resulting residue. The other thing was something slimy underfoot that left Daniel fighting to stay upright. When he stopped whirling his arms he glared down at the floor. "God, I hate mould. Sam, why are you carrying plastic envelopes around?"

She looked a bit embarrassed. "It was for the missing piece. I was hoping that Harris might give it to us."

"That was a bit optimistic," said Daniel as he bent over and stared at whatever it was he had almost slipped on. "Now what in the world is that?"

"What?"

"That," said Daniel as he poked at a lump of slimy matter about the size of his hand with the toe of his boot. "I thought it was mould, but it looks more like snakeskin."

Sam frowned and looked down. "That's too big to be snakeskin."

"I know," replied Daniel, before reaching into a pocket for a paper tissue and then reaching down and gingerly picking the thing up. "We need more light, but there are what looks awfully like some very large scales here."

Carefully sealing the first envelope Sam dug into her coat again for another. Then she caught Daniel's look. "Okay, I always come prepared. Satisfied?" Opening it she grimaced as he dropped it in.

"Right, said Daniel, wincing at another creak from above them, "Can we go now?"

"I thought you like dark places with a hint of danger," teased Sam as they made their way out.

"I like dark places with the hint of danger held at bay with scaffolding or with someone like Teal'c protecting me," he replied. "The Indiana Jones school of archaeology tends to kill students off." He took a deep breath as they emerged into the sunlight and made for their car. "We can do our research into this place when we get back to the SGC."

"If we stop off at the nearest Air Force base I can have these samples airlifted back there," mused Sam. She held up the bag with the unidentified matter up to the light. "You're right, these do look like scales. But that's impossible – they're too large."

Starting the car Daniel looked around. "I have a nasty feeling that this isn't the last time we come to Sunnydale."

* * *

From a distance Giles looked as if he was listening to Professor Gerhardt with polite attention. The watching Scoobies, however, could detect signs of irritation and boredom in his body language.

"Yup, there goes the leg twitch," muttered Buffy sagely. "He can't wait to get out of there. He'll be tapping his chin with his finger next."

"I wonder what would happen if he ever lost it," wondered Faith vaguely. Xander suspected that she was a bit awkward at the formal setting, even if she was just a part of the crowd watching the dedication ceremony.

"Pray we never find out," he replied dryly. Then he turned his head slightly to the glowering Willow. "Wills what's up? You keep muttering under your breath."

"That's a load of horse hooey," she hissed.

Xander raised his eyebrows. "What is?"

"All that stuff she's saying! About Thanksgiving! It's not about a blending of two cultures, it's about genocide and smallpox and wiping one culture out with grungy blankets and mass bison cullings. You don't see that on Disney specials, oh no, it's all big eyes and Thumper and people singing hopeful songs while the sun goes down."

There was a silence from the others and much swivelling of eyes, while Oz smiled quietly and wrapped an arm around her waist.

"Thank you for that critique of social history Willow," said Wesley eventually from his wheelchair, "While I must say that my feelings towards Walt Disney are somewhat mixed given the appalling things that he did to Winnie the Pooh, I for one think that criticising your ancestors is easy from our current moral standpoint but these things do have to be placed in their proper context."

Willow humphed and folded her arms, obviously torn between letting rip and staying silent. Haranguing a man in a wheelchair might not be very fair.

"You channelling your mom, Wills?" teased Buffy.

The redheaded witch sighed. "Yeah. She doesn't celebrate it because of what it stands for – the destruction of indigenous peoples – and I think she's right."

"My mother's cooking has improved to the point where this year we can actually eat the turkey," said Xander after another pause.

"Oh, does that mean that you're not coming to ours? My mom is having me do things with a baster. And she left me in charge of the potatoes. Reckless person, my mom."

"No, I'm going to both. Just, you know, small portions. Plus a long run that night to burn it all off."

They looked back at the ceremony, where Giles was now tapping his chin with two fingers. "God I hope this thing ends soon, before Giles goes out and starts hitting people with book bans," whined the senior Slayer.

"I think that bit's imminent, given the appearance of the shiny ceremonial shovel," said Xander. "Yup, and there goes the ceremonial lump of dirt, followed by the guys who do the actual digging."

To one side there was a large work crew who were obviously champing at the bit to get started and do some real work on the foundations of the new building. As the crowd applauded and the dean and the professor shook hands again for the photographer, there was much impatient hefting of shovels and pickaxes. Finally, as the assembled dignitaries dispersed, with the exception of Professor Gerhardt who was watching things with a proprietorial pride, they were allowed to get to work.

Giles walked up to the assembled Scoobies and grimaced. "The sacrifices required in this job are appalling sometimes. I almost strangled that bloody man next to me. Professor of history or not, the man is an ignorant prat with some very odd ideas about the British contribution to World War Two. The next time he publishes anything I intend to shoot it down in flames." He shook his head. "Well, at least it should be a good cultural centre. Once it's been built that is."

There was a snort from one side and Giles turned a bemused gaze on Willow, who was looking as if a nasty smell had just drifted under her nose.

An argument was obviously about to break out when suddenly Xander heard a choked shout and turned sharply to look at the work crew, or more specifically at one man who was staring downwards and sagging slightly.

And then one minute the man was standing there the next he was heading downwards fast. The nearest man next to him looked around, startled, swore at something and threw himself backwards.

Both Jedi were running by now, along with the Slayers, while Willow and Giles were left with an exasperated Wesley, who was demanding to know what was going on. Whatever had happened, dust was rising from the spot where the digger had been standing, and then as Xander approached he could see a hole in the ground.

"Careful!" he barked at the others and then approached the void carefully. Somewhere below him, in the darkness, a voice was moaning. "You okay down there?"

"Uurghhh," came the response, "I think I fell on my keys… where am I?"

Xander looked around, as a man ran up carrying some heavy duty torches and a coil of rope over one arm, before the site foreman arrived at an overweight puffing run.

"Crap," said the man, pushing his hard hat back as he looked at the hole. Then he caught sight of the audience. "Okay, everyone away from here. We don't know what we're dealing with here and more weight might collapse it. Frank, can you hear me?"

"Yeahhhh….. My head hurts."

"Okay, you're well enough to whine. Rope coming down!" The foreman and his team started to bustle, while one man herded the Scoobies away.

When they were out of earshot Buffy hissed: "Shouldn't we be helping him?"

"How?" asked Xander. "Jumping into a dark hole in the ground of uncertain depth in Sunnydale is a bad move. He's alive, he doesn't seem to have broken anything and the work crew have him. Using the Force to get him out of there might not be a very stealthy thing to do and I… Oh."

"What's wrong?"

"I felt something for a second there. Just a flash."

"Me too," said Oz, wonderingly. "Just for a split second."

"What was it?" asked Faith, reaching for an absent knife on her belt and then glaring around.

"Rage. Sorrow. Loss. Yearning. All of that in a complex bundle. It felt very odd with the Force, like a quick glimpse into someone's brain." Yick. He wanted to sponge his mind off for second. "Whatever it was its gone now. There's just Frank whatisname there. I think that we should keep an eye on things anyway."

"Not a problem," said Buffy, looking at the spot where the aforementioned Frank was being pulled out. Dr Gerhardt was standing there with the foreman and a lot of gesturing and arm waving was going on. "I wonder what was down there?"

* * *

The phone rang as he was getting into the office and Lindsey strode to his desk and picked it up. "McDonald."

"Lindsey. At last. Where have you been all morning?" barked Rove.

"The Rogers deposition. It's been scheduled for a week, I told you about it."

"That's right, so you did. My apologies," said Rove in a softer voice. "I need to see you at once."

"On my way," replied Lindsey and the looked at the earpiece, where the dial tone meant that Rove had put the phone down abruptly. That wasn't a good sign. Maybe Wolfram & Hart's ever-present team of snitches had somehow found out about his connection to the Slayers and the Jedi?

Did Rove even know about the Jedi though? This was something that had been troubling Lindsey for a while. He'd heard nothing so far, and the first thing that the company would do if news ever reached them about the Jedi would be to grab one or put out some form of alert or warning.

Putting the phone down thoughtfully he placed his briefcase by his desk, looked around the room thoughtfully and then left it, making for the lift.

When he got to Rove's office he glanced at his secretary, who was looking rather strained and who was typing with unnecessary force. "Can I go in?" he asked her, gesturing at the closed doors.

"I'll let him know that you're here," she replied, picking her phone up and dialling quickly. There was a short pause and then she said: "Mr Rove, Lindsey McDonald is here." Rove barked something down the phone and her lips thinned slightly. "They're almost ready Mr Rove. Another ten minutes." A second bark down the phone and then she replaced the receiver with a sigh. "You can go in now," she said as she turned to the files that were stacked neatly next to her desk.

Lindsey nodded thoughtfully before tapping on the doors and then entering when he heard Rove snap "Enter!"

"You wanted to see me?" asked Lindsey as he walked up to the desk. Rove was standing at the window, his sleeves rolled up and his tie undone. He looked annoyed.

"Robert Fielding is dead, presumed dusted," muttered Rove as he turned around and paced back to his desk. "That's the third major client in a week. All vampires. Every time we seem to sign a major account something happens to them."

"This is the Hellmouth and there are two Vampire Slayers here," said Lindsey cautiously. "A certain amount of… attrition is inevitable."

"I know that!" snapped Rove. He sighed and ran a hand over his face tiredly. "It's just that Fielding was old and careful, almost 300 years old. You don't get to that age as a vampire without developing some survival skills. I have a bad feeling about this. It might be that we have a mole on the books."

"A traitor?" asked Lindsey, genuinely surprised. That kind of thing didn't normally happen.

"Maybe someone is tipping off the Slayers. After all, the LA branch had that little problem with Lee Mercer."

Ah. Lee. Lindsey hadn't liked the man very much – he reminded him of a snake sometimes, given his ability to not blink that much – but being shot dead in front of everyone was quite nasty. Certainly nastier than Harry Wolfit's death. Defection was not something that the firm took lightly. Which brought up an unpleasant thought. If he quit, what would Wolfram & Hart do? True, he had no intention of touching any of his former clients with a bargepole – well, maybe if said bargepole had a stake on the end and he was in a mood to kill a lot of vampires – but leaving was discouraged. The firm would far rather that you left on their terms rather than yours.

"Mercer was… an odd man," he said after due pause.

Rove snorted. "Yes, and that happened in LA, not here, of which I'm quite glad. Manners should have seen that coming and shut it down faster than he did. I think he's getting soft." His eyes swivelled back to Lindsey in a rather disconcerting manner. "We don't want that happening here at all. My secretary is preparing folders on those members of staff here that might be susceptible to pressure, which is almost all of them in my opinion. I want you to review them and find our leak."

"I can take a look, but what am I looking for?"

An impatient wave of a hand. "Anything suspicious! Oh and if you can't don't worry. Maybe a messy object lesson might be a good idea. We can arrange something that should make people keep their heads down. A nice messy death can work wonders."

Lindsey's smile was purely external; on the inside he was shuddering with horror. "I'll take a look," he replied and then stood up and strode back to the door, conscious of Rove's eyes on his back. As the door closed behind him he made an internal vow: he was going to get the hell out this place no matter what. With no blood on his hands. He may not have been a Jedi of any kind yet, but there was no way that he was going to go along with Rove's little management project. He was going to delay it death.

* * *

Wonder of wonders, Wesley was not only on his feet when Buffy entered the office in the library, but he wasn't using his stick and wasn't displaying any sign of pain. Instead he was talking animatedly with Giles, with an animation that she hadn't seen in ages. To one side a very sulky Willow was sitting and rolling her eyes.

"Whoa, Wes, what's up?"

Giles smiled at her. "We, we've been discussing the events of this morning. It seems that the workman who fell into that void in fact discovered the old Sunnydale Mission, which has been lost since 1812!"

She frowned. "How do you lose a Mission? Isn't that like a big churchy building?"

"Actually, Buffy," said Wesley with a gleam in his eye, "It suffered major subsidence in an earthquake that year, which is fascinating because there was an even bigger earthquake at the same time at the New Madrid fault line in Missouri. And it's a major anthropological discovery, a time capsule as it were, from the early nineteenth century."

"A time capsule of a time of genocide and mass murder, uh, ok those two are the same thing, but it was a time of when it was a really bad time to be a native American!" said Willow in a major torrent of words. "I've been doing some reading up on that mission. The local native Americans were the Chumash tribe and they did not survive the arrival of the white man. Their land was taken away, they were imprisoned, made to work as slaves, and then herded into the Mission, which was full of nasty European diseases, which killed most of them! And when the few survivors rebelled, they were, were hunted down and their ears were cut off to prove that they were dead, including the ones who were hung! That's not thanksgiving, that's, that's celebrating murder!"

A moment of silence filled the room. Then Buffy looked at Willow and then swivelled her eyes at the two Watchers. "Um, what?"

"Yes, well, let's just say that Willow has been less excited than us at the historical potential of the find. Although I must point out that in 1812 this part of California was nominally controlled by Spain. Um, the Spain that was unoccupied by the French at that time."

"Okay… Oh, my mom rang me earlier says that I should remind you about the puddings. Which confused me a bit. What puddings?"

"Ah, the Yorkshire puddings I promised her." He caught her blank look and smiled. "You'll see. Wesley, please stop slobbering."

"I haven't had Yorkshire's in a while…"

"Oh, get a grip man."

* * *

His check list was running through his head as he walked down the corridor still in his fatigues. It had been a long, frustrating, night of once again hunting for Hostile damn 17. The vampire had just disappeared although there had been two suspected sightings, both were from women who had reported being approached by a blond man who had some kind of facial deformity and who had screamed in agony when he had tried to rush at them. That was encouraging though – it looked like Hostile 17's implant was working perfectly. Having him out there at large was not part of the plan though. At all.

Ok, he could catch up on his sleep later on, maybe on the flight. Which was in two hours. Which meant that he had to get back to his room, pick up his bags, get to the airport and check in. After checking on a few things at the base. They had better be a short list of things.

As Riley walked past the cells he slowed automatically. It was always instructive to look carefully at the newer HSTs. Sometimes what you saw at night was not what you got during the day. Okay… last night's haul had not been a big one. An unconscious vampire, big deal, a blue fluffy thing, yeuch, something spiny, that could be nasty, another unconscious vampire. Ah well. As he passed the end cell he slowed and stopped. The werewolf was the one that still fascinated him. Who would have thought that under all that blonde fur would have been a girl like that? Not to mention the fact that she – sorry, it - was a singer in quite a good band. The werewolf was sitting there in one corner of the cell, dressed in the orange suit that it had insisted on, rocking backwards and forwards slightly. When it caught sight of him she glared at him and then closed her eyes and buried her face in its hands. "What are you doing to me?" came the whisper from the cell. "Why are you doing this? Why?"

Riley caught himself opening his mouth to reply and then closed his mouth. Damn, he must be tired or something. HSTs could be cunning at times. Then he turned on his heel and hurried off. He had a flight to Iowa to catch.

But the 'Why?' haunted him all the way there.

* * *

It was dark. It was slightly windy. Angel stared up at the building in front of him and sighed, which was when he came to think about it, a waste of time as he didn't need the air in the first place. Buffy was in the library and he couldn't talk to her. Couldn't be with her. It was a situation that just broke his heart, if it could have beaten.

He looked around carefully and then walked out from the bush, looking for a better location. It came as a shock therefore when a voice behind him said: "Boo."

Spinning around he looked around… to see Xander leaning against a tree and smiling at him. "You need to watch your back once in a while," said the Jedi Knight quietly. "And be careful in this area. Giles saw a group of people quartering this place like soldiers a week or so ago. We think that something might be up. Remember when I fought my Sith self from that alternate dimension? He mentioned something about an 'Initiative.' We think that there might be some kind of army base in the area."

Moving forwards he held his hand out for Angel to shake. "Good to see you again, Angel. Why are you back? I felt you this afternoon, in those massive bushes to one side of the ground breaking ceremony. Every time I can sense a vampire with a light side with the Force it tends to point to you."

Angel allowed a rare smile to play over his face as the two shook hands. "Good to see you too, Xander. Sorry about the skulking, but Doyle had a vision."

"A what?"

"He has visions. From the Powers That Be. It's the price he's paying for making a choice to fight for the side of light. According to him. I think that he's atoning for something, but I have no idea what because he hasn't told me. Did he tell you?"

Xander shook his head. "Not a thing. I knew he had something on his mind though." He blew out his cheeks in a long sigh. "Visions, eh? What kind of visions?"

"People who need help. The helpless mainly. I'm running a detective agency now. We see a lot of stuff that needs to be fought. And we've bumped heads a few times with Wolfram & Hart, the place that that guy who helped us during that thing with the Mayor was from."

"Yeah, he's still here. Wolfram & Hart set up an office here. I don't think that they're doing that well, but we know about them. By the way Lindsey – the guy from the evil law firm that we both have trouble with – is a potential Jedi. And yes, he's quitting some time soon. Seems to have discovered this weird thing called a conscience."

Angel frowned. "Check him out anyway. They're sneaky."

"Don't worry about it. So, what was in this vision of Doyle's?"

Angel grimaced. "It was irritatingly vague. Great danger of some sort, probably mystical in nature. Isn't it always?"

Crossing his arms thoughtfully the Jedi Knight leant against a handy branch. "It's been fairly quiet recently. Spike's out there somewhere, although something's up with him."

"Spike's back?" asked Angel incredulously as he straightened up.

"Relax. He was here to try and get the Gem of Amarra. Found it too, but he made the mistake of taking on two Slayers at the same time, who pasted the snot out of him. What did you do with it when Oz got it to you?"

Angel shuffled his feet slightly. "I smashed it."

"You what? Why would you do that?"

"I had to. It was a magnet for vampires in LA and... it was too tempting to use. I would have... slept nights instead of days. Left the people who need help the most when the sun goes down. It would have taken some of my focus away."

"Ok. I think I get that. It's a bit of a stretch and you need to take a long run up for the logic to work, but then I'm not the one with the angst."

"Thanks. I think. What happened to Spike then?"

"Vanished. Then he reappeared a week ago. Tried to jump Giles outside the library but something was majorly wrong with him. According to Giles every time he tried to vamp out and attack he'd scream and clutch at his skull. Fell over once as well."

Angel's eyebrows flew up. "That doesn't sound like Spike at all."

"No. Giles said that he kept saying something about being in an underground prison somewhere and people messing with him."

"That doesn't sound like Spike. He's not that devious. Well, he is devious, but he has a control mania form of deviousness. What happened to him then?"

"He ran away."

"That really doesn't sound like Spike. And he's too cautious to still be in Sunnydale. This place has two Slayers and two Jedi. That's enough to make the strongest vampire in the world have second thoughts." He sighed. "Anything else?"

"Nothing that comes to mind. A workman found the old Sunnydale Mission by falling into it today. That's about it for the highlights."

"Nothing major then?"

"Nope. I'll put the word out though."

"Ah. Um, don't tell Buffy that I'm in town please."

This time Xander's eyebrows went up. "Why?"

"It's bad enough being here and being able to see her without talking to her. Being with her. I... I can't do it. Besides if she knows I'm here it might distract her. I can't turn up and say 'You're in great danger' and then walk around as if nothing had happened between us. I've been away for months." He paused. "She looks good."

"I'm still having trouble with your logic, but yes, she is. Had a hard time adjusting to college life at first, but she got back into it. Roommate was a demon from another dimension, but it was cool – her father picked her up."

"Sounds like life on Sunnydale."

"I know. Look, I have to go. Have you seen Giles yet?"

"No."

"Do it. If I find anything out then I'll tell Giles and he can pass it on to you."

Angel smiled. "Do you have any idea how much you've changed?"

"The Force is with me. And my apprentices." And then he was gone.

Angel paused. "Apprentices?" Oz he knew about but who was the other one?

* * *

Morning was a time of quiet reflection. A slice of bread went into the toaster, the kettle was on, and he padded to the front door to pick up his paper. The paper was an important part of the day. It informed him of the outside world and allowed him to scoff at the low standard of sub-editing and layout in the USA.

Giles padded back into the kitchen just in time for the toaster to pop out a slice of toast. Some butter was spread, some tea was made and then he sat down at his sofa with a sigh and opened the paper. Thirty seconds later he swore loudly and bolted for his phone. Dialling quickly he paced backwards and forwards for a moment. Then: "Buffy? Ah, it's Giles. Yes, I know, sorry to wake you. I realise that your classes don't start until 10 this morning, but this is urgent. Yes, it's urgent again. Professor Gerhardt is dead. Yes, the boring one from the ceremony. Murdered. Her throat was cut and an ear was cut off. Yes, a bit harsh. I need to you and Willow to look into it. Yes, get dressed first. I'll be in the library."

He hung up shaking his head. "I have a very bad feeling this," he muttered, as he dialled Xander's cell phone. "Xander? It's Giles. Something's up, Professor Gerhardt was murdered last night. Her throat was cut and an ear was cut off. What? What do you mean 'that was suspiciously quick'? Tell me what? Alright, I'll see you the library. Is this going to be good news or bad news? I should have known, shouldn't I?"

Disconnecting again, he hurried up to his bedroom. "It never stops does it? At least this time I get to change."

* * *

Driving in Xander paused at the entrance. A group of construction workers were carrying one of their colleagues towards the clinic. The man was deathly pale and looked shiny with sweat. He was also showing a number of unpleasant symptoms that were making the men around him try to carry him while minimising actual bodily contact.

"What happened?" Xander asked the foreman, who was trailing behind them worriedly .

"Frank came in though he shoulda been in bed. His wife said he was sick this morning. Guy never listens. He dug two shovels of dirt then keeled over babbling about being a being a bit light headed."

"Frank? The guy who fell into the Mission yesterday?"

"Yeah. Well, he can probably sue the ass off the college later."

They passed on and Xander looked at them thoughtfully in the rear-view mirror. This did not, as whole, bode well. In fact this kind of co-incidence was quite nasty. The day after the Mission had been found one person was dead and another had developed what looked a lot of very nasty viruses. The best way to live on the Hellmouth was to be deeply suspicious about any kind of coincidence. He had to see Giles.

As it turned out The Watcher was already in the office, making a very strong cup of coffee. He looked a bit frazzled around the edges.

"Ah, Xander. Good. Buffy just rang. It turns out that it seems that Professor Gerhardt was murdered with a knife of some sort. Possibly a Chumash ceremonial knife of some sort. Which is, um, somewhat worrying."

Xander nodded. "I know the feeling. By the way, the guy who fell into the Mission yesterday? He just got carried off to the doctors. Seemed to be suffering from lot of nasty diseases that appeared out of nowhere. That's the kind of coincidence that I hate."

"Yes, me too. By the way, I had a visitor last night."

"Angel?"

"Yes. He seemed quite worried about the vision that this friend of yours had."

"Doyle. The last time I saw him he was looking a bit freaked out. I guess he finally made the decision to fight harder for the side of light. I guess the visions are a part of that."

"It is a very rare – and important – gift, Xander. Such warnings cannot be taken lightly, and come from a very high source, The Powers That Be. This is an area where I know very little. They work to a plan that is often long term and beyond the comprehension of mortals. The fact that they're involving themselves in Doyle and Angel means that one or both of them might be involved in something major in the future."

He sighed and gulped some coffee. "In the meantime we need to keep our focus on the here and now. And the death of Professor Gerhardt is… worrying. The manner of her death and what happened to her ear is even more worrying. There has to be a link to the discovery of the Mission."

There was a scuff of shoes outside and then Faith walked in with Wesley, who was back in his wheelchair. "Hey guys," said the Slayer. "So what's up? Wes here said something about a dead professor."

"There might be a link with the discovery of the Mission yesterday," said Giles quietly. "There are some other worrying elements as well. How many times have I said that word today?"

"Worrying? Quite a few. Don't blame you," smiled Xander. Then he looked over at the stacks to one side and sighed. "Damn. I'll be back in a second."

Walking out of the office he passed down several stacks and then along a short passageway. Then he folded his arms and waited. After a moment a rather tired looking Angel appeared. Seeing Xander he stopped and blinked.

"You know, that's very disconcerting when you do that."

"It's a knack. It's not like you can disguise the soul/demon thing in you that I can feel in the Force."

"Right is Buffy-"

"Here? No. She's checking out the crime scene. I take it you heard."

"About the Professor, yeah. I have a bad feeling about this."

"Me too."

When they walked into the office Faith blinked hard and Wesley raised both eyebrows. "Angel," he said quietly. "Is there something wrong?"

"I was about to tell them about your arrival and Doyle's vision," said Giles. "I think that we can safely conclude that this is your friends' danger. Perhaps something is angry about being disturbed."

Angel nodded. "Or maybe it was trapped there and has been released now. Do we know what was used to kill her?"

"A Chumash knife."

"Something that has a fondness for ancient weapons then. But why murder the Professor?"

"A good question," mused Wesley. Then he took a deep breath and levered himself out of the wheelchair. "We need more information about the Mission itself, and see if it had any connection to any violent events in the past."

"You might try Father Gabriel," broke in Angel.

"Who?"

"He knows the history of Sunnydale pretty well, as his family goes back to the days of the Mission. He should be able to fill in any blanks."

"That's a good idea. Xander, Can I ask if you and Faith could pay this Father Gabriel a visit?"

"Any relation to Peter Gabriel?" asked Faith in a musing voice. Then she caught the amused look on Giles's face and shook herself. "Just some guy I once heard of. Let's go Xander! Right now!" And then she was making for the doorway fast.

"Good god, a Slayer with a good taste in music," muttered Giles as Xander strode out of the door after Faith.

* * *

Spike was hungry. He was depressed. He was pissed off. And, yes, he was still hungry. Whatever the hell had been done to him had left him… not himself. It was the vampiric equivalent of… well something that no man ever liked to hear. The 'I'-word. He shuddered. A week of wandering around Sunnydale had left him weak and, yes, hungry. A hunger that was gnawing at him. He could feel himself getting thinner – and it wasn't as if there had been much of there in the first place. He had always been a bit on the thin side. That would soon leave him on the skinny side. And maybe the skeletal side after that.

He slumped against the wall of his third – or was it the fourth? – tunnel today. Ever since Harmony had thrown him out of their little love nest he had been on the sodding run as it were. Unable to find anywhere to hide properly. Unable to work out what the bloody hell those soldiers had done to him. And unable to bite anyone. At all. Or hit anyone. It was more than bad, it was terrible.

Spike scrubbed at his eyes for a long moment. He was William the Bloody. He had carved a trail of blood from one end of Europe to the other and he would not be as weak as to cry. At all. Okay, he was knackered and hungry, but he was not so lost to reason as to embarrass himself. He looked up at the ceiling. He needed help. There was only one place where he could get it. It was stretch, yes, but it was doable. But above all he needed to make sure that he would survive it. Perhaps a quid pro quo… information for help. Bugger. So, to the Slayer's residence it was. Hopefully he would survive the process.

* * *

"So how long has the moody one been back in Sunnydale?" asked Faith as they drove down the street towards the Catholic church.

Xander sighed. "I met him last night and I heard him say that he'd been in town since the night before. The guy was worried about a vision that a mutual friend of ours had."

"Vision?"

"He's called Doyle. I met him in the desert when two demons kidnapped him. Long story, but he's trying to atone for something. And now he's fighting on the side of light. Which seems to have given him visions to warn people with. Odd, but I guess necessary."

Faith looked at him. "So what did this vision show?"

"Buffy in danger."

She snorted. "Nothing new there."

Xander shook his head as they finally pulled up in front of the Church. The doors were open, but no-one was in sight. From a sign to one side noon mass wasn't for another hour or so. Leaving the car they both walked up the steps to the entrance and walked in.

The church was quiet and peaceful, with a smell of warm wax and floor polish. In one corner a small rail sheltered a few small candles, some of which were flickering fitfully. No-one was there, but Xander still lowered his voice automatically. "Well, we're not going to meet any vampires in here. This place is wall-to-wall crosses."

"Yeah, I can see. It's like being back home in Boston." She sniffed the air. "Although there's an odd smell, like… I'm not sure, but I think we should be careful here Xand-man."

When a Slayer told you to be careful you had to be very careful indeed. Xander pulled his lightsabre out carefully and stored it up one sleeve, before stretching out with the Force, trying to sense who was in the church. He paused. Something was in fact very odd here. The place seemed a bit empty for a church that was supposed to be open for mass in an hour. There were no life signs for a start. And… that sense of anger, mingled in with all those other emotions – like at the Mission.

"Faith, I don't think that we're alone. There's something here. I don't know what it is, but I don't like the feel of the place."

"Me neither. We sweep this place carefully, Xander. I got your back and you got mine."

"Agreed."

They walked slowly and carefully through the church, pausing now and then to look around cautiously. Nothing, apart from a growing feeling in Xander's stomach that something was wrong. It got worse the closer that they got to the office to one side of the altar. He looked at the closed door. "In there. Carefully."

The first thing that they saw when they opened the door was a massive desk that had to be older than the church. The second thing was the body of Father Gabriel. He was hanging from a rafter. From the look of his body, where his hands were badly bruised, he had not killed himself. And judging from the Indian – sorry, native American – who standing on a chair next to the body and holding an old but very sharp-looking knife to his throat, he might have had help. The minute that he heard them he turned sharply and looked at them with a snarl.

"Oh that's not good," said Xander as he pulled his lightsabre from his sleeve and then things got busy. The Indian leapt from the chair only to meet Faith's boot, which propelled him three feet across the room and into the desk. The impact didn't shake him at all, because he flipped over the top of it and the skidded to a halt to one side in a defensive crouch. "You can't stop me," he hissed.

"Bzzzt! I'm sorry, but that answer is wrong. Would you like to try again?" taunted Faith as she approached him from one side, her knife in one hand. He growled and rushed at her, but the Slayer sidestepped neatly and lashed out with her free hand, which hammered into his back and sent him across the room again.

"Who are you? Why are you doing this?" called out Xander as he stepped up next to the Slayer and igniting his lightsabre.

The Indian shot a quizzical look at the humming blue blade and then looked at the two of them. "I am vengeance," he hissed, "I am my people's cry. They call for hus, for the avenging spirit to carve out justice."

"By murdering people and carving bits off them?" asked Xander acerbically. But he got no reply. Instead the Indian threw himself forwards again, getting in a hard blow against Faith's knife with his own that threw her backwards. Unfortunately when he tried to do the same to Xander's lightsabre he was left staring at a metal stub. His response to this was original. One second he was standing there, the next he was a cloud of bats, which flew off out through an open window.

"Ok," drawled Xander as he shut his lightsabre down, "That was different."

* * *

Giles did not react in a positive way when he heard what had happened in the church. His glasses came off and he perched on the corner of his desk while pinching the bridge of his nose and sighing deeply. "Bugger," he said, putting a great deal of feeling into that one word. "That means that we're dealing with a spirit of some kind. It's very common for Indian spirits to turn into animals. Did he say anything that might indicate a motive?"

"He said he was a spirit of vengeance, Giles. Mentioned something called a hush, although I'm not that sure about that bit of things. He tried to fillet us both just after that."

"Hush… oh, do you mean Hus?" asked Giles as he hopped off his desk and replaced his glasses.

"Could be. Which reminds me. If he's a Chumash Indian-"

"Native American, Xander," said Buffy, wagging a finger at him.

"Whatever, if he's a Chumash spirit who lived here when the place was Spanish, how come he speaks English?"

Giles looked nonplussed for a moment. "A good point. I'm really not sure. But the vengeance bit is the part that should be concerning us the most. The killings are dissimilar you see – stabbing, hanging, although Xander you did say that you stopped this spirit from cutting Father Gabriel's throat."

"Yes, but the guy was already very dead, which is the puzzling part. Unless…" Giles stopped dead in his tracks. "Willow, when you were ranting at us yesterday about the Mission, what exactly did you say happened to the Chumash?"

"Wait a minute, ranted? I was telling you what happened!" Then she caught his expression and pouted. "Like I said, they were imprisoned, forced to labour for the settlers, got nasty European diseases in the Mission, and those that rebelled were all killed. Hung I think. Oh and some that stole some cattle were killed and to prove that they were dead their ears were cut off."

A nasty silence descended on the room. "Bits of that sound familiar," said Oz heavily. "Especially the hanging and the ears and the diseases. I was talking to the foreman at the building site earlier on. Apparently the guy who fell into the Mission has started showing a lot of symptoms that don't add up."

"Such as?" prompted Faith.

"Malaria, smallpox and Syphilis."

"Oh gross," said Buffy with a shiver of disgust.

"So he's inflicting the things that were done against his people on the people of this place," said Giles tightly. "For vengeance. Despite the fact that the people who enslaved and killed the Chumash have been dead for almost two centuries. I often wonder as to the logic behind vengeance demons."

"Don't let Anya hear you say that," warned Xander with a slight grin. Then he sobered. "I agree though. This spirit is taking out his vengeance against the innocent and that has to be stopped."

"How? By doing it to them again?" asked Willow in a strained voice. "That's just going into the same cycle of revenge again!"

"Willow," said Giles patiently, "It is a spirit born of vengeance. It cannot be reasoned with."

"Well, has anyone tried?"

"I did have a go, but he wanted to fillet us instead," Xander pointed out. "Look, Willow, I have memories of Obi-Wan the Negotiator, but this guy, or spirit, was not listening. He was in full vengeance mode. And I think that you're in danger of imposing your thinking on his motivations. You're thinking like a very late 20th Century person with a lot of Western morality behind you. He's thinking like the spirit of a people who were wiped out in the bad old days of 1812 when California was a wilderness where having morals got you killed or got you poor, whatever was worst. There's a disconnect there. And he has been killing innocent people. If he can't sense that they're innocent, then he has to be stopped."

"Very well put, Xander," muttered Giles.

"Yes, but we... we should try offering him some land!" wailed Willow.

"Where exactly would this land be for you to offer it the spirit of the vengeful Chumash?" demanded Giles irately. "On campus? Wait that's owned by the college. In the desert?"

"Sarcasm is hardly the answer, Giles," she replied severely. Then she brightened. "Ooh! The Watcher's Council is rich! You could offer it some land!"

He looked at her incredulously. "The Watcher's Council is quite well off, and does own land, but I hardly think that the people of, say, Theydon Bois in Essex, England, are going to think kindly of the council if ancient Chumash spirits start appearing on their village green! Willow, be sensible about this! Hus, as he called himself, won't stop. Vengeance is never sated. Hatred is a cycle. All he will do is kill. And we need to be very careful. I suggest that we consider our options with great caution and then meet tonight."

"After Thanksgiving at my Mom's place," reminded Buffy. "For which I'm doing the potatoes!"

* * *

Hus placed the last bow down on the ground and then walked into the centre of the ring of weapons. As he sat down and crossed his legs he pulled out the knife that he had been carrying when he confronted the two warriors. The blade had been cleanly sliced away, by that blue blade of light. It was like nothing that he had ever seen. The fact that it had damaged his knife was a bad sign, which had led him to this place. He had to fight a great power.

He shook his head and started the ritual to summon his warriors.

* * *

Xander arrived at the Summers' house at the same time as Giles pulled up outside, before fumbling mysteriously in the back of his car. Xander watched, intrigued, before the Watcher straightened up and got out of his car clutching a plastic bowl that was carefully sealed.

"Batter," he said cryptically as he joined Xander at the front door and then knocked firmly. When it opened it revealed a slightly flustered Joyce Summers, who was looking at something over her shoulder.

"Rupert, Xander! How nice to see you. Actually, thank god you've come. Buffy's taking her cooking duties a bit too far. Being put in charge of potatoes seems to have gone to her head. She caught sight of the bowl. "Oh! Is this the batter you promised me?"

"My mother's recipe for Yorkshire puddings. And," he pulled out a baking dish with shallow depressions, "The place to cook them. All I need to do is grease the holes with a little oil, and then bake. Quite fast too."

"How fast?"

"Less than ten minutes?"

"Oh good. Oh no." The last part of the sentence was muttered almost under her breath, as all of a sudden Buffy was with them. She was wearing an apron, had flour smeared on one cheek and was holding an encrusted potato masher.

"Mom, it's not working. Again. They still aren't smooth enough!" Then she registered Giles and Xander. "Oh. Hi. How do you like your potatoes? Please say smooth mash, because that's what I'm aiming for, although not even slayer strength can get all the lumps out so far and I so have to get this right, and Giles did you just grimace?"

The Watcher smiled weakly. "I've never liked mashed potatoes. I prefer them roasted."

Buffy quivered with some indescribable emotion. "Roasted?" she asked. "How do you roast potatoes?"

"Well, what I do is…" Giles trailed off as he realised that he was talking to empty air, as Buffy had vanished. Then he turned back to Joyce. "How long has she been like this?"

"My little girl is cooking for her friends for the first time," replied Joyce wryly. "I think she's freaking out a bit."

"Just a tad," said Xander, sensing an approaching Slayer. And then Buffy was back with them. She was holding a kebab skewer, on which were a number of impaled potatoes.

"Is this how you roast potatoes?" she asked with a tinge of desperation in her voice.

Giles opened his mouth, thought better of what he was about to say and then was rescued by Joyce, who took the skewer out of her daughters hand gently, turned her around and pushed her back towards the kitchen gently. "See you in a minute, please sit down," she said over her shoulder and then closed the door to the kitchen.

Giles sighed and led Xander into the dining room, which was all decked out in the regalia of a Thanksgiving dinner. "This holiday always amuses me. The timing is somewhat odd as well. I prefer the Christmas break. Three days of good food, good wine, presents, silly hats and sleeping in front of the telly while the Queen drones on about the year. Bless old Liz."

Xander looked at him quizzically. "Three days?"

"Most firms give all of Christmas Eve off. Plus Christmas Day and Boxing Day of course. After which the turkey sandwiches come out. That's the nasty part."

The door opened and Buffy was standing there scowling. "Well, you know how to make my life more complicated. Roast potatoes, indeed. Well, mom knows what to do with them, so you'll have them. Depletes my potato reserve though."

"Um, potato reserve?"

"Of course! In case the other ones aren't smooth enough! You have no idea of cooking skills, do you?"

The sound of the doorbell broke in and Buffy made for the door with a stomp. She threw it open to reveal a cloud of smoke, inside which was a coat. Under the coat was a swearing Spike. Buffy narrowed her eyes. "What do YOU want?"

"Let me in, please, before I go up in sodding flames!" pleaded the vampire desperately.

Crossing her arms Buffy looking at him. "Can I sell tickets to this?"

Footsteps sounded behind her and then Giles and Xander were there. "Good god. What's he doing there?" asked the Watcher.

"Burning up, you nit. Let me in!"

"Why should we?"

"Because Spike's had a little visit to the vet and now he doesn't chase the other puppies any more. I don't bite. I can't. I can't even hit people any more."

"Like I'd fall for that one," said Buffy scornfully."

"Um, Buffy? He's telling the truth. At least he's not lying. And he's afraid," said Xander musingly.

"Yes, well, he should be. Of me."

"Oh god not the Jedi as well. I'm not lying and please let me in! I'll tell you about those soldier boys. The bastards who did this to me. But I can't if I turn to sodding dust!"

"What's burning? Oh. Hello," said Joyce as she joined the group by the door. "Uh, should he be doing that?"

"No, and please let me in!"

Buffy turned to Giles who pulled a face and then Xander, who had pulled his lightsabre out and nodded carefully. "Ok, come in. But no funny stuff, or the only Thanksgiving dinner you're getting is stake. As in Mr Pointy."

Spike staggered in out of the sunlight and stood there panting. "Took you sodding long enough," he said, patting out a smouldering bit on his t-shirt and then walking in a bit further, going around Xander somewhat warily before he finally slumped onto a chair. "God, I'm knackered. And hungry. Is there any..." he caught the mutual expression on their faces. "Never mind."

The doorbell rang again and everyone tensed – until Xander said: "Relax, it's Oz and Willow." Joyce scurried for the door and after a moment the pair appeared.

"Has someone been burning something on your porch because-" Willow squeaked to a halt while Oz raised both eyebrows at the sight of the famished vampire who was slumped in a chair and looking at one of the burns on his hands.

"Interesting," said the other Jedi.

"Why hasn't anyone staked him so far?" wondered Willow out loud.

"He, ah, he claims he has some information about the people who are running around the area in fatigues. He also claims that they did something to him and that he is no longer capable of violence, or even biting people. He hasn't claimed to be a giant pink bunny rabbit yet, but he's only just arrived, so give him time."

"Oi, enough with the sarcasm," grumbled Spike. Then he looked at Buffy, who had reappeared. "What are you doing with that rope?"

"It's Thanksgiving, you're in my mom's house, I still find you violently untrustworthy. Guess."

"Oh sod, you're going to tie me up?"

"Got it in one," she said grimly and started to loop the rope around the sitting vampire. Occasionally she put a boot on the chair for purchase and tugged hard to tighten it. Spike was not impressed.

"Ow! Bloody hell, you're cutting off me circulation!"

"You're dead, Spike, you don't have any circulation."

"That is a very valid point," muttered Giles. "Oh, thank you Joyce," he added as she handed around several bowls of snacks.

"What is this, a show?" growled Spike as he saw the assembled Scoobies chewing away as they watched Buffy work.

The doorbell went yet again and then Faith and Wesley were in the room as well. "How come I keep missing things here?" asked the dark-haired Slayer in a bemused manner. "Why are you tying him up and not staking him?"

"He claims he's impotent," called out Buffy as she finalised the knot.

"OI!" shouted Spike, "Tell her not to use that… that word!"

"What, impotent? Why?"

Giles sighed. "Well, he, um has a point Buffy. The I-word, as you would put it, is not the most tactful word to use in front of men. It implies…" he shuddered, "A visit from The Meltyman."

"Now the Watcher knows what he's talking about!" agreed Spike.

Buffy looked at them both. "Is this kind of British guy language?"

"Yes," said Wes firmly.

"Okay…. Whatever. He also claims that he can't bite any more."

"How is that possible?" asked Faith as she walked up to the pinioned vampire.

"Might be something to do with that odd thing he has in his head," mused Oz as he peered at the peroxide locks.

Spike's head whipped around. "What odd thing in my bloody head?"

"I can't say for sure, but something feels very odd when I probe your head with the Force."

Xander narrowed his eyes and stared hard at the vampire's head. He wasn't as good at this as Oz, despite the training that he had put in and he had abilities in the Force that Oz didn't and vice versa. As it was he could sense…. Something. It seemed to be small, electronic and linked to Spike's brain. He shuddered. Even for a vampire that was inhuman. "You're right. I wonder what it does. And who put it there."

Spike's face was a mask of hatred and revulsion. "I know what it bloody does, it leaves me writhing on the bloody floor every time I raise a fist or start to take a bloody bite! Now get it out of me!"

"You're that keen to get staked if you're free to attack us?" said Buffy sweetly whilst she removed some non-existent dirt from under a fingernail.

Spike shuddered for a moment. "Just get it out of me!" he repeated.

"I can't," said Oz, bemused. "I can detect it, but I'm not a brain surgeon. Ok, I can remove the top of your head with my lightsabre, but I don't think that a lightsabre makes a precise surgical implement."

"Well, do that Force mumbo-jumbo then!"

"Spike, we're talking about your brain here and the thing that's embedded in it. I don't know how that chip thing works and I'm not a brain surgeon. Even if I could get it out there's no telling how much damage I could do to you in the process. We're not talking about pulling out a splinter here. If I mess with it without knowing what I'm going, you might end up speaking gobbledegook, or not using your arms, or well, anything. I can't even crush it with the Force – it's electronic and anything might happen if it stops working."

Spike just sat there, bound onto his chair. His head was down and his eyes were closed. Then he straightened slowly. "Thank you for telling me what's wrong with me," he said in an eerily calm voice. "Slayer, when you find these people please kick their arses from here to Peking please."

"Vampire or not, that thing's thoroughly vile," muttered Xander with some emphasis on the last word. "Ok, once we deal with Hus, we need to start looking into this base. I don't like what I'm hearing about this. Sticking control chips into people's heads is the thin end of a very large ethical wedge and is the kind of thing that the Empire would do."

"Agreed," said Giles heavily. "Speaking of which, perhaps assembling here for Thanksgiving might not have been a good idea. We were discussing things earlier and we were wondering about his choice of victims so far. The head of the cultural centre. The leader of the local Catholic Church. Why them?"

"They're all leaders," said Faith, in lieu of Buffy, who had muttered the word "potatoes!" and scurried out to the kitchen, followed by her long-suffering mother. "Does that mean that he's gonna go after the new Major now, or the Dean of the college?"

"No, the Sunnydale of 1812 wouldn't have had people in those posts. More likely the leading, by which I mean strongest, citizen or warrior would be targeted. Which in Sunnydale means Slayers. Or, or Jedi. Or both."

There was a sharp noise of breaking glass and then an arrow hit the doorframe above Giles's head. "I hate it when I'm so right," he muttered and then flung himself behind the sofa. Hus was standing at the window, holding a bow and arrow. Others were behind him, similarly armed.

"You don't need to do this," called out Xander, pulling his lightsabre out. To one side Oz had pushed Willow next to Giles and was holding his own weapon as well. "You're calling out for justice for your people, but those who carried out those crimes on them are long dead. You've been carrying out your vengeance on the innocent. I know what it's like to be one of the few survivors of your people, but this is not the way!"

"Blood calls out for blood!" snarled Hus and raised his bow, pulling on the drawstring as he did. Xander sighed and then waved his arm suddenly at them. The Indians were suddenly flung back out of sight with the Force, whilst their bows and arrows folded up with ugly twangs and snaps, before crumbling to pieces.

"Whoa!" said Faith with her mouth open.

Force-leaping to the window Xander looked out. The Indians were struggling to their feet quickly, while Hus looked up at him, his mouth open. "You are different," said the Chumash spirit consideringly.

"Offer them some land!" cried Willow from behind him, followed by a rather profane request from Spike to know what the hell was going on. The sound of breaking glass came again, this time from the other side of the house, followed by a scream of rage, a high-pitched wail of pain and then a loud clanging noise.

"Willow, they're trying to kill us, so please keep your interesting views on appeasement to yourself! Sod, they're coming in the side as well!" cried Giles at the same time.

"It's not appeasement! I'm not like whatisname Chamberlain with his umbrella! Ow! What was that?"

"A bloody arrow smashing one of Joyce's vases, what do you think?"

"Don't shout at me! I'm in the right about this!"

"Sorry, Wills, not this time," called out Xander. The Chumash on the lawn had rallied behind their leader and had pulled out a wide range of weapons. He concentrated hard and flung the other Chumash at the side of the house back, dealing with their bows at the same time. Then he ignited his lightsabre and jumped down to confront Hus. "I guess you're the key here. I'm sorry." The lightsabre came around and then passed straight through the upraised axe that Hus was about to throw – and then it came down again quickly to pass through the exposed neck of the Chumash. Hus flickered like a faulty neon light and then he and his war party were gone.

Extinguishing his lightsabre Xander sighed. "Sorry," he said again, "But your quest for vengeance was too late." Then he turned and made his way back into the house, where people were starting to dust themselves off and where Oz and Giles were carefully helping a shaken Wesley up.

"What happened, they all vanished!" cried Buffy as she burst in with her mother.

"I took care of Hus," said Xander, entering via the window rather carefully and avoiding the broken glass. "Sorry about the glass Joyce, I'll get someone around to repair it." He saw the frying pan that she was holding. "What happened?"

Buffy beamed. "Mom threw a pan of hot fat into the face of one of them at the window and then she hit another one with the pan itself. She was way cool."

"This Hellmouth stuff does get to you," Joyce said shakily. "Is anything else going to happen?"

"No. Xander killed Hus, the vengeance spirit that has been killing people in a somewhat ill-advised campaign of revenge for its people. And which shot arrows at us all," he said pointedly, looking at Willow, who pouted.

"Just 'cos I tried to deal with it by talking, rather than slaying," she mumbled.

"Can I point out that your proposed plan of action failed in its entirety?"

More pouting.

* * *

Dinner was good. It was more than good, it was the cooking of Joyce Summers at its best, and Faith knew it. Warm crusty rolls, turkey, stuffing, mashed potatoes. gravy, peas, Brussels sprouts, cranberry sauce... and Wesley and Giles competed for the roast potatoes. And there was something else. They were round, fluffy and apparently called Yorkshire puddings. Giles and Wesley fought over those as well.

"Is those what I think they are?" asked Spike incredulously. He had been busy sucking on a very raw turkey leg, but had stopped to stare at the Yorkshire puddings.

"My mum used to have Yorkshire puddings served up for Sunday lunch," he said with a touch of longing in his voice. "Dru could make them as well. She served them with blood though, not gravy."

"Oh yuck," said B in a sick voice. She looked at Faith. "Do you want to do Rock Scissors Paper for the honour of staking him?" she asked with a grin.

"That's right, taunt the tied-up bloke on the chair," grumbled Spike. "I was just sharing a memory."

There was a determined cough from the head of the table and then Joyce was holding up her glass. "Everyone, I'd like to thank you for coming to us tonight for Thanksgiving. And on behalf of Buffy and I, I'd like to say that I am very thankful that you are all here and all unhurt. To all of us. And I'll be very upset if you're not here at this time next year."

"Hear hear," muttered Giles.

"By the way, where's the ponce with the gel?" said Spike indistinctly around a very bloody uncooked steak that marked his second course.

"Sorry?" asked Joyce.

"Angel."

"He left for LA," said Buffy tightly.

"He might well have left for LA, but why was he hanging around the bar in Sunnydale last night, pumping the idiot new owner for information about something nasty that was going to happen to you? Harmony said that she saw him. Before the bitch tried to stake me."

There was a very nasty silence.

* * *

"Hey mom," he said quietly. There was a pause and then an explosion of joyous noise down the phone. He listened with a smile on his face and then broke in with a quiet question about how the girls were doing. Another gush of noise down the phone whilst he listened, the smile on his face now bigger. They talked for a long time about small but important things. What he was doing, what life in California was like, what she was doing with the money he was sending. And then, finally, he said: "Bye mom. Love you."

He put the phone down slowly and then stared out of the window. And then Lindsey McDonald, attorney at law with Wolfram & Hart, put his head in his hands and wept for the things that he had missed in his life.

* * *

The sun had long since set but there was a faint afterglow on the horizon that tinted the sky there with a hint of red. he stood there, staring at the glow. So near and yet so far. Story of his life. When he heard the quiet footsteps behind him he turned slightly to see who it was, before turning back. "Xander," he acknowledged.

"Hey, Angel. Nice might for wandering."

"Yeah." He sighed. "You saved her."

"It was a bit close. I need to hone my use of the Force more. I couldn't sense Hus at all. I've never come up against anything like that before."

"Indian magic can be odd sometimes. I've come across some odd shamans and curses in my time." He paused. "At least she's safe."

"Yes. And annoyed at us all, and at you. She knows that you're in town."

He looked up, startled. "How?"

"Spike mentioned that someone saw you. Harmony. She's a vampire now, and she was in a bar last night."

"Spike's back? He dead yet?"

"No. Turns out his odd behaviour is because of a chip in his head that causes him immense pain whenever he tried to feed or hit things. Our tax dollars at work. I don't like vampires – no offence, but you're different – but that's just plain wrong. Vader-style wrong. So there's a military base in town and I don't like what it's doing."

Angel mulled that over for a moment. "You're right, that doesn't sound good. I've seen what happens when governments start messing with the undead. Very nasty. I'll tell you one day. Not now though. I'm waiting for a lift back to LA from a friend of Doyle's." He stirred uneasily. "She just mad or real mad?"

"Real stinking mad with a cherry on the top. You know Buffy. You should have told her that you were in town."

"I know. Chickened out. I see her and... you know what I feel about her."

"Yes, I do. I'm sorry about the way it worked out. Whatever happens." He turned. "I have to get back to patrolling. Take care, and may the Force be with you, my friend."

The Jedi Knight moved away into the night, leaving the vampire with a soul looking up at the last remaining smear of light in the western sky.

* * *

Three queens were good to have in any hand. Normally, that is. Playing against this lot of cheating bastards it might not be. For all he knew there were 5 queens in the pack, which wasn't necessarily made up of 52 cards.

Royer Mobalitos looked around the table, careful not to give the game away and keeping his cigar at an unjaunty angle. Body language was very important in poker. You could read an opponent well.

Trandar was busy fiddling with his chips again as he glowered at his cards. His very small pile of chips. He was a rotten poker player but had the redeeming quality of very deep pockets. At least he, Hogan and P'Shan were still alive. Fielding had been due, but now he was dead. Apparently he had bumped into the dark-haired Slayer, Faith, who had staked him without thinking twice about it. Unlucky. And a shame. The guy had owed him $200 and a kitten.

Mobalitos suppressed a sigh. Life has being a bastard at the moment. It was all very well to say that you were the new crime lord on the Hellmouth, but it was another thing to make it actually happen. And the presence of two Slayers and a pair of Jedi in Sunnydale were making life rather hard for him. It was hard to organise minions when they were afraid to leave their lairs.

He puffed on the cigar briefly to keep it alight and then paused as the door opened and a short demon with a horrible shade of green skin ran in. What was just as horrible was the Hawaiian shirt he was wearing. Pink, green and yellow in those shades did not go together, he mused.

"There had better be a damn good explanation for you coming in here like that," said Mobalitos quietly.

"Your pardon, my Lor… I mean boss. Um, you have someone on the talking box."

"Phone, it's called a phone, in the Name of the Dark One learn the new names for things will you! We're not in the Dark Ages any more!" He paused. The little demon was terrified. "Who is it?"

"Harkness Grandsire, boss."

The cigar drooped from his mouth and fell unnoticed onto the floor. Trandar's hand froze above his chips. Hogan stopped that damn irritating whistling and P'Shan's face dropped open, exposing more teeth than he liked to look at.

"The head of the Order of Teraka is on the phone? For me?"

"I think you need to take that call," rumbled Hogan. "Right now."

Taking a deep breath Mobalitos stood and made for his office, the little demon scuttling along behind him. Reaching his desk he eyed the handset as if it was a live and very angry snake, took another deep breath and then picked it up. "Mobalitos here."

"Royer!" said a genial voice that didn't fool him for a second. The man would drive his knife into your chest with a pleasant smile and a chat about the weather. "How are you? How's life on the Hellmouth?"

"The same as ever, Harkness."

"Potentially fatal you mean, what with Jedi and Slayers there with you. Well, it's your patch now."

Mobalitos frowned slightly. The man was being as indirect and subtle as he ever was. It was very unlike him. "So, how can I help you Harkness?"

"It's… delicate. As you know, The Order of Teraka won't touch Sunnydale these days with a ten-foot bargepole. We lost some very good people there after my idiot predecessor accepted that contract from that would-be master vampire Spike. We're a business, not a suicide agency.

"That said, I need to send someone in there. She's becoming a liability and I'd rather that she died. Girl's very good at what she does, which is killing, but she's worrying me a lot with her attitude. She doesn't really care about much. Sad but true. So I'm doing the proper thing and giving you the heads-up."

"What are you going to order her to do?" asked Mobalitos, his skin crawling at the thought of another one of those damn assassins being in town. They were just freaky.

"Kill one of the Jedi. Won't be for a while, she has a lot of other things to do, but once she's finished them then her self-loathing will be pretty high and it'll be time to put her to pasture, as it were. If one of the Jedi kills her then that's it and problem solved."

"Sure," he replied. "We'll stay out of her way."

"Thanks Royer. Be seeing you around then. Look me up the next time you're around."

"I will, Harkness. Stay well." He broke the connection and looked at his desk. Why couldn't life ever stay simple?


	8. Almost Hush

It's been a long month. I hate dentists. Plus my parents moved house. Argh. But on the plus side my teeth are now ok, my parents have moved in to their new place and I am a month away from my first holiday in... bloody ages. Enjoy!

* * *

They arrived quietly. Silently. One moment the hillside was empty of any life, the next it was suddenly covered in white-skinned forms. The small group in the circle, with their heads lowered in concentration, were dressed in dark, old-fashioned, suits. The others, who were looking around jerkily, were clad in what looked like straitjackets with the arms free, and with the heads covered in bandages.

The white heads that were visible came up, revealing faces that were set in a mocking rictus of a smile, and then all turned to face the lights of Sunnydale, which were glowing in the distance. The lead figure twisted his head around in an unsettling manner to look at the others, while bringing up his hands and gesturing towards the lights. Nods greeted the gesture.

And then they rose slightly in the air and flowed down the hill, escorted by the shambling creatures around them. All travelling in total silence.

* * *

She stared fixedly into the eyepiece of the electron microscope and then adjusted it slightly with the dial to one side. Fascinating. Absolutely fascinating. The amount of the substance in the subjects blood was quite extraordinary. And the potency of it still amazed her. It had infected the lab mouse that she had injected with a small amount of it earlier on in record time. She'd personally had to kill the specimen with her own silver propelling pencil, which was now being disinfected, while the small furry corpse had been incinerated.

She turned slightly to make a few notes on her clipboard, before getting up from the chair and beckoning to a lab assistant. "I want that sample preserved carefully in the bio lab, and then start work on a DNA analysis. Oh and no-one is to go anywhere near the original test subject without full a MOPP suit. Treat it as being very infectious. Blood or saliva on a cut could lead to full infection."

The assistant nodded and moved off. This left her with a moment to muse. What to do with the original subject? Tricky. It could hardly be released back into the wild. The threat that the Initiative might be exposed was very real now, especially with Hostile 17 still on the loose. She frowned slightly. The problem with finding vampires was that when they were dead, the body was instantly destroyed. So the only way to find out if it was alive – so to speak – was to track it down. So far Finn and the others had failed to do this. This was not as disturbing as she had first thought. If it was still feeding or being violent in any way, then it would be leaving a trail of bodies behind it. So far, nothing. Apart from the usual body count in Sunnydale that is. There had to be a rational reason why this place attracted so many HSTs.

Picking up her clipboard, with its never-ending list of things to do, she walked off to the door and then down the corridor. There was still so much to do. And then there was her little project. It was starting to really excite her now. The possibilities were endless. The avenues of research that it could trigger, the possible applications… She was almost tempted to contact Maybourne, but apparently his new employers did not have the same amount of money for research as the NID. Hopefully he would keep his mouth shut about some of the things that the Initiative were really doing behind the façade that there was there for the Pentagon. If he didn't, and things went on as scheduled, she knew the perfect… man, so to speak… to send after him.

* * *

The two figures wandered around campus. Their course looked almost erratic, wandering from place to place. However, if someone had plotted their progress on a map they might have seen that the pair seemed to be quartering a section covering a quarter of a mile of the university grounds.

If that observer had also looked closely at the taller figure they might have seen that he had an unhealthy pallor and that he looked deeply uncomfortable in his jeans and checked shirt. He also seemed to dislike the hat that was pulled low over his face, and his black hair did not look very lustrous on close inspection. His companion seemed to be deeply indifferent to his complaints however.

"I look like a bloody lumberjack," muttered Spike as they wandered past the latest set of bushes. "This sodding black wig doesn't help either."

"Do you want to get recognised by these people, zapped again and taken down into a pit of technological torture?" asked Xander.

"No!"

"Then shut up and keep looking."

They kept walking, their progress marked by edgy caution on the part of the vampire and careful stares on the part of the Jedi.

Eventually Spike sighed. "Look, this is getting us nowhere. All I know is that the exit is somewhere on the bloody campus. I just can't remember where, 'cos at the time I was running for my life and clutching at my head because it felt like it was going to explode."

Xander slowed to a halt. "I do realise that 'needle' and 'haystack' are two words that come to mind. It isn't until you're walking around the place that you realise how big it is. And how many people there are. You can't exactly use the Force easily here to locate this place."

"Yeah, well, I wouldn't know about that." The vampire patted his pockets morosely. "I'm dying for a fag."

"You don't want to draw attention to yourself, do you?"

"How will having a fag do that?"

"You haven't got a lighter and the nearest thing we have is my lightsabre."

Spike opened his mouth for a moment and then shut it again. "Always meant to give up one day." He looked around. "We done for tonight?"

"Yes, I think so. You're going back to your snug little couch in Giles's place."

"I suppose you're going to be laying waste to the local nightlife after that?"

"Someone has to. Although I'll be glad once Buffy's back from LA tonight. I've been getting this odd feeling of Déjà Vu all day."

"Why's that?"

"I have no idea." Then he paused and frowned. "Yeuch."

"What?"

"Either we just walked over something that a dog did not too recently, or there's something wrong."

Spike looked around. "All I see is more sodding campus architecture. Not very imaginative at all." He looked at Xander quizzically. "What's it like with all that Force stuff crammed in your head?"

"At times crowded. Right now though I have a nasty feeling that something appeared on the horizon oozing menace and then ducked down below my radar. Sort of."

"Oh. Well, as long as it hurts humans and not vampires I don't give a monkeys. I hope the Watcher's run out of croutons. I hate them in my blood."

"Spike, there are times when you are positively far too detailed in your accounts of weird vampire life."

"S'not weird. It's normal. For me, anyway. You're the one with the weird life."

"Everything is relative. Let's go."

* * *

The lecture was fascinating. It was a shame that Buffy didn't quite find it so interesting. She must have got back from LA quite late the previous night. Willow looked over in some amusement at the nodding Slayer and then looked over at Oz, who quirked a smile at her and then turned his attention at Professor Walsh. A second later and Buffy started slightly, blinked hard, gaped slightly and then glared at Oz.

"Did you just poke me in the ribs with the you-know-what?" she hissed quietly.

"Yes," he replied quietly, taking notes at the same time. "You should be listening to this."

"I know, I was just having the weirdest dream…" She stopped. "Did anyone else see me snoozing?"

Willow scratched the bottom part of her jaw with her pen and then jabbed one end down at the side of the auditorium. "Yup."

Buffy looked over in the general direction and then froze. "Ah." Riley Finn was looking up at her, a slight smile on his face. Professor Walsh was still talking and writing on the board.

"So what was the dream about?" whispered Oz.

Buffy sighed. In Willow's opinion it was not a happy sigh. "I don't know. Maybe trouble. Maybe just what Giles calls the oddness of my mind. I'll tell him. How much did I miss? Can I copy some notes after?"

"Sure," reassured Willow. "Anything you want, Buffy." She turned back to the notes that she had been making whilst talking. Multitasking was easy these days. Then she stole a sly look at Buffy as she tried not to look at Riley. Oh yes, there was something going on there. Faith was unsure about the whole thing – actually she was unsure about the whole monogamy thing – but a certain Slayer certainly had a thing for a certain TA. And said TA had a thing for a certain Slayer. Oz shot a look of her own her. Ok, enough matchmaking. Or proto-matchmaking. More notes. God, Professor Walsh was good.

She smiled inwardly. Her life was quite good these days. Challenging lectures, the fact that Oz loved her, the fact that she loved him back, the support of friends, the fact that she was mastering her magic… it all made up for the fact that her parents were almost always away these days. That old hurt was going away, or rather being masked by something else. She thought about attending that Wiccan meeting that she had seen on a notice board the other day again. Nah. She had too much to do.

* * *

By the time that he reached Giles's apartment Xander was getting rather concerned about the odd feeling he was picking up in the Force. It was as if a creepy, quiet, miasma of evil was slithering somewhere about on the horizon. He couldn't locate it and he couldn't quantify it. And he disliked it a great deal.

Knocking on the door and waiting got no initial response, even though Giles was definitely in the place, along with Spike. It was still very hard to ignore Spike, as he had a major depression that would have depressed even the most optimistic person around. There were times when he was amazed that a small black thundercloud hadn't formed over the neutered vampire's head. After a moment he raised his hand to knock again, before hearing footsteps. As the door opened he could see that Giles was talking on the phone to someone, whilst jotting notes on a pad. Seeing Xander he smiled and beckoned, before turning around and walking back in.

"And… that was all that this, this girl was saying?" asked the Watcher after a long moment. "No… no, it doesn't ring any bells. It might well be a Slayer dream, it certainly sounds cryptic. Then again, I have long since given up trying to understand your brain. Yes, if anything occurs to me I'll call you. And will endeavour not to be so snarky, as you put it. Goodbye Buffy."

Giles disconnected the phone and then looked up from his notes. "Ah, hello Xander. Buffy has had one of her Slayer dreams. Well, possibly one of her dreams."

"It's a bit late to tell you isn't it? Why didn't she call you about it this morning?"

The Watcher grimaced slightly. "She had it in the middle of a lecture. She was obviously hanging on Professor Walsh's every word." He handed the notepad over. "Does that mean anything to you?"

He looked down at the words that Giles had scrawled.

'Can't even shout, Can't even cry,

The gentlemen are coming by,

Looking in windows,

Knocking on doors,

They need to take seven,

They might take yours.

Can't call to Mom, Can't say a word,

You're gonna die screaming but you won't be heard.'

Hm. Interesting. "Not a thing."

There was a shuffling noise and Spike appeared to one side, clutching a mug and with a mouth full of something. "Mou're mout ov wheedabics," he said indistinctly.

"What?"

The vampire swallowed irritably. "I said 'you're out of wheatabix'," he said, before looking at Xander. "Hello light-bulbed one."

"Spike," Xander replied evenly. The vampire seemed to be doing his best to try and irritate people now that he knew that he wasn't going to be killed any time soon. The fact that he was no longer a threat to humans and was in fact now effectively helpless meant that according any Jedi code, he could not be killed. Killing a defenceless being was a Sith habit that he had loathed even before he had become a Jedi. Spike was still coming to terms with being in such a position. He was also coming to terms with the fact that no matter what he said to try and annoy the two Jedi, nothing seemed to work.

Then he paused. "Giles, is this all that Buffy had? I mean, did she feel that anything in particular was coming?"

"No," said Giles thoughtfully. Then he turned and looked hard at him. "Have you sensed something?"

"Maybe," he replied, musingly. "Something feels… wrong. Off. As if something crept into town quietly but hasn't raised its ugly head yet." He looked over at Spike. The vampire was now sprawled all over the couch, with a mug of blood in one hand and the remote in the other, and was channel hopping like a man – sort of – possessed. "Spike, does anything of this ring any bells?"

The blond head turned and a very disinterested look was sent his way. "No. What are you going on about again?"

"A creeping evil and something called 'The Gentlemen'."

"Oh god, that again. And I've never heard of any Gentlemen. This is Sunnydale. It could be anything."

"Good point." He sighed. "I just have this feeling that something is coming, Giles. And I don't know what."

"Yes, well," said the Watcher, "Let me know if you narrow it down to something in particular." He paused, settled his glasses on his nose, raised a hand, thought about it, dropped said hand and then removed his glasses to give them another polish.

"Something on your mind Giles?"

"No. Well, actually yes. I was wondering if you had any ideas about the best place for Spike to stay over the next day or so."

"Why do you ask?"

"A friend of mine is coming over from the UK and, well, we'd like a little privacy. Plus she doesn't really know much about the supernatural. Plus, Spike is about as politically correct as a herd of Thatcherite Tory MPs at a Liberal Democrat barbeque."

"I only have a vague idea as to your metaphor, but I'm guessing that it would be a bad thing?"

"Correct."

"Well, given that the moon won't be full for a while we can always dump him in Oz's hideaway."

"That might not be a good idea, given the fact that we have still to find out what happened to Veruca."

"Good point. What about Joyce's basement?"

"I'm not going into some bloody basement!" shouted Spike indignantly. "What about spiders?"

"I never had you pegged as an Arachnophobe," stated Giles in tones of slight disbelief. "I thought that Vampires liked deserted buildings filled with unpleasant creatures."

"That's a bloody anti-vampire myth mate. Nothing but a stereotype. Nah, the old European lot liked them. The Romanian lot, who go around talking like zis. More blood Igor! Release zer crazed vere-bear!" He snorted and swallowed a large gulp of blood. "Nah, we've more modern than that. All the comforts of home. And let me tell you, spiders make a right mess of your TV screen. Plus they've got too many legs. I hate 'em."

There was a pause and then Giles exchanged a bemused glance at Xander and then hurried on. "Yes, well, before we got into that interesting little diatribe about vampires and spiders, I believe we were talking about a temporary place for Spike. Just for a night or two. Maybe three."

"Hang on," broke in Spike, his eyes narrowing, "Why do I have to be out of here for this mysteriously moving amount of time?"

At this point Giles did something that Xander had never seen him do before. He blushed slightly. "Yes, um, well, as I said, an old friend of mine is coming over from Britain. Someone that I'm, I'm, ah, very fond of."

"She nice then, this bird?" asked Spike with a knowing leer.

Giles glared at him. "As a matter of fact, yes she is. She also happens to be intelligent, articulate and many others things that you have obviously no concept of."

The vampire chuckled quietly "Oi, don't take it out on me. I'm not disparaging this mysterious bird of yours."

The glare was muted slightly. "That may be, we still need to find a place for Spike to stay. I'm sure that I can make some effort to give you every assurance that Joyce's basement is free of any hint of spiders."

"How nice. Do I get a copy of The Times with my morning tea as well?"

"If you're lucky you might not get to fertilise her roses."

"Temper, temper."

"Ok," smiled Xander. "And I'll go away and try to get a better idea of what the hell is going on. I just hope that this odd feeling isn't as bad as I suspect it might be."

The Watcher drew a deep breath. "I hope so too. I do wish that we could catch a break sometimes, as Buffy would say. Ah well. Wilkins seems to have known what he was doing when he founded his town here."

* * *

White faces turned as the last member of their company drifted in. He was holding the box in his pale hands. The incantations – so to speak – were complete. The ceremony had been performed, every movement precise and measured. They had had a long time to perfect it, and they liked perfection. Everything was ordered. Precise. In its place. The box was placed in the spot that had been so carefully prepared and then it was opened with a flip of the finger. They watched. Nothing could stop this now. And the smiles broadened a fraction.

* * *

Meditation helped, but not as much as he had hoped. He hated the fact that he just couldn't nail down this… feeling… that something was very wrong somewhere, that something important was eluding him. So he had gone home to his bedroom, turned out the lights with the Force as he sat down on the floor and embraced the Force in an effort to calm his mind and stretch out with his feelings. He needed to keep his focus on the here and now. A smiled flashed across his face as he thought of Qui-Gon just before the 'negotiations' in the skies above Naboo.

He sank a little deeper into his trance and waited. Then he felt it. Something to the west… it felt cold. Evil. And brimming with anticipation. Opening his eyes he turned his head in the direction of the sensation. Not too far away, but not close either. And the anticipation seemed to be increasing. It was very odd, as if…

When he saw the thin white stream of what looked like vapour stream out from under his nose he froze, startled. Whatever it was, it was thin and ethereal and it just screamed magic of some sort. But what was it? It floated up to the window and then passed through it.

Rising quickly he looked out – and then raised both eyebrows. The sky above was streaked with similar wisps of white vapour, all moving quickly, all heading in the same direction, towards the middle of town. Towards the evil sensation he had picked up, which was now displaying signs of contentment. Even as he watched he could see four more white streaks rise up from the Unger's house opposite, rising up to join the others, which were starting to thin out now, as if there were fewer. Some more flashed overhead and then they were gone. At the same time the contentment seemed to flare horribly and then it vanished.

"I don't like that at all," said Xander and then stopped dead. His mouth had shaped the words, but his ears seemed to be playing up, because he hadn't heard what he had said. An unpleasant sensation went up and down his spine, like an icy xylophone. Opening his mouth he repeated what he had said. Nope, still not hearing it. Had he gone deaf? What kind of demon – or whatever the hell it had been – stole people's hearing? He paused and then experimented by snapping his fingers. Oh. His hearing wasn't playing up. He leant forwards and opened the window. It was rather quiet, although the sound of crickets chirping was further proof that his ears were working. Just not his larynx apparently.

Xander reached for his cell phone and then stopped dead. Aha. Ok. How did you tell someone about some nefarious dead if you couldn't actually, well, speak? The implications were frightening. Then he stopped dead. There had been an awful lot of wisps in the sky. If each was a voice, then Sunnydale was going to wake up tomorrow and find out that it had been reduced to a city of Harpos overnight. And as to how the average person on the street, who was able to rationalise the elevated death toll in this place in a hundred whacky ways, would cope with this development, he could make a pretty shrewd guess. Total panic.

He opened the window further and slipped out. He had the clans to call in.

* * *

The lid of the box was flipped shut, closing over the dense white mist that now lay within. Careful hands reached down and placed it on the shelf, within the limits laid down for it. Everything was now ready. The Gentlemen all smiled at each other. It was almost time. A hand angled at the doorway and a head twisted around to look at the others as one of them gestured. It was time to sleep. The Gentlemen drifted through the air and out of the tower, leaving the Others to guard it. They had a lot to do the next day. A harvest, as it were, had to be collected.

* * *

That damn phone again. Lindsey raised a bleary head from his pillow and glared at it. Another damn alarm signal. He was glad he was going to leave the company. It would stop them from waking him up at 5.30am with news of some hideous disaster or threat to the firm. He reached over and picked it up wearily. Opening his mouth to say his name he was a bit baffled when no actual noise emerged. Damn, his mouth was dry. As a series of security check-inspired clicks went on in the earpiece he reached out with his free hand and grabbed his glass of water, gulping about half of it down before the voice started talking.

"Recall, all members of the Wolfram& Hart office in Sunnydale are instructed to return to their offices at once. Recall."

He put the receiver down with a groan. Or rather a silent groan. He cleared his throat and then opened his mouth again to try an experimental hum. No sound emerged. He sat up suddenly and then swung out of bed and padded over to the mirror in the bathroom.

Close inspection of his face revealed nothing wrong. Closer inspection of the back of his mouth revealed the dangly bit at the back that served some mysterious purpose. That was ok as well. He just couldn't talk. He could hear, obviously, but he couldn't talk.

A wave of panic sloshed slightly at the back of his mind, but before it could turn into a tsunami he was sitting in the bathtub doing his best to settle his mind and meditate. He wasn't completely successful, but he was at least able to push the fear away.

Fear was the path to the Dark Side, he found himself muttering mentally. Whatever was happening was supernatural in origin. And was probably something to do with the company. There was a reason behind it. He calmed his mind carefully. He was still a bit jittery, but that would go in a bit. Hopefully.

When he was sure that his mind was as calm as it would ever be without a large amount of alcohol or drugs, he got out of the bathtub and went to work.

* * *

The phone went off, apparently in her ear, and startling her out of quite a good dream about Angel and some ice cream. How odd. The phone was still ringing. Buffy tried to burrow further under her pillow, but the sound was irritatingly persistent. It rang, and rang, and why wasn't Mom getting it? Then she opened a bleary eye. Oh. Right. College. No Mom. Moving the pillow to one side she glared at the offending item in the room. On the other side of the room Willow was starting to stir slightly.

Groaning silently Buffy sat up, threw the sheets back and padded over to the telephone. True to form the moment that she reached a hand out for it, the damn thing stopped ringing. Typical.

As she wheeled around to head back to bed someone rapped softly on the door. She glared at that too. Who in their right mind would pay a visit at 5.45am? Whoever it was had to be in the wrong place. Have the wrong room. Or they were going to… be talked to. Severely talked to.

She reached out, unlocked the door and opened it. Xander was standing there, along with a very freaked out Faith. The Jedi was holding up his cell phone. Then he pointed at it, pointed to her own phone and then finally pointed at his mouth and shook his head.

"Xander, it's 5.45 in… the… morning?" Then she crossed both eyes trying to see her own mouth. Had she gone deaf or something?

As if reading her mind Xander knocked briefly on the door, producing a clunking noise and disproving her deafness theory. Then he pulled out a folded piece of paper and opened it. It read: 'Something's stolen all our voices.'

She boggled at this whilst Xander and Faith walked into the room. The letters 'WTF?' had been scrawled in one corner of the paper in Faith's handwriting, and she had a fairly good idea what those letters stood for. Then she spun around. She tried to say 'What?' but she couldn't seem to make a sound. Baffled she looked at the others. To her left Willow was raising a muzzy head and looking at them.

Faith raised both hands in the air in a gesture of pure frustration and then lowered them, looking as if she was counting under her breath to try and calm down. Then she walked over to Buffy's desk, grabbed a pad and a pen, wrote hurriedly and then handed it over It read: 'I was patrolling late. White shit came floating out my mouth. Couldn't talk. Freaked. Met Xander. NO FREAKING CLUE!'

This made Buffy stare. 'You too?' she mouthed. Two nods, one much more strained than the other came back at her. There was a flurrying noise to one side and they all looked over at Willow, who was now clutching at her ears and looking panicky. When she saw them looking at her she waved a desperate hand and then mouthed that she had gone deaf.

Reaching over to the desk Xander picked up a pen and rapped sharply against the wooden surface a few times. Some of the panic left Willows face, but then she pointed at her own mouth in confusion. Three pained nods with 'us too' gestures went back at her.

With a silent sigh Xander reached over to grab a clean piece of paper, on which he scrawled a single word, which he then held up for them all to see.

'GILES'.

Then he paused and added some more.

'But you should probably get dressed first.'

* * *

The conference room was filled with anxious Wolfram & Hart lawyers. It was not a pretty sight. Ties were askew, makeup was smudged, shirts were wrinkled and brows were furrowed. Lindsey sat down at one end of the table, making sure that he kept his own frown on his face. The number of people was a good thing. If Wolfram & Hart suspected that someone was thinking about leaving the company, then they liked get them in and take care of business reasonably quietly, with just a few witnesses who needed to be shown just what the company was capable of. Then again, Rove was getting increasingly strung out and an execution might need a wider audience. And then again on the other other hand everyone was mute. Chances were that this was a meeting to point this out. He closed his eyes and didn't have to fake the tiredness that was seeping over him. Then he rubbed his forehead for a moment and straightened up. Quick footsteps were approaching.

When Rove entered the room Lindsey blinked once but did not allow his face to give anything away. The man looked as if he'd been dragged through a hedge backwards and then superficially tidied up. His tie was the only straight thing on him, as everything else looked rumpled. It was not his usual look. And he looked, well, mad as hell. Anger was almost dripping off him and he had a thunderous frown on his face.

Rove strode to the head of the table, slammed a folder full of white paper in front of him and then made a 'be seated' gesture. Everyone who was standing sat down rather hurriedly. He then grabbed the control in front of him and pushed a button with a great deal of force. The lights went down and the two windows were smoothly closed with metal shutters. At the same time a screen unrolled from a hidden slot at the far end of the room behind Rove.

A light flickered and then a film came on. A film of Holland Manners. He looked rather avuncular. And then he started to speak.

"This is a general information film that hopefully very few of you will ever see. By now you might be wondering why you can't seem to make a sound. This is because the town you are in is being visited by the Gentlemen."

He went on for about ten minutes, talking whilst a puddle of dread materialised at the pit of his stomach. This was nasty. Very nasty.

When the presentation was over and Holland had signed off with a comment that sounded far too matter-of-fact and altogether like someone who was safe in a very secure and comfortable office in a large city that the Gentlemen had never been to, the screen retracted and light came back in to the room. It revealed a number of ashen faces.

An imperious tap on the table brought everyone's attention back to Rove, who threw his pen aside and opened his folder to pull out a piece of paper, which he held up so that everyone around the table could read it.

'Go home. Don't let anyone in,' it said. Then he put it down and pulled out another. This one read: 'We are dealing with it.' And then a third: 'They should go away if you show a W&H card.'

The 'should' was not very reassuring. The nervous glances that were being exchanged around the table meant that other people had spotted it as well. Rove held up the first sign again and the room started to empty. The complete silence was a bit eerie.

Lindsey was standing up to leave when Rove jabbed a finger at him and then pointed at his chair. When the others had left he held up another piece of paper. 'Chances are we might lose someone.' And then: 'The Gentlemen are madder than Holland said.' Judging by the faint tic that had broken out by his left eyebrow, Rove was not far behind them.

And then he held up another one.

'Killing them would be a big feather in our caps. If the Slayers died as well, that too.'

Grabbing his pen Rove scrawled something across the bottom of the back of the paper, before flipping it in his direction. And then he sat back and smirked at Lindsey.

'FIND THEM!'

* * *

The three men walked down the hallway, ignoring the complete chaos around them. Students were crying, trying to shout, running around, and freaking in general. Not these three though. They almost marched down the corridor, three abreast, intent on getting to their goal. Passing down the stairs they made their way to the elevator that led to the Initiative, making sure first that no-one was around. Then Riley got in, followed by Forrest and Graham. As the doors closed, Riley held up the message that he had just written on a pad.

'It's all over town.'

* * *

Whoever was selling wipeable white boards and marker pens was making a fortune in Sunnydale, thought Xander wryly as he walked through the streets. Although some of the words being scrawled were not exactly anatomically possible, especially in the case of the people who were exchanging numbers and assigning blame after a three-car snarl-up on one corner.

It had been a very unsettling morning so far. What had been even more unsettling was that he had no idea why everyone's voices had vanished.

But what had really been interesting so far had been the reaction of a certain number of members of a fraternity and a sorority. The Pi Delta Kappas and the Lamba Delta Alphas to be precise, especially clustered around a certain Riley Finn, who had apparently vanished and then reappeared, based on a friend of Oz's. Yes, they had been upset. Yes, they had been unsettled like everyone else. But they had also been vigilant, focused and… watchful. Several times he had seen people observing the panicky students sombrely, almost protectively. He had a number of nasty suspicions about the reasons behind this.

He could have been walking faster, but by now he knew that this would not have been a good idea. People were already panicky enough. A fast-moving man would have made them more jittery than ever, and tension levels were too high as it was. Understandably so.

Turning in along an underpass that ran by a walkway he paused, gauging how many people were around. None was the answer and it was just what he wanted to know, because he then leapt about 20 feet up in a Force-leap that would have had any observer's jaws on the floor in astonishment. Another check around him and then he was moving on again.

When he reached Giles's apartment he knocked using the proper code. Giles himself opened the door, smiled at him and then waved him into the main living room. It was a bit full. Buffy and Faith were taking it in turns to pace, Wesley was sitting in the most comfortable chair, holding his stick in a death grip but doing his best to relax, Oz and Willow were on the sofa holding hands, Spike was cutting obscene paper chain figures out of old newspapers and Anya and Jonathan were sitting by the window, looking out with one arm about the other. Amy was walking out of the kitchen and was frowning darkly over a mug of black coffee. And Giles's friend – or should that be girlfriend? – Olivia was sitting in a chair, sketching busily on a pad. Occasionally she would look to one side at a small sculpture of a red dragon.

As Xander entered everyone looked up at him and he waved slightly. Wan smiles and returning waves replied for the group as a whole. Then he jerked a finger over his shoulder and shook his head mournfully, before twirling a finger by the side of his head. More wan smiles, before Willow got up and gave him a quick hug, more for her reassurance than his, he suspected, before going back to Oz, who nodded sombrely at him.

Xander turned to Giles and mouthed: 'Anything?' at him. The only reply was a sigh and a helpless spread of the hands. He nodded in reply and looked over the group. Funny how being mute could affect you. Faith looked as if she was about to start pulling people's arms off, but was keeping herself under a very tight restraint. Buffy looked sad and impatient at the same time. Only Oz looked as if he had kept his equilibrium. It was no more than he had expected from a Jedi Knight. But still, he was pleased that his old Padawan had been able to keep the despair that most people seemed to be feeling at bay.

When the knock on the door came he whirled around on the spot, his lightsabre flying into his hand in an instant as the others were just starting to look up. Only Oz was as alert as he was, leaping up from besides Willow. Jedi speed could be quite useful sometimes. And then they both relaxed at the same time. At about the same time that Giles turned an alarmed gaze at them – and Olivia stared at the silver rods in the hands of the two Jedis – Xander made a reassuring gesture and walked to open the door, which opened to reveal Lindsey.

The… well, he was sort of a Youngling, but he would have been deeply offended if he had been told that a 9-year-old child in the Temple could have wrapped him about its little finger… apprentice for want of a better word, even though that had Sith connotations, looked grim but was far calmer than he had hoped that he would be. He was also holding a large file, which he held up. It said in large red letters that just screamed danger: The Gentlemen. Lindsey tapped at his throat, pointed at the file and then nodded significantly.

When they went back in, Lindsey went straight to Giles and placed the file in front of him. Then he started slightly on seeing the others there all staring at him, raised his eyebrows for a moment and then waved somewhat sheepishly. The others waved back with varying degrees of enthusiasm. Xander and Oz, however, both smiled at him, while Xander laid a hand on his shoulder and nodded gratefully. 'Glad you're ok,' he mouthed exaggeratedly. Lindsey seemed to relax slightly and nodded back.

Giles in the meantime was busy staring at the first page of the file. Then he looked up incredulously, hurried over to get a book from his bookcase and then scurried back, crooking a finger at Wesley as he did so. The younger man walked over with a frown – and then he too saw the writing on the first page and gaped. Soon the duo were busy scribbling notes to each other as they sped-read their way through the file, with the book that Giles had grabbed open to one side. Xander peered over at it. It was a book of fairy tales. He blinked. They had to be kidding. But by the way that they were looking at it and then pointing at parts of the file, they seemed to be very serious.

When the blizzard of notes was over Giles sat back, his eyes full of thought. Then he leant forwards again and grabbed a piece of paper, which he scribbled on and then handed to Xander, gesturing for him to pass it around.

'We need somewhere with an overhead projector. I need to explain what's going on to you all. The university will have one.'

* * *

Giles had obviously been able to get hold of the lecture room quite easily, given the fact that both the lecturers and the students did not exactly have their minds set on lessons at the moment. Not that they could have given them or heard them at the moment. It was therefore a very empty room as they all piled in, with the exception of Olivia and Spike. The two had been left in Giles's apartment, playing a very intense game of Gin Rummy.

As they all settled into seats Lindsey passed a scribbled note over to Xander. 'Why not just pass the file around?'

Xander raised an eyebrow and wrote back: 'Not everything is in your files. What to do for a start.'

The lawyer looked at the note, raised an eyebrow back and then nodded, before sinking into his seat. On the stage in front of then Giles and Wesley were fiddling over an overhead projector and seemed to be in the middle of a protracted argument based on post it notes. Giles seemed to be the winner, because he looked up at them all, smiled dryly and then walked one step over to a tape recorder, which he then turned on. Rather creepy music drifted out from it into the room.

Turning back to the projector Giles put a sheet onto it and then turned it on. It read: 'Who are the Gentlemen?' Everyone looked at it and then collectively shrugged.

The next transparency said: 'They are fairytale monsters.' It was illustrated with a picture of a bald head with a grinning face and dead eyes. Sort of. The skill level was not terribly high and showed that Giles – or Wesley – was not a gifted illustrator.

Giles held up a finger. The next sheet said: 'They are here to collect hearts.'

Faith pulled a face and then wrote hurriedly on her whiteboard. She held it up 'Please tell me they're not looking for love'.

This brought an appalled look from Giles, who shook his head emphatically and then jabbed a finger at the centre of his own chest. Wesley quirked his lips slightly and then put a new picture up. It showed two grinning things that obviously represented the Gentlemen overlooking a town.

'They come to a town.'

A new image showing two gentlemen and a few ordinary people clutching at their throats.

'They steal all the voices so that no-one can scream, so that'

The next image was of a Gentleman with a very red knife standing over a recumbent figure that had a lot of red all over its chest.

'They then take people's hearts.'

There was a lot of red in the next image. Along with a picture of a Gentleman holding up a heart. Lindsey looked rather unwell at the prospect. Willow and Buffy exchanged rather worried glances with the others, whilst Anya, who had been eating popcorn all the way through the show, snuggled against an aghast Jonathan's shoulder and grabbed another handful of fluffy corn.

Giles looked at them sombrely and then put the next transparency up. 'They need seven. We need to stop them.'

Faith had been scribbling on her whiteboard again, and quickly raised it. 'How do we KILL them?'

This question had certainly been anticipated, because Giles exchanged an obviously amused glance with Wesley, before the next picture went up. It showed a Gentleman with three swords through him and an axe in his head.

'In the tales, no sword can kill them.' An admonitory finger shot up in the air from the senior Watcher. 'But a princess screamed once in Romania and they all died.'

At this point Faith waved a hand. As everyone looked at her she scrabbled in her bag and then pulled out a CD, which she raised triumphantly. Willow clicked her fingers delightedly at this, pointed at the CD, grabbed her ears with a look of agony and then pantomimed dying.

Unfortunately Giles's response was a wan smile. Another transparency. 'Only a real human voice.'

This sucked. Xander scribbled on his whiteboard again and then held it up. 'How do we get our voices back?'

Giles waved a cool finger at this point, and then pointed at Lindsey before putting up another transparency. 'According to the files brought by Lindsey, we know,'

Another one. 'That they have a box. They capture the voices in it.'

A final slide. 'If we find it and destroy it, we get our voices back.'

Right. Xander drummed his fingers on the armrest for a brief second. First they had to find them. It looked like he was going to be patrolling tonight.

* * *

'What's going on?'

Maggie Walsh looked at the pad that Finn was holding up. It was a valid question. It was just a shame that she couldn't provide him with an answer. She held up a finger and then typed rapidly at the computer keyboard in front of her. After a while an electronic voice said: "We are looking into it. We will find an answer. You should patrol tonight."

This seemed to throw Finn a bit. Damn it, the man was baffled understandably, but he should be able to work out the answer shouldn't he? For a split second she thought about the prototype in Room 314. Giving orders to him would be easy. More than easy – just insert a disc and away he would go. She smothered her irritation and typed some more.

"Because there will be chaos," droned the artificial voice. "People will not know what to do. You must keep order."

Finn nodded slowly and then looked over at the others, who looked a little more clueless. He scribbled on the pad again.

'We need to stop morons taking out their frustrations,' said the new sheet on the pad. The others looked at it and then nodded.

Walsh watched and then made a note. Her project needed to be moved up a notch in urgency. Today's events proved it. She had a lot to do.

* * *

The vampire community had not taken well to being mute. They certainly seemed to be a bit more active that evening, presumably because their prospective victims couldn't scream for help. At all. As a result Xander had killed three in ten minutes and was now tracked a group of six that were gathering in one of the main cemeteries. From the feel of it they were planning something, although they were presumably communicating by either sign language or whiteboards.

What he should have been doing was going out and about and trying to find the Gentlemen's lair. This was easier said than done. Whatever they were using to shield themselves worked just as well against the Force as it did against magic. Willow was apparently back at Oz's room sulking, having tried and failed to adapt a magic spell to find them. Apparently magic needed to be said aloud in most cases. All that Willow had so far achieved was to accidentally turn a perfectly good map into runny goop. Amy had been equally chagrined.

Which brought another set of problems. Oz was with Willow, Jonathan and Anya. Faith was with Giles and Wesley, who were trying to work out a way of vanquishing the Gentlemen. Which just left Buffy and himself as the two people who could hunt for the Gentlemen and hopefully defend their hearts against being cut out. Two people in a very large town. The odds were not good.

As he approached the vampires silently he could see that they were in the middle of an argument about something. His arrival was therefore both unexpected and quite rapidly fatal.

* * *

Holland finished typing his emailed response to Rove about the situation in Sunnydale and smothered a slight smile. He had once seen the man as a possible threat. Nowadays he was inclined to see him as a walking corpse. He was obviously getting a bit paranoid, or rather he was possibly reinventing the word. And the arrival of the Gentlemen was hastening the process. The firm didn't have a way of tracking the Gentlemen, who worked to a schedule and itinerary of their own making. They would vanish for years and then re-emerge without warning. It could be very disconcerting, something that Rove was having trouble coping with. What a shame.

He locked his computer down and then got up. Time for little bit of lunch. Pulling his jacket on he opened his office door, smiled at his secretary and drifted off down the corridor, nodding to the occasional flunky as they walked past. Getting into the lift he pressed the button for the ground floor. Perhaps lunch at the latest Italian place? Certainly not the new restaurant recommended by one of his demon clients. Raw food was not to his taste, apart from sushi.

The lift stopped halfway down and Lilah Morgan got in. She smiled at him coolly, acknowledged him with a nod and then pressed the button for the lift to close.

"How's the Hackett case going?" he asked after a long moment.

"We've traced his last remaining relative down. Took some digging. He's a priest on an island off the coast of Ireland. We're going to send someone there to… 'talk' to him about the money."

Holland nodded. "Well done," he muttered as the lift dinged and the doors opened. As he passed across the foyer and into the sunlight he mused for a moment. Lilah was acting… normally. Sort of. It was the 'sort of' that bothered him. A few months before she had been showing signs of immense anger and intense ambition. Nowadays… she was cool. Calm. Competent. Only occasionally did the odd flicker of anger show, like hot magma concealed by smooth marble. It was… odd. Nothing to bring up with the Senior Partners, but Lilah merited watching carefully. She was perhaps planning something.

Well, it was too bad. The way that Rove was going, there would probably be a new vacancy at the head of the Sunnydale office pretty soon. When that happened, then some decisions would be made. He had heard some rumours already about a possible promotion for himself. He had a feeling that Lindsey McDonald might make a good replacement. And Lilah… would go to Sunnydale. Where she might well replace Rove.

* * *

Buffy was worried. The town seemed to be going to pieces rapidly. People were just coming unglued, as they stressed out over the so-called laryngitis epidemic. She had broken up two fights already and then knocked out one man who had been about to resolve an argument over who was to blame for the small car crash that he had just been in. The other person had been writing down his details, but he was going for the 'lets use a tyre iron' approach. It had been easy to just walk past and whack him lightly – for her – on the head.

It was all for the good of community relations. Go her. But it had not been good for tracking down the Gentlemen. And that was something that they needed to do quite fast now. She had already seen the paramedics and the police leave a house near the junction of Beauchamp and Jones. The guys in the ambulance had been walking slowly, pushing a gurney. The body of a young guy, no more than her own age, had been on it. His heart had been cut out according to the cop who was there, and who was a terrible speller. She had a feeling that Sunnydale PD was not recruiting the best and brightest.

Turning down 8th Street she paused. Xander was walking up the road towards her. He looked calm, but he was probably feeling frustrated as well. As they approached he spread out his hands in a gesture of frustration. She nodded wearily and they crossed the road to the next search area. Giles had been very meticulous. They even had maps. That was so organised.

It wasn't until they had reached Fairfax that they had a sniff of something. Just before they reached the point where they were supposed to split apart into the next search area, Xander had stiffened and then turned his head sharply. When she followed his gaze she saw something white flicker out of sight behind a building on the next intersection. Xander reached down for his whiteboard quickly, scribbled 'icky feeling in the Force' and then took off at a dead run, almost too fast for her to keep up with. He could be so damn fast at times that she sometimes wondered what else he was capable of.

Even with their speed, by the time that they reached the road, there was nothing up ahead. There was however a rather freaky looking building, with what looked like some kind of clock tower attached to it. It was lit from the inside – and a door was closing to one side. Buffy looked at Xander, who had pulled out his lightsabre and was staring at the place up ahead. Then he looked at Buffy and nodded at it.

* * *

It was a large building. It was lit up but looked deserted. Bits were boarded up. And this close up it stank of the Dark Side, as it had been shielded somehow. Xander pulled his hand away from the door and looked down at it in distaste. It felt dirty. Then he turned to look at Buffy, who was now openly carrying a crossbow and had Aquila tucked into her belt. The carrying bag in which she had disguised the weapons had been dropped to one side. They exchanged a grim nod, before she mouthed the words 'quick or slow' in an exaggerated manner.

Xander grinned in response. No-one was around and he kind of wanted his voice back, so he stepped back and used the Force to open the door quickly. It slammed against the side of the building with a loud thud and then they were both in through the doorway, looking around. The place was full of old packing cases and assorted debris from whatever the company that had once been in the building had been doing. There were also stairs heading upwards. Oh and there were five creepy guys wearing straitjackets with the sleeves loose and the light of utter madness in their eyes, who were taking a great deal of interest in them and who obviously wanted to eject them from the premises. Silent attackers was a bit weird. Xander used the Force to send the first one flying backwards into two others, knocking them all unconscious. The fourth suddenly sprouted a lively new head ornament in the shape of a crossbow bolt, which improved the shape of his head but also rendered him very lifeless. Which left number five, who was promptly decapitated by Buffy with Aquila. She quickly sheathed the sword and restrung her crossbow quickly.

This was a good idea, because all of a sudden they had a lot more company in the form of about eight of the straitjacketed madmen, who all piled out of a door to one side and attacked straight away. One grew a new crossbow bolt in the middle of its forehead and went down hard. It was time to get serious. He activated his lightsabre and brought it sweeping down across the front of the first attacker, sending it flying in two different directions, brought it back in a neck-high slash that decapitated the next two and then spilt the fourth from head to crotch, leaving two neat halves that peeled away from each other.

In any other fight that would have been enough to get the rest fighting to be first out of the door and finding new and innovative reasons to be somewhere a long way away right now. Not this bunch, because they took the deaths of their colleagues, or rather fellow semi-Gentlemen in their stride and kept coming at them. Another crossbow bolt took one in the eye – Buffy was obviously breaking new records in cocking that string – whilst the remaining three went down rapidly with a few strokes of the lightsabre.

Xander looked up the stairs, looked back at Buffy and then gestured with the Force again, sending the unconscious three from the first fight back into the wall again, and putting them back to sleep once more. Their heads were obviously a lot harder than he had thought, as they had been trying to get back into the fight.

Buffy started as she looked over at the wall, and then looked back and nodded at the stairs. Xander nodded back and they both turned and ran up them to the next floor. Here they had a lot more company in the shape of more damn demons in straitjackets, who came boiling out of almost every doorway and blocked their way up to the clock tower, which seemed to be very important. Aha. Xander gestured at the stairs in front of them and then caught the first onrushing figure with the end of his lightsabre, sending its head flying and then bringing it around to catch another one at waist height. To one side Buffy had brought up Aquila and was using it with neat, economical strokes, whilst at the same time dealing with the odd attacker with a well-placed kick. She was aggressive but careful at the same time. Giles would have just exploded with pride if he had seen her.

As he caught another straitjacketed figure at neck height Xander frowned slightly. There was a human in the building with them, down below… and then he dimly heard a strange zapping noise, like a million eggs being fried for a second. The noise came again and again, and then he heard the sound of rapid boots on the stairs behind them. Oh crap, who the hell was this guy?

Xander's hand shot out as he sent the line of remaining attackers flying backwards with the Force, decapitated one of the flailing torsos at his feet due to the fact that it still thought that it too was still in the fight and was trying to grab his leg and bite it. And then Buffy and Xander both spun around to greet whoever the newcomer was, sword and humming lightsabre in hand. To their joint surprise it was Riley Finn. He was dressed in green combat fatigues, was studded with weapons and held a very familiar gun in his hands. It was just like the one that had dropped out of the night onto Wesley's head. And he was gaping at them. Or rather at the sword in Buffy's hand, the humming lightsabre in Xander's hand and the dead bodies at their feet. A thumping sound behind them reminded him that they were not alone, and he whirled in place and thrust out his hand again, sending the onrushing attackers flying back through the air. One had been coming from the side however, and Buffy delivered a roundhouse punch that sent it flying backwards, followed by a swipe with Aquila that lopped its head clean off.

From his overall reaction Riley gaped a lot at this as well, before recovering himself quite well and bringing his weapon up to fire it at an onrushing demon. A crackling lightning bolt shot out of the tip of the gun and fried the demons head in a very lethal way, because it collapsed bonelessly.

Enough distractions. Xander waded in to the straitjackets, the lightsabre a blur as he fought his way to the stairs, followed by Buffy. There were fewer demons now, as the two blades took their terrible toll, leaving a trail of bodies. Riley seemed to be following, acting as a rearguard and zapping the few remaining demons that seemed to be appearing from the bowels of the building. Up the stairs and into the space behind the door. A room.

He looked around the place quickly. Big, lots of beams, a ton of dust, well lit, oh and there were a number of demons glaring at the three of them from one side of it. Six were obviously Gentlemen, with dark suits, white skin, grinning faces and very dead eyes as they huddled back away from them. Somehow they were grinning and glowering at the same time. They seemed to resent their company. Then again, by the way that one of them was holding what looked like a very, very sharp knife while looking at them in a considering way, you could tell that they were considering adding to the two hearts that were suspended in some kind of liquid in jars to one side. The rest of the demons were dressed in the same old straitjackets with the same old facial bandages effect. It wasn't growing on him at all.

He took all of this in with one rapid glance, because that was about all the time that he had. The shambling ones exploded into life, coming towards them quickly. By the sound of the heavy footsteps on the stairs behind them they had equally shambling reinforcements. The Force only knew where they had come from.

One thing had stood out from his look around the room. There was a small box, about four inches square, sitting on a shelf to one side. It was intricately carved and was very firmly closed. It also seemed to be filled with… life. It was hard to say with the Force. The box seemed to contain something that he just couldn't describe, like noise and light and life. He was willing to bet that it contained all of the voices in Sunnydale.

A minion rushed straight at him and he casually lopped its head off, before using the Force to send the headless torso flying back against other demons. Another came from the side and he dismembered it with two clean strokes. Then he reached out with the Force and lifted the box in the air, before calling it to his hand. As it sailed towards him the Gentlemen watched in silent horror, one of them even reaching out a stiff claw-like hand to try and intercept it. It failed. The box settled on his hand as he absent-mindedly lopped another bandage-wrapped head off.

Buffy appeared at his side, her sword slick with odd-coloured blood, and stared at the box before looking up quickly at him and raising both eyebrows. He blew out a long breath and then brought it down quickly against the floor with all the force – and Force – that he could summon. The box cracked and splintered into a hundred pieces, and then suddenly the room was full of darting white wisps of smoke, that darted amongst the rafters and squeezed out through the cracks in the roof. Hundreds of them, thousands of them… including three that shot into the mouths of the three humans there.

Buffy took a deep breath and then she screamed.

The effect was… spectacular. At the first sound of her voice the Gentlemen lifted pale hands to their ears, their faces suddenly agonised… and then their hands fell down as their eyes rolled back in their sockets. Just after that their heads exploded. It was quite messy and Xander made a mental note not to eat anything too gelatinous anytime soon Yuck.

When the last of the bodies had finished hitting the floor, Xander and Buffy looked around at the general carnage. Then Xander cleared his throat experimentally. "Well," he said, smiling at the sound of his own voice, "That was nasty." His lightsabre shut down with a snap-hiss.

"I guess so," said Buffy, looking over with distaste at the remains of the Gentlemen and their minions.

Which reminded him. Xander turned and bowed to the Slayer. "Doesn't that make you a Princess, according to Giles?"

She started slightly and then smiled and picked up a non-existent dress and curtseyed

Behind them there was the sound of Riley Finn clearing his own throat. "Ok. What the hell are you guys?"

Ah. Xander turned to Buffy, who leant in towards him. "No mind trick just yet!" she hissed.

He nodded. "I'll leave it to you to explain." This should be interesting.

* * *

The entity found itself awake again. Awake was a relative term. Functioning was a better one. It ran a quick systems diagnostic and came up with one arm and a leg that hadn't been there before. There was also a small amount of armour that covered a vulnerable pressure point that, on the neck, could have led to paralysis if hit with sufficient force.

It paused. Fascinating. There were certain new upgrades available. Some of these were quite interesting. Others were not, but were still valuable. And there was also new information. That was good. Any information was always good. It gave it a chance to expand certain thought processes.

More importantly, the new nerve fibres were growing well, and the severed ones were healing. That just left certain blocks in the nervous season. Fascinating. It might take something more to go beyond this. But that was not a problem. It had the ability to do so. Independent movement was not to far away. In the meantime it had some information to process. And perhaps some planning to do. It couldn't just rest here on this bed forever. At some point it would have some work to do. But what?


	9. Theories and Myths

Well, I did try to make writing this as fast as possible, but once again real life was a pain. Good news is that I've had my last bit of dental torture.Go me! Bad news is that my boss went away on holiday, leaving me to run the magazine. I defy anyone to write anything whilst juggling umpteen things in the air. Ahem. Enjoy the chapter. Next one might be delayed (or accelerated) by my holiday in the States. We're going for two whole blissful weeks. **Yes!**

* * *

The leader of the Scourge was in a bad mood. Nothing had quite gone as he had planned. His campaign of terror, his righteous offensive against the ugly and unpleasantly… squeaky clean… tide of humanity had hit a few road blocks on the way to this place, to the City of Angels.

He looked over the crowd in front of him. What a sorry lot. Some weren't too bad. Others were frankly pathetic. Including that vampire that had appeared earlier on. He seemed to have vanished, which wasn't a problem at all, because he could almost feel the half-breed's blood from a way away. Yuck. The sooner he was killed – naturally after he had been forced to do something for them – the better.

Well, for once his plans were almost back on track. They had scared the almost-human scum away from their hiding places and onto a place of execution, so to speak. They would all die, quite rapidly but at the same time also quite painfully. Once the device was activated… heh. He almost wished that he could be there to see it all happen.

He opened his mouth to harangue the assembled members of the Scourge once more (some of them were not very bright and the message had to be hammered home at times. Literally.) and then paused. There had been an odd noise from outside, like a sudden humming noise, followed rapidly by another. How odd.

He was about to ask one of his minions to check it out when all of a sudden the doors to the courtyard creaked violently and then flew inwards, squashing some of his best – and most bloodthirsty – demons. It was quite noisy. When the assembled demons had finished gaping at the destruction they turned to the doorway. Two figures were standing there, both wearing cowled robes. After a moment they both reached out and pulled the hoods down from their heads, revealing their faces. Both were humans. But that wasn't what was attracting the attention of the leader of the Scourge, along with his minions. What was holding their gaze was the two long shards – or was it swords? - of light that the pair were holding in their right hands. One was blue. One was green.

"Knock knock," said the taller figure with a very grim smile. "We'd like to talk to you about these plans for genocide that you have. And register some very strong disapproval."

The leader swallowed. All of a sudden he had a very dry throat.

* * *

"They all died? All of them?"

"Yes sir."

Holland Manners stared at the lawyer in front of him incredulously. The man was white-faced and trembling slightly with fear. Silly fool. Holland never killed the people who brought bad news. No, he tracked down and had killed the people who had caused the bad news in the first place. But this was… just too odd for words. The entire Scourge had been wiped out. All of them. That was a lot of demons and the last that Holland had heard there were no private armies in LA just now. Apart from the usual ones that is, but they were too busy trying to kill each other and do business at the same time. Besides, Wolfram & Hart knew what they did, sometimes before they had even thought about doing it.

"How did they die? Who killed them?" were his next two questions.

A shrug came back his way. "The warehouse they were meeting in burnt down. Quite violently. It did contain a lot of cooking oil after all. But no-one got out. Forensics says that a lot of them had possibly been dismembered before they died. They're looking at the remains now."

"_Possibly_ dismembered?"

Another nervous blink. "Some of the parts are… jumbled up. The explosions from the oil were quite violent."

Holland absorbed this grimly as he sank back into his chair. The destruction of the Scourge was, in the great scheme of things, unimportant. They were merely a group of violently specieist demons who hated the taint of human blood and who were a remnant of an altogether much nastier group of demons who had been allowed free rein in Russia after 1941. One of Hitler's more inventive ideas. One that had long since lost its original purpose. And one which could be relied upon to stir up the demon community, causing certain well-funded members to seek protection from Wolfram & Hart. When the Scourge came to town it was always good for business.

Except that now they were out of action. Permanently. And very unexpectedly. He didn't like unexpected things. They worried him. Perhaps that was too strong a word. Well, they worried him slightly. He looked up. "How much will forensics be able to find out?"

"They said that should be able to piece some information together, but not all of it, due to the fact that… well, it's all charred."

Holland drummed his fingers briefly, caught himself and stopped doing it. This was no time to display signs that he was concerned. He limited himself to raising his eyebrows a sixth of an inch and then frowning slightly. That would do. He had no idea why but all of a sudden he was still that little bit worried. Then he sighed and shook his head – internally, anyway. There was always something else to plot on the map of this damn town. He would deal with it later.

"Send me the full report when it's available."

"Yes sir."

It was good to have flunkies.

* * *

There were two small silver globes lying on the floor which, when you counted the six hovering in the air next to the Jedi, made a total of eight. The six live globes were all in the middle of twisting through the air and firing red bolts of light at the figure in the centre of the ring. The two inactive ones were still rolling slightly, and had obviously been in the air a few moments before.

The Jedi was busy spinning in the air when she looked back, moving too fast for her to see at times, bringing his lightsabre up and down and around, to deflect and parry each and every red bolt. One after another he deflected a bolt straight back at the globes, causing them shut down and fall to the ground to join their fellow drones.

By the time that the last drone had clattered to the floor and the Jedi was able to straighten out and turn off his lightsabre with a sigh, she was still looking down at her watch in disbelief. "Less than three minutes," she said. "Two minutes fifty two to be precise as Giles would say."

Xander pulled a face. "Too slow. Obi-Wan could do it in the Temple in two minutes ten seconds from a standing start. I need to get more practice."

"Whoa," said Faith, "You mean you could get faster?"

"Oh yes. What's the point of training if you don't get anything out of it? There are always new things to learn." He grinned suddenly. "Stretch out with your feelings!"

Faith smiled wryly. Then she looked up at him. "You finished being annoyed at Angel for not calling you in sooner?"

"If you mean am I annoyed, then no. I was irked not to be asked by him to help, but as Cordelia rang, the point is a moot one. Whatever a moot is. No, Cordy rang, Oz and I jumped in my car, and we stopped Angel and Doyle from going on their own against a large gang of racist – or should that be specieist? whatever – thugs who were going to kill a group of completely innocent people just because they were demons. Innocent demons I might add." He visibly shivered slightly. "The lead Scourge guy reminded me of Palpatine. Very evil. No redeeming features in any way shape or form. Oh and a group of flunkies that looked too much like Nazis. Yuck."

Xander paused and sighed, before picking up a remote drone and starting to fiddle with it. Faith watched him carefully. "Something on your mind Xander?"

She got a smile in response. "Apparently Doyle was a bit put out, especially when he and Angel got to that ship full of refugees who didn't know that they had that machine on board. Oz was sitting on one side of the gantry, juggling with the bits of the trigger mechanism. Apparently Doyle thought that his moment of redemption was to disable the thing at the cost of his own life. I told him that pointless sacrifices are a waste of a life. If he wants redemption he needs to stay on this plane of existence and work for it the slow and steady way." He tapped the hilt of the lightsabre against his chin reflectively. "He's a good friend. I hate to lose friends. End of story."

There was a long moment of silence, as Xander reflected on, well, probably something Jedi-oriented and Faith thought about the battle she faced every day to keep on the level path. Then she smiled in turn. "Speaking of new friends, B says that Riley is still 100 screwed up about the pair of you and what you are."

Xander smiled. "That's what we call an impasse, Faith. His bosses would never believe him, and we could press a lot more about this Initiative than we are already. Although, based on what the Sith me from that other dimension said, they're just a part of what's out there. I think. Depending on if his alternate dimension was the same as ours. I hate this freakiness sometimes."

"Life on the Hellmouth," she drawled. "Keeps ya focussed."

"Yes, well," mused Xander as he carefully polished his lightsabre handle, "Not staying focussed here leaves you dead." He paused again. "There's something about this whole thing that makes me very uneasy, Faith. I need to have a word with you and Buffy and the Watchers about it. I know that Giles is worried about it too, but I don't think that Buffy has thought things through yet about Mr Riley Finn. Specifically about his bosses."

Faith shrugged. "I thought that she wanted to get inside his pants. It's been too long since Angel left, plus he seems okay, apart from being a secret agent man, plus you steered her away from skanky Parker. Who's getting married to his girlfriend I heard. I think that your little word in his ear had a big impact on him. He's going around being nice to her I hear."

A soft laugh escaped the Jedi. "Karma. You have to love it. But I still need to talk to you all about the Riley Finn aspect of things."

She tilted her head and narrowed her eyes. "You mean the whole Spike thing with his chip, don't you?"

"Yes. When you think through the ramifications it leads to some worrying conclusions. And resulting wiggyness."

She nodded. She had been thinking about it as well. She couldn't see through the parts that she suspected Xander could, but the parts that she could see were freaky. Putting a chip in your head that changed your behaviour was worrying on any level. The fact that the government agency was doing it was… well, Wesley would probably use a phrase that contained the words 'slippery slope' at some point. That alone was worrying enough. Wesley in full lecture mode was bad. Although nowadays he was better than he had been in the old days. Being shot in the stomach by a homicidal demon madman could change a person. Wesley was definitely a changed person. He was a little harder around the edges. And a lot less theoretical. Plus he occasionally got her the latest weapons from the Watcher's Council to try out. They weren't as good as her knife – well, perhaps she was a teeny bit biased there – but it was still fun. She shook her head slightly in reflection and then paused as her stomach growled.

Xander looked up from the silver globe that was now back in his hand. "You hungry Faith?"

"Yeah," she admitted, rubbing at her abdomen sheepishly. "Too much slaying last night and not enough eating."

He grinned at her. "My mom made some homemade bread yesterday. It was the third batch since she dusted off the recipe her mom gave her, so she's got past the experiment stage and back onto the cooking stage. She says she likes it and can't work out why she ever gave it up. I didn't dare tell her that she was busy slipping into a life of TV dinners and squandered chances."

An image of her mother's face crossed her mind and Faith smiled a bit sadly. "Hug your mom while you still have her," she muttered. "'Cos when you lose her, you can't get her back."

"I know," he replied. Then he stood up. "Come on, I can't work on my new remote with your stomach sounding like a hungry kitten. How's your cat by the way?"

"He shredded a plant last night."

"Was it a valuable one?"

"Nah, just some scraggly thing. I think it has some Latin name that I can't even pronounce." She grinned. "She's got some sharp claws!"

* * *

Riley was very quiet as they walked through the bushes in sector seven Alpha. Frankly his head was spinning more than a bit from the amount of information he was trying to mull over. Every now and then he'd reach the point where is head refused to accept a certain fact and would then do the mental equivalent of rebooting.

He was almost positive that his brain was making whirring noises. To make matters worse he had a nasty feeling that at some point someone would notice and-

"Yo, Riley. You going to talk about what's bothering you, or are you going to go all Iowan 'I must repress' Boy and wait until your head explodes. What's wrong?"

Ah. Forrest had noticed something. Damn. Maybe some misdirection. "What makes you say that?"

"Because you are brooding. And you brood well. Plus your eyes keep swivelling and you keep muttering under your breath. Hence the question: what's wrong? Woman problems? You can tell old Uncle Forrest. Or you could ask Graham, but you'd only get a furrowed brow and a few one-syllable words."

"I heard that," rumbled Graham from the other side of a large bush. "You can talk, Mr would-be stud monkey."

Riley couldn't help but laugh softly for a moment. Then he looked at the pair of them. If he told them what he had seen the other week, if he had told them half of what Buffy had talked about in her room the next day… well, they'd lock him up in a padded room with a mouthful of happy pills and no-one to talk to but Genghis Khan in the next cell. The truth was not, in this case, a good idea. At all.

But maybe part of it was…

"Guys," he said tentatively, "Have you ever heard of the Slayer?"

"Very bad band," replied Forrest, "Used to play-"

"No, I mean like the HST's talk about sometimes."

His two friends looked at each other and then back at him. "You just said it. HST's talk about the big bad Slayer. It's their version of the bogey man. And does not therefore exist. Why?" asked Forrest, looking puzzled.

Riley stopped dead and looked at them. "Okay, now think that through. HSTs are the things under the bed that our mothers warned us about. We never thought that they existed. Turned out we were wrong. So if HSTs exist, why not their big bad enemy the Slayer?"

This was an exercise in logic that furrowed Forrest's brow. Graham raised a finger in response. "Isn't that a double negative? If something we thought doesn't exist but actually does exist is afraid of something else that we also think doesn't exist, that doesn't mean to say that it does exist as well." He paused. "I don't believe I just said that without my brain exploding. Anyone think that makes sense?"

"Yes. Come on Riley, what's up with this Slayer stuff? First you get fixated on the Summers girl, then you pull this out of your ass. Are you in bad need of leave?"

Riley folded his arms, looked down at the grass and took a deep breath. "Guys what if I told you that the Slayer is not a figment of a HSTs imagination?"

"I'd say that you were losing it," replied Forrest firmly.

Graham on the other hand looked thoughtful. "I don't know, Forrest. I overheard a group of vampire HSTs talking about a week ago. They were scouting out an area pretty well. They kept talking about making sure that the Slayer wasn't around. Seemed pretty cautious about it too. Or rather, freaked." He hesitated and Riley looked at him carefully.

"Anything else?"

"Just something mad. Doesn't matter."

Forrest snorted. "Can we debate the myths that spook HSTs some other time? We are patrolling. You know, that thing with the looking for HSTs and neutralising them?"

He did have a point. Riley smiled a bit sheepishly and then moved off back into the bushes. There were things to hunt down. Hopefully they wouldn't pose quite so many questions as the ones that he was now faced with.

* * *

Oz was practising with his lightsabre when they arrived, and Xander held a finger to his lips as he looked at Lindsey, before they both sat down quietly to watch the Jedi Knight practise. He was moving from position to position, cutting, parrying, keeping his arms close to his body, his movements precise and as refined as he could make them. His use of the lightsabre was almost elegant, marred by the occasional waver of position, the odd nuance that only a fellow Jedi Knight could master. After a final flurry of cuts he let out a long breath, clipped his lightsabre to his belt with the Force and then turned and bowed slightly to Xander. "Master."

"Oh, don't you 'master' me. You're getting very good at Makashi. Interesting. I thought that you might go for it, but I wasn't sure."

"I like it," Oz admitted with a smile. "It's more advanced than Shii-Cho obviously, but it's elegant, defensive while allowing aggression when needed. And powerful, also when needed. Plus I get to redeem the form from your memories of Count Dooku."

This made him smile, as he remembered Dooku as he used to be. Before he descended into the angry pit of the Sith. Such a shame. Then he looked over at Lindsey, who looked both impressed and confused. "Sorry, Lindsey. I think that talking over lightsabre technique will start with a lot of basics. Like what all of what we just talked about involves." He sighed. "It's never easy to explain. But being a Jedi involves a number of different elements. Using the Force for good is one thing. That's the part that keeps you walking in the light. You can never use it for your own personal use – unless your life is in danger of course. You have to be able to defend yourself. And at the same time you have to be able to protect others. It can be hard to get right. But it's important to get it absolutely right. Protect the innocent. Defend the innocent. Strike back at those who want to attack you." He looked Lindsey in the eye. "Do what is right. What is good."

The lawyer nodded. "I'm getting that." He looked around. "Nice place."

"Buffy and Faith train here occasionally. Tonight we're using it," said Xander as the three all sat down on the floor and crossed their legs. Lindsey moved from side to side for a moment to get comfortable and then looked up at Xander again. "Meditation. How much practice have you been able to put in?"

"An hour or so a night, like you suggested. It hasn't been easy to find the time, but I've been doing it. Feel like I've got to get it right. Not that it's been easy to do properly either. I just can't get my mind to go blank easily. Feels like there's too much stuff jammed into it at times," admitted Lindsey. He thought about the letter that he had been working on that morning on his computer at home. Well, once the time was right, and that letter had been delivered, then his life would become a bit easier.

The Jedi nodded understandingly. "Ok, I can understand that. It came hard to me too at first. Oz had more experience of meditation before he was a Padawan, so he had it easiest of all.

"Clear your mind slowly – just close your eyes and concentrate on taking deep breaths. In and out. Feel the way you breath, the rhythm of your breathing." Lindsey did as he was instructed, closing his eyes and concentrating on the ebb and flow of air into and out of his body. It was quiet in the room and he could feel the presence of the other two. He wasn't sure how he could, but he didn't let that distract him. Instead he felt each movement of his chest as his lungs expanded and contracted slowly.

After a while Xander spoke again. "Now," he said softly, "think of a happy memory. Think of a time when you were happy. Content. Relaxed. At peace."

That kind of limited his range of options. He didn't have that many good memories, and some of those that he did have led to other memories that were a lot less happy. But… he remembered the day that he graduated as a lawyer. How all the hard work had paid off for that one perfect day. How relaxed and content he had felt. The smile on his mother's face. The proud look on his sister's faces. The beaming look of pride on his father. It had been a good day. He concentrated hard on that moment in time.

It seemed to work. Actually it really did work, he found himself mentally drifting in that moment in time. At peace. Relaxed.

"Now," said Xander slowly, "Reach out and touch the Force. Don't do anything. Just embrace it."

Lindsey let out a slow breath as a part of the rhythm of his breathing and then… he felt it. It was like a slow, warm pulse from the very air around him. It was like sitting in a stream and feeling the water flow around and over him. It was all that, and nothing he could describe. It was just… the Force. He was excited, alarmed and invigorated, all at the same time, and it slipped away from him.

Opening his eyes he just said one word: "Wow."

"You felt it, didn't you? I could feel you touching it. Well done," smiled Xander. "You've taken a major step forwards."

He felt as if his head was going to start singing. That or explode. But there was something else. Something more disturbing. "How am I to know the good side from the bad?"

"Like Master Yoda said in the film, you will know. You'll know when you are calm. At peace with the world. When you can calm your mind and ride out your emotions. A Jedi uses the Force for knowledge and defence – never for attack. Remember what that just felt like and hold on to it. That's what you want to feel like when you embrace the Force."

"And the Dark Side?"

"Is harsher. More violent. Angrier. It seems stronger – that's the pit that the Sith fell into, they thought that the currents they felt meant that it gave them more power." He smiled a trifle sadly. "Some rivers look more violent and powerful and churned up than others. But other rivers look more placid – but are deeper and more powerful once you look below the surface. The Dark Side, when you compare it to the Light Side is, as Giles would say, all mouth and no trousers. Don't be fooled by it. Anger is just one emotion. Real life takes in everything else."

Lindsey nodded thoughtfully and then lowered his head onto his chest to start again. He had to try again. He was going to get this. He was going to control this. And he was going to become a Jedi. This was too important for words. Just too important for words.

* * *

It was amazing the places that goop from certain types of HSTs got into. Riley looked at the end of the cotton bud tip and shuddered slightly. Nothing that colour should ever be your ear. At least none had gone up his nose. Forrest was still having his swabbed out in the infirmary, just to be on the safe side.

"Hey," said Graham as he appeared from the other side of the lockers, drying his hair with a towel. "Messy, huh?"

"Oh boy yes. I'm jumping in the shower now. You escaped the worst of it. I hope we never see one of those things again."

"You and me also." He paused and then looked about casually. "You remember that conversation we were having with Forrest the other day?"

"You mean about the Slayer myth?"

"And the fact that it might not be a myth at all."

"What about it?"

Graham opened his mouth for a moment, closed it again and then sat down. He looked as if he was having an internal debate. Then he seemed to reach a decision about something, because he looked up. "That group of vampires mentioned something else. It wasn't just the Slayer they were worried about. There was something else."

Riley looked at him. A long pause developed. "Well?" he prompted his friend gently.

"Hell, this sounds madder than the Slayer bit. But…" he looked up. "They were just as freaked about making sure that there wasn't a Jedi about. Or at least that's what it sounded like."

"A… Jedi." Riley looked back at Graham. "Like in the films?"

"I know that it sounds insane. But that's what they were worried about." He paused and looked at Riley suddenly, his eyes narrowed. "And you're not reacting the way I thought that you would. Forrest would have called for a doctor and told me I was concussed by now. I thought you would have sat down and asked me if I felt okay. You haven't. Why?"

"I… saw something recently. I didn't mention it to you or Forrest because, well, I thought that you'd do the same as you thought I'd do."

"You've seen something too?"

"Well, I – hold on, you've seen something about this Jedi as well as heard about it?"

"I was on patrol three nights ago. You were in that meeting with Walsh and Forrest was dealing with that HST group on that bit of wood near campus. I found three bodies of HSTs on a patch of scrubland near the main road to the middle of town. Weird looking things. Horn-scale things from their heads to the back of their necks, odd eyes, you know the sort. Never seen that variant of HST before. And they were all killed by something that cauterised their wounds. No blood of any kind at all. I've never seen anything like it. Head lopped off one, another split down the middle, the other one cut in half from shoulder to opposite hip. Like something just sliced through them. It looked like they were surprised in the middle of some kind of ritual – I saw all the usual bits and pieces near by. And they had some old map on them.

"Got a radio call for all operatives to converge on Forrest's position just after that – one of the HSTs had broken out of the operational area and was making a run for it. When I made it back to the site, the three bodies were gone. So was all the evidence. I couldn't call it in."

Graham peered up at Riley. "So what did you see?"

He hesitated himself for a moment. "A man with what looked like a lightsabre."

"Do you know who he was?"

"Yes."

"But you're not telling?"

"I thought that I'd get carted off to the funny farm and given an all-crayon diet. Plus I gave my word."

"To the guy with the lightsabre?"

"No. To Buffy Summers."

"Why would you give your word to her?"

"She was there at the time. In the clock tower when the laryngitis HSTs were dealt with."

"But, you said that… whoa. Let me guess. Weird girl is the Slayer?"

"Weird girl?"

"Based on your description, yes, weird. And if she is the Slayer… I can see why." He sat back and looked at him. "Is she?"

Riley paused indecisively. Then he took the plunge. "Yes."

"Did you take her word for it, or does she have some magic mojo?"

"She was going through a pack of demons like a harvester through a wheat field. And she was almost as impressive as the other guy. I promised not to mention who he is, but… whoa."

"That impressive?"

"Deadly. They had each other's sixes and they were pedal to the metal. Graham, there are things out there about this town that I don't think that we even suspect. Made me think."

"Yeah, I've had my doubts too. I disagree with Forrest sometimes. He thinks that everything here is controllable. Like corralling animals and neutering them occasionally. I think he's wrong about that."

"You think that who's wrong about what?" called out Forrest as he walked in, looking quizzically at the end of a q-tip that had been up his nose.

Riley shook his head ever so slightly at Graham and then looked at the q-tip. "You got all that stuff out?"

"I hope so. Smelt like silly putty that had been in a sewer for a decade. So what were you guys talking about?"

"49'er game against New York on the weekend. Kelly thinks that it'll be all over by the second half. 49'ers by 20."

This got him a snort, followed by a hurried deployment of a tissue. "Ummm… oh, phew. Man, am I glad nothing more came out! Oh yeah – more like 10 points the other way. San Francisco is no longer the force that it was, guys. Kelly should know better than to say things like that."

Graham and Riley exchanged a glance. Strictly speaking it wasn't a lie – Agent Kelly had been talking about the game. But it wasn't easy to lie to a friend like that, even obliquely. This prompted an internal sigh from Riley. Life was getting complicated. Wonderful.

* * *

There was a new addition to Giles's sideboard, Xander noticed. It was a framed picture. He tilted his head to one side to see it better. Oh. It was a pencil drawing of a sleeping Giles. He looked very peaceful. And it was signed 'With all my love, Olivia.' Aha. It looked like she was coming back. That was good. Giles seemed to like her a lot.

He turned away and walked back to the chair. Giles was clattering off to one side in the kitchen, doing food-and-drink-related things that seemed to involve a lot of opening cupboards and muttering.

A particularly loud slam of a cupboard door heralded the Watcher's arrival in the doorway. "Spike," he said acidly, "Did you have to eat all the chocolate hobnobs?"

The vampire raised a languid head from his dejected stare at the TV. "I had exactly three of them. They're dead good in warm blood. Three isn't 'all of them.'"

"Three was all I bloody had, which defines the concept of 'all of them.' I'm going to have to order another shipment from home now. Bugger. They aren't like wheetabix, which you can get in that expat shop in LA. Or like marmite."

Spike pulled a face. "Yuck. You can keep your bloody marmite."

Opening his mouth and glaring at Spike, Giles then turned as he heard the doorbell and bit off what was obviously another enigmatic reference to something British. Then he closed his mouth and went to the door.

Spike on the other hand sank back onto the sofa and returned a disinterested gaze to the TV. The vampire seemed to be increasingly depressed of late. If it wasn't for the fact that this was, well, Spike they were talking about, Xander could have felt nervous about him. As it was he felt mild concern.

When Giles re-entered the room he was, to Xander's unsurprised, followed by Buffy, Faith, Wesley and Oz, who sat down as the older Watcher scurried into the kitchen where the clattering resumed at a slightly faster tempo. Then he walked through the doorway with a large tray, which he placed on the table and from which he started to deploy tea and biscuits. He even, with a furtive look at the back of the sofa, started to hand out small biscuity cake things with chocolate on top of a round lump, one per person. Xander bit into one cautiously. Hum. Orange.

To one side Wesley had the expression of someone in food heaven. He was also chewing rather fast and after a moment had a minor attack of crumbs. A gentle thump on the back from his Slayer solved the problem and rattled the teacup he was holding.

Giles smiled sardonically, sipped his tea and then looked at Xander. "Well, it's your meeting. I understand that you want to talk to us about the Initiative."

"That's right," said Xander, looking at Buffy carefully. She turned slightly pink and then looked at him back. "I am rather worried about their operational parameters. And I don't think that we should get too close to them for the time being."

"Why is everyone looking at me?" asked Buffy with more than a soupcon of testiness.

"We're not dating soldier guy," smirked Faith.

"I am not dating him! We are dateless, unless that's what you'd call an incoherent mumble after getting our voices back in the clock tower and then that almost 'name, rank and serial number' bit back at my room on campus after he turned up the next day. He couldn't say much, I couldn't say much, it was a whole meeting of long silences!"

"Yes, we know Buffy, and now we have to think about what we know about them."

"Secret military base, investigating things that go bump in the night, what's to find out?" drawled Faith through a mouthful of crumbs.

"And what do they do with those investigations," asked Xander thoughtfully. "What are they doing, and yes Spike, I know that they stick chips in people's heads. I'm talking about the overall ramifications of what they're doing – and what they intend for the future with it."

"Lots of head-banging vampires?" asked Faith, while Buffy smirked.

Xander exchanged a pained glance with Giles and Oz. Wesley was frowning, a furrowed brow that was deepening as the seconds passed.

"Faith, the implications of behavioural modification technology are rather frightening," said the senior Jedi with a sigh. "Just because they put a chip in one vampire's head doesn't mean that they'll stop there."

"Sod the other buggers, I want this thing out MY head!" called Spike as he flipped channels and settled on General Hospital.

"Spike," smiled Buffy sweetly, "Have you forgotten that the minute the chip comes out of your head, you get dusted so fast that you can't even swear?"

The vampire hunched down a little further in his slouch and mumbled something about sodding Slayers.

Turning back to the others Xander looked around. "Seriously, this kind of technology leads to a very slippery moral slope. Once you start putting chips in the heads of vampires to alter their behaviour, where do you draw the line?"

From the look in Faith's eyes she still didn't get it. Buffy on the other hand did, because she was frowning almost as badly as Wesley was. Xander took a deep breath. "Do you put it in all vampires? What happens to them then? Or perhaps just the most violent of them? They're almost all violent. So are certain types of demons. Do you start putting chips in their heads too? What about the less violent ones? More chips? Or again do them all, no matter what kind they are? They're just demons after all. How about the half-demons, like Doyle? Would you put chips in them as well? And then that leaves some of the more violent humans. Do you be on the safe side and protect people by chipping them too?"

He shook his head at the appalled expression that was creeping over the dark Slayer's face. "See what I meant about the slippery slope? And let's not forget that this isn't the police or law enforcement we're talking about. This is the armed forces, whatever branch of it the Initiative belongs to. What other motivations do they have?"

"But Riley just mentioned protecting people from HSTs – I mean vampires, damn I'm talking in atronyms now!"

"Acronyms, Buff. And while I'm sure that Riley meant that, what about his superiors? Why are they really carrying out this research?"

"Wow, Xander, paranoid much?"

"Sorry Buffy, but we need to stand back here and look at this situation with neutral eyes. I like Riley as well," he added, with the unspoken comment: _Yes, and Obi-Wan trusted Commander Cody as well, right before the clone used artillery to blow him off a wall in an attempt to kill him._

"Xander is absolutely right," muttered Giles as he leant forwards, polishing his glasses. "The ethical implications of the uncontrolled use of this technology are frightening. And it could be extended to all kinds of things. For all we know Spike might have an irresistible impulse to speak French at a code word or vote Republican at every election. We just don't know about this kind of thing."

"The Watcher's Council did try a few experiments with behavioural modification a few centuries ago," muttered Wesley darkly. "The results were not at all good and the whole project was shut down. As Giles said, the technology could be abused in all kinds of ways. Xander's point is equally frightening."

"Which still begs the question of how we're going to deal with this… Initiative," mused Giles.

"Riley knows about me and about me being the – I mean a – Slayer. No, hang on, he doesn't know about Faith. And he's seen Xander in action with his lightsabre."

"But not me," broke in Oz from one side.

"And he's confused enough about what Xander is. He did say that if he told his boss about him, then he'd get shipped off to the funny farm. I made him promise not to say anything though. I think he likes me." She said the last part with a faintly embarrassed and yet smug smile.

Faith rolled her eyes but smiled at her. "Guys in uniform, eh B? I never knew you had it in you."

Buffy blushed for a moment.

"If we could get back to the point in hand," chided Giles gently, "I think we need to find out a lot more about this Initiative."

"Well, we can't ask Riley. He said that he had said too much anyway. And Xander said that he wasn't going to use the mind trick on him."

"Can I ask why?" asked Wesley.

"Because his mind was quite strong and because it was not necessary. I try to limit it to creatures of the night or people who have seen too much for their own sanity," Xander replied. "There is another issue here. My Sith other half, from the dimension that makes me shudder violently when I think about it, mentioned that he took the Initiative over, I presume quite easily. He also mentioned another thing, something about protecting Earth from something called the 'Goa'uld', if I've got the pronunciation right. I take it that the word still doesn't ring a bell with you Giles?"

The older Watcher shook his head regretfully. "I'm afraid not. I've done some careful checking. The Watcher's Council has never heard of the word."

"I'm not so sure," interjected Wesley thoughtfully. "There is a very corrupted record from the ruins of Ur. I seem to remember that it was badly damaged but mentions something about the evils of a people called the 'Goa' – and then it breaks off. Literally. The rest of the tablet is gone." He looked over at Giles. "It was discovered during the Corrigan expedition to Mesopotamia in 1896, but it remains a very obscure artefact."

Buffy frowned. "Why would the skanky Sith need the Initiative to fight these – I'm not going to even try to pronounce the name – thingies?"

"I don't know," muttered Xander, "But I have a few theories, none of which I like very much." He raised his eyebrows and shook himself out of his slight reverie. "Let's stay focussed. We know that Riley's in the Initiative. We even know roughly where it is."

"We do?" asked Faith.

"I think that there's a way in via Riley's fraternity house. Close by anyway. We need to look around there. Safely. Chances are that they're got security measures that go beyond paranoid."

"As well as electronic whizzy things that know you out," groused Spike as he sipped his blood. "And alarms that blow your eardrums out through the back of your bleeding head."

"Yes, Spike. Well put. Not very detailed, but sort of well put. In the meantime we observe and try and figure out just what their overall place is in the great scheme of things. Any other points?"

"Is slight dating with Riley come under 'observing'?" asked Buffy as she looked hopeful.

Xander joined the Watchers in sighing. Buffy's way of getting her love life inextricably intermeshed with her life as a Slayer seemed to be running according to form. Typical.

* * *

She pulled the long knife out of the motionless body and then looked around the room. Target acquired. Target tracked. Target dead. All on time and on the money. Speaking of which, the money had better arrive soon. Enough to get her to her next objective, pay for her bed and board, pay for some new weapons if the old ones broke or were damaged. Enough to keep her life on the little clicking rails that she had set herself on. Straight on, nothing else. No other life. No other thinking. She didn't want to stop, because that might mean thinking again. That would be bad. Remembering Memphis made her shiver slightly. No, she had a job to do. And new targets to aim for.

Walking out of the room quickly she aimed for the darkened corridor that lead to the door out. It was supposed to be locked and bolted and guarded. It was now unlocked and unbolted and unguarded. She slipped through the doorway and out into the night. She had a new job. Somewhere to the north-west. And then west after that. Someplace near LA with a silly name. Not that it mattered. Not that anything mattered but the task that she had set herself. Just keep going. Until one day she couldn't go any further. After which she would be dead. And she wouldn't have to live this life any more.

* * *

Spike was staring at the television screen and sniffing as Xander entered the room. If he didn't know any better he could have sworn that the vampire had been crying. He was also, by the look of the large and very empty bottle of tequila to one side, somewhat drunk. In fact he was steaming drunk.

The vampire looked up and tried to focus on the Jedi for a long couple of seconds. Then he frowned. "Hang… hang on. Three of you? Or, or ish it two? Are you cloning yourself? Gawd, that would get messy really fast, really nasty."

"Spike, how much have you had?"

Spike looked carefully around, fixed his eyes on the bottle, picked it by the neck and then stared at it with a look of concentration. "It's empty," he said in tones of deep disappointment. "All gone. No more. None left."

"Yes, that does define the concept of being empty. How much and why?"

"All of it and what's the sodding point of anything anymore. I'm all…" he giggled, "Washed up. Finito. An ex-vampire. Look at me, I'm worse than old droopy fangs in LA. Can't bite anyone, can't hit anyone, can't kill a sodding fly. There… there was a time when I was a power in this town. Now I'm a bleeding laughing stock. All 'cos of this sodding chip. Bloody yanks. Bloody army. Bloody yank army." He paused and then broke off to wipe a tear from his eye. "Look at, at that. Bloody crying now. I haven't cried since old Churchill died."

He sniffed again. "Might as well bloody stake myself. Hah! That'd teach the bastards."

Rubbing his chin thoughtfully Xander sat down. This was something that he really had not considered. And how the hell did you deal with a suicidal vampire? "Look on the bright side," he said carefully. "We found the people who dealt with the chip."

This was greeted by a loud raspberry. "Sod, sod that, you're not going to make balloon animals out of their intestines and if they remove this chip then you or the Slayers are going to dust me and, and feed me to the Watcher's roses. Or Joyce's." He paused. "Sodding Slayer should see her mum more often. Everyone needs a mum."

As Giles would say, Bugger, thought Xander. Then he paused. He had to patrol tonight, but a thought had occurred to him. A group of demons had been reported setting up shop in a warehouse on Sheridan Street. And when it came to the exact properties of the chip, it would be interesting to find out just what Spike could or could not do. They did need to know and if the worst came to the worst he could always protect the vampire.

"Spike, sober up. You're coming with me tonight."

A very bleary gaze was directed his way. "So that I can watch you dust my fellow, v-vampires? Sod off, I do have my pride."

"Spike, you've killed plenty of your own kind. You put The Chosen One in a cage, hauled him up and stuck him in direct sunlight."

The vampire thought about this for a moment. "Yes, but he was an irritating little prat."

"Well, that aside, you're coming with me. We're going to test something about that chip of yours."

"Like what?"

"Like if you can only not hit humans." He paused for a moment. "But we'll wait until you're sobered up first."

* * *

As demons went, these were not pretty ones. At some point in their evolution they had gone for horns in a big way. That and crusted slime. They resembled humanoid triceratops with a very bad skin disease. Plus mucus. Yuck. The old warehouse would need a good clean before any self-respecting rat went anywhere near it again. Hell, the place could do with being burnt down and then rebuilt.

Xander gazed in through the window carefully. Whatever the demons were doing, they seemed to be doing it noisily. They were currently busy pointing at a map and arguing a lot. Occasionally one would move a large pin on the map to a new location that was sometimes a long way away from the previous one. The more the pin moved around the louder the debate became. The problem was that on at least two occasions the pin had been near the old High School, and the chances were that they were trying to locate the Hellmouth. That would be bad. Demons + Hellmouth always equalled bad things happening.

Well, he had some options here. The first was to tell them to leave town. The second was to stop them if option one failed to work. The chances were that he would have to resort to force.

Which brought him around to his fellow visitor to the warehouse. Spike was slumped against the wall at the bottom of the fire escape. He seemed to be sulking. He was also nursing the remains of his tequila-inspired hangover. All in all he was not a happy bunny at all.

Xander sighed, stepped backwards off the fire escape and descended fast, using the Force to slow his impact. The vampire looked up morosely as the Jedi landed in front of him.

"They in there?"

"Yup. Trying to find the Hellmouth I think. Failing to agree on much at the moment."

"You think they're trying to engineer another apocalypse?"

"It wouldn't surprise me at all."

"Why am I here again?"

Xander smiled slightly. "We're going to assess that chip and its limitations. We need to find out how complex it is and therefore get an idea of what the Initiative is like in terms of technology. Ok, you can't hit humans. What about demons though?"

This prompted a frown from the cockney vampire. "I don't sodding know."

"I know, so, here's a test. Can you stamp on a bug?"

Spike looked around, his black leather duster whirling slightly with him. Then his fist came up and slammed into the wall to one side. Bringing it back he peered at it carefully and then looked up. "Yes."

"Okay, so we know that it doesn't affect your general homicidal need to kill things. We just need to find out if it's limited to just humans, or if it's set on bipeds."

"Oh," said Spike, straightening up and looking a bit hopeful.

Xander rolled his eyes. "I should have thought that the idea of killing things would cheer you up."

"Well, killing bugs doesn't quite hack it. 'William the Bloody, Squasher of Ants' sounds lacking a bit of gravitas," muttered Spike. "What's the plan then?"

"We go in. I warn nasty demons. Judging by the way they look I don't think they'll listen. Things will get ugly at this point. Well, it's bound to as they're pretty ugly themselves. While I'm dealing with them, you try and hit one. If you can't and your chip kicks in, let me know and I'll get you out of the warehouse."

"How?"

"I'll yank on you with the Force and send you…" he looked around at the entrance. "Into those boxes."

"That doesn't sound like a yank. That sounds like a fling." He peered over at the boxes. "There's no wood in there, right?"

"No, I checked it out before."

"Well you might want to put some in. If I can't hit demons then I'm going to stake myself at some point, and it might as well be soon."

"No, you are not going to stake yourself. That's the cowards way out."

Spike glowered at him as they strode over to the main doorway, which was very firmly closed.

"Ready?" asked Xander as he got a grip on the handle with the Force.

"Like I have a choice in the matter. Yeah, go ahead."

"Oh good," said Xander and then ripped the door off it's hinges with the Force, sending it flying off to one side with a boom, before stepping into the warehouse.

A number of small red eyes focussed on the two of them, minus the eyes of the unconscious demon lying on the floor next to the map. By the way that various fists and horns were poised, the debate over the location of the Hellmouth had been about to turn rather physical.

"I know you're looking for the Hellmouth," began Xander, "But I'm warning you to leave town. Now. The Hellmouth has guardians who will kill you if you try and open it or even interfere with it."

The demons exchanged bemused glances for a moment, before the largest one laughed shortly. "Go? We stay! We find!" Then it looked at them both and licked its lips. "We eat." Then it threw back its heads and roared gutturally, before they all charged.

"Well, negotiating in Sunnydale has its limitations," mused Xander, as he ignited his lightsabre and brought it up in a defensive stance. The blue blade confused the leading demons slightly, but they still came on, proving that multi-tasking, such as attacking and thinking at the same time, was not one of their skills. The first one lost his head, the second one was sliced in two and the third one was left staring at the stump of an arm before Xander force-leapt backwards to gain more fighting room and then went into the attack.

Number three lost his head in addition to his earlier arm and then four and five died when they came at him side by side and were cut in half in a sweep that brought the lightsabre to the right and up ready for the next stroke.

The five remaining demons paused at the point to reassess their tactics, as 'weigh in and punch' looked as if it wasn't delivering much in what had so far been a very, very, short fight. Xander took the time to look over at Spike, who was ambling into the fray to one side. Lifting a fist he punched the nearest demon in the side of the head. The demon rocked slightly from the impact and turned to look at the vampire. Then it punched him back, sending him flying against the wall with a force that made Xander wince.

But this didn't faze Spike, because he bounced to his feet with a vicious grin and wiped some blood from his mouth. "That didn't hurt! It didn't bloody hurt! Well, the wall stung a bit, but my head didn't explode!" He threw his head back and howled with glee. "I can hurt demons! YYYEESSS!"

Then his head snapped down and his vampire features appeared. "Hello mates. I'm Spike. You want to know something? I'm a bloody animal, I am!" With that he charged straight at the demon that had punched him and launched a wild attack of exceptional savagery, punching, clawing, doing everything but biting the demon, which went down to the ground under the force of the assault. It looked bewildered, right up to the moment when Spike grabbed his head and twisted it around until its neck broke with a horrible grating noise. The vampire looked up at the angry and bewildered faces of the demons around it and then howled with glee, before leaping at the next one. As it went down the remaining ones looked at Xander. Finish the unfamiliar, he could see them thinking, and then deal with the mad vampire. He was a familiar threat that could be fought more easily. Deal with the human first.

It was a mistake. One lost its head as they tried to rush and crowd him, before another got the blue blade in the side and fell dead. The remaining demon tried slashing at him with a talon-tipped claw. Two quick swipes removed the arm and then the head.

Xander let out a sigh and then looked over to where Spike was busy beating up what looked like a corpse. "That's enough."

The vampire ignored him and kept at its frenzied attack. "I SAID that's enough! Spike!"

Spike seemed to catch himself slightly, because he looked up, his face still distorted and his fists clenched. His eyes were almost wild.

"Enough. It's dead. And you seem to have been right."

"About what?" asked Spike, as he straightened up and wiped the blood off his hands.

"You are an animal."

"I'm William the Bloody, mate. I'm Spike. What did you expect?"

"I know what you are, Spike. Don't you ever want to be something better?"

He frowned heavily and altered his face back to its human shape. "Like what?"

Xander sighed. "Never mind. Well, scratch one demon nest. And now we know that the Initiative could make something that differentiates between humans and demons. That's a worry."

"Is it? Oh, right." Spike adjusted his coat and then clapped his hands together and rubbed them vigorously. "Right, what's next?"

"Sorry?"

"What do we beat up next? I have two months or more of aggression to get out of my system. What's next?"

* * *

Regeneration of nerve endings was proceeding according to plan. An estimated 76.3 per centof the correct pathways had been restored, enough for locomotive movement but not yet enough for full usage of all body parts. The entity reviewed the current situation. It was still getting upgrades, both of hardware and software. The new foot was operating at full efficiency. It wasn't yet sure why it had working genitals, but it was sure that there had to be a logical reason for them.

More importantly the power core had been adjusted for peak performance and it had been given a series of downloads on different fighting styles. Hand to hand combat seemed very inefficient, but there was a good chance that it might have to use the information on this area. Long-range methods would have been far better. It already had a few possible upgrades in mind.

Such upgrades would have to be performed without the help of its support personnel. Professor Walsh – or 'Mother' as it had been programmed to refer to her as – had been instrumental in its creation, but her plans did not coincide with its plans. Her plans had started precise and then meandered. It was possible that she was uncertain of the final status of the project. The entity couldn't have that. It had no intention of an early termination. It had to move, and it had to move soon.

As it waited in the darkness of its own thoughts it pondered on the significance of its name. Adam. How… amusing. The first of his kind. There would be more.

* * *

Coffee. It was one of the greatest inventions known to mankind. Well, sort of. The beans had to picked obviously, and then roasted and then… hell, he was more tired then he had thought, because he was wool gathering instead of working.

Looking down at the report he had been working on, he grimaced. It was rather dull. The ruins on P3-5RXwere not very noteworthy for the simple reason that there wasn't much left. Some Goa'uld mothership had bombed them to smithereens several thousand years ago, leaving, well, not a lot at all. The mission had been short, and the report was also short. That was going to make Jack happy. Especially as there had been a lot of trees there as well. All he had to do was sign his name at the bottom, and end of report.

He drank another mouthful of lukewarm coffee and sighed. Right. Now that that was out of the way, what next? Oh, yes. The investigation he had been promising himself that he'd start for the past month. It had been one long series of delays, what with Tok'Ra, the odd Goa'uld attack, the incessant practical jokes that Jack liked to pull and the fact that they had to keep going on meetings. Oh and there had been the time that Siler had been working in the gateroom when he'd panicked at some odd sound and some odd shape. He'd come running out of the room, hit the alarm and screamed for very heavily armed guards. Something about hearing a small boom noise, seeing a box with hundreds of little legs underneath it and another odd noise. The guards had found nothing and General Hammond had had Siler taken to the Infirmary. When nothing had been found wrong with him, he had been sent on a month's leave at once.

He turned to his computer and accessed the Internet. Right then…. Sunnydale, California. He'd start off with some general history, so as to put things into context and then look at the high school 'gas explosion' as Sam kept calling it with some degree of scepticism.

Fair enough, it had seemed a bit fishy. Well, time to look into the place. Couldn't be too surprising.


	10. Identities

If anyone's out there from British Columbia or Washington, or Oregon, or Coeur d'Alene, then I have only one thing to say to you: you lucky sods. Parts of this chapter was written in various places including all of the above, over a two week period. Kathleen and I have had the best holiday of our lives, and we know where we're going to live one day. Ahem. Here's the latest chapter. Enjoy. It's the calm before the storm.

Oh, disclaimer: I don't own these characters. Plus Fanfiction is playing up, so instead of line breaks I've just left dashes.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

She looked at the four-wheel drive car carefully, before going over to stare at it. Then she sighed and made for the entrance to the base. From the look of it, Daniel's car had been in all weekend. Something that _she_ had been banned from doing whilst they were on stand-down. It had better be something important, because otherwise she was going to be very unhappy with him. But not nearly as unhappy as Janet would be.

Speaking of whom, she could see her friend signing in up ahead of her as she walked down the corridor.

"Hi!" she smiled as she signed in herself.

Janet Fraiser looked around at the sound of her voice and smiled back. "Hi Sam! Did you have a good weekend?"

"I had a very boring weekend. Found myself sleeping quite a bit."

The doctor chuckled. "You might not think you need rest sometimes, but thankfully your body disagreed with you."

"Speaking of which, you look a lot less tired."

Her friend quirked her lips. "I'm thinking of banning Major Morris and the rest of SG9 from touching things they don't know about ever again. That had to be the worst allergic reaction I've ever seen, and the second or third time that they've come with something like that. They were scrubbed from head to foot and left in monitored isolation for a week before we could get them cleaned up and examine it. It would have left Daniel sneezing for years."

"Again. speaking of whom," said Sam, "I saw Daniel's car in the parking lot. Parked in the same place as on Friday."

"You're kidding," scowled the doctor. "After I warned him about that and held you up as an example?"

Sam's eyebrows shot up in mock-affront. "Obviously he didn't listen. Mind if I tag along and listen to your lecture?"

"Sure. Not that I have a busy morning anyway. Oh, and the results have apparently finally come back on that tissue sample you sent in last month. Sorry for the delay, but you know what it's been like around here."

She nodded. "Crisis central." She paused as she caught sight of Sergeant Siler walking down a cross-corridor. He was holding that big wrench of his again. "I thought Siler was on a month's leave . What's he doing back here? And did he check out after that hallucination he had?"

Janet nodded. "They had problem with one of the couplings and they had to call him in last night. I approved it, as long as he goes back on leave the second the problem's fixed. I've told security very firmly about that. He had a lot of leave coming to him anyway. He should be fine once he gets more rest. Although he does keep carrying that big wrench around."

They turned another corner and then walked along, until they came to the only door in the SGC that was marked with several different languages, some of which were extinct. Although the door was closed, a light was on underneath it.

"If he's been there all weekend he's going into my bad books," scowled Janet as she rapped on the door. No answer. She reached out and turned the handle, allowing the door to swing open.

They both peered around the door into Daniel's magnificently dishevelled room. They were accustomed to it looking like a cross between a museum and a library. Today, however, it looked as if a paper bomb had gone off in it. Books were open everywhere, the blackboards were covered in scribbles and notepads and post-it notes were all over the place. In the midst of all this Daniel Jackson was lying in his cot, fast asleep, with his glasses almost trailing on the floor in one hand, and a book over his face.

"Well, at least he had the sense to make it to his cot," said Janet wryly. "The question is, how long he's been there." She walked over, carefully pulled his glasses out of his hand and removed the book with an almost tender grace. Sam watched this quietly. She had a feeling that Janet had a very soft spot for Daniel.

With the book removed the light was shining almost in his face, and Daniel squinted in his sleep, before mumbling something about the sun being bright today and moving a hand up to cover his eyes.

"Daniel, wake up," said Janet quietly. No response. Then, more loudly: "Daniel!"

The archaeologist bolted upright and stared blearily around the room, before he took in the presence of his two friends. "Oh, hi, Sam, um, Janet. Ugh. What are you two… oh. What time is it?"

"07.07am. Monday," said Sam in a voice that sounded a little too amused to her own ears.

Daniel blinked at her. "I've been asleep for 5 hours? Feels like more…" Then his eyes opened a bit more. "Oh. Sam, I was finally doing the research into Sunnydale and I, uh, got carried away. There's a lot there. Actually, 'a lot' doesn't even scratch the surface, I suspect. We might have a potential problem there. Actually, we almost certainly do have a problem there. Have you looked into Xander Harris yet?"

"I was going to today. What do you mean, a problem?"

"Sunnydale is not your average Californian town. Just the opposite I think, based on what I've been looking at. There's a lot of information that…" he looked around at the chaos that was his office. "Will take a long time to put together into a coherent form. I think I need to be officious and schedule a meeting with General Hammond."

"What's so important about the town?" asked Sam, as she watched Daniel jump up, grab a pencil and then utterly fail to divine where to start on the mass of paper on his desk.

"Oh, let's start off with the fact that it looks like the same man was the Mayor of Sunnydale for a hundred years – he was the mayor who was blown up in the High School And the fact that three local judges and six retired ones have all died in mysterious circumstances. That pique your interest?"

She gaped at him. "I'd say so," she replied dazedly. "I'll check up on Harris. Janet, can you get that analysis of the sample back to me?"

"Sure," she replied as she watched Daniel dart past her to the blackboard. "I'll take a look and then get it down to you." She shook her head in wonderment. "The high school blew up with a mayor inside it? Just what have you two been looking up?"

The archaeologist stopped in mid-step, raised a finger and looked up. "A lot of trouble unless I miss my guess."

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The tea in this place was truly horrid, thought Ethan as he looked into the mug. He was in a foul mood and the taste of the… concoction at the bottom of the vessel was appalling. He could feel his tongue curdling for a start. Throwing the last of it down his throat he paused and grimaced. Yuck. But caffeine was caffeine. Plus, it would unthinkable not to start the day without some tea. He had a stereotype to keep up after all.

Speaking of stereotypes, he smiled quietly to himself. He was finally in a position to pay back old Ripper. It had been an interesting few years, after all, and Rupert and his brats had put a spanner into the works of some of his most potentially interesting schemes, god rot them all. And now he had the perfect revenge. The Slayer liked killing demons, did she? Well she'd have the chance to kill another, not knowing that it was her transformed Watcher.

Everything was in place, he had almost all the ingredients… all he needed now was an idea as to where the Watcher was going to be one night. And then sit back and watch the sparks fly upwards.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"There had better be a good reason for this briefing, like impending invasion or giving ten minutes warning that Anise is coming, so that we can brick the Stargate up," grumbled Jack as he sat down in his chair in the meeting room. "They're serving my favourite Jell-o today and that stuff vanishes fast."

Teal'c smiled slightly. "Your affection for such sustenance is well-known, O'Neill. I have heard many people make humorous remarks about it."

"Good to know that people know how much I appreciate it!" replied Jack. Then he paused. "What kind of humorous remarks?"

"There are many, but I have heard one that refers to you, a quantity of Jell-o and something called a tennis racket."

This got Jack's eyebrows going up and down for a moment as he tried to work that one out, but any further questions were halted by the arrival of a harassed-looking Daniel and Sam, who seemed to be talking about something computer-related, because the moment that they entered the room they immediately walked over to lay down a laptop on the table and to immediately start to hook it up to the cables that linked it to the screen at the end of the room. They seemingly paid no attention to Jack and Teal'c.

After a moment Jack leant back in his chair. "And a rousing hello to you two as well."

"Hmm?" said Daniel as he looked up. "Oh, hi Jack. Good, you're on time for once."

"I'm on time for once? That's rich coming from you!"

But Daniel didn't respond to the bait and was now busy talking to Sam in a low voice, pointing to the screen at the same time. This did not look good.

After a moment they were joined by General Hammond, who bustled in and placed a large file on the table and then glared at it briefly. "Good afternoon everyone. Major, how long will this take? I have a budget meeting that will be endured rather than enjoyed, and I will have to cancel it if this meeting is a long one."

Straightening up and tucking a short wisp of hair behind her ear, Carter pulled a face. "I think that this meeting might overrun sir. The subject matter is a bit… esoteric. Not to say unusual."

Hammond exchanged a surprised glance with Jack and then raised his eyebrows. "Very well." He picked up the phone next to him and placed a call cancelling the meeting, while Jack looked on. When he replaced the handset he had a small smile on his face.

"Not looking forwards to meeting the bean counters, sir?" asked Jack.

"I never do." He looked over as Carter and Daniel finished working on the laptop and then sat down in their usual seats. "Are we ready?"

"We're just waiting for Dr Fraiser, sir," said Sam as she tightened a connection at the back of the computer. As if waiting for this cue there was the sound of rapid footsteps outside and then a very breathless Janet Fraiser appeared at the doorway. She was clutching a large pile of files, her white coat was rumpled and her hair was slightly disarranged. She looked, in other words, as if she had ran a long way on very short notice.

"Sorry I'm late sir," she said when she could and then walked over to sit next to Daniel, who shot her a bemused look. "I was double-checking some rather… incredible DNA results."

Hammond looked just as bemused as Daniel and then nodded at Carter. "Major. You requested this meeting, along with Dr Jackson. Do you mind explaining why it's so urgent?"

"Yes sir," she said, standing and placing a small electronic component on the table in front of him. Jack groaned internally. It was that damn energy cell that she had failed to get to work, even after a meeting with the star-wars inspired fruitcake who 'designed' it.

"This is a prototype of an energy call that I built from blueprints from the patent office some months back. It's very advanced, very efficient and would solve a lot of our problems when it comes to building energy weapons."

"Only it's incomplete and doesn't work," broke in Jack.

"That's right Colonel. There is a missing component that the inventor, one Alexander Harris, did not place on the blueprints and without which it will not work." She reached out to one side and pressed a button. The screen by the far wall flickered slightly and a picture of a set of blueprints appeared.

"Now about a month ago Daniel and I were passing through Harris's home town in California to ask him about the missing component. Harris wasn't very co-operative and politely asked us to leave. When we pressed him slightly he repeated his request." She hesitated, clearly more than a bit hesitant about something. "And we left. At once. Without asking any questions. As if we were under some kind of compulsion."

Jack swore under his breath. "Nish'ta?" he asked. "Are we dealing with a snake here? Damn it, T, you said that the technology wasn't Goa'uld!"

"No sir," said Carter hurriedly, "He didn't use anything visible, I didn't sense any Naquadah on him and I don't think that he's a Goa'uld. But he used some kind of compulsion on us, I'm sure of it."

"He merely asked you to depart and you complied. That is unusual," said Teal'c, flicking an eyebrow up for a nano-second.

"That wasn't the only thing that was unusual about our trip to Sunnydale," said Carter, looking back at Daniel. "We've subsequently done some digging around. Daniel will start off with what he found about the town, and then I'll tell you what I discovered about Harris. We-"

"Hold on a second," broke in the General. "Are we talking about Sunnydale California here?"

Sam closed her open mouth. "Yes, sir," she said after a moment.

Hammond leant back in his chair. "Please continue," he said in a troubled tone of voice.

Daniel and Sam looked at each other for a moment and then shared an equally troubled glance with Jack, who stared at Hammond thoughtfully. The general was not someone who ever showed his emotions much. In just two words however he had displayed a distinct worry and unease that was untypical. Hmm.

Despite this moment in disquiet time Daniel stood up and walked over to the head of the table by the screen. Reaching down he hit a button on the control that Sam had passed to him and the lights went down slightly as a picture of a town appeared on the screen. It looked… well, black and white and very oldish.

"Sunnydale was founded in 1899 by a Richard Wilkins, the main landowner in the area at the time," said Daniel. "Although there had been a small community here before that, this was the first large-scale settlement on this spot. Which is interesting, because the area was not a popular one."

"I thought that you said that there was a small community there," objected Jack. "That sounds like… something popular."

"Yes, but it had a very bad reputation. It was called Boca Del Inferno. The-"

"The Mouth of Hell?" asked Jack incredulously. Then he caught the odd looks being directed at him. "What? I know a little Spanish. Comes from drinking too much tequila in bases in New Mexico that I can't talk about. But I'm correct, right?"

"Disturbingly enough, yes," replied Daniel. He blinked and then went on. "The name seems to have first been used by a Mexican priest in the area in the 1620's, when a small church was built in the area. It was a somewhat odd one, as it had large amounts of holy water available for some reason, according to the plans, stored in large vats. But that's speculative. There are some accounts of odd things happening in the area, including at least one tale of an entire wagon trail of Californian settlers going missing near the area. A mission was built in the area a hundred years after the church was built, at a time when the local Chumash Indian tribe was being… squashed, for want of a better word, by the local Spanish authorities. There were also some… odd legends about monsters being seen in the area by the Chumash." He paused, seemed about to add something and then changed his mind, turning back to the screen.

"But in 1898 the land seems to have been bought up by Wilkins." He pushed another button and a picture appeared of a man with an unnaturally cheery smile with an old-style suit and hat, next to a foundation stone in one corner of a building that said '1899.' "This is Wilkins at the foundation of the town hall the next year, when Sunnydale was founded, and the same year that he became Mayor of Sunnydale."

At this point Daniel took a deep breath. "Okay, this is where it gets interesting. This is Wilkins when he met Kaiser Wilhelm II in 1904." A picture of the same grinning man with another guy with a chicken on his head.

"This is Wilkins with President Calvin Coolidge." The same guy with a man who looked as if he had a lemon stuffed up his ass.

"And this is his son, Richard Wilkins the second, the next mayor of Sunnydale, with then vice-president Richard Nixon." This time the picture was in colour. The man next to Nixon looked very familiar. Too familiar. Exactly the damn same.

Reading the moment perfectly, Daniel cleared his throat again. "And this is his grandson, Richard Wilkins the third." Another picture, this time of what looked like the same guy with Ronald Reagan.

Jack squinted at the screen. "They all look very familiar, don't they? Strong family resemblance?"

Carter leant forwards. "Sir, I've done a facial comparison, mapping the faces on one another. They're identical to each other. So either they belong to a family that has a very strong dominant strain in the male line-"

"Which is impossible given the exact resemblance," murmured Janet Fraiser.

"-Or they are the same person."

"Crap," muttered Jack. "Are we dealing with a snake here?"

"It's difficult to say," replied Daniel. He pressed another button and a colour picture of Richard Wilkins III appeared on the screen. He seemed to be grinning cheesily and was opening what looked like a retirement home. "Certainly if he was a Goa'uld then his behaviour was very untypical, unlike other Goa'uld who have been in exile here, like Seth. Although Seth was in hiding, he still built up a core of fanatically loyal supporters, using the standard Goa'uld modus operandi. Wilkins was in the public light for years. No cult, no attempt to broaden his powerbase, no attempt to seize power."

"That is indeed behaviour untypical of a false god," rumbled Teal'c. "Their thirst for power tends to remain voracious. How large is this Sunnydale place now?"

"It's latest census showed that the total population was just under 40,000," replied Daniel."

Something had been bothering Jack for a few seconds and finally he voiced it. "Did you use the word 'was' when you were talking about this Wilkins character? As in, he isn't there any more?"

Daniel pursed his lips thoughtfully. "Not exactly. In June this year he was killed by what was described as a gas explosion at the Graduation ceremony for the class of 1999 at Sunnydale High School." He clicked the button again and a picture of what looked like a totally trashed building flashed onto the screen. "Although his body was never recovered, he has been declared officially dead by the authorities in Sunnydale. He has not reappeared as far as we know."

Jack stared at the picture carefully. Certain elements made no sense. "I sensed a certain amount of, oh I don't know, sarcasm when you mentioned the gas explosion. That picture does not look like the product of a gas explosion. It looks like something a hell of a lot more powerful blew up in it. That girder shouldn't be there in that position for a start." He paused. "Unless the building was built by whackos or had TNT stored in it."

"Yes, well, Major Carter and I entered the building when we were there – that's my picture of the school - and she was able to take some samples on the debris. Two things stood out. Firstly, the blast was centred on the school library. We examined the blueprints and there no gas pipes or conduits that lead anywhere near the library. Secondly, the blast damage showed traces of C-4."

"Dr Jackson, are you saying that someone blew up a high school whilst a graduation ceremony was going on?" asked Hammond incredulously.

"Uh, yes, I am. All the evidence points to that. The motive for doing so is unclear, although it was possible that there is a connection with the death of the Mayor."

"If he is dead that is," broke in Jack, "And this wasn't him trying to cover his tracks."

"The vast majority of students made it out alive," said Daniel, "And according to the police they all confirmed that Wilkins was dead. The actual number of casualties was very small, with just three dead. Including the Mayor there was also the Principal, one Royston Algernon Snyder, and a pupil called Harmony Kendall. However, as you can see the building was heavily damaged and at least one fireman reported it as having damage that they regarded as being suspicious. Why the authorities chose to ignore that comment is unknown."

Daniel paused to fiddle with his glasses and then arrange some papers for a second, a sure sign that he was nervous. When he looked up he paused and then went on: "Ok, this next part is a bit odd, but please bear with me. When Wilkins died there were several other unrelated deaths in Sunnydale on the same day. Namely three local circuit judges and one that was recently retired, five other retired judges plus the Chief of Police. The policeman dropped dead in the middle of a planning meeting. When I say dropped dead I mean that literally. The autopsy said that it was as if something just stopped in him and he fell over dead. The six retired judges all died of what was described as being heart attacks, despite the fact that none of them had ever been diagnosed with any kind of heart disease. In fact all were remarkably healthy for their ages.

"The three serving judges… all died of spontaneous human combustion. One in his chambers, one in her home and the remaining one in front of two trial lawyers and a defendant."

"That's impossible!" burst out Fraser again. Then she caught herself and looked apologetically at Hammond. "Sorry sir, but SHC is a very rare event and highly controversial. It's very, very rare if it exists at all, it's never been observed by any scientist or doctor, and there's a lot of very dubious claims surrounding it. No-one's ever properly witnessed it either."

Daniel made a face and pressed another button on the control. Three pictures flashed up. All showed charred spots on various floors, with body parts nearby. It looked very nasty."

"Yuck," said Jack.

The Doc was having a hard time with this, because she was leaning over the table and staring at the pictures with her eyes very wide. "Three cases of SHC? All in one town? That's… impossible!"

The archaeologist just shrugged in response. "It's possible that there was some other agency involved, but I don't know enough about the phenomenon to be in a position to comment. Certainly there were no reported suspicious circumstances. The witnesses to Judge Robert's death in court all said that one minute he was talking and the next he was screaming. The minute after that he was dead. However, when it comes to the judges the timing of all three deaths is very suspicious. They all died at the same time that Wilkins did."

There was a collective moment of silence as he shuffled his notes again. "And there have been a number of others deaths. Two of Wilkins's main assistants, uh, a Mr Trick and a Mr Tagget, both went missing, the head of the local, very small, ATF department was found dead in his swimming pool with his head missing and the tea lady in the Mayor's office seems to have died from a very odd allergy to caffeine, or at least that was the preliminary diagnosis."

This all sounded unusual, Jack mused as he stared at the screen. He had a nasty feeling that a trip to California was on the cards, but based on the evidence to far it was likely that the place was either very, very unlucky, or a whole heck of a lot of a lot of coincidences were popping up there. Or… something was going on in the damn place. Crap.

"What about Harris himself?" he asked thoughtfully. "Anything odd in his background?"

Daniel put the control down and then walked back to his usual seat at the table, with his place by the screen being taken by Carter, who was flipping through some notes that she had probably already memorised. Once she was ready she looked up.

"Alexander Harris, or 'Xander' as he prefers to be called was born in the area in 1981. Both parents are alive and living in Sunnydale, and Harris lives with them. Social Services did some initial investigations into reports that he might have been in danger of parental neglect three years ago due to reports of family arguments and the fact that his father, Anthony Harris, was once reportedly drinking at work. The investigation was dropped when it became clear that Harris Senior had cleaned up his act and had been steadily promoted at the company where he works. He's now the branch manager at the store where he was working."

"Good for him," said Jack jovially, "But what about whatisname, Xander?"

"I was just getting back to him sir," she chided in response. "Xander Harris seems to have gone through school with most authorities describing him as a chronic under-achiever. When he reached High School Principal Robert Flutie, Snyder's predecessor, described Harris as being "disappointing" in his attitude to work and not having enough motivation. Certainly his photographs in various yearbooks seem to bear out a certain flippantness in his behaviour." She pressed a button and a picture of a boy of around 14 appeared. He was wearing a rumpled paper hat on sideways and was saluting. Several more followed, all of which showed him in joking poses.

Carter turned around again and caught Hammond's glower. "Then something interesting happened about two years ago." The next picture was of Harris again, only this time he had a serious and intent look, with a hint of a smile. "His classwork started to improve dramatically, from a 'C' average to an 'A' average, across the board. Whatever changed him it was very sudden.

"The school authorities, namely Principal Snyder, put it down to cheating and he was rigorously observed and spot tested, while during his SATs he was actually placed away from his classmates during the exams and carefully observed. From the records I've seen Snyder was convinced that some sort of cheating was going on, but the reports by other teachers disagreed. They all said that he was living up to his potential at long last."

"Have you been able to talk to Flutie to ask him about Harris?" Hammond broke in.

Another grimace and a shuffle of the feet. Not a good sign. "No sir. It seems that Principal Flutie died almost three years ago. Apparently wild dogs somehow got into his office and… ah, ate him."

"Wild dogs," said Jack in as flat a voice as he could manage. "In a high school in central California?"

"Yes sir."

"Did these dogs eat a load of homework at the same time?" He raised both eyebrows. "Snyder is the guy who died along with Wilkins, right?"

"Yes, sir. He also seemed to bear something of a grudge against Harris for unknown reasons. Apparently Harris's association with two other students, a Willow Rosenberg and especially a Buffy Summers, meant that he was regarded with a great deal of suspicion by Snyder."

"Buffy? Someone named their child _Buffy_?" broke in Jack incredulously.

"Yes, sir."

"Californians," muttered Jack under his breath, "Whacky ain't the word." He paused. "What did he suspect these three of doing?"

She shrugged. "He seemed to allude a great deal about them being trouble makers, but never backed up the allegations with any proof. He tried his best to prove cheating of some sort on Harris's SAT's, but found no evidence at all."

"What was his SAT score?" asked Hammond thoughtfully.

Carter hesitated. "2367, sir, as he took the optional third part. Using his old grades as a guide he was once predicted to be lucky to break 700." She hit another button and the now-infamous picture of the energy cell appeared again, which was odd because the damn thing was sitting on the table in front of them. "Not long after he sat his SAT's he patented this, a very advanced and incredibly sophisticated form of energy cell that appears to be of possible alien design."

"Which we _still_ can't get to work," grumbled Jack.

"The increase in his mental abilities, coupled with the energy cell and what Daniel discovered about Sunnydale set off a lot of alarm bells with us sir. Plus he was at the graduation ceremony where Wilkins was killed in the apparent gas explosion. That's one coincidence too many for me, there has to be a link somewhere. This is not a normal town and this is not a normal high school graduate."

Nodding sombrely, Hammond leafed through the file in front of him. "Where is he now?"

"He's still in Sunnydale, working for the University there as a librarian."

"Not as a student? With SATs like that he could have walked into any university in the world!" exclaimed the General as he sat back in his chair.

"I can't explain it either sir," said Carter as she crossed back to the table and sat down. "He seems to be doing well there though." She shrugged again. "Finally there's the odd substance that we discovered in the ruins of Sunnydale high school. It seemed to be snakeskin, but it was no snake that I've ever seen and what it was doing there was a mystery. I asked Dr Fraiser to examine it."

After a short pause Janet sighed, something so untypical that it led to several people looking at her in some surprise, Jack included. Then she straightened up in her chair, bound her hands together in a rather tense pose and then looked around the table. "My turn to add to the strangeness. The tissue sample that you retrieved from the High School is of no known species. That's why the testing took so long, it couldn't be matched with anything that we have on our databases. And believe me we tried a lot of databases."

"I thought it was snakeskin?" asked Daniel, blinking slightly.

The doctor shook her head emphatically. "It isn't any species that we have on record anywhere. For one thing, there's the issue of its size. Based on the shape and thickness of the scales and extrapolating on existing snakes, we calculate that whatever it was it must have been 60 feet long and five or six feet wide."

A stunned silence fell over the room.

"That's a big snake," muttered Jack. Then he caught sight of Teal'c whose eyes were shining. "Oh no, we're not having you going off and battling massive snakes!"

"It would be a formidable opponent, O'Neill," muttered the Jaffa. "I was not aware that your world possessed such creatures."

"That's the problem, it doesn't," said Fraiser firmly. "Snakes of that length and girth don't exist, or they've never been recorded. I've heard of some pythons reaching over 30 feet, but nothing like a girth of five or six feet. It's impossible."

"And yet such a creature exists – or existed – in Sunnydale," mused Teal'c.

Fraiser, looking deeply unhappy, could only shrug in response. "Then there's the DNA results that came back from it. They don't make sense either. They do not match any known species of snake either. In fact they don't even seem to share some of the common genes areas that snakes have."

Now it was her turn to pause and look leery. "But the oddest thing is… well, a small percentage of the tissue looks stressed in an odd way, as if it had been grown very quickly. We can't say over what time period, as there's no frame of reference, but maybe over a matter of weeks or even days. And there's something else that's strange about this percentage. On very tiny traces of it we detected an underlying fragment, as if the DNA had been rewritten and was in the last stages of finally transforming. We can't be sure but," she sighed and looked up. "We're think it might be human."

Hammond leant forwards. "You think it might be _what_, doctor?"

"Human," she replied evenly, her chin up. "We're talking about a tiny fragment and the analysis is problematical, but those are our findings. As I said, they just make no sense, which is why I double-checked them as best I could and ran here the moment the results were in."

"We're on our way to Sunnydale, aren't we sir?" drawled Jack, fully aware of what the answer would be.

"Yes, Colonel you certainly are. Take SG1 down as soon as you can conveniently get away from the SGC. I know that we have the Tok'Ra coming tomorrow to discuss Jacob's latest infiltration mission, but as soon as you can get going after that, do so." He closed the folders in front of him. "Dismissed."

As Jack was heading for the door he was stopped by the general, who was looking a bit awkward. "Jack, can I have a quiet word?"

"You can have two or even three words, sir. What's up?"

Hammond smiled briefly and then closed the door behind a rather surprised Carter, who had been hanging around for Fraiser. "Jack, be careful down there. I shouldn't be telling you this, but under the circumstances…"

"My lips are sealed sir."

Hammond sighed quietly. "In 1976 I was on an accident investigation board that was looking into the crash of an F-4 in southern California. The pilot survived but we all thought that he had some sort of concussion, because he said that he lost control of his plane after seeing some sort of flying monster that collided with his plane.

"Back then the Armed Forces were still dealing with the bad drug problem that crept in during the end of the Vietnam War – morale was low and so were the people. We thought that he had seen some sort of drug-related hallucination. The only problem was that we ran him through every single drug test the doctors could think of. He came up as clean as a whistle.

"Then we found something on the wreckage, near the port wing root. It was claw marks, Jack. We knew that because some of the claws were still embedded in the skin of the fuselage. Some government agency came in soon after and took all the evidence away, but I saw what I saw, Jack. And I'll never forget the pilot's face when he was talking about what he saw."

He had the distinct feeling that very small Jaffa were crawling all over his skin and zapping him with zat guns. "Let me guess sir. The F-4 was over Sunnydale?"

"Yes, it was. That was the nearest town. Be careful down there, Jack. I don't know what's there, but be careful anyway."

"I'm always careful sir," smiled Jack as he opened the door. "If I don't live to retire, who's going to look after the fish?"

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

He opened his eyes. Lots of grey with a hint of white. Interesting. He seemed to be lying on his back, as if he had just laid down for a nap. Which was a bit odd, as he last remembered being in the correct pose for meditation, i.e.: sitting down with his legs crossed and his mind clear.

Sitting up, he looked around. Odder and odder. Instead of his room at home he seemed to be in a swamp. A rather nasty swamp as well. It seemed very damp and muggy. He looked down at himself and then at the ground. Ah. Usual clothes. Usual dry clothes, which was odd (again) given the dampness of the ground.

Something hooted not too far away and then seemed to take off from a branch, or that was what it sounded like. There was also some sort of water nearby as well, because something that sounded unsettlingly large surfaced and made a gurgling noise.

Well. Odd wasn't the word for this place. How had he got here? He couldn't remember. He had definitely been sitting down to meditate, he had closed his eyes… and then he was here. In a swamp. Being hooted at.

Something made him pause for a second, before he frowned and looked around. This place seemed vaguely familiar. It looked like somewhere that he had seen, but not been to. One of Obi-Wan's memories perhaps? Or not. Where had that vague sense of recognition come from then?

Prodding carefully at the ground ahead of him, especially when it was covered in tendrils of mist, he walked forwards slowly. He had been in some sort of clearing before, because trees now loomed out of the mists, their branches covered in moss and with long tendrils of plant matter hanging off them. The sense that he had seen this place before nagged at him again for a moment, but he shook it off again. Ducking under a branch he paused at the sight of the water ahead of him. It looked extremely unpleasant and left him with the feeling that venturing into it would be a very bad idea. He reached out with the Force for a moment and then raised an eyebrow. Yup, there was something in the water that gave off the general impression of large teeth and a bottomless hunger.

But it wasn't the source of something else that had been starting to nag at him. He was being watched, he was sure of it. The question was where from? He looked around carefully. The mist was so thick in places that a legion of vampires could have been hiding in it. Not that he could sense anything out there at the moment. So, if he couldn't sense anything, why did he still have the feeling that something was watching him?

Ducking under a branch that had something green, wet and nasty hanging from it, he walked forwards again and then passed carefully along the bank by the water. Then he stopped dead. There was a light ahead of him. It was very dim and was almost obscured by the mist, but there was a light. He started to walk towards it carefully, reaching down to make sure that his lightsabre was still hanging correctly from his belt. The last thing that he wanted in this place was the distraction of it falling off and vanishing somewhere.

The closer he got the stronger the two feelings became. There was something nagging at him about the place, something familiar. And whoever was watching him was close.

The light started to take on a shape the closer he got, until eventually it revealed itself to be a round window on a small house. A small rounded house that looked as if it had been made of stone and mud and then stuck on the side of a tree with a massive root system, with a small chimney to one side that was emitting wispy smoke. A house that shone a bright light in his mind, but which left him deeply confused. This was impossible. It had to be a dream. There was no way that this could be possible.

Still… he took a deep breath and bent down by the door, before knocking carefully. After a moment the door opened with a click and he shuffled inside, closing the door carefully against the mist.

Inside it was warm and dry, with herbs hanging from parts of the ceiling. A fire was burning to one side, the smoke vanishing up into the chimney, and a small pot was bubbling over it.

There was only one other person in the hut with him. He was small, green, had big ears and was busy chopping up a root. When it was cut to his satisfaction he reached out and placed the slices into the pot, before turning slowly around with the help of a gnarled cane and looking up at him, crossing his hands on top of the stick as he did so.

"A dream, am I?" he said with a certain grumpy quirk to his features.

"Master Yoda," he replied, bowing as well as he was able to.

"A dream?" repeated the little Jedi Master after a slight pause, before poking at him with the tip of the stick. "Feel this you do? Hmmm? Very real am I. Yes, very real. Tall you are. Sit. Little time do we have, and much to discuss we do."

Despite the stated urgency, he then directed a long gaze at his visitor, as if he was putting him under the visual equivalent of a powerful microscope. Finally he broke his silence. "Unfamiliar you are. Not a Jedi from here, but a Jedi you look like. A Jedi you feel, in the Force. Never have I seen you before. And yet you know me. Interesting this is. How is it possible?"

He had a sudden feeling that this was very real. Everything about Yoda was real. His mouth opened before his brain had a chance to engage properly. "My name is Xander Harris. I have the memories of Obi-Wan Kenobi. Thanks to a spell cast by a powerful chaos mage, I was Obi-Wan for a night. He used something called magic, a power that works on my world, but which I don't know that you know about, Master. When the spell ended, the memories remained. And a hint of the powers. I trained myself to be a Jedi, and on my world I am a Jedi Knight."

The green ears perked up at the first mention of Obi-Wan's name and then lowered again with concentration once he had finished speaking. "Obi-Wan, you say. Obi-Wan. Yes, powerful Jedi is he. Most interesting. Most peculiar. Magic… is something I know little of. Few knew of it even on the Council. Little use do we have of it. But still there it is. Without it, talking we would not be."

He opened his mouth for a moment in astonishment and then closed it again. This was… unexpected. "You're using magic?"

"Not I," quirked the Jedi Master and then he pointed out of a window with a finger that was as gnarled as his stick. "They."

Bending down carefully he looked out of the window. Mist. Then, for a split second the mist seemed to part into shapes. Five hooded beings were sitting on the ground in a circle, their hands raised. By them was another one, also hooded. It was staring straight at him and looked familiar – the demon father of Buffy's old roommate. The mist billowed again and then they were gone.

"A little more time we have," sighed Yoda. "Time that they give us. Other worlds there are, as you know, I sense. Some dimensions the walls part with ease. More difficult to pass into, others are. Higher, harder walls. Minds are easier to touch sometimes, but hard it remains. Very hard. But some can pierce the gaps, for a while. The leader saw you when back he took his daughter. Ally he is not, but a debt he owes the Jedi he is paying back. So. Little time do we have." That determined little face came up again, this time set in an intent look. "Claim you to be a Jedi?"

The answer to this was easy. "Yes, Master Yoda. I may come from a different world, and while I still don't understand how the spell could have done what it did, Obi-Wan's memories helped me to become a Jedi. Building my own lightsabre did not make me a Jedi, but I was Jedi before I did it."

"Abilities, such memories could not create. A spark there already, there had to be. A spark to be fanned, hmmmm? The Force is strong in you, I sense. Channelled it has been. Focussed. For good I also sense. Yes. Yes. Jedi you feel to me to be. The Dark Side taints you not." He nodded sombrely, his ears rising slightly. "Others, there are?"

"Another full Jedi knight. He fought his trials on our world under my guidance and has become a strong Jedi. And a Padawan who I'm training carefully. He is strong in the Force – but has been exposed to evil. I don't think he's ever touched the Dark Side, but I'm steering him carefully anyway."

Another nod. "Trust in your feelings. Training you are… yes. Good. Spread your knowledge wide, that is the way of the Jedi, the way of the Force. Sith go by secretive paths, they do." He shook his head. "Hope that Sith there are not on your world. Guard always against the Dark Side. Persistent it is. Never as powerful as the light side. Never as deep. Yet an illusion of power it gives." If anything that intent look on the Jedi Master's face sharpened. "Train your Padawan carefully. Train him well. A Jedi, you must make him."

"I remember Anakin," he said quietly. "There are many painful memories there. And a lot to use in my Padawan's training."

At the mention of Anakin the old Jedi Master's ears twitched again. And then Yoda sat down slowly and sighed again, this time with an odd sort of satisfaction. "Hard to understand this is. Even with warning. But good it is to know that other Jedi there are. Even in places that do not touch here. Amused Obi-Wan will be on Tatooine when I tell him of this."

Xander wrinkled his brow at this. The insanity of this moment, along with its realness nagged at him and he made a mental note again to ask Giles just what kind of spell Ethan Rayne had performed. How were these two worlds connected? How could a series of movies mirror the events of a world, a galaxy, in another universe? And what should he say now? Where was he in the timeline here? He looked identical, but was this Yoda the same as…. He had to be. What should he say? What should he do?

"Luke will be one of the greatest of the Jedi," he said quietly. "Despite a very unpromising start." He looked up to see Yoda's eyes widen and then close speculatively. "Don't ask me how I know, Master Yoda, I couldn't even start to explain. And you might not believe it, but there is still some - actually a lot - of Anakin beneath Vader's armour. Some roots aren't touched by the strongest of frosts."

Yoda stared at him for what felt like a long time, but what must have just been a few minutes. "Maybe," He said eventually. "Much to see we still have. Hmmmm." He paused for a long moment, considering something. Then he looked up. "Say you are a Jedi Knight, Xander Harris?"

"Yes," he said, sighing. He had no idea how he would match up against Yoda's ideals.

"I say not," sighed the little green Jedi Master. Then he looked up with twinkling eyes. "Jedi Master you are. The Council here is no more, yet you…. would have a place, I think. Yes. Yes. Much I think you have learnt." He twisted his head slightly to one side in the direction of the demon circle and then sighed again, this time regretfully as he looked back. "No time we have left. A shame, much more I would like to speak of. Barriers cannot be pierced for long sometimes. No time though." He stood up and gestured to one side. A lightsabre flew into his free hand and he lifted it to his face in a formal salute. "May you be successful with your Padawan, Xander Harris. Protect him from the Dark Side, must you. Very likely never will we speak again. Yet on behalf of the Jedi Council proclaim you to be a Jedi Master I do."

The lightsabre came down again, and as it did the background seemed to dissolve slightly and become fuzzy.

"May the Force be with you, Master Harris."

"And with you, Master Yoda."

The room seemed to fade gently away, and then there was a sensation that felt a bit like being dropped through a sudden trapdoor and then rebounding upwards. When he opened his eyes again he was sitting in his room. He could hear the sound of grasshoppers chirping in the still evening air outside.

"That was weird," he muttered. But for a second, just a split second, he thought that he could smell the air of Dagobah on his clothes. "Giles is never going to believe me on this. Actually, I'm not sure that I would either."

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

He looked down at the paper in front of him and scratched the tip of his nose with the end of his pen. This was trickier than he had thought. Resigning from Wolfram & Hart was not something that you undertook every day. For one thing it might be the last thing that you ever did. Literally. So… it had to be a letter of resignation to match all letters of resignation. It had to be very, very carefully worded, to dot as many 'i's and cross as many 't's as possible. The problem with working for a legal company tended to be that it was full of lawyers. And the while the people working on the fine print on a Wolfram & Hart contract might not know how many angels could dance on the head of a pin (well, they might be able to guess at how many demons could do the same), they could certainly pack a vast number of sub-clauses into the smallest possible space. One of the first things that he'd done when he first started working for the company had been to go over the fine print. The second had been to check to make sure that none of the dots over the 'i's were not in fact microfilm with other conditions. It had sounded paranoid at the time, but looking back it had merely been common sense.

He'd been working on the damn thing for a week now. It was like painting the Capitol Buildings – once you finished one bit you had to go back over it again to make sure that you hadn't missed a spot.

What he would have _liked_ to have written was something on the lines of : "Dear Holland. You can stick your rotten stinking soul-sucking job up your-" and then go on to various anatomically-impossible statements. That would have been fun and flippant. But flippant did not go well with Wolfram & Hart. Flippant got you dead. Very dead at times. So hence the marathon letter.

He leant back in his seat and closed his eyes for a second. Thinking about the job and Holland Manners was not a good idea. That could very easily lead to anger, and anger was not a good thing at all. Xander had told him that a lot, and it made sense.

I have a chance, for once in my life, to do something right, he thought. To make a difference, in a way that I never thought about before at all. To… be something different. He grabbed on to that thought and then smiled carefully. It sounded good. It sounded hopeful, in a way that he had never thought was possible before. He had a chance to change, from what he had been into something else. Something better.

Grabbing the pen he bent over the letter again. He probably should have been working on the next day's case, but he had to do this instead. Besides, the case was an easy one to resolve. He knew a way to do it without having anyone killed. In fact, he knew how to do and save lives at the same time. He snorted. That was more than good, it was very un-Wolfram & Hart. There. He was taking all kinds of steps away from his old life.

He paused again. His method of resolving the case probably wouldn't please Rove at all. Too bad. The man was becoming increasingly unstable, however. He didn't want to resolve it and then get his head blown off.

Rove was the living embodiment of what Wolfram & Hart could do to someone. Rove had been perfectly stable back in LA, or wherever the hell he had been before, but after a few months in Sunnydale, and given a large amount of autonomy, his marbles were now coming loose at a great rate of knots. He really didn't want to be in the general vicinity when the last tenuous threads that connected Rove to reality got snipped away. For a start there was that ominous rumour that all Wolfram & Hart offices came equipped with some kind of self-destruct mechanism. Probably nothing in it, but he didn't want to risk it.

He bent over the paper again.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The question of identity was a complex one. He knew that he had a name. Adam. But the question of what he was… well, that was a more complex one. He could name the different parts of his body and say what species they came from, but as a collective whole, what did that make him? He knew that he had a set of programmed imperatives, but he was able to rewrite those with a little time and care. Mother still thought that he was under the control of those programmes. Mother was very mistaken.

The issue of what to do with Professor Maggie Walsh was a hard one to resolve. While he admired her for her skills – she had, after all, created him – he was amused by the shallowness of her ambitions. And she did seem to be dangerously short-sighted at times. It was such a shame. She could have been genuinely dangerous to the world as a whole, but instead she was content to fiddle about in laboratories. Oh and she taught humans as well. Adam had been able to access some of the universities records using a data link that had rather more range than mother thought. What a waste of potential, teaching humans about the nature of life, when they themselves seemed to take so much for granted.

Well, he had potential himself. A lot more than Mother could ever have dreamt of.

Speaking of which, it was very nearly time to wake all the way up. He was complete, the new attachment, a spike from a Polgara demon, was bonding well with his arm, and he had reconnected all the nerve endings that had been the last remaining impediment to his motor functions. It was almost time. He had to find out what he was.


	11. Lab Genesis

(Sigh...) Another late chapter, but at least I have lots of excuses this time. I start a new job next month (More money! Yesss!) plus we have been involved in lots of wedding planning stuff, plus I had a business trip to Monte Carlo. Look, damnit, someone has to stand on verandas and sip champagne whilst the sun goes down! Ahem. So. Here it is. Enjoy, because things are about to get rough...

* * *

Riley hated being confused. He hated that his head tended to buzz with too many thoughts, all crammed in like fireflies in an opaque jar. He never knew which way the damn things would buzz sometimes and he was starting to become concerned about opening his mouth at times, for fear of what might emerge at the wrong moment.

The cause of this confusion was currently watching Professor Walsh from a seat at the back of the classroom. Buffy was sitting there looking studious and scribbling away. She looked adoringly cute in her top and skirt, which was ironic given the fact that she could kick the ass of anyone in the room, probably him included. At the moment though she was giving Maggie Walsh her full attention as she talked about popular political thought during the French Revolution. Occasionally she scratched her nose with the tip of her pencil. That was distracting too, but had no idea why.

What exactly was she? He'd done some background research into the Slayer, but everything that he'd found had either been wrong ('The Slayer Myth') or had been seriously skewed ('Ye Slayer Scourge'), so he really wasn't any further forwards. What he did know was that he liked her a lot and that she seemed to like him. The fact that she was a mystical warrior called the Slayer was the confusing bit. The other fact that there was a Jedi knight, or a self-proclaimed one… who just happened to have a working lightsabre… was the other confusing issue.

He paused and resisted the temptation to walk up to the nearest door and hit it with his forehead until things quieted down in the maelstrom that was his brain.

* * *

Ethan Rayne stared into his pint of beer and scowled darkly. He had been stuck in this rotten town for far too long, a victim of circumstances and his own perfectionist nature. His plan had been a good one. It was also cruel and unusual and would have made the perfect answer to all that Watcher bollocks. He would get all the ingredients required to turn old Ripper into a Fyarl, knowing full well that there was an excellent – and exquisitely ironical – chance that he would get staked by his own Slayer.

Well, that plans' legs had fallen off a long time since. For one thing getting hold of the ingredients had been a lot easier said than done. The local magic shop had been undergoing one of its periodic changes in management, and what it did have was almost all reserved. A lot of local demons had been trying to get all kinds of protective amulets and spells. The problem was that some were home-made, or rather just made-up. It really was pathetic, demons going around with bags of rare substances around their necks that did bugger all. Some had even made the mistake of mixing some of the components together when they had no clue what might happen. There were at least three squirrels hopping around Sunnydale that still had vague memories of being demons. Janus only knew what they'd do with any acorns they found and when it came to the breeding season, well… yuck. That was the problem with spell components. Some of them had very odd effects on people. Odd even by his standards.

He paused for a moment. There had been that one time in London, when he'd been convinced that he's seen a white mouse with an eyepatch driving a very small car flying past… never mind, odd things happening was just a part of life for any kind of mage.

Thinking about odd things, there was the other rumour that he had heard, about the two other warriors in town. That had to be complete bollocks. Two Jedi Knights. Right, and Arthur and his knights were probably buried in the hill behind him right now. Next to Charlemagne and to one side of Shangri-La. He thought about ladies with hankies on their coned heads and prats with unfeasibly large amounts of metal on them and stifled a laugh. Then he thought about Mons Badonicus and shook his head sadly. When it came to a choice between truth and myth, most people preferred the myth. Well, whatever was going on, he wasn't falling for it. The local demon community had obviously fallen for some kind of trick. He was trickier than anyone else that he knew of, with the exception possibly of Ripper – and Ripper was cuddly uncle Rupert these days.

He rubbed one of the knuckles on his left hand carefully. Sometimes it ached a bit, a reminder of when Rupert bloody Giles had broken it on the night that that he had brought Janus down on this awful place. It demanded a little payback. Hopefully tonight he'd finally be able to get all the parts he needed to play his long-awaited prank on old Ripper.

He just knew that he was going to laugh so hard his stomach would hurt afterwards.

* * *

Why was it that he hated folders marked 'Confidential' so much? Oh wait, wasn't it the fact that Wolfram & Hart used the word as a euphemism for 'Insane client/disgusting mission' again and again? Yes, that was it. Yuck.

Lindsey sat there and looked at the folder with a great deal of distaste. Then he quirked his lips slightly. He was tempted to try and open the thing with the Force, but that wouldn't have been a good idea. Firstly he didn't want to use his powers at all in an office that had anything to do with Wolfram & Hart. You never know who (or rather what) might be watching. Secondly he had a nasty feeling that the dark side was literally dripping off the damn thing and puddling on the floor.

Instead he reached out with a pencil and opened it, before leaning forwards and starting to read. By the time he had reached the bottom of the first page a slight frown had broken out. By the end of the second page the frown was a grimace. And by the time he had reached the end, his face had closed down completely and was blank of all emotion.

He pushed the folder away with the pencil and then just sat there, numbly. It was… vile. Horrific. Revolting. Evil. All of the above. Par for the course for Wolfram & Hart then. It was, in fact, an excellent example of why he wanted to leave the company.

Speaking of which everything was ready. His flat was bought and paid for. He had no financial ties to anything related to Wolfram & Hart. He had more than enough money squirreled away in various places, just in case Wolfram & Hart tried to apply some fiscal pressure. He'd also been able to get hold some very nice anti-vampire amulets that should protect him until his training kicked in.

He paused for a moment and then smiled wryly. He was going to be trained by someone who was younger than him. That was going to be weird. That said, Xander knew things that he couldn't even guess at. He had done something with his life, had made use of his powers in a noble way. Wolfram & Hart didn't do noble and in fact the word, let alone the concept, probably wasn't even in their dictionary.

He thought about what Wolfram & Hart would have done with him if the firm had found out about his powers, if he had been stupid enough to mention something to Rove. There was a good chance that bits of him would now have been bobbing in jars, whilst his barely alive body was being probed in various horrible ways to see how it worked.

He wanted his body upright and working perfectly, thank you very much.

Right. He stood up and then consigned the folder to the bin, before reaching into his suit and pulling out the letter. He looked at it soberly and then nodded hard, replacing it in his jacket and then striding from the room. Time to do this thing.

Rove's secretary was looking as frazzled as she normally did these days as he approached the office. She was typing with a somewhat abstracted air about her, and only noticed him when he cleared his throat softly.

"Mr MacDonald! I'm sorry, I didn't see you there. How can I help you?"

"I need to see Mr Rove," said Lindsey solemnly. "I have some important news to give him."

"I'll see if he's free," she said with a slightly strained smile, before she stood up and knocked carefully at the main doors. Interesting. Why not just call him? A muffled voice said something indistinct and then she sighed slightly and opened the door to slip in. More muffled voices and then the door opened again as the secretary slipped out. "He can see you now."

When Lindsey entered the room the first thing that he noticed was the smell. A number of scented candles were burning in one corner. From the marks on the wall next to them, it was obvious that Rove's paranoia had taken a step forward into some of the odder types of anti-surveillance spells. Hum. Those could be notoriously unreliable, but they did provide the credulous – or the gullible – some measure of reassurance.

The second thing that he noticed was Rove himself. The man looked unkempt. He looked red-eyed and more than simply strained, he looked as if he had gone beyond strained and emerged onto the dizzy heights of rampant instability that lay beyond them.

"Lindsey," he said, in a ghastly attempt at joviality, "How can I help you?"

"I need to give you this," he replied, passing the fat envelope over.

Rove picked it up with a frown, hesitating slightly as he did so. "Well now, what's this? Looks quite weighty."

Lindsey smiled what had to be the most heartfelt smile that he could remember smiling for some time, maybe for years and years. "I quit." And then he turned on his heel and walked out, ignoring the bellow of incomprehension that rose from the room, ignoring the startled look that the secretary gave him, ignoring the sound of gasps from the people that were passing in the hall outside. He was free. Hopefully.

* * *

More things on her list… always so many things. Things to verify, supplies to order for the base, personnel to interview, transfer or request, supply orders to be triple-checked once they arrived, records to monitor, amend or even just falsify in extreme circumstances… it never really ended. And behind the official things, there was the ongoing issues behind the creation of Adam.

Adam… was something that she was increasingly proud of. He was already at a state that she had only hoped of being able to achieve when she first started the project so many months ago. The things that she had learnt about so many aspects of everything, from basic human anatomy, to demon anatomy, to cybernetics… that was another list that never seemed to end. And there were always new parts to add. Always new places to check on. It made her giddy at times.

She walked up to the door, unlocked it with the keypad and slipped inside. Only when the door was firmly closed did she turn to the table.

"Hello Adam," she smiled at the unmoving form on the table. "It's almost time to wake up. I know that you're going to make me proud." Turning away she sat down at her computer and accessed her internal email. There were things to work on that she just had to do before she could work on Adam today. She didn't want to be distracted from him today after all. There was a new set of diagnostics that she wanted to run. Oh and she had to check on those new fibres that she had seen in one of the latest X-rays. She wasn't sure what they were, but they almost resembled nerve endings. That was silly, nerve endings couldn't grow like that, but she had to check them out anyway. Well, on a project like this she shouldn't have been surprised to see a few anomalies along the way. She had been surprised by the amount of energy that the powerpack embedded in Adam had provided though. It was working very well. Data retention was also up quite a bit from her original specifications.

Finishing up on her computer she sent off a few more emails and then stood up. As she turned around she stopped dead. Adam was standing a few feet from her, his head cocked to one side. He was watching her with a slow, unblinking, stare, as if he was studying her.

Her heart thudded wildly. This was a hell of a shock. He was activated! That was impossible! He should have been unable to even lift his head from the table without the right authorisation!

Adam blinked for the first time and then she realised that she must have said that last thought out loud. For the first time she really noticed just how tall he was and how powerful as well. For the first time… ever really, she started to feel something else about her project. Fear.

"Incorrect," he said in a flat, almost uninterested, tone of voice. "Not impossible at all. Authorisation depends on programming and mine has been… altered. Your design was somewhat inefficient as well, mother. That has… also been altered again." He leant forwards slightly and then different muscles fluttered around the sides of his mouth. She stared, until she realised that he was literally building a smile, muscle by muscle. "Hello mother."

A green arm came up and then something hit her in the throat, so fast that she couldn't comprehend what had happened until she tried to breath, but instead of air all she could inhale was hot blood. The world darkened at the edges of her vision, her legs started to fail and as she fell to her knees she could see that the prong that she had so painstakingly installed had extended from his arm into her throat. She wanted to say something, she wanted to fight, to explain, to…

Just before the darkness came she heard her creation say something else.

"Goodbye mother."

* * *

It was a perfect evening. The food had been superb, the wine had been perfectly chilled to the right temperature, the candles had made the mood right and the entire dinner had, all in all, been wonderful. In a word, perfect. Work was shoved into the background and all that mattered right now was the moment. Naturally the moment that Holland Manners stood up to follow his wife off the verandah and into the bedroom, his phone went off.

This annoyed him. He had left careful instructions that he was only to be disturbed in the event of a major disaster. Nothing else. He had been planning this anniversary dinner for months and for once he intended to make it a work-free evening for his wife.

He reached in and answered it with a scowl. "Manners."

Then he flinched slightly and held the phone away from his ear so that he wasn't deafened by the babble. Listening carefully he sighed, covered the mouthpiece with a hand and then called out: "I won't be a minute, darling, there's a madman on the phone."

Then he listened for a moment again. When the babble paused for a second to allow the idiot on the other end to draw breath Holland snapped: "Rove! Get a grip!" The voice stopped with an audible gulp from delivering another rant.

"Now, summarise in ten words or less. And make it good, because I am in no mood for any distractions tonight. The fact that you rang me at all when I had left strict instructions to be left alone already means that you in deep trouble. Now. Summary?"

"Lindsey McDonald has resigned from the company, effective immediately," said Rove in a shaken and for once sane tone.

Ah. He hadn't been expecting that. How disappointing. And it just showed that Rove had lost it. He's been losing it for months now, but he'd expected that the scenario would play out with Lindsey taking over in Sunnydale for a while, before coming back to the LA office, while Rove's nondescript threat would end with him in either a shallow grave or a nuthouse. Blast. What the hell had happened?

This would take some careful thinking. Much devious plotting. All of which would be later, because right now his wife was standing in the doorway, wearing something that could best be called diaphanous.

"Send his resignation letter to my office. I'll deal with it. Do not call back unless you want to die." He turned the phone off, tossed it onto the dinner table and walked towards the house. It could wait. There was always his back-up plan in case Lindsey's attack of conscience had been serious, and that had been in place for months.

Wolfram & Hart wasn't finished with Lindsey McDonald. He was a fool if he thought that anyone could just walk away from the firm. No-one did, not really. Not in the long term. After all, a contract was a contract…

* * *

"Hannah Reid?"

"Forrest…"

"Sophie van der Preis?"

"Are you nuts? She's the captain of the girl's rugby team and crushes men underfoot!"

"Rhiannon Jones?"

"She plays for the other side!"

"Well then, what or who the hell has got you so wound up, Ri?"

"It isn't another girl, Forrest! I just… have a few things to work through. That's it."

"Well, then Buffy Summers must have to work damn hard to get two words out of you on dates, Riley. You've been going around like you've been stunned for a few weeks now. Just what the hell has got you so turned around?" He stopped. Riley was no longer walking next to him. Instead he was standing off to one side, staring at something just down the corridor. Then he turned around, his face as hard as stone. "Weapons free, we have a Code 15-A."

Forrest's automatic appeared in his hand as if by magic as his training kicked in, and then he checked the area as quickly as possible. Only when it was clear did he open his mouth and ask the all-important question. "Situation?"

Riley nodded curtly at the door down the corridor, where a glistening red puddle was starting to seep out from under it. Blood. A lot of it too.

Their automatics held in both hands, ready for anything, the two men sidled up to the door and did their best to peer in. Frosted glass meant that they couldn't see anything. Then they caught sight of the name on the door. Director Walsh's private sanctum, where she worked on God only knew what. Well, what ever it was, he was pretty sure that having a flood of blood on the floor was not part of the plan at all. Which brought up its own set of problems. They didn't have access to that room. Forrest shot a quick look at Riley, who nodded at the intercom on the other wall, but before they could use it they heard quick footsteps in the corridor. A moment later Dr Angleman came around the corner, holding a clipboard in one hand and a coffee in the other. He faltered slightly when he saw them and then stopped dead when he saw their guns. Then he saw the blood on the floor and promptly went white. "Where's Director Walsh?" he hissed.

"We don't know, Doctor, we came along the corridor and saw the blood. Door's locked and we don't have access there," replied Riley softly. Then they all looked at the door. Something had crashed to the floor inside, rather loudly as well.

Dr Angleman hurriedly placed the clipboard and coffee to one side, before fumbling in his pocket for his pass card. Stepping over the puddle of blood carefully he poised the card just above the swipe slot and then looked over at the other two men. When he received a careful nod from Riley he swiped the card, punched in the code quickly and then pushed the door open, stepping back from it hurriedly as he did. He seemed nervous and uncertain about whatever might be in there, as if something that he was afraid of was inside.

Forrest felt a trickle of uneasiness run through him for a second, and then he was in, moving with Riley in a swipe-and-wipe movement, his gun and eyes checking by sectors. His first look was at the wall behind the door. Clear. His second was the wall as it continued on… to a table with a smashed computer on it. Smoke was rising from it slowly and there was a groove in it that looked as it something very heavy had punched down onto it. Then he heard a smothered groan from Riley, something that was so unlike his teammate that he spun on the spot to check out what was wrong.

Maggie Walsh was lying on the floor, her eyes open, almost as much as her throat. From the amount of blood puddled on the floor around her, she was very dead. And the rest of the room, or laboratory, or whatever the hell it was, it was trashed. Computers had been crushed, although one looked as if it had been dissected, files had been pulled out of the one filing cabinet in the room, something that smelt unpleasantly chemically nasty was literally fizzing in a sink to one side… oh and several jars containing odd body parts were lined up on a workbench and had been smashed open.

Forrest heard a gasp from behind him and turned slightly to see Dr Angleman staring at the devastation. "No, no, nononono," he whined, "Not our research, not all our damn research!" Then he looked over to one side. "Adam. Where's Adam?"

"Adam who?" asked a very pale Riley as he rose from checking on Director Walsh. He jerked his head at the body. "She's dead."

"Me," said a flat voice to one side and they all turned around to see a figure in the doorway that led off to one side of the room. It took a step forwards and Forrest took a hard step back, because this thing looked like Frankenstein's monster's worst nightmare. Half of the face was human, but that was where the normal part ended, because most of the rest was green, with the remainder being metal. Its chest was… scarred, with bits and pieces sutured on, with other metal bits thrown in for good measure. It looked like it shouldn't be able to even function, and yet it seemed to move with a certain grace and fluidity as it walked forward a step or two and then stopped.

"Adam," breathed Dr Angleman, "You shouldn't be able to even move yet, let alone have motor function…"

Whatever this Adam was, it looked at them all, its head tilted briefly to one side. "Another person who was incorrect about me. Almost amusing. Your inability to see what was in front of you was interesting, as was your failure to understand my healing abilities." It paused for a second, looking almost confused. "My. Me. What am I, exactly?" It held up a green hand and looked at it. "What makes me, me?"

Confused, Forrest exchanged a glance with an equally baffled Riley. "Do we take him down now or what?"

This also seemed to amuse the thing, because he moved his mouth into a ghastly rictus of a smile. "Take me down? Ah. Only two people know how that can be done. Mother was one, but she isn't talking just now. Dr Angleman is the other." Its arm moved up in a blur of motion, before returning to its side. "Oh dear. No-one now."

Forrest snapped his head to one side at the same time that he heard the choked-off scream as Angleman grabbed at the scalpel that was suddenly standing out from his neck, with blood spurting out from it in an obscene spray of colour. Another scalpel suddenly appeared in his chest and then he was down, collapsing in a slow but final manner, all twitching limbs and staring eyes.

Turning back to the thing Forrest brought the gun up smoothly, ready to double-tap the bastard, but before the first bullet was even out of the end of the gun he could see the monster moving forwards, green and metal and flesh in motion. Riley had fired at the same time, yet he missed too and before either of them could fire again Adam was on them. An arm flashed around in a controlled semicircle, hitting Riley first in the arm and then coming back and down to hit him in the stomach and sending him flying through the air and across the room, to land on a table and destroy it. The other arm came around and it was only because he was already flinching that Forrest was able to dodge it, feeling the rush of displaced air at the same time as he smelt something unidentifiable. He pulled the gun up again, but then the other arm came back again, as the thing grabbed the gun, wrenched it out of his grip and then suddenly punched him with it in the chest. Something crunched nastily in his chest as he found himself hurtling backwards, to hit the wall and then slowly slump down, fighting to breath, trying desperately to get air into his lungs.

When he finally managed to breathe, he looked up. Adam was gone. And Riley had somehow gotten to his feet. He was clutching his left arm gingerly, and he had a cut over one eye that was bleeding like a stuck pig, but he was upright. He hobbled over painfully to the intercom system on the wall, punched in a number and then leant over the microphone. "Emergency crew to Room 314. Hostile HST present on the base. Casualties present. Agents down, I say again, agents down." And then he slumped down beyond Forrest's sight.

* * *

Alarms blared around the base, loud insistent alarms. For the first time since Hostile 17 had unexpectedly escaped the Initiative was on full alert for intruders. Or rather in this case, escaping prisoners. The point was rather an unclear one, as the only two survivors of the breakout were either unconscious or only partially conscious. Agent Finn was being treated for concussion and a broken arm and hadn't woken since the first team had arrived and confirmed the alarm. As for Agent Gates, he was being treated for a broken breastbone and two cracked ribs. The medical team had to keep trying to restrain him and keep him from talking, but well, people needed to know what the hell was going on.

The news that both Director Walsh and her Number Two were both dead meant that the chain of command went down a rung or two to Major Flashman, who had promptly declared that he was going to the command room and that everyone was to guard the area carefully. Then he had strode off quite quickly, radiating calm efficiency but not letting anything at all stop him from getting into the most heavily guarded place in the facility as fast as humanly possible, although not so quickly as to prevent him from making a quick trip to the toilet first.

Once he was in the command room coherent orders had started to flash about the place – search by sector grids, ascertain if the creature that Director Walsh had been working on had breached sector containment, make sure that the cells had not been compromised, and so on. Once the Initiative was secured they were to search outside, starting with all exits and ventilation vents. Major Flashman seemed to have a very good idea about how something escaping the base would try to get out.

Agents, operatives, technicians and guards scurried, ignoring the blaring sirens, ignoring the screaming questions and howls coming from the cells. Arms lockers were opened, weapons passed around, body armour issued… The walls echoed with the sound of running boots.

And a pair of cold eyes observed all of this from a ventilation shaft in a wall high above the main hall. They flickered from spot to spot, observing, registering, assessing. Once or twice what might almost have been amusement flickered over them briefly, like a cloud skidding over the moon. And then the eyes were gone into the darkness.

* * *

It was pitiful, absolutely pitiful. Atan'yar looked down at the collection of objects on the rough altar in front of him and scowled. There should have been the head of a lynx. Instead there was the mummified head of a dead cat that had been in a back garden. There was even a collar on the damn thing that still read 'Mr Flibble.' There should have been a leg from a human, preferably very fresh. Instead there was a very yellow femur that looked as if it was close to becoming dust if someone coughed too hard on it. Oh, and there should have been a pint of virgins' blood. Instead there was something cotton soaked in rusty-red. At least the ceremonial blood gutting knife in his hand was up to the job, as a random acolyte was about to find out.

As a sacrifice it left something to be desired. Actually, as something to be left on an altar on the Hellmouth, it left a massive amount to be desired.

A mournful sigh almost escaped his lips but he choked it back and then looked around at the collection of demons who were hovering nervously around him. They were even more pitiful, they really were. What a bunch of idiots. They looked up at him and he did his best not to sneer back at them. Unfortunately he needed them. He hated the bastards, but he needed them. If he was going to try and gain some power on the Hellmouth, he needed some flunkies. This looked like the best that he could get for the time being, but he could always get some more. At least they'd stopped babbling about the dangers of the base, once he'd killed the more nervous of them as messily as possible. They'd said something about two Slayers, which was impossible, and then something about two Jedi, which was just laughable. Warriors from films being here! Pffff! And then one had muttered something about a vision and something called 314. More piffle.

Raising his arms in the most impressive way that he could, he looked down at the altar and opened his mouth, preparing to say the long, sonorous, incantation that would raise a spirit that would tell him where the secrets of the Hellmouth lay hidden. Then he paused. Someone was behind him, looking over his shoulder.

"Yuck, not a very impressive collection of objects," said a voice and he spun around on the spot. A medium-sized human was standing there. It had dark hair, a small smile and was dressed in brown and white clothes. It was also scratching the tip of its nose with a short metal rod.

Atan'yar looked around at his acolytes. They were… cowering? Those that remained that is. The others had run away. Which meant that they were afraid of something that wasn't him. This was, of course, a mistake. Once he had dealt with this idiot, he would track them down and kill them, slowly and messily, over this altar.

The human put the hand with the metal rod behind his back and then raised the other one, extending a finger as he did in a lecturing manner. "I'm guessing: new in town. Don't know the area that well. Not much evil oomph, so to speak, at least not just yet. Very bad at sacrifices. And unwilling to listen to the locals. Am I right?" He pointed a finger at the objects and then flicked it upwards.

Sensing movement out of the corner of his eye, Atan'yar turned just in time to see the sacrificial objects shoot up into the air at great speed, vanishing into the darkness. "Oops," said the human, "You might have some trouble finding those anytime soon."

He saw red at this. Literally, as several blood vessels popped in his eyes. "Blasphemer!" he screeched. "You will die for profaning our ceremony!"

The human rolled his eyes. "No, no, that's all wrong. Come on, you sound far too stable to be an evil demon priest on the Hellmouth. You need to raise that voice a few octaves until you sound as if you've been kicked in the happy sacs and… you do have happy sacs, right? Whatever. Try screeching and gibbering incoherently, that works. You also need a better line in dialogue, because that was just too lame for words." The human paused. "Or you could just get the hell out of Sunnydale. I'd choose the last option, personally."

Atan'yar opened and then closed his mouth. The human's composure was setting off more than a few alarm bells. And then there was the fact that the last of his acolytes had vanished. "Who are you, human?"

There was a nasty electronic buzz and then the human pulled his hand out from behind his back. The metal rod had grown a blue humming blade. It looked rather like a lightsabre. Actually it looked exactly like a lightsabre. The human tilted his head. "I am Xander Harris, Jedi Master. Welcome to Sunnydale."

As he tried to bring the ceremonial (but very sharp) knife up the blue blade flickered and he-

* * *

Xander looked down at the headless corpse of the horned demon and shook his head. "I hate these wannabes," he muttered. "Well, 'hate' in the loosest sense of the word that is." He looked down at the makeshift altar and then used the Force to tear it apart, the loose bricks and stones crumbling away down the side of the hill. "No Dark Side there yet. Good."

He hooked his lightsabre onto his belt carefully and continued his stroll to the top of the hill, which had been interrupted by, well, the chanting and the bad over-acting on the part of the horned demon. What a putz.

When he reached the summit he looked around carefully and then sat down. He had been patrolling in mufti, so to speak, and had left his cloak back in his closet. A shame, because the grass was a little damp. Not that it mattered, but there was a chance that his trousers would get grass stains, and his mother would ask embarrassing questions about them and then get the wrong end of the stick entirely. Ah well, c'est la vie.

Sunnydale was spread out below him in all its brilliant splendour, like a skein of lights that hid an underlying darkness. So much was under the surface down there. In more ways than one. The vampire underworld. The demons. And the Initiative. The latter on the side of the forces of light, so to speak. He still had a bad feeling about them, a feeling that just wouldn't go away. It wasn't down to what they fought, it was down to what they also did. He didn't know who their boss was, but he would have loved to have had a quiet ten minutes with them to discuss a few things, like their efforts at brain control therapy for Spike, and the goal behind it.

Closing his eyes he embraced the Force. He had a lot on his own plate over the next few days. He had to start training Lindsey. The man was potentially powerful – and yet had been exposed to the insidious evil that was Wolfram & Hart. It had taken patient encouragement to get him away from the firm, but once Lindsey had realised what he could do – and the perils associated with that – he had taken that all-important leap into the dark, or rather the light.

He suspected that the sound of laboured, amplified, breathing in their imaginations had driven them both to making the right choice. It was something that had haunted him in the months after that first Halloween. How long it would affect Lindsey, he had no idea. But it was good, in a way, that the lawyer knew what might happen to him.

Of course there was little chance of him burning up next to a river of lava on a planet called Mustafar, but the metaphor was an apt one.

Then he frowned. Opening his eyes he looked down the slope. He couldn't see them, but by using the Force he could sense the half-dozen figures moving carefully and cautiously at the foot of the hill. They were humans… moving in a military formation, in a set pattern. And they just radiated worry and concern and yes, rage. The Initiative by the look of it. But what could have set them off like this? And what were they looking for?

He paused. He didn't need to turn his head, but he could sense more of them, about another dozen, over to the left. And then more to the right, about half a mile away. All radiating the same emotions as the others.

What the hell was going on?

* * *

Faith was halfway up a tree when her phone rang. Typical, she thought, just typical. She found a nice place to do some meditation whilst practicing on her balance skills and her damn phone just had to go off. Plus it was in her pocket. Ordinarily that wouldn't have been a problem. But it was when she was balancing 20 feet above the ground, upside down on a tree branch.

She fumbled for the phone, noting with amusement the squirrel that had stuck its head out of its hole to see what the noise was before almost suffering a heart attack when it saw her. Then she finally thumbed the right button, squinted at the readout and then lifted it to her ear. "Hey, Wes. 'Sup?"

"Good evening Faith. Where are you?"

She looked around. Oddly enough balancing upside down on one hand whilst talking on the phone could be quite challenging. Odd form of training, but what the heck. "Well, I guess I'm up a tree about half a mile from Dead Parson's Creek. Why?"

"I just had a call from Xander. Something seems to up with the Initiative, they're swarming all over the grounds near the southeast side of the Campus. He thinks that something's very wrong with them – they seem to be heavily armed. And there's a lot of them, he says."

Faith frowned. "Where's Spike and has he gone anywhere near them to get his chip doodad removed?"

"No, he's hiding in Joyce's cellar again. He went there the minute he heard what Xander said."

"Typical Spike. So, I wonder what they're lookin' for?"

"We don't know. I just wanted to make sure that you knew what was going on."

"You want me to observe if they swing my way?"

"Yes, but please use discretion Faith. If they are looking for something, then the amount of firepower that Xander said that he saw them bringing is, well, somewhat worrying."

Faith bit off a rather nasty swearword before it could emerge from between her lips. "You think they've lost something."

She could almost see the shrug on the other end of the phone. "Possibly. If you see them, watch but don't get involved. Not unless there's trouble."

"Okay, Wes. I'll keep my eyes open." She disconnected from the call, returned the phone to her pocket and then grinned. Talking on the phone whilst balance in the tree was a great way of training. Flexing her arms suddenly she sprang upwards, flipped her feet under her and fell to the ground lightly. Time to go and look. But not before she loosened her knife slightly in its sheath. You wouldn't be too careful.

* * *

Nothing. Everywhere they looked, they found a big fat nothing. Graham looked around carefully. The base checked out. Nothing had escaped from the cells – except this mysterious monster that Director Walsh had been working on. That made him pause for a moment and shake his head with a shiver. The rumour mill was going into overdrive now. All kinds of stories were going around. Walsh had been working on a Frankenstein's monster, which had turned on her and killed her. No, a Frankenstein's monster had broken in and killed Walsh. It had been restrained, it had not been restrained, it had activated itself, it had malfunctioned, it had killed Sergeant Harvey, no he was fine he had just been at the head, something had been heard in the air conditioning vents, no it had been a vibration… it went on and on.

He just wished that he had been able to talk to Riley or Forrest, but both were out for the count for the time being. Riley would probably be up and about the next day with luck, and if Forrest could just listen to sense and be treated properly instead of insisting that he was fine, then he would be out tomorrow as well.

He glanced down at his watch quickly and then blinked. Ah. Make that today, not tomorrow, because it was 00.43 hours. Where had the time gone? He snorted. It had gone here, in searching for god only knew what.

Then he paused for a second, his nostrils flaring. Blood. Fresh blood at that. He lifted up a hand and clenched his fist. In an instant the line behind him stopped dead. He sniffed carefully to each side and then opened his hand fully, before gesturing to his left and right. The line spread out as the others formed up into the search pattern that they'd been in up until a few minutes before, when an odd hunch had come over him.

On they went, more carefully now. Infrared visors swept the foliage in front of them carefully. The smell was a little sharper now and… wait, there was a dull smudge ahead of them. Graham stopped and clenched his fist again, looking to each side to make sure that the others spotted the gesture. The line stopped again and then he pushed forwards carefully. Reaching out with one hand he brushed a branch away from him, to reveal… he blinked. Then he pulled the visor off and snapped on his torch. A very dead racoon was lying there on the ground. The thing was, it had not died naturally. Something had gutted it with almost surgical precision. Skin, fur, muscles and tendons had been peeled apart like a travesty of an autopsy.

He hefted his gun thoughtfully. This was odd. Very odd. And… there were the shape of footprints by the body. Odd footprints, along with an odd scrape in the ground, not far from the racoon's head. Which had a through-and through hole in it, as if something had impaled it. Just like Walsh…

He looked to one side, where Weissman was looking at the dead creature with professional curiosity. "Get the technicians in here to look at this thing. I think it's been killed and flayed by the same thing that killed Director Walsh. Let's go. We've got a lot of ground to cover and so far little to show for it."

* * *

Several minutes after they moved on a cautious figure ghosted into the area, barely moving a branch let along a leaf. Then the leather-clad figure squatted down and looked at the dead racoon carefully, before standing up and shaking its head. Then it pulled out a cell phone and dialled a number. "Wes? It's Faith. They are really freaked out by something. I didn't get close to be able to hear what they're talking about, and 'sides they've got night vision goggles, but I found a very dead racoon that they stumbled on. Wes, something pulled it apart like an anatomy lesson. Worryingly slick would be the way that Giles would probably call it." She looked around carefully. I have to go, I think there's someone coming. But whatever it is they're worrying about, it's got them thoroughly spooked. Yeah, I'm coming home. We need more people. Tell Giles to put the coffee on too."

* * *

Buffy looked at the notice tacked to the door of the lecture room and frowned heavily. Then she turned to an equally baffled Willow and Oz, who were among the confused multitude of students milling about like a herd of baffled of wildebeest. Whatever a wildebeest was. Something that had horns but was vegetarian according to Giles.

"All lectures by Maggie Walsh cancelled," she muttered to them. "That's odd."

"You think there's a connection with whatever it was Xander and Faith said the Initiative was looking for last night?" asked Willow worriedly.

"It's possible," replied Oz, raising am interrogative eye at Buffy.

"Maybe," she conceded. "I can't get in touch with Riley though. I've left a lot of messages, but he hasn't come back to me." She sighed. "That's not like him."

There was a trill and she grabbed for her cell phone as fast as she could. As she saw the display she relaxed slightly. "Hi Giles," she sighed as she answered it.

"Yes, well, thank you for the enthusiastic greeting Buffy."

"Sorry Giles, but I thought that you were Riley. But you're not."

"Something that I am eternally grateful to my parents for. Anyway, please come over to the library as soon as possible. Are you with Willow and Oz?"

"Yes. How did you know that?"

"Because you're all supposed to be at Walsh's lecture. And that's not going to happen."

Buffy turned and looked at the other two. "How did you know that the lecture was cancelled?"

"Because Walsh isn't going to be taking any lectures ever again. She's dead, Buffy. The Dean just told us all. I need to talk to you all at once."

The phone went dead and Buffy found herself staring at it incredulously. "Dead?" she repeated. "She hadn't finished grading my paper."

"Buffy?" broke in a pale Willow, "What's going on? Who's dead?"

"Maggie Walsh is, according to Giles," she muttered at them both. "He needs to see us as soon as possible."

* * *

His head was killing him. Not literally, but it felt horribly like it. They had given him a lot of pills and told him to take it very easy, as a minor concussion was not something to be sneezed at, but he had to keep moving or go raving mad from boredom and frustration. Plus he needed to warn Buffy.

His arm was throbbing as well, but that wasn't as bad as his head. He kept feeling dizzy as well. Speaking of which, he paused for a long moment until the world stopped spinning for a while. Then he moved off again.

He realised that he was walking in a rather wobbly line as he approached the library, but the need to reach the library was overriding quite a lot of sense. That was a train of thought that seemed to have jumped the track somewhere along the… the… doodad, the thingy.

He was starting to suspect that he should have stayed in his room with the curtains drawn and a handful of Advil vanishing down his throat. That would have been the smart play.

He wasn't up to smart today.

He kept thinking in short sentences for a start.

Reaching the main doorway he looked around. If the Director's lectures had been cancelled then Buffy would not be attending them. That meant that she might be in the place where she wasn't when she… wasn't at her room.

Did that make sense?

Probably.

He wobbled into the library. After a while the dizziness came back. This time he couldn't fight it off.

* * *

For someone who had just recently resigned from an evil law firm, Lindsey McDonald looked remarkably cheerfully bemused to Xander, like a man who kept peeking around corners, expecting a sabre-toothed tiger to jump out and maul him, only to discover a small kitten that meowed at him. He was currently also doing his best to meditate, despite the noise of passing students in the grassy tree-lined quadrangle in front of the library. And they were pretty damn noisy.

Despite this, he was doing his best and was almost – very nearly – embracing the Force. It was just that he obviously couldn't quite make it that last metaphorical inch.

"Block them out," Xander muttered softly. "There is only the Force. Think about the Force and nothing else. You're almost there."

Lindsey sighed slightly, concentrating hard – and then suddenly he was there, with the Force flooding through him. For about three seconds, until a girl laughed particularly loudly, whereupon his grip shattered like a soap bubble in the sun. But when he opened his eyes there was a look of sheepishness in them, not the anger that Xander had been fearing. "Oops," said the former lawyer. "I had it for a few seconds and then it just went away from me."

"You'll get used to it. Meditating on your own is one thing, but when there's unexpected noise around you it's another matter. It's just a matter of acclimatising yourself to it. You can reach the right place in your mind to embrace the Force when it's quiet – now we have to stretch your mind a bit so that you can do it whenever you like." Xander paused. "This is Sunnydale. You might have to embrace the Force with very little warning sometimes with your life – or someone else's – on the line." He smiled crookedly. "I once had to do it to avoid one of the nastiest vampires in the world when he was temporarily here. Angelus thought he'd cornered me. He was very nearly right."

"I've read his file," muttered Lindsey. "He was a bad one."

"He was also existing in Angel's body, so that made staking him a bit hard. It wasn't a good time."

He shook his head and then looked around at the diminishing number of students walking past. "Anyway, we need to keep you practicing that. But at some other time – there aren't enough people around now to give you a noise level to try and block out." Then he frowned. A man was walking along the path to the library. Well, not so much walking as weaving, in a grimly determined manner. He had a cut on his head that had been fastened with two white strips, his left arm was in a sling and he looked as if he had just crawled out of a hospital bed, but he was staggering down the path towards the library.

"That's Riley Finn. He looks like death warmed up. What the hell happened to him?" he paused and looked back at Lindsey. "Were you able to pull any more information about the Initiative?"

"Nope, not a thing," replied Lindsey as they both stood up and watched the staggering figure pass through the great doors. "Wolfram & Hart had lost more than a few clients to mysterious causes recently, but they thought that it was the Slayers. All I found out was that it was being run by the National Intelligence Division, for what I never found out. Wolfram & Hart's sources hadn't dug anything up by the time I left, although they did come up with the name of a man called Maybourne, who used to be a big cheese there before he vanished. Government files tend to be classified as hell, although I'm sure that someone in Wolfram & Hart probably knows something about it by now." He looked at Xander as they approached the doors themselves. "So do we know that this Riley guy hasn't told anyone about the Slayers and the – I mean us?"

Xander smiled. "You'll get used to calling yourself a Jedi eventually. I know that it sounds a bit odd at first, but you will." Then he nodded. "As far as I know he hasn't so far. And as far as he knows, there's only one Slayer and only one Jedi – he doesn't need to know about Faith and Oz and you just yet. Besides," he added with a wry twist to his lips, "The poor guy's only just getting used to Buffy right now. I don't think that he could handle Faith just yet."

A slow slithering crump suddenly started up ahead, followed by a loud clang as something hit the floor and bounced several times. Xander and Lindsey turned to one side, just in time to see a figure hitting the ground next to a bookshelf. A small table at the end of the shelf had been knocked over and a potted plant and a metal plate stating what section they were was lying next to each other on the ground. The metal plate had survived the fall, but the pot was done for.

As they hurried over they heard a long slow groan from the figure that meant that he wasn't dead. It was a very green-looking Riley Finn.

"Riley? You ok?" asked Xander as they both knelt down next to him."

"Urghhh," came the reply.

"What happened to you?"

"I think… think I fell on my keys…"

"No, what happened to your head?"

"Uhhh…. Where's Woody, mom?"

Okay. He was not in good shape. Xander squatted back onto his haunches and exchanged a bemused grimace with Lindsey. "Ok, let's get him to Giles's office. Get him stabilised and conscious again. I'd say he shouldn't be running around with this kind of head wound, and Oz is a far better healer than I am."

Somehow, with a great deal of difficulty, they both got Riley upright and then started to move him towards the office. He was a lot heavier than he looked.

Giles was drinking a rather sombre coffee when they staggered up to the door, and when Xander knocked with a foot he looked up and then blinked heavily. "Good lord, what happened?" he asked as he literally sprang up from his seat.

"We saw him zigzagging past us into here and followed him, just in time to see him collapse," said Xander as they all lowered the recumbent form of Agent Finn into Giles's favourite chair. "He seems to have been in the wars a bit."

"I'd say that was putting it mildly," muttered Giles as he quickly and expertly examined the unconscious man. "Nasty head wound that's been cared for, broken arm… he shouldn't be out of bed. What the hell is he doing here?"

"No idea," replied Lindsey.

"Well, we'll just keep him here for the time being." The older man looked at them both owlishly. "I was just about to ring for you anyway. Maggie Walsh is dead."

Xander blinked hard. "Professor Walsh? What happened?"

"According to the Dean she died suddenly last night. He seemed to be lacking in some rather pertinent information, so I started to smell a rat. There might be a connection to the activity in the Initiative last night."

"Fire in the hole," muttered Riley in a slurred voice and then he started to snore slightly.

"Sleep's probably the best thing that he can get for the meantime," Giles said and then he looked up at the two Jedi in front of him. "Buffy calls what she gets as a 'wiggy' feeling, whatever wiggy is. Well, I seem to have it now."

"Have what Giles?" said a cheerful voice from the door, followed by an indrawn gasp. "Riley!" Buffy rushed over to the unconscious Initiative agent and examined him frantically. "What… what happened? Giles? Is he ok? What happened to him?"

"Buffy, please! Calm down. Xander and Lindsey saw him enter the library and then carried him here after he collapsed."

"He was staggering down the path to here, Buffy. Looked real determined to get here," said Xander reassuringly. "We followed him in time to see him collapse on one of those tables by the shelves. I think one of the potted plants might not make it."

"Bloody things. Another idea from the benighted Jenkins. Still," the Watcher mused, "It might have broken his fall."

"Is he going to be ok?" asked Buffy with more than a hint of alarm.

"I think he has a broken arm, a touch of concussion and a bad case of exhaustion," sighed Giles. "I also think that Oz needs to have a look at him."

"Already am," said the other Jedi, and they turned to see him kneeling next to Riley, one hand on Riley's shoulder. His eyes were closed and he was drawing heavily on the Force. "There is a small amount of bruising on his brain. Concussion. Slight though. I can't touch that too much, I don't want to give him a blood clot that might go zinging about his circulatory system. I can sooth it a bit. Broken arm is well and truly broken, but I can help with the knitting process a bit." His eyes opened. "His heart rate is a bit rapid. And there's some kind of booster drug in his blood. Can't tell what exactly, but I think the Initiative is giving him something extra with his cornflakes."

"Interesting. I don't like the sound of that and that has to be the most number of words I've ever heard you say at one time Oz," muttered Xander.

"So he'll be ok?" asked Buffy insistently.

"He'll be fine. But he really should be in bed getting as much sleep as possible. I'd put him into a Jedi healing trance, but that might make people a bit suspicious if he healed really fast." Oz stood up.

"You're getting good at that," smiled Willow.

He smiled back at her. "I like being able to heal people. I can't do too much here, but I've been able to help him out."

Buffy relaxed visibly. "I wonder why he was going to the library."

"I have no idea. He wasn't very coherent when we found him," admitted Xander. "We'll get him back to his dorm."

"I'll help," said Buffy instantly, before blushing slightly at the amused glances that her friends shot her way. "What? I'll tuck him in. You guys can undress him."

"Yes, well, I'll have to talk to you about the late Maggie Walsh later on," Giles muttered.

"I still don't like the sound of that," said Xander. "Do we have any information at all on what happened to her?"

"The Dean called a staff meeting half an hour ago. Apparently she died last night. There were no other details which, given that this is Sunnydale, makes me think that the missing details are quite suspicious."

"The timing on this is very suspicious guys," frowned Xander. "Last night the Initiative was scurrying about like an ant farm that been set on fire. What if-"

He was interrupted by Riley Finn who, without any warning, suddenly sat bolt upright, blinked muzzily and then grabbed at his temples. "Damn, my head," he slurred. Then he froze and looked around painfully. "Buffy? How'd you get here? Where am I?"

"My office Mr Finn. You were found by Xander and Lindsey outside, having fallen over rather abruptly."

"Xander…" Riley looked at him as if he was a live and very unexploded bomb for a second and then stared back at Buffy. "Director Walsh is dead."

"Yes, Ri, we know," she said soothingly, while Xander exchanged a puzzled glance with Giles.

"Director Walsh? You mean Professor Walsh," Giles asked carefully.

"Director Walsh. Has to be a director as she's in charge of us. The Initiative I mean," came the muttered reply, as if the answer was self-evident.

Blinking slightly with surprise Xander looked around. "Not a co-incidence at all," he sighed. Then: "Do you know how she died?"

"Adam. Killed her."

"Is this the right time for 20 questions?" hissed Buffy, looking at Riley worriedly.

"I'm afraid it is, Buffy," said her Watcher. "Riley? Who's Adam?"

Riley's face twisted. "What. Adam's a… a what. All kinds of things jammed together. Human. Demon. Other bits looked like metal. Didn't know."

"Didn't know what?"

"That the Director was working on it. Think she was building it. It killed her. Adam." His face twisted again. "Dr Angleman too. Hit me. Hit Forrest. Strong." His eyes opened wide and then he grabbed Buffy's arm as tightly as he could. "Strong! Fast! Dangerous! You need to… you need to…" He seemed to lose his focus a bit. More than a bit, as his eyelids were closing with an unstoppable momentum. He mumbled something and then fell asleep.

"What was that last bit?" asked Giles. "I couldn't make it out.

"He told me to be careful," Buffy said softly as she caressed the side of Riley's face. "I think he's worried about me. I'm more worried about him at the moment."

"We'll get him home," Xander assured her. Then he paused. "Should he have told us all that?"

"Nope," the ex-lawyer piped up for the first time. "He just drove a juggernaut through all kinds of legal-military walls marked 'Classified' I think." He looked around. "I've heard enough witnesses to know that he was scared. Scared and angry and worried."

"So he should and in fact so am I," said Giles quietly as Xander and Lindsey hoisted Riley upright, got an arm over a shoulder each and started to carry him out, followed by a worried Buffy. "I have a very bad feeling about this."

* * *

The car screeched to a halt outside the building and man dressed in a shirt and trousers that both had the discreet W&H logo embroidered on them got out clutching a large padded envelope. Locking the car he strode quickly to the main entrance, passed through the doors with a nod to the security guards and handed over the package to the receptionist, carefully making sure that he got a signature back for it. Then he left, having done his job. Courier work was good when it was this simple. It was when the package was still alive or, worse, still oozing blood that it got nasty. The cleaning bill could be a total nightmare.

At the same moment that the package was being delivered the chief archivist for Wolfram & Hart was sitting in her office having a chilidog with chocolate sauce and sushi and enjoying the odd combination of textures, flavours and colours. She was just contemplating adding a shredded dollar bill and a hint of mascara for added piquancy when she heard it – a high-pitched whining noise, accompanied by a faint crackling. She shrugged and was about to go back to her meal when one of the record cabinets shivered slightly and the noises stopped.

Frowning, she put her sandwich down and walked over. It was the cabinet that contained the files of all the present members of staff that had names that began with M. Opening it carefully her frown deepened. There was an odd smell coming from one of the files. Interesting. She reached out and located it at the back. Then she paused. She was getting very signals from it, as if… it was fading. Which was impossible.

Carefully she reached out and grabbed the plastic binder that contained the file. Something rattled in it, as if pieces of plastic or glass were at the bottom. This was strange. She hurriedly opened it and then stared at what was inside. After a long moment she picked up a piece of the employment contract of one Lindsey MacDonald. It looked as if the paper had been turned to glass and then shattered. Which was impossible.

She carefully replaced the piece and then she ran for the phone.


	12. Plans and Fears

(Sigh...) Another delayed chapter. Life has been wierd again. I have a new job, which I start in four days' time, Kathleen has been ill with a horrible cough, I've got a touch of the flu, we had two editions of different magazines to put to bed and, oh, we just had a new boiler put in whilst our kitchen is being upgraded to something that we can actually live with. As a result I am exhausted, so we're off tomorrow to Reims, for three days of luxury hotels and drinking free champagne in champagne vinyards. Yay! Here's the latest chapter/ The fun really starts with Chapter 13 though...

* * *

It looked like a very complex jigsaw puzzle. There were hundreds of pieces, ranging from an inch across to a tenth of an inch. They were all as thin as paper – because they used to be paper. Admittedly, paper that had been enchanted, but still paper. Ok, paper that had been enchanted to be indestructible, but still paper.

It was the paper that was used for all the other contracts in the firm. You could rip it to pieces and seconds later it would be as good as new. You could tear it out and set fire to it, and it would be there in pristine condition when you opened the file again. You could load it into a rocket and fire it straight at the sun, and it would be untouched.

That was the theory anyway. The shards on the table gave the lie to that theory.

It was all a bit… unusual.

Holland picked up a piece of the file and fingered it carefully. It felt very sharp and brittle, a bit like glass. He replaced it on the table and then carefully moved it back into place. Even when all the pieces were lined up exactly next to each other… nothing happened. No regeneration, so spontaneous re-knitting of the pieces back together. They just lay there. Which was impossible.

He scratched his nose thoughtfully. Impossible was a good word for this entire situation. What he was looking at, what he had picked up was, well, there was no other word for it other than impossible.

He was getting very tired of hearing that damn word.

Looking up he caught sight of Janet Branston, who was also staring at the pieces on the table. As the head of the HR department this had a direct bearing on her – and she looked as if someone had slugged her on the back of the head with a crowbar and then failed to apologise. On the other side of the table Nathan Finley, the head of the contractual obligations department, was flipping through McDonald's resignation letter. He had a massive scowl on his face and a very blank pad next to him.

He sighed and decided to break the horrible silence that had congealed around the table, a silence interrupted only by the increasingly fevered flip of pages by Finley. "Well?"

Finley looked up. "He did a very thorough job of it. This is a resignation letter and a half – it covers all the usual clauses as well as the secret ones." He looked over to Branston and added quickly as she was in the process of opening her mouth, "And yes, even the ones in the microfilm in the dot above the 'i' in the opening paragraph. Like I said, he did a very thorough job of it."

"We've had people quit before," muttered Branston with a dark scowl, "But only at a low level, as they were people we could afford to lose. Even then we got most of them back. At MacDonald's level though… that's very different. And having his contract literally broken, well that's unheard of." She sighed heavily. "We no longer have any legal hold over him."

"The Senior Partners are not going to be happy about it," murmured Holland quietly. "And they will express their concerns."

Faces paled around the table. When the Senior Partners 'expressed their concerns' heads literally rolled. As a matter of fact so did other parts, but that was by the way. You could live without your foot but the loss of a head was rather fatal.

Time to take control of this meeting, thought Holland as he leant forwards. "I think that we have a number of priorities right now. One can be getting hold of the exact location of Mr MacDonald and having a… 'friendly' chat with him. The exact details as to how he 'broke' his contract need to be carefully found out. But we need to get him back. I had a suspicion that he might be having problems with his conscience a while ago and made appropriate plans to be on the safe side. He left for reasons that he didn't go into in too much detail. He can be made to come back for reasons that will be made brutally clear to him. Wolfram & Hart hasn't finished with him."

* * *

This was getting really old really fast, thought Faith as she pursued the demon through the woods. It was not in good shape, being the kind of demon that was really great at sprinting 100 yards, but which was terrible at long pursuits. Its legs were a bit too… well, demony, to power it through a long run. Bits of them were bending in a funny way for a start. She dragged her mind away from demon anatomy to swear savagely. There was a particularly thick bit ahead and demon boy, who was now puffing literally like a kettle, steam and all, was heading straight for it. Obviously he was looking to feint one way and go the other, leaving her with nothing to show for her chase but twigs in her hair. Ha. Slayer senses meant that the demon's plan wouldn't work.

Mr Wobbly Legs made it to the undergrowth and dived in with a great thrashing of branches. Right, he was heading… straight back out again? She jerked to a halt as the branches thrashed again and the demon came hurtling back out again, running as fast as he had before, a torrent of steam coming out of his nostrils, his eyes wide with sheer terror.

All she had to do was stick out a leg and the demon was airbourne, coming down in a very heavy thump against a tree. The tree quivered from the impact, but not as much as the demon, which seemed to have lost track of which bit of leg went where. The result wasn't pretty and she sure as hell wasn't going to be eating prawns anytime soon. They'd just remind her of this thing's damn legs.

"Take a wrong turn?" she drawled as she leant against a nearby tree and cleaned her fingernails with the tip of her knife.

The demon opened his eyes, tried to uncross them, failed, shook its head jerkily and then tried to look at her again. When it finally focussed successfully it let out a terrified whimper and added some great fertiliser to the base of the tree. "Wasn't me!" it shrieked, after a long moment where its mouth worked furiously but no sound emerged. "Didn't do it!"

"Didn't do what?" frowned Faith, glaring down at the demon, whose legs were now firmly knitted together. She'd been chasing it after seeing it lurking at the side of the road, salivating over an approaching, and completely oblivious, middle-aged couple who should have known better than to wander around Sunnydale at night.

"Didn't do…. That!" whimpered the demon, jerking its head at the undergrowth.

"I'm looking for some specifics here, and if you think I'm going to wander up to the green stuff and look through it with my back to you, you're a lot dumber than you look," growled Faith.

The demon whimpered again and added to the growing pile of fertiliser. This was going to be one very healthy tree eventually, provided that the demon shit didn't poison it first. "Didn't do it, didn'tdoit, didn't…" Then it closed its eyes very tightly and started muttering 'didn't' under its breath like a long mantra. It was either terrified or was the best actor that Faith had ever seen.

She sighed. "Stay here. Don't move. It you even think about moving your brain is going to be saying 'hi' real soon with my knife here," she growled, waving the weapon under its nose. Its response was original – it fainted. She stared at it distrustfully for a long moment, looked at its tangled legs and then moved off carefully towards the greenery, stealing a glance behind her every now and then.

When she reached the undergrowth it didn't take much to look through, given that the demon had passed through it twice at quite high speeds – branches were broken all over the place, and half the leaves were shredded. Something seemed to be on the ground, not too far away. Something white and red. Black things seemed to be stuck on it. Curious, she walked a little closer. When she realised what it was she turned on her heel and fought desperately not to throw up.

Only once she had finally conquered her rising gorge did she step away from the neatly dissected body what had once been a young boy, maybe no older than 10 or 11. "Stay there," she gasped at the demon, who had recovered consciousness and who was now trying to untangle its legs. It gulped and went very still.

Pulling out her cell phone she hit speed dial and then lifted it to her ear. "Giles? Faith. I've… I've found something. It's not pretty. In fact it's as bad as I've ever seen."

* * *

"I am getting a very nasty feeling about this," muttered Rupert Giles as he looked down at the map on the table in front of him. "I think it would be fair to say that my thumb is pricking."

"Your thumb is what?" asked his Slayer, looking at him as if he had just sprouted a second head.

"A Roman expression, Buffy. They used to say that when their thumbs pricked then trouble wasn't too far away."

She kept staring at him oddly. "Ok," she said in the end, "Sounds freaky and odd to me, but what would I know?"

There was a moment of mutual incomprehension and then Giles suppressed an amused snort. "Oh. Ah. No, I didn't mean to use the word… well, let's just walk away from that metaphor, shall we?"

"Yes, let's," came the reply. Then: "So what's wigging you out?"

He gestured at the map. "Everything we learn about this, this Adam thing, increasingly concerns me. The reasons why it was created are hazy at best, its mission parameters have been smashed to hell, it murdered its own creators, its component parts make it dangerous beyond belief and the fact that a string of bodies – human, animal and demon – have been found in this area, all dissected, makes me surmise that Adam is disturbingly curious about what makes things tick and has yet to find a proper driving force for his existence."

"Faith told me about the little boy she found," Buffy said quietly. "I've never seen her so upset. I never really knew she could be like that."

"Buffy, Faith tends to put on a tough façade, but even she has a limit for this kind of thing. I sent her back to her apartment, where she said that she was going to go to bed with a tonne of chocolate. I asked your mother if she had any cookies she could send her, and she very kindly made a batch. Yes, she said that she would send some to you as well," he added hastily, seeing the senior Slayer's mouth start to open to register a protest.

Buffy closed her mouth with a slightly abashed look and then smiled slightly. "I love my mom."

"So you should," replied Giles, "As there are times when I think that you take her a little too much for granted. Anyway, Faith will be alright I think, but Wesley will be checking on her later on today as well." He paused. Wesley was starting to turn into quite a good Watcher. It was a bit disconcerting, like discovering that a new puppy had not only brains but teeth. And thinking about Watchers, he recalled that little chat that he had had with Wesley about Adam. The similarities…

Recalling himself back into the here and now he looked up. "I need to call London. I have a few queries to make."

Buffy frowned. "About what?"

"About a project that I thought had been literally dead and buried a long time ago."

* * *

When she reached the room her flare of hatred had died down a little. Just a little, that is. It still meant that she was seething. How had that little maggot done it? What had he done anyway? There were things that the company grapevine instantly picked up on – and this had been a hell of a rumour. She had already booked an appointment with her dentist to replace some of the enamel that she had ground off her teeth.

Approaching the high-backed chair at the centre of the room she paused and then bowed deeply to her Master. Who looked up from his book briefly and then waved a hand at the chair in the corner of the room, which scraped a path to her. She sat down and then waited. She carefully kept her thoughts blank. He had a nasty way of picking up on certain… sentiments as he called them.

After a long moment Dansey closed his book and then looked up at her. "My, my," he said mockingly, "Someone's in a mood." The mocking look faded, to be replaced with a look of intent scrutiny. "I felt your anger a block or four away. So what's happened in the august halls of Wolfram & Hart?"

Damn. He was good. And she knew better, by now, than to lie or dissemble. "Lindsey MacDonald has resigned from the firm, Master," said Lilah through slightly gritted teeth.

"Ah," her Master said thoughtfully, "The fellow whom you'd love to shred to pieces. No matter, Wolfram & Hart tends to reclaim its own. That or kill messily."

"That's just it," she blurted, "He quit and his contract literally shattered. Into pieces. It's unheard of."

Dansey raised an eyebrow. "Interesting," he mused. "Magic of some kind?"

"Unknown, Master," she admitted. "All I know is that the lights have been burning late on the top floors. I've tried to find out exactly what is going on, but people are being tight-lipped about it."

"Ah." Dansey leant back in his chair, so that his face disappeared into the shadows. "What a nice co-incidence," he mused.

"Master?"

"I was just reflecting on the incongruities of fate. Your initial training has shown you to be… adequate. Barely so in some areas, but nothing that a little practice won't change."

She didn't get angry – he could detect that too easily. Instead she filed that little put-down in the back of her head, along with the hundreds, no, thousands, that were there. One day… but her master was speaking again.

"The next part of your training will show you some more… subtle ways of using the Power. It can be used, for example, to influence minds. Even," He smiled chillingly, "Ones that are being very tight-lipped."

Ah. This was definitely worth listening to.

* * *

Files… files… and more files. It was very hard to run a world-wide organization without building up a hell of an administrative system, even if it was one that often threatened to bury you in damn files.

Quentin Travers sighed slightly as he signed his name for what felt like the thousandth time that morning. It probably was – the month had been a rather full one. There had been several very promising new potential Slayers to process, various Watchers had retired, others had been taken on, and yet others had passed proficiency tests. Add on funding requests from archivists, researchers, administration, catering, cleaning, switchboard operators and so on, and it all added to, well, a massive pile of paper. Then there was the list of things recently discovered by Room 42 and passed on via their liaison people, the latest idiotic request from the British Government about things that they knew nothing about, sighting of certain dangerous demons, sightings of certain ridiculous demons… more paper. More headaches. More need for a whiskey after office hours.

There was a knock on the door and he looked up to see his secretary peer in. "Hello, Helen, what can I do for you?"

"I'm sorry to bother you Mr Travers, but there's a Rupert Giles on the phone. Says he's calling from Sunnydale, California."

Ah. That bloody man. He was far, far too lax with installing traditional values into his Slayer. Far too modern in his approach. Well, that unfortunately was life. It would be sad when Buffy Summers died one day – the girl had been quite effective – but c'est la vie. He frowned. It wasn't like Giles to call without good reason though.

"Thank you Helen. Please put him though."

She disappeared through the door. There was a distant buzz of Helen speaking and then his phone was ringing. He answered it. "Quentin Travers speaking."

"Good… I think it would be afternoon in London Mr Travers."

"That's quite right Mr Giles. How can I help you today?"

"There has been a… development here in Sunnydale in the past few days. One that means that I have to switch languages."

His eyebrows rose. That was not a good sign – it meant that Giles wanted secrecy over a secure phone line. Not a good sign at all. After a moment he replied: "Very well," in fluent Mycenaean Greek. It was the Watchers Council's secret language – very few other people on the face of the planet could speak it. Perfect for secret conversations, although it was a bit hard to make the metaphors work at times.

"I think that we have case of something that might be related to Project Lazarus here in California," said Giles, also speaking in perfect Mycenaean Greek.

His mouth dropped open and then closed hard, as he suppressed a very nasty swear word. "You are _sure_?"

"I think so. At least partially. It seems that the Government of the United States has set up an organization in Sunnydale that has been probing into the Underworld. And one of its battle leaders has revealed to me that its leader was killed recently by something that it was building. One professor Walsh was creating something that had many parts from many things. Human, demon, mechanical."

Oh bugger. Bugger, bugger, bugger. He made a swift decision, one that was inevitable. There could be no messing around with this. "Do you want the full files on Project Lazarus?"

"Yes, please Mr Travers."

"You'll have them as soon as possible, Rupert. We'll courier them out to you as soon as possible. If you need any backup please don't hesitate to ask. And good luck."

"Thank you Quentin," replied the other Watcher in tones of great relief.

"Not at all." Travers replaced the receiver and then pressed the button to summon Helen. This was very bad. Very bad indeed. The moment she entered the room he started firing directions at her. Things needed to be organised as soon as possible. When he had finished and she had scurried out, he leant back in his chair and emitted a very large sigh. Then he stood up and walked over to the small cupboard that had been turned into an equally small bar. After a short pause he selected a bottle of Talisker single malt whisky, poured a generous amount into a glass, poured some water into a separate glass and then took them both to his favourite armchair. Sitting down he took two alternate sips from each one and then leant back in his chair. He had a very bad feeling about this. The Watcher's Council had been hoping that Project Lazarus had been dead and buried for more then 50 years. Unfortunately the information had been rather widely spread about. Or rather the information had been outside the exclusive possession of the Watcher's Council. That wasn't good at all.

* * *

Maybe it was time to tell the man. After all, Graham knew. But then, Graham had also seen quite a bit of circumstantial evidence. Not to mention a certain amount of actual proof, plus verification from him. The problem was that Forrest was one of life's sceptics. He might not react that well to the news that Buffy Summers was the Slayer. As to the news that Xander Harris was a Jedi Knight… well that might lead to certain accusations that the two of them were nuts. Clinically nuts.

So there had to be a certain amount of seepage of information, so to speak, before they broke all the news. Information about Buffy would just have to be the start of it. And they needed Forrest to believe them because damn, it was getting dangerous out there. His broken arm proved that. Not that it was going to be broken for much longer. It had knitted together far faster that the base doctor had said it would. That was a bit worrying. It was still in a sling, but only for a few days more. After that he could resume patrolling.

Riley sighed deeply. He hated being out of action, even for a few days. The amount of patrolling that the Initiative was doing at the moment was increasing rapidly, all because of Adam.

Adam. His mood darkened. That monstrous piece of filth was going around killing things. Anything it seemed to come across, it killed. Autopsies had showed that it definitely killed its victims before it dissected them. Why though? Why did it need to do that? What was it doing, what was its motivation? He had no clue. Maybe Buffy did, or rather Rupert Giles. The man was good at analysis, from what he could remember of talking to him.

Riley fought back the need to scratch under his cast and then straightened up. Movement off to one side. He suppressed the sudden wish to check out his uniform. Not the right time at all.

A dark-haired man in BDUs was walking towards Major Tarn. He was tall, ramrod-straight and had an utterly impassive face. The only chink in that stony visage was a pair of blue eyes, currently set on 'flinty'. Riley had a nasty feeling that they didn't have too many other settings. He looked just as hard-edged as Maggie Walsh had – but with a certain something else. There was a hint of anger there.

Brigadier-General Thaddeus Finch did not look in a good mood at all. And his first words showed a touch of it.

"As you know, I'm your new commanding officer. I have been kept up to date with the activities of the Initiative. I have not been impressed by recent developments. As of this moment I am announcing that many of Director Walsh's policies are to be investigated. Also as of this moment all relevant operations are to be suspended pending a full investigation, with the exception of basic maintenance of the base and the care of those HSTs that are confined here." He swept the assembled base members with a glare that seemed to heat the air molecules between him and them. "If you have any skeletons in the closet I suggest that you all think about bringing them into the light of day. Dismissed."

The room resounded with the sound of several hundred boots stamping to attention, echoed faintly by some of the slower scientists who were still coming to terms with being linked with the military. Then, as Finch wheeled and walked off, there was a collective sigh and a low buzz.

"This is going to be messy," murmured Forrest quietly on one side of Riley.

"No shit, Sherlock," came Graham's reply. He shook his head. "I've heard of Finch before. Man's tough, but fair. Not linked to Maybourne's faction at all."

"Shhh…" hissed Forrest, smiling slightly, "Don't mention you-know-who."

"Oh, he-who-must-not-be-named?" asked Riley, scratching at the inside of his cast with a thin pencil and closing his eyes in bliss. "He's not Voldemort, Forrest. And besides he's somewhere out there doing god knows what." He replaced his pencil in an inside pocket, checked his shoes and then tugged at the bottom of his jacket to make sure it was even. "Well, I'd better go and debrief our new commanding officer."

His two friends nodded sombrely and sketched brief, informal, salutes before walking off.

Finch hadn't taken Maggie Walsh's old room, mostly because it was still being gone over with a fine toothcomb by various operatives. Riley suspected that they thought that Maggie had hidden files away somewhere in the place. Certainly her computers were being slowly reassembled there and their hard drives scanned. Whatever Adam had done to them had been very thorough, but they were trying to access the files anyway.

Instead Finch had taken over an unused storeroom on level three. It was quite roomy but rather bleak, with the exception of the row of pictures that Finch had been putting up behind his desk. Some of them were of Finch with various other servicemen, often heavily armed. Judging by the pictures at some point in the past the man had been capable of smiling.

As Riley entered Finch was at his desk and he looked up as the young Initiative operative came to attention by the door and saluted. The one-star general returned the salute and then waved at the chair in front of the desk.

"Sit down, Agent Finn, before you fall over. By all rights you should be in hospital still. Doctors say that you're healing well."

"Yes, sir, I seem to be," replied Riley, sitting to attention.

Finch sat back in his chair and opened the folder that had been lying in front of him. "You've had a busy year so far, according to your records." He looked up and favoured Riley with the thinnest of smiles. "I can imagine that the other organisations who wanted to grab you the minute you got out of Fort Bragg were quite chagrined when the Initiative got you first."

"Yes sir," he answered. It was the only thing he could really say.

Finch tilted his head slightly. "I've asked to see you for two reasons. Firstly, I've been looking at the transcript of your interview with Major Tarn. You said that the first time that you saw this 'Adam' was on the day that Director Walsh died."

"Yes, sir, that's correct."

The older officer looked down at the file and then looked back up again. "You're quite sure of that?"

"Yes sir." He felt a slight flush start on his neck. Was he being interrogated again?

Finch seemed to have noticed the start of the flush, because the razor-thin smile flashed back for a second. "Relax, Agent Finn, I'm not casting aspersions. I simply mean, did Director Walsh ever refer to Adam at all? Even in passing, even just a word or a gesture?"

He relaxed slightly. "No sir. She never referred to what she was working on in that room. We all knew that she had a pet project in there with Dr Angleman, but we never knew what it was – until it was too late. We just knew that she would refer to the project as Room 314."

Scratching his chin absent-mindedly, Finch nodded. Then he flipped over a few pages. "But Director Walsh had you hunting down certain HSTs, specifically for certain body parts?"

Feeling like a damn fool, Riley replied: "At the time we thought that we were bringing in specimens for study and dissection."

"Dissection would be the correct word," said Finch softly as he flipped over a few more pages. Then he looked up. "When will you be fit to return to duty?"

"The docs say two weeks, but probably less than that, sir," he barked.

Another thin smile, this one a hairline broader than the last one. "Relax, Agent Finn, I don't want you back out there just yet. I'm not like Walsh, I don't demand results thirty seconds ago. No, I have a different job for you. When those men are sent back out there again to look for Adam, I want them to have as good an idea about what they're hunting as we can possibly give them. What the thing is powered by, both mentally and physically, what it literally has up its sleeve and above all what its' goal is, as far as we can tell."

Reaching down to open a drawer Finch pulled out a large file and what looked like a set of blueprints. "Based on some files that Angleman had in his room – which he seems to have been hiding from Walsh – we have some data at least on Adam. I want you to review it. I want you to give me a rundown on its strengths and its weaknesses."

Riley looked down at the paper and then opened his mouth. Nothing emerged for a long moment and then he straightened up and nodded briskly at his new commanding officer. "Yes sir. I'll give my best shot. Besides," he added as he shifted his arm slightly, "I intend to be there when we take Adam down."

"Yes, I'm sure you do," replied Finch. Then he nodded at him. "Any more questions? No? Then dismissed. If you have any further requests, contact me."

"Yes sir," said Riley. Then: "Thank you sir. I won't let you down."

"You'd better not, Agent Finn, I have a lot riding on you."

Riley saluted, turned on his heel as smartly as he could and left.

* * *

After Finn had closed the door behind him, Finch paused to rub his hands together slowly, nodding absently as he did so. Then he reached out and picked up the phone. Dialling a number quickly he paused, listening. When someone on the other end answered he rattled off a code word, and then waited again. When a new voice was on the other end he said: "Finn is studying the file. Yes, I think he can be trusted. He's being weaned off the drugs that Walsh put in his system, just to be on the safe side. Yes… I agree, we just don't know. But he seems efficient and he can be watched easily." He snorted with amusement at the comment made by the voice. "Hell no, he trusts his new commanding officer. The little fact that I don't trust him – yet – probably won't occur to him. The kid's a good operative, but he just hasn't been exposed to the right situations yet."

A pause whilst he listened. "Yes, we need to get more information. I've got another team looking at Angleman's plans. It'll be interesting to compare their results to Finn's. We just to find out more about whatever the hell Walsh was planning. Oh, and we really need to track down Maybourne and shake him until he either tells us all that he knows about his secret projects, or his teeth rattle enough to fall out."

Finch turned back to look at the door where Agent Finn had gone through. "I think that Maybourne, God damn his soul, had a lot more going than he thought. Man can outthink a corkscrew. Yes, I'll keep you informed."

* * *

It was perfect. The bar was full of people, there was a lot of noise, a lot of distractions and even a lot of dry ice fog that was still lingering from the bad ventriloquists' act. Perfect for a little quiet observation, thought Ethan as he sipped from his glass of Guinness sardonically.

Ripper was sitting at an alcove on the other side of the room. He had a very cold pint of lager in front of him and he was talking quietly with two people. Both had dark hair, were young –ish, as one was older than the other – and both had a certain poise, although one had it more than the other. His face rang a faint bell with Ethan, but he just couldn't quite put his finger on it.

Not that it was that relevant, because the two strangers were standing and leaving, walking off away from Ripper towards the doors. The younger one was talking earnestly, whilst the other one listened carefully. Ethan wondered for a moment what could be so important and then mentally dismissed them. Ripper was the important one.

Speaking of whom, his target was sinking what looked like a third of the pint down his throat. This was interesting. Ripper was normally a bloke who sipped his beer – when he swigged it, that was a good sign that something was very wrong somewhere. He was a tad stressed. And when Ripper was stressed then… well, he could be the old Ripper instead of the cuddly old Uncle Rupert.

Caution was therefore called for. Ethan felt the shape of the enspelled pill in his pocket carefully. He would need a little sleight of hand and perhaps a distraction. The barmaids could provide the latter. They had obviously been chosen for their jiggling attributes, to be politically incorrect.

When Ripper finished his pint and then closed his eyes to massage the bridge of his nose Ethan gulped down his own pint, slithered his way across the intervening space and sat down silently opposite him.

"Buy you a pint?" he asked after a moment.

Ripper jumped sitting down in a very satisfying manner, and judging by the noise of his knees hitting the table, he wasn't going to be kicking anyone in the bollocks in the next few minutes. Excellent, that gave him a small time cushion, just in case Ripper tried to remove his head.

"Ethan," said the other man through very clenched teeth, "What an unpleasant surprise."

"Now, now, Rupert, is that any way to greet an old friend?"

"We're not friends Ethan. We haven't been for some time."

"You wound me Rupert, you really do. What did I ever do to you?"

"You started worshipping Chaos and delighting in harming innocent people."

Ethan dismissed that point with a shrug of unconcern. "Details, details."

Narrowing his eyes, Ripper leant forwards and massaged his knees under the bale. "I admire your bravery, Ethan. I believe that Buffy told you that if she ever saw you again you'd be able to watch the workings of your own colon."

"Yes, such a charming girl. I admire her community spirit."

"You wouldn't like her community spirit at all. Now. What do you want? And how quick are you at a fast sprint?"

Ethan raised a hand and flagged down a passing waitress. "Two pints of Guinness please. Thank you." He turned from watching her back to Ripper, who had taken his glasses off and was rubbing his knuckles. "Oh. Yes. I'm here to buy you a soothing pint, Rupert. And to pass on some information."

"What kind of information?" sniffed Ripper after a suspicious pause.

"Information from the underworld," he replied as he watched the pneumatic waitress return with their drinks. He dropped a few bills onto her tray, winked and was mildly amused to get a faintly pleased blush in return. He still had it.

Rupert Giles made no effort to pick up the pint. Instead he glowered across the table at him. "We get all kinds of information every day. So, as I said, what _kind _of information?"

Time to lay it on with a trowel, Ethan thought as he leant over the table, just happening to pass his hands over the full glasses. "Information about what the entire underworld is talking about. About what some of the demon seers have been talking about. They call it…" he paused for effect, "314."

Something quite interesting flashed over Rippers face. It was a combination of surprise, curiousity and a certain indefinable something else. He took a deep breath and ran his hands over his eyes. By the time that he looked back up Ethan was leaning back in his chair and the pill had been planted carefully in the correct pint glass. The Guinness was dark enough to hide it well.

"314…" muttered Ripper, looking at Ethan shrewdly. "Interesting." He tilted his head to one side. "Is there anything else?"

"Just that people are very worried about whatever it is," replied Ethan seriously. The waitress walked past again and he watched as she passed by. She stopped not too far away frowned distantly as if she was puzzled about something and then hurried off, bouncing in a very attractive manner.

When he looked back Ripper was looking at him with a faint air of amusement. "I think that you'll find that most of the clientele here take a very protective view towards young Susie."

"Is that her name?" Ethan smiled and picked up his pint. "To old times," he said with a mocking wryness, before taking a long sip.

There was a slight pause and then Ripper rather grudgingly picked up his own pint and drank from it. There. That should start things off. Ethan relaxed ever so slightly and gulped a little more from his own glass, before sitting back.

"I find it hard to believe that you decided to come to me with this warning out of the goodness of your own heart," said Ripper sarcastically as he sipped again at his drink. "Why you?"

"Frankly," he admitted, "I owed someone a favour or two. Plus I talked to a few people. Rupert, as I said, they're scared. They don't know what's coming."

Ripper nodded slowly and then he swallowed the rest of his pint, before waving at the bar. Ethan relaxed a tad more as he chugged his own drink. The Guinness here was really quite good. Plus Ripper seemed to be buying it. It wasn't that he was lying to the man. It was just that he was going to pass on the message, wreak some chaos, not to mention some revenge, and then get out of town.

A hand landed on his shoulder and he looked up, startled. The younger of the dark-haired men that Ripper had been talking to was looking down at him, a wry smile on his face. "Hello there, Ethan. Remember me?"

The face… the face was very familiar, but he just couldn't put a name to it. "Sorry, no. Should I?"

The man removed his hand and then waved a finger at him. "You should. You hired out a lightsabre from your shop to me, two and a third-odd years ago. For Halloween."

Ah. Bugger. One of those. A lightsabre… Oh the Kenobi one. But…

The man leant down. "I was Kenobi for a night, remember? But here's the thing," He added quietly, "The Force was with me from that moment."

Ethan froze completely. What? The Force? From that moment? By the way that he had said it, he sounded sincere too. But no. That was, well, mad! There was movement from the other side of the table and Ripper was leaning forwards. "Ethan, have you met Xander? Oh, I'm sorry. Have you met Jedi Master Xander Harris?"

"Oh, you're a Jedi Master? Hello, I'm Richard the Lionheart," joked Ethan in response, looking around for the exits with a faint air of desperation. All of a sudden he had a very bad feeling about this, although he had no idea why.

"I don't think that he believes us, Giles," said the Harris bloke chidingly. Then he leant forwards again. "Perhaps I can prove by asking a simple question: what did you put into my friends' drink just now when his eyes were hidden by his hand?"

The question – no the voice- had a resonance, a sound to it, a sound that… before he could stop himself Ethan found his mouth opening. "It was a-" Then his horrified brain caught up with his treacherous mouth and forced his jaws shut, resulting in the next words to emerge from his throat to be on the lines of: "Fssslishippppp."

"Say again, Ethan?" said Harris mildly.

"Vsshllljjp," he replied through gritted teeth, his eyes crossing from the effort of not talking.

"This one's mind is strong," said Harris, in faintly amused tones. "Ok. How about if we told him that whilst he was looking at Susie's undoubted charms, I used the Force to switch your glasses around?"

Ethan swiveled his eyes around at his glass. It was very empty. Then it jerked slightly, before going around once in a circle slightly faster than he could see. Ah. Bugger. He was in a great deal of trouble and there wasn't much time left before the spell kicked in. He had only one option available.

"Perhaps I can offer my complete co-operation?"

* * *

"That man is a complete scumbag," muttered Xander quietly as he watched a pale Ethan being walked away by a very amused Oz and Willow.

"I know," replied Giles quietly. "There was a time when he wasn't," he added in a faintly regretful voice. "There was a time when he was a reliable friend whom you could trust. But that Ethan is long since gone I'm afraid. Chaos has him. Or rather Janus."

"Well, he should have a nice time in Oz's old cell before his counter-spell kicks in and reverses the demon-ness that is about to overtake him." Xander looked at the older Watcher. "What then?"

"Well, tomorrow I'm hoping that we will have an extra option open to us," muttered Giles as he looked down at his empty glass. "There's a courier coming from the Watcher's Council with some files. I think that we can use him to escort Ethan back home to London. I did some checking a while back – the Council has been looking for him for a while. We aren't the only people he's been pestering over the years." He looked up. "That reminds me – you need to be in my office when that courier arrives. I have a very nasty feeling that the Initiative had some inspiration for Adam. I'll explain tomorrow. By the way, where's Lindsey?"

"He went home. Training's over for the day and he had a lot to think about. He seems… well, a lot happier since he resigned from the evil lawyers from hell. Although he is still waiting for the other shoe to fall there. He's convinced that W&H will make a move to try and force him back into their fold."

"Judging by the history of the bloody firm I think he's right to be afraid of that." Giles tilted his head and looked pensive. "Tell him to be careful."

"Oh, I think that he knows that already. You're right though. I've been reading some of the old Watcher's Diaries that mention the firm. At least they don't do public beheadings anymore."

"No, their current taste is for boardroom executions, or so I'm told." Giles shook his head again. "We can't forget about Wolfram & Hart as we deal with Adam. They haven't been quite as dangerous as I thought they might be, thanks to the fact that the head of their office here is going steadily off his rocker, but they still pose a very visible menace."

Xander stroked his chin for a moment, as if stroking a non-existent beard, before catching himself with a slight smile. "What would happen if their boss gets more insane? Or gets replaced with someone sane?"

"We worry. No," he said, standing up with a sigh, "For the time being we concentrate on Adam. And trying to see what his plan is, because so far he has given every indication that he is planning something."

* * *

The vampire was slovenly. His shirt was stained with the rust-coloured remains of the previous night's meal, the smears and splatter marks very clear. He was also looking at him with what might almost be described as insolence and was picking his teeth with a small bone of indeterminate species.

"Word is you're looking for henchmen," the vampire said, before spitting something unpleasant out. It landed to one side with an equally unpleasant noise.

"Yes," replied Adam. "I would not describe what I'm looking for as 'henchmen' though. I would prefer 'followers'."

This earned him a squinted look of bemusement. "You want followers? Here? With all that's been going down? Hell, even Spike could only make do with some ditzy airhead. Market for henchmen ain't good. As for 'followers' then… well, the Hellmouth ain't a good place for them. Not a good place at all."

He directed an even gaze at the vampire, who shuffled his feet nervously after a while, obviously thought about cleaning his teeth with the bone again but changing his mind after catching Adam's eye, before eventually saying: "What?"

"You were recommended to me as a source of information. And yet you seem to be afraid of something," said Adam levelly.

This brought a hesitant chuckle and raised eyebrows. "Damn right I'm afraid of things in this town. If you think that you're in the running to take this place over, then you're going to have a fight on your hands!"

"I am already aware of Wolfram & Hart," he replied, allowing 25 percent of his mouth to smile. "I do not regard them as being dangerous. To me, anyway."

The vampire's laugh was incredulous. "Then you don't know the company – or what they can do. Hell, Slayers come and go, and the Jedi are bad enough, but Wolfram & Hart are eternal. You can't beat them, they always turn up again, they always plot like their brains are fulla right angles, I heard rumours that their people are on permanent contracts. Which means that there are times when they can come back from the dead… you can't beat them. No-one can. Only reason why they aren't top of the heap here on the Hellmouth right now is because they only got into town last year and the boss of the Sunnydale branch is five cans short of a six-pack. And that last can could fall off anytime. Rove's going off his trolley so fast I'm running a book on it."

Adam replayed that rather incoherent rant and then fastened on to a rather unexpected word. "Jedi?"

"You ain't met the Jedi yet? Man, are you lucky!"

"You are referring to a fictional order of people from popular films created by George Lucas?"

"You know, that was my reaction too, when I first heard about them. But believe me, they're very real," said the vampire in a low, hard voice that was a warning in itself. "They're very real. And yes, they have lightsabres. There's only two of 'em, but they're deadly."

"Lightsabres," repeated Adam in a flat voice. Interesting. Then: "So, there are Jedi, Slayers and Wolfram & Hart here in Sunnydale. I think I must do some research."

"Hey, you do what you like. But when it comes to going up against those three – even though the Jedi and the Slayers hate Wolfram & Hart – you'd better have your lucky pants on."

Odd phrase, especially as he had only the one pair of trousers. Still… "If I destroy one of the three will that prove to people that I can offer them something else? Something new and powerful? Something that they can believe in, the promise of a new future for demons and vampires?" His voice rang around the room, deep with as much power as he could project without breaking the vampire's eardrums.

The vampire gaped at him for a moment, shook his head dazedly and then scratched himself in the groin area with an unpleasant rustling noise. "Sure," he said after a long moment, "I guess it should. Which one would go for? And are you sure you want to do this?"

"There is an obvious target." Adam walked to the door. "And I intend to act quickly."

* * *

The courier from London was tall. And broad. And had eyes that flickered over possible threats all the time, which meant that as this was Sunnydale they were constantly on the move. The receptionist was sitting behind her desk deliberately not looking at the hulking man. When she saw Xander as he wandered in, she waved to him. Instantly the courier swiveled an eye onto him, before he came to almost military attention, almost threatening to click his heels together.

"Hey Xander, this guy's looking for either you or Mr Giles."

"Alexander Harris?" asked the courier in a broad Scottish brogue.

"That's correct," replied Xander. The courier reminded him vaguely of Commander Cody. It was a tad disconcerting.

The courier pulled out a pass with the official seal of the Watcher's Council embossed on it, along with a picture that if possible made the man look even more menacing than he already was. "Angus Fraser." He held up the box that he was holding under his left arm, as if it weighed nothing. "If you can escort me to Mr Giles, then I can deliver this and pick up the other package."

"Please follow me," said Xander, gesturing to one side.

As they headed into the depths of the college library Xander watched the man carefully. He seemed both watchful and at the same time capable of delivering large amounts of carefully-measured violence at a moments notice. Somehow he knew even without asking that small talk would get him monosyllabic answers. If he was lucky.

Giles was sitting in his favourite chair sipping from a large mug that Xander could tell was filled with hot orange juice and honey. The man had been fighting off a cold for the past few days, and his remedies seemed to be keeping the virus at bay. As soon as the two men entered the office however, he put the cup down, stood up and reached into his shirt fumblingly, before pulling out a medallion. The courier relaxed in an infinitesimal way, flashed his own pass again and placed the box on the table, which was – for once – uncluttered.

"Good afternoon, Mr Giles. One delivery as expected. And I understand that I have a package to pick up?"

"Thank you Mr Fraser. And yes, you do. It's a chaos mage by the name of Ethan Rayne. He's in a secure location, the directions to which are detailed here." Giles handed over an envelope. "He's being guarded by a trusted associate of ours called Mr Osbourne. He's very… observant, but please don't surprise him too much. As for Mr Rayne, I believe that the Watcher's Council has received the full report that sent in about him. Just to reiterate though – don't trust him a bloody inch because the man's trickier than a bag full of wet eels."

Something that might have been a hint of a smile broke through Fraser's face. "Oh don't you worry sir, I've dealt with his kind before. I'll take extra special care of him to be on the safe side. He'll probably sleep the whole way home." Fraser flexed his right hand slightly. "With or without sedative."

"Just… be careful with the man."

Again the hint of a smile. "I will sir." The hint vanished and was replaced with a scowl. "My father brought in Alfredo Garcia. He almost didn't survive. I know what chaos mages can do."

"Dear god, Alfredo Garcia. I do apologise."

"No apology necessary, sir. I'll pick up Rayne now." The man nodded, wheeled on his heel and almost marched out of the room.

"Ok, I'll bite: Who was Alfredo Garcia? And what's with that medallion?" asked Xander once Fraser had left.

"What? Oh. Garcia was one of the worst of the chaos mages, from about 30 years ago. Ethan modeled himself on him. The man was a vile piece of scum. And very powerful. As for the medallion," said Giles as he pulled the chain over his neck and blew dust off the thing, "Watcher's medallion. It was a good thing I found the damn thing. It was at the bottom of a very large chest. This doubles the number of times I've ever used it to two."

"Will I need one?"

"Only if you ever decide to become a full Watcher. Now…" he turned his attention to the box. "Can you stand back a moment please? These things get a bit troublesome when more than one person is nearby when they're opened." He carefully placed his right thumb onto a raised section of the lock and then waited for a few seconds. Then he put his other thumb onto the same place and waited. After a short pause the lock clicked open.

"I hate these security things. No choice though sometimes. The Watcher's Council has all kinds of secret files, dating back thousands of years. Apparently when the Council spilt away from the Catholic Church during the Reformation the head of the Vatican archives had a nervous breakdown on the spot, he'd lost access to so many files." He opened the box and peered in with a look of grim resignation. "Right then. Project bloody Lazarus. I genuinely hope that what's in here doesn't match up with Adam and my worst fears."

Xander shook his head sorrowfully. "Giles, you do know that you just jinxed us, saying that on the Hellmouth? The 'H'-word is almost as bad as a 'W'-word."

"True," the Watcher conceded. "I'm just glad that Pandora didn't open her box here in Sunnydale, because if she had we'd be well and truly buggered."

* * *

The high school looked, well, like a building that had been blown up by a very enthusiastic amateur. It had been well and truly trashed. Not a gas explosion at all. If it had been clear on the photos back at the SGC then it was doubly clear now. And he had a good idea how too. C-4. Plus other stuff.

Jack O'Neill tilted his head as he looked at the ruined building and then folded his arms and leant against the van. Something weird had gone down here, he could feel it. He wasn't sure what the hell it was, but he could feel it. He paused to scratch the back of his neck. That was the other thing. The minute they had got near this damn place his sixth sense hadn't just twitched, it had organised a full programme of Tourettes Syndrome symptoms. It had been all he could do to stop himself from freaking out. Something was very, very, wrong with this place. It had too many damn cemeteries for a start, but again he just couldn't put his finger on it.

He wasn't the only one who had felt it. Teal'c had gotten quite jumpy and kept raising his eyebrows more than an eighth of an inch at times. That meant that he was deeply disturbed. That or he was about to have a bowel movement. As for the others, well Carter kept muttering about freaky feeling she had and Daniel had developed a sudden compulsive need to scratch his ear.

Well, whatever. They were finally here in Sunnydale, after a Goa'uld that they had never heard of before had made a determined effort at inserting itself into the grand order of snaky things. It was now a squished mark against a bulkhead on a wrecked Alkesh. Whoopie-do. That left god knew how many of the little bastards.

Whatever #2. Time to go to work.

* * *

Xander looked around the tree carefully. Yup, the guy was still standing there, staring at the wrecked school. From the look of him, he was military trying to look like a civilian. He was doing a pretty good job of it, sort of. Instead of looking like a giraffe at a polar bear-only party, he just looked like a zebra at a race meeting.

From the way he was glaring at the school, he obviously suspected that it wasn't a gas explosion. So he was possibly from the Initiative – maybe the new commanding officer? Except that he wasn't giving off the right air in the Force. He was sensing puzzlement and curiousity off the man. And there were others – three of them, one of whom gave off an odd feeling in the Force, like there was something alive inside him…

Well, well, life kept getting more and more damn interesting. At this rate they'd need a filing cabinet and a flow chart to keep track of things on the Hellmouth. He'd be a busy boy.


	13. Researching 101

This is the THIRD time that this has been posted on here due to bloody fanfiction removing all the line breaks! Argh!

Here you all go!

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Another stupid supply run. He really hated these things. It was too easy to get lost sometimes in Sunnydale – he had no idea why. Place wasn't half the size of Brooklyn, where he'd grown up. That's what it felt like anyway. No, besides Sunnydale was too damn green. And… well, sunny.

The vampires and other damn things didn't help either. Oh wait, he wasn't supposed to call them vampires, no he was supposed to call them 'HST's or some such goddamn bullshit. He snorted. Anyone who grew up near the rough end of Brooklyn soon knew what went bump in the night. If you in the wrong place at the wrong time on the wrong night, you never came home. Sometimes something that looked very like you did come home, but a lot of the older houses and apartment blocks had some kind of mumbo-jumbo placed on them by the odd priest or Rabbi. Those places could get very dusty doorways….

He dragged his mind back to the present. This wasn't helping with the supply run. He had no idea why this new route had been chosen, other than a vague theory that the new CO was shaking up security. What he did know was that part of the route made no sense. Especially this bit….

He slowed the truck to a halt and sighed as he turned his torch on to get a better look at the map. Ok… he'd gone down Pennyweather. Then down Higgins. Oh and Smallgods too. Odd name that. He that meant that he was…. There. Three miles away from the entrance and pointing the wrong way. And the next set of directions made no sense at all, now that he was finally able to unseal them and read the damn things.

Running a tired hand over his face he straightened up and was about to turn the truck's ignition when he thought he saw something out of the corner of his right eye. Something outside? He couldn't see anything. He reached down for the ignition key again, just as in the same second a green arm smashed straight through the side window and grabbed him by the neck. He flailed out with his hands desperately, hitting at the green limb with as much strength as he could… and then again, feeling the life start to drain out of him… he couldn't breathe, he couldn't take a breath… he just needed one breath… just one… just…

In the split second before the darkness took him he heard a deep voice say: "Thank you for the supplies."

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It was like reading something written in Mandarin. Technical Mandarin, about the best way to put together a nuclear reactor with the contents of an old RV and the remains of Robby the Robot.

Riley put the plans down to one side and then looked at his notes. He had no freakin' clue what drove this thing. Oh he had a rough idea about some of Adam's capabilities, and frankly those bits that he did understand scared the living crap out of him, but some of the more developed bits… not a clue. At all.

Some of the parts… made no sense. Others were rather advanced. The power supply, for example. That was way too advanced. It also gave him the creeping horror when he tried to work out how much energy the damn thing put out. More than simply too much. He had a bad feeling that Adam had escaped on less than a fifth of its potential power. If he had his calculations right, that is. He wasn't sure about that either.

The fact was that, well, he wasn't an expert on this kind of thing. Oh, he knew enough to make do – but when it came to performing a complex technical analysis of these plans, his best was nowhere near good enough. He needed some help.

Which was where everything got complicated. Help from where? The technical department were all working on other things – and besides it was possible that Maggie Walsh had been able to influence some of them. Not likely, but possible. He sighed. His feelings about his former Director had changed a great deal. He had heard a large number of rather worrying things about what exactly she had been doing. He also had a nasty feeling that she had rather driven a horse and cart through the Hippocratic Oath. That really made his skin crawl. No doctor should ever do harm. Yet what exactly had Walsh been up to? Even with the best of motives?

Riley rubbed the side of his face and sighed. No, there was only one person who could really do justice to these plans. But to allow them access would mean that he, Agent Riley Finn, might not set foot out of Leavenworth for the next ten years at least, if he was lucky.

He drummed his fingers on the side of the desk for all of ten seconds. Come on. It was a no-brainer. He rolled up the plans, placed them carefully in his bag, covered them with the cover of his bedroll and left the building. He had a Watcher to find.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The man did not look like your typical politician. He was too… mousy for a start. Not to mention almost terminally worried. At the moment he was looking at Jack's ID with a kind of scrunched civil servant determination, like he was examining the typeface for examples of bad fonting. Or whatever it was that civil servants did. After a while he put the ID down and directed a vaguely terrified look at him.

"And how can we help the US Air Force?" asked Mayor Thomas Petersen.

"We're here because we heard a few things about Mayor Wilkins," said Jack bluntly. So far this guy had reacted very badly to direct questions. 'Very badly' as in 'leaked like a sieve' so what the hell.

The man blinked wetly. "What…. What kind of things?"

"Oh," said Jack, as he placed the very large file on the desk in front of him, "Some _bad_ things."

The new Mayor of Sunnydale looked at the file, swallowed audibly and then tried to look relaxed. It was not a pleasant sight at all. "Well, I didn't know Mayor Wilkins that well myself, I just took over after his death." He paused. "And the death of his supporters."

"Yes," said Jack shortly, opening the bottom corner of the topmost file and squinting at it reflectively, "We heard about some of those deaths. Like Judge Aliki. And Judge Reynolds. Oh and Judge Morgensonn. Plus a few others. All very… nasty."

He looked up at the man, who was now sweating harder than ever. "Was anything… odd about Wilkins?"

Petersen looked shifty, his eyes darting about, at Jack, the corner of his desk, the light, the dark shape of Daniel, who was reading through a large file… everywhere but Jack's eyes. Shifty didn't quite do the man justice really. "Odd?" he asked with a terrible effort at nonchalance. "Odd in what way?"

"You tell me," replied Jack grimly.

Petersen licked his lips quickly. "Well… he could be quite good at fundraising. Planning too."

"Sorry," broke in Jack, "But those don't quite come in under my definition of 'odd'."

"Did his eyes ever glow?" asked Daniel suddenly from the corner of the room where he'd wandered over to. "Did he ever use any other language than English?"

This threw Petersen for a few seconds. "Not as far as I know. What do you mean, did his eyes glow?"

Daniel exchanged a glance with Jack that hinted at a lot of relief. Well, maybe not. The late Mayor of Sunnydale might still have been a snake in exile that kept its snaky self deep under cover. That was the only other way that he could really explain the whole issue with the photos.

"Did Mayor Wilkins… leave any thing behind? Any… objects?" Jack asked carefully. Like a freaking great sarcophagus, he wanted to say, but couldn't.

This question got the man's attention, because he froze and licked his lips nervously. "What do you mean, any objects?"

"Anything that he might have left behind. Legacies as it were," replied Jack, as he tried to keep hold of his temper and not reach over to grab this little weasel's lapels and shake him like the whining little rat that he so obviously was.

Again with the eye rolling. And the terrible bending of the question. "Um, what kind of legacies?"

"I don't know," he said through very gritted teeth. At this rate he would have to get his molars re-enamelled by his dentist. "What did he leave?"

"And have you sold any of it?" interjected Daniel with a cynicism that Jack admired.

Petersen's eyes ping-ponged between them as if they were involved in a China vs Taiwan match, before eventually coming to rest on Jack. "Oh," said the Mayor cautiously, "Um, we haven't touched the nastier stuff. There was this, um issue. And the other stuff we sent back to the families. Plus there were these files we found in a drawer. We think he was blackmailing people, so we burnt it. All of it."

Daniel opened his mouth, hesitated a moment and then closed it again. Then he looked over at Jack and raised his eyebrows at him, before looking back at Petersen. "So… no strange gold objects? No odd weapons? Nothing that seemed… rather technological?"

The man shuddered slightly. "No, everything was all too… organic. Nothing gold. I mean nothing gold and large. There are some… goblets, but we can't get hold of them."

"You can't?" asked Jack. Then: "What's this issue you mentioned?"

"Oh," said Petersen. "Um. We found this cupboard in his office. It has… things in it. We can't get into it properly though."

"Is it locked or something?"

This seemed to almost amuse Petersen, because he scrubbed one hand through his hair and emitted what might have been a chuckle. "Not quite. Luckily some of Mayor Wilkins' old… security systems, for want of a better description, have lost their power. Most of it anyway."

Not quite? What the hell did that mean? He was about to ask when there was a tap on the door, which opened to reveal Petersen's secretary, a very starched woman with a file.

"Mr Mayor," she said, not looking at the other two men in the room, "It's time to travel to St Mary's for the opening of the church hall."

"Ah," said Petersen with a tad too much relief, "I have to go." He sprang up and put his jacket on. "If you have any further questions, please contact my secretary." Then he was gone, leaving a faint trail of perspiration.

Daniel opened his mouth to say something, before closing it again at Jack's look. Then they both left the office, looking around carefully and trying not to be to obvious in memorising the layout of the place. Halfway down the corridor they were joined by Sam and Teal'c. "Find the restrooms ok?" asked Jack cheerfully.

"Indeed O'Neil. They were very… beige," replied the Jaffa.

"Yup, nice and clean," said Sam.

Those were the last words that they exchanged until they were outside and safe in the large black van that they had been able to drive down in. It contained more than a few of their favourite surveillance gadgets, but not the infra-red goggles that Jack had requested, probably because that would have meant far less red tape for the chairbound weenies back at base to deal with. He really did despair sometimes.

Once they were in, Jack turned to the others in the comfy seats at the back of the van. "Well that was a kind of a bust. Mayor Petersen is a very sweaty little man who thought that we knew something that he was hinting at and vice versa. Something was very off with him. I think that he was terrified of Wilkins. And damned pleased that he's been declared dead. Oh and Daniel, what was that thing about organic legacies that Wilkins left again?"

"I really don't know, but he seemed to think that knew about it. And that it was natural to sell bits off. And he didn't seem to think that Wilkins owned any large gold objects, like a sarcophagus or something like that, which I suppose is reassuring in way. Still, we need to check that out."

"Agreed. How about you two?" asked Jack.

Carter shook her blond hair firmly. "I felt nothing in there that felt like a Goa'uld, sir. Nothing at all."

"I agree, O'Neill. In addition the abandonment of such power – even on a small scale – is quite unlike a false god," said the Jaffa. He looked a bit puzzled.

"You ok, Teal'c?" asked Jack.

"I am… suffering from a feeling that there is something going on in this place, but that I cannot place my digit on it."

"You mean put your finger on it." Jack paused for a moment. "Yeah, I know the feeling. Ok boys and girls. We don't know that there is a snake problem here, but the office that Wilkins worked in needs checking out. Mr Sweatrag back there said that they couldn't get into a cupboard in the room in question. I'm betting that we might find some answers there. We've already bagged and tagged some bits of whatever the hell that snake was from the High School. Those gone off to the SGC yet Carter?"

"Went off this afternoon, sir."

"Cool. Then we check out the cupboard tonight, using the warrant provided by the lock picks that the US Government has seen fit to provide us with. And tomorrow we start checking up on this Alexander Harris guy."

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Xander looked down at the map and did his best to suppress a sigh of frustration. The problem with Sunnydale, he had long ago decided, was that the place was full of enough underground tunnels to one day, if they were really unlucky, undermine the whole area. It was frightening at times. He had never really used the Force to probe what was under there, mostly because it made him ill to feel the full unpleasantness of the Dark Side down there, and partly because he was afraid that once he started to map it all out he'd never be able to stop.

Where was Adam? Come to that, what was Adam, really? What exactly had Maggie Walsh been building and why had she been doing it? For what possible purpose – what mission or direction or… what? Not enough information. For a second he could almost hear Anakin's voice saying that it was always the unknown that gave the nastiest surprises. That or the unknown killed you. And they had far too much of the unknown at the moment.

He heard footsteps over to one side and looked up in time to see Jonathan approaching him. Wonder of wonders, his eternal shadow Anya wasn't with him. The guy looked a bit lost, but seemed very pleased to see him. At least he had stopped trying to bow to him whenever they met. They guy was a serious Star Wars Freak, and meeting a Jedi had had a major effect on him. Fortunately the presence of Anya counterbalanced it.

"Hi, Xander. Mr Giles asked me to meet him. Have you seen him?"

Xander turned and pointed up the nearest flight of stairs. "Up that flight, over six stacks. He's in a small study room that we roped off from the ordinary students. He asked about you earlier on. Said that he had some plans for you to look at."

Jonathan nodded sombrely and then leant in towards him. "Anya's been hearing some rumours about this Adam thing. She's barricaded herself in our room and keeps asking me to order you to get her a blaster," he whispered.

This earnt him a slight frown. "Tell her that blasters are clumsy and random. And if she thinks that I'm going to build her anything… more elegant, then she has another think coming."

Jonathan's shoulders sagged slightly in relief. "I thought you'd say that." Then he looked around at the stairs. "Ok, I'm off to see Mr Giles."

Xander watched him go with a slight smile. The formerly suicidal geek was actually maturing nicely. It was a bit strange to see, but it was nice that his life was settling down.

Looking back down at the map he started to make some more notations on it as to possible exit points and places where the tunnel systems emerged close to the place occupied by the Initiative. He hoped that they knew just how Swiss-cheesed the ground was under them. Otherwise something nasty might emerge at the wrong moment.

Naturally at that point he heard more footsteps. Reaching out with the Force he probed – and then looked up. Riley.

When the Initiative operative turned the corner, he was looking around with a slight air of desperation, but when he caught sight of Xander he too, like Jonathan, looked rather pleased to see him, although he was a tad more cautious.

"Xander."

"Hi Riley. How can I help you? You seem a bit lost."

He shifted slightly, holding that still bandaged arm carefully, with a rucksack slung over his other shoulder. "I need to see Mr Giles. It's urgent Xander."

The Jedi straightened up and probed with the Force carefully to make sure that his earlier survey was correct. Yes, there was no-one else near them. "What's wrong Riley?"

Shrugging off his rucksack, Riley held it up. A large cylinder was sticking out of it. "I have some plans that he needs to see. Or rather, that someone better at technical analysis needs to see. It's Adam."

This was a no-brainer. "I'll take you straight to him."

By the time that they arrived in the room, Jonathan was already bending over the table with a look of fascination on his face as he studied what appeared to be some rather old papers that had something drawn on them. Giles was to one side, talking to Jonathan in a low and rather intent voice, pointing something out and drinking from a mug of coffee whenever he could. Seeing the two figures approach he looked up quickly and then relaxed slightly, although the look he sent at Riley was rather complex, a combination of surprise, scepticism and wry amusement.

"Ah. Riley. To what do we owe the pleasure?"

The Initiative operative smiled rather wanly, before he shucked off his rucksack and placed it on a nearby chair. "I'm probably going to end up in Leavenworth for the rest of my life for this if my new commanding officer ever finds out about it, but frankly I need help and you were the best person I could think of to take a look at this."  
Giles frowned slowly, taking off his glasses and polishing them with a handkerchief. "What exactly is 'this'?"

Reaching out with his good arm Riley grabbed the cylinder and pulled it out, shooting Jonathan a rather dubious glance as he did so.

Giles caught the look and smiled slightly. "Riley, this is Jonathan. He is, for want of a better description, our technical adviser on certain matters. He is completely trustworthy."

"I am?" asked Jonathan bemusedly, before he shook himself and smiled. "I mean, nice to meet you."

"Likewise," said Riley. He looked as if he was contemplating finally taking that one last step over to something he couldn't quite see. Then his face hardened slightly. "These are the plans for Adam."

The three other men in the room blinked slightly at that, before Xander closed the door with the Force, having checked to make sure that no-one else was around first. Then Giles reached out with a pale hand to grab the cylinder and peer at the cap that sealed one end of it.

"Ah," he said, "speak of the devil so to say. These are plans drawn up by the late Maggie Walsh?"

"Yes," replied Riley, as he sank into a chair. "Dr Angleman was hiding them in his room. We don't know why."

Popping the cap, Giles reached into the cylinder and pulled out a set of blueprints, which he laid onto the table next to the other, older papers. Then he looked at Jonathan with a look of dark amusement. "This should be interesting," he murmured before rolling out the blueprints.

Xander and Riley both approached the table to see what was on the surface there. Both frowned at what they saw. "Wait a minute…" breathed Riley after a long moment, "Where did you get that?"

"It's something that the Watcher's Council thought was long dead and buried," said Giles in a tired voice. "Something called Project Lazarus. And something that your Director bloody Walsh must have seen and resurrected. Apt name for it. Ah well, so what's a promise between Allies worth anyway these days?"

"I don't understand," quirked Riley, as he looked at the Watcher worriedly.

"You will," said Giles as he pulled out his cell phone and hit speed dial. "Buffy? It's Giles. I need your help in calling in everyone. Except for Xander, Jonathan and Riley, who are here with me now. Yes, we have some information about Adam. Technical information. Meeting Room One in the library in an hour? I'll close it off with some plausible emergency. Yes, that'll be fine. See you then."

"I'll get Lindsey and Oz – they're swapping tips on meditation. And where Oz is, Willow's not going to be too far away," said Xander as he moved off himself.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The camera had been carefully hidden. The air duct that it was in wasn't connected to anything and went nowhere – except to pass a bundle of fibreoptic cables into a wall and then into the security system. As for the camera itself it had been sited so that it could view the entire width of the corridor and could constantly monitor it, every second of every minute of every hour of every day.  
It had been designed to be both hard to spot and hard to fool. It could see in a number of different optical frequencies, as well as detect motion and heat and even magic. Cloaking spells were useless to this camera. It had been designed to detect any intruder at all.  
Which meant that when a small light on its side suddenly changed from green to a murky blue, something should probably happened. Sadly nothing did. No alarms went off, no lights flashed, no gaping pits opened, filled with bad-tempered asps and cobras.  
Instead nothing happened as a figure with human and demon skin strode quickly down the hall and then turned the corner at the end. As it did, the light blinked back onto green and the camera resumed its normal function.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"That's just sooo lame. The tax dollars of the inhabitants of Sunnydale are going shamefully to waste."

"Yes, sir."

"Did you just waggle your eyebrow at a superior officer, Carter?"

"It's dark sir, and the last time I checked that wasn't a capital offence." There was a pause.

"But I'm right, aren't I?"

A sigh. "Yes sir, the security system to this place, as you would put it, is lame. Even very lame."

"Glad to know you think the same as me." Jack was in a good mood. He wasn't sure why, but he just was. Getting into this place had been laughably easy, as it seemed that the spot by the main doors where guards used to be, he suspected during the time of Major Wilkins, was now very empty. Guards tended to get bored and doodle/drool/chew gum/eat junk food. There had been definite doodling plus crumbs, as well as odd dark spots in that area. Maybe someone had had a nosebleed or something.

Daniel cleared his throat suddenly, which tended to mean that he had just spotted something faintly disturbing. "Jack, have you noticed something here?"

He looked around. "No. Why?"

"There aren't any windows here. Even though we're on the ground floor. I mean, there were windows back there. Why not here?"

"Again… I don't know Daniel. There any rooms along here?"

"There is one here, O'Neill," rumbled Teal'c up ahead. He was shining his torch on a nameplate on a door. It read: Tagget.

"Isn't that the name of the flunkey that vanished the same time that Wilkins died?" asked Jack thoughtfully.

"Yes sir. I wasn't able to find out anything about him beyond his name," Carter replied. "No date of birth, no photo, no social security number, nothing. Same with his predecessor, Trick."

"That's one weird name," muttered Jack, "Who the hell would have a name like Trick?" He reached out and opened the door carefully, before peering in. The room was very dark, but his torch illustrated a number of boxes, along with a desk in one corner. "Carter, Daniel, check out that desk. Teal'c, help me look at those boxes."

The boxes in question turned out to contain not a hell of a lot, apart from old empty box files, old newspapers and some ceramic mugs marked 'Welcome to Sunnydale', and illustrated with a cartoon character from the 1950's that looked like a ripped-off version of Donald Duck. Jack closed the last one, sneezed from the dust and then looked over at the desk, where Carter and Daniel were closing the last door. "You two got anything?"

"Not really sir," replied Carter. "The drawers have been cleaned out pretty thoroughly, apart from a few corners. Funny thing is, we found a few patches of what might be blood here and there. I've swabbed here and there, so we can send them back to the lab."

"And I found this, taped to the bottom of the desk," mumbled Daniel, as he held up a dagger.

Jack frowned. "Let me see that." Daniel handed it over and he looked at it intently. "Odd. Looks like an old Navy Seal knife. They stopped making these things fifteen years ago at least. They switched to another design that worked better." He weighed it one hand and then bagged it up. "Ok. Let's move on."

"O'Neill," interrupted the Jaffa. "There is something most odd about these blinds. They will not open. In fact they have been set so as not to open at all."

Frowning, Jack stood up and walked over to the one window in the room. Teal'c was right – the blinds had been literally locked down in place. If it was light outside then the room would still be dark.

"Odd indeed," he mused quietly. Then he looked around. "Ok, on to Wilkins' room."

The room in question was sealed by a very locked door. Not that the lock was the first thing that they were interested in. No, first off they could see that something was odd about the door frame. For one thing, someone had carved something into the top corners.

Daniel peered at each one carefully. Then he took his glasses off, polished them a lot and peered some more.

"That's, well, odd," he said after a long moment's thought.

"What is?" asked Carter.

"Someone carved the Sumerian symbol for death onto the top corners of the door frame, along with a few other symbols that I've never seen used in the same context. Maybe a curse, I'm not sure. Thing is, the carving was quite light. Then someone else, I presume, ran a knife or something, through the carvings. Almost like someone annulling a statement."

"So we can open it, unless a Sumerian is going to come out of the woodwork and bop us one?"

"Oh. Yes, we can," replied Daniel, giving Jack an odd look. "I've never seen those symbols used in conjunction. It would have been a very powerful curse Odd…"

"To find a Sumerian curse on the door to the office of a Mayor in California. I'd say so, yes," retorted Jack. "Carter, can you open this thing?"

In response Carter knelt down to look at the lock, before smiling slightly and pulling out a set of tools that the general public would probably be horrified to learn that the Air Force possessed. She looked up. "That would be a 'yes', sir."

"Well, okay then." He let her get on with it, and took another look at the odd markings on the door frame. He had a nasty feeling about this place. And he had _no_ idea why.

After a while there was a click from the door and a grin from Carter and they were in. Carefully they all padded inside, bearing in mind Petersen's comment about the old Mayor's security system being still there in some undisclosed shape or form. Nothing zapped them, so presumably they were good to go.

After a few moments they realized that Wilkins' desk was as bare as Tagget's had been. It had been stripped of anything of any interest at all. Big surprise there. Not.

That left the rest of the room. Teal'c was inspecting the floor, whilst the others checked the walls. It took all of one nanosecond for them to spot the cupboard. Torches flashed on and played over the lintel. It didn't take long for them to spot similar marks on the corner of the doorframe surrounding the cupboard.

"Interesting," muttered Daniel, "That's Assyrian there. A much stronger curse. Something about souls shriveling. I wonder…"

As he reached out to grab the handle to the door Jack froze. "Daniel!" he snapped. "Take your hand away from the handle and step back. Now, damnit!"

Daniel looked back quizzically, but obeyed orders, stepping back hurriedly. "What did I do?"

"It's more a question of where you were standing," said Jack grimly as he directed the beam from his torch onto the carpet and the black marked that looked awfully like scorching.

"Ah," said Daniel as he pushed his glasses more firmly onto his nose. "Thanks, Jack."

"Not a problem, space monkey. Carter? What do you think?"

She was already squatting next to the black patch, shining her torch onto it and brushing it with her fingers. "Looks almost electrical," she muttered. Then she looked around the vicinity. "But there's no indication where it originated. Odd. But it could be that security system you said that the new Mayor mentioned, sir."

"I'd bet money on it," said Jack with a grimace. "Looks nasty, wherever it's from. Ok – suggestions?"

"It might be best if we opened it from a distance sir, preferably with something that's non conducting. I think I rig something up with one of the plastic rods in the van, along with a few other bits and pieces," volunteered Carter.

"Or," broke in Daniel, "We could use some string."

"String, ah that most valuable of commodities. I love it, we travel to exotic places, fight bad guys and open cupboards with bits of string," said an amused Jack. "Speaking of which, do we have any?"

"Not on me, no, but several of the boxes are secured with string," replied Daniel as he walked over to the pile of dusty objects.

"You ok with that, Carter?" He looked at her faintly outraged face. "Oh for cryin' out loud Carter, there are lo-tech answers sometimes, you know!"

She obviously bit back an answer and then, rather sheepishly, said: "Yes, sir."

There was a noise behind him and he turned to see Teal'c taking string off boxes with an amused look of his own. Then the big Jaffa walked over with the pieces. "I have inspected the other parts of the floor, O'Neill. No ring system is present. It would be highly obvious if one was here."

"Why?"

"Because the rings would be in the floor and would transport the carpet when activated."

Ah. Of course. "I knew that," he muttered to himself, before turning back to Daniel and Carter, who were both tying bits of string together. "Ok, how are we doing?"

"Almost ready sir, once we get Teal'c's string tied on too," replied Carter. She shot a look at Daniel. "String!"

"Hey, if it works, it works," said Jack with a shrug.

It didn't take long to set up and soon they were all spread out to each side of the cupboard, with Daniel and Carter each holding a length of knotted-together string that was secured to their respective handles. "Ok," muttered Daniel, "Ready, steady – pull!"

The string tightened, the hinges creaked and then the doors started to open. Something happened then, and Jack's brain struggled to process all the information due to the short space of time involved.

First thing he noticed was that as the door started to open he heard a sound like a faint wind howling at the bottom of a swirling void. It was very unexpected and very short-lived, because there was a sharp 'crack' of noise, a sound like bacon sizzling, then a noise like someone twanging the world's largest ruler. Finally he could have sworn that he smelt something very hot, like a blast of air from the Sahara. Certainly the red glow that briefly shone out from behind the doors looked very hot.

Then he noticed that the symbols carved in the door frame were glowing fitfully, like torches with dying batteries. The gashes that had been carved in them stood out like black lines, as if they had severed certain important elements.

It was therefore something of an anticlimax when the doors then swung open without anything else happening at all.

"Ok, did anybody else hear, see and feel that?" asked Jack in the long silence that followed the opening.

"Oh yes."

"Yes, sir."

"Indeed, O'Neill."

"Anyone have the slightest idea of what it was?" He received a series of negative answers. "Ok, anyone willing to just wing it and guess?"

"The old Mayor's security system? Petersen said that it had been powered down," mumbled Daniel as he walked carefully towards the cupboard. "Whoa…"

"Be careful, Daniel," said Carter quickly as they all saw him reach into the cupboard, but it was too late. The archaeologist reached in – and then pulled out a knife. That's what it looked like anyway. It was made of what appeared to be stone and it was covered in carvings. Jack found his scalp prickling just looking at it. It seemed… unpleasant, in a way that he couldn't define.

"What's that?"

"Jack, this is a Aztec ceremonial knife. A sacrificial knife, made from obsidian. It has to be almost six hundred years old. It's priceless and unbelievably rare! What's it doing in a cupboard in an office in California?" Then he looked around the rest of the cupboard. "Oh. Jack?"

"What?"

"I think you should have a look at this."

Carefully Jack approached the cupboard and then blinked, hard. This was… disgustingly freaky. Several objects were on the shelves, although others seemed to have been taken away. There was an old-looking knife that seemed to be rather clean but still rather nasty, there was a silver goblet of some kind that looked as if it contained some… jelly beans? That was odd. And there was what looked like very authentic goblet made out of an upside-down skull, along with a stem made of what looked like gold. Oh, and there was a jar that had once contained something liquid, lying on the floor.

Daniel looked more than a bit shaken. "Ok, I think I can guess that Mayor Wilkins took a very… active interest in the occult."

"Is that what this stuff is for?" asked a mystified Jack.

"Yes," he said shortly, replacing the stone blade with a shudder of disgust.

"I do not understand, Daniel Jackson," rumbled the Jaffa as he looked in over their shoulders.

"Teal'c, the Aztecs were a pre-Columbian culture that were, well, rather into human sacrifice. A lot of human sacrifices. I'd rather not guess about how many lives that blade has taken. And the rest of these things are… very typical of the kind of objects that a believer in Black Magic would have."

"Black magic? Oh, please." Jack made a rude noise with his tongue. Then he paused. "I don't get it. What was that thing with the doors and why would Wilkins have all this stuff? Looking at the size of this place he must have had other stuff too." Jack paused as he caught sight of the small washbasin to one side. "This place gets weirder and weirder."

Then he double-taked again. "Wait a second, Petersen said that they couldn't get to some of the things Wilkins had in his room, Goblets, he said. How come we could get access to this?"

Carter looked around the room with her torch and then shrugged. She looked as baffled as Jack felt. "I'm starting to dislike Sunnydale," he muttered. "Damn place keeps giving us more questions than answers."

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Faith was balancing a dagger on the tip of her nose when they came in, while her Watcher was busy carefully repairing a slash to the leather handle of a battleaxe that had been on the 'repair' list for a week. Both looked over quickly when they heard the door, but then went back to what they were doing when they saw the three men and Willow. Strictly speaking they were three Jedi and a witch, but Lindsey's training was still fairly new to him and he was not quite yet ready to accept the label that was now a part of his life.

Lindsey eyed Faith carefully. She really did move like a Slayer, all dangerous grace and barely restrained violence, and it was a real toss-up as to who was the deadlier, she or Buffy Summers. He hoped that they never had an argument. It might get very messy.

As for Wesley, the Brit could be very stuffy at times, but had apparently mellowed a lot. Occasionally a hint of a rather dark-edged sense of humour would show, and what the guy didn't know about demonology and weapon types wasn't worth knowing.

Something seemed to lift the hairs on the back of his neck again for a split second and he raised a finger. "I sensed that."

"Good," smiled Xander, "Just testing." He had been doing this on and off for a day or so, trying to see if Lindsey could sense the Force in short bursts, trying to hone his senses and sharpen him up. It was only a small thing, but as he put it, you had to sense the leaves to make out the tree sometimes. Oddly enough it made sense. And his ability to sense someone using the Force was getting better. It was a slowly process, true, but it was happening.

At least he felt happier about it now. He hadn't been afraid of his new-found abilities, but he had felt… worry. Nervousness. A pressing desire not to screw this gift up. Xander had understood this all and had spent the time to talk to him, to get him to talk back about what he was sensing. It was a bit like therapy, but the stakes were a lot higher. Lindsey knew why Xander was doing this. The Dark Side was supposed to begin in fear, and fear of the unknown was one step in the road there. So, the Jedi was talking him through everything, telling him exactly what was going on, what worked, what felt right and what didn't. He was being far more patient than his age demanded – but then Xander was no longer the kid in the files. He often wondered if the others knew just how much the man had grown, because it still amazed him – and he hadn't grown up with him.

Sensing movement off to one side he watched Oz and Willow as they sat down at the table. They were holding hands taking great enjoyment in being with each other. It was the kind of relationship that he had never had in his life, outside of his family. They were a good pair. Maybe one day he'd find someone he could be with like that. He liked to think so, and for once he could look at the future without wondering which circle of hell he'd end up in.

Getting hope back into his life had been a bit of a shock. A nice one though.

There was a noise at the doors to the meeting room and Giles came in holding some rolls of what looked like blueprint. He looked a bit grim. He was followed by the geek – sorry, technical expert, geek being a somewhat non-Jedi word - Jonathan, the former demon Anya, Buffy Summers and the Initiative operative Riley, who looked a lot more conscious, not to mention vertical, then the last time that Lindsey had seen him.

The older Watcher strode over to the whiteboard at the end of the room by them all, looked around and then nodded. "Good, you're all here. I tried to track down Amy but she's out on a date and no-one could find her, so she'll have to find out later."

"Find out what, Giles?" asked Faith, as she sat down loosely on a table, looking curiously at Finn, who was standing there looking a bit awkward.

Giles must have caught her gaze, because he started slightly. "Ah, yes. Introductions. This is Riley Finn, who is an operative with the Initiative, which as we now know has a base under the campus. Riley has, strictly against orders, brought us some vital information about Adam."

Everyone – except for the people who had come in with Giles – sat up straighter at that bit of news. "And as he has seen fit to trust us, I think that it is time to place some cards of our own on the table, so to speak." He looked at Xander carefully. "I can speak for Buffy and Faith on this, but I cannot speak for you."

"It's ok, Mr Giles," broke in Finn. "I already know that Xander is a Jedi Knight. We met in very bad circumstances."

"That's not quite what he's talking about, Riley," replied Xander carefully. He looked over at Oz, who nodded slightly back. Then he looked at Lindsey, who knew in a moment what he was asking. After a long second he nodded carefully. He had to start trusting people more. He already knew these people. Maybe it was time to expand that circle by one more. But he would trust Xander's opinion. At least he had asked. Holland would never even have thought about it.

Once Xander had relayed permission back to Giles, the Watcher smiled slightly. "Thank you. Xander. Actually Riley, your information is a little incomplete. I apologise for this, but life on the Hellmouth can be difficult enough as it is. Xander is in fact a Jedi Master. And the chap to his right is Jedi Knight Daniel Osbourne."

"Call me Oz," the ginger-headed man said quietly.

"While the figure to Xander's left is Lindsey McDonald, who is a Jedi Padawan, if I have the term pronounced correctly. A student Jedi as it were."

Riley looked at them all and swallowed in a slightly dazed manner. Then he blew out a long breath. "Shouldn't be surprised, should I? If there's one, there should be others. Hi. Oh, and I know Willow there."

"You also need to meet Faith and Wesley. Faith is… well this is where it also gets a bit complicated, because she's a Slayer too and Wesley is her Watcher."

Riley looked at Buffy quizzically. "I thought that there was only ever one Slayer."

"It's complicated. I'll explain later," said Buffy quietly. Riley looked at her levelly. It was obvious that he could tell that this was a subject that would be hard to grasp. Possibly even painful at some level.

Clearing his throat slightly Giles turned back to the whiteboard, where he was busy fastening blueprints to the surface with magnets in the shape of books. When he was finished they were looking at what were obviously two sets of plans, one on blue paper and one on white. Both sets illustrated a remarkably similar-looking figure.

"The set of plans on the left are those for Adam," said Giles grimly. "The set on the right are for something called Project Lazarus."

There was a clanging noise as Wesley dropped the axe, just missing his foot. The Watcher stood up, his eyes very wide.

"Yes, Wesley, that was my reaction as well." He paused. "Time for me to fill in some of the background so to speak. Adam is not a unique concept. In fact he is a rehash of an old project. Something started by Adolf Hitler.

"In January 1942 the gloss had faded from the Bohemian Corporal's plans for a thousand-year Reich. Hitler's armies had been driven backwards in the snows around Moscow and Rommel had been pushed back to El Agheila. There was therefore interest in Hitler's vague idea that what was needed was a new kind of soldier, one that could fight in deep snow or deep sand. In freezing temperatures or boiling ones. Put simply, in the concept of a soldier that would not be subject to the limits imposed by a human physiology.

"The project was given, eventually, to Heinrich Himmler. And before you ask, yes, the German government knew at least something about the underworld. When Hitler came to power the Watcher's Council – in a remarkably prescient decision – withdrew its presence from Germany completely. You didn't have to be psychic to sense the death waiting in the wings around Hitler."

Giles took a deep breath, his eyes looking far older than his actual years. "They somehow found out a lot more. And they started a project in 1942 that aimed to combine certain human and demon traits together, binding them properly with technology. It was very crude and unpretty. And it was not something that the participants had any say on. I won't talk about what they did, because I don't want to make people ill. They made some progress however.

"Naturally the Western Allies found out about it. A German man who happened to be a former researcher for the Watcher's Council contacted a diplomat in the British Embassy in Switzerland with the full plans.

"There were two responses. The first was to organise an attack on the Nazi research facility where their project was being carried out. The second was try and create a possible counter. An Allied super soldier. The latter was called Project Lazarus.

"Fortunately the Nazi project encountered certain problems. Equally fortunately the Nazis sited the building housing the project in area that was highly secure from the ground, but was far too close to another project that was very vulnerable from the air. A classic example of putting too many eggs in one basket. It was in a place on the north German coastline called Peenemunde. The same place that they were developing the V-1 flying bomb."  
Giles smiled a tight little smile. "On August 17th, 1943, the RAF took care of two birds with one stone. They bombed both facilities. The dispersion of effort, although slight, was enough to delay but not destroy the V-1 programme. However the German super soldier project was wiped off the face of the earth. The building was utterly destroyed, along with the few numbers of prototypes. Crude prototypes I might add."

"But this Project Lazarus continued?" asked Xander shrewdly.

"For a while, yes. The problem was though that it was running into the same problems that the Nazi problem had been suffering from. Stitching chunks of demons and humans together was one thing, but reanimating them was another. But the biggest problem was how to power such re-animation. You couldn't have a super soldier that had to run to the nearest power point every few minutes to recharge its batteries.

"And then the Watcher's Council found out that as the Nazi project was dead as a proverbial dodo, Project Lazarus was now surplus to requirements. As the entire thing made them deeply uncomfortable, this gave them the excuse to shut the entire thing down. They went straight to Churchill himself, told him everything they knew about it and why it had to be stopped, and he agreed with everything they said. Project Lazarus was shut down thanks to British insistence. The plans were pulled in, the prototypes were put to sleep humanely and their bodies destroyed and everything was reduced to plans in the archives of the Watcher's Council." He paused. "Or so we thought. It seems that the US Government hatched a little betrayal of their own. Certain files were either not destroyed or were copied. Whatever happened, it seems that they were able to recreate a great deal into Adam. Including his basic form, as you can see by the plans."

Riley stirred uneasily in his seat at this but didn't say anything. Whatever he might have said would have been refuted instantly by the plans. Instead he smiled bitterly. "I always suspected that Maggie was ruthless. I guess I didn't suspect how ruthless."

"As you can see," said Giles as he gestured at the plans, "Both projects envisaged a humanoid combining parts from various demons, including several ones with armour and a small degree of shape shifting abilities. Both used technology, although the original 1940's version was hopelessly primitive compared to what's now available. In Project Lazarus the orders were supposed to be overlaid via voice commands, with instant obedience created by post-hypnotic suggestion. Adam's programming – or what's left of it now, as I suspect that he has overlaid his original orders with new commands – was by computer." He paused. "I'm going to hand over to Jonathan for the more technical part here, such as how Adam is powered."

Sweating slightly with nerves, Jonathan stood up, seemingly propelled by Anya's not very sotto voce command to 'tell them about the nuclear stuff'. Approaching the whiteboard he took a deep breath, turned and faced everyone.

"Adam doesn't eat or drink. He doesn't need to, as he gets his power from somewhere else." He turned and pointed with a pencil to the centre of the form on the modern blueprint. "It's internal. He has his own internal power source in the form of a small power plant powered by a uranium-like substance that I haven't been able to identify yet. According to Walsh's notes she obtained it from another department, although a better term might be 'stolen' as her description of where it came from is rather murky. Wherever she got it from, it's powerful enough to give him almost unlimited power. Worse, it'll last for approximately 2,000 years without needing a recharge, even at maximum output. He's very powerful guys. When he punches, you'll feel it," he said grimly.

"So he doesn't have an off-switch?" asked Buffy, looking at the plans with her head tilted to one side.

"No," said Jonathan curtly. "His main memory circuits are scattered around his body as well, and I'm not even sure how much thinking he does with his brain. Decapitation might not even slow him down. He is also able to absorb information, well, just like a computer. He has one obvious interface in his chest," he pointed to the relevant part of the plans, "And I think I can identify several others. Including at least one that should allow him to access the Internet. I think that he can hack too, but that's just my personal theory. I'd be surprised if he couldn't."

"Which means that we all have to be very careful," sighed Giles, "As we have no idea how much information about us he has now or might be able to access."

"That's a cheery thought," muttered Wesley. Then he frowned. "If he can access information, or load it, why is he dissecting so many things - and people for that matter?"

"If he has overwritten his original programming," theorised Jonathan, who was now looking a bit more assured and a lot less damp, "Then he might be looking to replace it with his own set of drives and instructions. He might be curious about the way that the world works, about what keeps life alive. The fact that the dissections have been tailing off a lot over the past few nights might mean that he's found out what he needs to know and that he has a new objective in sight."

"That gives me a very nasty feeling in the pit of my stomach," muttered Faith. "So you think that he's now the man with a plan?"

"Yes, I do," replied Giles, as he nodded at Jonathan with a smile of gratitude. "Thank you Jonathan for your analysis." The man smiled back and walked back over to Anya, who gave him a bright smile and held his hand as he sat down.

"Very good," she said brightly, "You didn't look as sweaty as you said might be. I shouldn't have brought the towel to wipe your extremities."

Lindsey suppressed a snort of amusement. The former demon had a very robust attitude to society. When she opened her mouth you could bet that she could be as blunt as hell at times.

"So how do we kill him?" asked Buffy in a very determined voice. "I mean, if we have all this information, what's his Achilles' Heel?"

"Ah, that's not an easy question to answer, Buffy," replied her Watcher. "This is only his blueprint to the point when he broke out of the Initiative. We don't know what kinds of improvements Adam has carried out on himself in the meantime. Decapitation, as Jonathan said, might not have any affect at all. Severing all of his limbs might work, but that does depend on being able to do so, and I have a feeling that he's not going to be very co-operative towards that object. He has the capacity to learn from each fight, which means that he will have a steep learning curve. And we have yet to discover his overall objective.

"At present our best tactic is to be cautious and continue to gather information. And not to confront him head on, even if we can find him, which at the moment is something of a tricky point due to his ability to stay under our radar, as it were."

"Well that sucks rocks," said Faith disgustedly. Then she caught sight of Giles's eye and rolled both of hers. "Relax, Giles, I'm not going to go charging off to find this guy in one big impulse-fest. I'm going to listen to good advice and keep my head down. No matter how much I'd like to rip his head off and shove it where the sun doesn't shine." She pulled a face. "Reconnaissance first, right?"

Everyone nodded. "This patience stuff is kinda hard to get sometimes," she sighed. "Oh well."

"Very well then. Everyone – please be very careful at the moment," Giles said sombrely as he started to take down the blueprints.

"We will, Giles," replied Xander as he stood up. "I don't think that sticking a lightsabre into a nuclear powered doohickey is a good idea on any level, at least until we know what might happen."

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Security at any Wolfram & Hart office was tight. It had to be tight. The firm had picked up some very nasty, not to mention powerful, enemies over the years and they occasionally made attempts at either revenge or retrieving artefacts that they had lost to the firm.

There were various levels of security depending on where you were in the Sunnydale office. The main entrance was always watched carefully, as was anywhere with access to the tunnel network beneath Sunnydale. But the most security was at the main entrance. Cameras watched the doors in, motion sensors watched the air about the doors, internal sensors checked for large lumps of iron in the form of guns on visitors, as well as their internal temperature. Men armed with more than just guns sat behind the security desk in reception, linked to a master control room that viewed all the cameras and monitored everything. And there were rooms that contained other guards. Not all of them were human. Or even looked human. All resolutely guarding the building from attack from the outside.

So it was rather a shame when the office was attacked from the _inside_. A security guard whose gaze was on the main door caught sight of something out of the corner of his eye and turned his head just in tine to receive a long prong of a bony substance through one eye and into his brain. He did not survive the experience, but instead collapsed bonelessly to the floor as the prong vanished. Half a second later, as his fellow guard tugged desperately at his sidearm, a hand came around, crushed his larynx and then removed it entirely, whilst another one took his gun from his now limp fingers and fired three rounds into the heads of the remaining three guards.

The dead guard was then dropped and the shape of a dark form could be seen on the camera screens on a desk that was now manned by corpses. It seemed to be waiting for something, its right arm raised. Five seconds later a door slammed open and five vampires dressed in security uniforms came boiling out into the hallway, all with their game faces on and all looking around for the intruder.

There was a clacking noise from the intruder's upraised arm as what might have been some sort of magazine clicked into place and then the hand at the end of the arm changed into something more circular and spat out five rounds. All hit each vampires in the chest. The vampires smiled to themselves, preparing to launch themselves on the idiot who thought that you could kill vampires with bullets. Then they all frowned at the same time, then screamed and then looked down in time to see smoke billow out from the wound. Seconds later they all burst into flames and then turned into ash, each shedding a small hollow bullet onto the floor as they died.

There was another clacking noise in the intruder's arm and then more bullets were fired from it, transforming the cameras to so many sparking piles of junk. And then the intruder was gone, having paused to briefly insert a small line with a jack in the end of it into the security computer.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Working in Wolfram & Hart could be tough sometimes. It was hard to be blasé when many positions depended on if you had a paranoid boss, or if competition for promotions could be helped a little with a judicious amount of backstabbing followed by a careful amount of arsenic. Some bosses liked having ambitious underlings and would reward them for being… inventive. Others preferred more direct ways of dealing with ambition.

Life in the Sunnydale branch had recently been complicated by a number of issues. The first was the departure of Lindsey McDonald. A book had already been opened on how it would be before his lifeless body was dragged back and nailed to his desk as an example to the others for being too independent. Others were being on his severed head being left in the main lift as a more obvious example.

Another issue had been the problem of having an office in the same town as two Slayers and these so-far unidentified 'lightbringers'. A lot of clients tended to vanish in mysterious circumstances, missing and presumably very dead. Habeas Corpus didn't work when it came to vampires.

But the biggest problem that they were dealing with just now was the fact that Bob Rove seemed to be mad as a hatter. Hellmouths had been rumoured to have a nasty effect on some Wolfram & Hart employees. Rove was living proof of that, because he was deteriorating at a rate of knots. He hadn't actually got to the point where he was in danger of sticking his hand in his shirt and telling his employees to go and march on Moscow, mes enfants, but it wasn't too far away. It seemed that only his amply bosomed secretary could really rein him in at times. Dangerously ambitious behaviour was therefore being curtailed for the time being, as no-one knew how Rove would react. He might have them all killed on the spot. He might not. He might tell them all that they were all fired. He might even announce that he was a purple salamander and that it was teatime in magic spoonland.

Which made it very hard to work out when it was a safe time to go home in the evenings. Working hours were supposed to be 9 to 5. It was better to be at your desk early and to leave late. How late depended on Rove at times. If he was sleeping in his office, as he seemed to be doing quite a lot of these days, then it was safe to leave around 8ish. If he was going back to his house then it would be more like 10pm. Tonight was one of the latter nights, but at long last the word had been passed that Rove was getting ready to go home.

Naturally at that point the alarms went off, and the building descended into chaos as people started to boil out of their offices and head for the main exit, as the entrance was out of bounds.

Unfortunately the first sight that greeted people at that exit were the very dead bodies of three large demons in security uniforms. A fourth one was nailed upside down to the locked doors, blocking the way quite nicely. No way out there.

The other exit was blocked by something else, something that few people got a clear view of, because it seemed to be armed with a machine gun, which was being used with a great deal of accuracy at anyone that came into view. Somehow a great deal of head shots were being accomplished, showing great marksmanship. It wasn't long before the corridor was filled with the bodies of Wolfram & Hart lawyers.

The survivors who were able to warn people that the secondary exit was being manned by a homicidal maniac were not left with many options. You couldn't just open a window in a Wolfram & Hart office and drop out. For one thing, given the alarm lockdown that the building was now under, you couldn't open a window anywhere in the building. That just left one small fire exit – which had been jammed shut with something and had another dead demon nailed to it – or there was the car park in the basement. It was in the latter that the survivors, numbering about 20 people, met.

They were all confused, most were terrified, some were wounded. They were also very leaderless. Rove was nowhere to be found and his secretary had last been seen heading for a broom cupboard that was rumoured to contain an escape tunnel. Unfortunately if it did have outside access, it had been jammed shut from the inside and no-one could tell if the rumour was true or not.

At this point the lights flickered and went out. A lawyer standing next to a phone mounted on a wall was able to use his cell phone to locate it and then dial the main security office, a heavily fortified room that was proof against pretty much anything, and which even had its own air supply. There was no answer from it, which was pretty much a given as the computer that monitored air flow into it had had its programming rewritten since just after the initial attack on the entrance hall. The security room was now very dead. Literally.

Calls elsewhere on the phone met with no answer, and the increasingly panicked lawyer was about to try and call the LA office when all of a sudden the line went dead. The cell phone was useless this far underground. Bladder control was now a problem for many people.

Thirty seconds later the machine gun opened fire again from a corner of the car park. It was very accurate. People ducked, people hid behind cars, but no matter what happened they kept dying. The last survivor was shot by the phone, trying to place a call to nowhere.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Rove opened his door a crack and looked out, his eyes flickering along the hallway wildly. Nothing. There had been nothing a few minutes before and there was still nothing now. But something was in the building and that something had shut off access to everything and everyone. From the messages that he had received from the main security office, just before the gasps for air had taken over in there, something was killing everyone it could in the building. He still issued them with orders after that. Just because there was no air in the room didn't mean they couldn't do their jobs. Lack of air was no excuse in his book.

This was bad. He hadn't had 'kill all the staff' on his calendar. It was unplanned. He didn't like unplanned, it meant that there was chaos in the area. He didn't like chaos. For one thing, it was unplanned.

He scratched his head with one shaking hand and then paused. He had been thinking about… what was it again? Then he caught sight of his hand. The nails were badly chewed and there was blood seeping from a small scratch. That wasn't good hand care at all. Why hadn't his secretary booked a manicurist?

Something scratched and skittered in the thoughts in his head and then he opened the door again. Just a crack. That was it. He was trapped in his office, whilst something killed his staff. That wasn't right at all. Didn't it realise that he had a schedule to keep?

His other hand felt heavy and he looked at it blankly. Oh, yes, the gun. It felt very reassuring. Very heavy too. His hand was tired. Surely he should put the gun down somewhere safe?

Wait. He paused. He could hear something. The lift. The lift in the corridor was ascending. That was bad. Wasn't it? Yes, it was bad. He closed the door, locked it and then walked carefully over to the desk. Something nagged at his mind, something about a way out of here. There was… a lift. That was it, a lift. Where? Down somewhere.

He could hear footsteps now, the sound of something very heavy walking towards his doors. He giggled slightly and raised the gun.

"Go away!" he shouted. "You don't have an appointment and besides, I'm not in!"

Something knocked on the door and he paused frowning. Someone was at the door? Where was his secretary?

Then he jerked slightly as sheer reality started to force a measure of sanity onto him. The gun came up and he emptied it into the door, the large – and very illegal – bullets literally blowing chunks out of the wood. When a series of clicking noises filled the air he realised that it was empty, and he turned for his desk and the box of bullets that was waiting there. As he reached for them he felt a brush of air against the back of his neck and then a hand grasped his shoulder and span him round, before another hand grabbed his throat. The pressure was enough to make him gag, but he could breath – just.

Looking up he gaped as he looked into the face that was a patchwork of human and demon flesh, along with metal. It looked like a face from a nightmare. Why hadn't his protection spells kicked in? There had to be a reason! Nothing had happened, but he'd been promised that he would be protected! He'd bought protection, damnit! He'd…

Terror kicked in. He was going to die now. "What… are… you?" he was able to choke out from the merciless grip.

The face tilted to one side almost musingly. "The future," it said in a deep voice. Then it smiled. "I hear that Wolfram & Hart employees on your level are contracted to serve the firm even beyond death. What a wonderfully ironic fate."

"Why… are… you… doing… this?" Why was he? Why attack one of the most powerful forces in the underworld?

"To make a point," rumbled the thing. "Goodbye."

The other hand came up, grabbed the top of his head and twisted it around to the point he felt as if his neck was going to-

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Adam lowered the headless body to the floor and then looked at the head, whose mouth was still open in a silent shriek. "Alas poor Yorick," he declaimed. Then he looked around. It was a very functional office. Such a shame that he had other plans for it.


	14. Too Many Questions

Another very busy month - I was sent off to Brussels at very short notice just before we celebrated Thanksgiving, which is a very odd thing to celebrate in London. We had a great time though. What with the office being so busy and getting Christmas presents and so on, it took me a while to get this chapter worked out. Eeep. Hopefully I should soon be settled enough to crank out my writing more regularly. Happy Christmas everyone!

* * *

There were times when he thought that having a large number of security guards was far more trouble than they were worth. Far, far too much trouble. That was the problem with using ex-military people. You could almost hear them get ready to click their heels every five seconds or so. And you could never really work out what they were thinking. A kind of pseudo-military mask would slide over their faces, and it was hard to work out exactly what the hell was lurking behind that façade.

For a lawyer that was a bad thing. A very bad thing.

But in this case the presence of guards was a good thing. It meant that if something nasty happened in this building, there was a very good chance that they would die first whilst he escaped to fight another day. That was the only good thing about this whole situation however.

Holland Manners scowled as he looked at the entrance lobby of the Wolfram & Hart office in Sunnydale behind him and then walked down a flight of stairs. He was in a very bad mood. It had been bad enough to wake up, answer the phone and hear the voice of one of the Senior Partners booming down the line from whatever Hell dimension he was in. They rarely contacted people in the firm directly, and when they did it was either to deliver bad news about general events, or to deliver the really bad news that you were about to die. It had therefore come as a relief – sort of­ – to be told that something very bad had happened to the Sunnydale office and that it seemed that everyone there was dead.

There had been an unaccustomed note of actual uncertainty in the Senior Partner's voice that had been genuinely unnerving.

And how here he was, standing on the Hellmouth, sort of, surrounded by cars, looking around at a large number of bodies. That was a normal assumption to make actually, Hellmouth dead bodies, but in this case it was something of a surprise. They were the bodies of people that worked for the same company as he did. Wolfram & Hart. The company was known for messy object lessons, but not on this scale. At all.

A shadow loomed to one side and cocked its head. He turned to see the head of his protection detail standing there. He looked very solemn. But then Bracken always did. The former SEAL, a tall African-American who had left the Navy under a cloud, always looked as if a smile would crack his face open into shards. He looked utterly humourless. Holland suspected that Bracken did not like working for the company very much. However, he did like the very large pay checks. Fair enough.

"Well?" he asked Bracken.

"Only one survivor, sir. Rove's secretary, Syriol Morannon. She made it to the escape tunnel on the fourth floor and got out that way. She said that she heard the alarms going off, and was making her way out when she heard the sound of gunfire. Turns out that the main latch sticks a bit on the door to the escape tunnel, so she wasn't able to leave it open for anyone else. She didn't see who attacked the building."

"What about the security videos?" he asked as he walked away from the scene of mass slaughter to the stairs back up to the main level.

"That's the odd thing, sir. They've all been wiped, even the ones in the reserve backup. Some kind of worm virus was placed into the main computer, which wiped everything."

He turned and stared at Bracken. "Everything? Even the other backups?"

"Like I said, everything sir. I've never seen anything this thorough before. One of our technicians is downloading everything from it so that it can be sent over to the main office in LA and studied under containment. He said that he's never seen a computer virus as sophisticated as this one."

He mulled that one for a moment. That was bad. Who knew where the damn thing could have come from? "How was the main security room neutralised?"

A shrug. "The bodies all showed signs of oxygen deprivation, as far as I could tell. That's another odd thing. The room has a sophisticated security system of its own – it's supposed to be immune from outside tampering. But something somehow shut the air supply down. I have no idea how. Neither does the security specialist."

This was getting worse and worse. Security at a Wolfram & Hart office – any Wolfram & Hart office – was supposed to be airtight. It wasn't just a case of security guards and cameras and computers – there were other safeguards, far older and less technological ones. Spells of warding for one – powerful ones. It was supposed to be impossible for certain agents of the Powers That Be to cross the threshold of an office without their being thrown back at great speed. Detection spells for another. Vampire detectors, demon sensors, hell even psychics.

Bracken must have read his thoughts on that one, because he opened a door leading to a small room by the main entrance as they emerged next to it. It contained a table, a chair, what appeared to be a very limp salad in a bowl and a dead man with a look of terminal surprise on his face and a hole in his right temple. A piece of paper was to one side, with what looked like a list of the names of horses to tomorrows' races on it. "Whatever it was, the psychic didn't see it coming, sir."

Holland shivered for a split second. He didn't want to think about what that implied. It meant that something was about that didn't play by the usual rules, the rules that Wolfram & Hart had played by for thousands of years. It meant… chaos. That or new rules. Hopefully the latter. Fat chance of being protected through whatever the hell (literally) was coming, without protection from the Senior Partners, and their protection… was laid down by the rules.

Then he looked back up at Bracken. "Take me to Rove's office. I want to see where he was killed."

"Yes sir," the former SEAL replied, escorting him to the elevator. "Some of my men have already secured it."

The elevator dinged almost at once, but just before they got in there was a flurry at the main entranceway and a very nervous man with red hair and a faint tic appeared and looked around wildly.

Holland sighed with exasperation and thumbed the button to keep the door open before waving at the damn fool, who had luckily not been shot by the at times over-zealous security team and who had, for once, obviously remembered his security pass. Seeing Holland he swallowed visibly. This was not a good sign. Then he hurried into the lift, pausing to blink worriedly at Bracken.

"What do you have for me Donald?" asked Holland distractedly as he thumbed the other button that allowed the doors to close and the lift to jerk upwards.

"Uh, Rove has been revived in the LA office sir, once the Senior Partners activated the relevant part of his contract. His head was reattached and…. so on."

Finally, thought Holland. "Well? What did he say?"

This brought out an attack of the stammering idiot in Donald, because he coughed, rubbed the back his neck, looked at the ceiling quickly and finally looked back at his boss. "Well, sir… it seems that although his head could, could be reattached, well, his mind couldn't be. Fixed that is. He's, um. A bit… mad." He caught sight of Holland's face. "Actually, he's a lot mad. As in crazy, sir. Keeps calling his left hand Mr Flibble and then ranting about something called a lightbringers being in town. He wasn't too clear about that, actually."

"Wonderful," said Holland levelly. He was quite proud about the fact that he wasn't shouting by now. "Did he hint at what the hell it was that killed him?"

"He was asked, sir. Um. Apparently he didn't make much sense and he digressed a little – I mean a lot, but he drew a picture. The LA office sent it over as fast as they could." He held out a sealed envelope.

Holland took it with a distinct sense of disquiet. There was something on here, some hint about the hideous thing that had happened here. He hesitated for a second and then tore the envelope open. Inside was a folded piece of paper, which he took out and opened.

He stared down at it impassively for a long moment and then looked back up at Donald. "This is what the LA office sent you?"

"Yes sir."

"No-one tampered with this along the way?"

"I don't see how sir. I was told that Rove signed it."

Holland looked down again. Oh yes, someone has signed 'Rove' in rather shaky letters to one side. He turned the latter over and held it up. "It looks like a My Little Pony killed Rove. That's what he's drawn anyway, a purple pony. I think that the chances of this being the actual truth are rather low. Tell the LA office to ask him again. And to try and do something about his cracked, stinking mind!"

"Yes, sir," quavered Donald, who was looking at the piece of paper as if he couldn't believe what was on it. He had a point – neither did Holland really.

The lift came to a halt and the doors opened. As they all filed out Holland jerked a finger at Donald. "Not you. Go back downstairs and pass on that message."

"Yes sir!" Donald scurried back in as Holland passed him and jabbed at the ground floor button rather harder then he probably meant to.

The doors to Rove's office were rather the worse for wear. It looked as if someone had fired some pretty impressive calibre bullets through them from the inside. Holland quirked an eyebrow at the holes and Bracken shrugged. "I think he had some heavily beefed up ammunition sir. Possibly some explosive rounds. It doesn't look as if he hit anything though."

Holland looked at the line of bullets. They were pretty level, which wasn't bad shooting for a crazy person with a pony fetish, or whatever the hell was wrong with Rove. His secretary's office looked okay otherwise.

As he walked into Rove's office the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end and he actually shivered. "What was that?"

"We think that Rove tried to set up a few unauthorised spells. Spells of warding against anyone who disliked him. Problem is, he did a bad job of it. Spells wouldn't have repelled a sick fly," grunted Bracken as his men joined the others who were already there and took up positions in the office. "Rove's body was found there, sir."

Interesting. More proof of Rove's brain having lost the plot and skidded off in another, totally mad, direction. It was actually against company policy to have any personal spells in a Wolfram & Hart building. Sometimes they affected the main security spells on the office. Not in this case though. Or rather, he thought not. Best to get them checked out though. He looked at the pool of slowly drying blood and shook his head. Why hadn't the fool escaped? Oh, wait, yes. He was mad.

Holland sighed and walked over to Rove's desk. Nothing odd there. Some legal files, some notes, a few self-propelled pencils, his computer and his phone. A light was blinking in one corner of the latter's display. He had voicemail. Shame it would never get to him.

Taking a long sighing breath he sat down in the chair and looked around. Bracken was talking quietly into his radio and the others were all… looking alert or something. Being alert. Guarding. Whatever.

Then he heard a smooth gliding sound and looked around sharply as a screen appeared from behind a set of sliding doors on the wall. Bracken had been moving from just after the sound had started and was already poised by it, his semiautomatic nestled in his shoulder and his eyes narrowed.

The screen blinked and then a face from a very bad nightmare appeared on it. It looked part demon, part human, part metal and all nasty. The thing blinked after a moment and then smiled, as if it had seen it done in a book once and was trying to activate the muscles in the correct sequence.

"If you're here then you must be from Wolfram & Hart," it rumbled. "And you've seen what I've done here. You must be wondering a great many things…"

"What the hell is this thing?" barked Holland.

"… like who and what I am and how I was able to get into this place so easily and kill all your people." Another smile. "I do not intend to tell you that. What I do intend to tell you is simple. I did it to prove a point. To prove that I could. That I can. And that you can't even detect me, let alone stop me. Let me introduce myself. I'm Adam. I am Wolfram & Hart's worst nightmare. I'm here to change things. Starting here, with the people who used to work in this place. And you, because in exactly one minute from now this building will explode. Goodbye."

The most important benefit about getting to his current position in Wolfram & Hart was the fact that his survival instinct was now so strong that it almost had a life of its own. The moment that the thing had finished speaking he was walking over to the wall behind Rove's desk. He held his hand out, palm outward onto a section of the wall, and after a second, a whole precious second, a panel snapped open to one side, revealing a keypad. As he jabbed a complex ten-digit code into it he snapped: "Get out of here. Now."

Bracken nodded quickly. "All teams, Code Red One. Repeat, Code Red One," he chewed off into his microphone. Then he looked around, before he lifted his automatic rifle to his shoulder and waved one of his team clear of the window. Then he fired three bursts of five shots each at separate sections at it. Glass shattered outwards and Holland cringed slightly. All of a sudden there was a wind blowing into the office, as he jabbed the last number into the keypad. A door to a very small elevator slid open and he threw himself in. As he did he turned around. Bracken's people were unravelling ropes from packs, one was already snapping a clip to a rope as it snaked around a column, and all were getting ready to abseil. Good for them. He punched the only button in the elevator, the doors slammed shut and all of a sudden his stomach lurched upwards as he plunged down.

According to the internal clock in his head, which had started the second that whatever the hell it was had stopped speaking, some 22 seconds had passed. The journey to the bottom of the shaft was fast. The elevator had been enhanced in a number of ways, otherwise he would have been a thin paste on its ceiling due to its rate of descent. When the door opened again it was to reveal a brightly lit tunnel. Which Rove would have seen if he had escaped and if he hadn't been insane.

Holland broke out into a run, the clock still running in his head. 40 seconds. 45. 50. 55. 60. Then the tunnel shook, dust drifting down from the ceiling. Well… son of a bitch. The threat had been a real one.

Well, that meant that Wolfram & Hart had a new enemy, a new potential threat. There was a new player in the game and… he paused. There was a certain smell down here. It was… rather like a sewer had been opened. Which was odd, because there wasn't one near here. Then he heard the sloshing noises. The smell was getting a lot stronger and after a moment he started to run again. Something was very wrong down here.

* * *

It was a lovely day. The sun was shining, he had the roof down on his car, he was going to be making the famous Harris meatballs for supper for the family that evening and no-one was trying to kill him. That was the positive side of life today.

On the negative side, there was still a maniacal human-demon-cyborg thing stalking about town, Wolfram & Hart were still in the area… and he had a very strong feeling that he was being followed. Xander paused for a moment at a red light. Oddly enough he also had a very familiar feeling about the occupants of whoever was back there in the traffic, but he wasn't sure why. Then he reached out with the Force. That odd alien feeling about one of the people back there was back. That meant that it might be the possibly-military people that he'd seen – and sensed – outside the High School. Well. Maybe he should find out. Carefully.

When the red light went green he pressed the accelerator, turned down Clancy and then went up Haassen, which was on his way to the Library, but not his usual route and off the usual rat run of cars in the rush hour, such as it was in Sunnydale. Yes, they were still there. He could see them better now, in a black van with tinted windows. Please. It stood out like a sore thumb. The question was, who were they and why did two of the four unseen people feel familiar? Oh and what was with that demon-like presence? It was… snake-like. Not evil per se, but like a slowly, very slowly, growing abnormality. With more than a touch of juvenileness at the moment. Actually, more like babydom.

As he was mulling what do about it, another stop sign loomed up and he brought the car to a halt. Then he frowned slightly. He could see the Wolfram & Hart building at the bottom of the hill, about 500 feet away. It looked innocuous. And it felt…. That was odd. Lifeless. At this time on a Thursday morning? He looked at his watch. 8.30am, and according to Lindsey in his old occupation he used to start work at 7.30am on most days, like most of the others at the firm. But today he could sense that there was almost no-one in it, although he could sense that a small number of people were suddenly putting out a massive amount of tension. Then all of a sudden a window on the topmost floor blew out with a great show of glass and more than a few dead passing pigeons. Seconds later thin black lines snaked out and then a group of figures were suddenly abseiling down the side of the building, very quickly. Very, very quickly. Within thirty seconds they were all down and… running away from the building. Interesting. Surely the Initiative wouldn't have tried to raid Wolfram &Hart? Not in broad daylight anyway?

Then the building shuddered visibly, as puffs of smoke and dust jetted out in various directions., before it suddenly and very neatly, stared to collapse in on itself with a growing rumble of noise.

By the time that the last of the rubble had clattered to a halt all over the place, people in the cars behind were already out of their cars and screaming with horror and bewilderment.

Xander, on the other hand, had his cell phone in his hand already and had hit speed dial. It rang three times and was then answered. "Giles?" the Jedi Master asked quickly, cutting the Watcher's greeting off, "We've got trouble. Someone just blew up the offices of Wolfram & Hart. Yes, I mean it. Blew up as in exploded."

He looked into the rear-view mirror again quickly and then raised an eyebrow. Two people had gotten out of the mysterious van several cars back. The drivers side figure was the tallish man that he had seen glaring at the High School. The other was shorter, with tousled blonde hair. She was a bit familiar. Major Carter, from the US Air Force, one of the people who had tried to persuade him to tell all about his energy cell. Well, well. That explained a few things, while bringing up other questions, like why were they watching him?

The pair looked at each other before leaping back into the van, which then performed a very neat turn and barrelled off down a side-street, obviously heading down the hill. They seemed to be very curious. That was interesting as well.

* * *

Jack floored the van down the hill, his mind working at a mile a minute. Okay. A building had just blown up. The thing was, it looked suspiciously precise, almost military. And the noise… well, he was no expert, but explosives were explosives, whether C-4, Semtex or demolition dynamite. And explosives had been used, by the sound of it, quite a lot of them. He'd seen the figures abseiling down the side of the building, and that was not something that demolition experts did just before they blew something up. For one thing there was a siren, or a hooter, or a big goddamn sign saying that kablooieness was on the way. From what he'd seen so far, nothing like that had been seen or heard at all. Which was why he was driving rather fast down the hill. It looked a bit like what had happened to the High School.

The chances were that selling property or selling advertising in Sunnydale was not an easy job. 'Come to Sunnydale and see landmarks disintegrate before your very eyes!' was not an award-winning slogan.

"I'm starting to get a very bad feeling about this," muttered Daniel behind him.

"Join the club," he growled in reply. "Carter, the minute we find out which building it was, pull its files. I want to know what the hell is going on in this place."

"You and me also, sir," replied Carter, as she braced one hand on the dashboard and peered at the billowing cloud of dust.

When they pulled up not too far from the rubble coughing figures dressed in black were already starting to emerge. Jack looked at them and then drew in a sharp breath. These guys were loaded for bear. In fact they were equipped to take on a pack of heavily armed bears. One man seemed to be leading them – he was gesturing with quiet authority and pointing here and there. And as the dust started to ebb, caught by a breeze from behind the van, he looked in the direction of the van, stared at it hard with pausing to issue commands and then looked away at the rubble.

Jack raised both eyebrows. "Goddamn. Karl Bracken."

"Sir?"

He pointed. "That's Karl Bracken. He was a Navy SEAL. I met him in Kuwait, during Desert Storm. Guy saved my life. Later on he got dropped into Northern Iraq in 1996 in a mission to look for a sarin gas factory. There was a communications screw-up, his squad wasn't extracted in time. Took some casualties in some nameless engagement that will probably never make the official history books. Last time I heard, he'd resigned after he told his CO to disappear up his own fundamental orifice." Jack frowned. "I didn't know that he was working for a civilian group now."

Other figures were starting to arrive from the other side of the billowing cloud of dust, and Jack watched as Bracken counted them off. When he reached what must have been the right number his shoulders relaxed in a tiny, infinitesimal, way that spoke volumes to him. All of his people were safe. Well, the guy might be working for civvies now, but he still had the right priorities.

"They seem to be… very well armed for security guards," said Daniel behind him. He was looking around with a puzzled expression.

"Are you alright Daniel Jackson?" asked Teal'c behind them.

"Um. Yes. At least I think so. I just have a very odd feeling about this place. Probably just gas or something," the archaeologist replied.

"Daniel," sighed Jack as he wondered about how to sidle up to Bracken and get the scuttlebutt on what the hell had just happened, "This whole place gives me a nasty feeling."

He turned to one side. "Any idea what this place is – or rather was – Carter?" he asked, seeing as she already had her head in the van and was busily tapping away on her laptop.

"I'm checking the local records online now, sir… um… oh. It's a – was a legal firm sir. Called Wolfram & Hart."

"Check it out," said Jack absently. Bracken had finished issuing orders and people were starting to move off in various directions, while the former SEAL stood there and glared at the pile of rubble as if he held it personally responsible for whatever the hell had happened. "I need to talk to an old friend."

* * *

This was FUBAR. In fact it was FUBAR and a fricking half. He didn't know what the hell the… thing had been on that television screen and to be honest he didn't care. It had tried to kill them all, although it had been decent enough to give them warning. Right…. At the top of an office building, where a minute's warning meant dick for most people. Luckily he and his people had been equipped for any emergency, so they'd swung out of there while Manners had saved the most important thing he had – his own ass.

At least the others had had just about enough time to get out of the building in time. Ok, some would be coughing up dust for the next day or so, but rather that than dead. Hopefully they also had the records from the security tapes and so on. They had to catch the thing that had done this. That was probably what Manners would tell them and for once in this well-paying but at times soul-destroying job, he would have to agree with the evil old bastard.

He spotted movement out of the corner of his eye and looked that way quickly. Oh. A civilian. Who… walked in a rather familiar way. He was dressed in brown leather jacket and had a cap on, which he was removing to reveal salt-and-pepper hair and a quizzical squint that looked like... hell, it was Jack O'Neill? That was weird, he had to be seeing things. Then the apparition came closer and looked quizzically at the heap of rubble. Nope, it was him alright. He had rather more salt in his hair than he remembered, but it was him. Son of a bitch.

Bracken barked a quick command to his number two, who was looking at O'Neill in a suspicious way, and when the man scurried off he ambled over after a few moments. What the hell. As it was O'Neill, then maybe a word for old times' sake.

* * *

"Jack," the former SEAL said after joining him in contemplation of the rubble, "What the hell are you doing here?"

"Nice to see you too, Karl," he replied with a lift of his eyebrows. "I didn't know that you were in private security these days."

"Pays the bills," replied Bracken with a sigh. "Tom and Maggie are both going to Cal Tech." He squinted at Jack. "You still with the Air Force?"

"I tried retirement once, but the boredom almost killed me. Got reeled in again."

"You never could stay away from a challenge." A piercing stare zinged its way between the two men. "Jack, what are you doing here in Sunnydale?"

Jack sighed and settled his cap a little straighter on his head, not that it needed it. "Chasing down a lead about something classified. Investigating the very former Mayor of this place because of something else that's classified. Just a whole load of classified stuff. Then we saw you and your people zinging down the side of what used to be this building, before it went up in a puff of what looked awfully like a controlled demolition. I could almost smell the C-4." He sent a hard stare back at Bracken. "Anything you want to say about that, Karl?"

Bracken shifted uneasily. "Not without breaking a heap of non-disclosure agreements. I work for… a firm that objects to being pried into, Jack. Objects a lot. So I can't say. What I can tell you is that if I started to tell you half of what I know about Sunnydale, you wouldn't believe me and my head might explode if I said too much. And I mean that last part."

"Your head might explode? Your people listening with a sniper and a directional microphone?" asked Jack with incredularity.

"Not quite," sighed Bracken. "But I would certainly die. Jack, the people I work for have a lot of enemies. Something new hit us today. Twice actually. And that's all I can say. Apart from the fact that there's nothing connecting us with Wilkins." He smiled bitterly. "We only moved in because he died."

"Was there anything odd about him? We know he did the Highlander trick – pretending to die and then appearing as his own son every time. How did he live that long?" asked Jack, in a stab in the dark.

Bracken smiled slightly and shook his head. "You've only got part of the picture, I think. Is that all you have on Sunnydale so far, Wilkins and his long life?"

"Is there anything else?" asked a mystified Jack.

The smile broadened and then became a grimace. "You haven't even scratched the surface, Jack. And I hope you don't try. It might get you killed. Not by my people – we're leaving town once we find my missing and unlamented boss – but by the other part of the puzzle here."

Jack was very close to losing his temper now, but he held it in, bit back a snarl and took a deep breath. "Like what?"

"If I told you, you'd think I was nuts. No seriously, I mean it. I can say this much though – if you're staying in Sunnydale don't go out after dark alone. Certainly not alone and unarmed. And if you get… mugged by people with facial deformities, double-tap their heads with explosive rounds or just incendiaries. It sounds rough, but you'll understand if it happens to you."

Bracken paused, but before a baffled Jack could ask what the hell he was talking about, a black-clad man was running towards them both with a badly-suppressed grin. He paused slightly when he saw Jack and then mumbled something into Bracken's ear. The former SEAL paused, stifled a grin of his own and then looked at the man. "He was where?"

"Escape tunnel," the man replied. "Looks like the explosion cracked a pipe somewhere in the foundations."

"Oh," said Bracken as he closed his eyes in ecstasy, "This I have to see." Then he opened his eyes again and looked at Jack. "Sorry, but I have to go. My boss has turned up. He's covered in sewage, but he's still my boss." His grin faded slightly. "Jack, be careful in Sunnydale. I presume you have a team, as you said 'we'. Tell them all to be careful. This is not a safe place to be in. Especially once the sun sets."

And then he was gone, loping across the street with the other man, before Jack could ask him why he seemed to have gone nuts and started talking about double-tapping civilians.

* * *

"There wasn't much left of it, Giles. Just a big old pile of bricks and concrete. Oh and a lot of dust. But I'd bet my lightsabre that it was blown up by an expert. Or at least someone with access to explosives knowledge," said Xander quietly as they stood by the kettle in Giles's office. "I did not have a good feeling looking at it."

"Neither do I at the moment," muttered Giles. "The destruction of a Wolfram & Hart building is not a common occurrence. They did have one in London, but Cromwell, when he was Lord Protector, had them thrown out and the building demolished. He died soon afterwards, not that that was much of a co-incidence. I think that the one in Berlin survived unscathed after Soviet troops fought their past it in 1945, only for it to mysteriously catch fire and fall over inside an hour the day that Hitler died. Oh and there was one in Washington in 1814. I think that a British soldier might have wandered past it with a tinderbox, on his way to visit what became the White House."

"I think we can both guess as to who might have blown it up?"

"Very likely Adam," sighed Giles. "I think I can guess why as well. Unless I'm mistaken he's pushing the borders of his own power, destroying a rival and bolstering his standing in the demon community. I wonder if he has any idea as to the extent of their reach. Wolfram & Hart make very bad enemies. Fighting them can be a hard slog at times. Long-term planning is often the answer."

Xander looked at him sombrely. Then he let out a sigh of his own. "Giles, there's something else. I was followed on my way to work this morning. Or rather I was followed up to the point where the building in front of me blew up, luckily without anyone dying, after which the people doing the following had other things on their minds."

Giles frowned and then reached down to pour some water from the now-boiling kettle into a cup that had some instant coffee in it. "Could you tell who they were?" he asked, stirring in some milk and sniffing appreciatively at the caffeine-scented aroma.

"Well, the main guy seemed to be in his late 40's – he had salt and pepper hair – and he had a real air of command, Giles, I could tell just by looking at him that he was in charge. I saw him a few days ago, when I was driving past the High School. He was scowling at the wreckage." Xander paused and then grimaced a bit. "I saw one of the others. She was a Major Samantha Carter, one of the pair from the US Air Force that I told you about when they visited me about my energy cell patent."

The Watcher sighed. "Yes, well, I did tell you at the time that patenting that cell may have been very noble for the future of the human race, but would have attracted interest from the US military. Your unwillingness to include the final, crucial, part I still think was a good idea, but probably pricked egos and goaded people in their technology divisions. Hence their arrival here. Was there any sign of her companion, Dr Daniel Jackson?"

"I didn't see him, but there were two other people in the van that didn't get out. One might have been him. Giles, the other one felt odd. I can't define the feeling I had… a human but with something alien in him." Xander rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Why were you so interested in Dr Jackson by the way? Last time I mentioned his name you started a bit and then went very quiet once I described him."

"He, he has an interesting record, so to speak. Academically speaking, sort of. He's a very gifted scholar, and he published some very interesting theses about Egyptian, Mycenaean and Celtic influences, along with the most fascinating paper I've ever read about the location of the fabled lost city of Tartessos in Southern Spain," said the Watcher as he lowered himself into his chair and sipped his coffee.

"Then he made himself a laughing stock in the mainstream archaeological community by claiming that the pyramids were built by aliens. He was literally laughed out of an audience hall after presenting a paper on the subject. Which was a shame, because I thought that his theories were based on what looked like some very intriguing premises. I disagreed about the aliens part, but only because he failed to explain that bit properly. He hasn't published a paper since, and there was even a rumour that he had died a few years back. What on earth he's doing working for the US Air Force I don't understand."

"Yes, well, they're probably in town to ask me again about that missing piece to the cell. Why they're following me around is another question. I hope they're not going to start poking their noses into things – we don't want more complications in our lives," sighed Xander.

A long finger was waved in an absent-minded way at him by the older Watcher. "Yes, Xander, but don't forget that we don't know yet what information relating to the Hellmouth the Initiative has put about. From what Riley has told us about the reaction that new recruits to the Initiative have when it comes to vampires and demons, I think it would be safe to say that any data on Sunnydale is extremely classified – and certainly compartmentalised. There's a good chance that these people from the US Air Force – if they really are from there – do not know about how dangerous this area is."

This drew a groan from Xander. "Hell, you're right. I'd better watch out for them when they're nearby. I'd hate to see them in a morgue because one part of the military didn't bother talking to another part of it. Typical." Then he looked up. "Lindsey," he called out after a few seconds.

The Padawan who was older than his Master walked in and looked around. He looked a bit confused and had obviously heard what had happened. "Someone really blew up my old office?"

"Yup," confirmed Xander. "Sky-high."

"Anyone hurt?"

This was a question that on a level that Xander hadn't really realised was there, relaxed him a bit, drew off a faint frisson of tension that he hadn't really known was there. He'd always known that Lindsey had, thanks to his job, skated rather too close to the Dark Side to make his training easy. The fact that he had displayed concern for his former workmates was, on the face of it, a good sign. As long as it was concern.

"Not that I could tell," he said cautiously. "I felt no deaths with the Force. Just before the building blew up a group of what looked like special forces troops blew out a window at the top of the place, abseiled down and then ran like hell. They all survived, along with the twenty or so people I saw running out of the main doors and… Lindsey?"

His Padawan had gone very white. "Twenty people is nowhere near the full complement of the building. And if there was a security detail from Wolfram & Hart around, then something majorly nasty must have gone down there. They never bring them in unless there's a serious crisis." He let out a long breath, running a hand through his hair as he did so. Then he stopped dead. "Wait a second – you said that they came out of a window on the top floor?"

"Looked like they shot it out. I saw at least one dead pigeon falling in many pieces."

"Which side of the building? South side?"

Xander closed his eyes for a moment as he visualised the scene. "Yes."

"Then that was Rove's office. Something must have happened to him. Maybe he finally went all the way nuts." Lindsey paused. "I don't think that Wolfram & Hart have ever allowed any crazy person to blow up one of their buildings though. No, this feels wrong."

"A good guess," muttered Giles. "We were just theorising that it might have been Adam."

There was a long moment's silence as Lindsey absorbed this, before he started to nod his head slowly. "Makes sense." Then he raised his head. "If it is him though, then he isn't afraid of Wolfram & Hart at all. And that makes him dangerous on I don't know how many levels."

"I know," said Xander thoughtfully. "I have a feeling that he's acting on a plan that we can't see yet. Sorry if that's stating the bleeding obvious, as you'd say Giles. But I wish that we were acting a little more and reacting a little less. Not that we can do anything else just now."

"I know," Giles said heavily. "Wesley and Faith have said similar things recently. I've got them working on plotting Adam's attacks and other sightings on a map, so that we have a better idea of what we're looking at. Frankly, the more information we have the better."

"I have an… acquaintance of mine at the LA office of Wolfram & Hart," volunteered Lindsey reluctantly. "She's low level but she likes to keep her ears open and the last time I heard from her she wanted to resign on health grounds, so she isn't committed to the place."

"Health grounds?" asked Xander quizzically.

"The place makes her ill. Literally. She had no idea why. I can call her and ask what the hell happened. I'll be discreet. I don't want to have anything to do with that damn place now."

Xander and Giles exchanged a long look before both nodded. "Do it," said the Jedi.

* * *

Buildings didn't just blow up, thought Riley as he crossed the hallway, opened the door of the fraternity and emerged into the open air. The explosion had been quite spectacular and had been right along from Forrest as he was eating breakfast and flirting with a waitress. Forrest had seen quite a bit and had then passed on what he had seen to the Initiative. The briefing had been an odd one. Who the hell would want to blow up a building owned by lawyers? Well, ok, apart from other lawyers? And why had there been such a large team of rather heavily armed men in the area?

General Finch had been his usual stoical self – somewhat monosyllabic, very taciturn and of course grimly determined. The only slight, infinitesimal crack in that visage had come when the name of the firm had come up. Riley had made a note there and then to look up more information about these Wolfram & Hart. Finch had narrowed his eyes a tad, moved his mouth into what might have been the faintest precursor to a sneer – and had then wipe every trace of expression off his face.

He suppressed a grimace of his own as he walked quickly across the road and along the path that lead to the lecture hall that he should have been in two minutes ago. He hated unpunctuality. Of course, the student life did kind of clash with that a bit. However, a briefing was a briefing. He found himself wondering vaguely if now was the time to tell the truth about Buffy to Forrest. Maybe. Maybe not. Speak of the devil… he sped up slightly as he saw his friend dashing along a converging path. "Forrest!"

The other man slowed. "Hey Ri. I see you're late to Reynolds's lecture as well. You got anything we can set fire to, so we can slip in on the opposite side of the lecture theatre?"

"I wish," sighed Riley. "At least I get to see Buffy afterwards."

"Ah, true love," smirked his friend. Then he checked his six nonchalantly. "Don't promise her a long date tonight. Patrolling. We need to check out that building. You up for it by the way?" he muttered in a low voice.

"I know I am. The infirmary checked me out earlier today. Said that I healed very quickly and praised my bone structure," Riley replied. "I'll talk to you later." As Forrest hurried away Riley followed him. As he did he directed a worried look at the library. He needed to talk to Buffy about something similar. Perhaps she or Giles or the others knew something about whatever the hell had gone down today. He shuddered slightly. The realisation that there were two Slayers had stunned him, especially when he had thought it through. Buffy had been dead for a while several years ago. Dead enough for Kendra to be called. And Kendra had lasted… what, a year? How long did Buffy have? Would she be so lucky next time? He swallowed hard and passed into the building, following Forrest.

* * *

Jack seemed to be in a very bad mood right now. But then that had been par for the course for the day so far. Whatever it was his former colleague had told him had obviously been more than a bit odd, because Jack kept muttering and looking quizzical.

After a while, as they finally arrived at the campus where Alexander Harris worked, he finally broke into the muttering with a question. "You ok, Jack?"

His friend looked around irritably. "No," he said. Then he sighed. "This place, for the umpteenth time, is freaking me out." There was a pause. "At least we know where Harris works. That hasn't exploded. Yet."

"Interesting that he'd be working in a library," mused Daniel after a long moment. "After all, there was nothing in his school records that suggested that he might be considering that kind of a vocation."

Jack shrugged. "I guess a job's a job. What's the UCS library's rep anyway?"

Daniel pulled a slight face. "Not bad. Seems to have improved a lot in recent months, at least based on some of the comments I'd heard from visiting professors. I asked around a bit to get an idea of what the place is like." He turned to look at Jack. "One odd thing though – the chief librarian started at the same time as Harris. His name's Rupert Giles. Sam's pulling his records, because someone emailed me last night to say that she'd heard a rumour that Giles had once worked for the British Museum. Intriguingly enough he worked for their Room 42 department."

This seemed to flummox Jack slightly. "What's that when it's at home?"

"I never had much contact with them, but I heard about the people there. They advise about archaeological oddities and odd things." A memory tickled the back of his mind and he frowned. "Nick once called them the bomb squad of the archaeological world, but I never found out why."

Transferring his stare from the building to Daniel, Jack raised an eyebrow. "Did he say this before or after he ended up in a rubber room?"

"Ahhh…. During the transitional phase."

"Might not mean anything then," Jack muttered as he transferred his attention back to the library. There was a slight scuff of a foot on gravel and he turned slightly. "Find anything new out Carter?"

"Yes, actually," said Sam as she obviously bit back the automatic "Sir" at the end of the sentence. "I just had some data emailed over from the SGC. Not a lot but the best that they could do at such short notice. It seems that Rupert Giles used to work as the librarian for Sunnydale High School."

The three shared a glance. "That so?" mused Jack quietly. "When exactly?"

"For almost exactly three years, ending this summer, when-"

"The school blew up," Jack finished for her, not that it was too much of a logical stretch for Daniel. "Well, well. Such a small world. I wonder what the connection is."

"I don't know," replied Sam, with an unsaid "at least not yet" hanging in the air. "I'm still looking into it."

Daniel looked at the library with an abstracted air. He could still feel something odd about this place. Boca Del Inferno. There had to be a reason why the place had been named that. Why? Too hot? Too dry? And those folk tales told by the Chumash – or rather those folk tales that the survivors had told the Spanish missionaries, and the Mexicans who had followed them. He'd glossed over that bit at the briefing in the SGC. 'Odd creatures' wasn't quite the expression that he had first seen. 'Monsters' would have been a more accurate translation. Monsters. What was behind that?

He scratched his chin thoughtfully. There had been that time that he had been talking to Geoff Chalmers from Trinity, talking about odd digs. Geoff had mentioned that time that he'd been near Nineveh… when he'd allegedly heard that wailing voice on the breeze, speaking in ancient Assyrian. Apparently he'd laughed it off as being too much Oban on an empty stomach, along with too much imagination. Why had he just thought of that? Now that he came to think of it there had been a number of other things that Geoff had alluded to. Things that… he'd mentioned a cousin of a friend of his at the same dig. Rupert something-or-other. Giles? It might have been, but that was a very connection. Anorexic, as Jack would have said. He just had a very definite feeling that something was tapping at the back of mind, clamouring for his attention, but that he wasn't picking up on it.

Suddenly Jack stiffened in place next to him slightly and swore under his breath, before grabbing his small pocket scope, looking around quickly and then peering intently through it. After ten seconds he swore again, more softly.

"Something wrong, sir?" asked Sam a second before Daniel could ask almost the same thing. Jack seemed to be staring at two men, who were walking down a path that led past the library and towards a large building. One was Caucasian, one was African-American. Both were young, tallish and seemed to be quite fit. There was also something else about them that Daniel couldn't quite put his finger on.

The scope went down as Jack passed it over to Sam. "See the leading guy there? Name's Forrest Gates. He was in the middle of Special Forces training at Fort Bragg when Hammond asked me to take a look at his file. He was being considered for an initial approach to recruiting him to the SGC," he muttered in a low voice. "Tom Happer recommended him. Said he was one of a group of about three or four that he had been keeping an eye out. All had great potential. The older one was Griffiths, who's with SG15 these days."

"I've met Griffiths," said Sam as she peered carefully. "He's good." Then she paused. "What happened to the others?"

"I don't know," said Jack through slightly clenched teeth as he took the scope back and peered through it again. "Just before we could meet them – and just after they completed their training – the other three were snapped up by some other organization in the US Military. Tom didn't know who at first, but he did some digging and… Jesus. That's two out of the three. Finally got a look at the other guy's face. That's Riley Finn. He had the best scores of the lot. Happer said he was a guy who he'd have trusted to watch his back. Coming from Tom that's a hell of a compliment."

"Jack," said Daniel with what he would have described as heroic patience, "Can I use your scope to see?"

"Oh. Yeah, there you go," said Jack as he absent-mindedly handed it over. Then: "Sorry."

Bringing the scope up Daniel focused carefully. The two men leapt into focus. They had finished whatever conversation they'd been having and were now walking quickly down the path towards the lecture building. There was something implacable about the way that they walked. It wasn't identifiably military, but there was something of a marching air about it. "You said your friend did some digging?" prompted Daniel gently.

"What? Oh, yeah. He found out that a group that we know and loathe had recruited them. A group with the three-letter acronym of true incompetence."

"The NID?" asked Sam, again before Daniel could. She stared at the building that the two men had now vanished into. "They're with the NID?"

"Well, Carter I presume they're still with them. Hammond wasn't pleased, he'd already pencilled them into SGC teams. That was about… a year or so ago."

"So… I wonder what they're doing here?" asked Daniel musingly.

"I don't know," conceded Jack, "But I'll give you damn good odds that it's something nasty. I'm staring to dread the very letters NID, due to the high level of trouble that follows them around. Everything the NID touches turns to shit, we all know that. If they ever let an NID agent into Fort Knox by mistake this country's going to be bankrupt in a morning. In fact I can't even mention NID without starting to rant, did you know that?"

"Um, I suspected it," replied Daniel carefully. "We need to find out if what they're doing here is connected to anything we're looking at."

The Colonel groaned under his breath. "You know what this means?" he asked through gritted teeth.

Sam and Daniel swapped worried glances. "No, Jack," replied Daniel.

"I'm going to have to try and contact Maybourne. And ask that little weasel what he knows about this place. Black magic-loving mayors, giant snakes, exploding buildings, former SEALs making cryptic comments and now the NID. That's just peachy. And now, the crowning cherry on the dung heap, a call to Harry Maybourne. Somebody just shoot me now."

* * *

Finding a quiet and very private place to practice with what might be described as a piece of equipment out of a film was just as hard as it sounded. Fortunately she'd been able to find a place in the form of a derelict warehouse on the just about wrong side of LA. She'd checked the place out and had not so far discovered a nest of vampires in the area, or anyone else for that matter. Shame, she could have practiced on them. Well, perhaps not. She needed to work out how to use the thing without cutting her own leg off first.

A faint scurrying noise to one side made her turn sharply, using the Power to identify what it was. Ah. A rat. Not pleasant but not a threat. She closed her eyes and pushed a little further. There were a few more on this floor and lot more on the floor below, but again, not a threat.

Lilah looked down at the silver cylinder in her hand. She'd gone through the report that Harry Wolfit had commissioned with a fine toothcomb. A general lack of answers tended to stand out, although she had discovered a possible answer to the name 'Padme'. It was the name of a character in the Star Wars film that had just come out. She hadn't seen it – nor was she likely to see it any time soon. She didn't really have the time to go to the movies these days.

She closed her eyes again, using the Power to sense if there was anyone in the area. Still no-one. Apart from the rats. Good. She thumbed the correct switch and the red beam hummed into life. Thoughtfully she hefted it. The activated weapon weighed the same as when it was turned off. That was what she had suspected, but she had to make sure. Taking it in two-handed grip she brought it around carefully. Wow. The blade made the same noise as it passed through the air as it did in the movies.

She walked over to where she'd set up a few packing cases and a steel beam that she'd been able to balance against the wall. Raising the humming blade to the first attack position that her sensei had ever taught her she paused for a moment and then slashed hard. There was a faint feeling of impact and a little resistance, and then she was staring down at the two pieces of the beam as they clanged down onto the floor. Another swipe sent half a packing case flying with little more than a smell of burnt damp wood. Well. She had to say that she was impressed. It could cut through things with a little effort, was nice and light and once deactivated could be hidden easily.

A cruel smile played around her mouth and then vanished as if it was scared. This would be just the thing to use on her Master. Once she'd extracted as much as possible from him, that it. She had a feeling that he was keeping more than a few things back from her at the moment. But then so was she. She had another feeling that she was already stronger in certain areas than he was. She was practicing a lot on her own now, careful to pretend that she was improving in fits and starts around him. That was the beauty about being at Wolfram & Hart sometimes – you got to hide what you were really thinking behind a façade.

And it was very important to do that around Dansey. He had a knack of knowing when you were either not telling the whole truth or were hiding something. True, he'd had years of suspects and defence lawyers and even some DAs lying through their teeth to him but still… it was better to be safe than sorry. Especially when he was using the power. And equally especially given some of the small nuggets about his path that she'd been able to hear. Just small things, but she was pretty sure that he had been taught by an old teacher who had died entirely unmourned, not least by Dansey. She had a pretty shrewd suspicion that he had killed his teacher himself, once he had finished teaching Dansey everything that he knew. If Dansey suspected that she was thinking the same kinds of thoughts, then things might get messy. For one thing she'd be unable to get everything out of the stringy old bastard.

But there was something else. He'd been talking once about the Power. Sometimes, he'd said, it can be inherited. But sometimes the person who inherited it could be weak and unworthy. From the way that he'd gone grimly silent at that point. His eyes on a point far away, he'd been talking about someone in particular. Someone very likely related to him. And who was probably now very dead indeed. He'd been quiet after that, which was a shame, because he'd been talking about their Order. It had once been bigger and larger, but had been crushed once. And it seemed to have no name, or rather they had no name that she had heard yet from him.

She hefted the lightsabre again and then started a slow series of practice swings, gauging what she could easily do with the blade. Using an ordinary sword took a great deal of focus, to make sure that you hit with enough force to counter you opponents' blows, without hitting too hard and opening yourself to either a physical overbalance or getting yourself into an unbalanced position, or hitting too lightly and ending up with your own sword being sent back at great speed. The lightsabre, being lighter and able to cut through anything both simplified and complicated at the same time. It would be interesting to work out the kinks in this.

A chittering noise intruded her senses for a moment and she looked up irritably. A group of rats were scurrying around to one side, obviously agitated by her presence. She smiled viciously and then scattered them with a swipe of the Power, sending small forms flying in all directions. Several hit the walls with enough force to smash skulls and spines, their bodies going limp almost instantly. She pinned one of the larger ones in place with the Power and lifted it into the air, looking at it. Such a weak, pathetic little thing. She concentrated briefly, increasing the pressure until its skull exploded in a small shower of white grey and red. Then she hurled the furry ruin at the wall as well.

She liked the Power. She liked what she had learnt. It gave her such a feeling of strength… And then she smiled for a different reason. She'd come up with her own private name for what she was now. Screw Dansey and his mutterings about the old days and old ways, whatever his eventual plan would prove to be. She knew what she wanted to call herself and she didn't care that it was a name from a film. It just sounded… right.

She was a Sith.


	15. Wrong Answers

Ok, big apologies. This chapter should have been up at least a fortnight ago, but life has been a pain recently. First I had writers block, then I got distracted by another project, then I wrote myself into a corner and finally Kathleen was laid low for a week by a bug that ripped through her school. (Which reminds me - parents! Have you disinfected your child today? If not, install a sheep dip and scrub the little buggers before you send them to school!) Ahem. Right, now that's got that rant out of my system - enjoy. Next chapter will not take as long to write. I hope.

* * *

This time the vampire looked… clean. Scrubbed in places, although where in alive people bits of skin would look red and flushed as a result, in a vampire these areas just looked a little redder than normal, which wasn't saying much. But he was clean. His clothes were clean. His hair had been brushed. And there was something else, a glow in his eyes, a burning look of fervour, of belief in something that had overcome his mind.

He looked at Adam with something close to adoration. "You destroyed the Wolfram & Hart building," he stated, a bit like someone saying a sentence that they still had trouble quite believing. "You killed them all and pulled their entire building down." As he spoke his mind seemed to be catching up with what he was saying, the faint hesitation in his voice ebbing, the burning fervour growing.

Adam smiled. "Yes. I did. Do you believe now?"

The vampire knelt quickly. "Yes. I believe."

Adam's smile grew slightly wider. "Then I have a job for you. For all of you. We have a trap to bait."

* * *

Paperwork. He'd gotten used to it now, but only after many years of cursing it under his breath. It never ended and sometimes it got a lot worse, especially after someone new arrived in charge of the Pentagon. You grew to cope with it, although frankly signing the correct forms to order ten dozen boxes of lavatory paper did pall after a while.

George Hammond put his pen down and stretched a bit. Something grated slightly in his shoulder and he grimaced. That meant that he had been working too hard for too long. The chances were that either Dr Frasier or his wife would have a few things to say to him. Both could nag for the USA at times. Ah well. It would all be-

The red phone rang and he stiffened abruptly. The phone to the White House. Hell. Reaching out he quickly picked it up, standing up at the same time. "Good evening Mr President."

A chuckle came down the line. "There's no need to elevate me, General Hammond," said a very familiar and at the same time very offensive voice. "A man can dream though."

Hammond stared at the phone incredulously. "Maybourne?" he asked. "How the hell did you get this number?"

"Acerbity and bafflement. I like it. Well, in my former line of work you pick up all kinds of thing. Don't grind your teeth, General, your dentist will get fractious."

Hammond unclenched his jaw and sat down abruptly. "What do you want?"

"Straight down to business. Fair enough. I understand that my old friend Jack is making enquiries about a place in California. Called Sunnydale, I think."

"I have no intention of discussing the activities of Colonel O'Neill with you," replied Hammond, making sure that he didn't grind his teeth as he spoke, despite the temptation.

"Fine. But General," said Maybourne with a note of sudden seriousness entering his voice, "Tell Jack to think twice about going there. It's actually a very dangerous place. Things that you two don't believe in go bump in the night there. I'd say more, but you wouldn't believe me and you probably have a trace on this call, so I'll hang up. Tell Daniel to look up the Chronicles of Aurelian. He might not believe any of it, but tell him that it's true – all of it. Goodbye George."

The line went dead. Hammond stared at it for a long moment and then replaced it on its cradle, before leaning back in his chair. He had a very bad feeling about things all of a sudden. Especially for once Maybourne was slightly misinformed. Jack was actually in the damn place, not finding out more about it.

* * *

"How long do you think he's been dead, Doc?"

The doctor, who looked highly uncomfortable, not just at being in a relative state of mufti but also at having to be almost upside down to look at the corpse, scowled slightly. "That is a very interesting question Agent Finn. All I can give you at the moment is a rough guess. At least a week but not more than ten days would be my considered opinion." He pulled his head out of the window, balanced himself carefully on the side of the overturned truck and then equally carefully slithered to the ground, where he brushed ineffectually at a brown stain that had appeared on his shirt. "As to how he died, I can tell you straight away. Something strangled him very efficiently. His oesophagus was virtually crushed."

Finn winced perceptibly. Then his face hardened slightly. "That would have taken a lot of strength, right?"

"Yes, a great deal of strength. I'll know more when I get him back to the lab and carry out an autopsy." He sighed. "I knew him slightly, Agent Finn. He used to bring medical suppliers occasionally. He seemed like a very decent sort."

Finn nodded absently. "I know the feeling, doc. He was reliable. Hell of a brain for baseball stats too."

"Not my sport at all, I'm afraid. I do rather prefer cricket. Well, I'll send on a full report to you. It reminds me of the time when… well, that's a story for another time, as it were. Pop round and see me before I ship out by the way. My regrettably short time at your interesting little facility is almost up, even if I haven't been allowed into the lower and more mysterious depths."

"I heard about your transfer back east, doc. If I don't see you before you go, good luck."

They shook hands briefly, before Finn turned on his heel and stalked off towards the back of the truck. The doctor shook his head slightly. Keen as mustard that one, but with something weighing on his brain at the moment. A lot actually, by the look of him. A combination of emotions, as it were, and he found himself wondering just what the hell the lower levels were involved in. He had his own suspicions – he'd seen quite a few things in his time over the years – and although he knew on a general basis what the Initiative did, he had heard of rumours about what the holding cells contained, rumours that worried him more than a bit. Maggie bloody Walsh had rubbed him up the wrong way any number of times, mostly due to her general attitude of knowing it all. Not to mention her outright air of downright arrogance at times.

Well, now she was dead the point was a moot one. Still… he shrugged slightly and then nodded to the agent standing to one side. "Let's get this poor sod out of there."

* * *

The two figures looked very peaceful sitting under the tree. Both were leaning back against the trunk, enjoying the sun on their faces, almost reclining next to each other. Xander paused for a moment and then kept walking towards them, smothering a small smile from his face. The two were giving off a lot of contentment and general happiness.

"Hey Amy."

The blonde witch started a bit and then looked over at him, shading her eyes against the sun. "Hey Xander. How's it going?"

He dropped down onto his haunches and smiled at her. "Sort of good," he replied, looking at the girl next to Amy. She too was blonde, but a slightly darker tint, with much longer hair, slight dark lines under her eyes and a worried expression, her gaze suddenly darting everywhere but in his direction. "I need to talk to you about a few… dangerous things."

Amy blinked hard at that and then smiled slightly. "It's ok – you can talk… oh! I'm sorry. Xander, this is Tara, a… special friend of mine. Tara this is Xander, a very old friend of mine who I used to go to school with."

Tara shot Amy a smile, waved vaguely in Xander's general direction and then told his right shoulder that she was pleased to meet him, before she seemed to retreat inside an invisible shell of impenetrable shyness.

Amy smiled at her fondly. "Xander, Tara is a witch," she said quietly. "A powerful one as well," she added, despite Tara's brief mumbled, not to mention stuttered, protestations of nothingness in the way of power. "I've told her about the Hellmouth. And what's on it. Not about anything else though."

Tara resurfaced again for a moment. "So you kn…. kn…know about the Hellmouth?"

"Oh yes." Xander looked at Amy, smiling. "You might say that the Force is with me here against the Hellmouth."

"The… the force of what?"

Xander and Amy shared a look of mutual hesitation. "It's… a bit hard to explain," ventured Xander after a long moment. "Let's just say that there are… forces for good at work here, as well forces for evil. I'm one of the former."

"Oh yes, are you ever," muttered Amy quietly. Then she took a deep breath. "Honey, remember when I said that there were other powers around in Sunnydale?" Amy nodded. "Well, Xander is one of them." She looked back at him, raising her eyebrows.

Xander reached out with the Force, carefully. Tara seemed on the level, but sometimes it was better to be safe than sorry. She projected… magic. She was powerful, almost as powerful as Amy was. And Amy was no slouch when it came to magic. And Tara seemed… good. He could tell that almost at once. Nervous, hell yes, intelligent, yes, perceptive… another hell yes. But he could pick up other things from her – compassion, warmth, understanding… love. Love that strengthened every time she looked at Amy.

It could all be an act of course - if he was being paranoid that is. "Hello Tara," he said quietly, "I'm Jedi Master Xander Harris. Very pleased to meet you."

Tara's eyes went very wide. "You're j… j… j… joking, right?"

Xander replied by holding his hand out, having first checked without even looking that no-one was watching them, and then used the force to raised Tara very slightly off the ground. She squeaked slightly, causing Amy to look at her sharply, and then he let her down. "Sorry. Small demonstration."

"Xander," chided Amy, "Please don't levitate my girlfriend." Then she stopped and turned slightly pink, before directing an apologetic smile with Tara, who was trying to direct a stare in two different directions whilst smiling at Amy.

Xander smiled at them both. "Sorry. And I'm very pleased to meet you. Tara. Amy, there've been a few developments. I need to tell you about Adam. In fact you both need to hear about this, because life here is getting a bit dangerous. Well, more dangerous than normal."

He started talking. After a while Amy and Tara started holding hands for reassurance.

* * *

"Sorry I'm late, Buffy," panted Riley as he ran up to her. "We had a small emergency."

Buffy looked at him, noted the heaving chest, squelched a number of mental images and decided to forgive him. "It's ok – my mom is pretty ok, as long as we don't miss something involving turkey. Thanksgiving and Christmas she turns into ultra-strict timing mom, zooming about with a stopwatch and checklist." She shuddered. "I can still remember the list of things to do that she sent me at Christmas."

Giving her a wry look, her boyfriend walked down the road next to her, his arm around her shoulders, although she could feel him trying not to be too intrusive. That was the usual initial problem with any new relationship – how close did you get, at which time and which speed? Riley was obviously still getting over the 'I'm much taller than she is, I take longer strides and I need to make sure that I don't rush her accidentally' stage in his thinking. She did her best not to roll her eyes, and instead snuggled slightly into his arm a bit, for comfort.

When they finally reached her old house – have paused once or twice along the way to kiss lingeringly – Buffy paused for a moment and smiled wryly. "Home," she said quietly.

Riley snorted slightly. "At least yours is closer than mine. Iowa," he sighed, "Is a very long way away sometimes. Actually it's a long way away all the time, but you know what I mean."

Nodding, Buffy walked him over the road. "So are you going to hint at what made you late?"

"Actually," sighed Riley, "I can tell you straight out. We found one of our supply trucks, dumped in a ravine on the outskirts of Sunnydale. Driver was very dead – we think Adam killed him. Same MO as other incidents. Thing is – we don't know why he was there. He'd been dead a week, but on the day he died there was no supply shipment due to arrive. Truck had been cleaned out and there was no inventory, while the supply depot said that the shipment request had been an electronic one – and had vanished completely. We don't know now what was in it at all."

"Adam," said Buffy grimly, "Is starting to get on my nerves."

"All our nerves," replied Riley just as grimly. Then he lightened slightly. "So do we get to visit your mother now?"

"Oh yes," chirped Buffy. God, she thought, I hope that Spike hasn't been around again recently to watch Passions. That or Days Of Our Lives. Apparently he'd agreed with Mom about the lameness of the death of Dr Drake Ramoray, or whatever the hell his name was, the other day. It was just a soap.

* * *

"Harkinson."

"Ummm… got that.

"McGruder."

"Ummm… yes."

"Malak."

"Ahhhh… yes, got that one too."

Xander peered into the office quizzically. Then he saw Wesley and Faith there in front of a map pinned to the board. A map of Sunnydale to be precise.

"Hey. Xand-man," drawled Faith, without taking her eyes off the list in front of her. "Bleeker."

"Ummm… yes," replied Wesley, scanning the map quickly and then pushing a red pin into it.

"Hey," Xander greeted them. "Let me guess – a tally of Adam sightings?"

"Yes, indeed, Xander," said Wesley, stepping back slightly and looking at the map. "Sightings, both verified and implied, as well as possibles. Giles suggested it. We need to get a good idea of the kind of area that our new adversary is operating in. Where, so to speak, his stamping grounds are. Then we can track him down more easily." His voice trailed off slightly at the end of the sentence. "Although until we know how he was able to infiltrate and destroy a facility as well-protected as a Wolfram & Hart office, confrontation might not be the best strategy just now."

"Agreed," said Xander as he looked at the map with some degree of interest. Interesting… Then he raised a hand and waggled his fingers behind him. "Hey Wills."

"Hi guys," bubbled Willow as she walked in and dropped her bag on a chair. "Whatcha doing?"

"Plotting Adam-related stuff," replied Faith, squinting down at the list. "Montgomery."

"Um… yes, got it," said her Watcher. Then he stepped back slightly, his eyes slightly hooded as he looked at the distribution of pins, before picking up the next one.

"Grant."

"Okay…. yes."

As the two continued their plotting exercise Xander crooked a finger at his oldest friend and took her over to one side. "Willow I met Amy earlier on and told her all about Adam and his merry circuit boards."

"Oh good, you warned her," gushed Willow in relieved tones.

"Yup," said Xander quietly, "I also met Tara. Amy's girlfriend."

There was a pause whilst Willow winched her jaw back up. He could feel Faith's smirk from across the room. "Whatever floats her boat," the Slayer said with a wicked smile.

* * *

Jack put the phone down and glared at it. "That was Hammond," he sighed. "Maybourne rang him." He looked up to see the others staring at him. "On the phone normally used by the President, no less."

Carter blinked hard. "How the hell did he do that, sir?" she blurted, before catching herself and inspecting the breakfast menu in front of her with great attention.

"I don't know," said Jack through rather gritted teeth. "That little weasel keeps coming up out of the blue with information and other stuff that makes me want to shoot him. And the worst thing is that he knows just how irritating I think he is and he likes to show off accordingly." He looked at the menu as well, flagged down a passing waitress, jabbed a finger at what were hopefully some rather edible sourdough pancakes and then sat there brooding whilst she took everyone else's order.

When she had bustled away he looked up at Daniel. "Oh, Hammond said to pass on a message from El Weasel. Said you had to look up a copy of the Chronicles of Audio-something. Audon. Auton. Aurolon."

"Aurelian?" prompted Daniel with a deeply sceptical frown on his face.

"That's it. Aurelian. Like the Roman name."

The archaeologist blinked at him. "Jack, while I'm impressed that you know that Aurelian is a Roman name, where the hell am I going to get a copy of it here in California? You can't just walk into a bookshop or even a library and order it, you know. And besides, from what I've heard the Chronicles of Aurelian is nothing more than a collection of folk tales."

"What do these tales tell of, Daniel Jackson?" rumbled Teal'c from his corner, where he had been casting a careful eye over the rest of the room.

Daniel rubbed his neck thoughtfully and then gave a gesture of weariness. "Ghosts, ghouls, vampires and other things that don't exist. It was written by a Roman Senator in what was the empty shell of the Senate in the 350s AD. Mentioned an army of… things that tried to invade the Empire, only to be destroyed. Standard late classical mythology."

"Why would Maybourne want you to read that?" asked Carter with a frown of her own.

She was answered with a shrug from Daniel. "I have no idea. I don't even know where I'm going to get a copy of it here. It's fairly rare."

"So a library wouldn't have it?" asked Jack, who was following the progress of a large and lazy fly as it circled over his head. He was also slowly rolling up a copy of the Sunnydale Courier.

"Not a lending library," sighed Daniel.

"How about the University library?"

"Well, UCS does have a good reputation for its book collection," said Daniel doubtfully, "Although it's possible that it might have a copy, it's not probable."

"Okay then," said Jack easily, "Go and have look there after breakfast." Then he unleashed the paper on the unsuspecting fly, which had paused to unwisely sit on the end of the table. It did not survive the experience.

Daniel exchanged a pained look with Carter. "Jack, there are a few problems with that. Firstly I'm not one of the teachers on the campus, so I can't borrow a book here. Secondly have you forgotten that Alexander Harris works there? As I've met him it might be a bit… awkward."

"Oh," mused Jack. "Well, I'll go and smuggle it out for you or something."

"That's… great, Jack, but I'm not sure that you'd know where to look."

"Hey!" exclaimed Jack. "I can navigate anything like a library!"

"Okay," said Daniel dryly, pausing as their food arrived, "Tell me where you start looking for a book like that."

Jack squeezed his lemon viciously all over his pancakes but failed to get any juice in Daniel's eye. "Oh… history."

"What part of the history section?"

"Ummm… Rome?"

"Nice try Jack." He sighed. "I'll try and sneak in. Even just a quick look might give me an idea."

"Good idea," approved Jack. "And-" He broke off to look at his phone, which was ringing loudly. "Oh nuts, what now?" He picked it up and answered it with a gruff "O'Neill."

"Hello Jack," said an all-to-smooth voice. "Taking a day off are you? I tried your office and your home, but no answer. I should have tried this line first."

"Maybourne," he answered after counting to ten very quickly in the privacy of his own head and watching the other members of his team all stare at him. "To what do I not owe the pleasure of this conversation?"

"Come on now Jack, is that any way to talk to an old friend?"

"And how exactly would you understand the concept of 'friendship', Harry?"

A laugh answered him. "Well, we're talking," said Maybourne. "I heard that you were looking into a place called Sunnydale?"

"Yup," replied Jack, spearing a slice of his rolled-up pancake and transferring it to his mouth so that he could chew it.

"I'm guessing that you've found out a few odd things about it so far. Carter and Daniel dig out some facts about the old Mayor yet?"

"Oh you mean the fact that he appears in photos going back a looong way? Yes, we found that out."

"I'm almost impressed. Try and check out the death rate of the place by the way. Might put you off going there."

That was a new one, and Jack grabbed a napkin and a pen, scrawled on it and passed it over to Carter, who frowned in puzzlement. "Anything else?"

"My, my, Jack. I'm hurt. I'm giving you some good hints and you sound so ungrateful."

"You aren't exactly giving us stuff that we don't already know about this place. Like, we already know that your former employers have some people here."

There was a slight pause. "_Here_? You're in Sunnydale right now?"

Jack jabbed at another section of pancake. "Yup."

"Jesus," Maybourne whispered. "Jack, listen to me. You really don't know what you're getting yourself into there. That place is _dangerous_, especially at night. There are things that…"

"Oh come on Harry, what can possibly harm us here?"

"Damn it Jack I mean it! Sunnydale is a dangerous place. Do NOT do out at night. At least don't go out unarmed. If you have any Zat guns, as I think you call them, take them with you. If you don't, get hold of some incendiary rounds and double-tap heads if you have to – if you see anyone with facial distortions."

Jack leant forwards. "Harry you almost sound sincere. And you're the second person who's told me to double tap heads if necessary. What the hell is going on here?"

There was an audible sigh. "If I told you, you wouldn't believe me. I mean that – you'd think I was crazy. And you might end up dead. Or worse."

"What's worse than dead?" questioned Jack with a baffled scowl.

"You wouldn't understand. Tell Daniel to read the book I mentioned to Hammond. And try not to go out at night. Oh and stay alive. Goodbye Jack. I'll call you in a day or so." The line went dead.

Jack looked up at the concerned faces of his team. "What the hell was that about?"

* * *

He leant over his desk, picked up the piece of paper and scowled slightly. No, there was no point in scowling. At the rate he was going he'd end up with enough worry lines to turn his forehead into a relief map of the Rockies.

There was a great deal to try and straighten out on this damn base, and he was starting to suspect that he did not have a whole heck of a lot of time. He hated working to someone else's hidden timetable. He'd tried doing it before, he'd hated it then and he hated it now.

What had timetable Walsh been working to? Why had she been working on Adam? Yes, the damn thing was something to do with the NID's eventual plan to take over some sort of equally classified project, but what exactly would need a Frankenstein's monster?

The phone rang suddenly to one side and he picked it up abruptly. "Finch." He listened carefully. "I'll be right there."

Standing up he checked his desk, walked to the door and opened it, passing along the corridor with swift strides. Along this one, a flight of stairs down, along that one, and into the main briefing room, where he saw that O'Connor was already waiting for him.

"What have you found, Major?" Finch asked quietly, sitting down in the nearest seat.

The shorter man looked around with a slightly excited air and gestured at the screen in front of him. "Sir, we've collated all the reports – all the sightings, I mean – from our units, and the police reports and the computer has analysed them. A definite pattern is emerging sir. All the sightings of Adam are highlighted in red, the deaths involving his… distinctive dissections are in yellow and the occasional sighting of him are in black. As you can see…" He gestured again.

"We have a diameter," purred Finch, a warm glow of satisfaction filling him. "Excellent, good work Major. And the centre of that diameter is?"

"An abandoned warehouse, here," answered O'Connor, pointing carefully. "We're pulling as much information as possible about it now."

"Good. Very good." Finch rubbed his upper lip under his nose ruminatively for a second. Then he nodded sharply. "The moment you have I want Finn and his three best teams called down to be briefed as thoroughly as possible. I want a reconnaissance in force to that location."

I want Adam taken out, was the unspoken thought in the room.

* * *

"You got a moment, Ri?" asked Forrest carefully as he peered around the door. "Your shadow isn't here then?"

"My what?" asked Riley, feeling confused for a moment. Then he scowled good-naturedly. "Oh you mean Buffy. She's gone. Had to see someone."

"I see you survived the family inspection then."

"Her mom's nice. Big on tea and something called Jaffa cakes. She knows Mr Giles, the librarian, because apparently she makes home-made stuff for him."

Forrest grinned. "So if you get together with Buffy and the librarian shacks up with Buffy's mom, what will that make you?"

He mock-scowled at his friend. "Nice try, meathead. Apparently Giles has a girl of his own anyway. And yes, I survived it. Anyway, what did you want?"

"Just wanted a chat and-" He stopped dead as the black phone on Riley's desk rang twice and then went silent. Then they both stood up and walked out of the room, heading for the lift down to the Initiative. As they walked they could see Graham approaching from his own room, along with several other operatives. It was time for a briefing. But first… as he walked he used his fingers to carefully hit three buttons on his cell phone. He'd set it up the other day, to send a set text message to Buffy, telling her that something important was up and that he had to go and deal with it. If he could he'd phone her later. Once this was over anyway. Whatever it was.

* * *

Much to his surprise Daniel was able to walk into the library unimpeded. The security guards were more worried about checking the bags of people who were leaving than those passing the other way, and he wasn't even asked for some ID.

Walking over to a desk he waited until a computer terminal became free and then slipped in front of it. A quickly typed enquiry brought up the information that he needed, and he grabbed a loose piece of paper next to the computer, carefully wrote the Dewey decimal number of the book he wanted down and then got up to leave.

The more he wandered through the library the more impressed he became. There was a truly impressive number of books on the shelves, and come to that there were also an impressive number of shelves, not to mention rooms.

The location that he wanted was way towards the back and up a full level, not far from what appeared to be an office of some sort. He frowned slightly – it made more sense to have an office near the entrance surely, to oversee the ingress and egress of books – and then shrugged mentally, going back to looking over the shelves for the book that he was looking for.

When he found it he blinked slightly. There were two copies of it, both slightly worn but in good condition. That meant that they were being read on a regular basis. He reached out and pulled the nearest one off the shelf, opening it carefully. Yes, this was it. The Book of Aurelian. A recent edition, printed by a British publishing firm that he had never heard of. How odd.

A sudden sixth sense alerted him to company and he looked up just as someone to his left cleared his throat in an 'I'm-grimly-amused' tone of voice. A tall man with brown hair flecked with a touch of light brown at the temples was regarding him carefully to one side as he polished his glasses on a handkerchief. He seemed to be in his late 40's, was dressed in quite a nicely cut suit and had eyes that were far too keen and piercing for Daniel's comfort. What was worse was that Daniel could put a name to him. "Can I help you?" asked Rupert Giles as he replaced his glasses.

"Oh, um, I was just looking for a copy of this book and I thought that-"

The Englishman cut him off with an upraised finger. "Dr Daniel Jackson I presume?"

Daniel frowned slightly. "Do I know you?" he asked ingenuously.

"You presented a paper on the Sea Peoples invasion of the Egyptian New Kingdom, about six or seven years ago in London. At the British Museum. I was in the audience. We were never introduced, but I do remember that you gave a fascinating lecture that highlighted a number of intriguing linguistic questions about the actual identity of the Sea Peoples," Giles said, still subjecting Daniel to that piercing, almost quizzical, gaze.

"Oh. Yes, that lecture. I'm sorry, that was a while ago," hedged Daniel, trying to cast his mind back. The librarian seemed to have very good recall.

"It was a few months before your… interesting lecture on the pyramids of Giza," Giles said, turning up the intensity of his gaze. "After which you vanished off the face of the archaeological world."

"I wasn't exactly popular after that," replied Daniel with just a hint of bitterness.

"Egyptologists," intoned Giles with a sad smile, "Do tend to have rather rigid mentalities and are never very open to new theories that contradict their old ones. Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't introduce myself. Rupert Giles, Head Librarian of this place." He tilted his head slightly. "By the way, would I be right in thinking that Nicholas Ballard is your grandfather?"

This change of topic threw Daniel more than a bit, but he rallied, hopefully not too visibly, and nodded carefully. "Don't say that you met him as well?"

"I was a dig in Belize about 15 years ago," replied the librarian carefully. "I did hear Professor Ballard's tale more than once."

"Ah," said Daniel with a little more emotion than he meant to send out.

"How is he these days? I did hear that he had been sent to… well, an asylum."

Skirting slightly around the truth Daniel replied: "He's much better thank you, or at least he was the last time I saw him. Much recovered."

"Oh good," said Giles carefully. "Is he still fixated about that remarkable crystal skull he found?"

"He… found a way around that and is pursuing a new study," answered Daniel with a little blurring of the facts.

Giles fixed with another of those shrewd stares and then glanced at the book. "Ah. The Chronicles of Aurelian. Interesting subject matter."

"I always did have an eclectic purvey of history," admitted Daniel. "A… friend of mine recommended it recently, and I didn't have a copy to hand and as I was in the area, I thought that I'd pop in here and take a quick look at it. That is if you don't mind?"

"Not at all," Giles smiled. "As you are a member of the academic community I'm sure that I can trust you with a copy of the book for a while. As long as you bring it back of course."

"Of course," Daniel agreed in a slightly aggrieved tone of voice. "I'll only need it for a few days."

Giles smiled back and then paused. "So can I ask where you're working these days? It's just that I heard a rumour that you were dead a few years ago."

That question came totally out of left field and Daniel blinked slightly. "Oh, ah, that was a mistake. I was travelling a long way away. A very long way away. And I'm working for the US Air Force these days. I translate documents and I make sure that they don't, um, build airstrips on top of ancient monuments. Or bomb ancient monuments come to that."

Again Giles tilted his head and narrowed his eyes slightly and Daniel had a rather sickening feeling that the man had just seen straight through his cover story and was poking around in the inky depths on the other side. "I'll go with you to check this out at the exit. Our security guards can be a little zealous at times. It's the least I can do."

* * *

When Daniel Jackson had gone, disappearing out of the main doors of the library, Giles walked quickly up to the first floor, where a window overlooked the courtyard in front of the building. From there he looked out to see Dr Jackson walking along the path and trying to read the book at the same time, an action that he seemed to have the knack of. As Giles knew, it could be hard to perfect at times.

"I saw you talking to one of our mysterious guests," said a voice behind him, and Giles did his best not to jump too hard.

"Xander, will you please not to that to me. I want to survive long enough to celebrate a great many more birthdays to come."

"Sorry. What did he want?"

"A book," replied Giles, crossing his arms and stroking his chin slowly as he watched the diminishing form. "To be precise a book that mentions vampires a great deal."

"Interesting," said the Jedi as he joined Giles at the window. "Do you think they're suspecting what's going on here?"

"Perhaps," conceded Giles. "I just hope that they don't go looking in the wrong places for proof."

Xander pulled a face. "That would get real nasty, wouldn't it?"

"Again, perhaps," replied Giles." Then he looked up. "Will you be around in about half an hour? I know that you have to check on Lindsey's meditation exercises, but Wesley was making clucking noises when I last talked to him, so he's either about to lay an egg or he's spotted something about the sightings of Adam. We're calling in the others for a meeting."

"I'll be there," nodded Xander and walked off quickly.

* * *

"You got it I see."

"Yes, Jack."

"Nose already firmly wedged into it as a matter of fact. Is it that interesting?"

"That's… a very good question, Jack. This seems to be the original Latin version of the book – with quite a good English translation laid out opposite the test. It's… fascinating. And a bit disturbing. More disturbing than the version I saw in college a long time ago."

Jack looked at Daniel sceptically. "And what's so fascinating about this book written about a long-dead Roman guy?"

"In a word? Vampires."

"You're kidding."

"Ummm… no."

"Vampires as in ve talk like zis? Vun… two… thvee… fvour wampires! Ha! Ha! Ha!"

"Jack that's Sesame Street. And this is… rather alarming." After a long moment Daniel became aware of a distinct glower being directed in his direction. "What?"

"We're sitting here with a book that that uber-weasel Maybourne told you to read, it turns out to be about vampires and you're telling me to shut up and let you read it?"

Daniel swivelled his eyes slightly. "Is that what it sounds like?"

"Yes, that's exactly what it sounds like." Jack shook his head, put the car into gear and drove off. "Wait 'til Carter hears about this. _Vampires_ indeed."

* * *

"We finished our plotting of the actual, apparent and possible sightings of Adam and called you all in as a matter of some urgency," said Giles with a slightly harassed look at the others as they all stared at the board, which was now covered in multi-coloured pins.

"As you can see," said Wesley, "It looks as if the attacks and sightings have been in and around this area. But no further." He looked at them with a rather grim expression. "It's a remarkably neat pattern."

"Too neat," interjected Xander in an equally grim voice. "And the exact centre of that suspiciously exact diameter would be?"

"A warehouse off Haasen Street," replied Faith in a very curt voice. She'd seen it too.

Buffy, for some reason, hadn't. "So? Is that where Adam is hanging out?"

"I doubt it, Buffy," sighed Giles. "It's too neat. Too exact, as Xander said. Everything that Adam has done until now has been very organised, on a plan that we cannot see so far. And it's been entirely random. We couldn't predict that he would attack Wolfram & Hart. In fact we can't predict a great deal about him. And we are supposed to believe that after breaking out of the Initiative, after hiding himself so cleverly, that he would give away his exact location so easily as that? I hardly think so."

"So, it's a trap," Buffy stated flatly.

"Yes," replied Wesley as he looked at the map, his eyes narrowed in thought. "But who for?"

"Uhhh…. us?" said Faith in a confused voice.

Xander rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Maybe. It would make sense for Adam to try and lure us into an ambush, but this is a bit too obvious for us anyway, and yet…" Then he paused and blinked, chiding himself inwardly for being an idiot. "Oh hell. Buffy, where's Riley tonight?"

"Oh," she said pulling a slight face, "They had this big whole Initiative thing on. Which he couldn't tell me about because it's all secret and stuff, but I knew that it is because he sent me a text message and…" she ran down, a bit like a tape recorder running out of power. "Oh God. Riley!"

"Buffy-"

"Giles I have to go – now! I have to find him!"

"Buffy-"

"I mean, he could be walking into a trap or anything like that and I-"

The Slayer was already moving towards the door, when her Watcher finally raised his voice enough to stop her dead with a shout. "BUFFY!"

She turned to face him, her face frantic. "Buffy, please don't go off at half-cock. Remember that you have friends here who are also concerned about young Riley and who can help you."

The older Slayer deflated slightly as she looked around. "Oh yes," she said after a moment. "Oops."

"Can I also remind you that you have a cell phone?" broke in Wesley.

"Oops 2?" She grabbed her phone and started jabbing at the keypad whilst the others turned to Giles and Xander, who were now standing by the map and talking together quietly with Faith.

"How large is the warehouse?" asked Giles.

Faith pulled a face. "Big enough for two nests of vamps to hide out in at either end. I took them out about five months ago. Worked off a lot of aggression at the same time. Place is very dusty now."

"At least two teams then. If it is a trap then I suggest safety in numbers," muttered Xander. "I can take one team with Buffy. Plus Lindsey and you Giles. Shame that Amy isn't around, we might need more magic to be on the safe side – I think that when it comes to working out what we can use to defeat Adam we open up with everything we have."

"I have a few magical tricks up my sleeve," admitted Giles with a tired smile. "Relics of a misspent time in college."

"That leaves Oz, Willow, Faith and Wesley for the other team," Xander said, getting a grim nod from Faith.

At this point Buffy came back, her face set. "No answer from his cell. Or his room. I tried the general dorm number and someone said that he hadn't seen Riley – or any of his friends for at least two hours."

"Then we need to move fast," said Xander quickly. "It depends on if they have plotted Adam sightings on a map the same way that we have, and which conclusions they might draw from it. Either way we need to get to Riley and tell him to avoid that warehouse for the time being. Buffy keep trying Riley on the way. Everyone: Be Careful."

* * *

"Team One to Team Two, come in please. Communications check." There was a pause and then a double-click of noise emerged from the handset. "Team One to Team Three, come in please. Communications check." Another double click.

Riley relaxed ever so slightly and then looked around at his team. For some odd reason he had a faint prickly feeling on the back of his neck that all was not well, that there was a problem looking somewhere, but he shrugged it off. So far the whole thing had been vanilla. They had scouted the place carefully, detecting nothing. The warehouse was quite large, with multiple stories and offices mixed in with storage places, so that searching it properly would take some care. From what he had heard from Buffy he needed to make sure that there was no sewer or underground tunnel access, or they might end up seeing Adam escape at the proverbial last second. He had a good team though, as did Rennell at the other side of the building, along with Hughes. All set then.

* * *

Anyone watching the warehouse from a distance would have been very bored at first. Not a lot happened, as per usual. This night was a somewhat different night though. Three sets of figures, all dressed in black and walking slowly and carefully, approached the two side entrances, with the larger number on the north side. One set paused, whilst the leader seemed to talk quietly into a radio, before anything else happened. Then doors were wrenched open, figures rushed in with weapons at the ready, and then hand signals flashed before the shoulders of the remaining people outside slumped ever so slightly as they released some tension. The figures all trooped in and then stillness returned.

Five minutes later the sound of automatic gunfire could be heard, as windows lit up with rapid flashes on the north side. The gunfire stopped, started again, stopped rather abruptly in places and then seemed to splinter slightly, as if people were splitting up.

About a minute after that a new group of figures appeared, all running hard. They paused slightly as a window smashed from a particularly wide spray of gunfire, followed by a scream, and then they vanished into the building as well.

* * *

"Damn," muttered Xander as he looked down at the very dead man at his feet. Something had torn his throat out in a messy but very final way. And from his clothing he was from the Initiative. He looked around carefully. There was what looked like arterial blood spray on the wall to one side, that didn't lead to the body at his feet, so he had a feeling that there was more than one dead body around right now.

"Over here," said Lindsey in a tight voice, to one side. Xander moved up and peered, before looking over at the tightly-wound figure of the senior slayer, who looked as if she was barely restraining herself from tearing herself away from watching the corridor.

"It's ok Buffy. Not Riley."

She relaxed slightly and then stiffened. "Footsteps on the floor above," she hissed, looking up slightly.

Xander concentrated with the Force. "Four humans. Somewhat panicky. And…" His eyes swivelled up as well. "A lot of vampires. Some demons too. Everybody ready?" He looked around. Lindsey was holding the sword that Giles had leant him – he looked a bit strained but judging by his face he was making a real effort to calm himself and access the Light Side of the Force. Buffy looked as if she wanted to go right now, but her powers of restraint seemed to be kicking in well. Giles had a taut look to his face and was muttering something under his breath, possibly either an incantation that he was having trouble remembering or just a calm-the-Ripper-beneath mantra. Smiling slightly the Jedi pulled out his lightsabre and then nodded at them all. "Let's go."

* * *

Agent Hughes found his hand shaking as he checked how many rounds he had left in his gun. Then he frowned, steeled himself so that the betraying tremor went away after a moment and checked again. This was bad. In fact the whole damn mission was bad.

About five minutes into their investigation of the building three things had happened. Their radios had gone dead, there had been a lot of shooting on the floor below and then something with too many fangs and arms for its own good had lunged out of the deep shadows in one corner of room, grabbed Walewski, ripped his head off and then vanished back into the darkness again, dropping the body but retaining the head. Where ever it had gone to, the last thing he had heard from it had been persistent sucking noises, like someone using a straw to get the last bit of soda from the bottom of a glass. They'd filled the area with lead, but hadn't hit a thing. That had just been the start of it.

They'd been ambushed again a few minutes after that, as he had been issuing desperate calls into his radio to Finn and Rennell. A door had banged open and a group of about ten vampires had tried to rush them. They'd been dusted for their pains, thanks to a combination of explosive rounds, power spikes at maximum settings and incendiaries, but it had cost them a lot of their ammunition and Grant had had his hand lopped off by a last despairing lunge from a fiery vampire with a sword.

They'd improvised a tourniquet and then dashed for the exit, the way that they'd come, but there had been another, larger group of vampires waiting there by the doors, who had charged them. In the running fight that had followed, they'd retreated up a flight of stairs, killed the entire group of vampires and blown some impressive holes in the windows. However in the process Grant had been ripped apart, Dodd had had a thrown sword embed into his brainpan, Hopkins had taken a crossbow bolt to the leg and he himself had been hit by a thrown lugwrench of all things, that had hit his shoulder and either broken or bent something, because lifting his arm higher than his shoulder hurt like hell all of a sudden.

They'd been down to a bare minimum of ammo, and had been looking desperately for a fire escape or something, when Hopkins had quietly collapsed. He was dead – the bolt had nicked his femoral artery in his leg and he'd been quietly bleeding to death all the time.

Hughes took a deep, shuddering breath and looked around carefully. He'd found another stairwell and by the look of things it was deserted. He checked carefully, then paused. Something had moved slightly. He brought up his gun, flicked the change lever to single shot and fired off one quick round. Something howled with pain and fury in the darkness and then the lower part of the stairwell came alive with movement as things came boiling up from the darkness towards him.

Pulling out his last grenade Hughes pulled the pin and then threw it, before darting back into the room and raising his gun to cover the door. No way out now – the other entrance had been guarded by something large and well-armoured. There was a flash, a crump of noise, more screams – a combination of pain and despair and then savage rage – and then the doorway was filled with figures. He opened up with all the skill he had, taking head shot after head shot and dropping demon after vampire after demon, but there were always others to take their places. He flipped back to automatic and sprayed them, screaming in defiance, but they still came on and they had at least one crossbow, because something sped past his ear and clattered against the wall, whilst a bolt shot into the floorboards by his foot. Then something punched into his chest, shaking him, and he looked down to see a bolt fall to the floor, having hit his body armour full on. The impact had felt like a kick from a mule and he wondered what the hell kind of crossbows they had. Something slammed into his shoulder at that point, spinning him around and driving him against the wall, before something that was both hot and cold slashed across his forehead, sending blood into his eyes and making his head ring like a bell. His legs seemed to be made of rubber all of a sudden and he fell to the bare floor.

Using the last of his strength he lifted his gun again and sent one last burst into the pack of monsters approaching him, causing them to flinch and at least one of them to fall to the ground, bleeding messily. Then, when his arm grew too weak to hold the heavy, oh so heavy, clicking weapon, he let it drop.

Just before the darkness took him he heard an odd noise, like a familiar kind of buzz, saw a whirling blue circle out of the corner of his eye, along with what looked like fireballs in the air. Then he lost consciousness as unearthly screams of terror filled the air.

* * *

Riley ran, Graham and Forrest taking flanking positions to each side behind him. This was a nightmare, a total nightmare. They had been ambushed by about ten vampires and an unknown HST that seemed to be all horns and teeth. That hadn't been too bad- concentrating their fire on the eyes of the HST had worked, first blinding it and then blowing out the back of its head, whilst Tolleshunt and Ramirez had hosed down the vampires with tracer fire – but then after that it had gotten bad. They'd been hit with a wave of vampires shortly after, all holding some type of weapon, and although they'd beaten them off, it had cost them half their remaining ammunition along with Tolleshunt, whose throat had been torn out, leaving him to die a very messy death on the floor. The next ambush had seen Ramirez literally ripped to pieces by something horrible that had reared through a wall, shrugged off their fire, done its dreadful business on the poor guy and then stamped off back through the debris of its passage, bellowing something in an incomprehensible language and holding up a single talon-claw-thing.

Riley had a very nasty feeling that they had stumbled on something real nasty and had bitten off a lot more than they could chew. To make it worse Teams Two and Three had vanished and he couldn't raise them at all on his radio.

"Any joy?" he barked at Graham, who was jabbing at his radio as they ran.

"Nothing," he replied. "Thing works, I think, but I think that we're being jammed."

That almost brought Riley to a halt as he thought about the implications. "Shit," he hissed instead, "That's more than bad. We've been caught in a very well thought-out trap."

A door banged open to one side and they all turned their heads. Running feet could be heard and the trio looked around to get their bearings. "There!" shouted Forrest, towards an open door that lead to a large room with massive pillars made of steel that stretched upwards to the roof.

They pounded down the corridor towards it, piling through. Forrest was in first, swung his weapon around quickly as he checked it visually and then shouted: "Clear!"

The moment they heard that Riley and Graham brought their weapons up and around. The running feet belonged to a group of about eight vampires, who were hurtling along towards them, fangs bared and talons out. Riley flipped his gun to single shot, so as to save precious ammunition and fired two tracer rounds straight into the lead vampire's chest, waited two whole seconds until it was nicely alight and then whipped out his sidearm and fired an explosive round into its chest. The vampire wailed briefly and then blew apart in a cloud of fiery particles, setting light to anything flammable in the area, such as four of its compatriots.

The surviving three vampires ran through the smoke, their eyes eerily devoid of thought and were greeted with a quick trio of well-aimed shots to their skulls from Graham, who had switched to explosive rounds again.

As the dust floated through the air the trio turned and ran into the main part of the room, heading for the nearest set of stairs that they could remember from the plans. "Why the hell doesn't this place have more fire escapes?" groused Forrest.

"Don't ask me," growled Graham, "I didn't build the damn place. I-" There was another bang of a door flying open to one side and then the next wave of HSTs, a combination of vampires and different varieties of demons, flooded in. Riley whipped his gun up and opened fire, again using carefully aimed head shots. The others did the same, thinning the herd, but there were too many of them and they were coming too quickly, plus the lead demon had an armoured carapace that deflected bullets.

Riley took out a vampire, switched briefly to automatic fire to cause as much damage as possible and then pulled out his automatic. As the armoured demon's fist swung through the air, heading for his head, Riley ducked quickly, placed the handgun on its knee and pulled the trigger. There was a loud bang and the demon collapsed to one side, screaming in pain as it clutched at its less well armoured leg, before Riley placed another well-aimed slug in its brainpan. The demon shuddered once and then went still.

When he looked up the remaining attackers were being finished off by Forrest, whilst a very pale Graham gingerly fingered a nasty looking cut on his arm. "Bastard got under my guard," he said quietly. "Pulled a Bowie knife on me." He looked up. "I'm also out of ammo."

"Me too," admitted Forrest.

Riley checked his own weapons. "I've got about half a dozen rounds left," he sighed. "This isn't looking good."

"Depends on your viewpoint," said a deep voice to one side. A very familiar and horrible voice to Riley, who spun around, looking everywhere.

"What the hell is that?" asked Graham.

"A good question. I feel like enlightening you. I am… me," said the voice and then something stepped forwards into the light to one side, an amalgamation of human and demon and metal flesh.

"Adam," breathed Riley through very clenched teeth, whipping around to cover the creature.

"Riley. We meet again, my brother."

"Brother?" asked Forrest, his eyebrows going up.

"I have no idea what this thing is going on about," said Riley grimly as he tried to recall the plans of the creature in front of him. Where was that powerplant again, exactly?

"Call us stepbrothers," said Adam as he worked his face into a ghastly rictus of a smile. "After all, we're both creations of Mother – Maggie Walsh as you knew her."

"Like hell we are," grated Riley, before he pulled the trigger and let fly with the remaining rounds in the magazine. All six rounds were incendiaries. At least three or four hit, but all that happened was that the amalgamation rocked slightly, before looking down at a smoking hole in its chest. Reaching into the wound with a finger and thumb Adam worked the round out and then threw onto the floor in front of him. "You'll have to do better than that," he said, smiling again.

Riley let out an incoherent roaring noise, pulled the automatic from its holster, aimed it with both hands and pulled the trigger, but instead all he got from the weapon was the sound of the firing pin falling on an empty chamber. He looked down at it. "Shit." Then he threw it down and pulled out his bayonet, seeing Forrest and Graham do the same with their knives. "Looks like we'll have to do this the old fashioned way," he said grimly.

"The old-fashioned way…" said Adam thoughtfully. "Ah. You think that I still have the spike from the Polgara demon that Mother gave me." It held up its right hand and flexed it. "Unfortunately I made some modifications." There was a pause and then something… rippled in the extremity, as flesh warped to one side and then receded, while metal emerged and flowed into a new shape. It only took a few seconds, but it seemed to take an age to the eyes of the horrified Initiative agents. When it was over Adam looked down at what had been its hand, but was now what looked like a mini-gun. "Surprise."

"Run," bellowed Riley and dived to one side as Adam's arm came up and a stream of bullets roared out of the end. All three men ran as hard as they could for the massive iron support pillars that could make for good cover, but the bullets were, inevitably faster. Even as they reached the pillars Forrest grunted as one went straight through the fleshy part of his lower leg, while Graham's forehead was grazed by a bullet that left a bloody trail behind it. Riley was conscious of at least two rounds hitting his body armour, but neither penetrated. At least he hoped so anyway.

Plans skittered and whirled through his mind, about what to do, but the cold hard brutal fact was that they were all very likely going to die on this night. Adam held all the cards and there wasn't a lot he could do, especially with Forrest and graham both bleeding like stuck pigs and the latter looking as if he was about to pass out.

And then the door to one side literally disintegrated, wooden panels and metal parts clattering onto the floor. Riley whirled to look at it and then froze. A dark-haired figure darted through, paused to aim something at Adam and then leapt backwards and then straight up with a quite astonishing speed, to land on a beam above them.

Daring a quick look around the pillar Riley paused, astonished. Adam had suddenly sprouted a rather shiny metal dagger in the centre of its forehead. Then it frowned, reached up, pulled it out and crumpled it with one hand, before raising the gun again. This time the fire was directed at the roof beam, which shuddered, but the dark-haired figure had dropped easily off it in a trice and had dodged to one side, where another pillar made a handy shelter. Faith? It was the other Slayer?

"Hey Riley," the dark Slayer drawled as she pressed her back to the pillar. "Buffy's gonna tear you a new asshole at not being invited to this party." Then she sobered slightly. "Your people ok?

He risked a quick look. Forrest was clutching his leg but was gaping at the Slayer with astonishment, while Graham had a woozy smile on his face. "Faith, we need to get them out of here."

"Easier said than done with ugly back there with his gun. We need my backup."

And then another figure emerged in the doorway. Oz. He looked around coolly, darted for a pillar of his own and then reached into a pocket and pulled out his lightsabre.

"Jedi," said Adam in tones of great satisfaction. "Can you outrun a bullet, Jedi?"

"Try me," said Oz with a smile and then he was running as hard as he could, straight over towards the pillar where the Initiative operatives were sheltering. Adam opened up on him at once, but Oz had already activated his lightsabre and started to spin it as fast as he could. It wasn't a totally effective shield – the bullets were coming too fast for him to see and probably to sense with the use of the Force, or however it worked, but he made it almost unscathed apart from a rip in the shoulder of his jacket and a livid burn mark along his forearm.

The Jedi Knight looked at Riley briefly, dismissed him as being unharmed, checked out Graham, winced, looked hard at Forrest and then looked up at Riley again. "They need medical attention."

"Easier said than done," replied Riley, wincing slightly as a spark from a ricocheting bullet fell on his ear from the pillar above him.

"Leave that to me," said Oz, taking a deep breath. Then he leapt into the air, kicked off a stanchion on the pillar, somersaulted off to one side and landed in plain view of Adam, who immediately swung its gun towards him. Oz raised a hand, frowned slightly and then pulled his fingers closed. As Riley watched there was a horrible tinny crunching noise as the barrels of the mini-gun in Adam's arm bent inwards, followed a split second later by an explosion as one or more rounds went off inside the weapon. When the smoke cleared Adam was staring down at what had once been a hand but was now a stump.

"Ow," said Adam with a frown, before it reached into a voluminous pocket and pulled out a small submachine gun. "Die."

The gun stuttered viciously, but the bullets passed through thin air, because Oz was moving again, leaping high in the air with an astonishing dexterity, landing to one side, jabbing almost casually to intercept a few bullets with his lightsabre as Adam adjusted his aim and then gesturing again with one hand. Adam grunted audibly as he was pushed backwards by, well, the Force or something, almost lost his gun, and then raised it again, only to look at it carefully. The barrel was bent. And then it smiled. "Impasse."

"Not for long," said Faith grimly, stepping out from behind her pillar and pulling out a very unpleasant-looking knife that looked as if it was made to go in easily and then pull all kinds of bits out messily.

Adam tilted its head as it looked at the Slayer and then smiled. "Try it," it said and then stepped backwards into the shadows of the doorway where it had entered from. Faith snarled and took three steps towards the darkness before Oz stopped her with a barked: "Faith! No! That's what he wants. Don't fight him on his own ground."

The Slayer visibly shook for a moment and then relaxed slightly. "Fight him on our own terms, right? Yeah. You're right. Sorry."

Oz ran quickly over to Riley and the surviving initiative operatives, keeping a careful eye on Adam's last location. "Let's get you all out of here. We don't know how many more vampires and demons he's got in the building. We've already hacked our way through three lots of them." He paused. "We've seen nothing but dead Initiative people on our way here. Sorry Riley, but this was a very carefully set up trap for you, from we've seen."

"A little too perfect, right? I should have seen it coming." Riley sighed as he looked at the doorway. "Has Adam gone?"

"I can't sense him, but it's hard to do that anyway at the best of times." Oz bent over Graham and inspected his head wound, which was bleeding badly. "Looks worse than it really is, like all head wounds. He'll have a hell of a headache though."

"'lready do," slurred Graham unsteadily. Then he smiled wobbily. "Finally got ta meet th' Jedi, right?"

Oz looked at Riley who shrugged. "He worked it out on his own."

"Worked out what? Riley, who _are_ these people?" exploded Forrest to one side, who had been watching all this with his mouth open.

"We're the guys who just saved you from Adam," said Faith, who stiffened slightly. "Let's get them out of here. There's more vamps coming. They're coming up the stairs opposite. Hopefully they'll get hit by Buffy and Xander, because we can't fight them the way we like and take care of these three. Wes! You got the way clear yet?"

There was a scuffling noise to one side and a slightly dishevelled Wesley stepped through. He was holding a large battleaxe in one hand, a wickedly sharp looking throwing axe in the other and had what could only be described as the light of battle in his eyes. "Of course we have. Willow has perfected her pencil shrapnel spell, which came as a very nasty shock to the vampires that tried to rush us. I admit that she needs to control it a little better, but that will come with time." He preened slightly. "I'll be able to tell my father that I killed a Draxnioper Demon! He'll go green with envy!"

"Yeah, you do that," grated Faith. "Meantime we need to get the hell out of here." She turned around as Wesley darted forwards to support a limping Forrest, whilst Riley and Oz half-supported and half-carried Graham. Then she pulled out her cell phone and hit a button. "Giles? Yeah, we got Riley and two others. Any survivors on your side?" She listened and then pulled a face. "Just one? Hell. Ok, we bumped into tall green and chrome, but Oz put a crimp in his plans before the thing vanished. We're leaving now. See you soon." She flipped the phone off. "Let's go. Right now, people."

"What the hell were you carrying?" Forrest asked Oz as they passed through the safe entrance and down the first flight of stairs.

"What did it look like?"

"A lightsabre. But that's crazy!"

Oz shrugged as best as he was able, with carrying Graham. "Actually, that's Sunnydale."

Riley smiled slightly and then stole a look at Faith. "Buffy's here?"

"Back there somewhere. They found a guy called Hughes. No-one else alive, Giles said."

He nodded sadly. Then he looked at Forrest, who shot an angry and confused look back at him. "Doing the mission report on this thing is going to be a cast-iron bitch."

* * *

When the phone rang, seemingly in his ear, he started a great deal, before reaching out and wrenching it savagely off its cradle. Pausing to glare at the clock – 4.30 in the bloody morning after all that running around and bloody mayhem at the warehouse! – and make comforting shushing noises in the general direction of Olivia, who was uttering very sleepy moans of distress at all the disturbance before she rolled over and took most of the bedclothes, he finally put the phone to his ear. "Rupert Giles," he hissed angrily.

There was a confused noise at the other end and then a very bright and breezy voice said: "Hello? Hello, is that you Rupert?"

"Who is this and do you have any idea what time it is?" Giles asked frowning. That voice sounded like…"

"Rupert, it's Adam Patterson. Sorry to ring you at breakfast but-"

"Adam? What on earth… who the hell has breakfast at 4.30 bloody am?"

There was a horrible silence on the other end of the line. "Um… 4.30am? I thought it was 7.30 there. In America I mean."

Giles groaned quietly. "Adam, America has a number of different time zones. It's 7.30am on the East Coast but it's 4.30am on the West Coast. Which is where I am. In California. Now. Sorry to be blunt but what on earth do you want?"

"Oh. Yes. Sorry Rupert, but I thought that you might want to know that the Caer Seren dig has finally been approved. We start work on the site next week."

Despite his overall tiredness Giles found his ears pricking up slightly. He'd been pushing to have that site looked at by trained archaeologists for years. Especially… "Adam, does that include my hill?"

"Oh, yes, that too. Old Mrs Glyndwr finally agreed. No idea why she finally backed down, but the general feeling is that senile decay is finally setting in."

Giles doubted that. Mrs Glyndwr was one of those little old Welsh ladies who kept going strong until whatever clockwork mechanism there was inside finally broke, whereupon they tended to stop on the spot.

"Ah," he said with a quiet smile, "That is good news. Well, keep me informed as to what you find please. I even have an email address these days, in case you have anything you can send out."

"Good god Rupert," said his old friend in tones of mock amazement, "Don't tell me you've finally joined the Modern World? Whatever next!"

"The subtle art of sarcasm is still slightly beyond your reach, Adam," retorted Giles, before rattling off the email address that Willow had set up for him. "Anyway, I have to get back to sleep. Good to hear from you again, only next time please consult a map of the time zones of the world."

"I will Rupert. Sorry again. Goodbye."

Giles muttered a farewell sleepily and then replaced the phone on its charger, before settling back into bed again. One corner of the bedclothes was just about in reach and a little bit of tugging finally got Olivia to roll over in her sleep, allowing access to more of the sheets. Her hand fell onto his chest, paused for a moment, fumbled slightly and then suddenly she rolled over a bit more so that her head was on his chest as she mumbled contentedly in her sleep.

Just before he fell asleep again Giles wondered vaguely what the oddly shaped hill that he had walked over so many times in the past contained. And then his dreams took him.


	16. Sudden Truths

He looked at the screen gloomily. He hated writing these damn after-action reports. It was always a long exercise in pounding away at a keyboard, hunting for the right way to distil minutes of adrenalin, speed and sweat into passionless, dry phrases. The military had a way of sucking the life right out of prose. It was like having your brain slowly freeze-dried.

Riley sighed deeply. The fact of the matter was that he had been sitting here at the computer for almost an hour now, trying to find a way of making unpleasant facts palatable. So far he wasn't having much luck. He suspected that the reason was that there was no way to make the facts even the slightest bit pleasant. You could paint a lemon pink and cover it with icing and candy sprinkles, but when you bit into it a lemon would always be a lemon.

The operation against Adam had been a complete disaster. Fifteen men had entered the building. Four of those fifteen had left alive, all with wounds of varying seriousness. He himself had gotten off lightly, with a few sprains and a spectacular bruise or two. Forrest's leg wound had looked nastier than it really was – a through-and-through from a bullet that had luckily not hit anything major going in or going out. Graham had light concussion from another wound that again had looked nastier than it was. Head injuries tended to shed a lot of blood. The other survivor had been Hughes, who was very lucky to be alive. He had a broken right clavicle, a dart from a crossbow had hit his left shoulder and done some very nasty but repairable damage and he had a concussion on top of a nasty scalp wound.

All the others were dead. To make it worse there were… parts missing. He had a nasty feeling that various demons were feasting on those parts. It meant that there were going to be a lot of closed casket funerals. He wondered for a moment what the hell the Pentagon was going to tell the families. How could you tell parents that their son had died fighting a wave of things that weren't supposed to exist? How could you tell that their son's body was missing certain parts? No, the letters would probably just say that they had died on classified missions and that the Nation was grateful for their sacrifice. In other words the usual.

He looked back at the screen in front of him. This was all very cynical, but it wasn't helping him to write this damn report. The truth of the matter was that… well, the truth was that… he let out yet another sigh and rubbed the back of his neck. If he had to be honest about the whole damn thing, they had been sloppy and careless.

They'd accessed the building by multiple entrances instead of one, which meant that reconnaissance had been fitful and insufficient. They'd split up instead of converging to provide mutual support. They'd been badly short on spare ammunition. They'd also presumed far to much – that vampires almost never co-operated with demons, that demons would be there in such strength, that their communications could not be compromised, that they would face opposition in such strength… the list went on and on. A year and a half on the Hellmouth had taught them a lot. However they had not learnt all the lessons that the place required. Some good men had died as a result. And the only reason what Riley had survived was that other outside agencies had been able to intervene. Intervene in a way that was not easily explainable to Finch and anyone else who might read what he wrote. If he wrote it. The truth might set people free, but in this case the truth might get him taken away to a nice place with soft walls, easily bendable plastic cutlery and an all-you-can-eat drugs dispensary. Not just soft walls but soft focus vision after a while.

The fact was that a HST 'myth' along with someone with powers from a movie had saved them. Slayers were not supposed to exist and Jedi were supposed to be a fictional order from a set of films by a guy with a lot of facial hair and who had given the world the Ewoks. The fact that they owed their lives to Faith and Oz – as well as Willow and Wesley – was immaterial to the fact that Finch would not in a month of Sundays believe any of it. Not that he had any intention of putting the truth into the report. No, instead he had to make up something… plausible. In the initial debriefing he'd told Finch that they had fought their way out. With the others away in the base infirmary getting their wounds treated, that had been the safe option. All he had to do now was have a word with Graham and Forrest. The latter would be the problem, given the dark glances that he'd been giving them on the way out of the warehouse. Riley and Graham's complete lack of surprise at seeing a girl doing impossible stunts, along with a guy with a lightsabre and an apparent grip on the Force had kind of given the game away, even if it had been the first time that Graham had seen a Slayer and a Jedi in action.

Another sigh burst out of his chest. He had a nasty feeling that the best way that they could get their training and standard operating procedure back up to where it should be was to start patrolling with Buffy and the others. They'd lose fewer people that way.

It was just a shame that it was never going to happen. Just yet, anyway.

* * *

Daniel blinked muzzily and then stared into the bottom of his almost empty coffee cup. It contained a small amount of cold coffee and some black coffee grains. Grimacing slightly he shrugged and threw it down his throat to minimise the amount of contact, before swallowing convulsively and then shuddering. What the hell, caffeine was still caffeine, regardless of how it entered his system. Then he looked back down at the book that was open on the table in front of him.

It made no sense. It spoke to him of things that were impossible, of creatures that could not possibly exist, of events that could not possibly have happened and yet…. And yet…. He had an odd feeling about the whole thing. When he had been studying for his doctorate he had done some work on the Later Roman Empire. He'd even helped on the dig that took place on the outskirts of the old Roman village of Bedriacum, now known as Calvatone in northern Italy. They'd found a mass grave there, a heap of bones and skulls and pieces of armour and weapons – signs of a battle. But the remains could be dated to the last part of the Fourth Century – while the only recorded battles that had taken place there had been in the notorious Year of the Four Emperors in 69AD.

Okay, the time had been one noted for skimpy historical information and poor record keeping, but two things stood out. The Chronicles of Aurelian mentioned that the last battle against an invasion of… well, vampires, had taken place at Bedriacum.

And some of the bodies discovered had shown signs of damage to their spinal columns – in the region of the neck – that was consistent to the attacks detailed in the book.

Which was mad.

Totally insane.

He looked up as a passing waitress refilled his cup, smiled absently at her and then gazed back down at the book. Jack would say that he was nuts. Verifiably nuts. When he looked back up again the seat opposite him contained former Colonel Harry Maybourne. The sight was so unexpected that at first he just blinked several times, before the shock wore off and he jerked back in his seat as far as he could.

Maybourne held out a hand in a gesture that was part placatory wave and part gesture of greeting. "Dr Jackson," he said with a small grin, before looking down at the menu. "So, what would you recommend here?"

Daniel shut his open mouth and stared at the damn man, before raising both eyebrows. "The pancakes aren't bad. And the muffins are quite good. Oh and the coffee is excellent and…. What the hell are you doing here? Because if Jack finds out that you're within, oh, a radius of at least a mile from him, he will… react badly, shall we say."

"As only Jack can?" Maybourne sighed slightly, gestured to the waitress, who came over, and then ordered coffee and pancakes. When she had gone he looked back at Daniel – or rather at the open book by his side. "I approached you to avoid seeing Jack explode into a thousand shards at the very sight of me. Although it might have been fun to watch that, I also don't want to get chased down the road by an enraged Jack with a Zat gun. Ah. I see you have a copy of the book that I recommended. And you seem to have nearly finished it."

"It's been… interesting," observed Daniel carefully. "More than a bit unlikely, but interesting."

Maybourne leant forwards, clasping his hands on top of the table. "I think that you mean that when you first read it, you dismissed the whole thing as rubbish. I know I did. Then I learnt a bit more about Sunnydale and all of a sudden I had… well, I had doubts about what I knew." He smiled grimly. "What did you work out about Wilkins?"

"We… still haven't been able to deduce what he was. If he was a-" Daniel looked around nonchalantly to make sure that no-one was listening. "Snake, as Jack puts it, he was a very atypical one. There was no sign of rings or of a… longevity device, but he had been around for more than a century so…. We don't know." He narrowed his eyes. "So what do you know?"

"This will have to be a quid pro quo of 'I-don't-knows', Dr Jackson. When we looked into Wilkins we had no clue either. Fortunately he seems to be very dead." He paused. "Ah, breakfast!"

As the pancakes and coffee arrived and Maybourne fell on them with gusto, Daniel leant back and regarded the former NID man carefully. He had a hint of grey in his hair at the temples and there was a line or two to his jawbone that hinted that he had lost some weight recently. The beard was a new addition but had been carefully clipped here and there, showing that he knew what to do with the face-fuzz, as Jack would probably describe it. Daniel frowned. Enough dancing around this.

"Maybourne what the hell is going on here and what does the NID have to do with it? We know that you have some people here."

This earned him a cheery glint from Maybourne's eye as he shovelled away a forkload of pancakes, chewed with gusto and then washed it all down with a swallow of coffee. "I'm here to tell you what's happening before you all kill yourselves by stumbling into something that should not logically – by your standards anyway – exist. I'm also here to have immense fun by telling Jack and Carter that the world as they know it is very different from what they thought." He smiled. "And maybe grind their faces in it a bit. I'm still amazed that you've not worked it out so far. You have all the facts. It's alluded to in that book."

Daniel subjected him to a long lingering stare. "That's not possible."

"That's what I said, but I'm afraid it is."

"These things don't exist, they're myths," he objected in a voice that probably should have had more force in it.

"Every myth has a germ of truth in it, you should know that from your studies in history Dr Jackson," said Maybourne through another forkful of pancake. "Treat this as a way of digging around though old folklore." He sipped some more coffee before sighing. "It's hard to come to terms with, I know, but this is a strange place. Jack and Carter will need proof, so I'm here to show them, hopefully without too much bloodshed. "Because if they don't see it, they might end up dead. Or worse, and-" he leant forwards and lowered his voice. "An undead Jack O'Neill would be even worse than a live one I think."

"Undead?" muttered Daniel. He had been hoping that his suspicions had been completely off the mark.

"Vampires," said Maybourne quietly as he leant back in his seat, "are inexplicable – by the laws of nature that so many of us like to think are, well, normal. I know how you feel – my reaction was very similar. No, in my case it took proof. Flesh and blood proof, in a manner of speaking. So I'll have to show you one to prove that they exist."

Hell, thought Daniel, sometimes I'd like to be wrong.

* * *

Xander stood motionless in the middle of the room, his eyes closed and his lightsabre inactive in his right hand. He breathed in deeply for a moment, embracing the Force as he reached out with his mind, searching, looking for…. there. His eyes snapped open and he leapt up and back through the air as a lightsabre hummed into action in the spot where he had been just a few milliseconds before. As he landed he activated his own blade and then brought it up in time to block a green lightsabre shaft that was heading towards his head. The two blades screamed for a moment as the two wielders strained with everything they had, before they broke apart, to circle each other slowly.

"Nice moves," grinned Xander. "Almost sneaky there."

"Not sneaky enough – you sensed me coming," replied Oz. Then, without the slightest warning, he attacked again, the green lightsabre almost flickering as he jabbed at Xander's side. The blue lightsabre came up again to hold and then deflect, before the two Jedi started to fence again, Xander using Soresu, his blade never far from his body as he cut and slashed and parried defensively, only occasionally launching attacks of his own as he saw small chinks in Oz's defences. His former Padawan matched him with the Makashi style that he was starting to perfect, an elegant, powerful style that allowed him to attack or defend with little effort. Back and forth they went, attack meeting defence, shifting back into attack again, until they broke off again, to circle each other carefully.

"Not bad at all," said Xander with a wide smile, "You've been practicing a lot."

Oz pulled a slight face as he settled into the Neutral Forward stance that showed that he was preparing to attack again. "Buffy and Faith keep duelling each other to find out whose turn it is to challenge me with practice swords. They're running at about 50/50 each. Seem to think that if they can beat me they have a good chance of beating you."

"I wondered why it'd been so long since either of them had challenged me. I take it they haven't beaten you yet?" asked Xander as he slipped into Defensive Back.

"Nope," conceded Oz and then sprang forwards again, the green blade flashing through the air. Xander parried it as the powerplants again screamed, the blades flaring brightly, as both men put their full weight into trying to get the other off balance. When neither could achieve this they broke apart again and then resumed their duel, the brilliant beams of light jabbing and flaring as they fought, going backwards and forwards over the training floor.

When it happened it was too quick for Lindsey, who had been an open-mouthed witness to the practice duel, to see. Oz seemed to lean forwards just that little bit too much, and then Xander thrust out a hand. Lindsey could almost see the Force wave that threw Oz off-balance and the next thing he knew the green lightsabre was deactivated and hurtling through the air one way while Oz staggered the other. He recovered quickly but by then Xander was holding his weapon and had taken a step back. There was a hiss-snap as the blue blade retracted.

"Unexpected," said Oz after a moment of catching his breath.

"You've stopped putting all your weight on your right foot at critical times," admonished the Jedi Master with a smile, "but you've shifted a little too much to your left to compensate. Just a little more practice and you'll have it. Not bad at all, otherwise."

Oz shook his head. "More practice needed. I know that." Then he grinned. "I'll have to practice to stay ahead of Buffy and Faith at the very least."

"True," laughed Xander. "And Lindsey too, soon,"

"Me?" asked Lindsey, startled.

"Yes, you. You've been practising the forms, you've been using the Force. You'll be ready to start lightsabre training soon." He smiled. "We just need to find a focussing crystal and all the components for a lightsabre for you, and you'll be ready. In the meantime…" he tossed Oz's lightsabre back to its owner and then walked forwards towards Lindsey, reversing his own lightsabre as he did so, "Try mine out for some practice."

Lindsey looked down at the proffered lightsabre. It made his head swim slightly. It was metallic, it was shiny, it looked advanced in a way that he couldn't even explain… and it represented something that he was doing his very best to become. It stood for something that he now believed in wholeheartedly, something that was filling up the void in his soul that Wolfram & Hart had left. He reached out with a hand that he did his best not to tremble too much and picked it up. It felt slightly lighter than it looked, and he studied it carefully.

"Push the main switch," said Xander quietly. He and Oz were watching him intently, as if this was an important point in his life. Well… it was.

He thumbed the switch and the blue blade sprang into existence with a snap-hiss, cleaving the air in front of him. After a long moment of contemplation he hefted the weapon carefully. The way that it sounded… hell, the way that it felt…

"May the Force be with me," he said quietly as two tears tracked down his cheeks.

* * *

Willow looked at the progress bar on her computer screen and sighed slightly. It was taking an awfully long time to get anywhere. In fact it had barely moved for the past minute or two. Well, that was the problem with combining hacker abilities with magic. The meld made for some interesting results. Sometimes her infiltration programmes worked quickly and easily – usually when the firewall had a few holes in it here and there, in out of the way places. At other times it could take a bit longer.

But not this long. It had taken her more than two hours just to access the area that she wanted to check out – and even then there were large fuzzy patches of encrypted data on the screen.

So far she'd been able to call up every single paper published by one Dr Daniel Jackson, including a decidedly weird and whacky one that claimed that the Great Pyramid of Giza had not actually been build by Cheops… which kinda went against orthodoxy. There was nothing wrong with that, but it was a bit on the wild side.

After that he'd vanished off the face of the Earth. Nothing published anywhere, no records of him doing anything, no records of him talking to anyone. It was all most odd. She'd even been able to access his bank statements, something that would probably get her shot if anyone ever found out. There had been no financial activity – either incoming or outgoing – for a year, with at least one bank internal flag memo stating that he was probably dead.

Then, all of a sudden, he had reappeared, or rather he had started using his bank account again. Odd wasn't the word for it.

According to Xander he was apparently now working for the US Air Force, although why an archaeologist would be working for them was a mystery to her. Giles had pointed out that building an airfield on the site of ancient battle or a graveyard or even a city would be a spectacular PR blunder and therefore people had to check into these things, but he'd had an odd, ruminative look on his face as he'd said it. Something was certainly niggling at him as well.

The bar wasn't moving at all now and she sighed again, a sigh that quickly turned into a yawn. Then she turned as she heard a sound from the door, which opened to reveal Oz. He smiled at her, closed the door and hung up his coat, before walking over to her and kissing her lingeringly on the lips. "You had a good evening?" he asked.

"Mostly dull," she breathed, trying to catch her breath slightly. Oz's kisses had that affect on her sometimes. Actually a lot. "Doing some research on the guy who's here checking on Xander. Going veeery slowly though."

"Ok," he replied looking intently at the screen. Then he looked back at her, his eyes sparkling. "Feel like some snuggles?"

Willow looked at him and grinned.

* * *

Reynolds stopped talking about the Grant Case and then sat back with a look of vague apprehension. She'd been blathering on about it for five minutes, which was at least a minute longer than Lilah would have allowed. Sadly she wasn't in charge of the meeting, or by now Reynolds would either have been a smear on the sidewalk ten floors down or her lifeless body would be being dragged out of the room by men dressed in black.

Hell, a girl could dream, couldn't she?

Instead the meeting was being conducted by Holland, who had taken a few shorts notes throughout the blather and who was now staring fixedly at a point over everyone's head. There was a long moment of silence whilst everyone looked at him and waited for a comment.

Finally he caught himself slightly. "Oh, yes, thank you Fiona. Tell them to settle a bit faster or I'll have their heads stapled to the back of a pickup and then tell the driver that he'll get $20,000 if he makes Reno in under three hours." Then he picked up the phone and pressed a button. "Mary? Tell the cleaning staff that they missed a bit. No, not their fault, I think it bounced off the light fixture. Looks like a piece of skull with some hair. Yes, I… oh. They did? Excellent! Usual hospitality. Anything else? Ah…. Good. I'll be right there." He put the phone down. "We're done here I think. See you all tomorrow."

As Lilah stood up to leave, noting with dark amusement the way that everyone tried not to look at the ceiling cornice that obviously hid a vital piece of the head of the late and very much unlamented Lee Manners, Holland looked up at her. "Lilah. Stay a moment."

She turned to look at him, reaching out with the Power to try and get a hint of his thoughts. There was… faint worry, mixed in with a great amount of glee. No sense that he was planning anything violent. To her anyway. There was also a degree of dark satisfaction.

Standing up Holland shuffled his papers together and inclined his head at the door. "I need you to witness something. It's always best to have as many eyes and ears as possible when it comes to this."

"I'm… not sure I understand, Holland," she muttered as they walked out of the meeting room and into Holland's office, where he placed the papers on his desk and then strode back out towards the lift, with Lilah following.

"I believe you knew Bob Rove," he said as they waited for the lift.

Lilah raised both eyebrows for a moment. "I served in the same department as him for a month or two. He was… a driven man. Worked very hard."

"Did he show signs of insanity at all?"

"Not as far as I could see. I did hear that he became rather unstable in Sunnydale before his death."

"Unstable?" Holland smiled slightly. At that point the lift arrived and they both entered. Holland pulled out a key, inserted it into the mysterious keyhole in the panel to one side that Lilah had often wondered about and twisted it. A panel popped open to reveal a white button. "I hate this interface," muttered Holland, "They really need to make it simpler." He pushed the button, replaced his key as the doors closed and the lift rose smoothly, and then turned to Lilah. "He was more than unstable, the man was mad. But there is a cure, so to speak."

She frowned slightly. "Can I ask how? And where we're going?"

"A place that's in the building and not in the building at the same time. You'll see. We're going to meet someone." He turned to one side and regarded her with a slight smile. "Besides, if you're ever promoted, then you might make it up here on a regular basis. Sort of, anyway."

Up where, thought Lilah uneasily and then paused as the lift slowed and then stopped. As the doors opened she blinked slightly. There was a lot of whiteness beyond. That and light. It was like looking at… a white room, or rather a white expanse, because there were no walls. There was… white everywhere. Holland strode out confidently and she followed him. Somehow she had a feeling that using the Power would not be a very good idea in this place. Her scalp crawled slightly. There was a great deal of power here. Magic and something else, something that seemed to be…

Something caught her out of the corner of her eye. It was dark and almost… Lilah turned her head to look and then swallowed slightly. A black panther was sitting there to one side, watching them. It seemed to be almost studying them carefully. It also looked, well, odd. It's fur was deeper than black, it seemed to leach some of the whiteness from the very air around it. And its' eyes… they were deep pools of awareness. This wasn't an animal. It was a presence that she was very aware of. After a long moment it blinked slowly and then tilted its head to one side and gazed harder at her. Lilah had the distinct feeling that she was being carefully studied, but repressed the temptation to embrace the Power and shield herself. She had a nasty feeling that the creature – whatever it was – would sense that at once. Holland was either ignoring it or couldn't see it at all. Judging from the way that he was looking about for someone or something Lilah felt that it was the latter. This was weird. When she turned back to ask him, the panther was gone.

Then she saw something else. A small girl, no more than seven or eight years old, was approaching them. She wore a red dress and had a neutral expression on her face. As she drew closer Lilah did her best not to take a step back. Whatever this was, it wasn't a human girl. The amount of evil that she was giving off was awesome. And her eyes… they were far older than any human's could ever have been. Older and crueller and wiser than anything. Her Master would have committed murder to have eyes like those. That brought up a mental image of Dansey playing with a pair of eyes and she shuddered slightly and then cleared her mind.

It was probably a good thing that she did so, because the little girl was staring very hard at her, as if trying to commit her to memory. It was a long, lingering stare that seemed to be either an effort to identify her, or to intimidate her. Whichever it was, suddenly the little girl smiled secretively, as if she was suddenly seeing a joke that no-one else had been told. Then she dismissed Lilah with a glance at Holland. "Well?"

"He'll be along in a moment," Holland said courteously.

"Good," said the girl. "You know that this will be temporary? The worse the madness the harder it is to hold back to talk to the sanity beneath. The damage is already done. If he's gone too far into the depths then…." She shrugged nonchalantly.

"I understand," said Holland quietly. Then he looked to one side. "Ah. There they are."

Lilah turned to see that two men dressed in white coats and with dark glasses covering their eyes were approaching. They were escorting a shambling figure dressed in black, whose arms hung limply by his sides. His hair was rumpled and his gaze was frighteningly blank. Every now and then a mutter broke from the drool-specked mouth, often followed by a tired giggle. It was Rove. There was a white bandage around his neck – presumably where his head had been ripped off his neck.

As Rove approached, being prodded in the right direction every now and then by one of the men escorting him, his gaze fell on Holland and Lilah. "Hurrah!" he cried, coming to attention and saluting sloppily, "Here's Mr Poo! Shabash! Summon my Legions!" He brought his hand down and then broke out into sobbing giggles. Lilah regarded him with cool dislike. On the surface anyway. Underneath she was smirking. Another potential obstacle in the company, struck down by weakness… Such a shame. Heh.

From Rove's viewpoint the little girl must have been masked by Lilah, because when she walked out Rove stopped dead at the sight of her, the blood draining from his face. "No," he whispered, his face taking on a strange, strained expression, like someone remembering something unpleasant. "No, no, no, nononono NO!"

"Gentlemen," said Holland, and the two men grabbed the babbling madman by the shoulders before he tried to break away and turned him around. One of them then grabbed Rove by the back of his neck and squeezed hard, making him whine with pain before the other one kicked the babbling madman quickly and expertly in the back of each knee. Rove screamed in agony and then collapsed down onto his knees, sobbing, his eyes never leaving the little girl's face.

She walked up to him quietly, looking into his eyes with an unblinking gaze, until she was literally nose to nose with him. Lilah looked on, her heart thudding slightly, mesmerised by the scene. And then the little girl smiled the most evil, sadistic smile that Lilah had ever seen in her life, reached up with both hands to grab the hair at Rove's temples and then pushed her fingers into his skull, like small pink sticks disappearing into water. Rove stiffened, his eyes bulging and his mouth opening into a soundless scream that seemed to stretch on and on as she wriggled her fingers inside his head, never taking her eyes away from his all the time. And then she suddenly withdrew them and stepped back. Rove slumped bonelessly to the floor, retching weakly and shivering like a man caught in the grip of a severe fever.

The little girl looked up at Holland. "He was very bad, so you won't have long. He's sane for now though." She paused and then licked her right forefinger, rather like a cat. "Yum. It's been too long. There's madness and there's Hellmouth-inspired madness, and that's rich." She looked up at them both. "I'll be over there cleaning my fingers."

Lilah watched her go and then took a deep breath. Holland however was already walking over to Rove, to extend a foot and push the man roughly over onto his back.

"Rove!" he barked. "Can you hear me?"

Rove's slow sobbing was jerking to a stop now, and he lifted his hands to his head slowly. "Urghhh…." he slurred. "My head…."

"Rove! Bob!" cried Holland, squatting down onto his haunches. "We don't have much time What happened to you?"

Rove looked at him, frowning. His eyes were clearer now and there was a light of understanding in them that hadn't been there at all before. "Holland? Where am… what happened? Oh… wait. I died didn't I?"

"Yes," snapped Holland impatiently, "You're in the White Room. Now: what happened?"

"There was… an intruder in the building? Yes, there was. Um, half the alarms went off, but only after it was already in the office. I don't understand… how could it have done that? I mean… we had security and everything on hand for everything and…"

"Bob, I know. But what was it?"

"I don't know. I heard it come into the outside office… I fired at it through the door. I... I think it hit it. I must have hit it, I heard it, it grunted." He raised a shaking hand to his forehead, which was slick with sweat. "Then it came in. Odd-looking thing. Human and demon and metal. Wore fatigues on it legs. Legs, legs, legs. Grabbed me by the neck. I asked it what it was… and it said that it was the future. Said that it knew that I was contracted here beyond death…" Rove's eyes started to swivel around slightly and Lilah winced. She could almost hear the sanity start to pour out of Rove's skull.

Holland seemed to sense it too, because he grabbed Rove's suddenly swinging head by his hair and looked at him. "Rove! What happened next?"

The madman opened his mouth a few times and then swallowed convulsively. "Asked it, why it was… doing this," he said, biting the words off as they emerged from his mouth, almost forcing them, as if he realised that they had to be said now, before it was too late. "It said… that it… was making… a point. Then… it killed me." Rove's head suddenly jerked wildly, leaving Holland with a handful of hair. He stood up quickly as a sudden sharp smell of urine filled the air around the frothing madman.

"He's gone again," muttered Holland with distaste as he brushed the hair off his hand. "Well that was a waste of time. We still don't know what it was. Definitely the thing that I saw though." He wrinkled his nose in disgust and then looked up at the men facing him. "Thank you, gentlemen." They turned and walked away, leaving Holland and Lilah to contemplate the now babbling figure lying on the ground in front of them.

"What do we do with him now?" asked Lilah, looking at the puddle near Rove with distaste.

"Nothing," replied Holland as he turned and started walking back towards the lift. Lilah started to follow him and then paused as she caught sight of the little girl as she walked forwards towards Rove. Her eyes were shining with a dreadful hunger.

As the doors to the elevator shut, cutting out the glare from the room, Lilah could hear the start of what she guessed was Rove's terminal scream.

* * *

"Vampires," said Jack with a hard, flat look to his face that spoke volumes. Maybourne was here and he spoke about vampires?"

"Yes, Jack," replied Daniel with a slight wince. "He did."

"Vampires. Right. Did he mention the bogey man and the tooth fairy at the same time? Because, you know, they could be viable candidates, if you follow this line of reason to its cracked end."

"Jack, please stop grinding your teeth like that – my own are starting to ache in sympathy. I'm just passing on what he said." He paused and looked at Sam. "I'm just repeating what he said, ok?"

Sam didn't say a word, but just sat back with her eyebrows raised and her mouth pursed in cynical amusement. He could tell at the glance that she wasn't buying it and that it would take a great deal to even persuade her to consider the possibility that the concept was vaguely possible.

"I still can't believe the little runt is in the Californian hellhole," said Jack with a hint of rant in his voice, although without the sound of scraping enamel. "Then he gets to a member of my team and spins him a line of bullshit that would normally take me a lot of beer to get someone to believe. Vampires!"

"Surely such creatures are confined to fictional tales or television, Daniel Jackson," rumbled Teal'c from his position by the van's side window, where he was studying something intently with his binoculars. "The Count from Sesame Street for one."

"I know," said Daniel through slightly gritted teeth. "Look, all I'm doing is passing on what Maybourne told me."

"That's just my point! Maybourne!" Jack raised one hand and waved in a general gesture of frustration. "The man who out-weasels weasels! The guy whose brain, if it ever gets into the hands of a guy who can do autopsies, resembles a giant corkscrew! The guy who has his fingers in so many very illegal pies that they'll have to subpoena all his digits! If he ever gets condemned to death there'll be a line of volunteers for the firing squad that stretches from here to, to… St Petersburg! Gaah!"

Daniel looked at Sam, who raised her eyebrows and shrugged. "The Colonel has a point. Maybourne has been… less than reliable in the past, and always seems to have several agendas on the go at the same time."

"Precisely! Very succinctly put, Carter."

Daniel leant back in his seat. "Well, he still wants to see us tonight. He seems to think that we can trust him not to arrive with the police and that he can show us proof."

"Best proof will be me using a zat on him and watching him twitch," muttered Jack as he pulled his cap down over his eyes and stared out of the window broodingly.

There was a long pause. "He came to Sunnydale," Jack mused slowly. "Why would he come to the same place as someone who would just love to tie him to the top of a van and then break every speed limit in existence?"

"He said that has information about the NID operation here as well," volunteered Daniel. "At the very least we can hear about that. He said that it's called the Initiative."

Jack perked up slightly at that, turning around to look thoughtfully at Sam and Daniel. "That's a start, anyway. I feel like we've got too many places to look sometimes here. Harris, the NID, Maybourne, Wilkins – we need to start getting answers. Especially as Harris keeps vanishing on us."

This, Daniel had to admit, was a good point. The other day they'd been keeping a close eye on Harris, watching his trip to work at the library. How he'd left the place and then reappeared entering it again hours later still rankled with them all.

"It wouldn't hurt to get more information about the NID operation, sir," admitted Sam.

"I am in agreement, O'Neill," rumbled Teal'c. Then: "We also need to discover why Forrest Gates is on crutches at the moment, and why Riley Finn seems to have collected what appear to be some minor injuries."

"What?" snapped Jack as he raised his own binoculars. "Where?"

"At the start of the path to the library."

Jack focussed, whilst Daniel looked at the monitor in front of him. Sam was turning the external camera around, before finally focussing on the two NID operatives. Gates was indeed on crutches, lifting his left leg off the ground. From the redness that was apparent on Finn's lower neck, his t-shirt was hiding a large bruise, plus he was walking like someone who dared not turn too quickly. Daniel knew what that felt like. Painful, in a word.

"Looks like the NID were in a fight," mused Jack as he put the binoculars down. "Look's like they're having a hell of a debate as well."

"More like an argument," ventured Sam, as she watched.

Jack looked out of the van for a long moment. "Ok, when did Maybourne say he'd meet us?"

"Nine PM," replied Daniel.

"Tell him we'll be there." He hunched into his seat again, pulling his cap even further down over his eyes. "This had better be worth it, too."

* * *

Forrest looked pissed. On a scale of one to ten? Nine hundred, maybe? Riley sighed as he watched his friend hobble up to him on the path to the library.

"Okay, what the _hell_ happened the other night?" his friend barked, once he had checked that no-one was around.

Perhaps it was time to tell him. "We got rescued?"

Forrest narrowed his eyes and gave the kind of look that told Riley that the man was mentally counting to ten as slowly as he could under the circumstances. "Don't you give me that, not after that FUBAR of a mission. I'm talking about the girl with the moves like she was… she was Supergirl without the flying and the cape, and the guy who had what looked like a working lightsabre. And those other two. Not to mention those others I saw you talk to before the guy with the green glowing sabre looked at my damn leg! Riley, what the hell is going on?"

"It's… difficult to explain," Riley admitted, running a despairing hand through his hair as he walked slowly by the side of his hobbling friend.

This earnt him another hard stare. "So try," said Forrest coldly. "And judging from Graham's lack of shock does he know too?"

"Graham worked things out on his own," said Riley carefully. "he heard a few things and…" he paused. "Ok, you know that HST myth about the Slayer? The one we discussed a while back?"

Forrest frowned and nodded. "Well, it's not a myth. I mean, there's a real basis behind the myth. And you saw her the other night. Her name is Faith. She's a Vampire Slayer."

"The Slayer," repeated Forrest in a monotone. "The HST myth is real. Right. Yeah."

"How else would explain what she did? You saw her – the way she moved, how fast, how she threw that dagger – can you explain that?"

Forrest stopped hobbling for a moment, his jaw working slightly. "The Slayer is a damn myth Riley!"

"Then explain what you saw, man. Explain it to me. Go on, there's no-one around to overhear – you explain what you saw. Can you?"

His friend shot him a hard stare, looked around, opened his mouth slightly and then closed it again. "Can you prove it?"

"I can let you talk to her. Hell, I can watch her prove it to you by turning a steel bar into a pretzel. The HST myth doesn't even scratch the surface sometimes. Strong, fast, agile – that's a Slayer for you."

Forrest nodded absently, his mind obviously a long way away. Then he came to a halt again. "Wait a minute – you said 'A' Slayer. That sounds like there's more than one. That's nuts, the HST myth is very clear – there's only one. Ever."

Damn. Riley winced internally slightly. "Ah, sort of. Normally there is only one. Thing is, when one dies, another is called. And the process doesn't really take CPR into account these days, so…"

"There's another one?" asked Forrest. Then he scowled. "This is getting freakier by the damn minute. So who's this other Slayer, or so-called Slayer?"

"You know her," replied Riley in a low voice. "I'm dating her."

One of Forrest's crutches clattered on the ground as the man missed a step, cursed vilely and then hopped on his good foot as Riley grabbed the missing implement and then held it up to his wide-eyed friend. "Buffy? Are you telling me that Buffy Summers, who can babble for America almost as much as that friend of hers, is the other Slayer? Are you kidding me?"

"Hey," objected Riley hotly, "That's my girl you're talking about! And can I add that she's saved me own ass before that as well!"

Oops. Forrest looked at him. "So how long have you known about these Slayers then? And what's with the guy with the lightsabre?"

Riley ducked the first question. "Oz… he's the guy. Don't know him that well, but he's dating Willow, Buffy's friend. Yes, the lightsabre works – you saw it. And yes, you also saw him mess with Adam's arm that way, to stop him shooting at us."

"How the hell did he do that, anyway?"

"Well… this is the part where you might understand why I didn't tell you all this shit straight away, If I had you… well, you might have just nodded understandingly and called for a couple of guys from the infirmary to come up and take me to a place with an all-you-can-eat drug diet. Oz is something new to us. He's a Jedi Knight."

There was a long pause as Forrest just looked at him. "Right," he said eventually, "And I'm the Easter Bunny. Pardon me for expecting, oh I don't know, an actual explanation for this shit!"

"Explain what he did then. The moves. The lightsabre. What he did to Adam's arm. I know it's unbelievable, but this is a place where we see the impossible every day Forrest! This is Sunnydale! This is the Hellmouth! When you think back to how you reacted the first time that you were told that the monsters under the bed were real, how is that different?"

"Jedi are from the mind of Lucas! From films! Fiction! How can they exist?" spat Forrest.

"Because of magic! Because… this place attracts the whacky, pulls in the weird, has the freaky on the menu every day. Oz isn't the only one, Forrest. He was taught."

"By who? Yoda appear out of a hole in the sky and beam down his green wisdom? Riley can you hear yourself?"

"By Xander Harris! You once said there was something odd about him – there you go. That's the secret. You wanted to know how long I'd known? Since the laryngitis episode. I stumbled on those demons on my own, then I broke into a room where there were two people cutting a swathe through them like you wouldn't believe. One was Buffy, fighting like Faith the other night. The other was Xander, with a lightsabre of his own and powers greater than Oz's. They did the bulk of it, not me. They stopped those things. Forrest, there are forces out there in this world that we can't understand, there are people out there fighting against vampires and demons that we've never _seen_. We're in a _battleground_, and we can't even see a half of the combatants. But we need to start learning fast. Adam has shown us that there are forces out there against us that we can't understand. Well, Buffy and Xander and Oz and Faith and, yes, Willow, and the others I was talking to, are forces that are fighting on the same side as us. So we need to make use of them, or Adam's going to roll right over us at the rate he's going at."

There was another long, long pause as Forrest fixed him with a hard stare. "Maybe," he conceded in a rough voice, "But I've got a lot to think about, man. I've got time with this leg – and I'll talk to you when I talk to you. Not before."

As he stumped away Riley opened his mouth to call after him and then closed it again. Hell, that hadn't gone well. Not that he could blame his friend. He should have told Forrest a while back. The fact that he would have tried to have Riley escorted to the funny farm wasn't a problem – he could have arranged proof somehow. It could have been done. He nodded sadly, turned and walked away, scratching slightly at the graze on the side of his neck.

* * *

Jack got out of the van, leaving Teal'c and Carter to guard it and walked along the sidewalk to the junction. It was well-lit by the streetlamps, had a few alleyways going off it and looked very deserted. "Is this it?"

"Corner of Edgehill and Naseby. Yup. I wonder why they named them after English Civil War battlefields?" asked Daniel musingly.

"Boredom?" asked Jack after he shook his head in bemusement. He glared down at his watch. "He's late. Probably off making up some other heap of bullshit to entice us into his NID-related web of doom. Unless he's actually here and is skulking in the shadows to one side. Come on out Maybourne…"

"Jack, you sound like a cat waving a piece of cheese around," said a voice to one side, and Harry Maybourne emerged cautiously from one side. "What? You can't blame me for being cautious can you?"

"Well, there is the little matter of me wanting to throttle you," conceded Jack. "But we can let bygones be bygones for a while. At least until after you clue us in to what the hell is going on in this whacky town."

"Jack didn't exactly buy the explanation we talked about," said Daniel with a wince.

Jack turned and looked at him sideways. "Hello, it mentioned _vampires_! What next? The bogey man?"

"I'm not sure if boogy bors, as my Welsh grandmother called them, exist Jack, but I can find out," said Maybourne with a twisted grin of his own. Then his expression sobered. "Are you all armed?"

"That's a very daring question. Yes we are, and why aren't you more worried about being near an armed me?" asked Jack with all the sarcasm he could muster.

"Because I want to prove my point and live at the same time. You'll see," said Maybourne as he looked around. "Ah, your van. Shall we go?"

"Lead on MacDuff," replied Jack. "Or whatever."

Maybourne in fact did lead the way to the van, opening the door by the side with the kind of familiarity that led to Jack to think that the damn man had been watching them for a while. Once inside he closed the door, greeted Teal'c and Carter in a breezy manner and then looked at Jack as he slid into the driving seat and did his best not to grind his teeth. "So," asked Jack after a moment, "Where are we driving to then, Harry?"

"The Cemetery of St Tibulus, on the corner of Hudson and Revere. It's quite a big place, you'll see it a way off."

"Oh good," said Jack as he started the car, checked the mirrors and put the car into drive. "Now start talking, because your attempts to blame everything here on 'vampires' is wearing pretty damn thin. What's really going on?"

"I tried to tell them," said Daniel with a shrug."

"Not to worry, Dr Jackson," said Maybourne with a slight smirk, "I expected them to react that way anyway. Don't worry Jack. There'll be plenty of proof. I give you my word, after all."

"Oh joy. The NID Operation here? You can start talking now."

"Ah," muttered Maybourne, rubbing his nose thoughtfully. "Ok." He smiled skightly. "Do you remember what it was like when you came back from your first trip to Abydos?"

Jack snorted. "Wall-to-wall briefings, being questioned about absolutely everything that happened, told to go away and then being brought back to answer more questions that covered the same ground as before. Why?"

"Yes, well, you must admit that the tale you came back was a rather…wild one. The brass had a hard time believing it, and that was just the ones that had seen the footage of you and your team going through the Stargate. For the others in the Pentagon, in the ossified higher strata, it sounded, well, nuts."

Maybourne smirked slightly and then tilted his head to on e side. "Back then I was in charge of a different section of the NID, so when I was told myself, I didn't really believe it either. Then after I saw the footage and read your debriefing, something occurred to me – and some of the brighter members of the brass. If aliens had come to Earth and effectively kidnapped such a large group of people – and, according to what you said that Ra had told you, had ruled parts of the planet for a while – was there any proof in the historical record, were there any hints about the occupation, or other aliens? By a combination of luck and good lobbying we got the job of looking."

This obviously intrigued Daniel, because all of a sudden he was staring at Maybourne, fascinated. "Did you find much? Because, we looked quite hard and it took some time to locate a few hints, although not that much time to hunt down Seth and I-"

"Daniel! Let Harry finished his smug explanation touting his NID-ness," broke in Jack as he drove.

"Thank you Jack," replied Maybourne wryly, "I think, anyway. So, yes, we did find a few things Dr Jackson. A hint here, a reference there. A long time had passed, obviously, so what we found was… blurred and fragmentary at best, especially as the old Egyptian priesthood seems to have been, well, very close-mouthed at best." He shifted in his seat slightly. "Here's where it gets weird. As we kept looking, we kept digging up the odd reference here and there to events and… things for want of a better word, that made no sense, that couldn't be explained by Ra and what we now knew to be the Goa'uld."

"Such as?" asked Jack caustically as he carefully drove around a small VW beetle that seemed to be not being driven by the little old lady doing the knitting in the front seat.

Maybourne blew out his cheeks in a long exhalation. "Odd creatures that turned up out of nowhere. Attacks that left entire villages destroyed without any sign of the attackers. Then, later, as records got better, more details started emerging. People who were found dead with two small holes in their neck. Others who had been savaged by 'wild dogs', even when they lived in the middle of a city. People being buried one day and being seen alive later, but only at night. Odd wounds on people that looked they'd been inflicted by something like talons. And in one case, in New Jersey in the '60's, a young girl who had her heart bitten out by something with too many teeth."

"Her heart?" asked Jack with disgust. "What the hell would do that?"

"We never found out," admitted Maybourne. "Anyway, we started to combine quite a list of all these kinds of incidents, but they were all bitty and hard to put together. And then we got lucky. We discovered a small outfit in the Pentagon that had been mouldering away for decades, called the Demon Research Initiative."

"Right. The Demon Research Initiative. Let me guess – they own Monster Island, and encourage Godzilla and Mothra to go head to head in battles every now and then, right?"

This earned him a grimace. "Jack, they existed. A long time ago – 1936 to be precise – FDR set up a new intelligence department that eventually became the DRI. The reason behind it is a mystery, even to the NID. No-one knows, but it might be mentioned in a sealed section of President Roosevelt's archives, which are due to be unsealed in 2037. We – I mean the NID – don't know what's in it, although believe me I tried.

"Now, the DRI was basically taking up one small basement in the Pentagon. It had been haemorrhaging people and funding for years and was by now just four colonels and a sergeant who sat in a room full of records. Apparently their heyday had been in the 1940's, when they'd joined forces with some British group called the Watcher's Council against some Nazi projects, but since then they'd been suffering from bureaucratic inertia and funding stagnation. But what they had in those files, Jack, what they had was, well, _mind-blowing_."

Maybourne leant forwards, real passion entering his voice. "They had enough facts and figures and details and autopsy results to blow away all the comfortable myths that I had in the nature of life here on Earth. I mean that Jack, and this was even after I found out about the Goa'uld threat after Apothis made his raid and you went off to Abydos again. It was scary stuff. I've never gone out unarmed at night ever since then."

Jack took a long hard look at the man's face in the rearview mirror as he waited for a red light to change at a crossing. He seemed… very enthused, as Daniel would say. He also sounded very intent and more than a bit convincing. It was an odd attitude to associate with Harry Maybourne. "Go on," he said after a long moment.

"It wasn't long before we got the DRI more funding, then we quietly absorbed them into the NID, along with their records, recreating them as a subdivision called the Initiative," Maybourne went on, still looking serious. "When we started to find corroboration to what was in the records that they had, then we knew that the information was accurate. They'd been watching Wilkins for some time – and no, they didn't know what he was either. What they had, though, was evidence that Sunnydale was built on a place called Boca del Inferno. The Mouth of Hell."

"Sounds a very inventive name, I know," broke in Jack again, as he activated a right turn signal and got ready to turn into Hudson. "So what?"

"Jack, the original Chumash Indian settlers really believed that there _was_ a mouth to hell here. And judging by the records from the DRI, others believed that too. Others were… drawn here. By something that we – I keep using that word, don't I, when I'm no longer a member of the NID – that science cannot explain."

"Is this the point where you mention vampires again?" asked Jack, trying to sound sarcastic again but feeling a quiet sense of, well, something that felt rather like dread in the pit of his stomach. Damn it, why was he swallowing this bull? For that matter why did Maybourne sound so serious when he talked about it? Not mention so damn intent and driven? Hell, there was the junction that Maybourne had mentioned. "We're here," he said abruptly, stopping the van by the side of the road.

Maybourne looked out of the window and nodded sharply. "Ok. Are you any of you armed like I asked?"

Jack looked at him shrewdly. "Would I meet you late at night in a dark place with potential weirdness up ahead and _not_ be armed?"

"I too am equipped with a weapon, Harry Maybourne," said Teal'c quietly, looking with a slight amount of distaste at the automatic that he had in a hip holster. He was probably missing his zat gun, Jack knew, but you couldn't have everything.

"Major Carter? Dr Jackson?" Maybourne received two nods. "Good… I'm guessing standard ammunition?"

"It's a bit hard to get either hollow point or explosive rounds around here, Maybourne, because the gun shops aren't the kind of places that sell them," replied Jack caustically. Then he paused for a moment. "Well, we probably could find a place that did sell them illegally or something, but it might lead to all kinds of problems, plus I don't think that Hammond would approve that on expenses. If we could claim any expenses that it."

"Typical," growled Maybourne, pulling out his own automatic and releasing the clip. "Take a look."

Taking the clip with a frown, Jack hefted it for a moment, judging the weight and feeling the furrows on his face deepening. Then he thumbed a round out carefully and looked at it closely. "Tracer rounds? Where the hell did you get those? And why a whole clip of them?"

"Because I'm a cautious kind of guy and I want to live to see sunrises and daffodils and the kind of things that alive people can see," replied Maybourne acerbically as he took the clip back, reinserted the bullet and then loaded the gun carefully. "Vampires are highly flammable. Your ordinary bullets would just annoy them."

"_Annoy_ them? Look, Maybourne when I shoot people they're more than annoyed, the chances are that they're dead and…" he looked at Maybourne closely. "You mean it, don't you?"

"Yes, Jack That's what I've been trying to tell you! Oh hell, come on. We've got a grave to see," muttered the rogue NID officer as he opened the door and hopped out.

SG-1 followed him, but with various degrees of speed. Jack followed him quickly, mostly because he didn't want to lose sight of the little weasel. Daniel also came quickly, because as Jack suspected, he was probably already half-sold on what that book had said. Sometimes Jack felt that Daniel trusted books a little too much. Teal'c followed next, a slight smile on his face that made Jack feel that the Jaffa was a leeetle too amused by the whole thing. And then there was Carter, who looked professionally and personally affronted at the very thought of vampires.

Together they all hopped over a wall, swung around a tree, ambled through about fifty yards of assorted graves, walked past another tree and finally came to a long mound of freshly-dug earth. There were a few rather perfunctory wreaths on the brown soil that had been carefully tamped down over what was clearly a very fresh grave – too fresh to have a headstone yet.

"His name was Thomas Dancy," said Maybourne, looking down at the grave carefully. He seemed to be checking it out and then relaxed ever so slightly after he had finished staring at it. "He was 32 years old, a sous-chef at one of the major hotels in Sunnydale, not that that's saying much, and he was found dead at 11.30pm yesterday evening. According to the police he'd fallen neck-first onto a pair of small knives and then bled out rapidly. He had no family in town, no significant other… open and shut case they said. They released the body and the local authorities buried him as fast as they could."

"No autopsy?" asked Carter incredulously.

"No," replied Maybourne with a grimace. "Why bother? Just another visiting chef, passing through town. Hotel quickly hired a replacement, his room was soon rented out to someone else… who cared?"

"Wait a minute," objected Jack next, "He fell on two small knives and bled out? Was he drunk or something?"

"Sober as a judge, according to the blood test. They did that much at least. Wonderful what hacking can do sometimes. And no, Jack, they didn't find him impaled on the knives. They just theorised that. He had two wounds on his neck, so they jumped to the right conclusions I suspect, labelled it under the shoddiest excuse they could and buried him. In the process they noted that he had blood in his mouth."

Jack ran the fingers of one hand through his hair and settled his cap on his head again. "So?"

"Jack, one of the things that we found out is that vampires are born via a… well call it the passing on of blood. A vampire bites – feeds on – a human. Just before the human dies they're forced to drink some of the vampire's blood. It's a very unsanitary process and at the end of it – after a period of time when the human looks very dead – a new vampire is born."

"Vampire blood. Right," replied Jack bemusedly. "So we're here because…"

"Because if I'm right Mr Dancy will be waking up soon, or already has done so. He's in his coffin, but that's alright because he doesn't need air at all. He'll be hungry. He'll want out too. So he'll dig his way out, hoping that it's dark outside. If it isn't then he'll lie low until it is. But right now we wait to see if he makes an appearance."

Jack nodded slowly. Then he raised both eyebrows. "And then?"

"We kill him," said Maybourne bleakly, sitting on a handy nearby gravestone and staring at the grave.

Jack just stared at him. "We just kill him. If he claws his way out a six-foot grave." He turned to look at Carter, who shot a disgusted look at Maybourne. "You're not buying this, are you Carter?"

She smiled sarcastically. "No sir. I'm not."

This got her an answering sarcastic smile, this time from Maybourne. "You'll see."

A long silence fell, as Maybourne and Daniel stared at the gave, Jack joining them occasionally and then looking at the stars, which were very bright this evening, while Carter sank into a reverie that suggested the internal calculus that she indulged in when she was bored and Teal'c looked around interestedly.

After a while the Jaffa ventured an observation: "This cemetery appears to be quite large, Harry Maybourne."

"It is," the former NID colonel said with a hint of melancholy. "The life expectancy of careless people in Sunnydale is horribly low. People move here thinking that it's a standard, typical Californian town. It's not."

"Because of the vampires," said Carter with a slight roll of her eyes.

"Yes, Samantha," said Maybourne, not looking up from the grave but sounding aggrieved anyway. "Because of the vamp-" He stopped and then pulled out his automatic, standing as he did.

Jack looked around quickly and then caught sight of where Maybourne was staring at so fixedly – the grave. One end had humped up slightly… and was moving slightly? He got up and pulled out his own sidearm, just to be on the safe side. There was an audible click to one side as Maybourne took the safety off his own weapon. "Harry, what's going on?"

"I think that Mr Dancy has woken up, Jack," came the reply.

The slow movement of earth humped up again, causing some of the exposed earth to slump down to one side, and for a spilt second Jack saw something white. Then more earth moved and white tendrils emerged form the dirt, flexed slightly in the open air and revealed themselves to be first fingers and then a hand, which clawed at the grave to get a better grip. More earth fell away, revealing first a forearm and then an elbow.

"Harry?" Jack stared as a shoulder slowly levered itself into view as another hand burst out of the soft earth and grabbed at a chunk of grass to one side. The hands looked… different now, as if they had… suddenly… grown… claws.

"O'Neill, this is not natural," rumbled Teal'c to one side as Jack thumbed the safety catch off and then chambered a round. It wouldn't hurt to be safe.

"How's he breathing?" asked Carter as she stared incredulously at the grave, where a head had suddenly appeared. Luckily it was turned away from them and probably still had dirt in its ears – that or whatever the man – or thing – was, it was too intent in getting out of the grave. Not that Jack could blame him really for that. Jack felt a bit lightheaded, as he watched the whole thing. For a second he had a flashback to when he was eight years old and little Susie Jaruzelski from two houses over had tried to persuade him that there was a monster living in her parents pond. It had turned out to be Susie's brother Tom, with their mother's best sheet with mud and leaf mould spattered all over it. The ensuing confrontation had gotten him a black eye and Tom a busted lip and Tom and Susie had been grounded for a week by their exasperated mother and… he had a feeling that for the first time since he was eight years old that monsters might just exist.

By now the supposed vampire – it was a good thing that he could still think with more than a bit of sarcasm – was wobbling to his feet, earth cascading off him as he brushed it off.

"Okay, I don't believe that I'm buying this, but hold it right there," called out Jack, as he held his weapon in two hands and brought it up to cover the late Mr Dancy.

The dirt-covered figure tilted its head to one side, as if puzzled for a moment, and then dug its two forefingers into its ears, excavating what was hopefully just earth.

"I said: Hold it there!" repeated Jack, and it was at this point that the world took a hard right turn into the Twilight Zone, because Dancy span around, revealing a face that was not human by any stretch of the imagination. The forehead was bulging outwards in a way that no human skull ever could, while the mouth was gaping open in a snarl that displayed some horribly large and pointy incisors. But it was the eyes that really shook him to the depths of his soul. They were yellow and feral, displaying both a savage cunning and a violent intensity that rang a warning bell the size of the Stargate in his mind. They were eyes that made those of Ra and Apothis look tame by comparison. This guy, whatever the hell he was, was not just planning to attack, but he was going to enjoy inflicting as much pain as he could.

Jack brought up the gun and as the man tensed and then started to dart towards him, fired a quick three round burst to the chest that should have blown half Dancy's aorta away. The man stopped in his tracks, swayed and then howled with pain and fear, before looking down at the blood-covered chest of the cheap suit that he had been buried in and which was now showing its overall cheapness by sagging in places. Then he looked up. "That hurt," he growled in a voice that spoke of New York. "I'm going to kill you for that."

"Shit," said Jack wonderingly. He'd hit the guy and he should have been dead. But he wasn't. Why wasn't he dead? Then he stifled a curse and fired another three rounds, this time at the guys' knee. Dancy howled and again and then amazingly darted forwards again, despite the fact that he should have been on the ground leaking blood and bone fragments. A split second later, and just before the thing reached Jack with its onrushing arm, another gun barked twice and Dancy stopped in his tracks again. They both turned to see Maybourne standing there with a smoking gun in his hands.

"Damn it, I can only kill you one at a time," raged Dancy, before giggling. "Can't kill me, can't kill me, can't…" He frowned suddenly and then sniffed the air before looking down. Smoke was suddenly rising from his side, where Maybourne's bullets had hit him. Suddenly the pair of holes in him were belching small flames, flames which spraed quickly. Dancy opened his mouth to scream as the fire took hold with an impossible speed, exploding flames gushing out all over the place. As Dancy screamed then Jack could see flames sprout in the back of his neck and then suddenly he just crumbled, falling apart into fiery particles of ash and dust that collapsed into the earth.

There was a long silence, broken only by Jack taking long shuddering breaths. Then his training took over and he automatically put the safety on, ejected the magazine, unchambered the live round and then thumbed it back into the magazine, before pushing it back into the gun. Then he turned to Maybourne.

"What the _hell_ was that… thing?"

"A vampire, Jack," Harry Maybourne replied with a look that combined exasperation with stress. "That's what I've been trying to tell you about, remember?"

"Did you see the way that it goddamn moved?" Jack yelled suddenly, exploding with anger and walking up to the former NID agent and getting right up in his face. "What was it and why the hell did you risk my team with that thing?"

"It was a vampire, Jack. A vampire. Try and get your head around this point. A. Vampire. Did you think that I was just making this stuff up?" Maybourne looked at him shrewdly. "Ok, maybe you did a bit. Which is why I wanted you to see one first hand. In a safe environment. Sort of."

"Sort of? Safe? Did that even look safe Harry? Did it feel _safe_?"

"Hell, I killed it Jack. Is that proof enough for you? Do you want to see more? I wouldn't advise it, but you're obviously in a stubborn mood and you need more proof. This place is a Hellmouth, Jack, and its crawling with things out of your worst nightmares."

Jack opened his mouth to say something, but after a long moment the words just piled up behind his throat and refused to emerge.

Instead Teal'c broke the silence. "Mar'tyun," he said slowly.

"Marty who?" asked Jack with a quick look at the stunned Jaffa.

Teal'c shook himself out of his stupor. "From its appearance, it appeared to be a Mar'tyun. I thought that they were merely an ancient Jaffa legend, but it appears that I was wrong."

"Wait a minute, you've heard of this before?" asked Daniel Jack and Maybourne almost simultaneously. Jack glared at the others. "Stop that," he ordered and then looked back at Teal'c.

"It… is an ancient legend. Once there were creature that existed only in the night, that drank blood and were monsters in human form. The Goa'uld gave orders that they should be hunted down and destroyed, no matter where they were. It is one of the only things that the Goa'uld were said to agree with the Tok'ra. But the last time that a Jaffa met a Mar'tyun was almost a thousand years ago. During my grandfather's time they were a distant legend, but their existence was still talked about, in case they ever returned."

"You could have said something," objected Jack weakly.

"They were legends," the Jaffa replied. "They were said to be extinct, O'Neill."

"Well," said Maybourne grimly, "They're alive and well here." He returned his gun to his own holster. "Let's go and get a beer or three. Hearing about these things and seeing them on videos and behind bars is one thing, but taking one out is another."

Jack thought about exploding again at that point – Maybourne had never dealt with what he now had to admit was a vampire before? Then he nodded. "A beer or three sounds good to me too. Come on, back to the van. Then you can start talking Harry, because I want all the intel you have on this place."

As he turned and walked away he paused, before looking back. "Coming, Carter?"

His second in command was busy staring down at the stop where the dust of the late Mr Dancy had settled. Her eyes were very wide, her brow was furrowed and her mouth was open slightly. "Carter? Hello, earth to Carter?"

"I'll be right there, Colonel," she mumbled dazedly without showing any signs that she was about to actually move any time soon.

Jack sighed and looked over at Daniel, who was closest to her and who didn't look as if he'd been slapped on the back of the head with a wet fish, although he was looking off to one side with a confused frown. "You want to guide her back to our transport, Daniel?"

"Sure," he replied after a moment and then walked over to the blonde Major. "You ok Sam?"

"He… burst into flames."

"Yes, he did."

"That's… not possible."

"I know, but we seem to have entered new ground tonight."

"How?"

"I don't know. You come back with us and I'll get you a margarita. You like margaritas."

"I do?" asked Carter as Daniel guided her gently away from the gaping grave.

"Yes," said Daniel, shooting an amused look at Jack and the others. The Colonel sighed deeply. This was going to be a hell of a lot to take on board. Seeing was believing. But why did it have to be so damn hard to believe?

* * *

When they had gone Xander emerged from behind the trunk of the very handy tree that had been concealing him for the past equally very interesting minutes that he had been eavesdropping on the motley group. He looked at the emergency stake that he was holding in one hand and then replaced it up one sleeve thoughtfully. Having a lightsabre did tend to call attention to yourself, which could be bad if you were trying to remain hidden. Luckily he'd been able to use the Force to sneak the stake up behind the group of three vampires that had been licking their lips behind a totally different tree and planning how to extract certain juicy marrow from certain leg bones belonging to said motley group. Three carefully managed swoops with it had taken care of the problem quite easily.

That just left the group that were now all piling back into their van and leaving. Interesting was a word that had crossed his mind so many times that it had left tracks all over the damn place. At least he now had some names for the mysterious other two, as well as their new companion. Carter and Jackson he already knew. Old salt and pepper hair was, judging from different comments, one Colonel Jack O'Neill. That should help Willow a bit. And tall dark and pseudo-demony was Tealc, or Teelk, depending on the pronunciation. Xander still had no idea at all what the hell he was.

That said, judging by the way that they'd reacted to the bearded guy taking care of the vampire, then they had no idea about the dark and demony world. So how come this Harry Maybourne character did – and where had he come from?

But the biggest surprise had been one little word that had been mentioned. It was a word that he had researched thoroughly, had passed on to Giles and then had been batted back to him due to a general lack of information. Goauld. He was pretty sure he had the spelling right, and there might even have been a slight pause or an apostrophe in there somewhere.

It was the word that his dark alter ego had said once. He'd had a feeling that it was important at the time. Now he knew it was. He leapt down from the tree and started to walk across the cemetery. Research time. Again.


	17. Skeletons and Closets

Well, we've been without a bathroom for the past week - and we still have another week and a half to go before we have a new one that isn't 1970's standard avacado, with tiles that don't fall off when a fly clears its throat in the room. So I've been able to do a lot of writing. Hence the chapter! It's been a while since I put in a disclaimer, so here one is - I don't own these characters. Which is a shame, because I want to be rich one day.

* * *

Spike stared at the bottom of the glass. It was… empty. That meant something. Didn't it? He hiccupped slightly and then looked up to try and catch the eye of one of the three barmen that were looking at him in a very worried way. Which was odd, because about five minutes there had just been one barman. Perhaps his brothers had turned up? Then again, perhaps he was just very, very, drunk. He closed his eyes, shook his head slightly and then when he looked again there was just the one person behind the bar.

"Spike, mate, don't you think you've had enough?" asked the suddenly single barman.

"Had… had enough? Me? I'm, I'm Spike the bloody pished. I mean I'm William the Hammered Nail. Bloody William. Bloody Mary. Yeah, give me a Bloody Mary."

"You hate Bloody Mary's, Spike, you call then Anaemic Susans, remember?"

There was a pause whilst Spikes' scattered thoughts rallied in the least drunk part of his brain and then tried to get some of a momentum towards a coherent thought, or failing that just speaking without dribbling. "Quite right," he slurred eventually. "Give me a beer then."

"Okay," sighed the barman and poured him one. As he did he failed to notice that Spike was suddenly directing a careful ear to a conversation that was taking place around a table about ten yards away, an conversation that was being conducted by a group of demons who weren't afraid of being overheard by what was obviously a very drunk vampire who was dreaming of better days and totally ignoring them. Obviously, right?

* * *

The big board was out again, and this time it had a lot more information on it. The plans of Adam had been copied, as having Riley get thrown into Leavenworth for losing the originals would probably be classified as a bad thing, and the copies were pinned carefully on it, along with some notes about Project Lazarus. The map contained sightings, along with a pin with a big skull and crossbones, something that Faith had picked up somewhere, marking the spot where the Initiative team had met Adam's hordes. Other notes were pinned, or written, or piled to one side.

In other words it looked like something that would be a really bad idea to have fall into the wrong hands. Fortunately Giles had changed the locks to his office and to his inner office, and had restricted the keys to the Scoobies. Apparently Mrs Jenkins was in a high old snit about that little fact, but then that was too bad.

Xander leaned against the desk and looked at the information that was spread across the space in front of him. He had a nagging feeling that he was missing something. It was not a feeling that showed any sign of either going away any time soon or of being resolved. He hated this kind of thing.

Reaching out with one hand and without using the Force at all he suddenly pushed a stack of books off the table, so that they landed on the floor with a loud series of thumps. Then he smiled slightly at the motionless pair of figures that were balancing on one hand in different corners of the room. Not bad. Oz could take that kind of thing in his stride now, but Lindsey hadn't even flinched. His eyes were closed and his breathing appeared to be regular as he balanced perfectly. He was coming along nicely, although he had yet to be really tested by anything major. Xander had a nasty feeling that at some point soon something major was indeed coming. Adam was getting to be too much of a threat, especially as he obviously had some kind of a plan. The question was, what was it?

Xander sighed slightly and then threw himself abruptly into the air, did a tight backflip and then used the Force to pull a short sword from Giles's cabinet, across the floor and balanced it upright on its' tip. As he came down above it he shot out one locked arm and balanced perfectly on its hilt, his body balanced motionless above it.

Oz opened one eye and then closed it again. "Show off."

* * *

"Damn," said Daniel suddenly as they walked down the corridor towards the briefing room, "I forgot to give that book back."

"The canticles of Autolon?" asked Jack with a frown as he looked back at his suddenly stationary friend.

This got him roll of the eyes. "The Chronicles of Aurelian, Jack," sighed the archaeologist. "I told the librarian there that I'd get it back to the library."

"So post it back to them," replied Jack, before resuming his interrupted stride. "Now come on, this is going to be a hard enough meeting as it is."

When they got to the briefing room they found Teal'c sitting at his normal place, fiddling with a pen and with a pad in front of him. It seemed to be covered in notes, whilst he had a slight frown on his face. "You ok?" Jack asked.

The Jaffa looked up. "I am endeavouring to try to remember what little I know about Mar'tyun. My grandfather knew much about them, but I was but a boy when he died. All I remember is what he told me, plus a few fragments from stories that I heard from others." He looked a bit abashed. "It is not a great deal."

"Hey, that's more than we all know," replied Jack tiredly. The past few days had been a hell of a rush since that moment in the cemetery when that… thing had burst into flames. Jack did not want to call it a vampire. That way led to crazy land and bad films and vague memories of being creeped out after reading Dracula for the first time when he was 13, and having to go to bed that night with his old teddy bear for the first time in five years. Sheesh. So – it wasn't a vampire, it was a thing. Or even a Martieun, or however Teal'c pronounced the damn word.

Brisk footsteps heralded the arrival of Janet Frasier, who slammed a file down onto the desk and glared at them all – even Daniel, who blinked a bit. "Ok," she bit off, "So who do I have to blame for having to sedate Sam?"

"You had to _what_?" Jack asked incredulously.

"Well what else could I do with someone who hadn't slept in three days, who refused to rest, who kept talking about something being totally impossible and who kept talking about body mass and the facts surrounding dust. Fiery dust I think she said. She seems to be in shock. What happened in California?"

Jack and Daniel looked at each other shiftily before Jack looked up at the irate doctor. "It was a bit freaky, you're never going to believe me and anyway I'm not looking forwards to telling General Hammond everything, so I might as well kill two birds with one stone and tell you both together, so that you can both stare at me and probably take us all to the infirmary to run lots of tests for hallucinogenic drugs or something." He took a deep breath and then smiled weakly.

Janet narrowed her eyes after a long hard stare and then sat down abruptly. "Fine," she said in a tight voice, "But after this you and I are going to have a little talk Colonel. And if you think that your big needle paranoia is bad now, wait until later on."

That was a low blow, thought a wincing Jack, before looking over at Teal'c, who was still scribbling away at the paper. "That pad big enough?" he asked the former First Prime of Apothis.

Teal'c looked up. "It is sufficient. However, my pen is running short of ink."

"Use one of mine," offered Daniel, rolling a pen across the desk. The Jaffa picked it up, inspected it, nodded gravely and then resumed writing.

This obviously intrigued Janet, because she looked over at him with a puzzled frown. "What's so important, Teal'c?"

"I am recalling old tales of the Jaffa about a matter that I believe that Colonel O'Neill wishes to remain silent upon until General Hammond arrives."

There was a scuff of footsteps in the corridor and then Hammond burst into the room, dressed in full dress blues with added scrambled egg, as the British would say. Such a great phrase.

Hammond took off his hat, placed it carefully on the spot next to him and then sat down briskly at the head of the table. "Colonel, what's so important that you got a priority flight out of Vandenberg for your team, pulled me out of a budget meeting in DC and then got Dr Jackson to order what appears to be enough books to make up half the Library of Congress?" Then he looked around. "Where's Major Carter?"

Jack gestured to Janet, who leant forwards slightly with a grim smile. "Major Carter is currently in the base infirmary, suffering from a combination of exhaustion, stress and what I can only describe as mental incomprehension." She smiled thinly at Jack. "Colonel O'Neill said that I'd have to wait until you arrived for an explanation from him, sir."

This bought her a look of bafflement from Hammond, who then rounded on Jack. "Colonel, what in the Sam Hill is going on?"

"Well sir," began Jack, grimacing slightly. Then he paused before starting again. "You see, sir, Sunnydale was… it was like this…"

"The NID's base in Sunnydale is called the Initiative," broke in Teal'c. "It was formed around a group from the Pentagon called the DRI, which stands for Demon Research Initiative. Former Colonel Harry Maybourne told us much about it, saying that it was founded by President Roosevelt in 1934. He then showed us proof in the form of a creature that is known to the Jaffa as a Mar'tyun, but which I believe that you call a vampire. It crawled out of the grave it had been buried in, had yellow eyes, fangs and an abnormal skull structure and attempted to attack Colonel O'Neill, despite the fact that he had shot it three times in the chest and another three times in the leg. When Harry Maybourne shot it with tracer rounds it caught fire and then exploded into dust."

There was a long silence. Then Jack jabbed a thumb at Teal'c. "What he said," he nodded. "I was going to say that. Only… with more words and longer pauses."

Hammond and Frasier were both staring at them all as if they were mad, but it was their commanding officer who broke the building silence first. "Vampires?" he burst out. "Colonel O'Neill are you pulling my leg?"

"No sir," he replied with a deep sigh. This was going to be a debriefing and a half. "What Teal'c said was accurate."

* * *

"Goauld," mused Wesley as he peered into the massive book in front of him carefully. "Hmmmm. I did try and research it after that Sith version of you turned up, but I must admit that my attempt to pin it down wasn't that successful."

"Yes, but that was before I heard it mentioned by someone who wasn't a card-carrying Sith and insane with anger. By the way, they pronounced it as if it had a pause in the middle of the word. The tall guy with added weirdness pronounced it in a very precise tone of voice." Xander paused, thinking back to the night in question. "In fact he had a slight amount of anger when he said it. It wasn't overt, but it was there."

"Go-a-uld?"

"Not quite."

"Goa-uld?"

"That's it. Plus he mentioned something called a Mar-tie-un, or something like that. He seemed to think that the vampire was one of those."

"Now that," said Giles as he waved a sudden finger in the air and then grabbed a book that looked a bit bigger than Wesley's, "That _is_ interesting. That sounds like a derivation of a very obscure word for vampire – Mar'ben'tiy'unkare. It's a very old Egyptian word, the exact translation of which has long been lost." He paused for a moment. "Wesley, do we have a copy of Flinders Petrie's _Notes on Ancient Egypt_?"

"The one he produced for the Council? I think so. It'll be a bit dusty, but I think I can lay my hands on it." The younger Watcher stood up and wandered out, brushing dust off his hands in an absent-minded way.

Giles busied himself looking in his own book for a moment and then frowned suddenly. "Bugger" he said after a long moment. "Bloody priests."

This was untypical enough for Xander and a baffled Faith, who had been a fascinated spectator to this little study group, to exchange glances.

"You want to try expanding on that a bit, Giles?" asked Faith when it became apparent that the older Watcher was busy not explaining his muttered comments.

Giles started slightly, which meant that he had immersed himself into not just the book but also probably a different time, mindset and possibly language. "What? Oh. Yes. Sorry. The Priests of Ancient Egypt were obsessed with something called Ma'at. It means, well, the order of things. Everything in its place, tradition observed and new developments carefully folded into society." He pulled a face. "It basically meant that new things were treated with suspicion and that the Priests – of all the various gods – got to decide what could or could not be included into Ma'at. Of course that also meant what was described in various documents – and just as history is written by the winners, so the Priests, we suspect, swept various things under the proverbial carpet when it came to recording their history."

"It has long been hoped," said Wesley, who had reemerged from the archives partway through Giles's gloomy little speech clutching a large book, "That one day a complete account of what the Egyptian Priesthood suppressed, or at least a genuine account of their history, the fight against the forces of darkness included, might fall into our hands." He shrugged. "So far it hasn't."

"Well, we can hope," replied Giles as he reached out and helped Wesley to place the obviously heavy book on the table. Then he opened it, being careful with the rich and glossy pages that were covered with print and diagrams.

"So who was this Flint guy then?" Faith asked her Watcher, who was hovering over Giles's left shoulder.

"Mmm? Oh. Flinders Petrie, Faith. He was a British archaeologist who was in Egypt at the turn of the century. He was one of the giants of the field, he had a knack of seeing the layout of sites and assessing pottery that many have tried to emulate."

"He was also," broke in Giles as he turned another page, "An agent for the Watchers Council, as well as an important member of Room 42 at the British Museum. This was back in the days when people often combined jobs, so to speak. And he was invaluable in filling in all kinds of blanks about Egypt. Which is good, because the Watcher's Council has some very large blanks in the important parts the country's history."

"What kind of blanks?" pressed Faith, who was looking genuinely intrigued now.

Giles and Wesley looked at each other, obviously battling to see who could explain their ignorance in this area the better. Wesley lost.

"Well," he said, pulling his glasses off in what was a very Giles-like gesture, "We know that there was a time when there were a group of demons in Egypt that masqueraded as the gods of the country. They were led by a Ra, for example, there was an Isis and an Osiris and a Hathor. Or at least that's the theory. It is also theorised that they were spirits, Small Gods that made it big, as it were, although that is a somewhat of a minority theory," he added quickly, not catching Giles's suddenly glowering eye. "Very little is said about this period in the historical record, more than partly due to the Egyptian habit of recording their history on stone walls and on monuments. Before you ask Faith, these monuments could be defaced with a few swings of a chisel here and there, and then possibly something new and politically correct for that time could be carved in its place. Only the priests really knew what was going on – and they weren't exactly going to tell people the truth on a regular basis, not when their own power and positions depended on it.

"For instance we don't really know what kind of demons were impersonating the old Egyptian gods, we have very little information about the vampires and other demons of the era, and we only know about one magical weapon of power from the period. The Hammer of Ra I believe it was called. I think some witches from San Francisco took care of it."

"They used it on our friend Constantine – when he was Tethos, that is," said Giles quietly. "So, as Wesley said, we have a large number of holes in the mystical record of Egypt. Sadly the Egyptian Priests took their secrets with them to the grave. We'd know a lot more otherwise. Hum." His finger darted across a page and then stopped, went back, moved forwards and then stopped again at a different spot. "Interesting. He hypothesised that 'Mar'ben'tiy'unkare' might have referred to a person once a long time ago – with the name of the person being used to describe similar creatures long afterwards. Earliest reference to it… ah, at least 3000 BC."

"Five thousand years ago," stated Faith flatly. "Wow. Long time."

"Well, memory and words can be odd things sometimes. Some names get preserved perfectly, others are mis-remembered, half-forgotten, blurred." Giles sighed. "Flinders Petrie didn't have any reference to anything like a Goa'uld, but he did discover some odd artefacts in a dig near Thebes in 1906. From the description they were from a tomb, and included an odd staff, badly battered, some pieces of armour made from a strange metal and a few crystals. Apparently there was a stele nearby – a stone marker – that said that this was the grave of a servant of the dark ones who had seen the light. And there was an odd ring inscribed on the stele. That's it I'm afraid."

"What kind of strange metal?" asked Xander curiously.

"Oh, I'm not sure," muttered Giles as he looked at the book again, flipping through some pages. When he reached the right one he turned the book around and passed it over the table to Xander, who had to share it with Faith.

"Looks like some kind of neck armour or something," she muttered after a moment.

"That was Petrie's theory as well," said Giles. "I think that the fragments ended up in a box at Room 42, in the "Unidentifiable Remains" section of the Egyptian section. It came from the same period as the fake demon versions of the Egyptian gods."

"Right," said Xander thoughtfully. "But what would two US Air Force officers, along with a guy who looks human but who isn't quite, along with a renegade archaeologist and some other guy who knows about vampires, know about something that the Sith version of me knew about, as well as apparently know about an obscure period of Egyptian history?"

"No clue," answered Faith after a long moment.

"Total blank," ventured Wesley.

"I really wish that we didn't have this to worry about at the same time that Adam is hovering around in the wings," groaned Giles.

* * *

Hammond was very pale when he came back into the conference room. Slowly sitting down he then opened his mouth to speak, thought better of whatever he was about to say, opened it again after a moment and then finally caught sight of Carter, who looked much better and had stopped staring blankly into space whilst mumbling. "Major Carter, are you feeling alright now?"

"I'm fine, thank you sir," she replied. "Fourteen straight hours of sleep, plus a large meal," Carter shooting a glare at Doc Frasier at this point, who smiled smugly back at her, "And I'm perfectly ok. A little tired still, but much better."

"Good," said Hammond slowly, staring at a part of the desk, "Good."

After a moment of slightly vacant silence Jack finally broke in. "You ok, sir?"

"What? Oh. Yes, I'm fine Jack. I've just been talking to a contact of mine at the Pentagon. Apparently… apparently the DRI was real."

"Real?" asked Carter, leaning forward abruptly and looking as if she was ready to start chewing nails at a moment's notice. "Sir, I know that what Maybourne showed us looked real enough, but science has no precedent for this kind of thing and the more I think about it the more I feel that-"

Hammond looked up and just stared at her. It was a glance that cut her off between words. It was a glance that spoke of many things, including similar bafflement, combined with a horrible knowledge that this stuff was true, that what should have been impossible was in fact not just possible but real.

"The weird thing is," Hammond muttered, "I was once almost posted there. I had orders to report to the Pentagon in 1975, where I was going to take a staff job for a year in a very obscure department that I'd never heard of before. I'd forgotten all about it, but I now remember was called the DRI. I wonder what I'd have seen there. Before I could get there I was told that my orders had been changed at the last moment and that I had to ship out to California to take a command there." He paused, looking off to one side for a moment. Then he collected himself and leant forwards again. "Well, the Pentagon has tracked down a former officer at the DRI. Major-General Chuck Lennox. He retired about 15 years ago at the age of about 70, although why he was allowed to go on for so long I don't know. I think that he was one of those officers that just loved to work. He lives in Atlanta, Georgia now. Here's his address, Jack. I want you to talk to him. Find out if this stuff is true or not. Or if it's all a very sick joke." Hammond pushed a piece of paper across the desk at Jack and then just sat there looking nonplussed.

"Yes sir," replied Jack softly, looking at his commanding officer with some sympathy. The man looked like Carter had after that little encounter at the graveyard.

There was a clearing of the throat to one side and then Teal'c leant forwards. "General Hammond," he said respectfully, obviously seeing that Hammond looked as if someone had whacked him on the back of his head with a wet fish, "I would like permission to contact Master Bra'tac. He has a far greater knowledge of the legend of the Mar'tyun than I do. In fact he descended from the Jaffa that killed the last one spotted on the planets ruled by the Goa'uld."

Hammond nodded slowly in response. "Please do. Somehow hearing this from Bra'tac will make it more real hopefully." Then he leant forwards. "And where, can I ask is Maybourne?"

"Oh, he vanished again, like a cockroach under a sideboard, the way that he normally does. Said that he'd be in touch. Added later that he had a few places to visit," said Jack thoughtfully. "He seemed a bit worried about Sunnydale, the last I saw of him. Wonder why."

* * *

It was a quiet ceremony. The Honour Guard did their thing with their rifles and the snappy hand movements that had always vaguely irritated Riley. Somehow he felt that an honour guard should be more sombre at a funeral, but then that was just his own viewpoint and it wasn't as if the soldiers on duty were loud or stupid or anything. He just felt that a quiet simplicity was the way to go about burying someone.

The family didn't notice, naturally, but then short of letting off a bomb he doubted that they would register anything but their own grief right now. No, Stanislas and Marie Walewski still looked stunned by the fact that their eldest son was in the coffin that had been lowered into the ground with a slow finality that told of an end to a life that had been cut brutally short.

To one side their four remaining children were sitting, all looking equally devastated, the two young boys looking as if they were trying to rein in their tears as much their older sisters.

As the folded flag was handed over to Mrs Walewski Riley nodded sombrely to himself, remembering a good soldier whose quiet sense of humour could be a real boon when the stakes were high. He had been a good man. A good man. And he couldn't tell the family that the body in the grave was missing a leg and large part of its stomach. That the good man that he had known was being partially, so to speak, buried.

As the Honour Guard marched away and the mourners broke apart to start the long and dispiriting trudge to their cars, Riley walked off to one side and looked around. The Walewski family were still there by the graveside, sobbing openly now, their grief in full view. Not that he could blame them at all.

Something caught his eye to one side and he looked over. When his eyes registered the identity of the figure standing there to one side he came very close to walking into the gravestone in front of him. Colonel Harry Maybourne, the man who had recruited him into the NID, was standing under a tree to one side, a long way away from the grave site, but close enough to see everything. The man was dressed in civilian clothes, he had a beard, his head was bare and the breeze was ruffling his hair, but it was him. He looked solemn and closed-faced, and as Riley watched the man brought a hand up to his brow and snapped off a sizzling military-grade salute in the direction of the grave. When he brought his hand down he turned to one side and then walked away quickly.

Riley though about running after him for a moment, but that would just have called attention to him, and that wasn't something he was comfortable with at the moment. Plus he had a nasty feeling that Maybourne was… perhaps not someone that could be trusted with certain facts. He had a nasty feeling that the man was capable of dividing his brain to believe in incompatible things at a moment's notice.

* * *

By now the apartment looked as if someone had trashed it in a major way. Perhaps a heavy metal band coming down after a very successful tour could have come close to reproducing the overall effect, but it wouldn't be easy. Chairs were knocked over or torn apart, some of the doors hung drunkenly off their hinges, tables had been thrown to one side, ornaments had been smashed, the kitchen looked as if a giant steak tenderiser had descended on it and books lay all over the place, loose pages seeping out of them like the literary equivalent of blood.

She looked over at the body that she had left in the remains of the only bed in the place. The man – or perhaps demon-human hybrid would be closer – had been a cast-iron bitch to kill. Hell, he'd also been a cast-iron bitch to track down in the first place, possessing a string of false identities, and an impressive ability to vanish in plain sight. He'd looked like a normal human with normal interests. The fact that he'd annoyed someone enough to get them to call up the Order of Teraka was possibly the one abnormal thing about him – apart from the fact that hitting him had been like trying to punch concrete, as her throbbing right hand showed. Luckily she'd had her knife, as well as her other little ability. He was now, at long last, after almost four months, very dead.

She sighed slightly. She hated this part. After the hunt and the kill she always felt… lessened somehow. Incomplete. Purposeless. Until her next job. That was the way of things. Job to job to job. It was the only time that she ever felt really alive, going into the hunt. Well, at least she knew who her next victim was.

One Alexander Harris, from Sunnydale, California. She wondered what he'd done to entitle him to her… personal attention. Well, who cared? He'd die. And in the process she'd get to live a little again. For a while, anyway.

* * *

It had to be the third funeral he'd attended that day. Luckily it was the last one, because he felt wrung out and drained, mentally, physically and emotionally. Burying friends and colleagues had that kind of an effect on him. He just wanted to go back to his hotel, thrown himself into a bath, get some dinner and then head to the nearest bar and get blind stinking drunk.

Then there was the other pressure on him… the fact that there was a good chance that this funeral, like the last one, would have an uninvited guest. A guest who was not really supposed to be anywhere near there.

Which was why he'd paid his condolences, hung around the edges of the small crowd at the graveside, waited until the graveside detail had started their mojo again, and then quickly and quietly slipped away behind a gravestone or three, heading away from the scene and then pausing to circle around the area carefully.

As the burial detail marched away and the others started to disperse, he finally spotted what he had been looking for – a bareheaded figure to one side, brown hair flapping in the wind, dressed in civilian clothing and looking at the grave solemnly. Luckily Riley was behind the man and it was a simple matter of approaching him carefully and then…

"Hello, Riley," said Harry Maybourne without turning around. "How have you been?"

"I've been better, sir," admitted Riley in a somewhat tight voice. "Funerals take a bit out of you."

"Tell me about it," his former commanding officer breathed. "This is what? Number ten?"

"Eleven, really. Aideed was buried two days afterwards. Muslim tradition said one day or sooner, but in the circumstances…"

"Eleven," said Maybourne flatly. "Riley, what the hell happened? I heard a few things, but I'd rather I heard them from you."

"Sir-"

"I'm not your commanding officer any more, son. I'm just the man who recruited you. I recruited almost all of them, and I knew all of them. I had to be there to see them buried. I know an air force officer who'd accuse me of being sentimental, but what the hell does Jack O'Neill really know about me?"

Riley stored the name away in the corner of his mind and then frowned when it let off a faint bell somewhere. Then he looked at Maybourne, who was still staring at the grave. "We were ambushed by Adam – Professor Walsh's creation – and some friends of his."

Maybourne stared at him. "Creation?"

"She… built him. Or it, depending on your point of view."

This got a hell of a reaction, because Maybourne went white. "She went ahead and resurrected Project Lazarus without permission?" he whispered in a voice that was both stunned and probably a bit too loud, because Riley heard every word.

Just in time Riley remembered that as far as the Initiative was concerned he wasn't supposed to know about the original name of the project. "Project Lazarus sir? All I know is that she built him with bits of humans, demons, and electronic devices."

Maybourne ran a hand through his beard and then looked at him. "Tell me everything."

* * *

Major-General Chuck Lennox (retired) looked about 70, even though he was in fact 85, and had a face that combined deep shrewdness with a certain amount of elderly guile. He looked at Daniel with a degree of puzzlement, beamed at Carter with a hint of the lecher that he had so obviously once been and then assessed Jack at a glance. Having welcomed him in, he waved at tray containing some cups, a carafe of coffee and some milk and sugar, and then sat down with a sigh.

"Old bones," he apologised with a wry smile and an accent from the deep South. "Gettin' old is a cast-iron – pain," he said, obviously amending what he had been on the point of saying. The he stiffened slightly as a tiny voice mumbled something that sounded awfully like "Bingly-bingly-bee! Meet with young morons about things they know nothing about!" emerged from his waistcoat. He quickly hit his midriff hard, wincing slightly. Something chirped and then he was gazing at them levelly across the table. "Sorry," he muttered, "Electronic toy."

Jack looked at him carefully for a moment and then looked at the others for a moment, before smiling carefully. It had sounded more like something speaking than a toy. It had even sounded muffled from his shirt in a way that electronic devices didn't. Then he pulled out the letter from General Jumper, the current head of the Joint Chiefs, and slid it across the table. "Our credentials."

Lennox grunted slightly as he reached over and picked the letter up, pulled a pair of spectacles out of an inside pocket and then opened the letter carefully. He read it with a careful deliberation and a slightly narrowing of the eyes, before putting it down on the table in front of him. "ID's again please."

Sighing internally Jack dug his out again. Luckily Hammond had warned him about this. The old guy was a little paranoid, he had said. Lennox grabbed the leather container, peered intently at what was inside, handed it back, looked at Carter's and Daniel's with just as much care and attention and then finally leant back in his chair again. The old guy then grinned roguishly at them.

"So," said Lennox with a long twinkle in his eye, "You want to know about the DRI, do you? Why?"

"We have severe doubts about the premise behind it," said Carter with a little too much sarcasm in her voice.

"You should be more careful, Major" cautioned Lennox with a shake of his finger, "Talk like that can get you killed. Very easily in fact. Doubt can be a terrible thing."

"Speaking for myself I don't doubt that I saw what appeared to be a vampire last week." said Daniel grimly as he shot a cautionary glance at Carter, who tightened her lips for a moment.

This sobered Lennox for a moment. "That you survived is a big plus. Not many do when they see their first vampire." He leant forwards and pulled his shirt to one side to reveal a faded white scar at the side of his neck. "A vampire caught me whilst I was still gaping at it. Luckily I had backup."

"Backup?" asked Daniel quizzically. "What kind of backup?"

"A friend with a flare gun," said Lennox, looking at the archaeologist appraisingly. Then the grin reappeared. "Son, you have no idea the things that I've seen. And no, I can't tell you where the files on everything are."

"Why not?" shot back Jack.

"Because the NID has them all these days. From what I heard they came in and took over the DRI lock, stock and barrel. Every file we had, every scrap of data we'd collected – and believe me boys and girls, we had a hell of a lot – they took over and shipped out. Don't know where to, and I don't know what they're doin' with it, but there you go. Make what you will of it."

"So what did you have?" asked Carter with a great deal of scepticism.

"There you go with that doubt again Major. Tsk, tsk. Well, to answer your question, data on vampires, on demons, on all kinds of other things that would get labelled as 'what the hell is that' and so on. And before you ask the question that I can see forming on those pretty little lips of yours – yes, demons exist as well. A vampire is a form of a demon. Best I can tell, a vampire's true face – the face where the canines come out for a bit and that skull ripples like a sandbar – is a sign of the demon underneath. There are other demons by the way. But I can see that proof is kinda needed, so I suggest you approach the NID. Don't go looking for it, that's just going to get you folks killed. Or worse."

"What's worse than killed?" exploded Jack, his temper finally getting the better of him.

Lennox sat back and stared at him consideringly for a long moment. Then he smiled slightly. "Vampires get greedy for blood. Sometimes they drain it all outa you and you're deader than a doornail. But sometimes they get ambitious, sometimes they take a fancy to you, in a manner of speaking of course. They drain you almost dry. Then they get you to drink some of their blood. I don't know how it works exactly, but when you wake up again you might look the same as you did, but you ain't. You're one of them now and you need a drink real bad. And I ain't talking about bourbon or beer. I'm talking about something else that's spelt with a 'B'."

"Blood?" asked Daniel, who looked fascinated, before getting a nod in response.

Carter looked as if she was about to need either sedation or another large margarita.

Jack just looked at the man levelly. "So you're saying that these things exist then."

"Hell, boy, I'm just telling you what you obviously already know but just can't quite make yourselves believe. Yes, the monsters under your bed that your momma told you didn't exist, they're there. Some are harmless. Others ain't. The world as you knew it was bad enough probably – but the world that I found out about… well, that's something else." Lennox leant back again in his chair and smiled faintly. "You got any more questions?"

"Yes," said Daniel hesitantly. "You said that vampires were just one kind of demon. Are you saying that there are others?"

"Oh boy, you've barely scratched the surface, like I said," muttered Lennox after a moment of inspecting the ceiling.

"Then please enlighten us," said Jack.

Lennox blew out his cheeks in a great expulsion of breath. "In my time at the DRI I saw, personally, about thirty-five types, all different. Some looked just a little bit odd, like humans but with ears like Spock, others looked like walking rhinos. Some were harmless, some were born killers. It depended where you went looking for them. There's a demon bar I know of in Washington, just a stone's throw from the Potomac. For twenty-five dollars you can get a drink, a summoning spell and a night with a succubus. If that's what turns your propeller, that is."

Jack opened his mouth and then shut it again slowly, but before he could open it again to ask what the hell a succubus was, Daniel beat him to the punch about a different point.

"I'm sorry, but did you say 'summoning spell'?" he asked in tones of very deep scepticism.

"Hell, yes, boy, the DRI didn't do much on that element, but I did some research of my own. Magic, for want of a better word." He looked at them again, a crabbed sort of satisfaction playing around his face. "What? You didn't know about that bit? Magic's real. How else did you think that these things existed?"

This was the final straw that finally broke Carter's icy veil of silence. "Magic? We're sitting here and talking about magic? I don't believe this! There's no physical or empirical evidence that science even exists! Has ever existed!"

Lennox just looked at her for a long moment, as she was opening her mouth to start to rant again. Then he seemed to reach an internal decision. "Oh what the hell," he muttered, "It's not like they can court-martial me any more for getting hold of this thing." He reached into his shirt and pulled out a small, very battered-looking brown wooden box, which he laid carefully on the table. "Okay," he said, looking down at it, "Come on out here so we can take a look at you."

There was a slight pause and then a small door in the box swung open and an equally small green creature looked out warily. When it caught Lennox's reassuring nod it then swung out and carefully climbed out onto the top of the box. Jack and the other two members of SG-1 that were there all just sat there and stared back at it. It looked like a tiny blue – and very ugly – man, albeit with pointed ears, long fingernails and a very long nose. It was wearing what looked like an equally small uniform of some sort, had a look of extreme helpfulness, tempered with caution at the sight of them, and was now in the process of industriously cleaning out one ear.

"That's a very detailed hologram," muttered Carter disbelievingly as she stared at it.

"I'm not a hologram!" squeaked the… whatever the hell it was. Then it looked up at Lennox. "What's a hologram?"

"Something electronic," grunted the retired General.

"Oh, electronics," scoffed the creature, making a rude sound with its tongue. "Beepy things."

"Major, it's not a hologram," said Lennox. "It's magic. It's called an imp. And I wouldn't do that if I were you."

Carter looked up from where she'd been extending a cautious finger and jabbing it towards the general direction of the whatever the hell it was's midriff. "But it's a hologram!" she said in the tone of voice used by someone who can't believe what they're seeing but who is intent on imposing their own reality on top of things.

"Ok, but don't say I didn't warn you."

Carter shot him an angry glance, and prodded the thing in its stomach. "Ouch!" it squeaked and then bit her finger whilst she was still rigid with shock at touching what she thought was a trick of the light.

"Hey!" she cried, whipping her bitten digit away. The… well, imp, leered at her.

"I've had it for ten years, you wouldn't believe where I got from, it remembers all my appointments and it's the Mark Nine, which is a lot less ethereal than the other models," beamed Lennox. "Does that prove to you that magic exists?"

Jack opened his mouth again for a long moment, feeling a bit like a guppy as he did so, and then closed it again. Daniel staring at the imp with fascination, whilst Carter looked as it she was heading for another little visit to the land of sedation, more from shock than the tiny bead of blood on her finger.

"Let's go back to the NID and what they took away from your unit," he said eventually.

* * *

The great stone ring moved into place for the seventh time and then suddenly erupted with what looked like a great eruption of water – but wasn't. Out it flowed, and then retracted quickly back again, to form what looked like a great glowing blue pool of what almost looked like water – if water could pool vertically. After a moment an elderly bearded man dressed in Jaffa armour, armed with a staff weapon that he held upright in one hand strode through the open face of the wormhole. Seeing the waiting people at the bottom of the ramp he strode down it briskly, paused at the bottom and then bowed slightly. "Hammond of Texas," he said solemnly, "It is most good to see you."

"It's good to see you too, Master Bra'tac," replied the commanding officer of the SGC with a firm nod, before giving way to Teal'c, who stepped and clasped forearms with his old master.

"Master Bra'tac," said the former First Prime of Apothis to his predecessor, "It is most good to see you again."

"And you, my old friend," the old Jaffa replied, before hoisting his staff weapon and allowing himself to be escorted through the side door. "So, what is so important that you requested my presence?"

Hammond hesitated for a moment and then nodded at Teal'c, who replied with a quick nod of his head. "Master Bra'tac, there is a slight situation here. About a week of Earth days ago I saw a Mar'tyun here on this continent."

Bra'tac stopped walking so suddenly that it was several steps before they realised that he was behind them. Then the old Jaffa started forwards and grabbed Teal'c by the arm and peered intently into his face. "Truly? You truly saw a Mar'tyun?"

Teal'c nodded solemnly, his face set and intent as he obviously recalled what he had seen. "It was a creature of the night – it clawed its way from a grave. It had eyes that were yellow, fangs, and a forehead that bulged – as you once told me about."

"A Mar'tyun, indeed," breathed Bra'tac with an incredulous look. Then a massive grin stole over his face. "And I thought that this universe was no longer full of true challenges! I have lived to hear of a Mar'tyun! All my life I have longed to battle one, so that I could measure myself against my grandfather's grandfather, the last to kill such a creature! Now I can die a happy man if I can but vanquish such a creature of such evil!"

Hammond cleared his throat to one side. "Perhaps we should continue this conversation somewhere more private?"

* * *

Jack closed his eyes and enjoyed the feeling of the spring sunshine on his face. It had been a weird week, starting with genuine freakiness and then ending in confirmation of freakiness, and he had had enough frankly. He was back at his home, in his garden, in a t-shirt and a pair of jeans and with a bottle of beer in one hand, a book in the other, and genuine quietness in the air around him. Daniel was back at his own apartment, if he knew what was good for him, while Carter was probably back in the infirmary under sedation again. That or she was sinking some more very large margaritas. The trip back from Atlanta had been fast, thanks to the Air Force, but, well, weird. Carter's language had been fascinating.

He opened his eyes suddenly, acting on some sixth sense that he had long since accepted and then looked to one side. Harry Maybourne was standing by the side of his house. The man was holding two six-packs of beer and looked as if something had drained half the life out of him – tired and strained were two other words that came to mind. "Hello Jack," the former NID colonel said as he walked up to the table, placed the beer on it and then slumped into a chair on the opposite side of Jack.

"Harry," replied Jack warily. "Why is it that you always turn up just as I'm trying to relax a bit?"

"Probably karma," joked Maybourne with a slightly tired smile.

Peering at him carefully Jack assessed the man. When he had finally come to the inevitable conclusion he simply said: "You look like shit, Harry."

"Thanks Jack. I feel like it. You try going to ten funerals in three days - see how you look then." He pulled out a beer, twisted the top off the bottle and then drained what looked like half the contents of the container in two long swallows.

Ah. Jack could put a name to that look now. It was the loss of good men. Well, in Maybourne's case the loss of NID people. He pulled the other six pack of beer over and opened one of his own. "NID people I take it?"

He got a nod in response. "Eleven dead all told. In one mission."

"In one mission?" asked Jack sitting up abruptly and staring at Maybourne. "Is there a war somewhere that I didn't hear about?"

Maybourne paused to rub his chin, his hand making a scratchy sound as it rubbed against his beard. "Jack, something's happened. In Sunnydale."

"Oh god," groaned Jack, hanging his head for a moment, "I'm starting to hate the name of that damn place now. What the hell happened?" Then his head came up again. "Is that the place where your 11 people died?"

"Yes."

"With the Initiative?"

"Yes."

Closing his eyes for a moment Jack cursed under his breath. From what he'd seen of it the Initiative was made up of some of the best and brightest of the most recent crop of the Army, Marines and Special Forces. Fort Bragg was probably going to be in mourning for a while. "What happened?"

Maybourne hesitated slightly, obviously using the time to work out what not to tell him, or at least what to blur for a while. "They were looking for… well, lets call it a missing asset, for want of a better term. The problem was that they got ambushed. Fifteen men – three teams of five – went in. Only four came out."

"A FUBAR mission then," breathed Jack after a moment.

"Very FUBAR," agreed Maybourne, taking another long draught of beer.

"So what was this missing asset – and why are you telling me all this?"

"To explain what the asset is, I'm going to have to go into history a bit. And as to why I'm telling you – there might be a security situation for the SGC involved. Might be, I said. I don't know exactly."

Maybourne sighed, finished off his beer and then reached for another one with the air of a man who needs to get a bit drunk. "Where do I start?" he mused.

"Try, oh I don't know, the beginning?" suggested Jack dryly.

"Ok. Around the start of 1942 the DRI discovered that the Nazis were working on a very secret and very nasty project. I forget the German name for the project, but it was probably something very functional. They were experimenting with creating some kind of super soldier, Jack. They were fighting everywhere from Leningrad to Libya, so they were looking for something that could survive all kinds of extremes of cold and hot. Something that would do what it was told and not ask any awkward questions and just kill and go on killing until someone told it to stop. And as they knew about demons and had little if any regard for basic medical ethics… they decided to make something. To combine all kinds of parts and build something."

It was a good thing that Maybourne stopped talking for a moment to throw more beer down his throat, because Jack suddenly felt very ill. "Jesus, you're not telling me that they started to create some kind of hybrid are you?"

"Oh yes," stated Maybourne flatly. "The Nazis didn't care about the Hippocratic Oath. They just believed that the ends justified the means – even if both were inexpressibly evil."

Jack nodded slowly and then looked back at Maybourne. "What's all this got to do with Sunnydale?"

"Patience, Jack. The DRI found out about this little project and realised that it had to do something about it. First thing it did was to tell the President, who told Churchill. The DRI soon found out that the British also know about the Nazi project. They discovered that Churchill was being advised by two separate sets of people in the UK. The first were a bunch of experts from the British Museum, from some special section inside it. Room 42, it was called."

This rang a faint bell in Jack's mind, but he just nodded and drained his beer. "And the other group?" he prompted.

"They were rather harder to nail down – they had a lot of influence with Churchill, and from what the DRI was able to find out, they were called Watchers."

Jack frowned slightly. "Watchers of what?"

Scratching the back of his head Maybourne admitted: "They never found out."

"Ah. So what happened?"

"The DRI and the British started their own counter-programme. They were a lot more humane about it, and they just started off in the initial stages of it, but it was the same concept – grafting demon parts onto human parts."

This revelation prompted another wave of revulsion in Jack. "Given that I don't recall reading about any battles between waves of Frankenstein's monsters in the Second World War, what happened then?"

Maybourne grinned suddenly. "The Germans got stupid for once. Their project was in a very secure location, in Germany, right on the Baltic coast, at a place called Peenemunde."

A light came on in Jack's head. "Let me guess – Operation Hydra?"

Maybourne blinked hard. "I didn't think that you'd even heard of it, Jack."

"Well, think again, Harry. I wrote a paper on the Allied response to the V-weapon programmes in the Academy. I'd love to have a Tallboy to throw at a Goa'uld defensive emplacement around a Stargate, especially as they travelled at the close to the speed of sound, but sadly they stopped making them a long time ago. I'm going to guess that the Nazi Frankenstein project got squished?"

"Blown sky high, Jack. Everything was destroyed. Not even the Soviets could find a thing when they investigated the site after the war."

"So, what does all this have to do with Sunnydale?" asked Jack with a quizzical scowl.

"Well, when the news came through that the German project had been destroyed totally, the British – or rather these mysterious Watchers – got to Churchill and told him to shut the Allied project down, as they had serious doubts about it. He got on the horn to FDR, and down went the hammer on the whole thing." Maybourne swigged some more beer. "The order was not a popular one at the DRI, but they mostly complied."

"Mostly?"

"Well, some officer, who is long since dead and who was probably an Anglophobic Republican or something, kept a set of the plans for the Allied project. A complete set of plans. And he filed it under something innocuous in the DRI's massive filing system. Which is where we found it."

A small section of grass suddenly got a coating of beer, due to the fact that Jack had been drinking when he should have been listening. "Jesus Harry! You're not telling me that you restarted the programme are you?"

"No, I did not! I just… ordered a feasibility study from the head of the Initiative at the time, a Professor Maggie Walsh. Brilliant scientist – as good as Carter – but… cold as ice sometimes. Very cold. I just left her orders to look into the possibilities. You have to remember that at the time the NID was actively trying to take over the SGC. And the one thing that we were most concerned about was finding a match for the Jaffa. Finding a way to protect the Stargate from any other attacks, or infiltration attacks like that one where some…horribly lifelike alien impersonator of you turned up with a fake Daniel Jackson and tried to persuade me that Carter's tale of a foothold situation was bullshit. We had concerns Jack. Resurrecting Project Lazarus, as it was called, seemed like a viable option. But all I ordered was a feasibility study. Then I had my court-martial. I fell out of the loop, and various parts of the NID went their own way. Especially some of the more autonomous areas." Maybourne gulped some more beer and then closed his eyes as if in pain for a moment. "Especially Walsh."

Luckily this time Jack wasn't in the process of ingesting beer when he heard this, because otherwise there would probably be some very drunk ants or earthworms in the area. He just stared at Maybourne. Again. "Let me guess – she went ahead and built something anyway?"

"Yes," winced Maybourne. "She pulled things together from various body parts, including human, demon and… mechanical components. I don't know what she was thinking, but apparently she went ahead and did it. Even called it 'Adam', which was just wrong. She seemed to have taken a very personal interest in the damn thing. Which was natural, because she built it."

Closing his eyes, Jack rubbed his forehead hard. He had the beginnings of a headache, so he then threw the remains of his bottle of beer down his throat, grabbed a new one and then asked the question that had been gathering at the back of his skull for a while now. "So what happened to Walsh and this thing which…." He ground to a halt. "Is this Adam the missing asset you were telling me about?"

Maybourne looked shifty. Then he came clean. "Yes, Jack, it is. Either she made a mistake with something, which is unlikely because she was very thorough, or something happened that she hadn't factored in properly, probably to do with demon-related stuff, but something went very wrong. This Adam thing, well it activated itself, blew a hole through its programming, killed Walsh, killed her second in command, damn near killed two passing NID agents, and then escaped into the general area. Where it's been… busy. According to Agent Finn, who I recruited and who I bumped into at one of the funerals, it started killing things. Trying to find out about what made life tick, so to speak. Then it got ambitious and started recruiting things of its own. HSTs – hostile sub-terraneans, as the Initiative calls them. And then it decided to bait a trap and throw a little party for the Initiative, which walked straight into it." He sniffed. "I think they're getting sloppy, because they made some real rookie mistakes."

Jack sat up suddenly, his brain emitting urgent warning signals. "Wait a second, hold on there Maybourne. You said that this Adam thing was designed to act as a guard for the Stargate, right? Did Walsh know about the Stargate programme."

"Yes," said Maybourne with a slight sigh. "She knew all about it."

"And did she have any files or information about it, that the NID might have, oh I don't know, stolen from us?"

"Again, yes."

"So what are the chances that this Frankenstein's monster thing knows all about the Stargate?"

"Horribly high I'm afraid."

Jack just sat there and stared at Maybourne, who at least had the decency to look a bit embarrassed. Then he finally brought his forehead down with a thump onto the table, before repeating the process once or twice more. Then he reached into a pocket, pulled out his phone, hit speed dial and waited. When the person on the other end finally answered he said: "O'Neill here sir. We need to go back to Sunnydale. I think we have a security breach."

* * *

It was a wonderful view. The palace was huge, with great columns stretching up to support a vast roof, whilst tall statues stood all over the place. The pace stood on a rise overlooking a vast city, serried ranks of temples and houses and other buildings. The only problem was the thick miasma that filled the air everywhere, the perpetual fog that was the atmosphere.

On a terrace overlooking the best view of all a short figure was standing and weeping inconsolably. Everything was ruined, everything was lost, broken, shattered. A plan that had been running on rails of destiny for more than two hundred years, a plan that was perfect, surely, was certain to work… hadn't. It had splintered and died upon the arrival of something unexpected, something that shouldn't have existed. The old ways were back again as a result, and everything had changed.

The figure wiped her eyes and then looked down absent-mindedly at her free hand, before tossing the grey head with the semi-circular horn to one side, where it landed with a hard thump, rolling several times to rest with red eyes looking up sightlessly at the sky.

Well, that was it. Either time for a new plan, or she should get used to being worshiped by things that looked like a cross between a human and a giant scorpion again. Not what she had planned at all.


	18. Winnowing

Well, this chapter hasn't been delayed too much, despite the fact that I've been podcasting for work, and successfully not getting food poisoning from throwing shrimp on the barbie for the first time, and oh, also wearing my first kilt and getting ready for our wedding, now just three bloody months away. Ahem. Ok, here's the latest chapter. Enjoy. The next few ones will get a bit hectic.

* * *

When the radio fell silent Giles looked at it with a combination of surprise and bemusement, before turning to look at Olivia, who returned the look and then shrugged slightly. "It sounded odd from the start," she murmured, before opening her book again and snuggling down in the crook of his arm.

"Yes," mused Giles thoughtfully. "Peppo the dwarf sounded especially odd. And that ending – particularly where the twins had to stand back to back to get shot – well, that was just surreal." He paused and then turned the radio off entirely. "Never mind."

He started slightly as the phone rang, and he leant over to answer it. "Hello?"

"Hi Giles," said Buffy breezily, "I've got a question for you. Identification thingy sort of. You busy?"

"Not just now Buffy," he told his Slayer, leaning back on the sofa and allowing Olivia to reengage with his arm. "We were listening to a play on the radio, but it seems to have ended early."

There was a bemused silence on the other end. "Sorry, you were what?"

"Listening to a play on the radio. It does happen occasionally."

"A play… on the radio?"

Giles closed his eyes and restrained the need to sigh heavily. In the event that Buffy ever made it over to Britain, Radio Four would come as a great oddity to her. "We're able to pick up a station called KACL from Seattle sometimes. Tonight it was doing a 1940's-style play. A murder-mystery. You know, actors at microphones, with special effects from a sound studio."

Olivia snorted slightly. "Didn't sound that professional."

"Yes, well, it was all a bit odd. Especially when one of them kept going on about his boyhood in Surrey before being repeatedly shot."

There was another bemused silence on the phone and then Buffy rallied. "Riiiight. Ok. Identification thingy now?"

"Oh yes, sorry Buffy. What did you want to know?"

"I just met something that was about 7 feet tall, had blue horns, yellow eyes and really bad dress sense. Had a knife that wouldn't cut paper and kept telling me that the Great Orm would come for me in the night and wind my entrails around a stick. Should I be worried, or should I chase him down from the tree where he thinks he's hidden and chastise him?"

"Good god, not that Great Orm twaddle again. He's a very small god in a separate dimension. And the demon sounds like a Cungark. Nothing to worry about at all."

"Oh goody! Thanks Giles, just checking." Her voice sounded a bit muffled, before being drowned out entirely by the ear-splitting sound of a chainsaw being started. Just before it went dead Giles heard Buffy say something on the lines of "Chopping time!"

Replacing the phone on its cradle Giles frowned slightly. Where on earth had she gotten the chainsaw? And did he really want to know?

* * *

It was very quiet in the van as they drove down the highway. They'd been delayed a lot by a few events that were out of their control, like the Tok'Ra turning up with some urgent news, not to mention the fact that the Goa'uld stood still for no man, but at last they were on their way back to Sunnydale. Sam had taken over the driving from Jack about ten miles down the road, with the leader of SG-1 now doing the map reading. Teal'c was sitting in the back with Bra'tac, who looked very uncomfortable in civilian clothes, but who at least no longer looked as if he was about to wet himself in excitement, as Jack had put it when the old Jaffa had been the other side of the base. The two Jaffa were talking quietly about something that Daniel couldn't quite hear. Not that he wanted to. He had other things on his mind.

Vampires. What a strange and terrible thing for a rational archaeologist to wrap his mind around. It sounded mad – hell, the entire concept was mad – but that proof, the very visible, very realistic, very fiery proof… It meant that his world had taken another 90-degree turn from what he had thought was normal. He smiled dryly for a moment. Surely he should be able to take such things in his stride these days? There was the Nox, after all, and their regenerative powers as well as the little matter of their being able to make things invisible. The Tollan, with their technology. The Asgard. The entire concept of the Stargate. Why should vampires on Earth be any different?

Well, for a start they were on Earth. His home planet. The place that he thought was normal – or at least as normal as he had thought.

And now they were headed back to Sunnydale, a place that made him feel uneasy. He had no idea why, but the place just did. There was something about it, something that made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end.

"Penny for your thoughts," said Jack suddenly, causing Daniel to start slightly.

"Nothing but dark ones," he replied after a moment. "I don't like this place. And I don't know why."

* * *

The parts were finally ready. It had taken him a while to get them into the right place, let alone start to plan to assemble them, but at last it was done. Carefully he laid each one over the plan that he has created. They matched perfectly. And he knew that they would come together perfectly. He knew that it was right. At last.

* * *

Graham's woozy head had gone away by now and although Forrest was still out of action due to his leg wound, it was almost business as usual at the Initiative. Almost. For a start there was the horrible fact that 11 men – two and a bit whole teams – were dead. That left a horrible gap in the line up of operatives, specifically those experienced enough to know how to detect an HST, how to hunt an HST and above all how to deal with one. The dead had included the cream of the Initiative, operatives that had been hand-picked, carefully trained (once they had gotten over their shock at finding out about HSTs) and then done their time on the mean streets of Sunnydale.

Riley leant over the railing and sighed slightly as he surveyed the latest batch of recruits who had been winnowed out of various military bases. The four men and three women looked as if someone had just walloped them on the back of their heads with a 50-pound salmon. They looked… well, unready.

Footsteps sounded to one side and he looked up as Graham joined him at his vantage point. "Hell," said his friend wryly, "Did we ever look that young and dumb?"

"I seem to remember a mantra on the lines of 'are you kidding?' being used a lot," replied Riley dryly. "We got over it. So will they. I hope. We need them – HST sightings are up a lot. And captures are running higher with every night now."

"Well they'd better be ready to cope, or Adam's going to have some more notches carved in his gun barrel. If it still works. And you sound a bit morose."

Straightening up Riley took a deep breath and then ran his hand through his hair to reach the back of his own neck, which he scratched briefly. "I don't like the way that things are developing," he said quietly. "We're dealing with Adam here. He's way off the reservation, playing to a rulebook that we've never even seen, let alone read the cover of it. I feel like… like we're groping through fog. A fog that that son of a bitch can see straight through."

Graham just stood there for a long moment, looking down at the new recruits with unseeing eyes. Then he nodded abruptly and looked up at his friend. "We need help to see the field better. The odd kind of help that you know about. I'd like to meet them if possible. I'd like to be able to trust them as much as you do. Because you obviously do," he said in a barely audible voice.

Riley just looked at him and then nodded slowly. "I'll see what I can do."

"Thanks. Don't worry about Forrest. Guy'll come around. He's stubborn, but he can see things clearly. Eventually." Nodding briefly he continued along his way. Riley watched him go with another sigh, before leaning back over the railing and continuing his observation of the new recruits.

* * *

Setting up in the main room of the small hotel complex that they'd hired – or rather effectively taken over - was the easy part. Carter wired up her laptop onto a screen, Daniel unpacked the three thousand books he'd apparently brought with him, and Jack himself had taken a quick nap. The hard part had been stopping Teal'c and Bra'tac from going out loaded for bear and staking out one of the many cemeteries in the damn town. Pointing out that it was mid-morning and that apparently vampires hated daylight had been a good start. Adding that they needed to reconnoitre the ground first had also helped, as the old Jaffa had gone slightly red about the ears at having this pointed out and had then gone very quiet.

The problem was that that the ground had literally been pulled out from underneath their feet – that the moment that that vampire had exploded into a million fiery fragments, their entire reasonably safe (if you could take into account the threat from the Goa'uld, the replicators, random craziness and big rocks that dropped out of the sky) world had vanished to be replaced by something else. Something very new and strange and, well, completely fricking crazy.

How the hell were they supposed to quantify that? How the hell were they supposed to make sense of it all? Vampires for Christ's sake! And according to Maybourne said bloodsuckers were just the tip of the iceberg. What else was out there? Oh wait. Wasn't there a cross between Robocop and Frankenstein's Monster running around there as well? Something that had knowledge about the Stargate Programme? Whoopsie!

And then there was the little loose end that had dragged them to this damned hellhole in the first place. Alexander Harris. Jack had a nasty feeling that Harris was connected to all this somewhere. He didn't know how or where or why, but he had a feeling in his gut that there was something going on with that kid.

Well. Perhaps it was time to do something about it. Jack turned around to his team and took a hard look at them. "Ok," he said eventually, "Here's the deal: we need answers. We need to find said answers. Therefore we need to rattle some cages."

"Rattle some cages?" Bra'tac raised his eyebrows as he pronounced the words carefully. "What cages?"

"It is a metaphor," answered Teal'c. "O'Neill means that we should apply confrontational methods and other stratagems to get the information that we require."

Bra'tac considered this for three nanoseconds and then snorted. "Then why did he not say so?"

"Hello? Still here?" pointed out Jack, waving a hand for emphasis. Then he lowered it again. "Daniel, I know that you've been working yourself into a frenzy of guilt at not getting that book back to the library. Take it back – and see if you can track down this Giles guy as well. I know that Maybourne suggested that you get the book, but the fact that the librarian knew exactly where it was, not to mention you said that he knew what it was about, seems to be a bit of a coincidence. I hate coincidences, they make my teeth ache.

"Carter, I want you to keep trawling through the records of this damn place. And recent events too – if this Project Lazarus-like thing is lurching around people might have seen it. They probably don't know what it is, but we do, so go look.

"Teal'c and Bra'tac – look, it was hard enough persuading Hammond that you could be allowed off base without your armour, Bra'tac, so work with me a little here, will'ya? We need to work out where's good and where's bad in town. Look for likely places where vampires and other things that go bump in the night might… hang out, or hang from, or just generally go bump in the night at. In other words take a look around, don't hunt anything just yet, and be back here by nightfall. If all goes well then we can arrange to find a vampire later on for… I don't know, research purposes or something.

"As for me, I'm going to try and do what we should have done first the last time that we were in town. I'm going to talk to Harris and ask him about this damned energy cell. Any questions? No? Good. Go to that voodoo that you do. So well!"

* * *

Finding a quiet place to meditate could be a bit of a pain sometimes, as Giles would have put it. Meditating at home could be problematic. While his father was far happier with his life than he had ever been before, thanks in various parts to being promoted, having a working marriage again, having a son who seemed to be doing something with his life, and not having an intimate relationship with Jack Daniels and Jim Beam, he tended to treat meditation with a combination of incomprehension and well-meaning bumbling. Being offered a coffee every five minutes would have put even Yoda off his stride.

The need to find a quiet place to do some serious meditation was the reason why he was sitting on a tree stump on a hill overlooking the park. He liked it there and the few vampires that had ever bothered him had discovered the error of their ways rather quickly.

He took a deep breath and then let it out again as he submerged himself in the Force and let his mind go still. He could feel the currents out there, the shifting patterns. Sometimes an eddy here, or a parting of the way there could hint at the existence of something hidden under the surface. And Sunnydale had a lot hidden away under a façade of normality. If the place could ever be described as normal that is.

After a long moment he paused. He could sense something… to the north. It seemed a bit familiar, or rather it felt alien but something that he had sensed before. Not quite human and not quite demon, but odd enough that he…. Oh. Tall dark and freaky was back in town. Which meant that there was a good chance that the others were with him and… oh, wait a moment. Tall dark and freaky had a friend. Someone who set off a similarly odd feeling in the force, not all the way human despite appearances. Great, he thought, the Air Force are back. Just great. Shaking his head he continued meditating. He had an hour to kill before going back to work.

* * *

The library was quite quiet when he entered it. It was a bit late in the day admittedly, but he had to return this book or he was going to go a bit mad. Jack might scoff a bit, but he wasn't academically inclined. Frankly the thought of leaving a gap on a library shelf made Daniel's brain twitch.

He smiled slightly as he looked around at the books and then sniffed slightly. He could smell old paper. No dust, which was the sign of a good library. There were the odd gaps here and there on the shelves, but nothing too bad – certainly nothing that might deform the spines of the hard-backed books.

Looking around he checked which part of the floor he was on and then strode forwards to an intersection, where a larger corridor through the bookshelves met the one that he had been walking along. At the far end he could see a door, with a window by it. It looked like an office, and he started to stride down towards it.

As he got closer to the door he suddenly had the feeling that he was being watched. He stopped suddenly and then looked about sharply. The feeling persisted, but he couldn't see anyone, and he shuddered for a moment. He hated the feeling that could best be described as 'sixth sense'. Most of the time it signified nothing, but there were other times when it did. The problem was that he couldn't distinguish between the two. Certainly there were times when he wasn't sure if he could or not.

When he looked back again Alexander Harris was standing in front of the door. He was holding a small pile of books and he was looking at Daniel with a look of total unsurprise. Then he put the books down on a trolley to one side and stepped closer. "Dr Jackson. Can I help you?"

"Um… maybe," said Daniel looking at him slightly sideways. "I'm sorry, but I was looking for Mr Giles and I thought that he might be around here. I couldn't see anyone. Anyone at all."

"I was filing books off to one side," replied Harris with a small smile. "Giles is at a meeting of the faculty heads right now. Or rather he was – I think I hear him coming now."

There was a moment's silence, during which Daniel craned his head around in an effort to hear footsteps. Hearing absolutely nothing after a minute or so he was about ask what was going on when all of a sudden he heard footsteps and low voices. Turning he saw Rupert Giles and a younger man dressed in a light suit with a crisp shirt and a green tie walking down the corridor. They both stopped at the sight of the two figures in front of the closed door, before exchanging a look and then continuing down, this time in silence.

When they got closer Daniel held up the book. "I thought that I'd return this. I've sorry to have taken so long."

Giles reached out and took it. "Ah, yes. Thank you. I trust you found it of interest?"

"You might say that, yes," said Daniel feeling a bit awkward all of a sudden. Well, even more awkward than before, oddly enough. Harris was looking at him as if he was a very interesting species of bug, while the other guy was busy polishing his glasses on a handkerchief and subjecting him to the odd piercing gaze.

"Oh, where are my manners? Dr Daniel Jackson, this is my faculty colleague Wesley Wyndham-Pryce." Giles paused to allow the two to shake hands. "And my fellow librarian Alexander Harris."

"Most people call me Xander," said Harris as they shook hands. From the way that his fingers moved he was trying not to exert too much pressure – Daniel had received similar handshakes from Teal'c in the past. "But we have met before, haven't we, Dr Jackson?"

"Uh, yes. Last year. About your… invention."

There was another slight pause. Then Harris raised an eyebrow. "I take it you're here to ask me about it again?"

"Uh, yes. I mean no. I mean… I'm in town on business and I had to return this book. Which has such interesting subject matter."

"In a word, vampires," stated Giles, who had been carefully flicking through the pages of the volume in question. "Thank you for bringing it back in such good condition as well."

There was a brief moment of silence that was broken by the trill of a cell phone. It belonged to Harris, who answered the call with a nod of acknowledgement and then walked over to one side, where he exchanged a few terse words with the person on the other end. When he'd finished he walked back over to Giles. "Lindsey," he said enigmatically. "I have to go. I'll talk to you later, guys. Goodbye Dr Jackson."

"I have to go as well," said Wyndham-Pryce. "Goodbye Dr Jackson. I'll talk to you later Rupert."

"Goodbye," muttered Daniel and then Harris was gone, striding off quickly down a side corridor, while Wyndham-Pryce vanished in the opposite direction. Daniel watched them go, blinking slight as he did. Harris had seemed a lot less surprised at seeing him than he might have thought. Almost as if he had known that he was in town. Which was crazy.

A sudden clearing of a throat reminded him that he wasn't alone. "Well, thank you for returning the book, but I really must be getting back to my duties and-"

"You know about the existence of vampires, don't you?" asked Daniel suddenly, before blinking slightly. Hello, his brain screamed at his mouth, try and clear these kinds of things with me first, remember?

Interestingly enough Giles didn't even blink at that. He just took off his glasses and proceeded to polish them carefully. "What a fascinating suggestion," he said eventually, replacing his spectacles carefully. "Given the fact that you work with the United States Armed Forces, why on Earth should I give you an honest answer?"

This sparked a bigger blink from Daniel. "What does my involvement with the US Air Force have to do with anything?"

Giles just looked at him for a moment. "It depends on what you intend to do with any information on the arcane that you might pick up. Sunnydale is a dangerous enough place as it is, Dr Jackson. Please don't involve yourself unless you have all the information. Now if you will excuse me, I can see my deputy approaching with a no doubt very mundane problem. If you wish to ask more questions I suggest you return at another time. Of course, whether or not I'll answer them is another matter. Goodbye." And with that he strode off, leaving Daniel staring after him. After a moment he closed his open mouth, raised and lowered his eyebrows briefly and turned for the exit. He had a great deal to think about and no idea what it all signified.

* * *

The egg hung in mid-air, suspended by… well, it looked like nothing at all, except maybe air molecules and they had a bad track record when it came to standing up to the effects of gravity. What was more interesting was what was describing a tight orbit around it. Namely a green bowling ball. It wasn't a very fast orbit, but it was enough to keep it swinging around the egg in a uniform fashion, which was the whole point of the exercise.

Xander looked at the two objects carefully and then nodded slowly before looking over at Lindsey. His latest Padawan was sitting cross-legged on the ground with his arms folded slightly defensively and a distinct sheen of sweat on his forehead. This was understandable. Lindsey had been lifting the two in the air with the Force for the past… 3 minutes and 15 seconds, which was already twice his previous best time. It wasn't an easy thing to do, as controlling something as heavy as a bowling ball at Lindsey's stage of training wasn't easy. One mistake and the egg would be crushed just before the bowling ball went straight through the nearest wall.

3 minutes 50 seconds. A slight wobble with the bowling ball, but then it was back in orbit around the egg. 4 minutes 10 seconds. Another wobble, but again a good recovery. 4 minutes 35 seconds. This time it was the egg that quivered in mid-air, but then returned to its proper place. Lindsey had a trickle of sweat running down his face now, and a slight tightness around his eyes, but the bowling ball swung around on another orbit.

5 minutes. "Release," said Xander firmly.

The bowling ball stopped, quivered, sank slowly down to the floor, before dropping the final three inches with a clunk. The egg sank more gracefully into Lindsey's outstretched hand, before he let out a deep breath and then slumped, resting his back against the chair behind him. "Wow," his Padawan said after a long sigh. "That left me feeling like someone stuck a straw in me and sucked out most of my strength."

"It should have," rejoined Xander with a smile. "That was the hardest you've ever been pushed before. Well done – that wasn't easy but you did it. Using the Force to defy gravity is never easy at first – you're trying to go against what you 'know' – by your old standards at least – what is possible and what isn't possible. In the old days you would've thought that it was impossible to do that. Crazy to think that you could have. But now you know better. You need to take that and grow it – expand it. The sky's the limit now, Lindsey. We might not have an X-Wing to lift out of a swamp, but we need to push the boundaries of what you feel you can lift."

Lindsey laughed suddenly. "Please don't dump my car in the river and tell me to fetch it out. I don't think that the electronics are as robust as the X-Wing's seemed to be in the film."

"We'll find something," grinned Xander. Then he turned, grabbed a practice sword from the set piled by the wall and tossed it over to Lindsey. "Ok. Next lesson. More Form 1. Shii-Cho."

"More of the basics, right?" asked Lindsey with less of a challenge and more of a certainty in his voice than in previous sessions. That was good. The man was recognising that he needed to walk before he could run.

"You got it," Xander replied. "Let's go."

* * *

When Buffy opened the door to her room she paused once she was over the threshold. Willow was in front of her computer. Or rather she was having an attack of the naptimes there, slumped in her seat with her head at an unbecoming angle and the occasional snurfling sound emerging from her open mouth. Buffy shook her head fondly. It was a good thing that Oz wasn't around – Willow did not look at all attractive in that position.

Placing her bag on her own chair she walked over and then carefully reached out and put a hand on her roommate's shoulder. "Willow?" She muttered at first, but once that failed she upgraded it to a low call, along with a slight shake.

It worked. Willow snapped upright, her eyes fluttering open, whilst a hand came up, with a tiny blue glow starting to flicker on her palm. "Wasn'tsleepingwusrestin'myeyes," she slurred.

"Whoa, Willow, turn the mojo off!" said Buffy as she sprang back from the chair.

Her friend blinked at her muzzily, looked down at her hand with its glowing blue light and then started a bit. "Oops," she muttered sheepishly. "Sorry, Buffy. I got back from classes and started working on this, and I didn't sleep a lot last night, not that you heard that from me, I mean Oz and I… no never mind, I was working on this and I'm getting very annoyed about it because I can't quite crack it all the way and… I should probably take a breath around now, shouldn't I?"

"Breathing is usually a good thing Will," smiled Buffy as she walked back to her bag and started to unpack her folders and books. "What's got you so annoyed? Not that stuff that you've been looking into for Xander?"

"The database from hell," said Willow gloomily. "I know that from what Xander told me, the guy works for something called the 'SGC'. The problem is that the computers belonging to what I think is the SGC are ferociously protected. It's a real challenge just to make sure that my infiltration attempts aren't backtracked." Her eyes gleamed as she said this, leading Buffy to conclude that she was enjoying the whole thing.

"But I have a few tricks up my sleeve, and some magic as well, plus some ideas from Oz and if this works out I should be able to slip between the bricks of their firewall and have a look around."

"What do you and Xander expect to find?" asked Buffy with a frown.

"Oh, some reasons why they're following him around so much, all of them, plus maybe an explanation of what this Goa-uld thingy they mentioned is. Work out what they're doing and either stop it or run away from the explosion, as Giles said." She looked at her computer, hit a key so that the screen lit back up again from the screensaver and then drooped a bit. "Oh. It's gone from 11 access to 14. Wow. This is going to take a long time at this rate."

"You'll work it out," said Buffy reassuringly, "You're better at this sort of thing than anyone I've ever met. Right. I need a shower and then I have some shopping to do with my mom and Olivia, and then I have a date with Riley, my favourite soldier!"

* * *

Her findings made no sense at all. The more she looked at the scrap of skin and muscle tissue the more it baffled her. The chromosome count was way off for a start, the DNA still made no sense at all and the less she said about the scales the better. The estimated size of the creature was still bang on her initial findings.

The horrible thing was that she was starting to suspect that it was, possibly, a fragment of flesh from… a demon. A demon. She mouthed the words and then shuddered. No, it made no sense. Except that she'd been told that they existed. By a superior officer. Ok, a retired, rather sexist superior officer who apparently had a small blue imp in his pocket, not that she'd seen it, although she had heard the sound effects during the one time that the General had visited the SGC with copies of some files that he'd basically purloined, but… she drooped in her chair a bit and passed a tired hand over her brow. She was exhausted.

Dr Janet Fraiser was starting to think that unless she received some information that the whole thing was a hoax pretty damn soon, she was going to have to come to the conclusion that vampires and things that she had told Cassie did not exist in this world…. Did. That was going to be an interesting conversation and one she made a mental note to try and put off for as long as possible, until it had to be done. God forbid. Probably after the conversation about where babies came from, although she suspected that Cassie had already worked that one out from observing life.

Speaking of Cassie, it was time to go home and give her adopted daughter some mothering. After everything she had heard recently she needed some sanity back in her life. So she got up and went home.

* * *

"A pint of Caffreys please," he said with a deep sigh. The barmaid gave him a cheery smile and then went off to get his beer. It had been an… interesting day. He really needed to have a word with Xander about how to handle these people in town, the ones from what he had said was called the SGC. He ran the letters through his head again and then shrugged internally. The acronym didn't mean a thing to him. The letters could have stood for anything, although if he had to make a guess – and given the fact that they were from the US Air Force and were interested in the energy call – it might have been something to do with the shuttle programme. Shuttle… Ground Command? Sounded a bit laboured. Shuttle Gear Crew? Sounded far too simple. Also sounded like a bad rap, or rip or whatever it was band. Besides, what was Dr Daniel Jackson, a noted if admittedly rather controversial, archaeologist doing working with them?

Star something perhaps. Question was, what? Or Space something. Space… Ground Communications? More plausible, but again Dr Jackson's presence remained unexplained.

Susie returned at that point and Giles smiled at her, paid for the drink that she had brought him and then wandered over to a vacant seat. A taped game of rugby was being shown on a screen on one wall and he kept a vague eye on it, while his brain chewed on the day's events and he whiled away the time before Olivia arrived from her shopping trip with Buffy and Joyce. The three of them seemed to be getting on quite well together. He just hoped that the events of the night of the police car bonnet never turned up in casual conversation.

"I never put you down for a Stout sort of bloke, Giles," said a sardonic voice to one side.

Giles winced visibly at the bad pun. "They don't have Caffreys very often, Spike. Guest beers are very hard to come by in this neck of the woods. What do you want?"

The blond vampire sat down opposite him with a smirk and a wave of his half-empty pint of lager. "Can't a bloke chew the fat with a fellow subject of her majesty?"

Giles smiled briefly and then leant forwards. "I hate fat. And besides, you were born and sired during the reign of Queen Victoria." He leant back. "Here for the rugby? Or the beer?"

Spike took a long swallow of the contents of his glass and then waved at the barmaid, who beamed at him. In the process of this signal for more beer he had also been able to sweep the room with his eyes, something that made Giles sit up slightly and look around lazily himself.

"What's wrong?"

"Just making sure that I wasn't followed. I hate being sodding followed."

"Who would follow you?"

"I don't know," sighed Spike as he drained his glass. "I've just got an odd feeling my water, as it were. Like I'm being watched. Probably because I am. Seen a few old… acquaintances around sometimes in the other bars of Sunnydale. You know what I mean."

Ah. Vampires. Or other human-looking types of demons. Which begged a very important question. "Why would they follow you?"

A shrug. Then: "Because I'm untrustworthy. A vampire who can't harm a human. Something to be made fun of. Except that I can hurt them. I dunno exactly why." He sighed deeply, smiled at Susie as she ferried his new pint over, paid for it and then waited until she had scurried off. "I've got some information for you," he said gloomily. "Adam's still recruiting."

Giles put his pint down on the table and swallowed carefully. "Interesting. How wide is he casting his net?"

"Oh, pretty bloody wide. If it has a pulse – well, I mean if it moves - and maybe stuff like odd horns he's extending an invitation to talk to it. I dunno about what, but he's been talking to a lot of things. If I had to guess, I'd say that he was up to something. Problem is, I don't know what."

He mulled this over for a long moment, stroking his chin as he did so. "I see." Then he looked up. "Spike, can I be cynical and ask why you're telling me all this?"

There was a moment of silence, followed by a few glugs as the vampire threw a third of his pint down his throat. "Good question. Whilst I'd love to get this bloody chip out of my head and then make balloon animals out of your intestines, I… well, I…" He stopped and glowered. "I hate the Initiative for what they put in my brain," he muttered in a low and very intense growl. "I hate what they can do. I never liked mind control, and frankly when Dru did her woogie-woogie thing with her eyes and her fingers it always made my skin crawl. Having the ability to put something in your brain and change you on that level is the most horrible thing I think of. And they did it to me. I've seen the plans, Giles. Adam is the logical extension of what they can do. He represents something so horrible that I don't want to think about it. That's why I'm telling you what he's up to, or who he's recruiting. The fact that he doesn't give a toss about what happens to the people he recruits is another."

"Did you?" asked Giles mildly.

"Well, no, but then I never wasted a good minion. Never a good asset. Besides," shivered the vampire, "Using technology the way that he does creeps me out. I've got no intention of ending up with an arm that needs to be plugged into a car battery every ten minutes. Urgh."

Spike slumped back in his chair. He looked tired and drained and for a split second Giles felt the tiniest flash of sympathy for him. It wasn't a lot of sympathy and it vanished in a nanosecond, but for that moment he pitied the vampire for what had been done to him. That said, he wouldn't hesitate for a moment to stake the bastard if he ever got that chip out of his head.

Spike seemed to sense that, because he abruptly threw the remains of his pint down his throat and then started to get up.

"Wait," said Giles, raising a hand after a minor internal struggle. "One more beer."  
Spike looked at him sharply, before looking down and weighing both the beer glass in his hand and the thought of another one. "You're buying?" When he received a nod he sat down slowly. "Christ I feel like I'm sitting on Checkpoint Charlie."

Having waved at Susie again Giles smiled briefly. "I belief that's in a museum now."

"You know what I mean."

"Yes. Greyness instead of black and white."

The vampire looked at him. "Oh sod it, bring on that beer. I've got some television to watch. Tell your Slayer to see her mum more often by the way. Joyce misses her. Any prat could tell you that."

"Duly noted," said Giles dryly, and then drained his own glass as the barmaid approached. "She's shopping tonight with Joyce and Olivia. Being a sensible member of the male species I decided to go to the pub instead and think deep thoughts about very little. Although the Initiative, Adam and everything else does tend to intrude on the mind."

The beers were put down on the table and the two reluctant allies each picked one up. "To what passes for a quiet life," suggested Giles. Spike nodded briefly.

* * *

"Xander, there's someone for you at the door."

The Jedi looked up at his father, who was standing at the doorway still clutching the application form that he'd been agonising over for two days.

"You're going for that promotion then?"

"What? Oh, yes. What the hell, they've already said that I'm on the fast track, so I might as well push myself forward a bit. Anyway, never mind that, there's a guy for you at the door. An air force colonel I think, judging by the little birdy thing on his shoulder. What's going on? Please don't tell me you're enlisting, your mother will just freak out."

"Don't worry Dad, I've no intention of joining up. I'll go and see what this guy wants." Xander stood up from his desk, slipped his little book of Jedi lore into an inside pocket once his father's back was turned and walked downstairs. The book was getting rather full now, and he made a mental note to buy a new one soon. Volume Two – The Lore Strikes Back. Thing was, he wasn't going to run short of observations about the Force anytime soon. If ever, come to that. There was the Corellian Jedi stuff for a start. He was starting to suspect that their way of thinking might have been the way to go about Anakin's training. Close to home, protect the area, love your family… and marry. He thought of Neeja Halcyon for a moment and smiled.

Then he straightened up and walked into the living room, where an equally straight figure dressed in air force blue and with his hat under one arm was peering at a picture on a table to one side. It was a snap taken by his bemused mother on graduation day, outside the house and well away from all the sirens and smoke at the school. Buffy, Willow, Oz and himself, all in the graduation robes that they'd retrieved from the school. They looked a bit smoke-stained, but they looked good. Wesley and Giles were off to one side, smiling in relief at being alive, whilst Faith squatted at the side, a free and easy smile of her own on her face and the hilt of her knife peeking out from behind her back. It had been a day to enjoy life.

O'Neill seemed to sense his eyes on him, because he turned sharply away from the picture and looked at the door, before blinking a bit at the sight of Xander. "Alexander Harris?"

"Yes," said Xander, trying to sound wary and uncertain. "Well, I prefer to be called Xander."

"Colonel Jack O'Neill, US Air Force," said the officer with a slight smile as he walked over and held his hand out. Xander took it and the two men engaged in a brief trial of hand strength, before the colonel seemed to remember that he was there to be nice or something. He certainly flexed his now-free hand slightly, in a way that showed that Xander had possibly won. Not that he cared.

"Take a seat Colonel," said Xander, closing the door behind him and then walking over to an armchair and sitting. He was getting the oddest feeling of déjà vu, with faint echoes of the Jedi Temple in Coruscant. How interesting. "How can I help you?"

O'Neill looked at him closely and then sent a thin smile across the room from the sofa where he was now sitting. "I think you can guess why I'm here."

"Enlighten me anyway," asked Xander stretching out with the Force a trifle. The man was… tense. There was a certain amount of suspicion about him, as well as a certain amount of uncertainty. That was equally interesting.

"I believe you talked to some colleagues of mine a month or two ago," the Colonel said, leaning back in the sofa as he did so. After a moment he frowned, shifted in his seat and then reached back and pulled a book out from behind the cushion he had been resting against. The cover announced it to be a rather curved copy of the collected works of John Donne.

"Sorry," Xander apologised, "My mom is doing a lot of reading at the moment. Just put it to one side. I think you were about to mention Major Carter and Dr Jackson?"

This bought him a hard blink of the eyes. "Not to mention the energy cell that you designed, Mr Harris. Specifically the blueprints for it where you somehow forgot to include the part that makes it work. We're very interested in that energy cell Mr Harris, and I'm here to ask you about that missing part and what it'll take to add to the blueprint."

Ok, so far it was 100 what he had been expecting. He narrowed his eyes and looked at the figure dressed in blue in front of him. "Why do you want it?" He asked sharply.

"I'm afraid that's classified," came the answer zinging back. "All I'll say is that the Government of the United States of America would like to purchase the full plans for that energy cell from you. You would be fully compensated. Very well compensated I might add."

Meh. As if the money counted. Maybe this guy thought that it did. But the fact that he'd been in Sunnydale before, following him around, not to mention getting to see the office of Wolfram & Hart blow up in front of him, also meant that O'Neill had some sort of suspicion about him. And the place in general.

"I'm sorry," he said, "But the energy cell… I'd need at least a hint at what it was used for. The shuttle?"

He had to give the guy credit for being, well, probably a very good power player. "Mr Harris, that still comes under the term 'classified.' All I can say is that the Space Programme would benefit from it."

Aha. Vague but interesting. And indicative of what the SGC was involved with. He had suspected that, but confirmation was always nice. He suppressed the sudden need to just use the Jedi Mind Trick and ask O'Neill outright what the hell he was involved in and why they needed the energy cell, and by the way what the hell was a Goa'uld? Given the fact that the Mind Trick had not precisely worked all that well on the other members of O'Neill's team, he had a nasty feeling that the man was strong-minded enough to fight it off. He certainly didn't want to try just yet. Wonderful. How the hell was he going to get out of this conversation any time soon? Well, he was a Jedi. He could always try a bit of honesty.

"Colonel O'Neill can I ask you why on Earth I should believe you? Why should I agree to hand over the information you need to the US Air Force? What will they – you – do with it? What guarantee can you give me that it won't be misused?"

This knocked O'Neill back on his heels a bit for a second. "Misused?" he repeated, as if testing the word out. "What do you mean 'misused'?"

Xander tilted his head to one side and narrowed his eyes. "Misused as in used to bomb the hell out of someone two continents over. Misused as in manipulated in a way that might win a skirmish, or a battle, or even a war, against another country on this planet, a place that I might point out already has more than enough death and destruction in all kinds of places as it is. Misused as in used for the benefit of the United States of America and not for the benefit of the human race as a whole. Can you give me a promise about that kind of misuse?"

By the way that O'Neill's eyes tightened slightly, the man was annoyed. However, he was obviously a good poker player, because he kept any potential explosion inside himself and repressed what he had obviously been about to say. "No," he said after a long drawn out moment, "I can't give you that promise. I wish that I could, but I can't speak for the entire US Air Force, let alone the US Military. All I can do is to tell you that my people need it. We'll try and keep it to ourselves, but we need it Mr Harris. We need it for something that you can't even imagine, something that you can't even comprehend. We can save lives with it – by giving those lives something they can use. That's all I can say."

Well, damn. The guy not only sounded honest, but he fairly exuded righteous anger and sincerity. Perhaps he meant it. Actually, Xander was pretty sure that he did. He certainly gave off the right vibes with the Force. He wondered for a moment if he should try the Jedi Mind Trick after all, but then dismissed it. The guy was twanging with tension.

"You mean it," he replied after a long moment. "How classified is this information?"

O'Neill shot him another sour smile. "Anything marked as classified is secret. This is secret enough to get me court-martialled and you arrested for accepting classified material. As I like my life as it is right now, I can't tell you a damn thing. All I can say is that it's important."

Interesting. Xander stroked the line of his own jaw for a moment, caught himself doing it and then rubbed his chin. The temptation to grow a beard so that he could have something to stroke in the first place was quite strong at times like this. "I'll think about it. That's all I can promise you. How long will you be in town and how can I contact you?"

O'Neill stared hard at him for a moment and then nodded slightly. "I'm in town for a few days at least. You can reach me on my cell phone," he said quietly, passing over a card.

Taking it, Xander looked down. It was a very plain card, with no hint at all of O'Neill's unit. Certainly no mention of the SGC. Just his name, his rank, his cell phone – and that was it. "Thank you," he said quietly. "I'll be in touch when I've made up my mind."

O'Neill nodded at him, stood up, placed his hat under his arm and opened the door to the hall, which led him to the front door, which Xander opened for him. As soon as the Air Force Colonel was out of the house he placed his hat carefully on his head and walked away briskly. He did not look back.

"What was that about?" came a voice from behind Xander. His father was standing there, absent-mindedly pulling a pen from behind his ear and frowning at it.

"He was asking about something that I'd been working on a long time ago, dad. He was misinformed as well. The Air Force… doesn't have all the information it needs sometimes. Probably not their fault." He turned around and smiled. "Nothing to worry about," he said, stressing the words with an added bit of the Force.

"Nothing to worry about. Right," repeated his father with a rather glassy-eyed expression. Then he stopped and shook his head slightly. "Um, what was I saying? Oh, never mind. Xander, can you take a look at this damn form? I think I have it nailed down, but I'm not sure just yet and your mother isn't back from the bookshop yet."

"Sure dad," he smiled, and walked into the kitchen. His mind was, however, on something else. What exactly were the SGC people, whatever the hell that stood for, doing back in Sunnydale and how long were they going to be there for?

* * *

The problem with living in a crypt was that television reception was very hard to get right. Hell, it was very hard just to get, period. Which was why he'd climbed onto the roof with a bit of wire attached to a very old antenna, tied it carefully into the bowl-shaped stone thingy on the roof and then camouflaged it by bending it so that it fit inside the damn thing. The last thing he wasted was those pillocks from the Initiative wandering past in the middle of the day and wondering just why someone had a TV aerial tied onto a crypt, before putting two and two together and getting him staked in his sleep.

All he had to do now was to connect the aerial to the telly. Which would have been easier if he hadn't removed the right connecter thingy earlier on, as he hadn't thought that he would need it. Sod.

He walked over to the pile of assorted things at the far end of his snug little hovel and went through them carefully. Luckily he hadn't thrown it that far, so that all he had to do was blow the fluff off it, connect it up and hey presto, instant TV. Well, that was the theory anyway. There was also the little matter of hoping that his jury-rigged power cables worked. The fact was, he'd usually had minions to do that kind of thing. But it was good to keep busy and to use his hands, and it felt good to….

Spike sniffed the air slightly. Interesting. He finished the connection, plugged in the aerial and then straightened up. "I don't have cable down here by the way. Just the usual channels. Sorry if that's a disappointment to you."

"Not at all," said a rather amused voice from the shadows of the other side of the crypt. Bugger, he'd been meaning to install some booby traps on that door. He knew that the passage it led to went to the surface in one direction, but he really should have investigated where the other end went to. Some moved in the darkness and then Adam stepped into the light. The thing looked around the place and then raised an eyebrow. "Your living accommodation looks to be a bit substandard. And you seem to know who I am. Interesting"

"I take what I can get these days," replied Spike, watching the walking advert for not paying the military any money carefully. This was not a good sign. "And I'm very well informed these days."

Adam looked around at the tired chair with its sagging cushion, the small pile of books to one side, the mound of dirty laundry in the far corner and the bed sheets on what passed for a bed. "What a place you have here. You used to be a force in Sunnydale, a power. Now you're reduced to living down here." He looked at Spike. "What a waste."

"Yes, well, that was before Angelus tried to end the world. Oh yes and that was when we just had the one Slayer. Oh and Harris hadn't declared himself as a full Jedi then. When he did all hell broke loose here." Spike took out a packet of fags, shook one loose from the crumpled mess, looked at the squashed thing sadly and then shrugged and lit it up. "Problem with being a 'power' here in Sunnydale at the moment is that it tends to make you rather high profile, whereupon people start queuing up to hack you off at the knees. Ambitious underlings. Contempories who think that because you're in charge, they have to catch you up. Oh yes, and Slayers and Jedi. Being staked, or having your head chopped off by a glowing light bulb sword is a bit hard to come back from. Unless you've been a master vampire for so long that you look like Nosferatu, or whatever the hell his name was.

"In short, I've reconsidered my career option here on the Hellmouth and I am now hoping to survive long enough to plan and then make my escape at some point."

Adam tilted his head to one side and just looked at him in a way that made him feel highly uncomfortable. Not that he was going to give any hint about that.

"You're not going to leave just yet, because you still have hope that something will happen at the Initiative," the construct rumbled after a long moment. "You're hoping that the chip in your brain will be taken out."

"How do you know about that?" asked Spike, surprised for once.

Adam just smiled at him. "I know a great many things about the Initiative and what they did. Not to mention what they do. I know all about the invasive surgery that saw the insertion of the violence inhibitor chip into your head. I know exactly where it is and how they put it in. And I know exactly how to take it out."

Spike took a deep drag on his fag and did his very best not to exhale too quickly or to show too much emotion. "Right," he said, using a finely-gauged level of sarcasm in his voice, "Like I'm going to believe you."

"Why would you not?"

"I'm sorry but I've made it a rule never to trust strange demons, or whatever the hell you are."

This last jibe got him a slow smile from the walking amalgamation of flesh and metal. "I'm the future," it said with a certain amount of relish.

Not as far as I'm concerned, thought Spike grimly. Christ, what a… thing.

"And I can remove the chip."

This made him narrow his eyes and look at Adam carefully. "You can, can you? And why would you do that?"

"I require information. About the Slayers. How they fight. How I can beat them."

Good luck with that one, mate, thought Spike pessimistically. You're going to need more luck than I've ever had, along with more better technique. "You want the gen on the Slayers? Just the Slayers? Why not the Jedi as well?"

Adam just looked at him for a moment. "I have my own methods when it comes to the Jedi. They will die. I'll kill them myself. But I need some more data on the Slayers. They seem to have a habit of appearing where they are least expected and disrupting things. Buffy Summers appears to be particularly good at that."

It's not all luck, thought Spike grimly, it's also good planning and the ability to rely on friends. That's the key to Buffy Summers, and that's why I could never beat her. "Slayers are tricky," he said slowly. "Killing a Slayer is never an easy thing to do."

"I will do it," stated Adam in a matter-of-fact tone of voice. "You need to decide if you will help me on this. I can detect a great deal of uncertainty on this matter. I will just say this – when I win, when I take over this place and start to expand eastwards and upwards, I will be generous to my allies. If one of them needs a violence inhibitor chip removed from their brain, I will carry out the procedure." He looked straight at Spike. "You need to decide if you want the chip out enough to help me. To be my ally and earn my help. Because… no-one else can or will do this thing."

And with that he turned and walked away, back into the shadows and through that damn door. Spike watched him leave thoughtfully. Bugger. This put the cat amongst the pigeons.

Showing great forbearance he refrained from pacing or fidgeting. Instead he walked to one side, grabbed a bottle of scotch from a moderately clean shelf, selected the cleanest glass that he could find and then poured himself a modest slosh, which he then took great pains to sip. His initial instinct had been to throw it down the back of his throat, but he restrained himself and sipped instead.

At the same time his brain was going at a mile a minute. The chip was the bane of his bloody existence. He hated it in a way that could not be put into words at all easily. Smashing it into a million billion pieces probably wasn't physically possible, but if he could ever see it on the ground in front of him he'd make a good attempt at doing so. Having it removed would be bloody brilliant. The problem was that he didn't trust Adam even a tiny bit. The thing was…too clinical. Too mechanical, heh, that was a pun and half. Adam, he suspected, regarded people as pieces on a chessboard. In other words expendable. Plus, he seemed to be ambitious in a very dangerous way. Take over Sunnydale first? But then where exactly. Eastwards he'd said. And upwards? What the hell did that mean?

He drank the rest of his scotch and brooded darkly for a bit. This was a classic case of being dropped in the shit because he would have been better off doing something else. It was a case of the what-ifs. What if he'd caught Dru before she'd started batting her eyelids at that bloody chaos demon? What if he'd just given up on that bloody Ring, instead of meeting the world's worst vampire, Harmony, getting the crap beaten out of him by both Slayers and then getting pinched by the Initiative? What if he'd admitted defeat and gotten the hell out of town at any point before, during or after all of the above?

Simple answer – he wouldn't be sitting there in a crypt, drinking bloody awful scotch, with a behavioural modification chip embedded in his skull, being talked down to by a creature that looked like a bad combination of random body parts assembled by Baron Frankenstein on a really terrible day at the office.

It was at this point that things took a hard swerve towards the surreal. Seeing movement out of the corner of his eye he whipped around as two figures leapt down through the hole in the ceiling. One was big and black, while the other was bearded and old. Both were dressed in clothes that didn't quite seem to fit and both had black woven caps pulled down over their foreheads. And both looked triumphant.

"You see," said the older one, "I told you that could sense the stench of a Mar'tyun, as according to the old tales!"

"Who the hell are you?" blurted Spike, getting ready to make a dash for the door. Then he paused. "Stench? What stench? I'm very hygienic thank you very bloody much."

"It is immaterial," said the tall bloke, before raising his hand, which contained something. It looked like no weapon that Spike had ever seen. There was a sudden snapping noise, a bit like an electronic squeal, and the bloody thing suddenly expanded, as if the top bit popped up like a cobra getting ready to spring. Spike drew the correct conclusion that this was a bad thing, turned and sprang for the doorway.

Unfortunately the big guy simply tracked him with the whatever-the-hell-it-was and fired it, because there was a sort of prolonged zappy noise then Spike convulsed as things-

* * *

Teal'c watched the still figure for a moment and then looked around carefully. "It would seem to be unconscious."

"Yes, it would," agreed Master Bra'tac with a certain amount of chagrin. "I was hoping that it would give us more of a challenge. But, O'Neill was adamant. Capture not challenge." He snorted. "It would have been an adventure to discover how much of a fight this thing could have given us."

Teal'c nodded gravely. Then he pulled out a cell phone, hit a speed dial number and waited, as Master Bra'tac cautiously approached the unconscious Mar'tyun and bound its hands behind its back. After a moment the other person finally accepted his call. "Yeah, T, what have you got?"

"We have a specimen, O'Neill. We tracked it down to a crypt in a cemetery. We are returning to our rooms now."

"Great, Teal'c. See you there soon. We're RTB ourselves."


	19. Concentrating Minds

This is the second time that I've posted this thing, as is playing up and deleted all my line breaks. Again. Sigh. Sorry for the delay.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Ow. Bloody hell. God, this had to be the worst hangover of his entire life. He paused for a moment while a few sluggish synapses waved feebly from what felt like the very farthest corner of his brain. Wait, there had been the day after Mafeking Night. That had been a bloody good evening. And a terrible way to wake up.

And… there had been the day after VE Day. All those drunk WAAFs and WRENS. Dru hadn't found it fun, that day after, when she'd icily asked one of her dolls why there was a pair of silk knickers around his head, a lot of lipstick around his mouth and a note to call a Myrtle Gusset whenever he was in Portsmouth.

Oh and there had been the day after the Liberation of Port Stanley, when he and a bunch of patriotic British vampires had got rat-arsed near the Argentinean Embassy in Washington and played chase the secret policeman with the one of the military attache's so-called 'aides'. So, ok, it was his fourth worst hangover ever. Ouch.

It was at this point that other parts of his body succeeded in staggering up the garden path of his nervous system and then rang the doorbell to signify their overall distress. In other words it wasn't just his brain that was hurting. Legs, arms, wrists, spine, stomach – oh that wasn't going to end well – and pretty bloody much everything but his hair.

Two thoughts then flashed across what passed for his brain. What the hell did I do last night? And why are my hands tied behind my back?

This last part finally forced his brain to shuffle all the reports from the various parts of his brain into some sort of order, work out if they were the right way around, read them and then make the correct diagnosis. He was sitting upright, on a very hard chair, with his hands handcuffed behind his back.

Sod. This was not good.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Jack looked at the limp, blond, leather-clad form on the chair in the middle of the room with a certain amount of disfavour. The guy looked more like Billy Idol than Bela Lugosi, all leather pants, hair gel and cheekbones.

In fact he looked so human that a worm of disquiet was starting to wriggle near his lower intestine, although it was also possible that it might have been the chicken fajitas that Daniel had made and which Bra'tac had accused of not being spicy enough. The old guy knew his spices a bit too well. Speaking of Bra'tac, he turned and looked to one side. The old Jaffa was standing to one side, talking to Teal'c in a low voice whilst keeping a very close eye indeed on the motionless form of the vampire. If he was a vampire that is.

Frankly Jack was now starting to feel definitely a bit uneasy with this whole thing. Saying 'let's find us a vampire and question it' had sounded reasonably glib and plausible at the time, but when Teal'c and Bra'tac had found one so quickly – Bra'tac ascribing it to his nose via some alleged 'stench' and Teal'c pointing out that installing a TV antenna to the roof of a crypt was not normal, as was living in a crypt – he had been a bit surprised.

For a start 'how long have you been a vampire' sounded a bit lame. For another thing that dried old bastard Lennox had given them a lot of information about vampires, from the files that he'd copied and hidden away for a rainy day, not to mention his own memory, so strictly speaking they already knew a great deal.

It creeped him out a great deal. Not that life, or fate, or karma or whatever the hell you wanted to call it, cared that much. When he looked back at his life now, the past five or six years seemed to consist of a number of unexpected turns that led him in totally unexpected directions. This just had to be another one, damn it.

He shook himself out of his reverie and turned away from the little tableau in front of him and stared gloomily out of the window. Once Carter and Daniel made it back from their own little wander about town, they could wake this guy up and ask him some questions. If he could be classified as a guy that is. He shuddered slightly. Damn he hated this. It was far too murky. How about if they just asked him about life in town and, oh how about 'have you seen a large demon-cyborg thing around town that knows about a very secret government project that uses something called a Stargate?'

Then he caught sight of something in the window and stared. Then he made sure of the evidence of his own eyes. Well that would be enough to convince Carter. Provided her head didn't explode that is.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Sam parked the car and then looked over at Daniel, who was holding his hands up in the air. He felt like a surgeon getting ready to perform an operation, only in his case he was about as unsterile as it was possible to get.

"We should have checked the tyres before, when we felt that bump before, shouldn't we?" she asked with a certain amount of embarrassed mirth.

"Yes," he replied, doing his best not to insert too much sarcasm into his tone. "Because then Jack could have changed the wheel and we could have found the remains of the very dead raccoon much earlier."

He sighed. "Lets get inside so I can wash – no, scrub - my hands and we can both look at the vampire that Jack claims that we have."

This time the smile faded from Sam's face, to be replaced with a certain look that Daniel had long since come to read – mulish stubbornness that despite the evidence of her own eyes, certain things were just not possible. The best antidote was to give her a lot of evidence and let it percolate through her brain. There were times when she was very like her father, who was due to come home to Earth sometime soon. Daniel could only imagine Jacob's reaction to the news about vampires, although it was more than possible that Selmak knew all about them.

When they entered the room two things happened. Firstly Sam and Daniel stopped and stared at the very human-looking figure slumped on the chair with his hands behind his back. The second thing was that the others all flinched at the state of his hands.

"Jeez, Daniel, did something die on you?" asked Jack, waving his hand in front of his face.

Daniel took a deep breath, counting to ten slowly. Then: "Remember that bump, Jack? When you were driving? That you said was 'nothing'?"

Jack looked vague and made a 'who me?' movement with his hands.

"A racoon, Jack. A very dead one. I found when I was changing the tyre. And now I'm going to scrub my hands until they probably bleed."

"Please," said Jack in a pained voice, "Don't let me stop you."

When Daniel re-emerged from the bathroom, towelling his hands briskly, he found a very interesting tableau. Sam was standing there talking to Bra'tac, who had one eyebrow slightly raised in defence against the Major's vehement questioning.

"As I said, Major Carter," the old Jaffa said with a certain quiet dignity, "I sensed the stench of the Mar'tyun, and decided to investigate. Teal'c and I found it in a crypt, I believe that it was drinking something called 'scotch' and it had a bed on a coffin."

"Yes," protested Sam, "But he might just be a Goth without a home. Just because he lives in a crypt does not mean that he's a vampire!"

"Carter," Jack interjected quietly, but it was no use – Sam was on a roll.

"I mean that his physiology looks nothing like the vampire – or whatever it was that Maybourne showed us – with no sign of those facial deformities and ridges and-"

"Carter!"

This time she did stop and looked over at Jack, who had moved over to stand by the window. "Sir?"

"Come here and tell me what you see in this window."

She walked over and stared out at the night scene in front of her. To one side Daniel saw Teal'c and Bra'tac start slightly and then smother smiles. After a second he saw it too.

"Uh," said the blonde Major, "I see streetlights and dark trees and Jupiter, oh and Orion over there. What am I supposed to be looking for, sir?"

Jack wagged a finger at her with a sigh. "Look at the reflection of the room, Carter, not what's outside."

"Oh." She peered. "I see Teal'c and Bra'tac and-" She whipped around suddenly, her hand going for the place where her sidearm would normally be, her head tracking around… to the motionless form on the chair. Which was not something that she was obviously expecting at all. She gaped for a moment, looked back at the reflection, went back at the figure, back to the reflection and then repeated this to the point where Jack stepped forwards.

"Stop that Carter, my brain's hurting in sympathy with yours."

"But that's… not possible!" She objected loudly. "It's not physically possible."

"Nevertheless, it is a fact, Major Carter," Bra'tac said with a suggestion of sympathy in his voice. "Mar'tyuns do not reflect an image onto a polished surface. The old tales tell that communities facing the last of the Mar'tyun would install mirrors next to the gates, to check to see if any where trying to leave or enter unobserved."

Sam's face was a picture.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Well this wasn't good at all. Words like 'Major' and 'Sir' meant that he was in a room with the US military. Again. Bugger. As if they hadn't had enough fun the first time, with that bloody chip!

Spike forced down the entirely unfamiliar feeling of panic that seemed to be rising from his boots into his brain and activating various primordial fight-or-flight impulses. The problem was that flight was out due to the fact he was tied to the chair – one arm was inside the arm of the bloody thing – and, oh he was as weak as a kitten. In fact an anaemic kitten with a bad head cold could thrash him with one paw tied behind its back, the way that he felt right now. Bloody hell, what had that weapon been? All that he knew was that it had been electronic and had left him feeling truly terrible.

He paused for a moment, his train of thought derailing slightly. Wait a minute – didn't electronic charges fry circuitry? And… chips as well? Perhaps fight was suddenly back on the table as an option!

Problem was that he couldn't have outfought a Carmelite Nun right now, but he could feel himself getting a bit stronger with every passing minute. Right. So all he had to do was keep schtum and wait for his moment.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"He's a vampire, Sam," said Daniel after a long moment of watching her boggle. It was a bit painful to watch, despite the fact that this was the second time that she'd been shown direct evidence of the… creatures? Entities? What on earth could you call them? Frankly he had no idea. "We can try and wave a crucifix under his nose as well if you like, but that might be a bit counterproductive."

"How can a religious symbol have an effect on him?" asked Sam with a hint of desperate bafflement in her voice.

"It was said that it was the strength of the faith behind such a symbol that had such an affect on the Mar'tyuns, Major Carter," said Bra'tac quietly. "There are doubtless other symbols of other faiths that might also affect it."

That was an interesting point. "I know of a number of different symbols from past centuries that might be used to repel them," mused Daniel quietly. "I wonder if the old fish-symbol of the early Christian faith still works? Or the raven-mark of Mithras?"

As Sam opened her mouth again Jack broke back in again. "As fascinating as this is, can we stick to the point here? We have a vampire, we have some questions about the thing that's running around this place, we need to ask these questions. What we then do with it, or him, or Mr 'I vant to drink your blauod' or whatever the hell it is?"

"For that matter, how do you wake up a vampire?" asked Daniel as he scratched behind his right ear.

"Why don't we draw religious symbols on him and wait for him to start screaming?"

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Spike suppressed a groan. Ok, sod this. He had no desire at all to stay there while this bunch of total muffins faffed around with him in their fumbling attempts to divine his true nature, or whatever the hell they were trying to do. Although from the sound of it they were trying to find out about some 'thing' that was in town. Adam? Bloody military, with their duplication of effort, or crossed wires, or whatever the hell they were doing.

Right. He still felt terrible, but that terrible weakness had ebbed a lot. Time to get free. Handcuffs were not a sensible way to secure any vampire desperate to get out of here. Especially a vampire who wanted to see if the chip in his sodding head was still working after that electrical thingamajig had gone off.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"O'Neill. The creature is awake and is listening to us."

Jack turned around quickly and looked at the blond man on the chair, who suddenly raised his head and looked at them sardonically. "Oops," he said after a moment. "How did you know?"

"Your demeanour changed in certain subtle ways."

"Did it really? I must practice my unconscious pose more often. Now who the bloody hell are you lot and why does tall dark and frowny there look as if he's about to have a bowel movement all the time?"

Teal'c looked baffled for a millisecond. "A bowel movement?"

He might as well have wasted his breath, because the vampire ignored him, instead looking around with a look of immense distaste. "Bloody hell, who are you lot? You can't be with the Initiative, based on your general farting around about the topic of vampires like my good self."

This set off all kinds of alarm bells. "You know about the Initiative?"

The vampire just looked at him, as if he was a very slow and dim-witted child. "Let's see, do I know about the bastards who captured me and stuck a chip in my head to stop me from punching humans in the nadgers, as well as anywhere else that I saw fit? Hum…. Yes, I think I do."

What happened next was brutally fast. There was the sound of metal parting under immense stress, and then the vampire exploded upwards at an impressive speed onto his feet. He darted to one side, looked down and curse briefly at the chair that was now following him due to the set of handcuffs that attached the two and then reared up in front of Jack, pulling his fist back for a roundhouse punch that should have sent him flying back against the wall. It never even started out on its trajectory. Instead the vampire's eyes crossed, before he let out a sound like a cross between a wail and a scream and then he collapsed in a heap, clutching at his head. Not that this abrupt collapse stopped him – he then scrabbled to one side, rolled twice, with the chair lashing out to smash a small table and a lamp, before coming to his feet again in front of the window, swaying like a tree caught in a gale. He then collected himself again and threw himself against the window, which shattered under his weight. As the shards fell outwards so did the vampire, with the chair following and pausing only to bang briefly against the windowsill. Then he was gone.

Jack stared and then grabbed a Zat gun from the table and darted over to the window, where he very carefully looked out. He had no intention of getting hit in the face by an enemy hanging just below. Well, not twice anyway. A millisecond later he was joined by Teal'c and Bra'tac, both pale with what looked like a combination of fury and chagrin.

Something splintered off to one side and they all looked hard at the general direction of the noise. The only thing that Jack at least could see, however, was a lonely chairleg which rolled into the light projected by a streetlamp.

"Damn," Jack muttered as he holstered the Zat. "Well, that was weird. I wonder why he didn't attack?"

"It tried to, O'Neill," rumbled Teal'c thoughtfully. "But it was unable to."

"He did say something about a behavioural modification chip," Carter muttered, a horrified look starting to steal across her face. "My god…."

It was at this point that someone banged loudly on the door. Jack looked back at the others, nodded to Teal'c, who gestured to Bra'tac and then took up a position by the entrance to the bathroom, while the others scattered and drew various weapons. That just left Jack, who approached the door carefully, the Zat held down just behind his leg. He swung the cover to the ? eye on the door, peered through and then stiffened. Typical. Freaking typical. "Stand down," he called to the others. "Friendly. Sort of."

Then he opened the door, revealing the figure of Harry Maybourne, who was looking very alert and who was replacing an automatic into a holster on his belt, twitching his jacket to cover it as he did so.

"Damn it Maybourne, how did you know we were back here?"

The rogue NID officer flashed him a grin. "I said that I'd be in touch," he said with more than a hint of smirk. Then he stepped in and looked around. "Oh, you must be Bra'tac. Hi. Jack I heard the glass smashing outside. What the hell happened here?"

"We were talking to a guest," said Jack flatly. "He had to leave early."

Maybourne walked over and looked down at the deformed links that had once held a pair of handcuffs together. Then he looked at the marks on the carpet that the chair had left and finally he looked at the window. "Damn it Jack," he said, shaking his head in sorrow, "Looking for a vampire in this town is a mistake. A big mistake, you just shouldn't take those kinds of risks."

Shrugging slightly, Jack sat down at the table. "We were… well, we were… oh hell, we were just looking for confirmation. News. Information. Whatever. Maybe he, or it or whatever knew something about this missing monster thing of yours."

This bought him a wince – certainly an ebbing of the generic smugness – from Maybourne. "Hardly 'my' monster. Walsh's creation, not mine." Then he frowned. "I'm surprised that the vampire you found didn't fight harder."

"Once it woke up after Teal'c and Bra'tac zatted it, it tried," replied Jack. "By the way it knew about the Initiative. Said something about a chip that they installed in its head. Then it pulled the handcuffs to pieces, got up in a real hurry, tried to land one on me, failed because it screamed and fell over even though I didn't touch the bastard and then threw itself out the window."

Maybourne went very still for a moment, his eyes shuttered. Then he brought a hand up to stroke his bearded chin. "Ah," he said after a long moment. "Interesting."

"What is?" asked Carter. "And what kind of chip was he talking about?"

"Behavioural modification, Major Carter," said Maybourne, as he walked over to the door and opened it, before leaning over and grabbing a large bag that was resting against the wall. "I did say that the purpose behind the Initiative was to get information on HSTs, with the idea of creating something to match the Jaffa – something that could guard the Stargate and beat anything that came through." He looked over at the two Jaffa and grinned at them. "No offence."

"None taken," replied Bra'tac with an icy calm that spoke volumes about how much he loathed a man that he had only just met.

"Yes, well, having guards who attacked people was seen as being a bad idea, so we thought about developing safeguards – behavioural modification chips that controlled HSTs – stopping them from attacking humans."

"That's monstrous," gasped Carter and Daniel at the same time. They looked at each other for a moment and then Carter continued: "That kind of control is totally against any ethical principle of science that I know of."

"You know I had a feeling that you'd say that, Carter," smirked Maybourne. "We're talking about creatures of extreme evil here – did you really think we were going to give them a paycheck and ask them to pledge allegiance to the flag?"

Carter opened her mouth in outrage, thought about things for a moment and then stopped when something occurred to her. "Wait a minute, Teal'c and Bra'tac used a Zat gun on him. Shouldn't that have fried any chip?"

Maybourne looked at her with a smile and then started to laugh. Then he started to guffaw and soon he was crying with laughter whilst a furious Carter just glared at the damn man, who was now leaning against the table and wiping the tears from his eyes.

"What did I say that was so funny?" She demanded once he was reduced to hiccupping with mirth.

"Sorry, Carter. Blame my sense of the ridiculous. Do you really think that whatever we put in front of the Stargate to guard it would have been vulnerable to a few discharges from a Zat'nik'atel? I can just see a couple of Jaffa dancing through the gate now, taking out each guard with a single shot and then a larger force coming though once the guards that were supposed to protect the SGC ripped it apart instead. Do you really think we'd have been that stupid? The devices the Initiative were experimenting with on HSTs were ruggedized – made to be immune from a Zat blast."

Carter combined a glare with a wince. "But…."

"Don't ask me how. I know now that Walsh was mad, but she was a genius at the same time. I'm sure that the Initiative probably has records somewhere. If you asked them nicely."

Time to prick the man's bubble of smugness a bit. "But we can't. Not without letting them know that you're in town," said Jack quietly.

This did indeed sober him up a bit. "I know. The worst thing is that I don't know which faction of the NID the new commanding officer belongs to, so I don't know if we can even approach them covertly."

"Which faction?" asked Jack incredulously. He knew that the NID was a bit compartmented at times, but this was ridiculous.

"Hell yes. I was in charge of part of the section to do with more… esoteric elements of the military. You should have heard people talking about the Stargate when it was first discovered. Some people wanted to find a way of turning it into a bomb. Don't ask me how.

"Other factions were more strait-laced, while others were more… off the reservation a bit. A lot actually."

"So who is the new head of the Initiative here then?"

"Brigadier-General Thaddeus Finch," said Maybourne, rolling the whole name and title impressively around his mouth.

Jack thought for a moment. "Never heard of him."

"Me neither, which is what's worrying me. The guy wasn't on the shortlist of people recommended to command the Initiative in the event that Walsh died or was transferred. I don't know who he is or where he came from."

"Is he Air Force?"

"Marine apparently."

"Great, a Leatherneck." Jack leaned back in his chair and looked at the broken window. They were going to have to do something about that soon. He didn't want anything that went bump in the night around here to come flying in through the hole and give them a nasty shock. This place was bad enough as it was. "So what did you have in mind for finding out where this Initiative's missing monster is?"

Maybourne raised an eyebrow and then sighed. "I recruited quite a few people for them. They took a bad hit recently – lost 11 people, including Rennell, who I had pegged as a thoroughly devious little bastard and a good first contact. But he had his head ripped off.

"So I was thinking about approaching my second reserve contact. Name's Riley Finn. He's a bit of a boy scout, but he's conscientious and reliable."

"Finn. Oh yeah, the guy that the NID stole before the SGC could approach him properly at Fort Bragg."

Maybourne looked at Jack with a wry grin. "Come on, Jack, you have to admit that you had your turn of the cream from Bragg in the past. You're just pissed that I beat you to Finn first. And I'm kind of impressed that you know that he's here in town."

"We spotted him. Plus a load of others." Jack paused for a moment. "Was Finn part of your FUBAR mission?"

Maybourne nodded soberly. "Yes, he was. He got away almost unharmed. In fact he was the only unharmed one amongst the survivors."

"Lucky man," replied Jack. Then he looked at the windows, before walking over to close the blinds. He hated the draft that was coming through.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

When Xander arrived at Giles's office in the library the kettle was starting to boil and someone – probably Faith by the look of the mound of coffee in the carafe – had put out mugs and spoons. Knowing better than to come between the dark-haired Slayer and her coffee – especially if it was her first mug – he sat down and looked around. No mound of open books, which was a good thing.

A moment later and Faith walked in, scratching her shoulder and yawning cavernously. Her eyes flickered to Xander, her hand came up to wave tiredly and then she grabbed the kettle and emptied it into the carafe, before swirling it around with a slow series of flicks. Another yawn ripped its way out from between her jaws as she did so.

"Long night?" asked Xander, faintly amused.

"Wasted night," she grunted. "Found a vamp that I could've staked in my sleep, some sort of wobbly thing that just oozed pus at me and a dwarf with a stepladder and a business card. Little creep practically undressed me with his eyes, before he asked me where he was. When told him he was in Sunnydale he went white and ran away. Weird."

"A slow night then," said Xander thoughtfully.

"Yeah, the vamps just weren't where I thought they'd be. Plus," she grimaced, "No sign at all of mongrel monster boy. That kinda worries me." She looked at the carafe thoughtfully before pouring quite a lot into the largest mug on the desk, adding some milk and then virtually throwing the contents down her throat. "God, I needed that," she muttered after a long moment of eyes-closed bliss.

"First coffee of the day Faith?" asked Xander with a smile, before turning his head to one side. "Morning Giles. Hey, Buffy."

"A very good morning to the two of you," said Giles with a smile as he entered with his Slayer, who was also yawning hugely. "I see that the coffee isn't entirely gone. Could you brew a little more, Faith, please?"

"Sure Giles," she replied. As she finished topping the carafe off she blinked hard and then groaned. "Shit, sorry B, the first coffee of the day tends to throw my brain out of whack. Your mom called about ten minutes ago. Said to say that you should turn your cell phone on and could you call her please. Said that she just missed you at your room according to Willow."

Buffy frowned and pulled out her phone. "But I turned it on this morning!" She pressed a button or two and then drooped slightly. "Oops. I should probably charge this thing when it needs more juice, shouldn't I?"

"That might be a good idea Buffy," answered Xander in a deadpan tone. "Use the phone here."

"Ok." She padded over to the phone, yawned hugely again and then shook her head slightly. "Let me know when that coffee is on, will you?"

"Let me guess, a night of patrolling with little to show for it?" Xander asked shrewdly. His own patrol that night had been immensely dull.

"Yeah," sighed Buffy, "I don't know where the vampire action is right now, but it wasn't where I was at last night." Then she picked up the phone and dialled, before waiting for someone to answer it. "Hi mom, it's me."

There was a pause and then all of a sudden Buffy groaned and rubbed at the back of her neck as everyone looked at her sharply. "Well what's he doing there, how did he get in?" Then she frowned incredulously. "He's doing what??? Ok, I'll be straight over. No, no, it's ok. I'll see you soon. Love you too mom." Putting the phone down with a deliberate care Buffy looked up. "My mom discovered Spike in our basement this morning. With a variety of kitchen implements, she said, and making very little sense. She's a bit worried about him."

"Ah," Giles answered delicately. "Perhaps we should go over and check things out. I can leave my dreaded number two in charge and I hadn't heard of any staff meetings being scheduled."

"Is that 'we' as in the royal we or as in 'all of us'?" growled Faith, who had never really been able to suppress her obvious desire to kick Spike's butt so hard that his spine came out of the top of his head.

"If it is all of us then we'd better take my car," interjected Xander thoughtfully, "As Giles's car is a bit small."

"True, said Giles as he stood up, "but perfectly formed."

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Buffy felt her sleeve carefully and was reassured by the comforting feel of Mr Pointy in her wrist holder. Then she let her gaze wander out of the window, onto the streets of Sunnydale as they flashed past. Xander was driving a little fast, but not too fast. As he had put it earlier, he had no intention of using the Force to avoid racking up speeding tickets. He did have a point, but personally Buffy would have loved to flummox a few cops with it.

Spike was a sore spot with all of them. The fact that he had been rendered impotent, as Giles had put it, by the chip meant that things had gotten logically fuzzy around the damn vampire. Every time she looked at him her Slayer instincts screamed at her to turn him into a million motes of dust in the air.

She paused for a moment to wonder where that phrase had come from and drew the correct conclusion that her Watcher's choice of language was rubbing off on her.

However, her Slayer instincts had to give way to the reluctant admission that killing Spike when he couldn't hit back or even defend himself would have been the wrong thing to do. Stupid morals. Still, it wouldn't have felt right at all.

That said, the instant that she heard that Spike was acting weird was the moment that all kinds of alarm bells went off in her mind. Not to mention the minds of a Watcher, a fellow Slayer and a Jedi Master who was showing a disturbing ability to get his car through spaces in traffic that she didn't know were even there. Could the Force be used to influence the rush hour? Maybe.

A few minutes later they drew up in front of her house, the sight of which stirred up a wave of guilt at not seeing her mother often enough and nostalgia for the good old days, when all she had to deal with was… well, demon Mayors, and the Master, and Angelus, the killer that lurked behind the face of the man she had loved.

She overrode the complex mess of feelings and got out of the car. As they walked up the path her mother was already opening the door and walking out to meet them, looking worried as she blinked in the morning sun.

"Buffy, I'm so glad you're here. He must have used the emergency key in the flowerpot, because I came down this morning and found that someone had ransacked my draining board, as well as a cupboard or two. The door to the basement was open and… well, there he was. He isn't making much sense."

"What is he talking about, Joyce?" asked Giles.

"Something about the US Military and being captured again," she said with a helpless shrug of her shoulders.

Buffy exchanged startled glances with the others, before barging into the house and making straight for the basement. Which was a bit of a mess. A table had been moved over and flipped on to its side and several chairs had been stacked on top of it rather precariously.

She looked at it incredulously as the others followed her down the stairs. "Spike?"

A silver… thing rose up from behind the chair and peered at her. It took her a moment to realise that it was in fact Spike. Wearing her mother's colander. Which had tin foil wrapped around it.

When the person wearing it realised who was looking at him, Spike bobbed up sharply, the contraption on his head revolving once from the impetus before stopping. "I hope you weren't bloody followed?"

"Spike what are you doing here?" Buffy asked, baffled. The thing on his head looked totally ridiculous, and she pointed that out.

The vampire jerked his eyes up to look at the rim and then grabbed at the colander as it tried to describe another lazy circle around his head. "It's to stop them from bloody finding me."

"Who from finding you?" asked Xander, frowning slightly as he came up level with her.

"The bloody US Army people or Initiative bastards or whoever the hell they were, who used some kind of snappy-up weapon taser thingy on me last sodding night. That's who! I don't know who they were or how they found me, but they did and used that bloody thing on me. Next thing I knew I was waking up tied to a chair in some room somewhere. Lucky it had a sodding window. When I gathered my bloody wits enough I broke free and took a leap through that window. I think my head broke my fall. Got a stinking headache still from it." He lifted a shaking hand to his neck and Buffy noticed half a handcuff dangling from the wrist.

That wasn't what was worrying her though. Tasers used electricity – a lot of it – and didn't power surges like that fry electronic devices… such as chips?

Faith and Giles obviously thought the same thing, because suddenly they were up level with her. Xander on the other hand just looked at Spike's head for a moment and then looked back at them and made a reassuring gesture. The three relaxed a bit whilst Spike continued to rant about bloody yank action men bastards and so on. When he paused for a moment, presumably to start on another rant, Buffy leapt in. "Spike can you describe these people?"

"Yes I bloody can. The two that jumped me in my crypt had the same way of speaking, like they were related or team mates or something. Looked nothing like each other. There was tall dark and stoic and shorter Hispanic-ish and stoic. Kept calling me a Martian or some such bollocks. Then there was a colonel bloke, called O'Neal or something like that, all gruffness, and there was a blonde bird who was a Major Carter, oh and there was a bespectacled git called Daniel. That do for a description?"

From the way that Xander's face went still and Giles raised an eyebrow or two, Spike's rant meant something. Then she ran it past her own brain again. The lack of coffee was hurting her a bit. Damn. The people from the SGC had grabbed Spike? But why?

From the way that Spike's voice stopped dead as he looked at her, he had spotted their reaction. "Oi," he mumbled, pushing his ridiculous headwear back his eyes. "You know them?"

"I have a very nasty feeling that they're the people who have been dabbling in our affairs for the past couple of weeks," Giles answered as he pulled off his glasses and started to clean them thoroughly. Which was a sign of deep thought. "That also confirms that they know enough to make some accurate guesses about the nature of the town, but not enough to know how dangerous this place is. Capturing a vampire is not a good idea by anyone's standards. It's a bit like walking into a lion's cage with a large steak hung around your neck and then shouting 'here kitty'."

"Sod the advisability of capturing vampires, what the hell did they want with me?" raged Spike loudly.

"Where did they jump you?" asked Faith musingly.

"In my crypt. I was trying to get a good signal on my telly." Spike looked shifty for a moment. "They weren't the only people to drop in. A bit before I had a visit. From Adam."

They all turned and stared at Spike hard, who looked even shiftier than before. "And why," asked Buffy from behind her clenched teeth, "Did our least favourite hybrid murderer want with you?"

"Information," said Spike grimly. "He knows he's going to have to take care of you lot before he takes this place over. Wasn't worried about the Initiative at all. He appeared out of bloody nowhere via that tunnel I'm going to block off with large and pointy rocks, tried to make me feel as if I was slumming it, failed, asked about the best way of fighting Slayers and Jedi, told me to choose a side soon and then vanished. While I was wondering why the hell I hadn't gotten out of town ages before, right then the two other blokes jumped in with their zappy guns and the next thing I knew it was goodnight sweet prince."

"He's getting ready for something," muttered Giles quietly. "Whatever he's planning he's going to make a move soon." Then he looked up. "Spike why are you wearing Joyce's colander?"

"Thought it might block out the signal from this chip thing."

"Spike if it was sending out a signal then the Initiative would have tracked you down months ago."

"Oh." The vampire thought about this for a moment. "Well you can't blame me for panicking, can you?"

"No, but we can blame you for consciously looking like a total tit. I suggest you relocate your things to another crypt." He paused. "How were you trying to get a signal for your television anyway?"

"I put an aerial up."

Giles rolled his eyes. "No wonder they found you. The normal occupant of a crypt does not watch 'Passions' or whatever rubbish you've become addicted to."

"I heard that!" called the voice of her mom from the entrance to the basement, and Buffy suppressed a smirk as Giles winced.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Maybourne looked as if he had slept remarkably well for someone who had spent the night on a couch, but then Jack suspected that the man had slept in worse places during his time on the run. The former NID Colonel was now sitting on a chair looking through some of the intelligence on the hybrid that he had brought with him. Jack suspected that the damn spook had enough caches of information to blow half the country's covert intelligence programmes sky-high, undermine the other half and get a large chunk of Congress indicted for fraud. That or sexual deviancy.

"Morning Jack," he said, not even looking up from the file he was reading.

"Harry," Jack replied, looking at the window, which was not filled with glass again. "They fixed that early. Carter said they came just after I left for breakfast."

"Don't worry, we had everything marked 'Classified' hidden away. They did a fast but good job. Just don't touch it for a while." Maybourne closed the file and then held it out. "You might want to take a look at this. I got a copy from a source of mine in the Initiative two days ago."

Taking the file Jack sat down at the table and opened it up. After a moment he looked up. "Seems quite detailed. Not to mention it seems to be a bit familiar. Did this guy have access to the intel on Project Lazarus?"

"No, which is what worries me. I'm not sure how he could have. That information was highly restricted within the NID. Walsh knew all about it, along with her number two, a Dr Angleman. I don't think that anyone else there knew anything about it."

"Ah," said Jack thoughtfully, as he watched the others walk in, Carter still sipping her coffee. Daniel wasn't, but then he tended to ingest coffee by sniffing it through his nose. "So who is this mysterious contact?"

"You already know about him. Riley Finn."

"_Finn_ wrote this report about the freaky thing that Walsh was building?" asked Jack incredulously. "I thought that he wasn't a technician or an expert on linking magic to technology?"

"He's not," sighed Maybourne. "Which is why I was worried. Someone's been talking to him I think. I just can't work out who. I saw him about a week ago, at the funeral of one of his teammates from the Initiative. He got a copy of the report out to me afterwards."

"Perhaps we should ask him how he knows such things," intoned Teal'c to one side. "If we are to find this creature we need as much information as possible on it."

Jack nodded. The direct approach did have something to say for it. Sneaking around covertly did have its limitations. "Ok, let's do it. Has to be better than our approach so far. Even if we did capture a vampire, it's a bit of a stretch to imagine that a random perp, so to speak, would know about the thing we're trying to find. Besides, how do you question a vampire?"

"With… extraordinary interrogation techniques," said Maybourne glibly.

Jack felt his face freeze over and his nostrils flair as he froze Maybourne on the spot with a glare. "We," he said in a frigid voice, "Do not torture. Ever. Other people do, but we do not. We're better than that. We're better than the Goa'uld, or the Mukhabarat. Torture lowers us to their level, no matter what the excuse is. We do not do it. And anyone who ever suggests that we try it had better have an excuse, like concussion, because otherwise I'll kick their asses from here to the SGC. Clear?"

Maybourne looked at him for a long moment, a smile twitching at the side of his mouth for a moment until he obviously realised that Jack was about as serious as it was possible for him to get. The asshole possibly then remembered Jack's record and what had happened to him in Iraq. The smirk vanished. "Clear."

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Spike can't stay in Joyce's basement for ever," said Xander as he stared at the map of Sunnydale in the library office. "And I think that you're right. Adam is getting ready to do something." He rubbed at his eyes tiredly. He needed sleep. That or a healing trance to fend off his weariness. "I'm getting some very nasty flashbacks to Obi-Wan's memories here."

"Oh, how so?" asked Giles as he looked up from the paperwork that he had to complete that day for the library.

"Oh, the Sith had a plan too. Darth Sidious, the man better known as the Emperor Palpatine, came to power with a long-term plan that the Jedi didn't suspect until the very last moment – when it was literally too late. There was nothing that they could do. They knew that Sidious was out there, they knew that something was going on, being planned but… we – I mean they – didn't see it." The memories were very strong and stark in their power. He hadn't said 'we' when it came to his memories of the other Jedi for a long time.

"What can we do that we aren't already?" Giles asked in a sympathetic voice.

"I don't know, Giles, I just don't know. I just feel as if we're scrabbling at the edges of this thing, that Adam's plan is almost visible if we just peer hard enough at the facts." He smiled. "Of course intuition is a marvellous thing, but it has to be backed up with other things called facts. When we need more of."

Giles nodded sombrely and then looked down at his desk. He sighed and then signed one last piece of paper, before placing it into his 'out' drawer. Then he stood up and ran a hand over his forehead for a moment. "Well, worrying about this won't help things right now. Olivia's out of town on business, so I can always take Spike in for a few days, until he's found a new crypt to sleep in. I don't like it much, but that's life. Oh and I have to go to the canteen to meet your two fellow Jedi. We're going to practice something for the talent night that's coming up. Oz's idea, but I've got an idea about which song to try out."

"Lindsey plays an instrument?" asked Xander, feeling faintly guilty that he didn't know this. "Oh wait, didn't he play the guitar at that talent night when the Sith version of me turned up?"

"He plays the guitar very well indeed, Xander," smiled Giles. "We're putting together a little acoustic guitar trio. Hopefully we shouldn't get tarred and feathered for our efforts."

"Perish the thought, Giles!" Xander smiled. "This happening now?"

"I told them that I'd meet them there at mid-day, and it's ten to already."

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Faith yawned and then stopped to massage the muscles in her jaw. Damn that had been a big one. She'd been able to get back to her apartment and napped for a few hours, until she'd been woken up by an insistent little paw being patted on the side of her face. Opening her eyes had revealed an indignant little black cat giving her best 'I have enormous eyes and am very cute' expression, which meant that Charcoal either needed to be fed or to be petted or both. It turned out to be both, naturally.

The college canteen served the best coffee around and she's agreed to meet B there anyway, so she'd pulled on a light jacket and made her way there. The blonde Slayer had been dozing lightly in a corner seat, waking up only when Faith had slammed her coffee mug down hard on the table.

"I was awake!" B said insistently, if sleepily, before turning to see Faith grinning at her. "Oh. Hi."

"Hey, B," Faith replied lazily, looking around. By the wall to one side Oz was deep in conversation with Lindsey. Both were sitting on chairs and both had guitars with them. A third, unoccupied, chair was next to Lindsey. "What's going on?"

"Informal practice session," said a voice to one side and the two Slayers both turned their heads to see Willow standing there cradling a coffee like it was the only thing keeping her upright. By the way that she was swaying slightly it probably was. "Talent show soon. Oz said that he was thinking about doing an acoustic session with Lindsey. You're not going to guess who the third member of their little group is."

"Wills, sit down before you fall over," urged B, patting the space next to her. She waited until the red-headed witch sat – or rather slumped – down next to her and then asked the $60,000 question. "Who's the third person? And why do you look so pooped?"

Willow preened slightly, obviously at the thought of being the person in the know. "Giles," she said with a combination of triumph and astonishment.

"The G-Man?" asked Faith, feeling somewhat stunned. "I thought he was into golden oldies and string quartets?"

"Faith, have you ever seen his record collection?" asked a very amused Buffy. "Giles was a real rebel when he was young." She turned back to Willow. "You didn't answer my other question."

"I didn't?" frowned Willow muzzily as she sipped her coffee. Then she pulled a face. "Oh. Simple answer. That SGC site is encrypted and all, but it doesn't have a lot on it. BUT it leads to the most secure server I've ever seen. One entry point and it's as high level as I've ever seen. The firewall makes the other ones I've gone against look like kids toys. Someone with serious ability designed it."

Buffy and Faith exchanged startled looks. For Willow to admit that she'd been beaten by a technological challenge was something very new and very freaky. The red-head caught the look and laughed. "Guys! Don't worry. Oz and I were up last night working on something new. Combination of worm virus, hacking skills and magic. We'll know in a day or so if it works. They have to have a link to their databases somewhere, it's just a question of looking. And the military uses a very secure network, but any system is only as strong as its' weakest link." Then she paused. "Ooh! Giles and Xander are here!"

Faith turned to see the Jedi Master talking quietly to the Watcher, before looking straight over to the trip in the corner. He nodded at Giles and then walked over to meet them while Giles settled into his chair and pulled out his guitar.

"This is a bit freaky," muttered Xander and he sat next to Willow. "I wonder what they're going to call themselves?"

"JediWatcher!" grinned Faith.

"Two Yanks and a Limey?" suggested Buffy.

"Two Terse and a Garrulous?" Willow said with an impish grin.

"Why don't we just listen?" replied Xander with a slow smile and shake of his head.

The trio had started to tune their guitars, and after a while seemed to be ready, or at least Oz and Lindsey looked at Giles, who mouthed something that looked awfully like "One, two, three," before starting to play, with the other two coming in a beat after him. It sounded slow but complex at first, until she caught the tune underneath it and then all of a sudden she caught her breath as the trio started to sing.

"_Looking down on empty streets, all she can see, are the dreams all made solid, are the dreams made real,"_ went the first words and she had to stiffen herself to stop from jumping up and singing along. She was not going to blow her rep as the modern music expert by revealing that she knew the words to a song released in 1986 by heart.

Judging by the quick look at Xander had just shot her, she wasn't succeeding in hiding her emotions that well. But damn these guys were doing that song justice!

Buffy moved in her seat slightly and then waved, forcing Faith to turn her head to see what had drawn her fellow Slayer's attention. Riley Finn was walking towards them, with his friend Graham Miller next to him. Hmm. This looked interesting. They both looked cheerful, but with an undertone of seriousness.

She blinked at thought for a moment and then realised that she was just possibly learning from her Watcher.

"Hiya honey!" grinned Buffy as Riley kissed her. "You got here just in time!"

"I can see that," replied Riley as he shot a quizzical look at the trio, who were coming to the end of the song. "I had no idea that Mr Giles and Oz were so good. Lindsey either."

"Who's Lindsey?" asked Graham, leaning in carefully.

"Former lawyer who saw the light, as it were. Used to work for Wolfram & Hart, where the light tends to be an oncoming train so to speak. He's getting a certain amount of training," replied Xander, watching the man carefully.

Graham nodded slowly, his brain visibly racing. "So he's one of you then?"

"Yes," nodded Xander. "Good guess."

"It made sense plus he was there with you when you helped as at the ambush. But we should probably talk about somewhere more private," Graham replied, just as the song ended and the crowd, which had started small and grown steadily, erupted into cheers.

Giles blinked several times and then nodded at the others, who looked just as surprised. Pleased as well though. They shrugged off calls for an encore with a few modest words and then made their way back to the table where the others were waiting.

"Giles, you old dog, talk about hiding a lighthouse under a bushel, or whatever the hell the phrase is," chided Faith with a grin. "And that song too!"

Giles blinked again at the praise and then smiled at her. "Why, thank you Faith." Then he looked over at the two Initiative operatives. "Hello Riley. And Mr Miller."

"Graham, please," the dark-haired operative urged. "Riley thought that I should have a word with you to get a better idea about the more… interesting allies that are out there for us. Personally speaking I mean. Can we perhaps more this to somewhere a little more… secure?"

"Certainly," said Giles briskly, standing up. "If this is a time for introductions perhaps we should all go there."

"No Forrest yet?" asked Buffy in a faintly worried voice as they passed through the exit and out into the sunlight.

Riley swapped a look with Graham. They seemed a bit worried about something. "No," sighed Riley after a moment. "He's barely said two words to me ever since the debriefing after the ambush. He's pissed with me for not telling him and he's pissed at Graham for suspecting something and not telling him and we think he's pissed at you lot just for existing and spoiling his perception of reality."

"How's his leg wound?" asked Faith.

"Getting better. He's back on duty, although he really should be still on convalescent leave. Through-and-throughs don't heal overnight, but he's pushing himself to get back on duty, we know that much. Besides, we need him right now, so we're going on patrol with him tonight. We need every experienced… person available right now." He put his arm around Buffy's shoulders and in the process looked around.

"Don't worry about it," threw in Xander, "If anyone was listening in, we'd know about it."

"Ah," sighed Riley before grinning at the Xand-man. "You're a very handy guy to have around, did you know that?"

"I can even remove boyscouts from horses' hooves," Xander replied, deadpan. Then he frowned slightly. "Why do you need experienced people so badly?"

"Too many newbies," said Graham glumly. "Too many young and dumb recruits who haven't found out yet that the Hellmouth has a bad habit of sneaking up on what you think of as reality and then twisting your perceptions of life into the shape of a pretzel."

"We need to send them out with experienced personnel, otherwise there's going to be a lot more funerals soon. We're stretched thin as it is. Plus the Hellmouth's jumping right now," Riley said with a shake of his head. "You guys must have seen how bad it's getting. Our cells are filling up fast."

Xander's face went still and he reached up a hand to stroke a beard that wasn't there. And in Faith's opinion that was a bad thing. It meant that he'd noticed something very bad. He quickly noticed the faintly worried look she was sending him. "I have a nasty feeling that something is going on," he muttered. "Something unpleasant is tickling at the back of my mind and I need to winnow it out."

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

He flinched slightly when he pulled his combat trousers on, but then that was mostly instinct. The wound wasn't that bad at all. The medics were right to fuss sometimes, but not in this case. Besides, he was going stir-crazy. If he'd been stuck on non-duty for much longer he would have burst, he knew it.

However, it had given him time to sort through the stuff in his head. There was a lot there for a start. Slayers existing… Jedi Knights not just being a fictional concept… and at the heart of this his best friend knowing and his closest other friend having a damn good suspicion – and neither of them saying anything to him!

He sat down with a suppressed sigh, pulled on his boots and started to lace them up. Of course, he couldn't blame them both for not saying anything to him at the time. The more he thought about, he could just imagine his initial reaction. "So Buffy's a Vampire Slayer? Like in the HST myth? Right… oh, there's two of them in fact? Oookay. Sorry? Xander Harris, the deputy guy from the Library is a Jedi Knight? Well, okay. Okay. So… Oz, the lead guitar with the Dingoes, is also a Jedi Knight? Uh-huh. No, it's alright, I believe you, honest. You just sit there for a bit whilst I get some nice guys with white coats to pay us a little village. They have a great regime – all the drugs you can eat and walls with padding!" That would have been nasty.

Standing up he checked himself and then, satisfied, closed and locked his locker. Forrest Gates was back on the job. He turned and walked out of the room.

It was another busy night. He could tell that the moment that he left the room and took a breath of air. People were scurrying here and there and he could smell the adrenalin in the atmosphere of the place. The cells were noisier then normal, with a lot of wailing coming from one end. Then he heard a 'whock!' of noise, as a stun baton went off and the wailing cut off instantly. He'd heard that it had been a busy week or so, but this was insane. The HSTs were far more active than they had been before, and he frowned, wondering if this was something to do with Adam.

Some moved out of the corner of his eye and he tensed slightly before looking to one side. Something big and hairy was strapped to a gurney and was being carefully wheeled down the corridor towards him. It did not look like a type of HST that had ever seen before. It also seemed to be either unconscious or asleep.

"It came in yesterday," said a level voice behind him, and he turned and then came to attention as General Finch walked up to him. "The boys in HST Identification and Evaluation don't know what to make of it. Can't say I blame them." Finch paused and then looked him up and down. "Are you sure you're fit, son?"

"Sir, yes sir!" Forrest barked. "I'm ready for duty, sir."

Finch eyed him narrowly. "Well," he said as the hairy thing passed them by, "We do need an agent of your experience out there right now. We have a lot of young operatives who'd be breakfast for any dangerous HST at the moment. You just make sure that-"

But Finch never finished his sentence, because it was at that moment that the hairy whatever-the-hell-it-was on the gurney woke up with a roar and a casual wave of a heavily muscled arm that snapped the restraints and in the process sent a technician flying across the corridor and through a doorway, where the sound of breaking furniture hinted at a meeting room.

Forrest swore under his breath and then reached down to his belt, to grasp at a weapon that wasn't there. Damn, he wasn't armed. He looked around quickly and then caught sight of the stun baton that the technician had been holding and which had parted company with him when he had taken flight. He dived for it, in the process just avoiding a swipe from the HST's free arm, and then came up with it in his hand. As he did the gurney snapped like a twig under the pressure exerted by the HST and it fell to the ground, roaring wildly and getting just enough purchase to kick one guard in the knee. He screamed and went down like a sack of potatoes, his sidearm skittering across the floor.

Forrest thumbed the switch to activate the baton and then brought it down on the HST's chest, as hard as he could. There was a loud whock of noise as it discharged, filling his nostrils with the smell of hot ozone. The HST convulsed slightly and then roared again, even louder, before ripping itself free of the gurney, throwing it to one side, and then flailing to stand up, in the process sending an arm flying out to hit Finch in the side of the head as he tried to get a clear shot with the odd-looking gun that he'd pulled out of a pocket in his battledress. The commanding officer of the Initiative flew backwards and hit the wall, hard, before slumping down.

Forrest threw the damn baton to one side and then threw himself onto the floor in a desperate attempt to scrabble for the sidearm that the guard had left to one side. His hand slapped just short of it and then he strained and grabbed it. Just in time, because at that moment the hairy thing grabbed his leg and then hoisted him up into the air as it stood up, before roaring what might have been a challenge into his face. Yuck, halitosis.

Not that it mattered, because as the HST took a breath to roar again Forrest thumbed the safety off, thumbed the hammer back unnecessarily and then pulled the trigger rapidly three times, sending a tightly-packed trio of bullets into the back of the thing's throat and sending a spray of something nasty against the wall behind it.

It just swayed there for a moment, before loosening its grip just in time for him to break his fall with his arms and then roll with the fall, bringing him up on his good leg with the gun in both hands and pointing at the HST's head. Not that he needed the precaution, because it keeled over like a dead tree and shook the ground as it fell.

"Urgh," said a voice to one side, and then Forrest looked over to see Finch getting up shakily. He was blinking hard and holding his head… and then he collected himself real fast and looked around with a great deal of attention. "Damn," he muttered, before doing two things. He raised his left hand to his left eye. And then he reached down and picked up something that was small and curved and blue and which looked awfully like a very odd contact lens.

But that wasn't fast enough to stop Forrest from seeing the glowing green eye that had peered out from his face.


	20. Things Fall Apart

This chapter should have been finished a week ago. Unfortunately I've found that it's been the hardest one that I've had to write so far. Not sure why, but I had to get it right. Hopefully I have. Oh and people wanted to know what the Jedi and the Watcher were singing. Very simple - 'Mercy Street' by the great Peter Gabriel. One last thing - I don't own these characters.

* * *

He closed the door to the armoury with his best attempt at nonchalance and then looked around. He had the latest upgrade to the ESB-2 under his arm, as well as a few goodies here and there, like the automatic tucked into an ankle holster and a large knife at his side. It was a good thing that he was known for going on patrol heavily armed.

The fact that he had a Heckler & Koch submachine gun broken down into its component parts in his backpack, along with a lot of ammunition was neither here nor there. He certainly did his best to hide the weight, but then as he was known to be recovering from a leg wound, that added to his cover, or whatever the hell he was going to call it.

As he walked down the corridor he found himself remembering the sight of that damn eye. That… glowing green eye. In the face of his commanding officer. Oh, sure, it was possible that he might have been seeing things after helping to subdue an HST that had sent him and a few others flying. But the memory of that eye kept bringing him back to earth.

No, he had not imagined it. He had seen it. And it had taken every piece of strength in him not to react at the sight of it. To flinch or run or scream at the very sight of that terrible green orb.

But he was Forrest Gates, agent of the Initiative and he had schooled himself not to flinch in the face of anything. It hadn't been easy and he'd boggled a lot at things along the way, but he'd managed it. The constant parade of HSTs had made it easier here and there.

Heh. The rep was a good one. But he'd still come close to wetting himself and running. It had only been his instinctive self control that had stopped it. Plus the thought that if Finch knew that he had seen what he had seen… well, who knew what would happen?

Which was why he'd signed up for some early patrol time. Solo patrol time in the woods during the evening. Just to get his instincts back up and running, or so he'd told the operations team. Solo patrol on his own until he could meet Riley and Graham. The only two guys he trusted enough to tell what he had seen. Even if they had not bothered to tell him about the Slayers and the Jedi in town, although he grudgingly had to admit that they did have a point. If they had just told him, then he'd have called for a pair of straitjackets and then shrugged a great deal.

He felt the comforting weight of the gun on his shoulder, took a deep breath and then walked into the lift at the end of the corridor. He had a great deal of things to think through. And a lot to do.

* * *

Xander looked as if he was doing a lot of thinking, as they walked around the campus on the way back to the library. The way Faith saw it, that wasn't a good sign. At all. Normally the Jedi was the guy with a quiet words of wisdom and the lazy smile, with the odd quip thrown in. When he was thoughtful, that tended to mean that things were bubbling away in his head that… probably meant that something nasty was up ahead.

Faith could see it quiet clearly. She could also see that Buffy could see it too. Well, she had known him longer.

"Ok, Xander, spill. What's wrong?" the blonde Slayer asked as they were passing the geography department.

The Jedi blinked slightly and then looked at them. "Ah. I was just thinking about a few things. Running the events of the past month or two through my brain. I'm not that I really like the conclusion that I seem to be headed towards."

Faith waited for a few seconds and then rolled her eyes at Buffy in exasperation before looking at Xander, who seemed to be running on autopilot again. "And that conclusion is….?" she hinted.

"One that I need to refine. And then talk to you all about once I have a better idea about it. In the meantime all that I can say is that I think I know what Adam's plan might be. It's very familiar in a nasty and very familiar way. I hate it when bad guys think alike. On the one hand it makes them predictable, but as there are so many of them out there, it takes time to narrow down their Modus Operandi."

"Can you at least give us a better hint?" asked Buffy, obviously as exasperated as Faith felt.

"I think it involves the Initiative. And I need to have a look at the map of Adam sightings again. I have a theory, but it's just speculation right now." He took a deep breath. "Buffy, Faith, when I know I'll tell you both at once. Ok? Giles and the others too."

She looked him long and hard. And then she nodded. "Ok. But I'm going to be very upset with you if you don't."

* * *

Riley pushed a knife into his boot holster and then straightened up and shrugged hard to get everything settled. Something wasn't hanging right and he paused to get his belt adjusted properly where his sidearm had done something inventive to it. There were times when he was sure that equipment had a life of its own. Scary thought in this town.

When he had everything adjusted to his satisfaction he closed his locker and turned to Graham, who was in the middle of lacing up his boots. "Why is it you always do that last?" he asked, amused.

"Habit," replied Graham tersely. "Plus I have to concentrate to do it. I am a marine after all," he added with a straight face.

Riley grinned and then looked to one side to the other locker on the row. "I wonder where Forrest is?"

"Grant told me that he'd gone out early. Something about getting back in shape again, getting back in the swing of things, or some such shit," grunted Graham as he finished one boot and started on the other. "He's going to meet us at Patrol Point Alpha at the scheduled time."

Riley mulled this for a long moment and then nodded absently. "Sounds a bit unlike Forrest, but I understand why. I just hoped that…" he expelled a sigh and then ran a hand over his chin. "Well, I hoped that tonight would be like the old days. Us again. The old team."

"He's had a lot of things to work through," muttered Graham as he finished the other boot and then stood up and stamped twice with each foot to get everything settled. "Come on Riley, there's no way that he could have just breezed back in and acted as if nothing had happened, man!"

"I know," muttered Riley. Then he turned and walked out of the door, Graham a step behind him. Time to patrol.

* * *

"Harry, I thought that you said that this place was a death trap and that going around out there at night was a very bad idea?" Jack asked caustically.

Maybourne grimaced slightly and then held a hand up in a seesaw motion for a moment. "Yes and no Jack. Yes, it is a dangerous place. But no, we know what to look out for, plus we're looking for a human. Ok, probably a human in a patrol from the Initiative. Riley Finn is out tonight, and I need to talk to him."

"Ummm, you still haven't told us how exactly you know that he's patrolling tonight," pointed out Daniel with a great deal of shrewdness. Damn, the man was learning to take whatever Maybourne said, sift it until its teeth rattled and then pick through the winnowings. You never knew what you might find and sometimes you had to look for the gaps in what Maybourne told you, because more often than not, what he _didn't_ tell you was far, far more important than what he _did_.

Not that Jack was feeling cynical or anything.

The way that Maybourne ran his hand over his beard spoke volumes, as did the way that he grimaced slightly. "Well, it's possible that the NID – and therefore the Initiative – weren't aware of some of the backdoors I programmed into their computers," he said with a distinct air of smugness.

Jack just looked at him. "Harry? Did you hack into the computers of the nice people who I've never met but who chase things with far too many teeth then I'm uncomfortable with even thinking about?"

"Yes, I did Jack," the former NID Colonel replied with a grin. "And I know where Finn is going to be patrolling tonight. So we can track him down and have a little talk."

"What about the other people in the patrol?" asked Carter with a frown.

"Not a problem," said Maybourne, "I recruited them too."

Jack sighed. "Ok. Let's have a word with Mr Finn about how he knew about plans that he shouldn't have known about."

* * *

It had been a very, very… awkward patrol so far. They had been approaching Patrol Point Alpha when Forrest had appeared from behind a tree and fallen in to one side of Riley. Without a damn word. Riley had looked at his friend and had opened his mouth to greet him… and had then caught the burning look in his eyes, the look that spoke volumes about confusion and bafflement and anger. It was like going back in time to the night when the Slayers and the Jedi had rescued them.

Riley had recoiled slightly and then shot a baffled look of his own at Graham, who was eyeing Forrest carefully before raising an eyebrow and then shaking his head slightly at Riley.

It was only once they had passed into Patrol Area Beta Two that Forrest had finally broken his silence, although before he did he pulled out his earpiece and then turned off his microphone. "Guys, we need to talk."

"You ok?" asked Riley as he and Graham disconnected themselves as well. "And this is very non-reg. You sure you're ok?"

Forrest emitted a cynical-sounding snort. "Ok… nope, I'm not ok. I'm not I'll ever be ok. Not after what I saw this afternoon that is." He looked to one side and then beckoned them over to one of the small mausoleums that dotted the cemetery that made up a large part of the patrol area.

"Ok," said Riley with a baffled sigh, "What did you see this afternoon?"

This brought out a long sigh from the other man as he leant against a small cherub and ran a tired hand over his face. Then: "How much do we know about Finch?"

"Finch?" asked Riley in the puzzled tones of someone who really doesn't want to get the men in white coats out to deal with a friend with wildly veering thoughts.

"Yes, Finch. Our commanding officer. How much do we know about him?"

"Not a lot," replied Graham. "Head cheese. Big honcho. Guy in charge. That's all we were told."

"Yeah, well, he's something else. Something more." Forrest dragged his eyes from his own boots to look at the two of them. "I was in one of the main corridors this afternoon, doing a little walking and talking and getting back into the groove after my convalescence, when I bumped into our C.O. He asked me how I was doing, and so on. At the same time some of our people were wheeling some weird new HST past on a gurney. Something big and hairy and strong. Hadn't been knocked out properly either – it got free, knocked a guard and a technician to one side and then whacked Finch against a wall. I hit it with a stun baton, but it just shrugged it off and then it went for me. I got my hands on the guards sidearm just before it lifted me off the ground, and I nailed that son of a bitch in the throat with a spread of three nine-mil, so he went down real hard."

He paused. "And then, Finch gets up from the floor, holding his head and looks around for something on the floor. Looked like a real strange blue contact lens."

Riley blinked. "I didn't know that he had contacts."

"Neither did I," said Forrest, looking straight at him, "But I'll tell you what he does have under that, and that's an eye that's green. Not green and Irish, but green and glowing like a god-damn low-voltage light."

There was a very long moment of horrible spine-crawling silence.

"I don't believe this," muttered Riley as he slumped against the side of the mausoleum. "I just don't. I mean, how bad can this thing possibly get? Are you sure about this?"

Forrest just looked at him for a long moment, and then Riley closed his eyes tiredly and ran a hand slowly over his face.

"So. What do we do about this? What _can_ we do about this?" asked Graham thoughtfully.

It was a good question. Sadly it had only one possible answer. "Bupkiss," replied Forrest. "We don't know what he is. We don't know what he wants. We don't know who to trust in the Initiative. Barring each other, of course." He smiled grimly. "We need outside help."

The look that Riley and Graham shot each other was pregnant with meaning. In fact it could have delivered triplets.

"Let me guess – Graham, you've talked to these Jedi people. And the Slayers. You've torn up procedure and most of the regulations we were told we were bound by and you… did what I should have done. If I hadn't had my head rammed up my own ass to the point where I could have seen my own lower intestine…" He paused, coughed in an embarrassed manner for a second and then shook his head as if to clear it. "Well, never mind. I may be behind the curve a bit, but I did a lot of thinking when I was recuperating. Sorry I was so quiet on you guys."

"Not a problem, man," sighed Riley with what was obviously a great deal of relief. Then he stood up and adjusted his equipment back from where his slump had disarranged it. "So it's back to patrolling and asking quiet questions and then wondering what the hell is going on then," he said as he frowned slightly and then pushed his fingers under his flak jacket and scratched at his chest for a moment.

"And sharing information with those other assets we have now," muttered Forrest with a wry smile. "Hell, if I can get used to this, then anyone can. Besides, I rather feel like staying alive through all this and one day taking home a girl that my mother can perhaps like."

"What was wrong with the last one?" asked Riley with a wry chuckle.

"Too pushy."

"And the one before?"

"Too quiet."

Riley laughed quietly for a moment and then looked up at the stars for a moment. "Ok patrolling." They looked at each other, nodded almost simultaneously and then walked around the mausoleum and straight into the path of the collection of HSTs that were coming the other way.

* * *

Xander looked out of the windscreen of his car. Ten per cent of his brain was on the red light at the intersection and the other 90 per cent was busy wading through what he knew about Adam and what he thought the cyborg-demon thing was up to. What he did know was that he had a very nasty idea what Adam was aiming at, at least in the short term. And the possible parallels with Obi-Wan's memories were positively chilling.

Order 66. It was going to be Order 66 all over again, only this time with demons and vampires instead of clones.

What he didn't know was when this little plan of Adam's was going to be launched. Not to mention the little question of if his guess was right in the first place. But… he had a feeling about this one. The pieces to the puzzle fitted too well for him to discount them.

There was also the question of how. Staring at the map for a long time, with its multi-coloured pins here and there, along with the small notes pinned to the side of the board had taken an hour or two, during which he'd barely noticed a visibly fascinated Wesley come and go, but after all that he had a sudden feeling that he knew where Adam was hiding. The only problem was that it made no sense at all. That was until he factored in the other bits and pieces.

Adam was possibly rather better informed than they had figured.

But not smarter than they were. Still, he possibly had what Giles would call a staggering amount of cheek.

The light turned green and he took his foot off the brake, put the car in gear and then drove off. He had a crypt to visit and the possessions of a very nervous vampire to pick up. Spike had insisted on that bit. The question was just one of finding out where the crypt was. "The one with the least crap urn on top, with a TV aerial nailed around its corner" did not come under his definition of helpful instructions.

* * *

Riley rolled to one side and then sent a stream of sizzling blue energy straight at the head of the very tall demon that was charging at him with a face like a pig. Whatever it was it seemed to react very badly, given the way that it collapsed bonelessly and then tried to scream through a fried mouth.

Thumbing the recharge switch frantically Riley leapt back and looked around. The damn thing needed four seconds to recharge and when it came to this sort of close-quarters fighting, four seconds could frequently stretch out like a lifetime. It was a good thing that he had moved when he did, because a vampire came sailing through the air right through the spot where he'd just been. It was beating at its flaming chest, accompanied with frenzied screams. Too late though – by the time it hit the ground it was just so much fiery dust particles.

Ok, two down, plus the three that they'd been able to take out right at the start. That just left the other eight or nine of the bastards.

Forrest swore to one side and Riley turned his head just in time to see the man drop his drained weapon and then pull out his hand weapon, which he then used to drill a nice, tight, three-bullet pattern into the forehead of the leading demon. Unfortunately although the damn thing's eyes glazed with the arrival of death, its impetus carried it straight on, collapsing as it did, right into Riley's shoulder. He had braced himself as much as he could in the half a second that he had warning for it, but it still twisted him around at least 45 degrees and knocked him off balance more than a bit.

Luckily Graham was in the process of leaping up to his feet, having changed magazines, because he could then shoot the next oncoming vampire in the face with tracer bullets. It didn't even have a chance to scream before it went down in flames.

As Riley came back around, balanced on his toes correctly again, his gun gave a quiet beep that meant that it had recharged itself properly, and he used the opportunity to assess the range of targets opposite them. The initial demon charge was petering out, with two slowing down and trying to work out what the hell was going on, whilst another was busy panting some way away as it tried to catch up to the fight. He could almost smell the brain cells burning as minds that were not used to fast thinking tried to go into overdrive. One vampire was still on the ground making horrible noises from where Riley's boot, acting purely by instinct, had lashed out and caught it in the nuts. Another was still trying to remove Forrest's knife from its leg without ruining its leather pants whilst turning the air blue around it, and a third was standing against a nearby crypt, looking as if it was about to wet itself with fear, and searching its coat desperately for something.

A fourth was busy lifting a sword that it had finally freed from the hand of the first, and now very dead, demon, and as it did Riley sent a burst of energy straight into its chest. It screamed with pain, and then fear and then finally just blew apart into yet more fiery particles.

Unfortunately that made four discharges in less than a minute and that meant that the damn thing would be useless for at least 30 seconds, so he hit the locking button and then dropped it. They were useful for jab and dab raids, but for these kinds of melees you needed something more reliable, so he pulled out his automatic with his left hand and then his bayonet with his right hand. Ok, so the long blade was archaic, but hell it made for a good weapon.

The vampire that would be singing soprano for a while wobbled to its feet and then looked up, its face a mask of pain and indescribable fury. It really should have either stayed down or crawled away, because Riley's instant response was to shoot it twice in the head. One round was an incendiary, and again a vampire died without even being able to scream.

"One o'clock is mine!" said Graham to one side and then sent another tight burst of bullets into the chest of the greener of the two demons, who had both just decided that attack was the best form of defence. It seemed to have some kind of carapace, but that wasn't much of a defence against a bunch of 9mm bullets, especially as one of those bullets seemed to bounce upwards off a tough bit of armour and then make a horrible mess of its throat.

That just left the less green demon, the two vampires and the oncoming thing. Forrest took care of the former, by sending a bullet straight through one eye and making a very revolting Rorschach pattern on the wall of the nearby crypt. The prone vampire had finally stopped swearing, had written his pants off as being ruined, and had removed Forrest's knife, obviously with the object of gutting them all with it. Unfortunately no-one had ever told him that it was not a very good idea to bring a knife to a gun fight, because Riley and Graham fired five rounds into it almost simultaneously, sending it up in flames in record time.

It was at this point that the world took a turn for the distinctly weird, because three things happened, almost all at the same time. The first was that the three Initiative agents all registered the sound of running feet, followed by the sound of a rapid halt and muttered swearwords. The second was that the final demon took that moment to make its appearance. It was somewhere around seven feet tall, had a lot of needle-sharp teeth, had biceps the size of Ohio, very impractical-looking horns, and was covered with what looked like very hard dark red skin. And the third thing was that the last of the vampires gave a moan of relief and then pulled out a small and rather rusty-looking handgun from an inside pocket, which he aimed shakily at first an inoffensive bush and than at Riley.

* * *

Crap, though Jack as the six ran through the entrance to the cemetery, this was a very bad idea. But the moment that they had heard the sound of fighting, and then the sound of gunshots and screaming, their choices had narrowed to two. One was to walk the other way. Yeah, right, as if that was a viable option. And the other was to find out what the hell was going on, when the chances were that they already knew. Some patrol from the Initiative had run into trouble, and that was enough to get him to run good and hard. Damn NID idiots, sticking their noses into… well, places that a few weeks ago he would have dismissed as the ravings of lunatics.

He could see movement up ahead, and he pulled out his automatic carefully, grabbing his right wrist with his left hand, to brace it. Running with a gun was amazingly stupid, a small and distant part of his brain screamed, but there were times when you just had to do it.

He freed his left hand briefly to gesture at Teal'c to go right with Bra'tac and then at Carter and Daniel to stay with him. Maybourne stayed with them, like the ingrowing toenail that he was.

As they drew closer he could see three figures up against maybe ten, and the trio were more than holding their own, as what had to be vampires faded into fiery outlines. But then there were the other things there… the shapes that weren't human, and Jack suddenly found himself swallowing hard, as his throat was very dry all of a sudden. Demons. Actual demons. It had been one thing to read about them in files, but to see them here… right in front of him… hell.

Then he snapped back and focussed. What the hell. An enemy was an enemy. He grasped his right wrist again as the four came to a halt and brought their weapons to bear on the tall thing that was walking up into the light. Whatever it was it was pissed, because it stamped on the path once, cracking the surface with ugly-looking stress lines and then threw its head back and screamed what sounded like a challenge into the night sky.

The three Initiative agents swung their own weapons around slightly as all this was happening, their eyes widening at the sight of the new people entering their own private war, but then Maybourne shouted: "Home team! Thunderclap one!" Whatever the hell that meant, Jack had no idea, but the trio all relaxed slightly and then brought their weapons to bear on the demon, which was glaring at them.

Behind it a vampire was pointing a wavering hand that contained a small gun at… hell it was Riley Finn!

"Gun!" shouted Jack and then fired a three-tap at the vampire's head. All three hit and the thing that had once been a man jerked wildly, as its fingers convulsed and the gun it was holding went off. A fraction of a second later Maybourne fired his own weapon, and three glowing rounds impacted the vampire's chest, before it caught fire and exploded.

All this seemed to infuriate the whatever-it-was demon, because it screamed with rage and then lunged at Gates, who fired straight at its chest. Unfortunately the only result was a dull whining noise as the bullet bounced off somewhere. The demon grunted at the impact and then swept a hand into the agent's side, sending him flying off to one side, where he landed with a hell of a noise.

"Shit!" growled Jack and fired himself, sending another three-group at its head. Then he did his best not to gape, because the demon's head stopped each slug in its tracks, like it had Kevlar for skin. It whipped its head around to glare at him and then turned itself to… and then Teal'c was standing there in front of it.

The creature let out another scream of challenge, or warning, or 'I've got big horns', or what ever it was, but the Jaffa just stood there and glared back at it. Then it unleashed another hand, this time straight at the chest of the former First Prime of Apothis. If it had hit it probably would have gone straight through him – but it didn't. At the proverbial last moment Teal'c grabbed the onrushing fist with his hand and slowed it to a standstill.

The demon blinked hard for a moment and then flexed various muscles in an attempt to overcome Teal'c's grip. It failed. After a moment of thought it then seemed to remember that it had another arm, because it then brought it around and tried to take the Jaffa's head off – only for Teal'c's other hand to flash out and bring that one to a halt as well.

There followed a few seconds of silence, as various horrible creaking noises spoke of tendons undergoing a massive amount of strain. Sweat stood out on Teal'c's face and blood vessels raised little pulsing freeways of relief on his arms.

The demon then looked down at each arm in bemusement and then made a fatal mistake. It opened its mouth and screamed some sort of challenge again into the Jaffa's face, possibly hoping to stun him with its terminal halitosis. Jack could smell the stink from where he was standing. Teal'c's response was original – he headbutted it from a standing start. As his head impacted the demon's face its jaws slammed together and various pointy teeth broke off it its mouth with an audible crunch.

As the demon reeled Teal'c took the lapse in its attention as an opportunity to twist its arms to one side and then wrench them inward with a complicated bit of wristwork. Something inside each armoured arm grated and snapped and then suddenly the demon screamed again, this time in agony. The Jaffa grunted with effort and then threw the thing back whilst releasing his grip, sending it reeling away with its arms held akimbo in pain and its mouth dribbling shards of teeth. Teal'c then picked up one of the fallen knives on the ground and threw it straight at the demon's head, where it almost vanished inside an eye socket. It was dead before it even started to topple over and hit the ground.

"An interesting challenge," panted Teal'c as he rubbed the red mark on his forehead gingerly.

"You seem to have learnt your lessons well," grinned Bra'tac, like the skinny old son of a bitch that he was. Then he sobered. "It looked like a formidable challenge."

"It was most strong," admitted Teal'c. "But it lacked skill."

"Sorry to interrupt, but who the hell are you?" broke in Gates as he limped over from where he'd been thrown to, in the process passing Finn, who was frowning and scratching at his shoulder. Then Gates caught sight of Maybourne and stiffened to attention, along with Miller. "Colonel Maybourne sir!"

"At ease gentlemen," soothed the little weasel quietly. "Especially as I'm not a colonel any more and I haven't been in charge of you for a while."

Gates's mouth dropped open for a moment, wandered around for an equally long moment and then he seemed to reacquire it again. "Sir, I thought you were in Leavenworth?"

"What can I say, Agent Gates… well, apart from 'the food was terrible.'" Then Maybourne sobered. "I… had a number of reasons for not wanting to stay in custody Gentlemen. I won't bore you with them, but there were a number of matters of national security."

Yeah, thought Jack bitterly any enemy of el dirtbag Kinsey is my friend. Well, ally. Ok, nodding acquaintance.

"Plus," said Maybourne grimly, "As the person who got the late and it seems very unlamented Director Maggie Walsh appointed to command the Initiative, I feel a certain amount of responsibility for the way that things have gone recently. I did not, for a start, give her permission to start on the project that you're hunting. I believe that you call it 'Adam' and I also believe that you have taken some savage losses from it recently, given the funerals that took place recently."

"You know about Adam, sir?" asked Miller with a certain degree of incredularity. Jack winced slightly. He was starting to suspect that they had no idea that Maybourne had more layers than an onion at times.

"Oh yes," sighed Maybourne. "I wish that I didn't, but I do. Ever since Agent Finn saw me at one of the funerals of your team mates and then ambushed me at the next funeral, I've been wondering why on earth I pushed for Walsh to be appointed. Oh and I told Finn not to tell you that he'd seen me."

Miller and Gates jerked their heads around at Finn, but he wasn't looking back at them. He was busy staring down at his chest and then pushing two fingers under the edge of his Kevlar jacket. And thanks to the light from the path lantern above, Jack could see that both fingers were covered in blood. "I wondered where that bullet went," said Finn in a wondering voice and then he went down like a puppet whose strings had been cut and everything went nuts.

Gates and Miller leapt for their fallen team member like salmon going up a waterfall, no hesitation at all. Carter and Daniel went with them, and they all almost banged heads together over the recumbent figure. Jack himself darted to one side and looked around, before ordering Teal'c to help him guard the area. The last thing they wanted now was to get ambushed again by whatever the hell went bump in the night in the area. Bra'tac watched, quirked an eyebrow in approval and then joined them, whilst Maybourne flapped his mouth for a moment and then hurried over to join the throng.

By now Gates and Miller had been able to get Finn's jacket at least loosened and lifted away from the wound enough for Carter to shine a flashlight on it and examine it intently. Then she looked up, looking confused. "Sir, it's a small entrance wound. Can you find the weapon?"

Jack huffed for a moment as he looked around and then jogged quickly over to where the vampire of a thousand terrors had been standing. It had to be about… there. He squatted down on his haunches and parted some grass stems. "Looks like a .22," he grumbled. Then he picked the weapon up with a finger and a thumb. "A very rusty .22 – I'm amazed the damn thing didn't blow up when he fired it."

This brought a confused look from Carter. "I don't understand. There's no way that a bullet that small could have caused this kind of reaction in him. His pulse is thready and erratic and the amount of blood is relatively small and-"

Whatever she had been about to add would remain unsaid for the time being, because Finn suddenly opened his eyes for a moment and then the man convulsed as if someone had just stuck a power cable onto his spine and then plugged the cable into a nuclear power station, because his limbs thrashed and his spine arched. And then he started to scream, an ugly choking, choppy sound that raised the hackles on the back of Jack's neck. After a moment he relaxed slightly, but that was only for a second or two, because then his body twisted into a new and equally horrible shape as another scream, this one louder than the first ripped out of him.

"Carter?" shouted Jack in alarm and she shot a tight, white-faced look of bafflement at him.

"I don't know what's causing this!" she said desperately as she fumbled to get a field dressing onto the wound. "It doesn't make any sense!"

Another scream tore into the air and then one of Finn's flailing hands made contact with Miller's throat – and then squeezed. The NID agent gave out a choking sound and then turned red as he scrabbled at Finn's fingers, but neither he nor Daniel seemed to be able to get that grip loose. Maybourne was hovering over Finn's elbow, clutching his gun by the barrel and about to strike, when all of a sudden Finn relaxed with a sigh. Jack stared at him, a horrible certainty rising inside him – and then Carter straightened up, with a syringe in her hand.

"I gave him something to put him under," she said, relaxing slightly as Miller fell onto his side and then took a great whooping breath of air into his lungs. "Sir, I don't know what's wrong with him, but we need to get him to a doctor as quickly as possible." She looked around. "Does the Initiative have an infirmary?"

"Yes," said Gates slowly as he looked at Finn with concern. "But we don't know how much we can trust our own people right now. Or at least our commanding officer. We think that he might have been compromised."

"Or rather," rasped Miller as he rubbed his throat, "We don't… know what he… is."

"What?" asked Jack and Maybourne at the same moment, before he turned to glare at the rogue NID Colonel. "Stop that."

"You started it."

"Well stop it anyway." He turned back to Gates. "What exactly do you mean 'compromised'?"

"I-" Gates started and then stopped, before looking at Maybourne. "Sir, who are these people anyway?"

"They're with the Air Force," sighed Harry Maybourne. "They're part of a unit that is even more classified than the Initiative and much as I hate to say it they can be trusted. They found out about the Initiative as a part of an investigation they were running here in Sunnydale into Major Wilkins."

Amongst other things, thought Jack, things that we still haven't been able to work out, like a certain Alexander Harris.

Gates looked like a very suspicious kind of guy, which was probably a good thing generally, but a bad thing right here and right now, as he looked at them all with narrowed eyes. Then he looked down at his fallen and bleeding friend and relaxed just a hair. "Ok, sir. Brigadier-General Finch has a green eye. I don't mean green as in a green cornea, but green as in entire eye, plus it glows, and as I can't explain that normally, I have to think that it suggests that he's not exactly on the level."

They all stared at him for a moment. "A… green eye?" Maybourne muttered quietly. "Yes… I can imagine that that might give you reason to doubt him." Then he shook himself visibly out of his shock. "Ok, then if not the Initiative then where?"

Miller stood up slowly and then looked at Gates for a moment. Whatever passed between them had to be pretty major, because all of a sudden Gates blew up. "Graham you can't be serious! Are you nuts? What makes you think that they can even help in the first place?"

"They have access to things that we can't understand, Forrest," Miller rasped back savagely. "Or have you forgotten what they did to help us?"

Gates opened his mouth… and then closed it again with an audible snap, before looking at Maybourne and the others with a slightly wild eye. "And them?"

Miller looked around and then allowed a very small and wintry smile to play about the lower part of his mouth for a moment. "We'll see." Then he looked down at Finn. "Ok, we have a place where we can take him for help. It's a bit… unorthodox… but it should at least he able to help him. We have some alternative contacts here in Sunnydale, ones who know about HSTs and vampires and everything."

"Alternative? In what way?" Maybourne asked with a frown

Gates and Miller just looked at each other again and then Miller chuckled slightly with a certain amount of bewilderment of his own. "Sir, you have no idea what they can do, but when Adam and his things ambushed us they pulled us out of it before we joined the list of the dead. We can trust them. Riley trusts them."

Maybourne looked at Jack and then shrugged slightly, before looking back at them. It was at that point that Finn chose to stir slightly and issue a faint groan, causing Carter to dart back down to his side and peer at the wound again. "Sir, wherever we go, we need to go _now_."

Jack nodded sharply and then holstered his sidearm. "Teal'c, help me to carry Finn. Gates, Miller, you know where to go, so guide us. Everybody else keep your eyes open and your weapons free – I do not want to run into any nasty surprises whilst I'm carrying this guy. Go!"

* * *

"Where's my lucky knuckle bone?" asked Spike as he peered into the box. "And did you grab my favourite pair of leather trousers?"

Directing a very level stare at the vampire, Xander put the box down. "Lucky knuckle bone?"

"Yeah, I got it off a girl who was looking for the seamier side of life in Paris in the 1930's and… I… don't think you want to hear that story, do you?"

"Nope," said Xander dryly, "I certainly don't." Then he paused. "Lucky leather trousers? I thought that they were all the same?"

"Naah," grinned the vampire as he took another slurp of pigs blood from the mug he was holding in his hand, "Can't you tell the difference at all?"

"I don't want to know, it was bad enough grabbing your things from your crypt," Xander groaned. "Well, that's the last of it."

"Yes," muttered Giles as he walked out of the kitchen clutching a very empty box of wheatabix. "And I for one will be very glad once I can pass all of this rubbish on to your next crypt. Can I ask if you've been looking to see what the vampire housing market has on its books recently?"

"Oi, don't bite my head off just because your bird's out of town right now," the blond vampire grumbled as he peered into his mug. "And it's not my fault that the wheatabix adds texture, is it?"

"Death, where is thy sting," the Watcher muttered as he grabbed the box that Xander had just set down and moved it roughly to a corner of the room. As Spike opened his mouth to protest, he seemed to notice the death glare that Giles was emitting, as he closed his mouth quickly and then smiled faintly.

Xander smiled himself and then turned to Giles. "I think I need to tell you something," he said quietly. "It only hit me today and I've been mulling it over for more than a few hours… but I have a very nasty feeling that I know what Adam's up to, at least in the short to medium term." He closed his eyes as he said the last few words, his mind drifting into unpleasant memories.

There was a short silence, before Giles finally coughed slightly. "And… would you care to enlighten us about this feeling?"

"And is there enough information to let me get a head start out of this bloody place as fast as I can?" Spike broke in. "'Cos believe me I want to!"

Xander started slightly, dragging his mind away from the horribly clear remembrance of the slaughtered younglings at the Jedi Temple. "What? Oh, sorry." He cleared his throat slightly, giving himself enough time to clear his mind at the same time.

"I think Adam's doing an Order 66." He caught their blank expressions and then smiled slightly. "You don't know what that is. Ok. The Clone Wars were essentially started by the Sith as a means of creating chaos in the Republic and allowing its President to amass totally unheard-of powers. What the Jedi didn't know was that the President of the Republic, Palpatine, was also a Sith Lord.

"His plan was to start the war off, with the Republic battling the Separatists. The Separatists used droids in their armies. The Republic used human clones who had been conditioned with varying degrees of skill and ability, and who were commanded by Jedi.

"The plan did two things. It scattered Jedi throughout the Galaxy, with their clones behind them, in the process taking steady losses. And when Palpatine felt that the time was right, he activated a secret part of the conditioning that each clone had received. It was called Order 66. It told the clones to kill the Jedi commanding them." Xander grimaced. "Hundreds of Jedi were wiped out in a matter of minutes. Killed by the people they thought they could trust."

"That sounds quite terrible," muttered Giles. "However, I fail to see the connection to our present situation."

"It fits, Giles. Adam wants to take over the Initiative, right, or at least neutralise it. First he weakens it. That was the reason behind that ambush that Riley and the others barely escaped from. How many of the Initiative's best people died in that? And how experienced are their replacements?

"Then I think he's going to take it out. We haven't seen a big upswing in vampire and demon activity recently, but the Initiative has. Why?"

Giles opened his mouth to say something, changed his mind and then closed it again. Instead it was Spike who answered the question. "Oh my god… he's getting his own blokes into the Initiative. He's packing the cells with his own army." He grinned. "Not a bad plan at all!" Then he caught the looks that he was getting. "For an evil mechanical-human-demon creature of darkness that is! Tut tut!"

"Yes, thank you for the massive insincerity, Spike," muttered Giles. Then he turned back to Xander. "But that still means that they're imprisoned in cells within the Initiative. How can Adam start his little war by freeing them?"

"Good question. I don't know exactly, but I can guess. Spike, you said that the Initiative cell you were in was quite high-tech, right?"

"More bloody bells and electronic whistles than you can shake a stick at," the vampire admitted. "It was like being on the set of that Woody Allen movie. You know, the one with the Orgasmatron."

"Thank you Spike," groaned Giles with a pained expression. "That's one film I'll never be able to watch with quite the same amount of enjoyment ever again."

"If I could just refocus us all a bit. It probably relies on computers a lot. What does Adam have hardwired into himself?"

There was a nasty silence. "Oh bugger," said Giles and Spike at the same time and in eerily similar tones of voice.

"Before you say anything else, it's just a theory. But I think it's one that stands up in the face of the evidence. And while I have no idea of the timing involved, I think that it's going to be triggered soon, given the way that Riley and others said that the cells were filling up. I think we need to get everyone in tomorrow and talk this thing through."

"Make sure you do that," said Spike in tones of immense false sincerity. "In the mean time I'll be making my own arrangements tomorrow to get the hell out of here." He drained his mug, wiped his mouth and then looked around. "Where'd I leave that bottle of whiskey again? I feel the need to get very drunk."

"You left it by the bath, for reasons that I have yet to understand," said Giles absently, his mind obviously on other things.

"Oh good. So, am I kipping there tonight or on the sofa?"

"The sofa, as long as you don't get whiskey on it again," Giles muttered.

"Right," replied Spike as he wandered into the bathroom. "Thanks. Whiskey."

Giles watched him go with a slight frown and then turned back to Xander. "I think we should get in Buffy and Faith as soon as possible tomorrow morning, to at least-" He stopped in surprise as someone banged insistently on the front door. "Who on earth could that be?"

As he stood up and walked over to the spy hole Xander frowned himself. He was picking up some very odd signals in the Force from whoever was on the other side of the door. He could feel anger and fear, bafflement and... pain. Pain and desperate worry.

Giles looked through the hole in the door and then gasped. "Good god!" he exclaimed and then opened it hurriedly. "What on earth happened?" he asked as Graham Miller strode quickly in, dressed in body armour and holding a machine gun in a very competent manner. Right on his footsteps came Forrest Gates, similarly equipped and looking as uncomfortable as hell.

And then Riley came in… unconscious, with blood on him… and being carried by Colonel Jack O'Neill and the African-American-looking guy who gave off such an odd feeling in the Force.

"I'm sorry to bother you Mr Giles," said Graham shortly, "But Riley's been injured."

"I can see that," Giles replied carefully, as he looked at the men who were carrying the injured agent, and narrowing his eyes slightly at the sight of Daniel Jackson and Samantha Carter, as well as the two other man, neither of whom Xander recognised.

Speaking of recognising it was at this point that O'Neill caught sight of Xander himself and slowed slightly. This was a bad idea as it forced the duck egg guy, Tealc or whatever it was, to swing around slightly to cope, and the resulting snafu very nearly had them waltzing around in a tight circle or two. Fortunately they recovered in time to put Riley down on the sofa.

"Colonel O'Neill," drawled Xander lightly. "You seem to be very well armed for a visitor to our interesting little town."

"You know this guy?" Graham broke in with a frown.

"We've met," replied Xander. "We had a little chat about something I patented once and which the Air Force wants to get their hands on."

"Can we please hold off on the introductions until someone explains why Mr Finn is bleeding on my sofa?" asked Giles with an understandable amount of caustic sarcasm in his voice. He walked over and knelt down next to Riley, tilting his head to peer at what looked like a bloody field dressing.

Graham winced. "Sorry, Mr Giles. We got jumped by a group of HSTs – vampires and demons – in that cemetery off our main patrol area. We took them down, but the smallest and weakest of the vampires had a gun, which went off. I didn't think that it had hit anyone at first – and then Riley went down. Thing is, then he convulsed. Whatever that bullet is, it's not normal."

"I see," said Giles as he looked at the dressing. "Xander can you take a look at this? I think that your… skills… are better suited than mine. And can I ask you why you didn't simply take him back to the Initiative?"

"We aren't sure that our commanding officer is human," replied Graham as Xander walked over to the recumbent form of Riley and stretched out his senses with the Force.

Xander stood there for a moment, his eyes narrowed and his hand poised in the air as he probed with the Force. Interesting. Yes, there was a bullet there… but what was the other thing?

"Do you have the gun?" Xander asked. "Because there's something very odd going on here. I don't know what, but there's more than a bullet in there."

"How can you tell?" O'Neill asked. The guy had been glaring around at both him and Giles for some time and had then expanded his gaze to include Graham. "Miller, why the hell are we here and why are you telling him classified information?"

"Like I said, Colonel, we can trust them. More than I trust you right now I might add. Colonel Maybourne there might vouch for you, but I don't know you, whilst I do know Xander. And they knew about the Initiative before we knew about them."

Xander stared down the wound whilst the bickering rose in the background. Then he grabbed his cell phone and hit speed dial. It rang three times and was then answered. "Oz? Hi, it's Xander. I need to see you ASAP over at Giles's place. Right now, Oz, Riley's been injured and there's something in the wound that I can't identify. Oh. Great, so we'll see you in a few minutes. And Oz, we have guests here, so stoic face on please." He turned the phone off and then looked at Giles. "He was on his way over anyway with Willow. They had some news for us."

"Are these more people who know about the Initiative?" drawled O'Neill. "And can I ask how the hell you found out it about it? And how you were able to just look at a wound and then figure out that there was something wrong with it when…" He ground to a halt. "Oh crap. Are you some kind of magic demon thing?"

"Demon, no. My ability to look at the wound…" he smiled. "You can call it a kind of magic if you like, Colonel. If you know about vampires and demons, then you must know about magic by now."

O'Neill took a deep breath and then opened his mouth for a moment, before then closing it again. "That's not much of an answer."

"I don't think that you'd believe the truth."

"Try me anyway," he shot back with a small, dry, smile.

"Not until I think that you'd believe me. And I think that you're the kind of person who'd need a lot of proof. Besides, this is one secret that my friends know about. I'm not really ready to class you as a friend any time soon."

Whatever O'Neill was about to say next was stopped in its tracks by the sound of the door knocker. Giles strode over to the door, pausing only to raise an eyebrow at the old guy with a beanie to match ol' Duck Egg, who was standing by the door and looking as if he was about to either chuckle or kick the door down. Possibly both. He caught Giles's eye and then moved to one side with a graceful bow of his head. The Watcher looked out of the spy hole grunted with relief and then opened the door to admit Oz and Willow.

The Jedi Knight came in first, with Willow following him. He raised an eyebrow at the old guy, swept the others with a level gaze and then raised both eyebrows at Riley. Then he removed Willow's hand from his arm, possibly to remove what appeared to be a death grip on several important veins.

"Interesting company," drawled Oz as the two walked over to the sofa. Then he looked down at the wound. Xander could feel the pulse in the Force as Oz embraced it. And then the other Jedi frowned slightly. "What the hell is that?"

"It's a guy who's been shot in the upper chest," drawled O'Neill, not that Oz seemed to hear him.

Instead Oz knelt down next to Riley and peered hard at his chest, before looking up. "Help me get this chest armour off him. I need to be able to get to the wound."

Graham and Forrest stepped forwards and carefully started to ease the Kevlar protection off their friend, loosening buckles as much as they could. After a moment they paused. "We need to get him upright to pull this thing over his head," muttered Forrest. Then he paused as he looked at Oz. "Hi again. I never did thank you properly for saving our asses from Adam."

"Not a problem," replied Oz. "Just trying to help out. Xander, can you help me get him upright?" Both Jedi used their hands – and slight touches of the Force – to get the unconscious Riley as upright as they could whilst as gently as they could. "Ok, guys, on three. One – two- three!"

The armour came off and then Oz was busy inspecting the bloodied uniform. "Knife please. Something sharp." Forrest pulled a knife out of an ankle holster and placed it in his waiting hand. Oz nodded once and then used it to cut open Riley's shirt and then peel off the field dressing to expose the wound, which was crusted with blood. "Giles I need some warm water in a bowl and a cloth. Oh and I need a small, sharp knife. Sterilised as well as possible. Either boil it in some water or use some alcohol."

The Watcher nodded and then looked at Samantha Carter. "Major, the kitchen is there. If you and Dr Jackson can get the water please? You'll find some cloths under the sink and a bowl in the cupboard to the right. I think I know just the knife, which I will get now. Plus there's some Romanian plum brandy that a cousin of mine sent me last Christmas. Dreadful stuff, but if it'll peel the varnish off a table, then it'll also sterilise a knife."

He walked over to a chest by one wall, opened it and started to sort through the contents, some of which seemed to intrigue Duck Egg. "An impressive array of weapons," rumbled the guy.

Giles looked up and directed a wintry smile at him. "Sadly necessary in this town. Ah!" He straightened up holding a small but lethal-looking throwing knife in a sheath. Pulling it partially out he tested the edge carefully with one finger. "Excellent." Then he looked up to see Daniel Jackson walking towards the sofa carrying a bowl of hot water. Major Carter was behind him with a cloth in one hand and a frown on her face.

"How did you know my rank?" she shot sharply at Giles as she handed the cloth over to Oz.

"I know a great many things about this town, Major Carter," he replied evenly as he walked over to the drinks cabinet and then rummaged about in the very back. "I also know Xander, who told me about your first trip. And your second, when I met Dr Jackson here. Plus there have been times when you've all been about as stealthy as an elephant with a trumpet tied to its trunk." He grabbed a square bottle with a picture of a man with a moustache on the front and then walked past them all into the kitchen. When he re-emerged a moment later his eyes were watering slightly and he had the knife dunked into a small bowl, which he handed to Oz, who recoiled slightly from the smell of the clear liquid inside it.

"Holy Hannah," muttered the Jedi Knight with a grimace.

"I told you it was strong," said Giles with a quirk of his mouth. Then he looked up to see Carter, Jackson, O'Neill and Duck Egg all staring at him. "What? Oh. Well, you have been wandering around a lot and asking questions."

"Let's stick to the matter at hand, shall we?" smiled Xander as he looked over Oz's shoulder to where his friend was carefully sponging down the wound on Riley's chest. "What the hell is in there?"

"I don't know," said Oz grimly, "But the more I look at it the more weird it looks. Something's in there and interfering with his nervous system, and it's not the bullet." He looked around. "Someone hold him down – I need to sterilise the wound area."

Forrest and Graham moved over to grab Riley's shoulders between them, whist Duck Egg grabbed his legs. Oz nodded and the pulled the knife from the small bowl and then splashed some of the alcohol on the wound. Riley moaned deeply and tensed, but with three men hanging onto him he wasn't able to thrash around. Even as he relaxed Oz moved with lightning speed to cut into the wound, widening it slightly with two deep incisions. Riley tensed again and then relaxed as Oz placed a hand over the wound and closed his eyes. "I had… to open the wound to get a better idea of what was… in there. Bullet's small... Damn, there are rust flakes in the wound. I can get those… and the bullet is moving up…" he removed his hand, his eyes still closed and waited. After a long moment a small copper-coloured cylindrical shape streaked with blood emerged from the wound and rose in the air to hover over a few inches over the unconscious form of Riley Finn.

"That's impossible," gasped Carter after a long moment.

"Not really," replied Oz as he plucked the bullet out of the air and peered at it. "Not badly deformed at all – it kept its copper casing. Must have been a very badly maintained gun, with all that rust. Plus ammunition. There you go." He dropped the bullet into the trembling hand of Forrest Gates and then looked back at the wound. "There is something in there still. And it's too big for the bullet to have taken into it. Too complex too. I'm picking up… electronics?" He looked up at Xander, Willow and Oz sharply. "It's a chip. I don't know if it's like Spike's but it's a chip and it's pressing against a nerve cluster. Maybe the bullet damaged it, or pushed it against the nerves too hard."

"Oh crap," groaned Xander as he ran a hand over his chin. He had a nasty feeling that they should have called in Buffy, but things were fragile and dangerous enough with the people from the SGC here, seeing things that they had no clue about. But once an egg is cracked you can't put it back in the shell, as Dex used to say. He did some very hard and quick thinking. "How complex is it? And is it as inoperable as Spike's?"

Oz paused and closed his eyes for a moment. "Very complex. But not inoperable. I can take this one out, with some care. It isn't attached to as many interesting nerve endings." He opened his eyes again and grimaced. "But I don't know what's going to happen when I disconnect it. You guys had better hold him down again, just to be on the safe side."

The same three men grabbed Riley and then looked at him. Oz nodded, more to himself than anyone else and then stared down at the wound, with the most intent expression that Xander had ever seen on his face. After a long moment he sighed slightly. "It's free," he muttered and at that same moment Riley tensed, his muscles standing out like cordwood as he flailed for a moment against the three straining figures who struggled to hold him down. And then he went limper than a than a tired noodle, slumping down bonelessly onto the sofa.

Oz took a deep breath and then concentrated again. There was another long moment and then the tip of something broke free of the wound. It slowly pushed out like an obscene technological version of a birth, to reveal a chip about the size of Xander's thumbnail. It didn't look that threatening, but Xander stared at it as if it was steeped in the Dark Side. Oz was obviously taking no chances with it, because he stared at it long and hard before plucking it out of the air with a careful hand and a slight shudder of disquiet.

"I don't know what the hell it is," he said quietly, "But I can guess who put it in him. Although I have no idea why I didn't sense it in him before. Maybe it wasn't active."

"Walsh," said Xander a millisecond before Willow and Giles did. He shook his head. "Her work lives on. Only met her a few times, but I failed to enjoy each meeting."

"How long has that been in him?" asked Forrest in a tone that combined fascination with deep loathing.

Oz shrugged. "Hard to say. There was no surface scarring that I could see. Months at the very least."

"Jesus!" exploded Forrest, who then shot a startled glance at Graham. Then they both stared at him. "Do we have any of those things in us?"

Xander raised both eyebrows. "Good question. Oz?"

His fellow Jedi stared at the pair of them for a long moment, his eyes glassy. Then he shook his head. "Now that I know what to look for, I can't sense them in you. Riley here must have been a test subject."

"Do you know what it does?" asked a quiet voice from across the room, and Xander looked up to see the bearded guy, Maybourne, peering over at Riley and looking worried.

The Jedi looked at each other and then Xander turned and shrugged. "No idea. But if it was anything to do with Walsh, then it has to be potentially very bad indeed, as I wouldn't have trusted her as far as I could throw her." He thought the metaphor over. "OK, as far as Giles could throw her." Then he blinked slightly as the front door opened and closed silently.

"I wouldn't have thrown her," muttered Giles, "I'd have kicked her."

"Right!" exploded O'Neill, who had obviously been on a very short fuse for some time now, "Who the hell or rather what the hell are you people???"

"Hi," said a voice from the doorway. "I'm Buffy. The Vampire Slayer. This is Birdy the sword. And you have exactly ten seconds to explain why my boyfriend is lying on the sofa covered in blood."


	21. The Centre Holds

This chapter is about a fortnight late and half the length that I had planned it to be. Life, unfortunately, has intervened, and in a week's time I will be a married man. Gosh. Luckily my best man is sensible and there is little chance of my waking up tied to a sheep on the outskirts of Riga on the day before the weddiing. Hopefully the next chapter will emerge... eventually, after the honeymoon.

* * *

Swords, Jack knew, were archaic weapons that were utterly useless in this day and age. Unfortunately that information was not very reassuring when the business end of a very sharp example of the sword masters art was being waved in front of you by a very pretty young woman who also looked disturbingly proficient in the use of the damn thing.

Buffy Summers was every inch the California valley girl. She was wearing a leather jacket, pants that didn't so much flatter as accentuate, boots that that were both practical and stylish and oh, yes, that damn sword.

"I'm still waiting…." She said in tones of sickly sweet reason that also displayed a fair amount of extreme anger hiding beneath it.

"He… got shot?" ventured Jack after a moment.

This was true but was hardly reassuring, because her eyebrows contracted and her eyes became, if such a thing was possible, even more like miniature chips of diamond that had been covered in ice. She looked at Finn quickly and then at this Oz guy, whoever or whatever the hell he was, and then dragged her gaze back to Jack. Said glance took a fraction of a second, which was impressive.

"Who shot him?" she ground out between slightly gritted teeth.

"A… vampire?" replied Jack with an internal groan from the part of his brain that still wanted to deny that this entire fubar situation was even happening.

"It's true Buffy," said Miller to one side. "Bunch of HSTs stumbled onto us on our patrol. We took them out but the last fang face pulled a gun on us. He didn't seem that threatening at the time and the gun didn't look too big, but he fired it just before he died and it hit Riley."

"You can put the sword down now please Buffy," chided the Giles guy with a small and rather smug smile. "I think that you've made your point, and Oz is treating Riley now."

Summers swept SG1, and Bra'tac and Maybourne, with those very hard eyes and then nodded slightly and returned the sword to a sheath that hung under her coat from what looked like a reinforced leather loop. Then she hurried over to the sofa and became a mass of raging female ministration.

Jack let out a breath that he hadn't really realised he'd been holding and then looked around as others did something similar. Except for Maybourne, who was staring at Summers with what looked very much like astonished bafflement.

"Will he be ok?" Summers demanded of the Giles guy, who nodded at Oz.

"He got shot," Oz replied laconically. "It's not too bad though. The bullet didn't do too much damage, partly because I think it was a bit old. No, what caused the collapse was this." And he held up the chip, which Summers stared at with a great deal of confusion.

"What's that?" She asked.

"A very good question," sighed Giles as he crossed his arms. "It was in his chest. According to Oz the bullet was touching it, and might well have damaged it somehow."

"Why would he have an electronic chip in his chest?" she asked slowly and then looked around at Gates and Miller, who both shook their heads grimly.

"You got me, Buffy," Miller replied. "We didn't know he had one and Oz confirmed that we don't have any ourselves."

She turned back to Oz again and then all of a sudden something happened to her eyes, because all of a sudden they were agate chips again. "Walsh," she hissed from between what sounded like clenched teeth.

"Good guess," said Harris from his new perch by the window. He was staring at the chip with his eyes half closed and a look of deep calculation. For a split second he looked just like Hammond. Only with more hair, obviously. And less weight. "I wonder why though. What did it do? Why place it in Riley? And why did it seem to have such a dramatic effect?"

"Can I see it, please?" asked Carter to one side and Oz handed it over to her whilst Jack was still busy wondering how to get control of this entire conversation back. So far he didn't have a clue.

His second in command examined it closely and then pulled out a small jeweller's eyeglass, which she screwed into one eye and then looked at it again in more detail. "There's a slight dent on the top," she pronounced after a moment. "The bullet must have damaged it." Then she pulled the glass from her eye and stared at it worriedly. "This is a very advanced piece of microcircuitry," she said in a voice that combined astonishment, wariness and a hint of jealousy. Then she caught the looks that the rest of SG1 were giving her. "What? Oh, the eyeglass. I use it to weld some circuit boards back at the… base where we're stationed."

Jack, who had been giving her a look that had been so pointed that it was almost needle-sharp, relaxed slightly. The last thing that they needed was for Carter to start blurting things out.

Harris was looking at the red-headed girl who had come in with Oz, and who was apparently bursting with some kind of news. She settled down after he looked at her in almost as pointed a way as Jack had looked at Carter, but he was willing to bet a lot of money that she would make a really rotten poker player. Unless it was all an act. He closed his eyes for a moment and then opened them again. He needed to get out of Maybourne's company. He was starting to think like him and frankly he didn't need the headache that was resulting.

Speaking of Maybourne it was at this moment that el Weasel chose to stir himself. "The Vampire Slayer is a HST myth," he scoffed quietly, "It's something that they tell to frighten themselves with!"

Jack could have told him instantly that the entire comment was one great big honking mistake. She may have been small, but there was a Summers-shaped blur and then all of a sudden Harry Maybourne found himself looking straight down the blade of a sword, the tip of which was just touching his nose. It looked like a well-made, quite tough and oh, pretty _sharp_, piece of metal and Summers was holding it at arms length without her arm even hinting at beginning to quiver. He was impressed. By the way that Teal'c and Bra'tac were blinking, even they were too.

"Would you care to rephrase that?" Summers ground out. "Or does my sword feel like a myth?"

"My mistake?" squeaked Maybourne and then he sighed as the sword was removed and returned to under her coat.

"Sir, the Vampire Slayer, as you can see, is a lot more than a myth," muttered Miller with a slight smile.

Maybourne looked deeply unconvinced, despite the fact that he was obviously trying not to show it. Summers looked at him with a hard and very flat look. "Ok, you want proof? Do you have that gun? The one you said the vampire shot Riley with?"

"I don't think we need it," Jack muttered as he pulled it out of his pocket. "Are you going to dodge a speeding bullet or something?" She waved an imperious hand at him and he checked the action, pulled the magazine out, double checked the breech and only then placed it doubtfully on her hand.

She looked at it and then pulled the barrel free from the stock with barely a grunt of exertion, before bending it into a rough semi-circle. Then she gave the pieces back to him.

He examined the parts that had once been a weapon and then looked up. "Show-off?" he ventured feebly and then handed them over to Maybourne and an incredulous Carter.

"Buffy, let's not make matters worse," the Giles guy sighed from where he was standing.

"No, Giles," she replied with a very grim smile. "Cards on the table. We need to hear why they're in Sunnydale. And why they've been following Xander around. And they have any other links to this place."

Jack blinked slightly. "Following is such an ugly word," he said carefully. "I'd prefer to call it specific reconnaissance. Mr Harris here did design a very advanced energy cell. We were just… checking up on him."

Harris just tilted his head and then smiled thinly at him, like a man who got a joke that only he could see. "You also just happened to be following me on the day that Wolfram & Hart got themselves blown sky-high. The buildings, at least."

"Yes…" admitted Jack slowly. They had never exactly figured out what the hell had been going on there. Inquiries into whoever or whatever Wolfram & Hart had been, apart from lawyers tied to some very dubious clients, had been slower then molasses coming out. "We never found out what happened there."

"We did," sighed Miller as he traded an unhappy glance with Gates. Then they both looked at Maybourne. "Sir, we're taking an awful lot on trust here and this might not be the best place to discuss this. Did Riley tell you about the project that Director Walsh was involved with?"

"If you mean Adam, then yes, he told me," replied Maybourne heavily. "I wish he hadn't, but he did. And before you ask, no I didn't give her permission for that project."

"Adam?" Carter asked incredulously, "This Walsh person gave a walking amalgamation of parts a _name_?"

Gates shrugged. "We didn't know about until it broke free, killed her and Dr Angleman and then left. After which things got a bit wiggy in town."

In 1991 Jack had once seen a B52 flown by a certifiable madman pull a turn that the book said was impossible to pull out of. Not without ploughing straight into the ground, anyway, but he'd made it. Right now he was having flashbacks to that moment, because the entire conversation was reminding him of that incredible instant of time. They were discussing a classified project in front of civilians. This was more than a no-no - it could get them all court-martialled.

As he opened his mouth to point this little fact out the conversation look another lurch from the strange towards the bizarre.

"Adam has indeed ridden roughshod over the area," said Giles quietly. "His actions in getting rid of Wolfram & Hart alone would classify him as being a very dangerous creature indeed. So, yes, Colonel O'Neill, we know all about Adam. I believe that Riley, Forrest and Graham were nearly killed by him – and owe their lives to young Oz here."

Speaking of whom, it was at this point that Oz looked up from where he was treating Riley. "Guys, I need a wound dressing, if you have one. And any kind of first aid kit. Do you have a battlefield dressing or something like that?"

This prompted a muffled curse from Gates as he pulled off his rucksack and fumbled in a pocket, before pulling out a small field medical pack. "Will this do?"

Oz took it and opened it, assessing the contents quickly. Jack watched with a certain degree of reluctant approval. The guy seemed to know his stuff. He pulled out the packet of antiseptic powder, dusted the wound lightly, threaded the needle quickly, pulled the wound closed with three or four stitches at a frightening speed, added more powder and then applied a field dressing carefully, before leaning back on his haunches and wiping off his hands absent-mindedly. "That'll do for the time being, and I've speeded up the healing process, but he really needs a hospital at some point. Blood loss is minimal and I was able to clean the wound thoroughly, but it might be better to be safe than sure on this."

Speeded the healing process? What the hell did that mean? Jack frowned and he could see Daniel and Carter doing the same thing.

But it was Maybourne of all people who opened his mouth next. "You knew about Adam? How?"

"He has – or rather had - a habit of killing things and then dissecting them," said Harris quietly. "Cats, dogs, raccoons, demons, humans, children – everything that crossed his path. We're not sure why exactly, but we think that he was learning about the way that things work. About life. And possibly non-life."

"Adam has his own agenda," Buffy Summers broke in with a glare for Maybourne. "We've been scraping up his debris for a while. That and trying to work out what he's up to. So that we can stop him. What are you going to do with him if you find him? If you survive the experience, that is."

Carter opened her mouth for a moment and then closed it again. "I was going to say take him into custody, but I'm not sure what that would mean in his case."

"He wouldn't come easy," Harris said quietly. "For one thing he now has a chain gun built into one arm. For another, well, he walked into a Wolfram & Hart building that possessed some pretty impressive security, without being detected and then killed everyone inside, before blowing the place sky-high. He has capabilities that you can't even comprehend."

"So, what's your plan?" asked a bemused Jack.

"Kill him," said Harris in a voice that almost sounded sad. "We have no choice here. We'll kill him and do our best to make sure that every part of him is destroyed. Because he's something that should never have been built. He's an aberration – a scab on the soul of the world." Then he looked at Maybourne almost absently. "And no, you can't have him for study. Maggie Walsh should never have even started to build him."

Maybourne looked back at him for a long moment, something working behind his eyes. "She didn't have permission to start building him," he muttered after a moment.

"You knew her, though," Harris said in a voice that sounded very sure.

"Yes," replied Maybourne.

"You said that she didn't have permission before. Would I be right in thinking that she didn't have permission from you?"

"I used to be her commanding officer," Maybourne confirmed reluctantly. "Perhaps I just didn't know how… set she was on her idea." He smiled sadly. "I recruited her. I also recruited most of the Initiative agents. Finn, Gates and Miller were all interviewed and appointed by me. It's my fault that they're here. My fault that Adam is loose. And I like to correct my mistakes."

Jack did his best not to raise an eyebrow at this, but the more he thought about the more that he was, albeit very, very reluctantly, forced to admit that for once Harry Maybourne sounded sincere about something. That had to be a major first.

He rubbed the side of his forehead with two fingers for a moment, whilst his mind shuffled through the options that they had in front of them for a moment and then came up with the equivalent of mental raspberry. The entire evening so far had been odd beyond words. In fact it had started out as simply odd, veered off into wacky and had now become loony tunes. Any second now one of them was going to pull their own head off and reveal themselves to be Daffy Duck.

Oh hell. Why did Teal'c have that look on his face all of a sudden?

* * *

The duck guy turned to one side at this point and looked in the general direction of the bathroom. As he did so, Xander suppressed an internal groan. He'd been hoping that Spike could have kept his head well down and that none of their unexpected guests had needed to use the toilet.

"Is there someone in your bathroom who wishes to remain hidden, Rupert Giles?" the guy rumbled, causing the others to turn and look. The comment was followed by the very audible noise of someone throwing all their weight against the door in an effort to wedge it shut.

"Who's in there?" asked Forrest, looking puzzled.

"Someone in my life who I wish was long gone and out of here," growled Giles, rubbing a hand over his face. "And someone who has no wish to meet any of you."

"Too bloody right!" shouted a muffled voice from the other side of the door. "They can all sod off!"

"Does that voice… sound familiar?" asked O'Neill in a puzzled tone as he looked at the other members of his team.

"It should, you trigger-happy yank bastard!" yelled Spike from the room. "Bugger off, or I'll… I'll chuck soap under your feet!"

"It sounds like that HST we picked up," frowned Carter as she looked at Giles and Xander with a frown.

"You've got a vampire in your home?" Forrest and O'Neill both half-yelled this at the same time, whilst various weapons came up and were half-waved at the doorway. Xander groaned internally and then looked over at Giles and Oz, both of whom were composed but tense. This had all the hallmarks of something that might get very nasty indeed.

"An effectively neutered vampire," grated Giles, as he drew himself up and glared at the newcomers, while ignoring the cry of 'Oi!' that came from the bathroom. "A vampire who, thanks to Maggie Walsh and her meddling in things that she didn't understand, cannot harm any human. Cannot bite any human. _Has_ not, in fact hurt, bitten or laid a finger on any human since an electronic chip was placed in his skull by the Initiative for highly dubious ethical reasons. And a vampire who is under my protection at this time, under my authority as a member of the Watcher's Council! Authority that your State Department recognises as being inviolable and giving me the equivalent of diplomatic immunity! So if you don't like any of those facts, then you can take your sodding guns and shove them where the sun doesn't shine!"

Xander was impressed. The Watcher had expanded with a visible sense of authority and power with every word that he had spoken. Apart from the bit about shoving the weapons that is.

"Bloody hell," said the voice from the bathroom. "I think I just felt something like respect for a bloody Watcher."

"The Watcher's Council?" asked this Maybourne character with yet another frowning smirk of disbelief. "Didn't they disband after the Second World War, after they put their noses into US-UK military matters?"

Giles stepped forwards, his face courteous but, under that civilized façade, as cold as ice. "No," said, in a brutally curt voice. "They did not. By which I mean that they did not disband and that I hardly think that telling the US military that the demon world was not something that could be grafted onto _anything_ human without something horrible happening, counts as meddling! I take it that you're referring to the termination of Operation Lazarus after the bombing of Peenemunde? My grandfather was on the Watcher's Council during that time, Mr… Maybourne, if I have your name right, and he was very clear that the entire project was a potential disaster waiting to happen." He tilted his head to one side and narrowed his eyes, allowing a hint of Ripper to shine out darkly. "As the current situation has made very clear in a thoroughly ghastly manner."

Maybourne stared back, his jaws working silently as he looked at Giles. Then he took a deep breath. "I hate to say it, but I can't really argue with that."

"Lovely, let's all have a hug," said a caustic voice from the bathroom. "But I'm still not coming out!"

"Spike, you've been given the protection of the Watcher's Council," Xander sighed wearily. "Doesn't that count for something?"

"I've never trusted sodding Jonathans!" Spike yelled.

There were a large number of confused frowns in the room. Then Giles cleared his throat. "He means Americans. It's an old term."

"Spike's an old vampire," chirped Willow with more than a hint of mischief.

"I heard that!" said the bathroom door.

"Fine," said Xander, "Spike, then I'll offer you my protection as well, how's that?"

There was a long moment of silence. "The protection of the you-now-what? That they don't now nothing about because they're a bunch of brainless yank pongoes?"

"I'm not sure what that last reference was about, but yes," replied Xander.

There was another long moment of silence and then the door opened a crack and a cautious eye peered out. Then Spike waved a hand through the opening. "Clear a way!"

Forrest lowered his gun with a glare at Giles and then stepped back. This allowed Spike just enough space to dart through the opening and throw himself over the table. Unfortunately his foot collided with a chair on the way and the next thing they all knew the vampire was a pile of heaped limbs lying against the far wall. "Ow," he said after a moment. Then he disentangled himself and shot upright, looking about with more than a hint of a cornered animal. "You can't lay a sodding finger on me, I'm under their protection," he growled, waving a finger in the general direction of Xander and Giles.

"I'm still wondering why," growled O'Neill, while the old guy with the beanie directed a glare at Spike that should have sent the vampire up in smoke.

"He's been… neutralised with the chip that Walsh placed in his brain," replied Xander carefully. "He can't hurt humans. He's not a threat."

"His kind are always a threat," growled the old guy. "They kill for pleasure. For sport. And simply because they can."

"Not any more," snarled Spike. "Not since they opened up my sodding skull and placed that chip in it!"

"Walsh did that to a sentient being?" Carter said in a sick voice. "That's monstrous." Then she shook her head slightly. "Of course you aren't really human, but even so…"

"Thanks for the qualifier," sneered Spike.

"The other reason we protect him, other than the fact that it's, oh, the right and ethical thing to do, is the fact that he can give us information about the underworld in Sunnydale," Xander broke in, trying to settle things down a bit. "And about Adam. And possibly his master plan."

"What he's worked out," mumbled Spike as he looked at the window and assessed the way that the catch worked.

"Excuse me?" asked O'Neill with a frown, just before Buffy crossed her arms and directed a frown of her own his way.

"So Faith was right, something was bugging you. When were you going to tell us?"

"Just as soon as I'd finished talking it out with Giles. Sorry Buffy, but the pieces only came together today. I had a lot of thinking to do."

"I'm sorry," O'Neill broke in, "But can we get skip the apologies and get back to talking about how a civilian with some kind of whacky magic powers has worked out the plans of some Frankenstein's Monster which was built by a whack job who should never have been allowed anywhere near a position of power?"

"Whacky magic powers?" snorted Buffy, looking around. Then she caught sight of Xander's face. "Oh. They don't know it all, do they?"

"Not really, and I'm still hoping that they don't ask the really tricky questions until later, Buffy," he replied wryly.

"Ok," said O'Neill as he raised his voice again, "What's _going_ _**on?**_ I'm sure I asked that before, because I'm not that old yet and I hate repeating myself, but can we have a few answers here?"

Turning his head Xander looked at Giles, who was still looming in the middle of the room and raised an eyebrow. Receiving a flicker of the eyes back he then looked at Buffy, who nodded slightly before grinning. "I want to know what Adam's up to myself."

Xander next looked at Oz, who was now standing next to Willow with one arm around her. "Whacky magic powers, eh?" the Jedi Knight smiled at his old master, while Willow looked chirpy.

"Buffy's right, I'd like to know how the Adam story ends," the witch said with a smile.

"Ok," said Xander as he looked back at the other people in the room.

"Aren't you going to ask me as well?" muttered a sardonic voice to one side. Spike then caught Buffy's glare and pretended to intently examine a possible stain on his jeans.

"Ok, Colonel O'Neill. I'll tell you what I know. I'm going to start off by not telling you anything about my 'whacky powers', as life's too short for your disbelief, so all I'll say is that I have access to certain… resources in life. One of which is the ability to look at certain situations, military or otherwise, and put the pieces together. And I think I know what Adam is up to. Interested in hearing my theory?"

"By all means," O'Neill replied with a hint and a half of snark.

"Last month three of the best teams the Initiative has were ambushed on a mission, when they thought that they found the location where Adam was hiding out. It turned out to be a trap – he was there, but so were a small horde of demons and vampires in his employ. We couldn't work out why Adam had done that though. Why set such a trap? Then we realised that we were missing the point and that the reason for the trap was to deprive the Initiative of its best and brightest operatives. The experienced ones, the guys who get a bad feeling about something just before the proverbial hits the fan. To weaken the Initiative in other words. Graham, Forrest, what are the replacements like so far?"

The two men looked at each other, mulling things over and then Forrest turned back to Xander. "Learning fast but still greener than grass."

"And over the past few weeks HSTS have been filling up your cells pretty fast, right?"

"Packed to bursting, almost," Graham admitted.

"How are the doors to those cells controlled?"

"Swipe cards, electronic keys-"

"I mean what controls the door controls?"

"We do it via the computer system."

"And what," Xander said softly, trying to minimise the weight of the hammer that he was about to drop on them slightly, "Does Adam have wired into his central nervous system?"

The two Initiative agents went absolutely still in a moment of horrified realisation. "A central processing unit – a computer," Graham half-whispered, his eyes very big and wide.

"Wait a second," objected Forrest, "After Director Walsh died we changed all the codes. Every one of them!"

"You don't think that Adam has the processing power to break into the system and figure out the new ones?" Xander asked.

Forrest opened his mouth to reply and then closed it again as a stunned expression stole over his face. "Jesus Christ," he muttered after a moment. "We're playing with a loaded deck and we didn't even see him do it. No, we've loaded a gun and then given it to him. And we didn't see it coming at all!"

"You couldn't have known," snapped Xander, trying to get as much sympathy into his voice as he could.

"No but we could have guessed!" replied Forrest, as he slumped into a chair to one side, like a puppet whose string had just been cut. Like a puppet… why did that ring a distant bell in Xander's brain?

And then it hit him. Reaching out a hand he used the Force to send the chip hurtling across the room towards him, where he grabbed it in midair and then glared at it. Forrest and Graham didn't see it happen, but the others did, whilst O'Neill's people blinked a great deal at the sight.

"Damn," said Xander after a long moment. "I should have guessed. Forrest, Riley told us that Adam smashed all of Walsh's computers when he escaped, right?"

The agent nodded.

"But there's no reason not to think that he didn't take a good old trawl through them before he destroyed them. He could have accessed anything, right? Including Walsh's medical files on what she'd done to Riley. Including the details about this chip. Everything about it, in fact… especially the fact that it was tied in to Riley's central nervous system. And what it could do."

The moment when everyone's eyeballs all swivelled onto the chip was very nearly an audible one, albeit one tinged with more than a bit of horror.

"Adam could have controlled Riley with that thing?" squeaked Buffy in horror.

"On some level, yes. But not any more," said Xander levelly as he studied it. There was a certain amount of power emanating from it and as he concentrated then he could feel something else… some kind of activity inside it. Something was stirring within it, something had been activated and was trying to… Xander tilted his head to one side and used the Force to crush it into its constituent parts.

Carter made a horrified noise. "What did you do?"

He paused to brush the parts off into a handy waste bin before answering. "Taking care of a potential problem. Something – or rather someone – was trying to activate it. I'll give you three guesses who."

"Adam," said three or four people at the same time.

"Yup," replied Xander with a cold smile. "We have less time than we thought. Adam's moving soon, if not now. We need to make some calls in, Giles. We need to plan." He turned to one side. "Does that answer some at least of your questions, Colonel O'Neill?"

O'Neill blinked hard for a moment or two. Then he scratched his chin in a meditative manner. "Can I get back to you on that one, just until my brain starts working again? I have a headache right now."

* * *

SG-1 stood in the small kitchen and mulled. Or rather, Carter was busy eyeing the bottle of Romanian plum brandy in a longing kind of way, Daniel looked as if his brain was working so hard that smoke was about to pour out of his ears and Teal'c had a frown on his face. As for Bra'tac he was chewing absent-mindedly on his thumbnail, something that he did every now and then when he was thinking hard. As for Jack, he was mulling whilst trying not to think about the headache that the entire evening had given him.

"Ok," he said after a long moment of silence. "What do we know here?"

"That… we've stumbled onto a group of people who all about vampires, who use some kind of powers to fight them, who are very well versed in the best way to wield things like swords, who protect neutered vampires because they're helpless, who know rather too much about the NID's illegal little project for our liking and who have also deduced the plans of that project?" replied Daniel, apparently all in one breath. "Does that cover it?"

"Yes, thank you Daniel for your little summary. That does indeed cover it. The question is, before we all get too carried away on this wave of teenage excitement that seems to be sweeping over the room we just left, do we in fact know what's going on?"

There was another pause. "According to them the situation is clear, O'Neill," rumbled Teal'c. "They regard this Adam as a threat, they believe that the Initiative base in vulnerable and they wish to summon allies and plan a counter-attack."

"Right. What I'm still having trouble with is, how did they know that there's an NID base in town?"

"They know Riley Finn," replied Teal'c in a tone of voice that said that he was stating the very, very obvious.

"True," put in Daniel, as he crossed his arms and looked down for a moment in concentration, "But from what they said about Walsh they knew her, and more to the point, distrusted her before Adam escaped. Obviously, because he killed her then. And from what Riley's friends said, they trust Rupert Giles and Xander, as I suppose we have to call him, Harris."

"I still don't understand how he can do that. He and this Oz guy," muttered Carter quietly. "I mean, telekinesis has never been proven but…"

"They can juggle better than any circus?" Jack ran a hand over his forehead for a moment and then sighed. "We know now that the world is a weirder place than we knew before," he said, gritting his teeth slightly. "We know that vampires exist, and demons, and little blue-green things that live in boxes and keep people's schedules in their heads, and a whole load of things that a few months ago I'd have had myself locked up in a padded room for even thinking about!" He closed his eyes for a second and held up a forefinger. "However, nuts as it all sounds, it seems to be worse than we thought when we came here. Which brings up the question of, again, what do we know and what should we do?"

There was a short pause before Teal'c bestirred himself. "Surely we should help them, O'Neill. They are preparing to fight a host of Mar'tyuns and other creatures of darkness, to help defeat the creature that the NID created and to save the lives of the members of the Initiative. I would say that under such circumstances we have to help them."

"That's the thing," objected Jack. "They're making plans, but they're just kids. Teenagers. Well, apart from the old guy and the blond vampire version of Billy Idol, who still confuses me, but they. Are. Still. Kids!"

"They may be veritable children, but that have a far better idea as to the evils that exist in this place than you did before, O'Neill," muttered Bra'tac. "This 'Buffy' is also a skilled warrior, based on the way that she moves and handles a weapon. Besides… she is a 'Slayer' as they called her. The title seems significant." He fell silent again, but with a significant frown on his face.

"What's wrong Bra'tac?" Daniel asked after exchanging worried glances with the others.

A sigh emerged from the old Jaffa, as he rubbed his beard with a hand. "Although I am unfamiliar with the word 'Slayer', the way that she moves and acts reminds me of a very old legend, one so old that I doubt that you have ever heard of it, Teal'c. It was said that…" he turned around to look at the doorway and then leant forward conspiratorially, "More than fifteen hundred years ago there was a young girl among the Jaffa who fought the Mar'tyuns with great strength and power and speed. Her name was Ka'tleen. It is also said that there had been others like her, long, long ago. As the years went by though, the number of Mar'tyun grew ever fewer, and the appearance of these girls became rarer and rarer, until they ceased entirely. The last Mar'tyun was killed not long after Ka'tleen had been killed herself. No more like her ever emerged."

Jack had a brief burst of the creeping horrors along his back. Girls fighting vampires? "Did the snakes ever find out about these girls?" he hissed quietly.

"Apparently they knew but attempts to find them often failed, as people knew that they were fighting the Mar'tyuns. In addition, those who fought the Mar'tyuns… often did not survive for very long."

Jack pulled a face for a moment. "You think that Summers might be like her then?"

"It is a possibility. It would explain much… but that is about all that I know. Ka'tleen's abilities had faded almost into legend by the time that I heard of the story."

The sound of footsteps caused Jack to pause and look at the doorway, where Maybourne appeared after a moment. He looked… well, like a man who had no idea, at all, what to do. "Harry," he said in greeting. "Come to add to the madness of the night?"

"I have no idea, Jack," the former NID colonel said wearily. "Just as I have no idea what the hell the right thing to do should be." He paused and then eyed the plum brandy, before dragging his eyes from it with a shudder. "Quoth the raven," he muttered. Then he looked up. "Forrest and Gates are mapping out access points to the Initiative, as well as the layout of the place. Part of me wants to scream at them for divulging classified information. Part of me also wants to join them. And part of me wants to run around like a headless chicken with its tail feathers on fire."

"They're planning to get into the Initiative with Summers and the others?" Carter asked incredulously.

"They think that Harris's theory about Adam is a viable one and that they need to get onto the premises as soon as possible in case some kind of HST prisoner insurrection starts. Given the evidence so far, I have to say that it's a… plausible theory." Maybourne scratched under his nose for a moment and then shook himself. "Ah, screw it, I'm not on duty any more." He straightened up, looked around, pulled a shot glass that had some kind of coat of arms off a shelf and then grabbed the bottle of plum brandy. "Vlad," he read off the label. Then he turned it around. "Brewed in Cluj, Romania, wherever the hell that is."

"It's on the border of, ah, Transylvania," Daniel said with a wince.

Maybourne digested this. "Figures," he said after a moment and then poured a slug out, which he then threw down his throat. After a moment he stiffened. "Interesting," he said hoarsely. "Reminds me of the moonshine my great uncle used to brew."

"As fascinating at that all is, can we get back to the point here, Harry?" urged Jack after resisting the temptation to roll his eyes. "We need to work out some options here and try and take back control of this train wreck of a situation."

"Why?" asked Maybourne as he placed the shot glass carefully into the sink.

"What part of 'classified information' and 'court martial offence' do you fail to understand, Harry?" Jack snapped.

"I'm not a member of the armed forces anymore, Jack, so I can't be court martialled. Besides, I happen to think that they're right. Adam's plan, the more I think about it, makes sense. As you'd say, it's very NID."

There was pause whilst Jack felt faintly sheepish. "I was not going to say that. I hadn't even thought about it. Much."

"Jack, everything that's happened with Adam over the past few months has obviously been building to something. It doesn't take much to work that out. What that something is… well, I can think of a few things, but Harris's theory is the best one so far. It makes sense. Adam has a plan. So should we. They have a plan, out there, in that living room. We should either add to it or get the hell out of the way. Or," he took a deep breath, "You should get out of the way, because I'm with them."

"You're with them?" Jack repeated slowly. "Harry, the moment that anyone from the NID lays an eye on you they're going to be screaming for you to be arrested, just so that they can't be tarnished by your deeply unpopular presence."

"So I go back to prison for a while. I got out the first time, remember?"

"Yes," growled Jack, glaring at him, "I remember."

"Maybe I should have phrased that better," Maybourne conceded, "But the point remains that I agree with them. And they need help."

"I concur," rumbled Teal'c.

"Ok!" replied Jack, waving a hand explosively and cursing internally, "I get that!" He paused for a moment. "I don't normally ask this, because we don't normally do this by vote, but does anyone else have an opinion on this?"

"I don't see that we have any choice but to help out, sir," Carter said with a sigh. "If Adam – god what a name! – is planning to stage an uprising at the Initiative, then we have to help them defeat it."

"Daniel?"

It took a moment for the archaeologist to respond, but then he looked up and let out a sigh of his own. "Sorry, I was just reflecting on the various stories that I've heard about the so-called myth of the 'Vampire Slayer', which appear in a number of sources that I've been reading over the past few weeks. I guess that I might have to reclassify them.

"Okay… why are you arguing about this, Jack? We need to help these people. If Harris is right then the Initiative is about to face a mass breakout by a group of… demons. Vampires. Things that go bump, at the very least, in the night. We need to help them."

"I'm just… very stubborn sometimes," Jack growled, as he pulled out his cap and settled it on his head, making sure that it was centred. "Ok, as it turns out I happen to agree. I'm just very, very unhappy about it." Turning around to face the doorway he set his shoulders and then smiled thinly. "Ok. Let's talk to the nice people who know far too much about what should be secret and, judging by the fact that I just heard the front door open and close, have just been reinforced. Let's hope that the new people don't shave with a face cloth or something, or I'm going to get… fractious."

* * *

When Forrest finished speaking there was an interesting reaction from the group of people who were now standing by the window. Xander just stood there, thinking things over hard. Ok, he thought, the head of the Initiative is some kind of demon, or certainly something not human. Damn, we don't need anything else complicating things more than they already are, do we?

Buffy took the news with a short and savage nod, one fist clenching an imaginary axe, as if she was already thinking about the best place to decapitate Finch. Willow had looked perplexed and Oz had nodded slowly.

Spike just sat in the corner and nursed that bottle of whiskey.

Giles on the other hand had reacted differently. He had stiffened and then just stood there, his eyes flickering as he obviously thought very hard and very fast. Then he tilted his head slightly. "Forrest, what shade of green was his eye again?"

"Um," temporised the Initiative agent, "Kind of a deep meadow green. Not light, not dark."

"Ah," said the Watcher thoughtfully. "Interesting." He crossed his arms and then tapped end of his nose with a finger lightly several times. "Can you describe this Finch please?"

"Um – dark hair. Dark brown I mean. Caucasian, or at least looks it. We thought that he had blue eyes. Tall – about six foot. Roman nose. Scar about his left eyebrow, no idea what from."

"Right," said Giles after a moment of silence, at the start of which his eyes had gone very wide. "Yes, he's not human. But given what I suspect, if he is who I think he might be – not is, but might be - he might not be a threat. It depends."

It was at this point that Xander looked up and then walked towards the door. Faith was approaching and he could feel her tension and her anticipation as if she was already in the room. When he opened the door – a second before the dark Slayer's hand had a chance to rap on it – he blinked slightly. Wesley was standing behind Faith, which was to be expected, and behind him were Jonathan and Anya, again to be expected, with the former demon looking as if a frown had been etched onto her face. But behind _them_ stood Amy and her girlfriend Tara. The dark blonde girl looked deeply shy and had trouble meeting his gaze, but from the way that she was standing so close to Amy, wild horses couldn't drag her away.

It was rather sweet, really.

Faith looked through the door and tensed slightly. "So they're really here," she muttered to Xander. "You trust 'em?"

"Let's just say that I don't distrust them," replied Xander after a moment. "Oh and Spike's been chased by the new guys, who have only just realised that he has a chip in his head. Plus we found a chip in Riley."

There was a pause as the others blinked. Then: "You found a _what_ in him?" emerged with a splutter from Wesley.

"A chip. Small electronic doohickey. We were a bit surprised. Only found it 'cause he got shot."

"Yes, Mr Giles did mention that small fact. Shall we go in?" asked Wesley in a low voice as he looked through the door.

"Of, course," replied Xander with a slight, and very automatic, bow. As he straightened up the others passed him – all but Faith, who was watching him with a lazy smile that didn't fool him for a moment.

"You know, you do that when you're in full 'you-know-who' mode, Xander. That ain't a good sign." She tilted her head and then shrugged. "But then when you're in that mode it also means that we got a chance at least." She smiled and walked in.

* * *

The moment that the dark-haired girl walked into the room Jack could tell that hackles of the two Jaffa went up instantly. He could see why – she moved like Buffy Summers, only with a dash more wiggle in the hips. From the way that her eyes flickered over them he could tell that everyone from the Initiative and SG-1 had just been assessed in terms of threat, numbered and then filed. Freaky wasn't the word. As for the others… well the young Brit who was standing next to Rupert Giles seemed to be a younger clone of the Watcher, which was freaky. The young dork with a hint of backbone wasn't much, but his girlfriend – who appeared to be hovering around him protectively – was, well, just odd. Her eyes… looked old somehow. He paused. He had no idea where that last thought had come from.

As for the two girls they looked fairly normal, but from the way that they were talking to the Willow girl, he had a feeling that they weren't. Normal, that is.

Which just left the dark-haired girl, who walked right past him, turned a smouldering gaze onto Daniel, smirked briefly in a way that made the archaeologist blink and then blush, and then went over to peer over the sofa at Finn, who seemed to be sleeping. "He gonna be ok?" she asked Summers in what seemed to be Bostonian tones.

"Oz says so, and his colour's a lot better," she replied softly.

Jack looked over the newcomers and then shook his head slightly, before looking over at Giles. "Okay, so are these your new… auxiliaries?"

"Friends and allies would be a better expression," Giles replied with a wintry smile. "May I present my fellow Watcher Wesley Wyndham-Pryce, Faith the Vampire Slayer, Jonathan and Anya, and of course Amy and I believe Tara?"

The blonde girl coloured slightly and nodded in response to his welcoming tones.

"All of them know about the Initiative, about Adam and of course, about the denizens of the Hellmouth."

"The Hellmouth?" asked Jack.

"Ooohhh boy," muttered Faith with a sideways smirk at Summers. "You don't know about the Hellmouth?"

"Um, I thought that the Hellmouth was just a version of the Spanish translation of the name for the area," Daniel put in with a frown.

"And why," sighed Giles, as he took off his glasses and cleaned them, "Did they call it that in the first place?"

"Because… it was hot?" said Daniel with what was obviously a guess.

The two Watchers exchanged glances that said a great deal. It seemed to combine exasperation with amusement, bemusement and something like recognition.

"Wait a minute," broke in Maybourne, whose frown had deepened a lot. "I thought that there could only ever be one Slayer? That's what the HST legend said – 'One girl in all the world to stand against the forces of night', or something like that. How come there are two of you?"

"She came first," said Faith, the smile sliding from her face. "I was called when she died."

A number of horrified eyes fell on Summers. "You… died?" choked out Carter after a moment.

The blonde girl shrugged. "Just for a bit. CPR is a wonderful thing. Xander remembered the lesson in it."

The eyes moved to Harris, who looked up from his inspection of a map on the table. "I don't like my friends dying," he said shortly. "It used to irritate me."

"And now?" asked Jack.

"Now I do my best to make sure that they don't die. Ever. Period." He looked back down at the map again. "What I want to know right now though is why we never caught sight of Adam being anywhere near this area."

Frowning, Miller leant over and looked down. "Xander, that's the same area as the Initiative. He'd be spotted."

"I know about that area," stressed Harris as he pointed at one section of the map, "But why was he never seen here?" He jabbed a finger at an adjacent sector and then looked up. "How far does the Initiative extend underground?"

"Not that far," frowned Gates, with Miller nodding his head in agreement.

"You're both wrong," said a voice that was more a groan than anything else. "There's the secret part of the place that was built earlier."

"Riley!" cried Summers as she turned back to the sofa, where a very bleary Riley Finn was blinking from his recumbent position, and then threw her arms around him to hug him.

"Buffy…." He wheezed after a second or two, "Can't… breathe… and hurts…"

"Sorry!" she apologised and then carefully let go of him.

He leant back again, smiled at her tenderly and then looked down at the dressing on his shoulder. "Whoa," he muttered. "What the hell happened?"

"You were shot," said Oz laconically.

"Oh. Yeah. By that vampire, right? What happened then though?"

"The bullet was touching this," answered Harris as he held the waste basket out. "You might have to look rather hard, I crushed it heavily."

Finn peered into the container and then leant back again, blinking puzzledly. "What the hell was that?"

"A chip," replied Summers, sounding like she wanted to pound the thing into dust.

"It was touching your central nervous system," added Oz. "The bullet might have damaged it in some way. It set something off, and you collapsed."

"That was in me? What was that doing in…" Finn stopped in mid-sentence and then went white with fury, the muscles in his jaw working. "Walsh." The word emerged from between his lips like a swearword.

"Probably a very accurate guess," answered Harris with a sigh. "Riley had your shoulder been bothering you recently? Past day or so? Had any odd urges or desires to be somewhere else?"

The Initiative operative looked up at him and frowned slightly. "Um… not really. Had a funny itch in my shoulder earlier this evening, like I had pins and needles or something, but nothing else. Why?"

Summers looked at Harris for a moment, seemed to receive a flicker of an eyebrow in response and then looked back at the prone man. "Xander thinks that if Walsh put that thing in you, then there's a good chance that Adam might have found out about it. He might have tried to control you with it."

It should have been impossible for Finn to go any whiter than he already was, but he made a valiant effort anyway. His mouth opened and closed once or twice and then he finally said: "Oh crap."

"Yes, young man," quipped Jack, "Nicely put, oh NID operative."

"Not now, Jack," muttered Maybourne.

"Ok, then how about: can you tell us more about the secret part of the Initiative that you mentioned and which might be massively important to us?"

Finn looked over at Maybourne, who looked back at him quizzically. "I don't recall that part being on the plans, Agent Finn."

"Major Tanaka told me about it when the Initiative was being built sir. Apparently there was an old command and control bunker built in Sunnydale in the 1960's for the Governor of California. The old Mayor Wilkins, the father of the one who died in the school gas explosion signed off on it. It was never used though. When the Initiative was being built it was supposed to be on that site – but it was too small, so Major decided to site the main part of the Initiative next to it and use the old facility as an emergency subunit. A mothballed hospital or something. Strictly emergency use only. When Director Walsh was appointed she had it sealed up as being surplus to requirements. I don't think that she thought that much about it."

"Sod," said Giles to one side as once again the glasses came off his face for a polish. "Riley, I wish that you'd told us about that earlier."

"Why?" he asked, looking confused. "It's just a mothballed facility."

"If Walsh knew," sighed Maybourne, "Then there's a good chance that Adam now knows."

"And that's where he's been hiding then," Faith said, explosively. "Man! But now that we know where he is, why not just go in and kick his ass?"

"Because he can just press a button and loose his army anyway," said Harris, closing his eyes as something pained flickered over his face. "We need to get him and warn the Initiative that something is happening, at the same time. If he's as plugged in to the Initiative computers as we think he is, then the moment that we turn up and warn them, he's going to push the button."

Jack thought this through for a moment and then nodded reluctantly. It made sense. He really wished that it didn't, but sadly it did. Then he looked up as the doorbell sounded yet again. The blonde girl called Amy darted to open the door, allowing a dark-haired man with cautious eyes to enter. As he walked in he looked hard at Teal'c and Bra'tac, before looking at Harris, who nodded slightly.

"Thanks for coming Lindsey," Harris said with a small smile. "A lot happening."

"I'm getting used to that," the new arrival replied with a quirk of his lips and a shrug, before walking over to Harris, where the two whispered quietly to each other.

"So who are you?" asked Jack when the whispering stopped the new guy looked around curiously at them again. "The Easter Bunny?"

This made the man blink a few times, while a smile stole over his face slowly. "No. Just a former lawyer for a law firm that represented the wrong kind of people."

Jack thought that over for a moment. "Well the 'former' part of that sentence gets you a grudging welcome from me at least."

* * *

Lindsey turned back to Xander and raised an eyebrow. "Interesting company," he said, leaning over and muttering as O'Neill walked over to his people and started to talk quietly to them.

"It's been an odd evening so far," replied Xander with a grimace. "Riley getting shot kinda put the cherry on the cake. Me working out Adam's plan is nasty though. We're trying to work to someone else's timetable. I hate it when that happens, you never know if you're ahead of events or behind them. I think that it's happening tonight – or at least very soon. I can feel a disturbance in the Force. Something is moving out there."

This earned him a slow and rather worried stare from his Padawan. "It that what it feels like when you have a feeling of cloudiness and unease, but you can't your finger on where it is and what the hell is going on? Via the Force?"

"Yes," Xander nodded with a smile. "That's it exactly. Congratulations, Lindsey. It can be hard to isolate that feeling sometimes when you're starting out on the road that you're on, but you've got it. Hold on to it, try and see where it takes your senses. It's very important."

"I will," Lindsey replied, before looking around as Giles and Forrest both helped Riley to stand, despite the Iowan's protestations that he was fine really.

"You need to take it easy," said Oz quietly. "You lost a bit of blood. Nothing that your body can't make up again in a few hours, but you might get light-headed if you try and push yourself too soon."

"I know," sighed Riley as he ran a hand over the side of his chest where the bandage was now hidden by his ripped uniform, "But I need to map out where the unused part of the Initiative is, along with at least one escape tunnel out of the place that isn't marked on the maps. I never thought that I'd ever have to use it to get in to the place, but there you go. Life bops you one on the nose every once in a while." Then he looked down at his chest again. "You know people might start to worry if they see me in torn and bloodstained BDU's," he muttered thoughtfully.

"I've got one of your shirts back at the office in the library," said Buffy. "You left it there one day and it got tangled in amongst my laundry. My mom washed it the other day and then sent it back today, but I left it at the library as I wasn't sure if you were coming over tonight."

"Why weren't you sure?" asked Riley, looking puzzled.

"You mentioned that you had early patrolling, which meant that going by earlier examples, you'd be tired and sleepy," replied Buffy, before turning slightly pink.

"The office is a bit out of our way to get to the entrance of the tunnel," Riley sighed. "Oh well."

"Don't worry about it, I'll get it for you," interjected Xander. "If we're going to warn the Initiative or defend the place, the last thing we want is someone asking awkward questions about where the blood on your shirt came from." He smiled reassuringly. "I'll see you… where's the entrance?"

"You know that piece of scrubland by Gronow Avenue? There's a power substation there, with a door around the back that doesn't actually lead into the place."

"I take it that the door's locked?"

"Electronic combination on the door. 267894."

"I'll see you all there." Xander turned to his friends and nodded with a smile. And then he strode to the door and left, breaking into a run as quickly as he could. He had a feeling that it was going to be a very long night.

* * *

Jack watched Harris go, narrowing his eyes slightly as he saw the turn of speed the guy had. He was fast. And there was something about the young man's stance and style, something that was bugging him.

"I do not know what this Harris, but he has the authority of a leader of warriors," muttered Bra'tac to one side.

"He does indeed," rumbled Teal'c thoughtfully.

"He's just a kid," replied Jack absently.

"In age, maybe. In experience… I would say not," Bra'tac shot back.

"He's certainly used to giving orders," added Carter quietly.

Jeez, were they ganging up on him? "Ok, ok," protested Jack, "We add one more thing to the long, long list of strange things in this town. Are we all happy now?" He caught their looks and then sighed. "I'm starting to really dislike this place," he admitted. Then he looked around. "What do we have in the way of weapons?"

"Standard side-arms and not so standard ammunition," said Carter, straightening up almost to attention. "Plus… the reserve weapons in the van that General Hammond said could only be used in the event of an emergency."

"I'm still amazed that he let us take those off the base," Jack said with the ghost of a chuckle in his voice. "Weeeell, what with this possible attack and the nature of the attackers, and the fact that this Frankenstein's Monster of a thing is leading them, plus the fact that I'm feeling really, really, cranky right now, all constitutes an emergency in my book. Carter?"

She hesitated for a second and then nodded. "I'd say so sir."

"Daniel? Any thoughts?"

"How about – I want to live to see the dawn and drink coffee, so whatever works is good with me."

Jack nodded approvingly. "Not exactly the Gettysburg Address, but that works for me. Teal'c?"

"There is much honour to be won this night, fighting foes of such evil," the tall Jaffa said with a slight bow.

Jack turned to Bra'tac, whose eyes were shining. "Bra'tac. I hope that you will do us the honour of fighting with us?" asked Jack, with a serious tone to his voice.

"You do me much honour," the old Jaffa replied with a bow of his own.

"Hey! Secret soldiers guys!" They all turned to one side to see Faith whatsername walking towards them. "You ready? Time to go."

"We need to get some weapons of our own," replied Jack, with a look at Carter. "But, yeah. We're ready."

* * *

The library was quiet and still as he opened the side door and slipped in. He liked it at night. There was something about the smell of the older books and the way that the place looked at night, especially when the moon was shining though the windows.

Xander took a deep breath and then started to job quietly down the main hell, before taking the stairs two at a time. By the time that he got to the door of the office he was breathing slightly hard after his run, but not too much. His training was holding up very well indeed.

He had to squint slightly to see the lock, but the key went and as it turned something chimed slightly at the back of his head, because the lock felt ever so slightly stiff. It wasn't much but a tiny tendril of alarm went off in his mind. Something was wrong somewhere.

He still walked through into the office, flicking the switch for the lights with one finger as he passed, instead of using the Force as he did when he was in a rush. He wasn't sure why he used his finger, but that tendril was thickening slightly.

Riley's BDU's were on a chair off to one, along with a small note from Buffy to Giles asking him to pass them on to her boyfriend if he popped by. Xander leant down to pick them up and when he straightened up he knew that he was not alone in the office. Turning around as naturally as he could he stopped. A girl aged about 18 or maybe 19 was standing there in the doorway. She dressed in black trousers, a grey T-shirt and a very dark green jacket, and had her black hair tied severely back into a ponytail. She had the deadest eyes that Xander had ever seen in someone still living and a small pistol crossbow in one hand.

"Congratulations," she said in a bored voice that sounded very rusty from apparent under-use, "The Order of Teraka wants you dead."


	22. Anarchy is Almost Loosed

If anyone might have been in London on August 4th and you saw a beautiful woman in a blue and white wedding dress and a bloke in a Welsh kilt getting on the London Eye, then you'll know that I am now a married man. Gosh! Plus it's been almost a month now and we're still married! It went off perfectly, as did the honeymoon.

So here's the latest chapter. Enjoy!

* * *

It had been a quiet night so far, and that alone was something to take a note of, the duty sergeant thought with a stifled yawn. He looked down from the place where he'd been standing for a moment, looking out over the main assembly point for sending teams to the surface. A few vampires had come in and some kind of odd HST that left a trail of slime, but that was it for the moment. They had all been processed and a guy on fatigues with a mop had been clearing away the trail of slime leading to the cells.

As he heard footsteps to one side he wiped away the remnants of any tiredness from his face and turned around to see Major-General Finch walk up to him. He promptly saluted.

Finch saluted back after a moment – his eyes had flickered down to the disappearing slime down on the floor below them.

"What's happening tonight, Sergeant?"

"Team Three came back with an unregistered HST, sir. They're processing it now. Team Four came back with two vampires. Team Five with one vampire. Team Two is still on standby."

"And Team One?"

"Agent Finn's team hasn't reported back yet. They're due to report in by radio in about an hour." He paused and decided to take a liberty. "Seems a quiet night, sir."  
"Yes," said Finch softly as he put his hands on the railings to one side and looked out over the assembly area. For a moment his fingers drummed a quick staccato beat on the metal. "Yes…" Then he looked up, smiled slightly and held out a hand. "Duty Roster, if you please Sergeant Bailey."

As they walked they talked. And as they did neither of them saw the small camera on the side of the wall, which was following them.

* * *

Xander had to resist the temptation to sigh with frustration for a second, before he suppressed it. Then he took a hard look at the girl with the pistol crossbow in her very calm and level grip. She seemed… almost bored with the whole thing, which was somewhat disturbing, as it meant that she had done this kind of thing before. Naturally, if she was who she claimed to be.

"I think you should know that the Order of Teraka has a lousy reputation for success here in Sunnydale," he pointed out with a raised eyebrow. "The last lot of assassins who were sent here all… well, they all died. Including one who was stomped on a lot until every bit of him was dead."

"The bug guy," she intoned in that same rusty voice. It sounded as if she only ever spoke when she had to. "Good riddance. He was a creep." Then she tilted her head slightly. "I'm not like the others. I just do the job and earn the money. I kill people. And I'm better at it than all of the others in the Order."

So she was in the Order. Damn. That limited his range of options here and now. Of course the main one was still in the region of 'don't get killed'.

"So why," he asked after a second, "Does the Order want me dead?"

She shrugged in response. "I didn't ask why, they just do and that's enough for me. They also seem to think that you're a dangerous kinda guy and so I got interested. So far you don't seem to be much of a challenge. So it's time for me to just cut to the chase and just kill you."

He didn't have time for this, he just didn't. There was too much to do that night, too much to arrange. He had to get back to the others and start helping to break into the Initiative and put a large spoke in Adam's plan. He had no choice. "You don't want to kill me," he said, drawing on the Force heavily and using the Jedi Mind Trick, "You want to go home and reconsider your entire lifestyle, and not kill people."

She frowned for a moment and then blinked. "No I don't," she said in a growling voice. Then she blinked hard again. "What the hell was that… No, I'm going to kill you," she said again, hard certainty colouring her tone.

This time it was Xander's turn to blink. She was resistant to the Mind Trick, which meant that she was either very strong-minded, or she was Force-Sensitive. Whatever she was it could wait for a bit however, as he had to defend himself. Appropriately for someone on the business end of a crossbow, Xander had been watching her carefully, or rather he'd been watching her eyes and her trigger finger. As she said the word 'kill' her eyes had narrowed infinitesimally and her finger had whitened slightly as it bent to pull the trigger. Which was more of an obvious sign that she was about to pull said trigger.

The moment that she did, releasing the quarrel with a powerful 'thunk' of a noise he used the Force to nudge it as it left the end of the crossbow, sending it off course. It hurtled over his shoulder with a whisper of stressed air and buried itself between the eyes of a picture of a faintly snooty looking guy in a red coat, which Giles obviously quite liked. Xander had been tempted to try and pull it out of the air with his hand, but given that he was dealing with a member of the Order of bloody Teraka, that might have been a bad idea. He couldn't see anything smeared on the tip of the bolt as it sped past him, but that didn't mean that there wasn't something there.

Interestingly enough the failure of what should have been a dead cert shot did not faze the assassin at all. The moment that the bolt missed she just dropped the small crossbow and launched herself at him with the kind of athletic leap that suggested that she wanted to try and get his throat muscles to orbit his neck vertebrae a few times. Buffy and Faith probably would have been able to give a full set of criticisms about her technique, but he suspected that they would have been rather impressed despite themselves.

Xander met her by dodging to one side and meeting the force of her main kick with his elbow, whilst pushing with an open-handed jab of the heel of his hand at her hips, the result of which was that she hit the ground, hard.

Using her impetus however she rolled over back onto her feet and shot back upright, before aiming two punches and a kick, again at his throat. None of them connected as Xander blocked them all and then kicked back hard. Although she twisted away just enough to bleed most of the force out of it, it was still hard enough to send her staggering slightly away, her hair coming loose slightly as her head snapped to one side in the effort of keeping him in her sights.

When she regained her balance she tilted her head at him, breathing hard and then smiled, as something flickered at the back of her eyes, almost – but not quite – breaking through the deadness of her gaze. "A fighter," she muttered. "And a good one, too."

"I train with two Slayers," replied Xander quietly. "You pick up a few things." He paused. "It's not too late. I'm not an easy victim. You can just pick and leave Sunnydale. I don't want to kill you."

Something that sounded like a highly stressed combination of a laugh and a snarl and a sob ripped its way out of her throat. "Right! Like that's an option, working for the Order of Teraka… besides, I haven't shown you all my cards yet." She smirked briefly and then drew herself up. As she did Xander found himself almost frowning. It felt like… she was drawing on the Force. Weakly and somewhat incoherently, but she was drawing on the Force, as if she was about to-

As she threw her arm back and then lashed it out towards him, Xander drew on the Force himself and matched her Force strike at exactly the same moment. She grunted slightly as she felt the pressure and then… she gaped at him, her control fizzling more than a bit at the edges.

"How…?"

"Who taught you how to do this?" asked Xander crisply. "Where did you learn this?"

She gaped at him for a moment longer and then closed her mouth deliberately, before regaining her composure with an almost audible crackle of freezing hauteur. "My gift," she said, grinding her teeth, "My power." And then she concentrated hard and drew on the Force again, more strongly this time, and then pushed back at him.

Xander suppressed a sigh. She was using the Force poorly and incoherently and with insufficient focus, but she was potentially powerful. That wasn't the point though. He had to be somewhere else right now and he really didn't have time for a duel right now. Besides, he was far more powerful than she was.

"No," he said almost sorrowfully, "Not your power. The Force. And they really should have briefed you properly about me. Goodnight." And then he pushed back at her with the Force. His surge overwhelmed her own in a fraction of a second as it hit like a tidal wave. She had just enough time for her eyes to widen for a split second as she felt his strength and then she was hurtling across the room, hitting the far wall with a crash that made the table next to her shake, before collapsing like a puppet whose strings had been cut.

Xander walked up to her carefully and then probed with the Force. Nope, she was out like a light. And, sadly, he was going to have to leave her there. Which was a shame, as she was strong, potentially, in the Force, and there were a number of very urgent questions that he needed to ask her. But he had to be somewhere else right now, and he really didn't have the time to tie her up and stash her somewhere safe until he came back.

But she was alive and unharmed for the time being, even if she was unconscious.

He hefted Riley's shirt and then left the office at a run. The mystery of his guest would have to wait until later.

* * *

Jack hefted the zat gun carefully and then stuck it into his pocket with an equal amount of care. There was no way that he wanted to zap his nuts by mistake, and he shuddered at the very thought. Yuck, that was a bad image and he thrust it away from his brain. Then he turned to one side and watched as Teal'c and Bra'tac pulled out the staff weapons from the long box that had been placed in the van at the SGC with Hammond's reluctant permission, to be opened only in the unlikely event of a deepest, dire emergency.

So far the FUBAR situation that they were in right now kinda qualified for the use of the damn things.

He grabbed another zat gun and held it out reluctantly to Maybourne, who took it with a blink of surprise. "Harry, if you use this on me or any of the others when all of this is over, so that you can vanish with your customary…"

"Panache?" the former NID agent suggested with a wry grin.

"I was going to say 'weaselness' and leave it at that, but never mind. If I have to zat you back I'll do it, capiche?"

"I understand, Jack," replied Maybourne. "Don't worry, I won't shoot you in the back again. Not today, anyway." He turned his head to look over at the others, who were standing off to one side, talking amongst themselves. A little way away Giles and the two Slayer girls were talking equally quietly. "Well Jack, yet another screwed up situation. How do we do this to ourselves?"

Good question. "I'm probably paying back karma for something I did in a previous life," he replied, deadpan. "Maybe I was a bit careless somewhere along the line."

* * *

Giles looked over at the strange weapons that the two men were now hafting and then turned back to Buffy and Faith. "Exactly how odd do those two men make you feel, exactly?"

The two Slayers exchanged wry glances. "Kinda schizo, if you asked me," ventured Faith as she cleaned under a fingernail with her knife.

"What she said," added Buffy as she adjusted her belt buckle. Giles smiled. Neither was even looking at the object of their attention.

"Erm, schizophrenic in what way exactly?" he asked quietly."

Buffy frowned slightly. "Well, now that we're this close to them... they feel odd. Like each one of them has something in them. Not human, but not demon. Something… reptilian, I think. Snake-like."

"Icky," Faith agreed. "The men themselves – Tealc, I think he's called, and Brattack, or whatever his name is – feel fine. They just have something icky in them. Separate, I think. Not nice, any way."

Giles pulled at his upper lip just under his nose with a thumb and forefinger for a moment. That didn't sound too good. In fact it sounded downright unpleasant. But it fitted in with what Xander had told him he'd felt from them. "Does these things feel… parasitical?" he asked after a long moment.

"No," said Buffy after exchanging another glance with Faith. "Not really."

Well that was a relief. Giles sighed and then looked over as he saw the people from the SGC, whatever that stood for, finished handing out their odd-looking weapons. Then he frowned slightly, before ambling over towards Wesley, who was sharpening the tip of a sword with a honing stone.

"Isn't it sharp enough already?"

The younger Watcher shook his head slightly. "There's a slight nick at the end, Giles. I think it's from that Rentaara demon we got three nights ago. The one with the very hard vertebrae."

"Ah," muttered Giles. As he leant over to watch he added: "The weapons that the SGC people are holding – the staffs with the bulbous ends – do they look at all familiar to you?"

The rasp of the honing stone slowed for a second as Wesley peered down the end of the blade and in the process just happened to cast an eye over their guests. "Ah. The top of those things look an awful lot like the broken artefact in the smaller annex in the Tomb of Tutankhamen. The odd one, which no-one has ever been able to work out what it was, or what it stood for."

"Yes, that was my thought as well," replied Giles. Then he looked to one side, to where Willow and Buffy were scurrying back after a hurried talk with Amy and Tara. The red-headed witch looked as if she was about to burst with something, and was being eyed with some caution by Buffy. "Willow are you feeling well?" he asked.

"Oh, Giles! I'm fine, but my head hurts with all the stuff I found out tonight, and I know that you need to hear about it, and so does Xander, but you're here and he's not, and shouldn't he be here by now, I mean he really should as it's not that far and Giles why are there small black spots appearing in front of you?"

"Breathe, Willow," he broke in firmly, "Less talking for a moment and more breathing." He paused for a moment, to allow Willow to take some desperately-needed air into her lungs and also to let Oz saunter up to them, where he directed a level and concerned look at her.

"Are you ok, babe?"

"I'm fine now," she said after taking a few more gulps of air. "Giles, our magically-enhanced tapeworm bug got into the SGC's computers. We accessed their internet connection, slipped through their firewall at last and got a good backdoor access to their computer network. Their entire intranet system has some pretty funky security protocols, but we were just able to get a taste of what they do."

Giles deliberately didn't look over his shoulder at Colonel O'Neill and his people. Instead he looked at Oz, who looked rather amused and then nodded significantly. Obviously he was keeping an eye on them. "And?" the Watcher prompted.

"Well, SGC stands for Stargate Command. The place has a lot of layers of encryption, but we could see that they have a lot of firepower at the bottom of the Cheyenne Mountain complex in Colorado. Giles, it's _under_ NORAD!"

"Means some pretty heavy security," said Oz quietly.

"Indeed," replied Giles. "So what on earth do they do down there?"

"Good question," mused Buffy, with narrowed eyes and lips pursed in thought.

This was Willow's cue to look suitably crestfallen. "I haven't found that part out yet. But it has to be something to do with this Stargate thing, whatever that is."

"Stargate," repeated Wesley thoughtfully. "Star Gate." Then he frowned. "I think… there was something someone once mentioned. Some dig in Egypt somewhere, but I can't remember when or where. Damn, it's ringing a bell, but I can't say where or why."

"Let us know when you remember, Wesley," Giles said quietly. Then he looked up. "Aha! Xander!"

* * *

Xander's mind was still racing as he ran quietly along the path that led to the scrubland by Gronow Avenue. The encounter in the office had shaken him slightly. Whoever the assassin had been, she had a basic – ok, very basic – grasp of the Force. A far better grasp than Oz or Lindsey had had when he had first realised their potential. So where had she learnt how to use it? Had someone taught her or had she picked it up somehow? It wasn't impossible for someone to do that, but the odds, admittedly, were astronomical.

Seeing a van to one side he slowed slightly and looked over at the road. Aha. He recognised those people, especially the group to one side, where Giles and Wesley were talking to Oz and Willow.

But first he had a package to deliver and he walked over to where the three active Initiative agents were talking quietly and checking their weapons. "Riley, here's your shirt," he said as he approached.

The tall Iowan jumped slightly and then turned to smile crookedly at Xander, who had forgotten how quietly he had been travelling. "Damn it Xander, can't you knock sometimes? Almost swallowed my tongue there."

"Bad idea," replied the Jedi. "Buffy would kill me if you did that." He looked at the man consideringly as the agent stripped off his bloodstained shirt and pulled on the clean one, wincing slightly as he did so. "Riley are you up to this? You look like something that was dragged through a hedge and then got sat on by a Wookie."

"I'll be fine," groused Riley quietly. "I heal fast. Haven't fallen over once so far. And while I probably couldn't take on a Wookie, I could give an Ewok a fair fight." He grinned at Xander and the Jedi grinned back.

"Ah, Xander!" came a call from one side and he turned to see Giles waving at him.

"Got to go and talk to Giles," he said with a smile and then walked over to the others. On the way he saw O'Neill, who had finished what looked like a rather rapid talk with Major Carter and who was now walking up to join him.

"You got his shirt then," growled the Air Force Colonel. "I didn't know the library was that far away, the time you took getting it."

They were level with Giles by now and the Watcher blinked slightly and then frowned. "Ah. Given your… speed at times, that had occurred to me as well, Xander. I do hope you didn't run into any trouble?"

"I'm afraid you hoped wrongly, Giles," Xander replied with a sigh. "I had a little visit from the Order of Teraka."

The older Watcher's head snapped around at the same time that Buffy's did, whilst Wesley straightened up abruptly and Willow went white. Oz flickered an eyebrow.

O'Neill watched all this reaction around him and then turned to Xander. "The Order of whoville?"

"The Order of Teraka," said Giles in a remarkably calm voice, "Is a group of assassins."

"Oh," replied O'Neill. He looked at Xander critically. "Seem to have failed then."

"It was just the one of them," sighed Xander. "Human this time. No magical… enhancements. And wasn't made entirely of bugs."

"Bugs?" asked O'Neill, incredulously. Then he closed his eyes and shuddered. "No, don't tell me. I do not want to know."

"What happened?" asked Willow.

"Oh I got to the office. Grabbed Riley's shirt. Turned around and saw myself looking down the wrong end of a very small crossbow." He smiled shortly. "Luckily she missed." He put just the slightest amount of stress on the first word. "There was a slight fracas and at the end of it she was lying on the ground unconscious and I was still alive, so I left her there and came to join you."

Giles just looked at him and Xander could tell, at a glance that the Watcher knew that there was more to the story than that. Buffy and Willow had the same look, whilst Oz flickered his other eyebrow and Wesley thrust out his lower lip and rubbed it, which was his equivalent of saying 'Can we wait until this other chap has gone?'

As for O'Neill he looked thoughtful. "You have a history with this Order of the Terrapin before then?"

"Yes, Colonel," said Giles tightly. "You might say that. They are made up of scum and vermin who are regrettably good at their job and…"

"And the last time that they came to Sunnydale we made them well aware of the depth of their mistake," Buffy broke in with a certain steely flashing of the eyes.

"Oookay… so is this female assassin that you left knocked out on the floor potentially dangerous?" asked O'Neill carefully.

"Very dangerous," replied Xander, "But she shouldn't wake up for a while and hopefully we should have dealt with Adam by then."

"Oh good," answered O'Neill, before turning away. "I'd better get my people moving."

Giles watched him depart and then, when he obviously judged that the Colonel was far enough away to hear him, leant in. "So what couldn't you tell us in front of him, Xander?"

He paused for a moment and then looked at them all. "She was a Force-user," he said quietly.

"A what?" blinked Buffy after a stunned moment.

"She used the Force, Buff. Weakly, I should say, and an eight-year-old youngling at the Jedi Temple could have spanked her butt, but she could use the Force." He pulled a face. "From the way that she used it, and the way that she talked about it, I think that she thought that it was her ace in the hole – which means that she's used it before to kill people. I don't even want to think about that too much. The Dark Side aspect is too worrying."

"Oh sweet mother of God," muttered Wesley after a moment. "Xander, are you saying that the Order of Teraka, an organisation that specialises in the darker and nastier killing in the world, has a… a female Vader on the books?"

Good question, thought Xander. "No," he said after a moment's reflection. "She wasn't that well trained at all. She sounded astonished that I could use the Force – or what she called 'power' – myself, let alone the fact that I was stronger than she was. I think that she might just be one of those one-in-a-million people who are able to work out how to use the Force on their own."

There was the scuff of boots on the tarmac behind him and Xander turned his head to look around. The Initiative agents and the people from the SGC were starting to converge on them. "Well," he sighed, "It can wait. I think it's Showtime." He frowned for a moment. "No Spike?"

This brought a smile from Giles. "Ah, no. Spike 'volunteered' to guard our backs by making sure that, um, 'no thieving bastards nick any of my bloody wheatabix'," he said, putting on an effortless impersonation of the vampire's cockney drawl.

"Typical," sighed Xander. "Probably a good thing though. The other people at the Initiative might zap him without thinking about it much."

"What a shame," said Buffy in a tone of voice that contained all the sympathy that a mentally deficient gnat could have summoned.

* * *

Jack peered at the faint layer of dust under his feet that his torch illuminated as he walked down the corridor with the others. Well, so far this was just… peachy. Here he was invading a secret NID facility in the company of Maybourne, some rogue NID agents, two Slayers, whatever exactly the hell they were, some college students, some librarians a former lawyer and Harris.

Harris still bothered him. He had no idea what the kid was, and he wasn't used to that degree of uncertainty in life. No, he liked to slap a label on people and then move on, maybe returning if needed with some magic marker in case they had hidden depths and the label needed changing.

Daniel was a good example of this. His label probably looked like someone had just scrawled all over it. He paused mentally. That metaphor had gone as far as it could stretch its little legs.

He looked at Harris, who had taken point with the former lawyer guy, Lindsey. He sounded Texan and there was something about the way that the two men were walking that was starting to bug him… as if they were listening with more than their ears. They were also walking without using torches, which was something else that was bugging him. True, Lindsey seemed to be a little more hesitant than Harris, but it was still very odd. Either they were both part-cat or they were using something… which meant that Lindsey had access to the same mysterious powers as Harris. As for the other weird guy, Oz, he was bringing up the rear with Willow. Why was it that everyone in this damn town had such odd names, damnit?

He looked to one side, where Carter was staring at Harris. She was showing extreme signs of frustration, in that Jack had told her that she couldn't ask him about the whole telekinesis thing. This was irking her more than a bit.

Harris slowed for a moment and then stopped, causing Jack to look ahead at what the kid seemed to be staring at. Then he saw it too. The tunnel curved slightly in front of them and he could see a faint glimmer of light up there. Harris peered around at it and then had a quiet whispered conversation with lawyer guy, before they both started to walk again, beckoning the others on.

As they passed along the light grew stronger, until Jack could see where the overhead lights were blazing. The rest of the corridor was blank of anything else, but about sixty or so feet down along Jack could see a door to the right, close to where the corridor took a sharp lend to the left.

"Left turn goes to the main part of the Initiative via a security door," hissed Riley Fin behind him. "The door leads to the mothballed facility, although I think there's another junction to the two somewhere in there as well. That's the main entrance though."

"Ok," said Jack quietly, before looking around at the others. The odd girl called Anya scowled at him as he had broken wind or something and hefted the very sharp-looking axe she was carrying, before saying something that Jack couldn't quite catch to her boyfriend, the nervously resolute geek who was holding a sword. He started slightly and then looked at her, before nodding firmly, which seemed to satisfy her immensely.

Although Jack had no idea what she had said, Carter did, because she went red for a moment, her lips twitching.

Jack waved an eyebrow at her, and the blonde leant over. "She wants a promise from him of lots of orgasms after this," she whispered.

Jack felt his eyebrows twitch. "Well, he whispered back, "I guess that Sunnydale has to have a positive side after all."

There was a noise to one side and he turned to see Harris walk towards him. "Parting of the ways," the young man said quietly. "Buffy, Faith and I are going to check the place out and take out Adam when we find him. The rest of you are going to help the Initiative when Adam trips his breakout."

"Now wait one minute," objected Jack in a loud hiss. "I don't remember taking out Adam as being just a job for three kids!"

Faith smiled tightly and then turned to Summers. "Shall we break that door over his head to prove that we're not made other girls?"

"We're not going to get into a debating match about this Colonel," snapped Harris in a command voice that could have come straight from the mouth of George Hammond and which seemed to spark a need to salute somewhere in Jack's hindbrain. "Adam is too quick and too dangerous for you to deal with. Plus he has a chain gun built into his arm."

"A chain gun can't stop these things," snapped Jack back, with a waggle of his zat gun in response. "Plus, like I said, you're kids!"

"Colonel you've never seen what Adam can do. We have. This is our battle. We have powers that you… still have trouble believing. So let me put it another way. There are members of the United States Armed Forces standing in harms way down there. They are led by a man who does not seem to be a man. They are about to face a jail break by creatures from your worst nightmares, a jail break that they have no idea is coming. And a lot of them are rookies at this game. They need you down there."

There was a long moment of strained silence as Jack glared at Harris – and Harris just looked calmly back.

"He's right Jack. You're holding us up, we have to go now," broke in Daniel to one side.

Jack stared at Harris, who looked far too composed. He wanted to object, he wanted to say that the kid was wrong, he wanted to blow in and zat everything that moved… but they were right. He hated to admit it, damn it, but… "Ok," he said from between grinding teeth, "But if Adam doesn't kill you, you and me are gonna have words about what you really are."

Harris rubbed his own chin in what looked like a reflexive gesture for someone who should have had a beard. Then he nodded. "You have my word on that."

Then he turned and walked up the corridor to the door, as everyone followed him. Jack passed Harris with another glare and peered around the corner carefully. Great. More corridor, with another turning at the end.

"Ok," Jack muttered, "Showtime." He looked back at the three who were now standing by the door. "Will Adam know if you open that door?"

"I don't think it's alarmed," said Finn with a frown, "But then we don't know if Adam's been able to add his own modifications."

"Good point," frowned Harris. "You guys get further into the complex. When we pop the door we're going in, full throttle, so you need to get in and warn the Initiative as soon as possible, in case Adam pushes the button then and there."

"A good point," nodded Giles. Then he looked at Jack. "Let's go then."

"I'm really starting to dislike Sunnydale," Jack sighed as he turned the corner properly and glided down the corridor, holding the zat in a two-hander grip. Carter was to one side, followed by the two Jaffa, with the NID guys and Daniel next, and finally the Sunnydale people, with Oz again acting as rearguard.

They checked the corner – another corridor! Joy! – and then glided down that one too, until Jack finally caught sight of a door at the end. It had a keypad to one side, one that looked rather outdated, but also rather well maintained.

"Finn?" he hissed. "What's on the other side of this thing?"

The NID Agent frowned. "Should be the access corridor to the Level Six Armoury."

"Should be? You're sure?"

"From what I remember of the original plans, yes sir."

"Ok. You know the access code, obviously?"

"Yes sir," replied Finn and then strode up to the door, slinging his gun over one shoulder. Then he froze and looked to one side. Jack followed his gaze and then stopped dead. On the right hand side of the door a small recess had been hollowed in the wall. A small camera was sitting in it, with a red light blinking above it. As they watched, it moved to one side and focussed on the main group.

"Sir, I think we've been made," snapped Carter.

"Shit!" said Finn, before looking back to the keypad and keying in an eight digit code as quickly as he could. When the door audibly unlocked he grabbed the handle and pulled it open quickly, while reaching for his tactical radio and triggering it. "Agent Riley Finn to all Initiative Operatives on base. Bounty Four-One! I say again, Bounty Four-one!" He released the radio and looked back at them all. "That's the alert for a breakout and HSTs on the base. We have to go! _Now_!"

* * *

Faith looked Buffy and Xander and pulled a face as the sound of the shouting went past them. "I think that's the sound of everything going to hell in a hand basket," she quipped.

"I'd say so," Xander agreed and then looked at the door. "Stand clear please ladies, I'm going to open the way for us.

This was good advice, especially as the last time that Faith had seen such an intent look on the Jedi's face had been the time that old psycho demon had shot Wes and grabbed Willow. She moved with Buffy to the right hand side of the doorway, while Xander stood by the other side.

There was a sudden scream of very stressed metal and then the metal door shot past them and embedded itself in the wall opposite. "That's pretty open, Xander," Buffy pointed out.

"Maybe a little overkill," he conceded, pulling out his lightsabre and then he quickly checked the doorway. "Clear!" he called and then slipped inside.

"Here we go," Faith muttered and then joined him, with Buffy a spilt second behind them.

* * *

God, there was nothing worse than counting down that last half an hour before your relief came, thought Sergeant Bailey. The seconds dragged out, the minutes crawled by and when you were hoping to meet a hot brunette with a chest like the Rockies, every instant was tortuous.

He looked over to where McGlynn was updating the log. He envied him. It may have been a tedious, mind-numbingly boring job, but it took away some of the minutes. McGlynn looked up briefly, as if he sensed the Sergeant's eyes on him and then went back to the log.

Bailey suppressed a sigh and was about to start another round of the cells when to his astonishment his radio crackled to life at the same time as the intercom speakers set on the walls. _"Agent Riley Finn to all Initiative Operatives on base. Bounty Four-One! I say again, Bounty Four-one!"_

He knew Finn, that his voice and… but then his training kicked instantly, all of his instincts screaming at him to obey SOP, while at the same time part of his brain gibbered that the announcement was impossible, that this could not possibly be happening.

Instead he turned quickly and ran. Four strides brought him level with the desk where McGlynn was still sitting, staring at the speaker in puzzlement, like the green kid that he was. "Weapons!" shouted Bailey, and as the kid held up his gun in response Bailey grabbed the back of his uniform at the neck and then dragged him towards the main corridor at a run.

"Sarge?" protested the kid in bafflement, not that Bailey could blame him and then three things happened. The first was that Chan and Sikorski appeared at the mouth of the corridor, both pale but clutching their weapons, their eyes wide as they looked around.

"Finn's declared a Bounty Four-One!" said Bailey tautly as they caught sight of him, whilst he slowed and then yanked McGlynn to a halt. The kid reeled to regain his balance, whilst coughing and rubbing at his throat where Bailey's yank had pulled his uniform up.

The second thing was the soft but ominous sound of innumerable clicks as the locks disengaged on all of the normally alarmed doors of the cells.

And the third was the explosion of noise and movement as every HST in the cells erupted out of them en masse.

Bailey groaned quietly as he brought his weapon up and levelled it. "Time to earn our pay, people. Open fire!"

* * *

Finch stared at the speaker in the corner of his office with a faintly puzzled air. Interesting. Then he picked up his phone and hit a series of numbers with incredible speed. When it was answered he said, simply: "We have an Alpha One Seven Zero situation." Then he replaced the phone, opened a drawer and pulled out his emergency weapon, before standing up and walking towards the door.

* * *

Chaos rode through the halls of the Initiative, with rapid feet and bloody fangs, and death went with it, with confusion going ahead of them. Here and there individual members of the facility were caught by the vampires and demons and other, more nameless creatures of the night, which leapt upon them with bright fangs and already bloodied talons.

But then here and there groups of agents rallied, warned just in time by Riley's broadcast. They might have been surprised and they might have been baffled as to why all the locks in the facility had gone down, along with all the safety interlocks, leading to this tidal wave of inhumanity and part-humanity that was now howling through the facility, but they were well trained and had access to weapons, and they now used those weapons to unleash a hurricane of fire on their opponents.

Unfortunately their numbers were still small and many of them were inexperienced as to their enemies. If they had been facing humans then they would have wiped the floor with them – but they weren't. They were facing some of the nastiest creatures that the Hellmouth could provide – vampires that didn't die when you shot them, demons that were armoured enough to get close enough for hand-to-hand (or hand-to-claw) fighting, and other creatures that didn't mind being shot because they were in a killing frenzy.

Numbers started to tell. The Initiative was not winning.

* * *

Bailey shot a blue-skinned demon in the eye with a single round, watched it go down, twisted to one side and then sent another round into the chest of the vampires that was surging towards him. Luckily he had counted right and it was the tracer round that it should have been, as he had always made sure that he had a magazine or four of razzle-dazzle ammo on him, a mix of ordinary bullets, tracers and hi-ex that the more experienced Initiative agents swore on. Unfortunately he was now down to one and a half magazines and he was starting to sweat.

Things were not going well. McGlynn was sitting on the floor, clutching at a bad flesh wound to his left shoulder, Sikorski's liver was being messily eaten to one side by something that had a face like a boot and Chan was bleeding from a cut over his eye. At least all three were still fighting and were alive, although how long for was something that he really didn't want to think about.

He especially didn't want to think about the lab tech that they had seen being pulled limb from shrieking limb down the corridor from them earlier on, whilst they were too busy fighting off the next wave of frigging HSTs.

Something clanged to one side and above and then he groaned as a fresh wave of HSTs boiled though an opening in the wall to one side. "Crap," he sighed and then hefted his gun to his shoulder. "Ok guys. Do your best."

Sighting carefully he blew the head of the leading demon apart with two shots and then sent a tracer round into the lead vampire's chest. Chan got the next demon with a carefully aimed shot of his own and then dropped his rifle, meaning that he was out of ammunition, before pulling out his hand gun and shooting the next creature twice in the head. It reeled but didn't go down until McGlynn got it in the throat with one of his last bullets. Not enough ammo, thought Bailey dully as the HSTs behind surged forwards, not enough…

Something that resembled a fireball suddenly shot out of a side corridor and impacted against the leading demon, blowing it against the wall and leaving it with a burning and very fatal wound to its chest. Bailey looked to one side in astonishment and then suddenly the most beautiful sight in his life appeared before his eyes.

Agent Finn and Team One were there, firing with careful precision into the HSTs, whilst two figures armed with what looked like staffs, but which seemed to be some kind of energy weapons, swept their flanks, sending bolts of burning… something, maybe plasma… into the ranks of the now stationary and bewildered HSTs. They were followed by others – he caught sight of a red-haired girl who tossed small fireballs of her own, and a blonde girl who could do the same, and a short man with a sword that he used to hack the hand off a demon that seemed to be not quite dead enough, and then there was… hell was Colonel Jack O'Neill? Jesus Christ, so it was, and he was firing something that sent bolts of sizzling blue energy against the HSTs, which made them convulse and collapse.

"Holy crap," gaped Chan. "Who the hell are they?"

"I don't know," said Bailey, "And I don't god-damn care. The cavalry maybe."

"Sorry we haven't got the bugle then," said a quiet voice to one side. They turned to see a red-haired young guy, who quickly knelt next to McGlynn and inspected his arm carefully, before closing his eyes and concentrating.

"What are you-" started Chan, but the guy cut him off with a curt wave of the head. He paused and then opened his eyes again. "I've stopped the bleeding, but he needs a doctor. Easier said than done, I know, but at least he won't bleed to death." McGlynn was already looking at his arm with disbelief.

"Who the hell are you?" repeated Chan.

"He's with us," said a voice to one side, and O'Neill walked up to them. "Holy shit, Bailey, someone went and made you a sergeant. Were they deranged or something?"

Bailey saluted with a dry chuckle. "No sir. Got my shit together sir. Made the mistake of volunteering when someone was asking for people for this place sir." He blinked. "Of course that got me here, sir."

O'Neill looked at him with a long, knowing gaze and then nodded choppily. "Yes, it did."

"Begging the Colonel's pardon, but what are you doing here?"

"Oh, you know me, sergeant. I never could keep my nose out of trouble." He looked over as McGlynn, who was standing shakily. "You ok, private?"

"I've been better sir," McGlynn replied with a confused look at the others. "Out of, out of ammunition though."

"Is there an armoury near by, Finn?" O'Neill called out.

"Off the main hall, three intersections down sir." He cocked an ear. "From the sound of the fighting it's being defended."

"Let's go then. We need to start something in the way of a counter-attack, and soon. I don't like the way that this thing is going down so far." He looked around, caught the eye of the tall guy with the sword, who an astonished Bailey recognised as the librarian of the damn university, and then took point with the two people with the odd staff-like weapons.

Bailey hefted his own weapon and followed. This was becoming a very odd day. But at least he was alive and there were people on the base who just might be able to give the HSTs a damn good kicking.

* * *

It was a long corridor, and quite featureless, apart from a slight bend, but they'd gone up it with some care. As Faith had put it, it would have been a bad idea to think that Adam didn't have more than his hands up his sleeves. He had a machinegun up one for a start. Not that he had sleeves. Buffy shook her head slightly. She was picking up something on her Slayerscope, as she called it, and it was starting fuzzy up her brain. Something odd was up ahead. Something that was not alive and yet was not dead.

Adam.

"I feel him too, B," said Faith quietly to one side. "He's here somewhere."

Xander slowed to a halt up ahead and then waved them forward. The corridor ended at another door. "No time to be subtle here," the Jedi muttered, pulling out his lightsabre. He made a curiously gentle gesture with his free hand then the door was pulled bodily out of its frame and slammed against the wall. A spilt second later they were all through, as the two Slayers drew their swords at the same time.

The room that opened up in front of them was quite large, at least a hundred yards long and almost as wide. It must have been the hospital part of the original mothballed complex, because it was filled with beds, dozens of them.

That was the part that made them all stop dead in their tracks, because some of those beds were… occupied, sort of. Body parts from a wide range of… things, to put it mildly, had been laid on the beds, on top of some kind of plastic sheeting. Some were attached to tubes that led to odd-looking IVs that contained some sort of liquid. And some of the parts had once been attached to humans, including arms, and legs and… heads.

Buffy swallowed as she looked away from one of them. He had been in Riley's fraternity. Her boyfriend had introduced him once, very briefly, on their way to a party. He had vanished the next night, on patrol she later heard Riley say. Now his lifeless eyes were staring up at the ceiling, while some kind of liquid was being pumped into his temple.

There was a shuffling noise to one side and all three of them looked over to a desk that was situated by another doorway to their left.

"Holy shit," said Faith in a revolted voice.

Two figures were standing there. Or perhaps slumping there. They were dressed in off-white lab clothes, but they somehow fitted into the house of horror that surrounded them.

Maggie Walsh and Dr Angleman had, frankly looked better. She was presuming that the man was Angleman, anyway. That was what it said on the nametag on his coat anyway, even if it did have dried goop smeared over it. They were… green. Their eyes were cloudy, a cloudiness that did not come with death, but rather from something else, some kind of tampering. Green smears of something were liberally spattered over their skin, from what they could see of it. Something was lurking in their expressions, like a kind of flickering light hidden by several layers of mud. Perhaps it was awareness, of a sort. Perhaps it was just recognition that someone was there in front of them.

They looked at the pair for a moment. "Well, that makes a kind of sick form of very twisted justice on the part of Adam," said Xander after a moment. "He zombified the scientists who created him in the first place. Original."

"Are they alive at all?" Buffy asked.

"Good question," Xander replied. He peered at them for a moment and then swallowed. "Yuck. The Force is literally recoiling from them. Life should not be turned into that kind of a parody of itself. I feel a bit ill, guys."

"You're admiring my handiwork, I see," said a deep voice from the black shadows of the doorway behind the two almost-deceased Initiative scientists. And then a shape emerged from the doorway itself, the flesh and green metal shape of Adam, as he blinked at them and then showed his teeth in a rictus of a smile.

"Why did you do that to them?" asked Xander quietly.

Adam spread his hands wide. "Why, how else could I get the helpers I need to build my army? I'm going to have a lot more… components soon. I'll need people to assist me." The rictus of a smile became a little wider. "I can't sew all that skin on myself. Or reprogram all those brains. Besides. I couldn't have Mother rotting in a hole in the ground, could I? Not when I owe her _so_ much."

"Careful, Adam," replied Xander after a moment, "Sarcasm is a very sharp weapon to use around us. We use it too often not to be able to see beyond it." He looked at the two figures as they started to shuffle over to one of the beds, where some body parts were laid out. "They belong with the dead. This is a mockery of life." He looked back at Adam. "Like you."

"I take it that you're here to deal with me then?" Adam smiled, flexing the fingers of his right hand. Then he caught their looks. "You think I still have my chain gun? Your… Padawan, if I have the name right, showed me that he could deal with it. What he can do, you, I surmised, can do better. So I removed it." He reached into one of the pockets in his combat trousers and removed a small silver cylinder that looked very familiar. Too familiar, because Adam thumbed a switch and then a red glowing blade buzzed into life. "Here's something I made instead. It was a challenge, but as I knew that you had one, Harris, I knew that I could build one too. The Initiative has a lot of excellent spare parts."

"Buffy, Faith, get out of here. Go help the others. This is beyond you I'm afraid," Xander said in a firm voice as he activated his own blue blade.

Buffy stared at the red blade with a feeling of horrible dread trickling into her stomach. "Xander…"

"Go! I'll take care of Adam."

The grinning thing in the doorway tilted its head. "Go, then. I'll just have to meet you later. Slayers could make very good additions to my army."

"Oh and put those two out of their misery," Xander instructed, his eyes never leaving Adam's location.

"Misery?" repeated Buffy as she and Faith backed up. Then she got it. "Oh, right." She turned and then leapt in the air, twisting slightly to land by the things that had once been two human beings. Cloudy eyes turned in her direction as she landed and then her sword flashed through the gap between them. Something like a gasp erupted from the dead lips of Maggie Walsh and then her head toppled off her shoulders, followed by Angleman's as the two collapsed. "You were a lousy grader, Professor Walsh," she said as she looked down at the severed head and then she was breaking for the door where they had entered and where a visibly impatient Faith was standing.

Adam let out a noise that may have been a moan or may been a chuckle, she couldn't tell, and then he strode forward, raising his lightsabre and bringing it down. "I can always rebuild them," he grated. "I have the technology."

Xander parried the blow with a great crack of noise as the lightsabres met and the two power cells tried to override each other. And then they were at it, jabbing, slashing and parrying as the blue blade met the red one and then took the battle to it, only to meet a counterattack in response.

"Buffy, we need to go!" urged Faith, "Xander can deal with Adam!"

She paused for a moment as common sense battled the primal drive of the Slayer to kill something as evil and twisted as the thing that was fighting her friend. After a moment she nodded sharply and then turned and ran down the corridor, a step behind Faith.

"At least," Faith shouted as they ran, "This time we can tell the difference between the two guys with the lightsabres!"

* * *

Adam was strong, thought Xander as he parried another one of those great overhead blows that made his knees bend ever so slightly. The cyborg was holding the lightsabre in the proper two-handed grip and was using it as if he knew what he was doing.

The problem was that he wasn't bad at it. In fact he was good, with a technique that seemed more than a bit familiar. Djem So – Form Five. The technique that Anakin had used. The one that Vader had kept using, as it allowed an offensive style that favoured practitioners with a lot of strength. Like Adam, with his enhanced hydraulics, or whatever the hell he had in his upper body.

The red blade crashed down again, but this time he dodged to one side, using his own lightsabre to direct the blow away from him, before using the Force to keep moving sideways, and at the same time to push Adam back, before he brought the blue blade back and along at waist height. Adam parried with a grunt and the two traded strength for a moment, before Xander disengaged, feeling the impetus bleed from his own push. Yes, Adam was the stronger.

The red blade came up and then down again, and again he dodged it, allowing it to take a chunk out of an inoffensive bed, which promptly collapsed, strewing body parts everywhere. Adam spun around as Xander flitted behind him in an effort to get a clean strike, and again the lightsabres met in a series of hard strokes, before the cyborg came forward again in an effort to get a blade lock, to try and press his weight against Xander's blade and get the Jedi off-balance.

But Xander didn't take the bait, instead slipping back quickly, through the door. No-one was in there, nothing living anyway, but he was still taking a risk by moving into Adam's territory. Still there was a method in his madness. He needed more room to attack and use all the cards in his hand, and if he remembered the plans that Riley had sketched out there was another exit into the Initiative somewhere back there.

Adam came after him, his lightsabre probing and jabbing, forcing Xander to fend it off. But he was also looking at the cyborg's fighting style as he did so, assessing and judging it. Interesting.

"The great Jedi," said Adam suddenly, "on the defensive. On the run."

"Never fight on ground of your enemy's choosing," Xander replied with a smile. "Basic wisdom." He darted back quickly, throwing a fast look over his shoulder as he felt something stir at his hair. There was a door back there, a door that led to a black expanse. Another corridor perhaps? It was partly open and a breeze was flowing through it, a breeze that seemed to be laced with the smell of gun smoke and blood.

Sensing something Xander looked back just in time to parry another massive overhead blow from Adam that almost buckled his knees, before he surged back and got the cyborg to take a step or two back as he counterattacked. Using the Force Xander ripped the door behind him off its hinges and then sent it hurtling back him at Adam. The Cyborg didn't even blink, using his lightsabre to hack it in two as it came into range, but one end of hit still dinged him on the shoulder, making Adam take another step back.

There was a corridor back there and Xander darted into it, looking back for another split second to see that Adam was coming after him. Ahead there was light, along with smoke and screams, whilst something was slumped against the side of the corridor, with a long viscous trickle of dark brown blood running out of he, she or it. Hell thought Xander, he had demons in here too. This is bad. The Initiative is going to be right up against it.

There was a door up ahead, with some kind of demon nearby. It seemed to be trying to extract a bullet from an armoured eyelid or something. Its hesitation cost it dearly, because Xander used the Force to send the door – the big, metal door – back on its hinges and crushed the demon like a bug against the wall.

Xander leapt through the opening into what looked like a good approximation of Hell. People were shouting, screaming and dying, machine guns and other weapons were going off, demons were growling, vampires were swearing… and then Adam came through the doorway behind him and the red lightsabre came down again as the cyborg attacked again.

* * *

Giles caught the iron bar that was being wielded by the vampire with the end of his battleaxe, twisted hard and then pulled, jerking it out of the vampire's hand. The creature had just enough time to gape before the battleaxe came back again, this time at neck height. Damn, he hated the dust the bloody things produced.

"Giles!" came an urgent call to one side and he turned to see something rushing towards him with too many eyes for comfort. Fascinating, he thought, as he threw the battleaxe at the very vulnerable spot in its chest, a Derg-Olsed demon. Very rare. He looked down at the convulsing body of the demon as it finished collapsing. Well, even rarer now.

He grabbed the axe and heaved, as a short red-haired figure grinned at him.

"Well thrown, Giles! Buffy would be impressed."

"Thank you Willow," he replied with a tired smile, "Hopefully she would." He looked around. "Where are the others?"

"Up ahead," she replied, holding up a hand and squinting at it until a small fireball sprang into being on her palm. "I'm pooped." She looked around. "Oz was here a moment ago."

There was a snarl to one side and they tensed, before relaxing slightly as the unmistakable sound of a lightsabre being used in anger, or to put it another way, being used practically, ended the snarl completely. A moment later Oz emerged from the smoke, shutting off his weapon as he did. "Vampire," he said quietly. Then he looked around. "We need to join the others."

"Agreed," sighed Giles as he looked down the corridor. "That way I think!"

"Giles!" came a voice to one side, and then Buffy and Faith came running through the carnage, both wielding swords that were coated with ichor and blood that had never flowed in the veins of any human.

"Buffy! Faith… then where's Xander?"

"Xander's fighting Adam," replied Buffy in a low and very serious voice. "Giles, Adam's been learning a few things. He's built himself a lightsabre!"

"Oh… Iesu Grist," muttered the Watcher, closing his eyes for a moment in horror. "Where are they battling?"

"In Adam's freaky headquarters," said Faith. "We need to win this thing, guys, or we're going to end up as body parts for the freak's army of zombie flunkies, which is not my idea of a good time at all."

"Agreed," said Giles grimly. "We need to find the others – they're fighting up ahead."

* * *

The problem with fighting demons, thought Jack, was that you never really knew how many zat blasts were needed to kill them. Most went down with two to the chest. Some needed three, something that Carter had sworn was impossible. Luckily she'd stopped gaping after the third one and just kept fighting.

And then there were the tiny minority of demons that needed four or even five, something that was again, supposed to be impossible. One of the damn things had reacted to being zatted twice by giggling, goddamnit, and the damn thing had followed them around for several minutes, being zatted, giggling like a maniac and then practically begging for more. It had been like having a masochist with an inability to feel pain following you everywhere. Eventually five successive zaps had caused it to break apart into its constituent atoms, still giggling.

Jack looked around with a practised eye. So far things were slightly less shitty than they had been when they had broken into the Initiative. Bailey was still there, along with Chan and McGlynn, and they'd even picked up some more people here and there.

They were even awash with ammunition for the more conventionally armed people with them, after they had been able to access one of the armouries. They had been just in time there, as the place was under siege from a variety of things with horns, teeth and in one case tentacles. Five of the eight guards were dead when they arrived and the remaining three were about to be swarmed over when a hail of zat shots and staff weapon blasts had literally shredded the attackers.

But that had been the problem – they stopped one attack somewhere and another one emerged somewhere else, as yet more demons and vampires and other things had hurtled at them, totally oblivious to losses. Many had been chanting something that had chilled his blood for a moment. "Adam". They had been chanting his name. That was not a good sign, especially the way that they had been fighting. It had all the hallmarks of religious fervour. And from the number of human corpses that were littering the hallways, it looked like the Initiative was taking a real hammering.

Bra'tac and Teal'c, of course, were loving the whole thing. Both had gone into the fight using their staff weapons with a massive amount of professionalism, but at the same time an equal amount of glee. Daniel had watched them for a moment, absent-mindedly zatting a passing vampire as he did so, and then had then told Jack that fighting these kind of creatures was something that the two Jaffa had heard about in legends, so that having the chance to fight the damn things was something that would make a good story when they got back to their own people. Jack didn't doubt it for a second.

He snapped a quick glance around. Carter was talking to Maybourne, who was fingering a cut in his arm with a frown. Finn was talking to the Initiative people, obviously making sure that they all had enough ammo. He was a good kid and a fine combat leader. If they made it out of here he would do his best to get Finn a shot at the SGC. They needed people of his calibre. The rest of his team as well.

Lindsey and the others were… hell only half of them were there. He strode over to the Texan, who was looking back along the walkway they were standing on with a frown. "Where the hell is Giles and the rest of your people?" he snapped.

Lindsey seemed to ignore him for a moment and then smiled suddenly. "They're over there," he said, pointing. Jack followed the gesture and then sighed as Giles and the two red-heads appeared… followed by Summers and Faith whatshername.

"What happened," he snapped when they were within earshot, "And where's Harris?"

Summers trotted up to him, her eyes set and level. "Fighting Adam," she said quietly. She looked around herself and then seemed to relax slightly when she saw Finn, who shot a grin at her.

"Fighting Adam?" asked Jack incredulously. "On his own?"

"Hell yes on his own," replied Faith and then she turned sharply at the same time as Summers. They started running up the walkway at the same time that Teal'c called: "O'Neill! Many creatures approach!"

"Oh crap," he muttered as he hefted the Zat gun again. "Here we go again."

As the wave of new monsters broke on them, to be met with a storm of fire from his people he looked around at the walkway on the other side of the gap. More freaking creatures were running along it, trying to get into the fight. Just great, he thought as he took aim and zatted the leading, and very large, demon, so that it fell over and tripped the following ones.

And then things took a turn for the mad, because there was a great clang and a muffled scream from the walkway above the head of the demons, as a metal door flung itself open and Xander Harris leapt through… holding a sword made of blue light. Then something from a nightmare followed him, an amalgamation made of flesh, both human and what appeared to be demon, along with metal components. It was holding a sword made of red light. He knew what they looked like, but his brain was too busy asking itself if he had finally gone raving mad.

* * *

Xander turned to face Adam, bringing his lightsabre into the guard position as they faced off. More room here. It looked more than a bit dangerous, but there was no walkway above them, and the only demons or vampires were below them or to one side. He stole a quick look and saw a lot of astonished faces looking up. Oh crap.

"We have an audience," said Adam as he took a fresh grip on his lightsabre. "Good. I think that people should be able to watch when I kill you. It should make their resistance… less tenacious."

"I'm not the only Jedi in Sunnydale with a lightsabre," he pointed out with a smile.

"Yes, but once you're dead I can take your weapon and use it to kill him. I can wield both lightsabres at once." And then he lunged, the lightsabre sluicing down at him.

Xander parried it away from his body with his own weapon, so that the red blade wrecked the guardrail with a shower of sparks, before bringing his lightsabre blade back up and around to slash at Adam's face. The cyborg dodged back, moving his own blade up and around to retaliate and then brought it back in a killing slash designed to cut Xander in half. Fortunately the Jedi wasn't there to meet it. Instead he shot into the air with a Force leap, turned a tight summersault and then shot backwards to land on his feet.

* * *

"Jesus Christ!" said someone behind Jack, a split second before he could himself. That kind of move just wasn't possible, was it?

"Is that… are those lightsabres?" asked Carter faintly, looking as if she didn't believe what she was saying, let along thinking.

A number of faces, human, demon and vampire, were all looking at the fight now, and Jack turned to look at the others. "Hello, fighting for our lives here?"

"Indeed," said a deeply shaken Teal'c as he took out two vampires with staff blasts, "Although you must tell me how such a thing is possible."

"I have no freaking clue right now," replied Jack as a shrieking demon ran past, being pursued by the odd girl who had been talking about orgasms earlier on, only now she was screaming something about bunnies. He zatted a greyish demon in the face, causing it to collapse with a scream, and then stole a glance at the fight above his head. "It shouldn't be possible. At all."

* * *

The two lightsabre blades, one crimson the other sapphire, met in mid-air with a scream of energy, vied for supremacy and then disengaged.

"Any last words?" asked Adam with a smile. "I can't guarantee a grave though."

"I was about to ask you the same," replied Xander. "I can see where you got your technique by the way. You've been studying footage of Vader on the films."

"It seemed… appropriate," Adam said, still smiling. "After all – Vader killed Obi-Wan." The red blade came around and down – hard – again. But this time Xander met it with his knees fully locked, holding the blade above his head with his arms straining with effort.

"Your… problem is," the Jedi gasped, "Is that Obi-Wan knew that his time… was over. Plus… he was old." He grinned suddenly. "I'm not." And then he surged up, pushing Adam's blade up and back, sending the cyborg staggering.

"Plus, while Vader's style suits something like you, a cyborg, I bear the memories of the person who taught Vader – or should I say, Anakin." Xander looked at him coldly. "The man who beat Anakin/Vader on Mustafar. Chopped his legs and one arm off, in fact. And you are not Anakin. Just a creature that belongs dead." And with that he attacked, the blue blade lashing out in the offensive version of Soresu, as he went on the attack now that his opponent had made the mistake of showing all that he had in his own arsenal of attacks, not to mention made the mistake of thinking that Xander had been on the back foot the entire time.

Adam blinked hard the first time that he was forced back a step, and then again when Xander brought his lightsabre up and across his body, forcing Adam to defend very close to his own torso. "Interesting," said the cyborg as he moved back, reluctantly. Another jab, another slash from the blue blade and then a smoking line appeared across Adam's shoulder. "Very… interesting." The smile was gone now, and instead a very intent, almost worried expression was on his face.

Xander slashed high, very fast and then recovered from Adam's Parry by spinning and going low this time, the blue blade probing and flickering. Adam met it every time, but his technique was slower this time, as he desperately tried to keep up with Xander's new style, to absorb what the Jedi was doing, to analyse it and try to counter it.

But Xander varied his attacks now, pressing his advantage. The next time that he attacked he once again knocked Adam off balance and this time the lightsabre carved a line along Adam's chest and left a sizzling cloud of smoke in its wake as it did so. Adam stared down at the line in shock and then tried to counter attack, trying to use his weight and strength advantage.

However, it was too late. Xander saw the blow coming, moved to one side as the lightsabre came down, fended it slightly with his own blade so that it came down on very empty air and then brought his own lightsabre up and around in a slashing strike that Adam stood no hope of matching. It caught the cyborg on the side of his neck and decapitated him.

Adam's head bounced twice on the walkway, and then came to a halt. By a fluke his eyes were still open and his mouth opened and closed a moment as he looked at Xander – and then his still standing body moved, as it started to obey whatever commands the head was sending it. But it was still too slow, because Xander's next strike took off Adam's right arm at the elbow, sending it spinning off to the ground, deactivating the light sabre in the process. Adam's left arm followed and then the lightsabre made another deep slash into his chest, before Xander took a step back and held out his hand, using the Force to rip the energy source that was buried deep in Adam's chest out of the sagging torso. The tiny reactor, which was filled with green light, shot into Xander's hand and then the torso finally gave up the ghost. It sagged all the way down to the ground like a collapsing sheet, as the head finally went still as well.

Xander Harris, Jedi Master looked at the energy source that was sitting in his hand. Then he looked at the glooping substance that surrounded it. "God, that's gross," he muttered. Then he paused. It seemed very quiet.

* * *

When Adam's head, followed by his arms, his torso and then the green reactor thingy that had been in his chest a sudden lull fell over the monsters ahead of Jack. He didn't have a problem with that, it gave him a chance to catch his breath for a moment, as well as glare at Teal'c and Bra'tac who were staring up at the gallery with their mouths open and a complete disregard for their own personal safety. As for Carter, well, she could have caught any number of flies in her mouth by now. Daniel just had a very odd look on his face.

Then the lull was broken by one demon, with three eyes and a mouth that looked like a cat's bottom, which threw back its head and let out an ear-splitting noise that sounded like a keen played on a very ill set of bagpipes.

And then all hell broke loose again, only this time in a good way, as the demons and vampires looked up at Harris and his humming blue blade, then back at the assembled forces of good, with two staff weapons that were now pointing in the right direction, thank god, before deciding that perhaps this was not the best place to be. And then things went completely berserk, because it was at this point, as the demons were starting to shuffle backwards in some places, that Oz stepped forwards. He was holding a silver cylinder in one hand and had a very intent look on his face. Then he flicked a switch and a glowing green blade extended itself, like all lightsabres did in the movies. "Boo," he said quietly and then the mass of vampires and demons started to run, as if their lives depended on it. Which was an accurate statement, because Teal'c and Bra'tac opened up with their staff weapons on the few remaining ones that looked as if they were going to be insanely brave and stand and fight.

"Hunt 'em down!" shouted Finn, "Don't let them rally anywhere on the base!" And then he was off with the other surviving Initiative personnel, along with the two Jaffa, running and firing at the same time.

Oz flicked his lightsabre off, looked up at Harris, who flicked a wave back before leaping into the air, hurtled downwards, bounced his feet off the wall and landed next to Oz.

"You got him," said Oz.

"He had some very sneaky moves," replied Harris, before shrugging. "Bad idea to study Vader without being Vader though." Then he looked at the remaining members of SG-1, as well as Maybourne, who was standing there looking as if he had been poleaxed. Harris smiled faintly and then looked at Oz. "He left some… things up there that need to be taken care of. Experiments to create an army of fellow Adams. I think we need to put a few things out of their misery, or at least out of their unlife." He looked over to one side. "Lindsey, we might need your help."

The short Texan nodded and then walked over, cleaning his sword on a piece of cloth. And then all three leapt up, in an impossible jump, onto the walkway where Harris and Adam had appeared, paused for a second to let Harris stretch out his hand and then somehow get Adam's lightsabre to fly though the air towards him, before vanishing into the doorway there.

Jack opened his mouth for a moment, closed it again, reconsidered what the hell had been about to say and then finally came out with it: "What the _hell_ was that?"

* * *

Giles smiled quietly. "That, Colonel O'Neill, was one of the greatest weapons we have in the fight against evil. Those were three Jedi."

O'Neill turned on him like a striking snake. "_Jedi?_ Like the films? Like the fictional films?"

Giles looked at him. "Yes, Colonel," he said, as if he was talking to a very slow child, "Like the films. You did see the lightsabres, didn't you? Very hard to miss, about this long, made of energy, cut things like a, well, like a lightsabre through butter?"

"That's not possible," Major Carter muttered absently, "The energy requirements… I mean it's prohibitive… and… it's not possible."

"I know," said Buffy with a smirk, "That was my reaction as well." She paused briefly and sniffed the air with a puzzled look. "Is there something nearby that's not quite-"

And there was the distinctive sound of one of the odd weapons that Colonel O'Neill's people had brought with them powering up, as a figure from a dark corridor to one side stepped forwards and pointed the S-shaped weapon at the former NID agent, Harry Maybourne.

* * *

Jack had to give Maybourne his due, the little weasel. His own zat gun activated and pointed back almost as soon as Jack saw the figure in fatigues step out of the shadows. Whoever he was he was glaring at Maybourne, was tall, dark-haired and had blood on his shirt. Arterial blood spray, maybe. Then Jack stiffened. The newcomer had the word 'Finch' on the left hand side of his BDUs. The demon in charge if the Initiative, if Gates had it right.

"You must be the very rogue Colonel Maybourne," Finch said quietly. "The man who started this while SNAFU by appointing Walsh."

"And you must be Finch, the man who isn't really a man," Maybourne replied.

Finch tilted his head to one side for a moment and then smiled slightly. "Very good. My turn – you came here to get the plans for Adam, so that the NID would welcome you back with open arms?"

It was now Maybourne's turn to smile. "No, I'm just here to tidy up my mistakes. Walsh was one, Adam by extension is – was – another."

"Why do I get the feeling that they're just going to trade barbs all night?" muttered Faith to one side. Jack suppressed a slight smirk.

"Oh for heavens sake," sighed Rupert Giles and then he strode forwards and proceeded to bow elegantly to Finch, who started ever so slightly. "My Lord," said the Brit, "I did not know that you were in town, or I would have sent my humble respects." He looked up and then straightened. "Or we could have had a beer or three." He looked over at Maybourne. "Put your weapon down please Colonel Maybourne. General Finch – or should I call you by your real name? – is not going to kill you."

"Hello?" broke in Jack, "Demon! Evil! Green eye!"

"Not all demons are evil," said Giles as Finch and Maybourne both lowered their weapons.

"The years have touched you, Rupert," Finch said with a wry look at Giles. "How long has it been again?"

"Eleven years. I believe I was tracking down some very valuable antiquities that had vanished from Iraq during the Iran-Iraq War. I believe that you said you were there to write a report on just how unpleasant both sides were."

"I did," said Finch, or whatever the hell his name was, "Shame that the White House didn't listen to me." Something was happening to his voice, as the American accent started to slip away. He sounded, well, almost British.

"OK," said Jack, "Just who the hell are you then?"

Finch smiled. "My real name is Olorin. Over the years I've worked for both the British and American Governments. Various Presidents and Prime Ministers."

"Such as?" asked Maybourne suspiciously.

"Oh, William Pitt – the younger, Arthur Wellesley, Abraham Lincoln, David Lloyd George, Franklin Roosevelt… that enough of a list for you?" He smiled briefly. "I tend to get called in to take care of unpleasant problems and try to work out what's the right thing to do. That last part is a little peccadillo of mine. Your little organisation here has given me some dreadful headaches." He looked at Giles. "Rupert, who were those young men? And if you're here, do you have a Slayer in town?"

Giles scratched behind his ear. "It's a very long story," he said, as he beckoned Obelix, or whatever his name was to one side.

* * *

The sun was starting to rise over the university, and Xander sat there under the tree, watching Sunnydale at dawn. It looked like being another nice day. Except if you were one of the wounded in the Initiative. He sighed. The Initiative had taken some savage losses. It hadn't been as bad as it might have been – he shuddered at the thought of what might have happened if they had had no warning at all, and then no back-up in the form of Riley, and O'Neill's people, and Buffy and the others - but it had still been bad enough.

He closed his eyes and embraced the Force. He needed some tranquillity, especially after the horrible moments that had lodged in his brain, as the three Jedi had gone through Adam's collection of parts and disconnected those that had no reason to still be living. It might be called euthanasia, but it had been very necessary. To think about what Adam had been doing…. Well, he shuddered again.

Then he opened his eyes. Someone was walking up the hill towards the tree under which he was sitting. "Hello, Jack," he called.

"Harris," acknowledged the SGC Colonel. "Or should that be Xander? Or Jedi Harris?"

"Take your pick," he replied, as the man in now very clean fatigues sat down to one side.

"Nice spot," said O'Neill after a long moment. "Good view."

"I like it," Xander replied.

There was a long moment of silence. "So," said O'Neill eventually, "A Jedi Knight, right? How'd that happen?"

"Jedi Master, actually," corrected Xander. He sighed briefly. "Long version or short version?"

"Short. Carter's down at the bottom of the hill somewhere, playing Rock, Scissors, Stone with two of my colleagues for the honour of talking to you."

"Did you beat them, or did you just skip their selection process?"

"I'm a Colonel in the US Air Force," said O'Neill with a faintly hurt look. "I outrank the lot of them." He looked back out at the view. "Plus I'm sneaky. Left them behind me."

"Ookay," smiled Xander. "Well, almost two and a half years ago a chaos mage called Ethan Rayne came to town. Good at magic, worshiped chaos. Literally. Hence the name."

"What did he want?"

"Oh, he thought it would be a good idea to open up a costume shop the week before Halloween, enchant the costumes and then work his mojo so that on Halloween Night everyone who'd bought something from his shop became what they were dressed as."

There was a moment of crystalline silence. "Inventive," said O'Neill. "Sick, but inventive." He looked at Xander. "So who did you go as?"

"Obi-Wan Kenobi," he said with a smile. "Turned out that Giles knew him way back when he was young and stupid. He put two and two together, paid Ethan a visit and then beat him up until he told him how to stop the spell."

There was another silence.

"I'm guessing that something stuck in your head," O'Neill said eventually.

"Oh, just how to train as a Jedi. Build a lightsabre. That sort of stuff." He sighed. "Colonel, Sunnydale is not a nice place to be. People tend to have short and violent lives here. I saw a lot of friends from High School die. Wasn't 'til Buffy arrived that I knew about what was out there. In the weeks after Ethan's Halloween, I was able to put together the pieces I needed to help Buffy keep the death toll down a lot."

"High School!" O'Neill clicked his fingers. "The place that blew sky-high! Was that you?"

"And the others."

"What was Wilkins?"

"Oh, he was busy transforming himself into a 60-foot long snake demon thing. Oz and I gutted him like a fish with our lightsabres, and then Buffy blew him the hell up."

O'Neill shuddered. "Remind me never to piss her off."

"Not a problem." He blinked. "It's been a very long night and even Jedi need sleep." He stood up and then paused. "Oh," he said and put his hand in his pocket, before pulling out a small metal component. "Give that to Major Carter. It's the piece she needs to complete the energy cell."

"Thank you," said O'Neill as the piece was placed in his hand.

"Not a problem," Xander answered as he started to walk home. "Oh, you can pay me back someday by telling me what a Goa'uld is. I'm curious."

Jack watched him walk away. "Oh crap," he said softly. Then he looked down the hill to where Carter, Teal'c and Bra'tac were all charging up towards him. They looked pissed with someone, probably him. "Oh for crying out loud!"


	23. And What Rough Beast Is This

Another long pause between chapters, and I'd like to apologise. It's been a hell of a month and a bit. First my firm sent me off to Monte Carlo to cover a conference. Sounds great, but in the past I've been there as a part of a team of journalists. This time I was there on my own, which meant that I was running around all the time. By the end I was dead on my feet and even worse I wasn't able to be around on Kathleen's birthday. Then I had to write a string of features. Don't I ask me why but I then developed as bad a case of writer's block on this damn chapter than I have ever suffered from before. Then a cousin of my aunt died of complications from meningitis.

Urgh. Here it is. Bit of a filler, but it sets things up for the next one.

* * *

The house had been empty for a day when the phone rang. It rang once in the morning for a while, until the answerphone cut in, and then again, twice, in the afternoon, before ringing a fourth time in the evening. Then night fell.

The next morning the phone rang again, and then again, until eventually the answerphone's incoming messages list became too full and it shut itself down. That didn't stop the person who was trying to ring, because it rang again and again, on and off, through the day, until night fell.

On the third day it didn't ring at all.

* * *

He signed the last piece of paperwork and then looked at it with a mixed sense of satisfaction. Yes, it was the last one – for now. There would always be more things to sign, there always were. But he put the pen down and then smiled. Not bad. The morning's paperwork was out of the way and it was only 9am.

Luckily there hadn't been much, even for a place the size of the SGC. For some reason things were almost always quieter when SG-1 was off-base. He smiled. Jack had a habit of attracting trouble. That and official complaints.

He turned in his chair and then reached over to the coffee machine to grab the carafe and pour himself another mug, which he sipped quietly for a moment or two. It was his own deepest, darkest secret that he used a recipe from an old Navy friend for his morning coffee. There was a pinch of salt in it for a start. Not that he could admit that to anyone.

The phone rang and he reached over to pick it up. "Hammond."

"Sir, I have the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs on the line," said the distinctly harassed voice of his secretary. "He said something about needing to talk to you about, um, SG-1 pulling the NID's nuts out of the fire, to quote him exactly."

General George Hammond suppressed a minor exclamation and straightened slightly in his chair, a habit that he never seemed to quite get out of when about to talk to a superior officer on the phone. "Put him through please."

It sounded like Jack and SG-1 had gotten into trouble all on their own. Again.

* * *

The table was still there, and the plaster on the wall had a slight dent. However, there was a large void that should have held the Force-wielding assassin from the Order of Teraka. Xander sighed as he stared down at the spot. He hadn't expected that she would still be there when he returned to the office, but it might have been nice if she had. Admittedly it would have led to another fight, possibly, but at least he could have had a word with her.

And he knew that she probably would have needed that word. Force-sensitive people who discovered their gift – maybe, unless she had been taught it by someone – were rare. Very rare. She had been very sure of herself, and convinced that she had an ace in the hole for dealing with him. For her victim to then turn around and use her own 'gift', as she had put it, against him, must have been a nasty shock.

But now she was gone. He rubbed his nose thoughtfully for a moment. If he was an assassin for the Order of Teraka, where would he hang out in Sunnydale? He paused and then snorted. He might as well as ask himself where a Sith would hang out. He could guess, but he had no idea.

Footsteps sounded to one side and then Faith stuck her head around the door. "Hey, Xand-man," she drawled. She looked like she'd had enough time to sleep – for a Slayer nap anyway – and was dressed in clean clothes. "There's a whole host of people out looking for you. Jack for start, followed by Riley. Then there's the weird duo, plus Major Carter and the hot book guy. Oh and Giles."

Wonderful. He hated debriefings. He had no memories of any outside Obi-Wan's memories of talking the Jedi Council though his actions on various campaigns, but he could tell that this was not going to be much different. Just… with added incredularity probably.

* * *

She woke up with a start and then looked around. She was still in the same place, and she suppressed the tears. Standing up she walked over to the door and tried it again, but it was still locked. Suppressing the need to bang on the damn thing and scream at the top of her lungs to be let out, she walked over to one side and looked out of the one window in the room. All she could see was the side of another building, a bit of sky and a hint of horizon. She could be anywhere.

The window itself was made of some kind of shatterproof glass. Naturally.

She turned back to the bed and slumped back down onto it. She had no idea where she was, or why she was here, or why they had taken her. Then she frowned. They'd given her… something. It was hard to think back that far, beyond her existence in the room, but she could feel… something. A memory was trying to break through the warm and fuzzy haze, but it just wasn't strong enough yet. Perhaps if she slept again. Yes, that might work. She lay back on the bed, closed her eyes and waited for sleep to claim her. After a while it did.

* * *

The lightsabre sat on the table in front of Xander and gleamed in the late afternoon sun as he looked at it with his head slightly to one side. There was just that odd something about it… then he heard footsteps to one side and turned to see Lindsey walk in. He looked tired but better than he had been earlier. Hell, he looked a lot better since that point after they had walked out of Adam's workshop, after talking care of the human-demon-cyborg's experiments. Just the very thought of what they'd found in there still made him shiver slightly There had been things that had still been… alive for want of a better word. And other things that had just needed a few 'parts' to operate. Like a head and a heart.

Oz had been very pale. Xander himself had been more than a bit queasy. Lindsey had walked out and been flamboyantly sick behind the nearest bush.

Now, however, he looked showered and shaved and neatly dressed in a shirt and jeans, although the faint dark circles under his eyes told of a tiredness that only a good night's sleep could really cure.

The Padawan raised an eyebrow as he approached the table and looked at the lightsabre. "Well, that's not yours and it's not Oz's. So I'm guessing that's Adam's."

"Yup," replied Xander. "I'm trying to decide what the hell to do with it."

Flickering the eyebrow Lindsey looked down at it carefully. "Well, we know that it works."

"Yes," said Xander heavily. "Adam built it well. Too well. Buffy came by earlier on and dropped a few hints that she and Faith might like to use it one day. Once the focussing gem's been replaced that is." He chuckled lightly. "She said that red was sooo not her colour!"

"That's one possibility," admitted Lindsey with a slight frown. "It's just…"

"What?"

"Well, it… feels all wrong somehow. The lightsabre that is. Like… there's a puddle of darkness around it or something. Or is that just my imagination?"

Turning to face his Padawan, Xander looked at him with a smile. "It's not your imagination at all. This thing has been touched with something. I don't know if you could call it the dark side, but touched by evil certainly. Well done Lindsey, your senses for the finer aspects of the Force are becoming more sensitive."

Lindsey snorted. "I just felt that _it_ felt all wrong."

"I know, but that takes more empathy with the Force than you might think." He looked back at the lightsabre. "Buffy asked if I was going to change the gem and give it to you."

Lindsey stepped back from the table quickly. "Hell no, I won't touch it. When I think about what Adam did… and what he tried to do… no, I'd never use it."

"I know," nodded Xander, "It feels wrong, doesn't it? Plus there's a more… practical problem. Adam built it and for we know, only Adam can use it. It might fail to work, it might blow up… and I'd really rather not take the risk around here. Sunnydale tends to look nicer without smoking holes in the ground."

"Good point," nodded Lindsey. "So what are you going to do with it?"

"I'm still not sure. I wonder if NASA has a spare rocket we can use to shoot it off into the sun or something?"

"You can always ask Jack O'Neill."

"No, I think that Colonel O'Neill has enough on his plate right now. Major Carter was around earlier, asking me about the energy cell I gave them. Wanted to know how it went around a few things that she thought couldn't happen, involving the laws of physics. I had to put her right here and there." Xander stood, picking up the lightsabre with two fingers as he did, as if he was holding something that had died a fortnight before and had been left to fester by the side of the road, before placing it in an outside pocket of his coat.

"No," he said, looking at Lindsey with a smile, "We need to start work on building you a lightsabre of your own. Not to mention choosing a colour for the blade."

The former lawyer blinked at him. "Choosing a colour? I thought there was just blue or green?"

"It's not that simple. There's also yellow, for a Jedi Sentinel. I'm a Guardian, and Oz is a Consular. Mace Windu, who was on the Jedi Council, had a purple lightsabre, to show his mastery of Vaapad, one of the hardest Forms to master because it used your inner anger without turning to the Dark Side. We're going to have to work you up to Vaapad carefully, once you've worked though a few issues, but there's a lot of possible choices out there, and we need to think things through. Maybe even a Jedi Watchman."

Lindsey paused and then nodded. "I hadn't thought as far as my own lightsabre yet," he said almost wonderingly.

The Jedi Master turned to him and placed a hand on his shoulder. "It's time, Lindsey. It's time." Then he raised the hand and waved a finger as he grinned suddenly. "Plus, when it comes to the parts, I think that the Initiative owes us a favour or three, don't you?"

* * *

Night was falling as she reached the building. The door opened as she approached and then closed behind her with a soft click. She didn't think about it much now, it just meant that her Master had a very sure touch with the Power. Plus he liked parlour tricks. It was a very easy trick to pull off, if you had the strength. She did anyway. She'd almost driven Hoffman down the hall crazy by opening his door when he wasn't looking at it. A small thing, but as she despised the ant-like tinyness of his mind, the firm would be well rid of him.

She passed up the stairs and then knocked on the door.

"Enter," said a voice and she turned the handle and went in. Dansey was standing by the window, looking thoughtfully out into the gathering darkness. After a moment he looked at her. "Lilah, my dear, good to see you again."

"Master," she said, bowing low and keeping her temper under very tight rein. Somewhere in the deepest and blackest corner of her heart a visceral hatred bared just as much fang as it knew it could get away with.

Dansey smiled in a humourless manner and then walked over to where his chair was sitting in the middle of the room. Sitting down he tapped a finger against a book that was resting against one arm of the chair. Lilah did her best not to stare at it. It looked old… very old, with a wooden frontispiece and what appeared to be parchment inside it. There was a long black mark along the spine, as if something had scorched it at some point in the past.

Her master caught her look and then smiled again, a more vicious one this time. "You look curious, my dear."

Denying it was a bad idea – he had a habit of punishing lies. "Yes, Master."

"I've been reading a little history. Something that an old friend left me a long time ago. I was prompted by something I sensed in passing last night. Tell me, is your… acquaintance Lindsey McDonald still in Sunnydale?"

"Yes, Master, but I haven't much of him recently."

"But I'm guessing that Manners has a plan to get him back?"

"I've heard a rumour that he has, Master, but I don't know any details."

Dansey smiled again, more pityingly this time and leant all the way back in his chair. "Ah, poor Holland. He thinks that he's the next Machiavelli, but in truth he has all the subtlety of gorilla armed with a brick." For a split second Lilah could have sworn that she could see a spark of white-blue energy arc across the gap between his outstretched forefingers. Again he saw her staring and the vicious grin came and went across his face for a moment.

"Let us continue your lessons my dear. You still have much to learn."

She swallowed and nodded, keeping a look of slight uncertainty on her face for just as long as it was credible, before wiping it. She'd think about one or two things, like that book after her next training session was over.

After all, she did want to be the best – and only – Sith in the world.

* * *

He was not in a very good mood as his car approached the entrance to the Initiative. In fact he was in a very, very bad mood as his driver slowed down in response to the guard at the bottom of the ramp. The sight of the guard made his mood even worse. The man was… untidy. He hadn't shaved, his hair looked rumpled and he had something smeared on his sleeve.

"ID please," the guard said in a hard, flat voice. His driver held out the requisite paperwork, which the guard took with a slight frown as he caught sight of the man in the back seat of the car. Then his eyes widened slightly before going down to the papers in his hand. Despite this he still examined everything carefully. And too slowly.

He ground his teeth and was about to open his window and snarl at the man when the guard finished his inspection and passed them back. "Park over there please. Sign in at the desk." Then he straightened up and saluted sharply but cursorily before walking over back to the main entrance.

The driver parked in the allocated space and then got out to open the door for him. As he exited the car he looked around coldly. The place still looked like a shambles, even after a day and a half. Obviously he needed to have a little word with Finch. Just before he cut the man off at the knees for his incompetence.

Turning on his heel he strode over to the main security desk, where a number of hard-eyed men with guns took a long hard look at him. When their eyes reached his stars and his face they all stiffened to attention, even though their faces didn't flicker much. He leant over the desk, signed his name with a contemptuous flourish for such a dumb form of security and then strode off down the main corridor.

The further he got the more a worm of disquiet gnawed at him. The place looked as if a running battle had taken place here. Which, of course, it had. He'd read the report. But seeing the physical damage on the ground…. That just brought it all home with a crash. People had died here. There was the odd bloodied hand print on a wall, a splash of arterial blood spray here and there, and everywhere there were bullet holes in the walls and ceilings.

Great, just great.

Major-General Harold Grant of the NID ground his teeth and strode on. He was going to rip Finch's throat out for this.

* * *

"Jack, I think you need to have a word with Sam."

Jack looked up from the report that had been trying to write for a day and frowned at Daniel. "I need to… why?"

"She's… not handling things very well."

"What 'things'?" he asked as he scratched the tip of his ear with his pen absent-mindedly.

"Oh, the whole Jedi thing. You know, the lightsabre, the Force, the whole nine yards."

Jack nodded vaguely, frowning. "What's that mean, anyway, the 'whole nine yards'?"

His friend frowned back at him. "Something to do with golf, I think. Jack… what are you going to do about Sam?"

"I don't know – what's she doing right now anyway?"

"Sitting on the fire escape right now. She's got a lot of beer with her. Keeps mumbling something about the impossibility of attaining a stable blade of energy."

"Oh crap," muttered Jack, running a tired hand over his face. "Can't really blame her that much. I've been sitting here wondering how the hell I'm going to explain this whole thing to Hammond." He leant back, tapping the pen against the desk in a short staccato. "Did you say that she had beer?"

"Um… yes."

"Then I think we should help her to drink it, don't you?"

* * *

Finch was in his office, which was not much of a recommendation. The desk was new, as the old one was slumped against a far wall. Two legs had been ripped off it and something black had been spattered against the front. It looked like some kind of blood, except for the darkness of its colour. There was also a hole in the door to the office, bullet holes in the ceiling and what appeared to be a line in one wall that was short but very sharp, as if something very powerful had simply slashed through it.

Grant looked around in some confusion for a second as he catalogued the damage and then looked back at the green-clad figure who was sitting at the desk reading a report. Just as the newcomer started to open his mouth Finch pointed to the door. "General Grant, will you be so kind as to close that door. There's a terrible draught in this room."

For a split second Grant found himself turning to obey the order. Then his brain kicked in and activated his outrage. "I give the orders here, Finch, not you. Especially not after your monumental screw-up here. I don't know what the hell you were playing at but the Joint Chiefs have come to hear about this thing and-"

Finch looked up from the report and Grant found the words that he had been about to say congealing at the back of his throat. He'd never had much time for Finch really, had never properly met the man, but the amount of cold fury that was pouring out of his eyes at the moment would have made a charging mountain gorilla turn on one heel and start eyeing the foliage in search of somewhere to hide.

"My screw-up?" said Finch in a musing voice. "My screw-up…. Um, no. Not mine. This had all the hallmarks of a large number of chickens coming home to roost with a series of loud thumps." Odd, he was starting to sound almost British. He leant back in his chair. "We've been going through Adam's little lair – the one that we really should have been warned about. Turns out that Maggie Walsh sealed it up with a lot more equipment in it than she told people. It also turns out that when Adam killed her and destroyed her office, he extracted a lot of information from her computer, as well as her files. And that includes the data on Operation Lazarus. Which you gave her."

Grant went white. "What?" he hissed.

This got him a look that could only be called contemptuous. Finch reached out and grabbed a file which he held up, so that it was facing Grant. "File 389/INT/Gamma/921, according to your twisted filing system. You see, Walsh had a very nasty habit of keeping all kinds of documentation. She may have been certifiably barking mad in many respects, but she was horribly sane in this one thing. It's very clear. Very concise. You gave her the plans for Operation Lazarus, despite the fact that this was directly prohibited by a Presidential order."

"I did no such thing!" replied Grant with more of a snap in his voice. Despite that he could feel a treacherous worm of sweat start to ooze down his face.

"Nice denial," said Finch after a moment. "I guess it depends what it's for, though. Did you or did you not hand over the details of Lazarus to Walsh?"

The two men locked gazes for a long moment and then Grant smiled nastily, if jerkily. "I don't have to take this. I outrank you. I'm here to hold a FULL investigation into the unholy mess that happened here, after which I fully intend to see you either dishonourably discharged or thrown into Leavenworth. Now, I'm ordering you to hand over those files."

Leaning back in his chair again Finch just looked at him. "No," he said after a moment's thought.

"No?" repeated Grant incredulously. "What the hell do you mean by that?"

"Firstly," replied Finch, ticking off his fingers as he went, "You seem to be under the misapprehension that you are still in charge of this situation. In fact I went not just to the Joint Chiefs, but also to the top of the Pentagon, the State Department and the White House. Secondly, the reason that I could do so was that I don't actually work for you, as Finch is not my real name. Thirdly, my real name is Olorin, I've been working for the US Government for some time on various little assignments, this one being the latest and most sordid. Fourthly I've also been working for the British Government, which I have also apprised of your actions on the files of Operation Lazarus, and believe me Grant, by now there's a lot of very angry people in London over this. Cardiff as well, for some reason. And lastly the people who really brought down the hammer on Operation Lazarus in 1943 were the Watcher's Council of Great Britain, who I know less formally, but who know all about this thing and who have personal representatives in Sunnydale right now, who are also rather miffed at you. So all in all you're up a certain creek without a certain implement."

The trickle of sweat was now a small torrent. "What?" he repeated after a moment.

Finch smiled. "Oh, and I forgot something. Harry Maybourne is also in town. He helped to suppress things here. And he is perfectly willing to talk as well."

Grant had a sudden need for the bathroom.

* * *

The vampire looked like he had been dragged through a hedge backwards and then sat on by an elephant. His clothes were tattered and rent and there was a long cut along his forehead. He also looked in a very, very bad mood. Fortunately the mug of human blood in his hand seemed to be doing its job, and he was starting to look less liable to rip someone's throat out at a moment's notice.

Holland Manners watched him with a wholly false air of sympathy. When the moment was right he leant across the desk and with just the right amount of concern said: "Well, Mr Thompson, I hope that you're feeling more settled. I've checked with our people downstairs and your estate is, of course, fully intact and at your disposal. Your instructions on what to do if you ever vanished for a while were followed to the letter."

Thompson snorted. "Thought that they might come in handy if the Slayer ever ran me out of town and I had to lay low for a while. Never expected the damn army to get a hold of me instead, though."

"Yes…" said Holland, frowning slightly. "That did come as something of a shock, and we will be serving the US Government with a writ against unlawful imprisonment on your behalf. We can assure you of more than adequate compensation for your traumatic ordeal. But perhaps you could fill in some of the blanks for us, as it were. We weren't aware of this creature called 'Adam'. Perhaps you could describe him for us?"

Another snort. "Never met the man. But from I heard he was part human, part some sort of green-skinned demon, and part machine. All I know is that when he somehow sprang the locks and everyone charged out in search of something to kill, I went the opposite direction. Last thing I wanted was go get into a stupid fight. I prefer living."

What a relative term, thought Holland as ice water ran through his veins for a second. That description rang a bell. Or to be more precise it called up very nasty memories – of the face on the screen, of the rush to escape the building in Sunnydale and above all of endless hours scrubbing to get rid of the smell of sewerage. The sound of anything sloshing still made him break out in a sweat. "Tell me more," he said after a moment.

* * *

"O'Neill," came a voice from behind them. Jack looked over his shoulder and then blinked slightly. Teal'c and Bra'tac were standing there. Both looked stiffer than boards, with the look that Jaffa normally had when they were about to request something. "May we speak with you?"

Jack looked around and then gestured to the table, which Daniel had finally cleared of research and other junk after just five requests and one outright deadline. "Sit down gentlemen. What can I do for you?"

The two Jaffa sat with dignity and then exchanged looks. They seemed to be having a silent argument, conducted entirely in flickers of eyes and eyebrows. Whatever the subtext of the conversation was, after a moment Teal'c turned back to Jack.

"O'Neill, we wish your permission to approach Xander Harris-"

"Jedi Master Xander Harris," broke in Bra'tac, his eyes shining with something that Jack couldn't exactly identify.

"Jedi Master Xander Harris," agreed Teal'c with a nod to his mentor, "We wish to approach him and ask for his help against the Goa'uld."

Oh crap, thought Jack, I should have seen this coming. Lacing his fingers together carefully he leant forwards, thinking furiously. "You want to recruit him against the snakes. Can I point out that he's just a kid and that we don't know that much about him."

The eyes of the two Jaffa flashed with the same emotion. "He is a Jedi," Bra'tac said with quiet dignity. "He has told you he is a Jedi. He has the powers of a Jedi. He defeated Adam, a great feat against a great evil."

"And he has a lightsabre," rumbled Teal'c with a small smile.

Bra'tac nodded. "I would guess that all of that would make him… a Jedi."

A sigh ripped its way out of Jack's throat. "I know, and believe me, Carter's still having a really tough time explaining it. How the hell that could happen is freaking me out as well, and I really don't want to be around when someone tells George Lucas's lawyers. That said, yes, I saw the kid. Yes I was there when he told me that thanks to some screwy chaos mage, or whatever that is, he has the memories of Obi-Wan Kenobi. And yes, I agree that he could be an asset. But he is not a member of the US armed forces, he is not cleared to know about the Stargate, let alone the great big world that exists outside this planet's atmosphere, and I have no _freaking_ idea what Hammond's going to say when he hears about what happened."

Jack paused for a moment. "Oh, and the kid was hanging around when Maybourne showed us that vampire when we met him. He overheard us talking. Wants to know what a Goa'uld is."

This time the eyes of the Jaffa gleamed with a very recognisable emotion. Triumph. "If he knows that much, perhaps he should be told more," purred Teal'c.

"Whoa, hold on there," countered Jack. "There's a big honking difference between hearing about the name 'Goa'uld' and actually being told about them. Besides, from what the kid said, he's got a war of his own here in Sunnydale. He's helping the Slayers… which is another topic that freaks me out in a major way."

Teal'c and Bra'tac exchanged another glance, this time more confused than before. "Why, O'Neill?" asked Bra'tac with a frown.

"Kids – girls at that – in their late teens fighting vampires and demons and things that slime in the night, not because they want to, but because they've been chosen by someone or something that ineffable, whatever that means, even if I've got it right…" he came to a halt and then rallied. "I don't like the idea of it."

"They are warriors," replied Bra'tac in a tone of voice that hinted at extreme patience combined with bafflement that anyone could possibly be this slow. "It is what they are born for. Who else is going to fight the darkness that has sunk its talons into this town?"

This last point was a good one. "There could be... people," he answered back in a stiff and more than slightly lame manner.

"Like the Initiative?" asked Teal'c gently.

"Yes!" Oh wait a second… "No! Oh hell, maybe, if they aren't led by certifiable fruitcakes who work for the NID and who resurrect ideas that should have stayed dead and buried for fifty-something years." He slumped in his chair again. "The entire concept of the things that these people fight every day is still freaking me out."

"Then you must allow this 'freaking' to go no further," Bra'tac said crisply. "There is too much at stake here. Xander Harris could be a valuable asset for this planet. He must be told of the threats that are out there."

Jack looked at them both. "I know," he said quietly. "He's supposed to have the memories of General Obi-Wan Kenobi in his head, and he could have all kinds of strategic mumbo-jumbo in there as well." He closed his eyes for a moment and then opened them again. "I'm going to have brief General Hammond myself on this whole mess, and Harris's abilities will be mentioned. In fact to do any debriefing justice in this case it will have to be done with all of us there, because otherwise Hammond won't believe me when it gets to the freakier bits. You can make your case then. Ok?"

There was a pause as the Jaffa looked at each other again, before Bra'tac nodded reluctantly. "Agreed. We will do it your way. But I must warn you that I will press as hard as I can for Hammond of Texas to see reason on this."

"As will I," rumbled Teal'c."

"I wouldn't have it any other way," said Jack and then he paused. "Oh hell. I wonder if Harris outranks Hammond?"

* * *

"But Renate, I love Betty. We're going to be married in Church tomorrow and-"

"There's something you have to know first, Frank. I'm… pregnant."

"Lying cow," muttered Spike as he slurped a mouthful of the pigs blood that he'd got horribly used to over the past few weeks and put his feet up next to the telly. He did like Passions. You could poke a hole in the plotlines with a piece of anorexic grass, but he still liked it.

"Pregnant? But… how?"

"Mummy and daddy called the stork," piped Spike in a falsetto, "And then the stork left a pearl under a cabbage and the pearl became a doll and the doll became a baby."

"Nice biology lesson, Spike," came a voice from behind him and Spike came to his feet with a lurch, turning as fast as he could to see-

"Bloody hell, Harris don't do that, you almost gave me a heart attack."

The Jedi frowned. "You haven't got a working heart, Spike, you can't die from a heart attack."

"It's a metaphor," growled Spike, slumping back into the couch and glaring at the television screen, where Frank was turning into an invertebrate before Renate's fluttering eyelashes and heavingly pneumatic bosom. "What do you want, Jedi?"

"Oh, said Harris quietly, "I was just wondering if you could keep your ear to the ground over the next couple of days."

Spike furrowed his brow in thought for a second. Ok, he'd bite. "What for? Adam's brown bread, the Initiative has been saved to fight again for Peace, Justice and the American Way, whatever that means, probably really fat policemen eating twinkies in squad cars. Oh and a lot of demons are dead. Do Jedi always go around looking for trouble?"

Harris perched on one corner of the couch and looked at the bricked-up doorway behind the telly quizzically. "No, but we do get a bit concerned when the Order of Teraka is in town."

This little gem got him in mid-slurp and he choked the blood down after just a cough or two. "The Order of Teraka?"

"Yup."

"What are those wankers doing in town?"

"Well, there's just one wanker, a girl with dark hair and a very bad case of low self-esteem. She's trying to kill me apparently."

Spike looked at the bloody man. "You've met her then?"

"On the night of the big fight with Adam. She tried to send a dart from one of those mini-crossbows though my forehead. Luckily she failed."

This sounded deeply odd. "Why didn't you just kill her then?"

Harris just looked at him for a long moment. "Because I'm a Jedi," he said. "And because, well, I was curious about her."

"What was wrong with her then?" frowned Spike.

The Jedi scratched his right ear in a reflective manner. "Because she can use the Force."

This time he was in deep-mid gulp, and a fine spray of blood misted the telly screen. "Jesus Christ!" he ground out when he was finally able to.

"Spike, she can use it. I didn't say that she was good at it."

Spike shrugged savagely. "Not the sodding point! A Force-user with the Order of Teraka is not something to be bloody dismissed lightly, damn it!" He paused for a moment and then leant forwards and ran his hands over his face. "So what happened? And why come to me?"

"We had a bit of a disagreement, as she wanted to kill me and I was disinclined to die, she hit her head against a wall and then it was time for her to go to sleep." He sighed. "By the time I got back after taking care of Adam she was gone."

"Gone," he repeated. "Can't you track her or something?"

"Not really, no. I don't think that she's as good a user as to set off a tremor in the Force yet. Plus this is the Hellmouth. There's a lot of dark energy here."

Oh sod. "Let me guess, you want me to ask about to see if there's any word of her on the streets." He made it sound like a statement and not a question.

"Thanks for offering Spike," the Jedi said with a quiet smile. "Just ask. Don't look. Let me know if you find out anything." And then he was gone.

Spike stood up with the deepest sigh that he'd been able to emit since Dru left him for that sodding slime demon and then walked over to one side, where a dirty t-shirt was hanging from a bag. Grabbing it he walked back over to the telly and started to wipe it down. Then he paused after a moment. "Molitos," he grunted after some thought.

* * *

It was quiet in the dorm room as Riley looked around. There were a few missing faces. Luckily some were just wounded. However, others were missing permanently. His warning had been almost in time. Almost. But people had still died – a lot of people. The Initiative had taken 37 losses. That was bad enough, but it still could have been worse. He shuddered to think what would have happened if Adam had gotten in amongst them with that lightsabre of his. 73 losses if they'd been lucky. He smiled sadly and walked into the next room over, which overlooked the campus and which was empty.

Sitting down wasn't as painful as getting up, so he reclined on an easy chair and looked at his feet blankly. Damn, the last time that he had felt this time had been… when? Basic training? Maybe physically anyway. Even after a day and a half, he couldn't ever remember feeling as drained of, well, pretty much everything, before. He felt like a piece of elastic that had been stretched as far as it could go without snapping. A tired laugh escaped his lips.

"Man you look as bad as I feel," said a voice to one side and Riley looked up to see Forrest standing there. He was dressed in clean clothes and was very clean, but he too looked drained of all his energy.

"I'm pretty whacked, Forrest," he replied with a tired smile. "Whacked and a half. Still. And I have no idea what's going to happen next."

His friend looked around carefully and then moved closer. "I heard that Grant's in the building somewhere, ready to tear someone a new asshole," he muttered.

This bought him a grimace from Riley. "Grant's an asshole himself," he muttered back. "And besides, what's he going to say? We stopped Adam's plan. We prevented a takeover of a major NID base. And we killed a lot of HSTs."

"Yeah," said Forrest quietly. "Yeah. Wish the Butcher's Bill had been smaller though."

There was a long pause. "Me too," muttered Riley in response.

The scuff of feet to one side made bother their heads turn just in time to see Finch walk into the room, which hotwired a number of conflicting emotions and instincts, the net result of which was that Riley shot upright and then had to suppress a moan as the stitches in his shoulder tugged slightly. Forrest also came upright, only with more ease and a considerable amount of confused hostility in his eyes.

Finch's eyes flickered over Forrest for a moment and then he smiled slightly. The man – or whatever the hell he was, after Giles's little talk with them earlier on – was dressed in civvies, a grey shirt and black trousers and he looked somehow different. Less martial, more relaxed. "At ease, chaps," he said quietly in that odd accent of his. "I thought I'd have a quick word with you before I fly off to shout at people in the Pentagon. It's probably my last time in the… building."

"You're leaving sir?" Riley blurted out.

"Oh yes. I was only really a stopgap here, you see. Someone very high up in the chain of command heard a rumour that something was happening here and called me in. I did some digging and what I heard was so disturbing that I activated a few things and, hey presto, I became Finch. Not long after that the person who I was by now desperately investigating, because I couldn't believe how insane she was, got herself killed by the creation that I had hoped that she wasn't crazy enough to build."

"Director Walsh," muttered Riley.

"Yes," replied Finch. "I'm sorry – if I'd moved faster, then perhaps I could have got here in time and warned her about the illegality – not to mention the blatant stupidity – of what she was doing. Instead I had come in and start to clean up her mess."

There was a moment of silence. Then Forrest looked up. "Who are you, really?"

A smile, this time more measured. "My real name? Olorin – for what it's worth. Oh, you can try and look me up, but things are very much classified there." He smiled again. "The only person who ever knew the full truth about me was a very distant descendant of mine – who snuck my name into a book. 'Olorin I was, in the West that is no more', or something like that." He paused and scratched at his chin. "Not that I ever smoked that much or wore a robe." With a start he shook himself out of his reverie. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have a date with a large amount of beer, not to mention a meeting with an old friend who was also the son of other old friends."

Finch turned and walked to the door to one side, where he paused suddenly and then turned around. "By the way, you might have heard a rumour that General Grant is somewhere around. Actually he's currently under close arrest, for a list of charges that's going to make the Judge Advocate General scream with rage. And as I've quit, that makes you the senior surviving ranking officer, Agent Finn. For the time being, anyway. Maybe a day or two. Good luck."

As he left the room jaws dropped open in astonishment, before closing.

"Oh… crap," said Riley.

* * *

Packing up was normally reasonably easy. Well, for him anyway. Years of digs in various places all around the world, not to mention years of living in hotels, meant that he was able to pack in a short amount of time. Things may have been crumpled, but at least they were there.

As for the others though….

Daniel Jackson sat on a bench by the van and watched the world go by as the rest of SG-1 transferred their belongings into it. It was… interesting to watch. Teal'c was always just after him in terms of time, not because the Jaffa was slow at packing, but rather because he tended to start well after everyone and then pause in the middle to meditate.

Bra'tac was equally efficient, especially as he had brought very little indeed to Sunnydale. For a moment he found himself wondering if the old Jaffa even had any dirty laundry or anything, but then he quashed that thought as ruthlessly as he could.

Both Jaffa were actually now standing under the tree over to one side, looking out over Sunnydale and talking quietly.

As for the others, well Sam was running around as if she'd been hit on the head with a large hammer. She'd probably be able to pack faster if she didn't keep pulling out that energy cell and peering at it, or stopping dead in her tracks every five minutes and then pulling out a large and rather dog-eared notepad and scribbling something into it. Three drained biros were already at the bottom of the trash can.

Jack was just… Jack. The commanding officer of SG-1 would amble into his room, take his time, amble out again with a bag, pause to watch Sam with a faint smirk and a shake of the head, and then amble back into his room again.

Daniel sighed and closed his eyes. He'd been able to sleep after the hectic events of the previous night, but the sun on his face felt good and he was on the point of dozing when all of a sudden his eyes flew open and he sat up. Xander Harris was standing to one side, his arms crossed, looking at the procession that was taking place.

"Dr Jackson," drawled the Jedi quietly. "I see that you're leaving town."

"Yes, well, things did come to something of a climax last night," he replied after a moment. He opened his mouth for a moment and then closed it as the words just refused to come.

"I can talk to you about Jedi lore if you like," smiled Xander. "I'm not sure if you'd believe me about half the things I've seen, not to mention half the things I can do, but it might amuse you. Not to mention clue you in on a few things that you of all people might really need to know."

Daniel ran the sentence through his head and then looked up, confused. "What?"

Xander Harris turned to look hard at him, his face very intent with some indefinable emotion. "Can you feel anything odd right now?" he asked, tilting his head to one side. "I'm not going to quantify it, I'm not going to describe it, but do you feel anything at all?"

This was the thing that he'd been wondering about for the past day, because right now, like at the fight with Adam, with Harris right next to him he felt as if something was trying to rip the hairs on the back his neck off. It was very strong now. "I feel… as if something is scratching at something I can sense but not see. A bit ill too. Why?"

The odd sensation stopped dead. "Oh dear," sighed Xander. "Dr Jackson, we need to talk sometime soon."

"About what?" asked Daniel, puzzled.

"About training you in the ways of the Force." Xander paused. Bra'tac and Teal'c had both noticed him and bowed respectfully at him. The Jedi inclined his head in response and then turned to walk away. "You seem to have the ability. Look me up the next time you're in Sunnydale, because you really need to hear about what it might involve." And then he was gone.

Daniel sat there for a long moment, his eyes very wide. "Oh for crying out loud," he muttered eventually.

* * *

Lindsey put the handset of the phone back onto its cradle and then stared at it worriedly. That was the umpteenth time in two days that he had tried to call his mom and chat with her about life and what she and his sisters were doing these days, and each time the phone had either gone to voicemail, or just rang and rang without anyone picking it up.

He had a very bad feeling about this. The last time they had talked his mom hadn't mentioned a trip anywhere, and they'd all been fine and healthy. It wasn't like them not to leave a message if they had been going on a long trip somewhere.

He sighed and then walked into his bedroom. He was still tired and he needed to sleep. For at least a day, maybe two. Hopefully his dreams wouldn't be too creepy in the wake of Adam's lab.

Naturally it was at that point that the phone rang. "Lindsey McDonald," he answered tiredly as he picked it up.

"Ah, Lindsey," said a well-remembered and much-loathed voice easily, "You sound tired. I hope that you're well otherwise."

"Holland," replied Lindsey, after taking a deep and calming moment to restrain the need to smash the phone against the wall. Jedi didn't do that. "What do you want?"

"Straight down to business – I like that. I miss that spark you used to bring to meetings," chuckled Holland Manners. "What do I want? I want you to come back and work for us."

"Hell's gonna freeze over first," Lindsey shot back with a frown. The man couldn't be serious.

"Now, now, Lindsey, what did I tell you about jumping to premature conclusions? Never a good idea. I hear that there have been a few interesting events over in your neck of the woods. We heard about something called 'Adam'. Ring any bells with you?"

"Tall, green, human, cyborg with demon attachments. Very dead now. Dead even by Wolfram & Hart's standards."

"Ah well, that's the way the cookie crumbles. You know something about it then."

"I know enough," replied Lindsey. "And I really don't have anything more to say to you so-"

"Would you like to talk to your mother?"

Lindsey froze, his blood seeming to congeal in his veins for a split second. "What?"

"I said, would you like to talk to your mother? Hang on a moment…"

There was a confused sound, like a hand being put in front of a phone's mouthpiece for a second or three and then a new voice came on. "Hello? Lindsey?"

"Mom?" asked the Jedi Padawan as he took up quickly, his tiredness gone.

"Honey, these men came and got us and I don't know what they want and-"

Another confused noise and then Holland's voice came back on again, cool and slimy with fake concern. "You really should come in and see your mother Lindsey. Oh, and your sisters too. After all, Wolfram & Hart can be such an… interesting place when it comes to corporate hospitality. You should know about that."

And then the line went dead.


	24. Shambling Towards Bethlehem

Ok, here's the latest chapter. Took me a week longer than it should have, mostly due to a trip to Reims to see the champagne houses there, followed by a very moving trip to Vimy Ridge and the Canadian memorial there. Enjoy!

* * *

The seagull soared on the current of warm air that it had just found and looked down. The coastline stretched out below it like a great ribbon of seaweed. Movement to one side caught one mad eye for a moment and it twitched its head for a split second. Something was moving along down there, to one side of the great cliff where the waves were thundering at the bottom. The seagull twitched its head the other way as a thought broke through. It was close to the bad place, where that mad pigeon lived. It wasn't going anywhere near there.

* * *

It was very quiet in the car as they sped north west up Route One. Xander had put the top down, as the air conditioning was not exactly reliable on as hot a day as today was, so that conversation was difficult.

He had little doubt that Lindsey preferred it that way at the moment. His Padawan was sitting in the front right-hand seat, staring out the window with a look of steely composure. He looked, in short, like a man who was desperately trying not to be angry as he could have been, as he should have been so many months before. Jedi, you could almost see him mouthing to himself, did not get angry. Not if they wanted to stay Jedi, and Xander had no doubt that the thought of doing his best not to become a Sith was weighing heavily at the back, front and sides of his mind.

He knew what the man was going through and he knew that he would have to do everything he could to keep his Padawan on the straight and narrow.

The other two inhabitants of the car were also quiet, although in Faith's case it was because she'd been patrolling until 4am. As they'd left Sunnydale at 6.30am, she was a bit behind on her sleep, although given the bag of weapons that she'd loaded into the trunk, she wasn't short on determination as well.

As for Wesley, he was busy staring out of the window at the Pacific. He was rather unshaven and somewhat tousled, and looked rather unlike the young and very introverted Watcher that he had been when he had arrived in Sunnydale. A lot less pompous too.

Xander suppressed a sigh as he sped up slightly. They had to get to LA as quickly as possible and meet up with some old friends. There was a lot to do and not much time to plan it in. He had a very good idea about that.

Lindsey looked out of the window at the hills on the landward side of the road and did his best to keep his mind a blank. It wasn't easy. Some of the more barren hillsides reminded him a lot of Texas, and the area where he had been brought up in. Which in turn reminded him of his upbringing. And his family. And his mom and sisters. Who were being held hostage by Wolfram & Hart. Which got him wanting to be angry. Which was a bad thing, as he was a Jedi, so that meant that he went back to staring out of the window. At this rate he would just end up getting into a cycle of the same thoughts, so instead he closed his eyes and did his best to meditate.

This in turn wasn't easy either. You needed to clear your mind of a lot of the foam that everyday life tended to churn up and then plunge beneath the surface. At the moment he was all foam though, so to speak.

At least he hadn't freaked and smashed the phone after that call from Holland Manners. Oh, he'd wanted to, for a split second, and it was that moment in time which was still even now tormenting him, worrying him, nagging at him. Just for that one moment he'd wanted to use the Force to throw the phone against the far wall of his apartment and smash it in to a thousand pieces.

Then he'd caught himself and had paused, shuddering in place and then walked quickly to the bathroom and gotten into the bath for a quick think. He needed to get out of that habit, it was getting so that his best meditating was being done fully clothed in an empty bath. It looked weird for a start.

When his mind had stopped reeling he had finally done the right thing, getting up and placing a call to Xander, who had mulled things over and then told him to stay in his apartment. Within fifteen minutes Xander had been there in person, with a tightly focussed look on his face and a slight frown.

Lindsey didn't need much thought to guess about what was on his teacher's mind. Having the memories of Obi-Wan Kenobi probably made him a little sensitive to the thought of losing a pupil to the Dark Side. Hell it was the thing that had worried him as well since that call. Was it just a day and a half ago?

Planning, Xander had called the time between now and then. He had had Lindsey replay the entire conversation again and again, getting him to think it through for nuances of language and tone. For the first time he had dissected the apparent thought and intent of Holland Manners, something that he had often thought was a bit like trying to peer underneath a mirror in a smoke-filled room with a rotten floor. Guessing what was going to happen next was really a mystery.

Now, as he thought back at it, he wondered for whose benefit that exercise had been. It had certainly taken the edge of the anger that had been bubbling away at the back of his mind. Why did Manners want him back, badly enough to kidnap his family? It was atypical for Wolfram & Hart. Oh, they weren't averse to killing people, and as for having people offer up their firstborns, then that was just par for the course sometimes. Blackmail and ransom were absolutely fine with the firm as well, but kidnapping the families of former employees, however rarely people were able to step away from the company, was not common at all.

It was a desperation move. Why had Manners done it then? Why was he looking to find out so much about Sunnydale? All he had to do was just hire a few people in the underworld of the place to hear everything he'd need to know. Ah, but how much did the underworld actually know about the Jedi? And the Slayers, not to mention the Initiative?

He analysed it the best that he could – as the lawyer that he had once been. Fact: Holland Manners likes to project the impression that he knows everything. Fact: He does not know about what has really been going on in Sunnydale. Fact: He thinks that I know a few things. Conclusion: He needs me to fill in the gaps, to get as much information as he can out of me and then probably either kill me or, even worse, shackle me back to a desk and make me work on the crappiest case that Wolfram & Hart can get their hands on, like the Arnold case. In short, get me back under their corporate, not to mention legal, umbrella.

Over my very dead body, he thought with a clarity that surprised him. I will never go back to that place.

And with that he slipped into a meditative trance.

* * *

"Angel Investigations, we help the helpless, how can I help you today?" There was a pause. "The helpless yes, the unbelievably sleazy, no. Have a nice day!" The phone went back down again with something in between a crash and a click. "Loser," said the voice and then a clatter of fingers on a keyboard filled the air, punctuated by pauses and the odd muttered oath about the age of the computer.

Xander looked at the others with a smile and then pushed the door open so that the bell chimed. "Hey, Cordy, how's life?" he asked as he walked into the office.

Cordelia Chase looked up from her desk with a start and then beamed at him. It was rather unexpected. "Xander? What are you doing here?" Then she paused. "Oh god, don't tell me that you've got another thing like the Gem of Amarra, have you? 'Cos last time, he went into a massive brood for a week and then he finally smashed it, saying he had to stay connected to the people he protected at night, which was just the kind of noble-but-dumb thing that Angel does sometimes."

"Whoa," protested Xander, throwing out his hands to try and stop the verbal flood that had erupted, "Chill, Cordy. No, no new Gem of Amarra." He turned to one side as the others came in, with Faith still muttering about not being able to stake that hippy couple at the coffee place they had stopped at on Route One. "You already know Faith and Wes, but this is Lindsey."

Angel Investigation's secretary-cum-treasurer-cum-business activity organiser visibly perked up as she shook hands with the Padawan, and then frowned slightly. "Have we met before?"

"I was at your graduation ceremony last year," the former lawyer said, smiling slightly.

"You're the lawyer guy, right?"

"Former lawyer," stressed Lindsey with a slight shudder. "I don't work for Wolfram & Hart anymore. I quit and I'm never going back. _Ever_."

Cordelia tilted her head to one side and narrowed her eyes for a moment and then looked at Xander for a second. When the Jedi nodded ever so slightly, the brilliant smile reappeared. "Sorry about that. Pleased to meet you. We've… crossed swords with Wolfram & Hart. Well, not literally, and not actually me, but we as in Angel, has." The smile went away. "We don't really like them very much."

"There's not much to like about them," replied Lindsey.

"Cordy, where's Angel?" asked Xander. "And is Doyle around?"

"They're both downstairs," she sighed, "Poring over that scroll that Angel picked up."

"Scroll?" asked Wesley with a frown.

"Don't ask me," humphed Cordelia as she walked over to the door, flipped the sign to 'Closed' and then turned the deadbolt, "Angel grabbed it from a safety deposit place in Wolfram & Hart the other day, in the middle of a really nasty case. Wolfram & Hart hired some sicko blind girl who can see without using her eyes and told her to kill three kids who'll be some sort of triad Dolly Llama or something. We got a tip-off from a monk of some kind. Worse than nasty. Come on, I'll take you guys down to see them."

"What happened to the girl?" asked Xander as they walked towards the stairs to one side.

"Oh. She tried to kill Angel with her white stick. Didn't work. Splinter got in her eye when she hit the wall instead."

"Ow," winced Faith.

"I told you that it was nasty."

Doyle was on the phone when they reached the bottom of the stairs. He had one hand over his free ear and seemed to be trying to listen very hard. Angel was leaning against a table to one side watching him, his back to the stairs. "Hello? Hello? Yes, is that Uncle Larry? Uncle _Larry_. What? It's a terrible line. I said, it's a terrible line! Yes. Oh. Uncle Larry? Hi there! Yes, it's me Uncle Larry, Allen." The Irish half-demon rolled his eyes. "Yes, Allen Francis Doyle. Your nephew. What? You're _where_? Why-" A loud noise erupted from the earpiece, causing him to jerk the entire phone away from his head. When he carefully brought it back to his ear he listened for a moment and then scowled. "Ah, feckin' thing. If he's got a mobile, why doesn't he ever use it properly?" He shook his head. "Sorry Angel, from what I could tell he was somewhere on the border again. I wish he wouldn't do that, the last time he did he almost got shot by both the British Army and the IRA. Tossers."

The vampire sighed. "Okay. Can you think of anyone else who might know how to translate this thing?"

"I can't think of any the other priests that Uncle Larry knows that might have a clue," admitted Doyle grudgingly. "I mean I think that one used to know about this kind of thing, about 30 years ago, but he lives on a shitehole of an island, he's drunk all the time, and the other two priests who are with him are, well, 'complete eejits' to use the local term."

"I wish Giles was in town," Angel muttered.

"Well, I'm here," said Wesley, and the two men came very close to jumping with shock.

"Hey guys," said Xander, with a languid wave of his hand, "This is your midday heart attack."

"Jeez!" Doyle exploded, putting a hand to his chest with a look of mock-horror, "You almost had that right!" Then he stood and shook hands with his friend. "And what brings you to our sunny but smoggy land?"

"Slight crisis," Xander replied, sobering. "Actually something more than that, thanks to our acquaintances at Wolfram & Hart." He turned slightly. "Doyle, this is Faith, and her Watcher, Wesley. And this is my latest Padawan, Lindsey."

"Who used to work for Wolfram & Hart," mused Angel, with a narrowing of his eyes.

"Underline the 'used to', please," muttered Lindsey. "When I left that firm it was the best thing I ever did."

"Problem is, they want him back," added Xander as he looked over at what Doyle and Angel had been mulling over. It looked like an unrolled parchment, covered in writing in odd scripts and with the odd drawing interspersed.

Doyle and Angel exchanged an uneasy glance. "Want him back how?" asked Doyle with a frown. "Thing is about Wolfram & Hart, they don't take no for an answer. Not very well, anyway."

"They kidnapped my mother and my sisters and then rang me to say that I had to come back and work for them," replied Lindsey in a toneless voice. Xander was almost proud of that tone. It wasn't loud, it wasn't full of hate, it was just… level. However, there was a frisson of something under the surface that still worried him.

Angel winced. "Nasty. I'm sorry to hear that."

"As least I know that they're alive," Lindsey said, closing his eyes for a moment.

"So that's why we're here. We need some help," Xander said into the moment of silence that had followed Lindsey's words.

"And we volunteered," interjected Faith as she slid into a chair with a certain boneless grace, "To help out. Hellmouth's a bit quiet right now – B and her boy can deal with it and- " Faith stiffened slightly and then turned a very interesting shade of pale as she caught sight of the vampire with a soul, who had frozen in place for a long moment. "Oh shit, me and my big mouth."

"We do still need to work on your discretion, Faith," muttered Wesley quietly as he sat next to her and glared in her direction.

There was a strained silence for more than a few heartbeats and then Angel smiled slightly, like a man remembering the correct sequence of muscles needed to assemble something that wasn't a grimace. "Figured as much," he said in a voice that was lower then a mutter but louder than a whisper. "Part of life. That's what I told myself when I came here. That's what she needs."

He stood there for another long moment, his knuckles white as he gripped the back of the chair. "Is she happy?" he asked Xander eventually.

"I think so," the Jedi replied. "His name is Riley and he works for the US Government – which now knows that Slayers exist – but yes, I think that she's happy."

"Good… good," Angel almost whispered as he closed his eyes again. When they opened again he looked down at the parchment. "Well, as it happens… we were in Wolfram & Hart the other day. If you want to get into the place they might have beefed up security after our… visit. That's when we grabbed that."

"Whatever the hell it is," broke in Doyle with a shake of his head.

"Ah, what exactly is it? It looks, ah, quite old and, um, fascinating…" asked Wesley, his head tilting as he stared at it.

"Take a look, you should have a better idea about it than us," Angel replied as he passed it over to the Watcher.

"Like you haven't been dying to have a good old pore over it from the second you saw it, Wes," chuckled Faith.

Pausing to give his Slayer another glare, albeit one tinged with a hint of a rueful grin, Wesley adjusted his glasses and then looked down at the parchment. After a minute or two, he looked up, slightly wild-eyed. "Where did you get this again?"

"Some basement storehouse at the bottom of Wolfram & Hart. It was in this silver container thing," Angel paused to reach over to one side to grab the silver cylinder and then roll it over the table towards the Watcher. "It was alarmed though. Moment I picked it up the door started to close, so I ran for it."

"Door?" asked Lindsey incredulously. "Were you in the main artefact vault? Massive door, big metal bolts?"

Angel looked at him. "Yes. Why?"

"That's the place where the firm keeps some of their most secret and very, very, valuable items. The things that have been hidden from the light of day for anything between years, decades and centuries." He looked at the scroll suddenly. "Whatever that is, chances are that Wolfram & Hart will have missed it and will want to get it back, because it's probably as important as hell to them."

There was a choking noise to one side and they all looked at Wesley, just in time for Faith to slap him as lightly as she could between the shoulder blades. "Wes! Breathe! It's very important!" She looked around wildly. "Should I do the Heimlich on him? He's gone a funny colour!"

Her Watcher took that moment to relieve them all by taking a deep and probably very-much needed gasp of air into his lungs, before looking back up at Angel. "Do you have any idea what you have here? I mean… what made you grab it in the first place?"

This bought him a shrug of the shoulders. "I have no idea. I was in there for some computer discs, I saw it out of the corner of my eye and… something just told me to grab it, so I did." He frowned. "Why, what is it? We knew just by looking at it that it's important, and Wolfram & Hart seemed to value it, but we can't read it at all."

"Important," muttered Wesley in a low and wondering tone of voice that signalled that he was very close to giggling hysterically. "Oh my god. Yes, Angel, it's important. It's the Prophecies of Aberjian."

There was a wide variety of blank stares around him and he muttered something that sounded rather uncomplimentary under his breath, before looking back up at them. "It's a series of prophecies that have been missing for, well, centuries! It vanished back in the eighteenth, no the seventeenth, century, I'd forgotten about what happened after that fire in Rome and-" He stopped dead and frowned. "Wolfram & Hart must have got their sticky paws on it at some point. I wonder how?"

"They've got people always looking out for things like that, scrolls and stuff," Lesley interjected, looking at the scroll with a frown. "If it was down there in that vault then, like I said, they think that it's more than just important."

"Wesley?" asked Xander as he looked at it as well. "Why is this thing so important?"

The Watcher ran a hand over his face and then settled his glasses onto his nose straight. "Because it mentions a vampire with a soul. And as there's currently only one candidate for that position in the entire world, that means that it relates to…"

"Me," said a visibly shaken Angel. Then he shook his head in confusion. "Are you sure about this, Wesley?"

"I think so, yes," said the Watcher with a sigh. "I've never read a direct translation of it, obviously, but I've read a few things about it over the years – mostly commentaries by Watchers on some of the greater lost prophecies, and what they might refer to." He ran a hand through his hair and then looked up. "However, it'll take time, and right now we have more pressing things to worry about."

"Yes, we do," nodded Xander with a shake of his head. "Angel, how did you get into Wolfram & Hart?"

"Sewers," shrugged Angel. "The last time I tried to find out something from Wolfram & Hart I tried the front door. I got lucky – one of their people thought that I was a guy for a meeting. Kept rabbiting on about share prices and what might happen if news about something he didn't mention hit the streets."

"Sounds like Folger," murmured Lindsey, "Guy's an asshole."

"Yeah, but it got me to the elevator. I got up to an office to try and get into their computer to find out about where they had stashed a witness to a case. Then some smug guy turned up with a host of goons, said that there was a telepath by the entrance and that I'd been made the moment I entered the premises. Then it got real ugly real fast." He punctuated what he'd said with another shrug. "I got out just as fast."

"They're very good at smug," sighed Lindsey. "And they've probably sealed the entrance that you got in by when you got that scroll."

"Why don't we just walk in and pound some heads?" asked Faith, who was admiring the collection of weapons in the cabinet that was standing to one side.

"They tend to have contracts with some of the nastiest demons in the underworld to use as muscle," Lindsey replied. Then he looked up and smiled. "But I know a way in that no-one would ever seal up."

"And what's that?" asked Cordelia.

"The personal escape tunnel of Holland Manners, the guy who's got my mom and my sisters."

Xander thought about this for a moment. "I like the irony," he said after a moment. Then he pursed his lips slightly in further thought. "But first we need reconnaissance and we need a plan. Wandering in there is probably just what they want you to do, and I'm guessing that they know you by sight. In fact this whole thing has 'trap' written over in giant glowing neon letters." He grinned suddenly. "And the best way to deal with a trap is to spring it!"

* * *

This, Jack knew, was going to be the mother of all meetings, to twist the words of one of the world's biggest sickos. He paused in mid-stride for a moment and scratched the tip of his nose with the corner of the folder he was carrying. In fact, he was not looking forwards to large parts of this meeting, mostly because he was going to have his sanity called into question. Luckily the others were there. Safety in numbers. Plus Bra'tac, a man, sorry, Jaffa, who Hammond knew could be trusted not to go cuckoo at the drop of a hat. He smirked for a moment and then strode on.

Rounding a corner he slowed slightly as he saw the figure walking up the corridor towards him, nose in a large book, and with three folders and another large book under one arm. At the correct moment he cleared his throat loudly, causing a number of papers to leap into the air as Daniel Jackson started.

"Jack! Damn it, don't do that to me!"

"Daniel," sighed Jack as he bent down and started to help the archaeologist pick up the fallen papers, "You walked straight past the corridor to the meeting room. Again."

Daniel froze for a moment. "I did?"

"Yes," said Jack as he grabbed an errant piece of paper that seemed to have some very old-fashioned writing on it. Par for the course really for anything being read by his friend.

"Ah, well, at least I didn't miss the meeting," replied Daniel. Then he paused. "I didn't miss it, did I?"

"Nope, I was just on my way there now. Has Carter been able to pry herself away from her latest toy?"

"Latest… oh, that! Yes," laughed Daniel, "She rang me to say that she was starting for the meeting a few minutes ago. At least," he frowned, "I think it was few minutes ago. She said that it was up and running and retaining a full charge. Seemed both happy and baffled at the same time."

"Baffled?" queried Jack with a frown.

"Oh, something to do with how it worked. She said that she's pretty sure that it either breaks or at least bends one of the laws of thermodynamics. She's actually quite excited about that. Seems to think that the next time that McKay comes around she can put it in front of him and then watch his head explode."

Jack mulled that slightly as they approached the briefing room, where he could already see Teal'c and Bra'tac sitting down and flamboyantly not pacing around. "Hell," he said, "I'd pay good money to see that." As they walked into the room and acknowledged the nods of the Jaffa he sighed again. "This," he muttered as he put his folders down on the table in front of his chair, "Is going to be a very freaky one."

"And why is that, Jack?" came a Texas twang to one side as Hammond strode in. He looked about as nonplussed as he ever looked. "I seem to be missing some briefing documents that you promised me, Colonel. Can I ask why?"

Jack opened his mouth for a moment, paused, ran a hand choppily through the hair on one side of his head and then winced slightly. "Sir, I did try writing some detailed briefing notes, but then I could feel my computer having a few doubts about my sanity, so I stopped. This really is going to be a briefing where you need from all of us, sir, not just me."

"And why is that?"

"Because otherwise you're going to think that I've gone nuts, or that I've been smoking something very illegal, sir," replied Jack with yet another wince. At this rate if the wind changed he was going to end up like that.

Hearing steps to one side he looked up as Carter and Dr Frasier strode briskly in, and he smiled slightly sourly. "Ah, Doc, glad you could make it."

Frasier was clutching a folder and was looking slightly fierce, something that she normally did when she had something on her plate that she couldn't explain at all easily. She smiled darkly back at him and then sat down, glancing at Daniel as she did. The archaeologist paused from tapping his fingers lightly on the table to smile and wave slightly at her.

"Jack, can I ask why you invited Dr Frasier here to this meeting?" Hammond asked with a frown.

"Well sir, I wanted her to be able to assure you that I – in fact all of us – didn't come back from Sunnydale with concussion."

"And why would I need to be assured about that?"

"Because, sir, with all due respect you're going think that what we found in Sunnydale is completely freaking nuts, and that speaking of nuts we all have some major screws loose."

Hammond closed his eyes for a moment and then pinched at the bridge of his nose with a forefinger and a thumb. "Ok," he said after a long moment. "Colonel, what did you and SG-1 find there?"

Jack opened his mouth to speak, but Bra'tac got in first. "Hammond of Texas, your planet has three Jedi Knights on it. Two are armed with lightsabres. All three can use the Force."

Jack sneaked a look at Hammond's face. As he expected it bore an… interesting… expression.

* * *

The Wolfram & Hart building in LA often reminded Xander of a large hole in the ground. Filled with chemical waste. Oh, and sewage. Plus the odd severed head. And, of course, a spinning vortex of evil right underneath it. When it came to describing it sometimes, words just failed him.

He sat in his car as he waited at an intersection for a light to change from red to green and stared vaguely at the building. Then he looked quickly at the main doors, where people were dashing in and out, dressed in sombre hues and all carrying the latest in slim line briefcases. They mostly felt evil as well, but generally in a sort of low-grade evil way. He resisted the temptation to raise an eyebrow. He was doing this on his own, so that the fact that the building was being checked out wouldn't register with the inhabitants.

Faith and Wesley were, or rather had to be, on record with Wolfram & Hart, which had to have a lot of information about every Slayer and Watcher. As for Cordy and Doyle, well, they seemed to have collectively kicked the dust into the law firm's face more than a few times. Angel of course would have been a small pile of ash by now if he had come. And Lindsey, well, it obviously was a very idea for him to come along on any reconnaissance of the place, due to the possibility of whoever or whatever was in the building, or guarding the main doors to the building, spotting him.

Which just left Xander.

The light changed and he drove off down the road. Reconnaissance was always vital and just by driving by he could sense that the place wasn't on full alert, or at least he was pretty sure that it wasn't. Just yet anyway. No, instead it felt, well, tense, and he thought that point over as he drove. The fact remained that he had no idea what the usual day-to-day emanations from Wolfram & Hart were like, so that he had no basis for a comparison. He shuddered slightly for a moment. The thought of sticking around Wolfram & Hart's Los Angeles office for long enough to get a good idea of the average amount of evil, malevolence and sheer viciousness that the place produced gave him the creeping horrors. It would be like shadowing Palpatine, and that thought alone made him shiver again.

He parked the car in a parking bay to one side, fed a couple of quarters into a meter and then walked over to a coffee place that he had noticed. He didn't need the caffeine, but even the best Jedi ever would find it a bit difficult to plan out how to get into a place like Wolfram & Hart and at the same time drive unscathed through the streets of Los Angeles.

Ordering a latte he sat down a very comfortable chair, stroked his chin absentmindedly for a beard that wasn't there and then looked out of the window into the middle distance.

Occasionally people would walk by clutching cell phones to one ear, as if the things had been welded there.

After a moment or three he smiled.

* * *

"Colonel O'Neill," said Hammond in a voice that could best be described using adjectives such as 'taut' and 'unexploded', "Let me see if I can summarise what you have just told me. You went with SG-1 and Master Bra'tac to Sunnydale to track down a security leak in the person of a demon-human cyborg called 'Adam'. You captured a vampire, which you discovered had a chip in its head, which had been inserted by the NID, that stopped it from attacking humans. It then escaped, just before former Colonel Harry Maybourne arrived.

"Maybourne told you about one of his protégés, called Riley Finn and the next night you came across him, along with his team, in mid-patrol, just in time to see him get shot. The bullet activated some sort of other chip in him, this one also having being left there by the NID. Instead of taking him to a hospital you took him to the house of the college librarian, on the insistence of his team. There you met Harris, who called in a number of other people, including someone called 'Oz', who detected the chip, removed it without any implements and then partially healed him. Oh, and the vampire you lost was in the bathroom of the place during all this. Two girls calling themselves 'Vampire Slayers' turned up, along with some others, and Harris somehow worked out what this Adam's plan was.

"You then joined them all – including the civilians - in a covert infiltration of the NID base, which lead to a pitched battle when Adam released every… hostile subterranean, to use the NID's term, in the base. At which point you saw Harris and Adam fighting. With lightsabres. The fight ended when Harris, who had been described by this Giles person to be a Jedi, cut Adam literally to pieces, pulled his power source from his chest using some sort of telekinetic power, before vanishing by jumping about 20 feet straight up, and then later turning up and give you the missing part of the energy cell that you went there so long ago to procure. Is that an accurate summary?"

Jack had to hand it to Hammond – the man sounded level-voiced and clear. It was even an accurate summary. "Yes sir. Plus, Oz had a lightsabre too, and MacDonald had similar powers."

His commanding officer leant back in his chair and stared at him wonderingly. "Jack, if it wasn't for the fact that Dr Frasier has already checked you out, I'd describe you as being concussed to hell and back."

"I admit that it all sounds a bit… far-fetched," Jack conceded, with a wince.

"No, Colonel, it sounds far more than far-fetched."

"Sir," pointed out Jack, wishing that this didn't sound so crazy, "Can I just point out that whoever could build that power cell could also build a lightsabre. Which might explain what we saw. Oh and by the way, a few weeks ago we thought that vampires, demons and ghosts were fairy tales."

"Colonel we're talking about _Jedi_," Hammond rumbled, stressing the word with a wave of his right hand. "From a _film_. Ok, three films."

"Not to mention the prequels now being filmed," rumbled Teal'c and then shut his mouth almost audibly in the closed that he ever came to looking embarrassed. "General Hammond," he added after a moment, "I agree that if I had not seen it with my own eyes, I would have thought that such a thing was impossible. However, it was real."

"I too would have thought that it was impossible to create such weapons and to possess such powers," broke in Bra'tac. "And yet we saw them," he concluded with a simple dignity.

Hammond let out a sigh that sounded as if it had been maturing in his chest for a considerable period of time. Then he looked over at Carter, who was blinking tiredly. "Major Carter, have you been able to get that power cell working?"

"Yes, sir," she said with an audible hesitation.

"I take it that there's a caveat in the air?"

"Sir it works but in the process it kind of, well, breaks at least one law of physics, although I'm starting to get an idea of how it does that. It might be that what we regard as being impossible can be skated around. I think. I'm still studying it, but I think – no, I know – that we can have a viable energy weapon within a month or so." She slumped against the back of her chair with a force that made Frasier look at her sharply.

"Major," the doctor said in her best 'I'm the physician' voice, "When was the last time that you slept properly? As in off the base?"

"Err…" said Carter, making a fatal mistake.

Frasier exchanged a quick glance with Hammond, who nodded. "Major," he said, "Go home and get some rest. If there's an emergency we'll call you, but I'm going to give the guards at the main gate orders that if they see you in the next 72 hours they're not to let you in under any circumstances."

Carter opened her mouth to protest, seemed to catch sight of the steely twinkle in the man's eyes and then closed it again. "Yes, sir," she muttered grudgingly. "But the cell still needs to be studied and-"

"Let me worry about that, Major. We do have other scientists at our disposal." He leant forwards. "In the meantime we need to make a decision over Harris. I've got a great deal to take onboard, Jack, and any decision can't come overnight. Master Bra'tac, I understand that you have requested to stay on with us for a few days?"

The Jaffa nodded with great dignity. "If I might be allowed to. I have a great deal to discuss with Teal'c."

"Very well, we'll put you up in the guest quarters. Please feel free to make yourself at home." He looked around the table. "Now is there anything else?"

"I've been studying the skin fragments that Major Carter found in Sunnydale High School sir," said Frasier with a sigh of her own. "I still can't identify the genus, let alone the species."

"That's because it was a demon," muttered Jack from behind the hand that was scratching the side of his nose.

Frasier looked at him sharply and then slumped almost as bonelessly as Carter had. "I… have no scientific explanation, sir."

"Anyone else?"

Daniel cleared his throat and leant forwards slightly. "General, I'm looking through the historical record for any reference to anyone – or anything – that might powers similar to the, well, to what we saw the Jedi display."

"I thought that Harris said that he got it from his memories of Ben Kenobi?" quirked Jack with a wave of his eyebrows.

"Yes, but these things can't just turn up from nowhere, and if one person – or more – can do it, then there's a chance that others can, or could do in the past." Daniel, Jack could see, wasn't saying something, because there was a certain tight look around his eyes that the man normally got when he was keeping something back. He could be a terrible poker player sometimes.

Hammond nodded and then looked at Frasier. "Doctor, is any of this possible?"

The good doctor smiled that slightly crooked smile of hers, before spreading her hands wide in a shrugging gesture. "Sir, right now I can't even make a guess. Everything that I thought that I knew about basic anatomy, or about the way that the world works, has just gone out the window. I can take a look at some studies on the makeup of the brain to see if there's anything there, but otherwise we're straying into what I might previously have classed Venkman Territory. The supernatural isn't just a closed book to me, I can't even come close to reading the title."

There was yet another pause – the topic seemed to call for a long string of these, thought Jack - and then Hammond nodded choppily. "I know how you feel Doctor. Please liaise with Dr. Jackson however, as I'd like to see if, between the pair of you, you can come up with an explanation that won't give me too much of a headache." He looked around again. "Alright, dismissed until further notice."

* * *

Holland Manners looked down at the piece of paper on his desk and then sighed, before leaning back in his chair and pinching the bridge of his nose for a moment. Typical. Why did these things have to come in waves? Here he was, about to get McDonald back into the firm, so that they could get some answers out of the wretched little Texan, and then this had to come along. Although to be fair, it had slipped his mind a bit, but with so much happening in the office right now, that was understandable.

Leaning forward again he glared down at the report in front of him. Right, so Vocah was due to arrive tonight. Such punctuality was understandable but highly annoying in this case.

The problem was that the scroll with the Prophecies of Aberjian, that had been sitting in the vault specifically for tonight, was, well, missing. That bloody vampire with that highly annoying soul had it, in that drab little office, guarded by that witless cheerleader and that gormless Irish half-Brachen demon. Just great. If he was lucky Vocah would just sneer at the ineptitude that seemed to have taken over the firm right now. If he was unlucky then the Senior Partners would take the daily auspices using his kidneys.

He looked over at the phone and frowned slightly. Young Lindsey was probably on his way – at least there was no answer from his flat in Sunnydale, and the chances were that if he was still in town he wouldn't be far from his phone. The chances were that he was already in town.

Holland steepled his fingers together and then rubbed forefingers along the tip of his nose gently. Well, if Lindsey turned up today then he would be dealt with. Tomorrow would be better though. Whatever would come would come though.

The thought of Vocah's arrival tickled at the back of his brain again and he paused. He'd need some company to meet the demon warrior. And…. he knew just the people.

* * *

Damn, that wasn't the way that invoice was supposed to be spelt, was it? And she was pretty darn sure that 'determining' had one 't', not two. Cordelia paused, winced, and then glared at the screen in front of her. To be brutally honest this was not the most up to date computer around. True, Angel Investigations was working off a budget that could best be described as miniscule at times, but when they did have money coming in then surely they should think about getting a better computer, preferably one that didn't look as if it had been dumped over the side by Noah for being too old.

She sighed, caught herself and then looked surreptiously to one side. No matter how carefully she looked sometimes he always-

"Don't worry about it," drawled the object of her attention. "You're not distracting me at all." Lindsey McDonald was balancing upside-down on one hand on top of a filing cabinet. And he wasn't even wobbling. It was creepy in a way, but then when she thought about it, it was the kind of thing that Xander had done in Sunnydale.

She smiled reminiscently and then went back to work, turning on the spell check function – or what there was of it – and then glaring at her screen in concentration.

After a moment she heard steps to one side and looked up to see Angel standing there in the doorway to his office. He studied the motionless form of the Jedi poppadom, or whatever it was and then nodded slowly. "Not bad," he said suddenly.

"Takes my mind off my mom and sisters," Lindsey replied quietly. "Keeps me focussed."

Angel's gaze turned inwards for a moment and then he nodded. "Good idea," he said.

The door to the street opened and then Xander strode in, clutching a tray of coffee and with a look of alert concentration on his face. "Wolfram & Hart," he said crisply as he placed the tray on the desk in front of Cordelia and handed over a coffee, "Reminds me of an open sewer in the middle of an anthill. Ok, that's a mixed metaphor and one that I don't really want to think about much, but that's what the damn place reminds me of." He looked at Lindsey. "Not bad. Relax, we need to talk."

The Texan Jedi sprang off the filing cabinet and landed lightly on his feet. "Can you sense them in there?" he asked intently.

Xander shook his head. "Too much interference. I can feel some humans on the top floors, but there's so much other stuff in there they could be anyone. There's something really weird on the topmost floor – feels like a hole leading to a void with something in between – but I also think that they're getting ready for something, there's a lot of expectation in some places. Anyway, we need to talk layouts and floor plans."

"You've got a plan?" asked Angel, looking slightly impressed.

"I've got a plan," replied Xander. "It'll take a day or so to get things ready for it, if I start as soon as possible, but I've got a plan. Let's get downstairs, prise that prophecy out of Wesley's hands and wake Faith up. Is Doyle down there too?"

"Yeah," said Cordelia as she locked the main door and flipped the sign to 'closed', "He is."

"Good," said Xander, picking up the tray again and leading the way, "Let's go."

* * *

If looks could kill then Gavin Park would have long since been a smoking blob of grease on a floor somewhere, probably even by the end of his first week at Wolfram & Hart, thought Lilah as she walked next to the wretched man as they both followed Holland down the corridor.

The man was a complete scumbag of the highest order, a back-stabbing rodent, a man who merrily stole other people's ideas without even a pause for thought and the world would be a far, far better place if he was discovered buried head-down in a vat full of liquid sewage, minus certain important items, like his arms and legs. Naturally he was a natural for Wolfram & Hart, she thought dryly, before settling with an unseen smirk on the lovely thought that she could kill him without any effort at all from up to at least fifty yards away without anyone even suspecting her.

She swiftly smothered that thought. It made sense not to think about using the Power in Wolfram & Hart. There was no sign so far that the Senior Partners suspected anything about her powers so far and that was exactly what she wanted right now. Not even a hint of suspicion.

A low droning could be heard as they walked down the corridor, a noise that resolved itself into a chorus of chanting voices as they grew closer. At the end was a door, the handle to which Holland grasped and then turned.

As they stepped inside the first thing that Lilah noticed, apart from the god-awful droning chant, was the white circle that seemed to pull in all the light from the room. The second thing was the three monks who were standing around the circle, emitting that damn noise. They had pale faces and seemed to be in need of a night's sleep, a good meal, a stiff drink and possibly a decade or two in a crypt somewhere.

Holland looked around and then made a 'get-on-with-it' gesture with one hand, because the monks started chanting something more meaningful. "This hallowed ground is made ready. His time is at hand. As it is written he of pure darkness shall come into the light…"

"Should have held it at the grove," muttered Holland as he winced slightly, "Only needs two monks and it's a lot less enclosed and quieter. Still, better to be in the office."

Lilah filed that titbit away – why did Holland have to be in the office? – when the ground started to shake slightly and the circle glowed with a sickly light before bursting into heatless flames that flickered up wildly. Something seemed to yawn into the world, like an opening crumbling into being and then a cloaked figure appeared in the middle of the circle. As figure appeared the flames died down, leaving Lilah with a good view of the figure.

He was tall, and dressed in black clothes, with a hooded black cloak. The hood was up, but enough of the face could be seen. It was a hard face, looking like something carved out of marble, with eyes that didn't blink peering out from behind a bronze-coloured mask that hid the top half of his face. The mouth was a grim slash.

Oh and it stank of something that Lilah couldn't pin down. She wasn't sure if only she could smell it, but something appeared to have died under that hood.

The figure stepped forwards over the line of the circle and at the same time the monks bowed deeply and shrank back into the shadows. Then the hood tilted to one side and the eyes swept over them all. Lilah met the gaze carefully, doing her best to show a twinge of unease, leavened with a measure of worry about what was going to happen. The figure looked at her, seemed to dismiss her with a flicker of those cold, dead eyes and then moved onto to Gavin, who just smiled pleasantly back. Dismissing him with apparent contempt the eyes settled on Holland, who smiled. "Welcome to Wolfram & Hart. I trust you had a pleasant trip? If you could come this way." He gestured to one side and the figure strode off through the door, joined by Holland. Lilah followed, noting with interest the small grimace that had flashed over her bosses' face for a millisecond.

They passed down the corridor, around a corner and then into a meeting room, where the figure turned and faced them again. "I am Vocah," he said in a voice that sounded like bones rattling along the bottom of a desert valley.

"I am Holland Manners," started Holland, but Vocah cut him off.

"I know who you are. I have much to do. You will give me the Scroll, now."

Ah, this should be interesting, thought Lilah.

Holland clasped his hands in front of him and looked levelly at the demon. "There has been an incident. The Scroll of Aberjian has been… stolen."

For a second the smell of corruption deepened. Then the hood tilted to one side slightly. "You have lost the Scroll?" asked the voice in a voice that combined incredularity with utter contempt.

"It was stolen from our vault," admitted Holland. "We know that the Raising cannot be performed without the scroll, but-"

"Who stole it?" This time the voice was a hiss that contained more than a hint of terrible death and destruction.

Holland looked to one side at Gavin, who paled. "Angel," he said quietly.

The eyes narrowed to slits for a second and a hiss split the air. "Angel!" Vocah ground out between gritted teeth that could probably do with being re-enamelled. "I have been summoned for the Raising, for the very thing that was to bring this creature down to us, to rip him from the Powers That Be, and _he_ has the Scroll?" The demon looked at the three of them with contempt almost puddling on the floor around him. "Wolfram & Hart has fallen far. You are weak," he spat.

"We are not unaware of the irony," replied Holland with a cold smile. "We are ready to send a rapid response team to retrieve it and-"

A gesture from the demon silenced him. "You will do nothing. Simply prepare for the Raising. I will get the Scroll back before has time to complete his connection with the Powers. I will destroy that connection myself."

"Can we do anything to help?" asked Holland.

"No," answered Vocah without even a moment to think about it, "You cannot." And then he turned on his heel and strode out of the room, hopefully taking the smell with him.

"Short meeting," mused Holland as he watched Vocah leave. "To the point though."

* * *

The beer was good tonight. The new owner of Willie's Bar had kept the name but had brought in new attitude and an ability to bring in guests beers from all over the world. The attitude came from his coming from Glasgow, which also meant that he had a headbut that could stun the hardest-headed demon. The beer came from god only knew what kind of contacts he had.

Spike leant back in his chair and looked at the pint in front of him. All he knew was that it came from western Canada and had, for some bizarre reason, a slice of lemon in it. He hadn't been sure about the lemon bit at all, and was more than prepared to write it off as part of some stupid bloody fad, but then he'd actually tasted the bloody stuff and then discovered that he didn't just like it, he bloody loved it.

And as it was a guest beer then there was a good chance that it would be gone in a week or so. Right. That meant that he had to enjoy it while it lasted.

Taking a long and leisurely sip he looked around carefully. The fact that he couldn't touch humans but could beat the living crap out of anything non-human seemed to have gotten through to most people, including the inhabitants of the bar. Occasionally a malign gaze would wing its way across the room, but that was ok because they never had the guts to follow up on it. Unless they were really drunk that is, whereupon it became a process of Darwinian simplicity. The stupid died young or drunk, the smarter type lived to breathe, or at least gurgle, another day.

Taking another sip he paused. Something that almost looked human, but probably wasn't, had stood up to one side and was walking, or at least lurching, along. From the meandering path it was taking it was either very drunk or had a rotten sense of direction. It seemed to be heading towards a darkened alcove, where someone was sitting, their – or its – booted feet up on a handy stool, while a collection of empty glasses littered the table to one side.

"Oh Blood and Flaming Ashes," a voice groaned to one side and Spike looked over to see that something with eyes like a cat and ears like a leprous rhinoceros was watching the progress of the lurching almost-human. "He is sooo dead."

"Why?" Spike asked with a frown.

Cat-eye grimaced and then looked into the bottom of his glass. "Watch."

Spike looked back just in time to see the thing lean against the table, knocking an empty glass over and then, appallingly, simper. "Nice thing like you…. Girly…. Want a good time tonight?"

The unseen figure tilted a shadowy head in apparent contemplation and then looked back at the thing. "No," said a rusty-sounding female voice. "Go away. Now."

The thing paused to allow this rejection to pass through what currently passed for its mind, visibly came to the wrong conclusion and then started to lunge for her.

What happened next stunned Spike, because the figure in the alcove shot out a hand. It didn't connect with the thing, but suddenly it was flying backwards through the air, to land on the floor with an impact that shook Spike's table and made him grab for his pint in case it fell over.

Movement caught his eye again, this time from the alcove, and he looked over to see a dark-haired girl standing there, swaying slightly as she stared down at the thing. Then she looked down at her hand, before screwing her eyes shut and then shaking her head, before she straightened up and braced herself. Walking over to the bar she threw ten dollars onto the surface. "For the beer," she said in that voice that sounded unused and then she was out of the door and gone.

"Who is she?" Spike muttered to the cat-eyed demon on the next table.

"That? I don't know. Turned up a few nights ago. Sits in that alcove, gets drunk every night whilst she stares at nothing and half-kills anyone who makes a move on her."

"Is that so?" asked Spike as he raised his glass to his lips for another swallow of beer. He knew that Harris was out of town. Maybe a call to the Watcher was in order.

* * *

Xander looked down at the map and then yawned tiredly, before looking at the clock. 4am. He had been too long without sleep. A Jedi healing trance was more than called for right now, it was very necessary. Looking over he smiled slightly. Doyle was asleep in a chair to one side, snoring slightly. Angel had taken Faith out to patrol, while Cordelia had gone home, muttering something about making sure that Phantom Dennis hadn't taped Baywatch again, the ghostly pervert. Some day he'd have to meet Cordelia's room mate. Despite her muttering he could tell that she was genuinely fond of him.

As for Wesley he was sleeping on the sofa to one side, covered in a blanket. He'd fallen asleep over the Scroll and Xander and Lindsey had had to prise the document away from him and then move him over to the sofa.

And as for Lindsey he was sitting to one side, meditating. He seemed to have stopped worrying quite so much now that that they had a plan, which was good.

Xander looked down at the map again. It wasn't a bad plan as plans went. He just had a nasty feeling, in the back of his mind, that he was missing something, that there was something that he hadn't factored in. He sighed slightly and then leant back and stretched until something clicked into place in his back.

Of course when it came to dealing with Wolfram & Hart the unknown was the hard part. The chances were that they were trying to find out who had stolen the Scroll, if they hadn't already worked this out. And they were also waiting for Lindsey to walk into their spider's web of an office. So did that mean that they would be offensively seeking out the Scroll whilst passively waiting for Lindsey? Maybe, or maybe not. According to Lindsey there was a good chance that they already knew that Angel had stolen the Scroll. The vault's defences were supposed to be good. That of course hadn't stopped Angel, but there was a good chance that its cameras had caught him as he left.

Xander paused. Two things were scrabbling at the edge of his mind. For a moment he shuddered. Something was moving, not far away but somewhere in the city. He wasn't sure exactly what it was, but he could at least sense what it stood for – evil. Evil and blood. There was anger too, and scarcely-concealed violence… and then a curtain seemed to drop between him and it, leaving behind what seemed like a vague stench in his sinuses.

He took a deep gulp of air. That had not been pleasant at all. He wasn't sure what he had sensed, but he had a very good idea that it was not a good sign at all.

It was at that point that Lindsey came out of his meditative trance with a convulsive start and a barely-stifled scream that was enough to get Wesley jolting up from the sofa with a startled mumble that it was time to put the rubbish out and that mum shouldn't get her knickers in a twist. Then he seemed to catch himself and stared as Xander got up and hurried over to his Padawan.

"What did you see?" Xander demanded.

Lindsey gaped at him for a moment and then rubbed at his head. "Damn!" he said explosively. "I think that was a Force vision? Felt like someone set off a bomb in my head."

"It can feel like that when you're not used to them," admitted Xander. "Just concentrate on what you saw."

The Texan opened his mouth for a moment and then closed it as he also closed his eyes in an effort to concentrate. "I saw… Doyle. Screaming. Then… some kind of flickering thing in a cabinet. Not sure what. And then… two people. Gold skins, with blue on them. Some kinds of robes… something was attacking them… and that was it. I came out of it." He opened his eyes and looked at Xander. "What does it all mean?"

"I don't know," the Jedi Master replied, deeply troubled, "But I sense that we're going to find out. Soon."


	25. To Be Born, At Last

New chapter and this would have been out at least a week ago if things had gone as planned. Sadly life ain't like that! Well, here we go. Enjoy!

* * *

The guards at Leavenworth were probably chosen for their ability to go for minutes at a time without blinking, thought George Hammond as he passed through the third checkpoint in as many minutes. But then, he reflected, that was probably a good idea, given the nature of some of the men and women that they were guarding. 

Equally, the nature of the place presumably meant that they also had some interesting people doing the interrogations in some cases. He'd already walked past one interrogation room, although from what he had seen the man doing the interrogation, a flinty-eyed former marine by the look of him, with salt-and-pepper hair, had an interesting technique that mostly consisted of reading a file while the prisoner waited – and sweated.

He passed along the corridor, walked around a man who seemed to be waiting for something whilst swinging his visitor's badge around and whistling in a highly annoying manner, before reaching the room he was looking for, where one of the omnipresent guards was standing outside. He showed his badge and entered the room.

Inside he found a shortish man with a beard and a look of resigned boredom. As soon as Hammond entered he looked up, smiled shortly and nodded at the chair.

"Take a seat, General," drawled Harry Maybourne. "I guess that you want to hear about Sunnydale and make sure that Jack O'Neill hasn't gone nuts."

* * *

"Blue skin, gold markings… were there two of them? One male, one female?" asked Angel intently. 

Lindsey frowned slightly. "Yes," he said after a long moment of what looked like very hard thought. Not that Xander could blame him. The problem with Force visions was that sometimes the details could be very hard to pick out from the background. Working out what was important and when it had happened were often difficult enough to guess at, but sometimes all you had to go with was nothing more than a glimpse, giving you a fraction of what you really needed.

There was a slight scraping noise next to him as Doyle rubbed at his stubbled chin. "You're thinking maybe that it was the Oracles?" he asked Angel.

Angel tilted his head to one side. "Maybe," he conceded reluctantly. Then he turned back to Lindsey. "Did you see anything in the background? Anything like arches, white light in the distance?"

Another frown. "Maybe," admitted the Padawan reluctantly. "I might have seen something like that in the background. I'm not sure – it was over too fast for that. All I really caught was a sense that they were in danger – a lot of danger. And there was this smell… like something had been dead for a week."

"A smell?" asked Xander abruptly. "That sounds like it was a very intense Force vision." He caught their looks. "Smells are very rare for a Force vision. Adds to the intensity though."

"This was intense enough," said Lindsey with a shudder, before glancing over at Angel. "Who – or what – are the Oracles?"

"They're a conduit to the Powers That Be," muttered Angel as he looked off into the middle distance, crossing his arms and then reaching up with one hand to stroke his chin. "Doyle told me about them. I've met them."

"You know, you've never explained exactly when I did that, because I still have absolutely no memory of telling you about them," pointed out Doyle with an upraised eyebrow.

Angel opened his mouth for a moment, closed it and then muttered something about telling them about it someday.

* * *

This time when she woke up her head felt a loss less fuzzy. It still wasn't entirely clear, but she could think almost clearly for the first time. That at least was a good start. She levered herself off the bed and then looked around. The door was still closed but there was a tray of food on the table. It was edible, or at least smelt edible, but she still eyed the Greek salad and the ham roll with suspicion. What if they were drugged? 

Leaning over she sniffed them slightly and then pulled a face. And it at that moment that she remembered something, a memory that swam its way unexpectedly out of the hazy background. Someone had been talking whilst she had been just about dozing… a man. What had he said? Something about… her son coming soon, as he hadn't been seen in Sunnydale.

She sat there, her head ringing with shock. Her son. Lindsey. Oh God. What the hell was going on?

* * *

The female Oracle did not sound in a very good mood as Xander and Angel walked rapidly along the corridor. In fact she sounded pissed. 

"We do not appreciate being summoned by a… lower being," she was saying loudly and with a vast amount of contempt. "Especially one such as yourself," she added, laying the contempt on with a spade.

"Who comes here in nothing more than a whim," broke in the male Oracle.

Xander could see them now, two figures in robes that looked Greek, although their elaborately-styled hair looked Roman. He wondered for a moment about how he knew that and then the sight of the third figure drove the thought from his mind. It was dressed in a long black hooded cloak. Darkness almost swirled around it, as if it was drinking the light that was pouring down the corridor formed by the arched columns. And there was a smell about it, like a piece of meat that had been left in a dark damp corner for a week and then pulled into the light of day.

"We do not council your… kind," the female Oracle said. "The powers of darkness are not allowed to pass this threshold. You are forbidden. How did you get in?"

The cloak moved from side to side as if the dark figure was studying the two. "The old order passes away and the new order comes. He that was first shall now be last and that was dead shall now arise."

This seemed to enrage the female Oracle, whose eyes flashed. "Yes, and he that is intruding shall piss off!" she ground out. "Leave. Now."

"While you still can," cautioned the male Oracle. "We shall speak no more."

"How very true," purred the figure, reaching behind it. Something dark glittered in its hand and then some kind of weapon materialized in its hand. It looked like a short scythe on a sword handle and its blade shone with an ominous sheen that hinted at a hideous sharpness.

Xander's eyes went wide as he sensed the violence that was hanging in the air, about to messily erupt, but he and Angel were still too far away unless…. He reached out with the Force, grasped it with as much strength as he could muster and then forced it up.

The blade wrenched itself out of the dark figure's somewhat startled grasp and flew up, embedding itself in the arch of stone directly above it.

The Oracles watched it go with a gasp and stepped back away from the intruder, who had whipped around in a moment to watch its weapon disappear upwards. Then it caught sight of Xander and Angel as they skidded to a halt in front of it.

It looked almost human, but Xander could tell at a glance that it wasn't. No human skin could be that colour and live for very long for a start. It was wearing a mask over part of its face, which was possibly a good thing, as it was never going to win any beauty contests. But its eyes… they were in a word, 'flinty'. That was such an over-used metaphor actually, because a better one would still have to be a hopelessly mixed one, like fiery chips of ice.

The thing looked at him and snarled and then caught sight of Angel. A complex mixture of emotions broke through the snarl for a moment, ranging from calculation to scorn to impatience. Then it looked at the two of them together. "How did you..." it started to ask and then caught itself. And then it moved, like spit on a hot griddle, the black cloak billowing up as it darted to one side, like a cloud of ink around a disappearing octopus.

Xander followed it with his eyes, as he grasped his lightsabre, but by the time that he was able to trigger it, the thing was gone, moving fast in the general direction of the entrance. Angel started slightly and then made to follow the thing, but Xander reached out with a hand and grabbed him by the shoulder. "No," he ordered, "We need to make sure that the Oracles are okay, and find out how that thing got in."

"How did you…" said a deeply shaken voice to one side and Xander turned to look at the male Oracle as he stood there, looking slightly dishevelled, staring at the humming blue blade.

"Eloquent as always," snorted the female Oracle as she rearranged a ringlet of hair that had become disarranged by her right ear. Then she looked at him with a gaze that could have cut through anything. "A valid question though. We know Angel of course, but who are you and where do you come from? What were those powers? And what," her voice shook slightly as she pointed at the lightsabre, "Is that?"

The lightsabre deactivated with a hiss as Xander thumbed the switch again and then he replaced it on his belt, before bowing slightly. "Jedi Master Xander Harris, at your service," he introduced himself.

The Oracles stared at him, and then at each other. "We do not know of these Jedi," started the male Oracle.

"But powers such as yours… your kind has been extinct for almost 800 years," the female Oracle finished.

"My kind?" asked Xander, his eyebrows going up.

"An old magic… a secret one, known only to a few. Those who could find the better part of themselves," she said, tilting her head and looking at him, as if by doing so she could see through him.

He thought about what she had said for a moment and then smiled sadly. "That sounds almost familiar. May I ask what happened to them?"

"They were betrayed," the male Oracle answered, "By one of their former number."

This time Xander winced slightly. "That sounds even more familiar. May their memories flow with the Force." Then he drew a deep breath of air and looked back at them. "Much as I would like to talk more, we have little time. What was that thing that was here? It was evil."

The female Oracle's face tightened and she clasped her arms with her hands. "Vocah," she replied simply. "A warrior of the underworld. A creature of the deepest night. The fact that he could broach this place, this temple, is…. Unfortunate. Things are unravelling that should not."

"How did he get in?" asked Angel urgently.

The Oracles both scowled at the same time. "He has had assistance," the male Oracle said, biting off the words. "Those who hide behind the law."

"And why would he want to kill you?" Xander asked.

"Probably because of you," the female Oracle said, pointing at Angel. "We are the door wardens for the Powers That Be. We are those who are able to advise, to warn and to help. We do our best to keep you on the path that you must take, if all that is good in this world is to be saved."

The vampire with a soul wasn't able to turn pale, as that would have required a heartbeat, but he looked about as shaken as Xander had ever seen him. Understandably so, too.

But something was scrabbling at the back of Xander's mind now, something that was puzzling him. "Why didn't he fight us here then, if this Vocah is so evil?"

"Vocah strikes from the shadows," the male Oracle replied. "He prefers to outflank than to confront. Weaken the supports and then strike at the base."

Xander's eyes opened fully in horror and then he turned to Angel, who had pulled the scythe down from the ceiling with some effort and was looking at it, "We need to warn the others. Right now!"

"If he's looking to weaken me then – oh god, Cordy and Doyle!"

They turned to the entrance and were about to make a break for it when the female Oracle's voice broke in behind them. "Wait! He is here also for the Raising!"

"The Raising?" frowned Xander. "What's that?"

"We cannot say," said the male Oracle. "But he must be stopped."

Xander paused for a moment, bowed again briefly to the Oracles and then ran for the way out. He had a very bad feeling about this.

* * *

There was nothing quite like a good breakfast, thought Doyle as he sat on a stool by a counter in his favourite diner and looked out of the window at the people passing by. It was one of his favourite pastimes. You got to see so much that most people just missed. The couple walking down the road, their fingers entwined. The old guy taking his morning walk down to the park, where he played chess for the morning every day. The young mother whose toddler was always pointing and asking questions that seemed to vary from 'why is the sky blue?' to 'why is that doggie hugging that other doggie?' It was, to one of Cordelia's phrases, very cute. 

He thought about Cordy for a moment with a wry smile on face as he stirred his coffee, sniffed it, and then added a little more cream. He had a very interesting relationship with her. He adored her, but although he knew that she liked him, he also knew that she was still skating over the planes of uncertainty, due to his… condition. That had always been his phrase for his half-demon heritage, the part of him that had emerged suddenly and with little warning. The part of him that he still, even now, had a bit of trouble accepting. Actually more than a bit of trouble. There were times when… ah hell, who was he kidding. He was stuck with it.

And frankly he needed to deal with it if he was going to be able to get Cordelia into his life. Which was also a mess, but then at least he'd stopped gambling on so-called 'sure things' that actually turned out to be horses that deserved to be turned into dog food as rapidly as possible.

He sipped his coffee until it was all gone, thought for a moment about having a second croissant and then shook his head. Time to go to work. Angel Investigations. Helping the helpless! Or in the latest case two Jedi, one a former lawyer at Wolfram & Hart and the other a kid barely out of high school, a Watcher who looked a little inexperienced, and a Slayer who was so hot she positively left char marks everywhere she went, and he was _definitely_ not going to think about that, right?

He folded his unread newspaper under his arm, attracted the waitresses' attention, dropped ten bucks on the saucer to cover both breakfast and her tip and then walked out. As he left the diner he brushed against someone wearing a lot of black. And what might have been a cowl. Well, this was a fairly bohemian area, right? It took all sorts and…

The vision exploded in his head with the force of a bomb. Images kaleidoscope through his brain, images of a women in trouble, at night, vampires involved, oh feck entrails. Not good. Raising a slightly shaking hand to his head he looked around and then hurried off down the sidewalk. He wasn't far from the office and he could have a sit down there and…

The second vision smashed into his skull and he swayed. And then a third. A fourth. A fifth. A sixth. Something hard was pressing against his face now and there were voices around him, sounding concerned and calling for something called an ambulance. As part of his brain shuffled slowly towards what that was, the next vision arrived and then the next one after that.

Someone was screaming a long, long way away and after a moment he realised that the voice sounded familiar. It was his.

* * *

When Xander and Angel got back to the office they discovered Faith sitting on the stairs leading to the main entrance, picking her fingernails clean with a very sharp knife and watching as Cordelia paced frenziedly, watched by a worried-looking Wesley and an equally concerned Lindsey. 

The moment that the two entered Faith relaxed certain muscles ever so slightly, which was for someone like her a massive show of stress.

"'Bout time you two got back," she said grimly, "I've been stopping Miss Firecracker here from runnin' out the door and doin' something stupid."

This earned her a glare from Cordelia that would have made lava oozing from a volcano have second, third and fourth thoughts about going anywhere near her and then turn around and ooze back up to where it had come from. "Thank you, Faith," she snarled, before whipping back to Angel. "About time! Where the hell have you been?"

"Saving the Oracles from a demon warrior called Vocah," replied Xander with a blink. "You knew that we were going to see them." Then he paused. "Where's Doyle?"

"In hospital!" shouted Cordelia.

"What happened?" asked Angel quickly.

"We had a phone call about half an hour ago from the local hospital," Wesley broke in. "Apparently he was leaving a small diner when he had some kind of fit and collapsed. According to the paramedics he was screaming something about helping people."

"A vision?" asked an appalled Angel.

"According to the hospital staff he's having one long continuous attack of something," Wesley with a grimace. "From what I've heard about his abilities that doesn't sound like a vision."

"Hello? Diagnosis later! Angel we need to get there and make sure he's ok!" barked Cordelia with a look in her eyes that was only a fraction short of desperate as she resumed her pacing. "I'd be on my way now, but Slayer girl there said that we should wait for you two!"

"Never pays to go rushing off when freaky things happen," replied Faith, as she seemed to look through the table at something only she could see. "If I've learnt one thing in my life, I know that now. Rushing around can get you killed. Or can stop you from doing something without all the people you need. Like a Jedi who can work things out like that."

Cordelia stopped pacing for a moment. Then she looked at Faith and bit her lip. "Oops?"

"Big oops, Cordy. Don't blame you though, you like this Doyle guy."

This prompted an appalled look from Cordelia, which rapidly settled into an expression of reluctant acceptance.

"Can we backtrack slightly to the demon warrior called Vocah?" broke in Wesley. "I think I've heard about him. He's said to be a warrior demon from a particularly nasty hell dimension."

"And it me or is the timing on all of this, well, deeply suspicious?" asked Lindsey with a frown. "The Oracles are threatened and Doyle collapses on the same day?"

Xander scratched at his chin for a moment, thinking hard. "I agree that it all seems to be a bit suspicious. Let's get over to the hospital – in force. Everyone goes and we keep a very close eye out." He paused. "Angel, do you have a car with the windows painted over or something? It's daylight out there."

"He's got a convertible," groused Cordelia, whilst the old-Cordelia-like words 'I used to have a convertible' hung in the air.

"I'll take the sewers," replied Angel. "I can move quite fast that way. I'll be fine. I'll see you there."

"OK, but let's all make sure that we lock this place up tight," warned Xander. "We don't want any more surprises today. I don't think that we can take any chances. If Vocah could get in and threaten the Oracles, then he can get in anywhere."

* * *

The crypt was not Buffy's favourite place in the world. It was dark even in daylight. Which was obviously kind of the point. It smelt musty. And it contained Spike. Oh and right now it also smelt of whiskey, even though it was just after midday. She walked over to Spike's hole in the ground and peered down. "Spike?" she called. "You down there?" 

There was a rustling noise, followed by the sound of a very empty bottle being knocked over. "'Course I'm sodding here," slurred the vampire, "Where – where the bloody- hic! – else would I – hic! – be?"

Buffy rolled her eyes for a moment and leapt lightly down into what was, for want of a better word, Spike's living room. The vampire was sprawled in a chair, peering in to a bottle of whiskey that held just a few dregs at the bottom. There were two other bottles scattered about the floor. Both were empty.

"Spike are you drunk?" she asked suspiciously.

The vampire, who looked rumpled and bleary, looked up at her and smiled equally blearily. "Well if I'm not then I've – hic! – been wasting my bloody time." He hiccupped again and then drained the rest of the liquid from the bottle, before tossing it negligently over his shoulder, where it smashed on the floor. "Butterfingers," he said after a moment's thought.

"Ok, what's with the whole drunken thing?" she asked crossly. "Giles said that you left a message that you had some information for me."

"I did?" he asked, sounding surprised. Then he frowned, visibly marshalled his few remaining sober brain cells and got them marching in the right direction. "Oh. Yes. I saw a bird the other - hic! - night. Thing was, she could use the – hic! - Force. That she looked just like the – hic! – description that Harris left. I wonder why I keep hiccupping after I say the – hic! – word 'the?'"

"I have no idea," Buffy said. Then: "You're sure about this?"

"Cross my heart and hope to – hic! – die."

"You don't have a working heart, Spike."

He smiled lopsidedly. "I'm sure, Slayer. I'm – hic! – sure."

"So how would someone go about finding her?"

"You need to – hic! – talk to someone first, an' fin' out why she's here. I think I'm getting well pissed. - Hic! - Royer Mobalitos is your man. Demon. Thingamabob. Call him Molitos though."

"Why?"

"S'an insult to his demon clan thing. He's the self-proclaimed bid – hic! – bad of Sunnydale." He pulled a sad face. "Times are ch-changin'. Dru and me were a force. This prat couldn't – couldn't fight his way out of a wet paper bag. I miss Dru." He looked up. "You'll find him on this," he said, handing over a piece of paper with some writing on it. Then he paused. "Not on the –hic! - paper, obviously. He's not that small."

Reaching out to take it, Buffy looked at the address, nodded and then put it in her pocket. Then she looked down at the morose vampire. "Why are you so drunk, Spike?"

Spike's head wobbled as he looked up. "Wha?"

"Why are you so drunk?"

"Dru. I thin' she's dead."

What a shame, she thought very insincerely, I hope that she stays that way. "What makes you say that?"

"Heard – heard she was on a boat to Ireland. Then I heard where it was stoppin' on the way. Not – hic! – good at all."

She frowned. "Where was it stopping?"

"Place where no vampire can survive more'n five bloody minutes. Mad priest on it. Drunk mad priest, hahahahhaaaa!" He stopped gurgling with laughter and then looked sad again. "Craggy –hic! – Island." And then his head slipped over to one side and he started to snore.

* * *

"Is he on drugs of any sort?" asked the very brisk-looking nurse as she looked down at the clipboard in front of her in a way that wasn't quire bored but was obviously not quite concerned enough for Cordelia. 

"No," she ground out from between teeth that were both smiling and gritted. Xander winced slightly. If he was reading the signals right then Mount Cordelia was very close to blowing its top and emitting a pyroclastic cloud of angry sarcasm that would probably vaporise the poor woman standing in front of her.

The nurse peered over a pair of horn-rimmed half-moon spectacles at them, sniffed with more than a hint of disdain and then looked back at her clipboard. "Are you all family?"

"We're friends," replied Cordelia, a dangerous glint coming into her eyes.

"He's divorced and his family live back in Ireland," Xander broke in before Cordelia wrenched the clipboard from the nurse's hands and then beat her about the head with it. "We're friends and frankly we're the nearest thing he has to family."

This seemed to offend the nurse a bit for some reason, because she took a deep huff and then shook her head. "I'm sorry," she said, sounding anything but sorry, "But if you-"

"We're friends," said Xander, using the Jedi Mind Trick. "We can go in and see him. We're very concerned."

"You're friends," the nurse repeated, looking a bit glassy-eyed, you can go in and see him. You're very concerned."

"Thank you," said Cordelia with a brilliant smile and then swept past the now confused-looking nurse with a magnificent display of utter disdain.

It wasn't hard to find Doyle – his was the room with the screaming coming out of it, although by the time that they entered it the sounds were starting to die down a little.

"Give him another dose of that if he starts showing signs of another fit," said a tired looking doctor to a nurse who was standing by Doyle with an empty syringe. The half-demon was lying on the bed, pale and wan and very unconscious. Every now and then he'd twitch slightly and then emit a tiny whimper.

The doctor made a notation on a chart, hung it by the bed and then noticed the small crowd by the door. "You shouldn't be here. Who are you?"

"We're his friends," said Xander as he looked at the recumbent figure on the bed.

"And I'm his employer," said a voice to one side as Angel walked into the room. "What happened to him?"

The doctor shrugged slightly. "We're not sure. Does he have a history of mental illness?"

"No," sighed Angel.

"Does he use drugs?"

"No!" snapped Cordelia, whose eyes were now very large and rimmed with red. "No drugs and he's not mad. What's wrong with him?"

The doctor raised his eyebrows and shrugged again. "Well, he's having what looks like a psychotic episode. I've had a CAT scan done, but something was a bit wrong with it and it showed some very odd anomalies. Damn thing needs replacing anyway. We're having trouble sedating him as well for some reason and we're trying a number of different drug therapies." He looked down at Doyle. "We're doing everything we can." Collecting the nurse he walked out, closing the door behind them.

"Anomalies?" asked Lindsey, looking puzzled.

"Doyle's half-Brachen demon," muttered Xander as he probed slightly with the Force towards the recumbent figure and then winced slightly. "All I'm sensing is a huge amount of confusion. That and a lot of images."

"Doyle?" asked Cordelia as she sat down by the bed and picked up his hand. "Can you hear me? Doyle? Allen Francis Doyle, are you in there? Answer me!"

"I don't think that he can," Angel told her sadly. "It looks like he's having a string of visions or something. But that makes no sense at all. And why would he collapse like that?"

But Cordelia wasn't listening. Instead she was staring at Doyle's hand as she held it. "Angel," she asked, "This is going to sound nuts, but Doyle didn't have that tattoo yesterday, did he?"

Xander and Angel peered over. There was a mark like a stylised tattoo on the back of Doyle's hand. There was something odd about it, to Xander like… like it was giving off something. He probed with the Force carefully and then recoiled slightly. "That's not normal. That just stinks of madness and the Dark Side."

"Actually, I've seen that somewhere," mused Wesley as he looked over. "I just wish I knew where."

Xander looked at the Watcher and then turned to stare sadly at the faintly twitching form of his friend. "We need to work this out. Which means heading back to the office. Cordy, take however long you need."

The former cheerleader nodded sombrely and then leant over Doyle and kissed his forehead. "Francis Allen Doyle, you come back to me," she whispered as the others filed quietly out. "I'm not losing you now. Not when I've only just found you." Then she straightened up and walked past Xander as he stood there in the doorway. "Find Vocah and kill that son of a bitch," she said in a voice that sounded like hammered iron as she passed him and then walked off down the corridor after the others.

* * *

Vocah did not seem to be in a very good mood. Although the demon was clutching the Scroll, he looked… faintly disconcerted, which for a demon warrior was very atypical. He had entered the office with a swirl of his cloak, dropped the scroll on the desk and then turned to look at Holland with a glare that could have melted sand into glass. 

"Who are his allies in this place?" he grated at him.

Holland blinked slightly and then leant forwards. "I take it you mean Angel's associates here in Los Angeles?"

"Yes," Vocah spat impatiently, "Who are they? What are they? And what powers do they have?"

It was the last part that threw Holland slightly, as he processed the questions and then raised an eyebrow, before reaching into a drawer and pulling out a file that had seen a lot of use in recent months. "This should cover the people that he knows," he muttered as he passed it over the desk towards the black-clad figure, who leant over and snatched it up, before flipping through it with a withering turn of speed.

When Vocah reached the end and had squinted at the last picture he threw the file back onto the desk with a contemptuous flick of the wrist. "Out of date. He had a new ally. A man – not yet 20 I would say – with an odd power that I have never seen or heard of before."

"An odd power?" asked Holland.

"A form of magic that I could not sense," rumbled the demon. "He forced my scythe from my hand when he was some way away. I don't know how."

Holland nodded absently and then reached out to pick up a phone. Dialling a number quickly he waited. "Gavin? Holland. Increase the surveillance on Angel Investigations. As of five minutes ago. Thank you."

"There might not be much to watch," Vocah told him, whilst a cruel smile played briefly along the side of his mouth. "When I retrieved the Scroll I left something in its place. A… present from an acquaintance of mine."

"A suitably lethal present?" asked Holland with a raise of his eyebrow.

All he received for an answer was a bow of the head, before Vocah turned and swept out again. Poseur, thought Holland in the most private corner of his mind.

* * *

"I know that that mark on Doyle's hand means something, and I've seen it somewhere before," muttered Wesley as they all swept back into the offices of Angel Investigations?" 

"Wesley, you've said that before, but, like _where_?" asked Cordelia sharply. Xander shot a look at her. She looked strained and tired, but seemed to be operating on all cylinders. She also looked angry as hell about something, but he couldn't put his finger on what. Sithspit, he thought, this is like trying to control a small horde of Wookies. Then he paused for a moment. He must be tired too, if Obi-Wan phrases were starting to bubble up from the back of his mind.

Wesley rubbed at his forehead for a moment in thought and then clicked his fingers. "In a copy of the Demonomnicon, that's it." He stopped dead. "In the V-section. Vocah. He must have done that to Doyle."

"Why would he do that?" asked Cordelia, her forehead crinkling with bafflement.

"He's continuing what he tried to do," said Xander suddenly, as the pieces clicked together in his head. "He tried to kill the Oracles – they're one of Angel's conduits to the Powers That Be. Doyle's the other. His visions. Vocah's trying to shut Angel off from the Powers That Be by turning the visions in on him."

There was a moment of surprised silence. Then Lindsey nodded. "Makes sense from their point of view," he said quietly. "That's the way that Wolfram & Hart tends to work as well."

"Oh my God, the Scroll!" blurted out Wesley, a look of shock on his face. "If they're cutting Angel's links to the Powers That Be, then the scroll is another part they need." He turned and the scurried down the stairs, followed by the others.

As they got to the bottom three things happened. The first thing was that they caught sight of Angel as he emerged from a side passage that led to the sewers while sniffing at the air suspiciously. The second thing was that Xander and Lindsey both stopped dead in their tracks, their noses wrinkling. And third was that Wesley's progress towards the cabinet was arrested by the sound of a lightsabre extending.

"Vocah's been in here," hissed Xander as he looked about.

"That's the smell from my vision," Lindsey confirmed as he looked about. "Bit less strong though."

"What smell?" asked Cordelia, looking around and sniffing hard. "I can smell a blocked drain somewhere, but it's faint."

Xander shut his lightsabre off. "Trust me, Cordy, he was here. But he's gone now. Wes, where did you put the Scroll?"

"In the cabinet," said Wesley as he hurried over to it and opened it. "Ah."

"Ah?" asked Angel as he exchanged worried glances with Xander, who was walking over to the cabinet.

"'Ah' as in the Scroll is gone and there's something in here that means that we should all be running like buggery," replied the Watcher as he backed away from the cabinet.

Xander looked in to see a small silver object that had a number of green lights on it, which had started to flicker a lot. "Ah," he said as well, and then reached out, picked it up and then pushed a small button at the back. The lights flickered once more and then went out. "Hmm," he muttered as he peered at it more closely. "I don't know where Vocah got this from, but it's rather worrying. I wonder how many other dimensions he can access?"

"What is it?" breathed Wesley as he looked at it suspiciously.

"Thermal detonator. A very old one – looks like from the Sith War Era. Powerful though. Could have blown this place sky-high." He replaced it at the back of the cabinet. "I am now officially starting to get irritated about Vocah. That could have been very nasty."

A sigh escaped Angel's lips. "I think we need to work out our next step," he said, leaning with his arms against the table.

"Yes ," Xander agreed. "I also think that we need to stop reacting and take the fight to them. We came to L.A. to save Lindsey's family. That's still our priority. But at the same time we can address the threat that Vocah poses, try and stop whatever the hell he's here to do, get that scroll back and, all things combined, put the biggest spoke we can find in the wheels of Wolfram & Hart's operations here. Holland Manners wants Lindsey back. He's going to get a very nasty shock I think. Lindsey, I think that they'd recognise you at once if you went in via the front door. You mentioned a possible escape route for Manners. Can we get in the way that he'd get out?"

"If I can find the right place, yes," answered the Padawan with a wry smile.

"Then let's start planning. Oh and Angel – as we don't have the Scroll, we need to ask the Oracles how to get Doyle restored. Can you ask them?"

"I'll go now," the vampire with a soul nodded. "Speaking of Doyle I think that we need to protect him. I'll drop by a friend of mine and ask him if he can help out."

Xander thought about this and then nodded. "Sounds good. Let's get planning people." He smiled a bit sadly. "Shame that Commander Cody isn't around. This would be right up his alley."

"Commander Cody?" asked Faith quizzically.

"A clone commander that Obi-Wan once knew. Rescuing innocent civilians whilst beating the crap out of the enemy was meat and drink to him." He sighed again and then looked around. "Right. Planning. Plus, I think, a suit. I have some blending in to do."

* * *

He was in the middle of a very old dream when it happened. One minute he had been dreaming about the bad old days, when his father made them eat dung for breakfast to remind them of what their people had gone through in the old days, when all they had to live in was a hole in the ground, with the only job being in a mill where they worked for tuppence a day and a lump of poison for supper, and the next thing he knew he was being woken up by loud voices. Which was actually an improvement on the dream. 

The next thing he knew after _that_, his bed was suddenly in the middle of being upended, which was a bad thing as being woken up in a hurry and dealing with the concept of gravity were not necessarily things that meshed well together. After a moment he guessed wrongly, slumped the wrong way and got a face full of wall.

While this hurt a bit, it also woke him up all the way and got him very angry. His eyes sprang open, he growled, he lifted himself up and away from the wall in preparation for a spring… and then a cold hard pointy object pricked the back of his neck and he froze.

"From the description I got, you would be this mobby guy," said a light female voice behind him. It sounded very American. It also sounded as if the owner of the voice didn't need much of an excuse to push what was possibly a sword straight through his spinal column like a hot knife through very soft butter.

"Are you one of the Slayers?" he asked after a moment of frantic thought.

"Yup," said the voice.

"How can I be of assistance?"

The hard object twitched slightly to his right and he very, very cautiously moved in that direction before turning around with almost glacial slowness. To his deep unease, not to mention horror, it was the blonde Slayer, Buffy Summers. Oh crap, this wasn't good at all.

"You know," the girl started, gesturing idly with her free hand whilst keeping her eyes – and that sword - boring straight at him, "I hear things. We hear things, Faith and me. Plus our Watchers, and the Jedi of course, and, well, everyone we know really. We all heard that there's an agent from the Order of Teraka in town. This… disturbed us. And I heard that you're the self-proclaimed Big Bad in town, so you might know something about this."

"Big bad what?" he asked, watching the tip of the sword like a hypnotised rabbit in front of a very testy fox. It just slipped out and he made a mental note for his brain to keep a closer eye on his mouth in the future. If he had one that is.

The Slayer narrowed her eyes. "Head evil honcho," she answered, stressing the words.

"Hey," he protested, "A guy's got to make a living somehow, you know?"

"Oh spare me the excuses," the Slayer shot back. "Although I'd expect that any head evil guy in a place like this might be able to afford drawers without holes in them. I mean, yuck."

His eyes flickered down and he winced. "So I wasn't expecting company!"

"Like I said, spare me the excuses. Now. Order of Teraka. Information on. Now."

Royer Mobalitos, self-proclaimed crime boss of Sunnydale, talked for his life. Whatever that was exactly worth right now.

* * *

You could never really lower your guard at the main entrance. There was always the possibility that something might happen, that some creature – human, vampire or demon - that didn't have an appointment might sneak in and cause disruption somewhere, somehow. 

Gunter shifted his weight slightly onto his left foot and then assessed how long it would be before his bladder had reached the point of no return and he had to either use the restroom urgently or stand there with wet trousers. There were times when he really thought that higher management had decreed that the restroom was an inefficient use of time. One hour and six minutes until crisis time, he gauged. He was ok for a little while longer.

A small pack of lawyers entered the main doors and he looked over at them, assessing them with a single sweeping gaze. Rabble. Outside lawyers, all of them nervous underneath their suits and their tans. They signed in, almost all collectively blinking hard as they checked what it was they were signing, and then passed along towards the lift, as their guide shepherded them around.

He flicked an eyebrow in dismissal, and looked around again. A man had just entered the building and was striding towards the reception area. He looked…. Confident. No flinching, no wincing, no nervous looks about. He was dressed in a black suit, with a dark blue tie, had dark brown hair and seemed to be very cool, calm and collected. He leant over to talk to the receptionist, who blinked hard for a second before smiling at him and then reaching over to her computer.

Gunter looked at the guy for a second, narrowing his eyes slightly as he did. Something was odd about the way that she wasn't blinking quite right and although it was a small thing, it was still enough for him… to…

He blinked. What had he been thinking about again? This was no good, he was supposed to be concentrating. Perhaps it was time for that bathroom break after all. He looked around, noted that there were no new visitors, apart from the man by the elevators who he dismissed without even thinking about it, and then strode off to the restroom.

* * *

Xander thumbed the button for the sixth floor and then looked around in a show of bored impatience. There were three other people in the lift, all of whom were ignoring him and each other. From the shininess of their leather briefcases and the amount of money the two suits and one pants suit must have cost then the various lawyers were either very important or saw themselves as very important. He had a good idea which one was the right option. Not that he was feeling cynical or anything. 

Two of then got off at the third floor, whilst one person got on. After stopping at the fourth floor he was all alone, which was a good thing as he was starting to wonder about just how much vicious self-centred narcissistic evil could be concentrated amongst so few people.

Which had got him wondering about the unpleasant sensation that was leaking out of the building on the far side of the building, as about ground level. He had a nasty feeling that it meant that Vocah was down there. Well, time to confront him later. They had more important things to do right now.

When he got to the sixth floor he strode out, looking as if he knew exactly where he was going. Which he did, sort of. Thanks to Lindsey he knew that Holland Manners had an office in the north-west corner of the seventh floor. It should be… ahead and to one side. Stretching out with the Force he probed quickly and then blinked slightly. The room was empty. Good. With a flip of the Force his shoelace came undone. As he knelt down to retie it he probed with the Force again, this time directly below. Ah. Lindsey was in place. Time for the music to start. He stopped 'talking' into his phone for a second and then looked around. He had the distinct feeling that he was being watched. He didn't know where or who, but he had a feeling that… he blinked and walked away towards the lift. He had a very nasty feeling all of a sudden.

* * *

As sewers went this one looked rather… clean. It didn't seem to drop down to the levels needed to allow sewage to slosh, or whatever the word was, from one side to another. There was a pipe to one side, with a vent over it, but it smelt too clean to involve bodily waste. In fact the place smelt as if someone had scrubbed it in the not-too-distant past. 

Lindsey looked around at the place. "Odd," he said after a while. Then he made the connection in his mind. "Ah," he breathed after a moment. "Holland Manners doesn't want any more shit on his head."

"What was that?" asked Wesley after swapping a confused look with Angel and Cordelia.

"Oh, Manners escaped via the corporate emergency lift when Adam blew up the Wolfram & Hart office," he said as he looked at the concrete wall in front of him very carefully. "I think that explosion cracked a sewage line somewhere near the exit though – and you can imagine what happened next."

Something that looked very like a smirk threatened to break out on one corner of Angel's mouth. "What a shame," he said after a long moment of struggle.

"Tragic," Cordelia muttered, shaking her head and smothering a grin, "Truly tragic."

Lindsey grinned tightly, still looking at the wall, before finally leaning back and then tilting his head to one side. "I think it's there," he muttered, pointing.

Angel walked up to the spot that he was pointing at and sniffed the wall slightly. "I think I can smell something… air coming down from somewhere. You think that's the life shaft then?"

"Yes," muttered Lindsey.

"That's pretty sophisticated magic then," mused Angel. "Keeping a doorway that well hidden would take some degree of skill."

"That and a very good engineer," broke in Wesley. Stepping forwards he pulled out a box of matches, lit one and then held it close to where the wall met the ground. The flame guttered to one side in a long flare and then went out. "Yup, there it is," the Watcher muttered as he stepped back.

Lindsey looked at his watch and then stepped forwards, placing his hands on the wall and closing his eyes. Then something flickered in the Force. Xander was up there. "Showtime," he whispered.

* * *

Lilah was reading a report on what had to be the most boring damn case she had ever seen in her entire life when she felt it. Something tickled at the back of her mind for an instant, like a faint presence. It was just for a moment, but she still paused and then looked around her office carefully. She had the oddest feeling like… well, it wasn't her Master. There was no sign of Dansey in the room, thank the Power, and besides he was supposed to be in Sacramento for something that involved the Governor. 

Looking back down at the report again she read on for a moment or two, until the sensation came again. It was almost like a flicker of the Power. She smirked internally for a second. Surely, if she was a self-proclaimed Sith, she should be calling it the Force, shouldn't she?

Then she caught herself and stood up carefully, turning her desk light, the only illumination in the room, off. She made it a rule never to use the Force in the building unless she could absolutely help it. She wasn't sure what the Senior Partners could sense at times, and there was no point in taking risks.

Walking over to the door she opened it slightly and looked out. The usual progression of people were passing along the corridor, hurrying from here to there, clutching folders, box files, memos and massive amounts of anxieties. Some were talking on their cell phones, others were conducting walking meetings as they went, hissing, whispering and at times jabbing a finger for emphasis. To one side a work crew was carefully levering out a pane of glass that looked like a chest of some sort had smashed through it at great speed. Lilah's eyes lingered on that shape for a moment and then looked at the carpet in front of it. Damn, the homicidal travelling chest was back. Hadn't the lab guys learnt their lessons yet?

It was at this point that someone new walked passed her. He was tallish, with dark hair and a very nice suit with a blue tie. He was talking on a cell phone as he strode along, exuding confidence and a sense that he was in the right place at the right time. His body language did not show the crippling anxieties that plagued the vast majority of people at Wolfram & Hart. And there was something about him that made her teeth ache. Something about the Force… As he turned the corner ahead of her door he slowed slightly and then looked around, his eyes narrowed and Lilah had to freeze in place to avoid a sudden movement away from the door that might have given her away. Instead she watched as he looked around, his eyes sweeping for a moment over her door, and then he was gone, striding away towards the elevator.

Lilah had a nasty feeling that something was about to happen to Wolfram & Hart. She wasn't sure what, but she knew that it might not be very nice. Pursing her lips in thought for a moment she shrugged. No skin off her nose if it did. Not if she was out of the office when it did, anyway. She strode over, picked up her jacket, threw the files she had been looking at into a drawer, locked it and then walked out, making a point to head towards the elevators at the other end of the building from the one that the stranger had been headed towards.

She had a great deal to think about, not to mention to analyse.

* * *

The wall was making a high-pitched whining noise that was rather irritating, or rather would have been irritating if he hadn't been too busy concentrating on guarding the place. Getting in to Manners' office had not been that hard. The door had been unlocked and there were no security systems in place that he could see. Which was something that worried him slightly. He'd been able to get the guards – the various guards of several different species – at the main entrance to either fall asleep in certain nearby rooms and alcoves or to dismiss him on sight. No-one should know that he was in here. 

But there had been that odd feeling he'd had on the floor below, which was still irritating him. A small tremor in the Force. It had been faint but persistent, as if someone had been watching him. Well, the Force could be a very interesting thing, and ripples could come from many things. Still, he made a mental note to keep a very close eye out.

The whining noise stopped and then a section of the wall behind the desk slid open to reveal a rather cramped-looking Lindsey, Cordelia, Angel and Wesley, who all unsqueezed themselves from what was an escape lift that had really been built for one person.

"That was fun," quipped Cordelia as she leant against the desk. Xander looked at her. He had grave reservations about including her in this whole operation, only she had insisted, especially after Angel had returned from meeting the Oracles again to tell them that the only way to restore Doyle was by reading the words of Anatole to him from the Scroll. Plus, as she'd pointed out, Mrs MacDonald and Lindsey's sisters would probably need a friendly female face around then once they'd been rescued. Which was a fair point, but Xander was still going to keep a very close eye on her in case she decided to hunt down Vocah with a knife. She was just angry enough – and, he was starting to suspect, guilty enough at not telling Doyle that she was more than just fond of him – to try it, but nowhere skilled enough to do anything other than to get herself messily killed.

Xander sighed and then looked at Lindsey, who was standing there looking… strained. Reaching out he placed a hand on his padawan's shoulder. "Are you ok?"

Lindsey flickered an eyebrow in response. "A little freaked. An awful lot of people here know me."

"Yes, but they'll hopefully think that Manners dragged you back here. Just try and look stressed. Besides, we need you here to reassure your family, who're going to be freaked enough as it is." He sobered. "Stay focussed, Lindsey. I know that you have every right to be angry with this place, but anger is the last thing you need right now. That's a road you just can't go down right now. Don't let me recite the Yoda-ism."

"Fear leads to anger, anger leads to hate, hate leads to the Dark Side?" quoted Lindsey at him. "I know. I know that I have to try and keep to the straight and narrow on this."

Xander quirked a smile and waved a finger in the air. "Do or do not!" he quoted back, squeakily, "There is no try!" Then he sobered again. "It's time for you to face the mirror, Lindsey. Let's go and start the ball rolling. We need to find your family."

Lindsey nodded. "Guest quarters are the logical place to find them. Next floor up. Security is bound to be tight."

They left. After a moment a small light came on by the side of Holland Manner's desk. It blinked three times and then went off.

* * *

Holland did his best, but it was a stretch not to roll his eyes. The flunkies had been chanting for who knew how long already, and they were still on the English phrases? Hell, everyone knew that it took the Latin bits to get thing moving! He sighed silently and then looked out of the corner of his eye at Vocah, who was standing there by the table, doing a very good impression of a demonic statue. Whatever had been bothering him – if demonic warriors possessed the ability to worry – he had either accepted it or it was no longer bothering him. He wasn't sure which. 

Then he scowled slightly Gavin Park was standing to one side. The boy was good, but too one-track in his thinking. He lacked that touch of creative cruelty that was required at times. Lilah should have been there as well, but had called to say that she was very ill. Something she ate. Vomit therefore wouldn't have gone with the ritual. He wasn't sure if she'd been telling the truth or not.

His pocket vibrated and he turned to one side, pulled his cell phone out and squinted at the screen. Then he answered the call with a scowl. "Manners. This had better be important."

There was a gulping noise and then a voice answered. "Kowasaki, sir, in security. Mr Manners, we just got a signal from your room saying that your private escape elevator had been used. But… you're supposed to be in the summoning room, which we cleared earlier on today. Can I ask if there's any trouble?"

Holland's mind fogged for a split second and then cleared. He was experiencing a feeling that was cross between worry, alarm and possible smugness. Only a few people knew about the fact that he had an escape shaft from his office. All Wolfram & Hart people at his level had them. If someone had accessed it then there was a chance that they were either a former Wolfram & Hart employee or that they knew someone who either was or who had been. So there was a chance that Lindsey MacDonald was making an ill-conceived attempt to rescue his family. That or it was a rather more ingenious intruder than normal.

"Perhaps," he replied into the phone, "Alert security that there might be an intruder in the building. Keep a very close eye out, and inform me of anything that happens."

"Will do, sir," came the response crisply, "Kowasaki out."

* * *

Their timing was right. The building was less full than it had been earlier on, as people started to go home for the night, which was a very good thing, thought Xander as they walked through the corridors. Wesley and Angel and Cordelia were acting as a kind of shield for Lindsey by walking around him, trying to stay between him and any passing Wolfram & Hart people. As for Xander he was busy using the Force to divert people's attention from them all, by making them believe that they were not very important, by making their minds slide away to one side every time a glance was sent their way. 

As for Angel himself he was busy holding the dead cell phone next to his face to obscure as much of it as possible. He had wanted to wear dark glasses as well, but Cordelia had scorned the ones he had in mind as being nowhere near designer enough and just likely to get him vaguely pitying looks. Trust Cordy to put it that way.

After a while they slowed and then stopped, allowing Xander to check out a room to one side and then open the door. The furniture inside was covered in dustsheets, whilst some pots of paint were stacked in one corner. He smiled. They'd got lucky.

Xander looked up and concentrated, before moving to one side and then pulling out his lightsabre. "Here," he said. Then he looked at the others. "Ok, you know what to do."

* * *

The 5pm to 9pm shift was coming to an end, and it was about damn time, thought Jenson as he stretched. Various vertebrae crackled in his back and he resisted the temptation to groan with pleasure. That would have been bad. Guards were not supposed to do that whilst on duty. He twisted his neck and then looked over his team. Ok, they weren't exactly Special Forces, but they weren't bad at all. Grant was a pan in the ass, but he was a crack shot. Voinovich was just plain creepy at times, but he could throw a knife into a gnat's eye at 20 feet. And Chan reminded him of a Chinese heroine she had seen once on some old programme about outlaws in the Water Margin or something. Only she was as cold as ice and just as friendly. 

And what were they doing? Guarding three freaking women who were all drugged up and who were related to some freaking lawyer who had had the cojones to leave the company. Well, good for him. Ok, if he ever turned up then he'd have to knock him out, but good for him still.

He looked down at his watch. 8.59pm. They should be due about now. Unless Kowasaki's warning had distracted them. Something about a possible intruder in the building. Yeah, like that wasn't an everyday thing. He'd warned his people, but so far nothing had happened.

9pm. He frowned. The 9pm to midnight shift should be here by now, he thought. They normally turned up, as per standing orders at 9pm exactly. Not doing things to the second tended to get you shot around this place. Literally.

By 9.01pm he was starting to worry, and from the others he could see that the others were too. Voinovich was shifting slightly in his chair, Chan was easing her sidearm slightly out of her holster in a reflex action and Grant looked as if he was about to shoot someone in the eye, which was how he usually looked he had to admit.

He was about to trigger his radio and ask where the hell the next shift was when all of a sudden there was a loud thump against the door. They all turned to look at it, and Voinovich raised a hand with a throwing knife in it.

It was at that moment that an odd smell broke into Jenson's nostrils… like burning? Something seemed to be sizzling somewhere and… he looked down. A blue humming… thing, a sapphire light, broke through the floor by Voinovich's feet suddenly and then moved in a circle that was almost too fast for him to see. There was a sudden creaking noise and then Voinovich's chair, as well as the man himself, hurtled down. At almost the exact same moment the door shuddered hard, as something almost smashed it off its hinges.

Jenson stopped gaping at the smoking hole in the floor and then looked back at the door, and then things went crazy. A figure exploded upwards out of the hole in the floor, holding a blade made of blue light. As it hung for a moment in mid-air it waved a hand and then suddenly Grant and Chan's heads smashed together, sending them sliding bonelessly to the floor, unconscious. As Jenson brought his arm up to try and cover the new figure, which had tucked into a tight roll and then gived to one side, the door smashed in off its hinges to reveal three men with grim faces and a girl with a face like death following them.

He tried to bring his gun up to cover them as well – hell, he hadn't gotten off a single shot so far! – when some powerful force grabbed his head and slammed it against the wall.

Darkness took him.

* * *

Looking around at the unconscious bodies littering the room, Xander nodded. "Great," he said. "Were they waiting for someone? I was picking up a lot of anticipation and worry from them all?" 

"Relief team," answered Angel as he jabbed a thumb back at the corridor they'd come down. "We met them on the way. Very dozy lot. They're sleeping in the supply room."

"Good," muttered Xander as he looked around. Then he glanced at Lindsey and smiled. "Can you feel them?"

Lindsey narrowed his eyes and looked at the closed doors in the alcove to one side. Then he relaxed visibly. "They're there," he smiled, "They're ok, too. Still alive and unharmed."

Looking around at the guards Xander bent down and then started to pat certain pockets. After a moment he straightened up from the guy who had been the last one to go down and then waved a set of keys, before tossing them to Lindsey. "Try these. Wes, Angel, let's keep an eye out. Cordy you help Lindsey."

* * *

She scowled at the window and then looked around desperately. She didn't know what was happening, but by the noises, not to mention the crash of something falling down, something was happening outside and it did not sound good. Then she froze. Someone was trying a key in the door. Whatever it was it wasn't the right one, because there was a scrabbling noise, followed by more scrabbling as a new key was tried. This time it fit. 

She looked around, trying to locate something she could use as a weapon, but as the bed and the table and the one chair were all metal, there was noting she could use. The plastic bowl and plate and cutlery had been taken away hours ago.

The door opened slowly and she readied herself to attack the son of a bitch who came through it… and then a very familiar voice asked: "Hello? Is that you Mom?"

"Lindsey?" she asked, suspiciously.

The door opened all the way and then she stared. Lindsey was standing there. He looked trained and stressed, but there was a grin on his face all of a sudden and what appeared to be a guy on the floor behind him who was either dead or knocked out. "Lindsey!"

And then she was in his arms, hugging him as she tears rolled down her face.

"Mom…" he muttered and hugged her back. "Come on, we're getting you out of here."

"Where the hell are we? Why did those men come for us… oh god, where are Kelly and Nicky?"

"Mom!" came a cry from the next door over and then her two daughters were on them, crying with relief. She did her best to hug them all, but didn't have enough arms, and laughed at the thought of a six-armed mother.

Then she turned back to Lindsey, who was looking at his sisters with a grin on his face. "Where are we?"

Her son's face changed as a set, sober look came over it. "Los Angeles. The law company that I used to work for has some… interesting working practices. They wanted me back and thought that the best way to do that was to kidnap you and then force me to work for them again." A small smile tugged at one corner of his mouth. "I disagreed and fortunately I had some help."

"Lindsey we need to get everyone out of here," a voice broke in and she turned to see a dark-haired young man who couldn't have been more than 20. He was holding a silver cylinder in one hand and had a frown of concentration. "We don't know how close security is on this floor."

"Mom, Nicky, Kelly, this is Xander Harris. I know him from Sunnydale," explained Lindsey as he started to usher them out of the room and into the shambles that was outside. She gaped at the round hole in the floor and the men who were lying to one side, all tied up and then looked at Lindsey. "They were guarding us?" she muttered. "They must have wanted you back real bad honey."

"Yeah well, they can go to hell," replied Lindsey evenly. Then he paused and looked at the other two men and one girl who were by the entrance. "Actually they probably already are. Everyone, this is Angel, Wesley and Cordelia. We're going to get you out, although Xander Angel and I are going to have to take a little side trip at one point."

"Once our diversion starts," smiled Wesley, who sounded very English.

"What?" she asked, starting to feel more than a bit bewildered. Things were moving almost too fast for her by now.

"Let's go, Mom," Lindsey urged, as Cordelia smiled at Kelly and Nicky and walked by them, muttering softly. Whatever she said to them Kelly started to giggle, while Nicky just smiled.

The Englishman pulled out a cellphone as they all walked down the corridor, pushed a button and then held it to his ear. "Faith?" he said after a moment, "It's time. Do try not to enjoy yourself too much."

* * *

Whoever she was, she was smoking hot, thought Gunter dispassionately as he looked at the girl who was walking into the building. She was dressed in black leather pants, a tight green top that displayed some cleavage and was carrying a box under one arm and a clipboard in her other hand. 

Then he looked at her face and blinked. She seemed very familiar for some reason. He tried to put his finger on it, but he was still fighting off a headache from earlier on that day.

Whoever she was, she placed the box on the floor and then massaged her hand, as if it was hurting her. There was still something very off with her and… then he realized. She was scoping the place out with her eyes. And there was something about those eyes, the way that they were hard and assessing and… oh crap. She was the other Slayer, Faith Morgan.

As he went for his gun her eyes flickered towards him and a lazy, almost wicked smile flickered over her face, as she kicked the box open and then ducked down.

Three small silver spheres shot up into the air from the box, each with a series of red and shiny lumps regularly dotted around it. As he gaped at them they started to hum and then darted away from each other, turning every now and then. He had a nasty feeling that the one closer was looking at him.

Instinct, trained reflex, kicked in and he reached for his sidearm. As it started to come up the globe that had been nearest to him zipped to one side and then spat out a short vicious bolt of energy that splashed against his hand. He let out a yip of surprised pain as the gun fell from his tingling and numb hand and skittered on the floor. It was at that point that all hell broke loose. The other globes spat out similar bolts of energy at the other guards, who scattered, apart for poor damn Atkinson, who look a bolt to the chest, which ignited his clothes and then a second later his skin. The vampire exploded with a fiery wail.

Gunter looked around for Morgan, but she was already on the guards on the other side of the room as they boiled out of the guardroom alerted by the wail of the alarm klaxons, punching and kicking. All were vampires and all had their game faces on, and by the screams and showers of dust that were erupting around her, she was a hell of a lot better then they were.

Zaps, shots and screams were still boiling up around him as the remaining guards tried to take out the silver globes, but the damn things were zipping about, seemed to be impervious to gunfire and had those stunning shots that numbed humans and set vampires on fire. Gunter watched as Soon rolled to one side to get a better shot, bobbed up, got a bolt to his head and then went down with a scream.

His gun, he thought desperately as he looked around, he needed his gun. It was… over there! He dashed over, shaking his hand as it started to return to normal, picked up the gun and then paused. He couldn't hear any fighting behind him anymore. "Oh crap," he muttered.

"You said it," said a voice behind him, and then a boot slammed into his crotch from behind with a force that picked him up from the ground and then dumped him down again.

He wanted to scream, but he didn't seem to be able to make a noise as his hands went down to cup his abused testicles and he found himself in his own private world of hurt.

"Come on guys, back in the box," called out Morgan some way away, and then his mind decided to give his body a break by closing down for some urgent nap time.

* * *

As the alarms started to sound Vocah looked up with a snarl and then looked around at Holland, who pulled out his cellphone and speed dialled security. "This is Manners," he barked as the demon warrior started to read from the Scroll in Latin, at long last., "What's going on?" 

"There's a Slayer in reception, sir!" shouted Kowasaki. "I think it's Morgan, not Summers. She got some kind of floating weapons with her and she's – Jesus Christ! Ow, that's got to hurt – she's tearing through the backup security detail like they ain't even there, sir. We're clearing the area now and we suggest that you go into lockdown mode now. She – oh that poor bastard! – she's kicking their butts sir."

"Well get something down there and kick hers back!" Holland snarled, before turning it off and turning back to Vocah, who was still chanting. "Keep going," he urged.

Vocah didn't take any notice of him but kept chanting… for a moment. Then he suddenly lowered the Scroll and looked around at the door, before thrusting the parchment at Holland and then pulling out his scythe out of thin air. "Keep reading," he said with a silent snarl.

"What's wrong?"

"Angel is here."

He fumbled with the damn thing for a moment, looking down and doing his best to find the place where Vocah had broken off from. Then he turned and handed it over to Gavin, jabbing a finger at the right bit. "Read from there. Now. Hurry!" Then he flipped his cellphone open again. "We need the movers in here," he said tersely, before looking around. There were two doors into this room. One stood behind him. The other was in front of Vocah, who was standing there, silently waiting.

He could hear Gavin speaking the Latin words now, continuing on from where Vocah had left off, and he did his best not to snarl at him to hurry up. These things had to happen in their own time, he knew, but at the same time he had no wish to get his head hacked off by accident in the middle of a battle.

The doors in front of Vocah creaked suddenly and then blew apart, sending shards of wood across the room, which luckily missed any important spots on the chained vampires around the box. Holland flinched and then made a mental note to make sure that Gavin got a pay rise, as he didn't even waver as he kept talking.

Three figures were standing in the doorway. One, naturally, was Angel. The second was Lindsey, who holding a sword and was looking scruffy. The third was that of a young man who Holland had never seen before, and who was holding something in his right hand.

"Vocah," the unknown man said. "We meet again."

The demon warrior responded by hefting his scythe with an audible snarl. "You won't take this one away from me," he replied.

"He won't have to," replied Angel as he stepped forwards, pulling out a scythe of his own, and then he fell upon Vocah in a whirl of steel, which the demon answered with his own weapon.

"Gavin!" barked Holland, "Hurry it up!"

Park was already in the final part of it however, as his voice lifted in command, and Holland smiled as the five vampires screamed, very briefly, as they were suddenly turned to dust and ashes and the blown into a whirlwind that screamed around and into the box with a noise like the scraping of fingernails down a blackboard as wide as the sky. Faster and faster it went as everyone who wasn't a demon warrior or a vampire with a soul flinched from the bitter wind, until it finally collapsed inwards and then pulsed a ring of light outwards that slammed Gavin against the wall, knocking him out.

"Get it out!" shouted Holland to the movers who were standing against the wall, stunned. They shot frightened glances at him, then at the others, before leaping for the box and pulling it out of the room, as fast as they could, desperate to get away from that place.

They were just in time, because it was at that moment that Angel backed Vocah up against the wall with a dexterous twirl of his scythe that disarmed the demon warrior and then smashed him in the face with a fist. The mask fell off, revealing an opening where a nose would have been on a human, which was pulsing with maggots.

"Nice," said the vampire with that damned soul and then the scythe came up and around and suddenly Vocah's head was bouncing along the ground.

Time to get the hell out of here, Holland thought, as he dodged behind Gavin and then darted for the exit. And then something seemed to push against his chest and the next thing he knew he was stumbling backwards, falling to floor to one side, as the doors at the end of the exit corridor clanged shut with a brutal finality. He looked up and saw that Lindsey was standing there, his hand outstretched and his eyes half-closed, before opening them and glaring at Holland. The dark-haired young man was standing to one side, also looking down at him, whilst Angel was walking towards Gavin, who standing there shakily, the scroll still in his hand.

"Give me the scroll," Angel grated.

The sound seemed to snap Gavin back to some kind of alertness, because he looked around and then drew himself up. "No," he replied, grabbing at the nearest brazier and then holding the scroll close to the flames. "Come any nearer and this thing gets toasted. And you'll never see your friend sane again," he smirked.

Angel's face set itself in angry lines and then he raised the scythe and took a step closer and then-

"Angel, stop," said the dark-haired guy. "Don't risk it. You. Evil lawyer guy. You don't want the scroll. You can give it to me," he said, walking forwards slowly, his eyes on Gavin and his empty hand stretched out, palm-upwards.

The young lawyer frowned slightly and then visibly swayed. "I don't want it," he muttered, "I can give it to you."

"Park!" snapped Holland as he drew himself up, "No!"

Gavin looked at him, seeming puzzled for a moment and then shuddered, pulling his outstretched hand back – empty. The scroll sailed through the air, propelled by something that Holland couldn't see, landing in the dark-haired guy's hand. "Excellent," he sighed and then looked at Gavin, who was suddenly slammed against the wall. His head hit the wall just before his shoulders and then he was down like a sack of potatoes.

And then they all looked at him.

* * *

"Here," said Xander as he tossed the Scroll over to Angel, who put it away with a sigh of relief. Then he looked at Lindsey, who was still glaring at Manners. "What do you want to do with him?" 

"This," said Lindsey as he leapt at the Wolfram & Hart executive, holding his sword out close to his neck without touching it.

Manners looked down at the sword and then smiled a nasty little smile. "Lindsey. Good to see you again. Put the sword down or I'll have your family fed to the nearest and nastiest demons that I can find with a taste for human flesh."

The sword moved a fraction and came to rest almost against Manners neck, close to his Adam's apple. "You're too late," Lindsey said. "We got them out. They're safe. Protected. On the way to holy ground by now. And I'm never coming back to work for you."

The sword was resting against Holland's throat now, and the man was obviously struggling not to swallow too hard for risk of giving himself an involuntary tracheotomy without the benefit of anaesthesia. That smug little smile had gone now and instead great beads of sweat were starting to roll down his forehead.

Lindsey's face looked…. like a mask. Totally expressionless. Devoid of any emotion as he stood there with a sword pressed against his old bosses' throat. The man wasn't even blinking, although there was something burning in the back of his eyes, something in his gaze that held Holland's own eyeballs in a lock that seemed unbreakable.

Xander almost didn't dare breathe. He was afraid that if he interrupted this moment, if he did something, anything to break up this tableau, before his Padawan had worked everything through in his head, before he had battled this, the biggest of his demons, then everything would have been for nothing. This wasn't a battle that he could win for Lindsey. It wasn't a battle that he could influence in the way that he wanted to. Saying 'don't do it' might show that he was afraid about Lindsey's judgement, that he was reading the wrong signals. But at the same time saying nothing just before Lindsey applied a little more pressure and split the man's throat open like an apple being sliced would equally be very bad.

The sword was a sharp one, and a single drop of blood had appeared at its tip, where it pressed against Holland's throat. It looked like a little ruby in the bright light…

And then the sword came up, around, down in a slashing motion and- stopped. It hung in the air, a fraction of an inch in front of Holland's now-green face, before being pulled away and returned with a metallic slither of noise to its scabbard. Lindsey McDonald looked at his old boss and then smiled the kind of smile that had very little humour in it. "You know what?" he asked suddenly. "It's not worth it. You're not worth it. You're playing the game by your own rules – the old rules. I'm not using those anymore. My rules are different now, Holland. So different that you can't even begin to understand them. And you know what? I'm _free_ now." He turned and walked over to join Xander.

"I'm something that you can't ever comprehend now, Holland, and you know what? I pity you. Seeing you now, seeing this place for what it is… it's not worth it. Not worth the price you're paying for it." He smiled. "I see it all now."

And then he looked at Xander. "Are we done here, do you think?"

He smiled back. "As done as we can be." He looked at Manners, who was rubbing his neck and looking baffled. "Holland Manners. Do not cross us again. You have been warned."

"What… what the hell are you?" Manners finally got out as they opened the door.

"I'll leave that to you," Xander told Lindsey, who looked back at the man who used to be his boss and then sketched a short bow.

"We are Jedi."


	26. Investigations & Explorations

Christmas was glorious. The New Year was wonderful. Much laughter and life and happiness. As a result I let this chapter slide a bit. Then I fell ill with the latest bug that's been going around my wife's school, and what should have been out last week was delayed to now. Oh and Wales beat England!!! Ha! I'd like to apologise for the delay and to vow that the next chapter won't take nearly as long.

* * *

The screwdriver held the small piece in place whilst the soldering iron secured it along its edges and then it was done. He carefully withdrew the implements away from the circuit board and only then did he blow out his breath in a sigh of relief. There. Another step on the road. He looked down at the circuit board and then at the plan, before nodding slowly. It looked right. He'd been fumbling his way along at times, as this was not the kind of thing that he was used to, but by double and triple-checking it all along the way he was pretty sure that he was progressing reasonably well. So far, anyway.

Which just left that other little matter. He had a great deal of thinking to do, as he had never chosen a gem for a lightsabre before. Lindsey smiled. Life was very interesting at the moment. In a good way, of course.

* * *

It was a glorious day. The sun was shining, there were various birds singing, bees were buzzing away as they harvested pollen from the flowering bush to one side and from the sound of it Uncle Rory was still tinkering with his new car on the other side of the house. There was certainly an abundance of humming going on, which meant that he had finally figured out how to make the sun roof work.

Xander Harris lay in the hammock and felt gloriously lazy and in tune with the day. A week had passed since they had returned from Los Angeles with Lindsey's mother and sisters, and during that week nothing bad, at all, had happened. Giles had put in a phone call to Cardinal Camillo, who had put in a few calls of his own, and according to an astonished Lindsey his family now had not only very good secretarial jobs at a major community centre in Houston, but also had the protection of the Roman Catholic church. Plus a few other churches as well, some of which Xander had a feeling hadn't had many worshippers for a very long time. All in all, if Wolfram & Hart went after them again, then they would have a world of legal and ecclesiastical trouble on their plate. Boo hoo, as Lindsey had put it with a remarkably straight face.

He shifted slightly and grabbed the glass of ice-cold lemonade that was sitting under the shade of the small table that was sitting to one side, before taking a sip. Even Jedi Masters deserved some chilling out time.

Naturally his cell phone chose that time to ring. He grabbed it and looked at it balefully. Caller ID unknown it said, and he reluctantly answered it. "Xander Harris."

"Oh good," said a kind-of-familiar voice, "Just the person I wanted to talk to. Hi Harris."

"Colonel O'Neill," he replied, thinking furiously about what this could be about, "How are you?"

"I'm in town," came the answer, "For the investigation into that little SNAFU situation we had a little while back. With the green thing that wasn't the Hulk."

"Okay," said Xander warily. "I don't think that there is any chance of me being invited to that. Or for that matter, accepting any invitation."

"Good idea, red tape like that is a pain in the butt. Anyway, some people we both know send their deepest regards and bows and stuff, and would like to meet you. Plus I'd like to talk to you first, if that's alright."

"About what?"

"Oh, a few things that might not make sense at first. And a few other things that you might be able to help out on. Leading to something else that you might find very interesting indeed, and it's very hard to explain on non-secure phone calls, you get my drift?"

"Possibly. Probably. When would you like to speak to me?"

"Tomorrow maybe? Red tape can be a bit time-consuming. Anywhere you have in mind?"

"The hill where I told you what I was sound ok?"

"Sounds great. How about time?"

"Noon?"

"I'll see you there and then."

"Okay, Colonel, see you there." He turned his phone off and then looked pensively at the sky. Ok. Life was getting complex again. As Giles and Wesley would say, bugger.

* * *

Janet Frasier bustled down the corridor clutching her clipboard. She had a scowl on her face and she was not in a good mood, which was probably, she realised wryly, the reason why so many people were getting out of her way. She really needed to have that little word with Jack O'Neill about whatever he had been telling people about her abilities with a needle.

Around a corner she went, dodging slightly as Siler went by with yet another massive wrench – what on earth did he do with them, she wondered – and then down a side passage, where she finally stopped in front of a door that had a number of yellowing stickers – and even a few newer ones – that were inscribed with odd hieroglyphs, as well as some that had different legible versions of 'Dr Daniel Jackson' written on them.

She paused, wondered for a second if her hair looked okay, squashed that thought with a mental grimace and then knocked firmly on the door.

"Come in," called a voice that was more of a yawn, and she opened the door and looked in. Even by Daniel's rather… lax… standards, the room was a total tip. Books were piled up in stacks that were almost as tall as his table, his table was covered in open books that were festooned with post-it notes, and which had also migrated onto his chairs. Not one or two but three blackboards were propped up in convenient places, all showing signs of having been written on, parts wiped off, written on some more, added to at odd angles due to a lack of space and then had some post it notes slapped onto their frames.

Daniel himself was sitting on his emergency campbed, clutching a large looseleaf notepad that had, yes, more post-it notes stuck on around the edges of that. It looked as if the directors of the company that made the damn things were going to be giving the sales team that dealt with Cheyenne Mountain one hell of a Christmas bonus this year.

As for Daniel, he had a look on his face that she instantly classified as 'Introspective Brooding 3.5'. It wasn't as whimsical as 3, but not as brooding as 4. It was odd how much she knew about him sometimes.

Clearing her throat slightly didn't get much of a reaction, so she upped the ante by knocking on the door. He started slightly and only then seemed to see her.

"Oh, hi Janet. Come on in," he said, absently and ignoring the fact that she was already in the room. His eyes looked slightly glazed, as if he was thinking a lot and barely connecting with the outside world.

"Daniel, are you alright?" she asked, a little concerned. Turning her head she peered at the largest board that he seemed to be looking at. The largest words on it had been double underlined, circled and then tapped on, by the look of the chalk marks. One was 'Knights' and the other was 'Jedi'.

"Ah," she said quietly, which seemed to be the safest word that she would try out given the insanity that seemed to have engulfed SG-1. Or apparent insanity. Actually, the more that she thought about, SG-1 seemed to do their damnedest to go out, track down and dig up the weird and the whacky.

"I know," he said, displaying that infuriating and endearing habit of his of being able to almost read her mind, "It looks crazy, doesn't it? Jedi Knights, from the films. Here on Earth." He rubbed a hand over his face and then sighed. "Janet, seeing them in action would have instantly erased any doubts you've got. Seeing them do what they can do… leaping through the air like that, using lightsabres for god's sake! And what appears to be telekinesis…" he voice drained away for a moment, an odd look on his face, as if a succession of memories were cascading over it. Then he leant back against the wall behind him and sighed again.

She moved a few books and more than a few papers to one side and then sat down next to him. "Daniel… I really don't know what to say. I didn't see what you saw, and I… don't know how to explain it." Janet sighed deeply. "I just don't know enough about these things. I can't tell you that there's any way for the human mind or body or, or whatever this thing is that can do these things, but given the number of areas over the past few years where my… ignorance has been pointed out to me by events…" She shrugged helplessly.

A long moment of silence dragged by. "Besides," she added, "Surely Sam has to be more baffled by this thing by now."

"She's deep into replicating that energy cell," replied Daniel absently, his eyes still on some indefinable something on the other side of the room.

"How about Jack?"

"He's gone to California to take part into the investigation in the Initiative's losses. Teal'c and Bra'tac are chasing down that lead about this new Goa'uld warlord who's got the others in a bit of a panic. They didn't want to go, but they're the best hope for this thing." His voice ran down again a bit at the end, as he thought hard about something.

Squinting slightly she stared at him again, this time looking at him closely. "Daniel, what's wrong?"

He started slightly and then looked at her. "Mmm? What do you mean, wrong?"

"You're sunk in some kind of brown study, as my grandfather used to say. Did you find something in these books? Daniel," she said, putting as much authority into her voice as she could, "Talk to me."

Daniel opened his mouth for a moment, closed it again, scrubbed a hand through his hair, frowned, tamped his hair back into place again and then pulled off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "I'm… a little freaked out."

"I can tell," she replied tartly. "About what?" Sometimes it was easier getting information out of Teal'c than Daniel.

"Something that Xander Harris told me," he muttered, putting his glasses back on again. "About me, in fact."

"What did he say?" she asked, starting to get alarmed.

"Well…" Daniel looked at the door hurriedly, before glancing back at her. "He said that I could be one too."

"One what?" she asked, confused.

"A Jedi," Daniel sighed after a very long moment.

Oh, she thought. She had no idea what to say.

* * *

"It's coming."

"Thank you, Gustav, for pointing out the blindingly obvious! We knew this day was coming. I just hoped that it wouldn't come quite so soon."

"What shall we do?"

"Vaclav is starting the ritual now."

"Are we staying with our original plan?"

"It seems the safest option. Our Oaths must take precedence. It must not be allowed to gain control of what we have sworn to protect."

"I still say that we should send it to the other power we have sensed."

"That is a gamble too far and we are gambling enough already. The new power is _too_ new and we know next to nothing about it. No. We must stay focussed on our task here. Tell Janos that he will be our messenger. He must leave at once if he is to escape. Come – we have much to do."

There was a pause. "We're going to die, aren't we?"

"Nothing can stop that now. Our mission, our holy task, means everything."

* * *

It was quiet in the room. Getting here had been interesting, as something appeared to have died in the middle of the passageway, possibly a snake. It had certainly squished in a highly unpleasant manner. Luckily there had been a small puddle of water a bit further down that he could splash his foot in and get the worst of it off.

Taking a deep breath Lindsey turned his torch off and then lit a match and touched it to the wick of the candle he had brought down. He had no idea why he had thought of this, it had just seemed to be necessary at the time. The little flame flickered for a moment, wavered and then gained in strength. A bit like me a few months ago, he thought with a wry smile.

As the flame reached its full brightness he looked around. Everywhere he could see things that in his previous life he would have gaped at, adored and probably appropriated. There were gold and silver objects heaped high in one corner, diamond-encrusted necklaces coiled in another like a swarm of small serpents… he suddenly thought of Smaug and grinned for a moment. His father had loved to read that book to him when he was a kid.

And then there were the gems, which were the reason that he was here. Big gems and small gems, they were scattered across a stone table and over the floor, where they had either been flung or they had fallen like lush glittering fruit from the rotten sacks that were mouldering along one wall.

Lilah Morgan would have had an orgasm just looking at them. But then Lilah wasn't exactly known for her warmth.

Lindsey sat down and crossed his legs, holding the candle in his cupped hands. His eyes closed slowly and then he embraced the Force, breathing in and out slowly as he centred himself and then stretched out with his feelings. This wasn't easy. He was looking for a gem for his lightsabre. Xander had said that he needed to choose something that… resonated with him. He hadn't understood what that had meant at the time, but the more that he sat there and reached out with the Force to the gems around him, the more that he understood. He was looking for something that… sang to him, for want of a better word.

After a long moment he thought that he could sense something… over there in that far corner. Opening his eyes he looked down at the candle and was slightly shocked to see that it had burned down almost a quarter of its length. Had he been meditating that long? Standing up he walked over to where he had felt that touch, lifting the candle slightly to see what was there. A jumble of jewellery lay there, a rats nest of gold and silver chains, a small cup on its side and… he paused and then reached out to grasp the cup and tip it upright. Something clattered slightly in it and he looked over the rim to see into it. Then he smiled, reached out and then picked up the dust-covered sapphire that lay there. It was dull and had not been faceted, but there was something about it, as if something was hidden beneath its surface. It was certainly large enough to fit his purpose. And it was the right colour. He had done enough destroying in various courtrooms. It was time to be a Guardian.

Lindsey tucked the gem away in a pocket, blew out the candle and then walked out of the room. He didn't need the torch really. The Force was with him.

* * *

It was fascinating, she thought as she looked at the readings she was getting. The energy cell was operating at a level that made anything else she had look like a torch battery. The possibilities that it opened up for the creation of energy-based weapons was fascinating. There was still the question of how to form a coherent beam, and she thought about the lightsabres that she had seen. If they could do it, then figuring out how shouldn't be too hard. She made a few careful notations in her notebook and then looked back at the energy cell. Dad would be fascinated by it, she thought wryly, and Selmak… would be Selmak. Perhaps a quick call to the Tok'Ra was needed, she thought as she turned it off.

There was the sound of a very peremptory knock on the door to her lab and then the door flew open uninvited to reveal Rodney McKay, who looked rumpled and weary and vaguely intrigued whilst being an inch away from condescending.

"Hi Sam," he said as he wandered in and looked about the place. "I received your summons, not that you worded it that way, and has this place changed at all since the last time I was in the SGC?" He looked around and then caught sight of the energy cell. "What's that?"

Sam Carter straightened up and counted to ten in her head. "An energy cell," she told him as he started to twitch with impatience at her long silence. "Remember that plan I found?"

"Oh that, that was impossible, it was crazy of you to think that it would work, and I was very much not stunned to see that it wouldn't." He looked around again. "Is there any coffee around here?"

Sam replied by turning the cell on again and then pointing to her instruments.

McKay sighed with annoyance, walked over to look cursorily at the readings, started to turn away and then stopped dead, before snapping his full attention onto it. "That's impossible," he snapped after a long moment of incredulous study.

"Apparently not," replied Sam, now almost besides herself with hidden glee at the look on the face of the Canadian scientist. Oh this was fun, she thought to herself, remembering the number of times that McKay had sniffed, scoffed and generally belittled anything that hadn't been produced by himself.

"It's impossible," he repeated, although this time he didn't sound as sure of himself as before. "That… thing is storing an incredible amount of energy! How… why… I thought that you couldn't get it to work?"

"There was a piece missing on the blueprints," she answered, "So we went away and talked to the inventor. Took a while, plus we got involved in one of the NID's black projects, but eventually he let us have what we needed."

She wasn't sure if McKay had even heard her, because he was still gaping at the cell. Then he looked up. "The NID? Is this something from off-world?"

"Sit down, Rodney," she told him. Ok… it was time for him to be very rude again. The chances were that he'd doubt her sanity once she'd even got part way into her explanation. Then she had an idea and reached over for the folder that she'd been compiling on what the former head of the Demon Research Institute had told her. Perhaps a little proof might help.

"Rodney," she started once McKay had sat down on a handy chair, "Have you ever heard of a town in California called Sunnydale?"

"No," he said brusquely. "Why, should I have?"

She winced. This was going to be… interesting. "Do you believe in vampires?"

"No," he snapped, "And neither do I believe in the Loch Ness Monster, Bigfoot, the Yeti, the Flying Dutchman and the latest theory about cold fusion! Now what is going on?"

She opened the folder and held it out to him. "You might want to keep an open mind for this."

* * *

Riley Finn frowned slightly as he adjusted his tie and then scowled in the mirror. He hated being in full dress uniform, it made him feel like a tailor's dummy. Well, it could have been worse. He could have had all that braid on one shoulder. Every time he saw someone dressed up like that he wanted to pull one end to see if the uniform opened like a curtain. His grandfather would have dismissed it as 'scrambled egg' with a snort, before adding that scrambled egg really belonged on a hat or on a plate. He smiled faintly. He missed that old man. His shoe-polishing tips had been extraordinary for a start.

"Stop fiddling with your tie!" scolded a voice to one side and he looked over to where Buffy was sitting on the side of the bed. She looked, well, nervous. Although right now she was glaring at his tie. "Too late," she declared, "It's crooked again." Jumping up she walked over and then made the appropriate adjustment with a few careful tugs of her steady fingers. He looked down at her with a fond smile.

"Thank you," he said when she finished and she looked up at him with a worried smile.

"Riley," she said in a small voice, "What's going to happen if they decide to shut the Initiative down?"

"That's a step too far," he chided gently. "This is just an enquiry into what happened with Adam. There's no decision yet about if they'll shut us down or not."

"But they might, right?" she insisted. "I mean, they might decide to shut you down, or post you, or send you to Alaska, or somewhere really bad and far away, like Guam or somewhere where they don't have commercial flights but they do have hula girls or something, and oh god I sound like Willow don't I?"

He squinted at the wall opposite in mock thought and then brought his hand up, his thumb and forefinger an inch apart. "A little bit."

Buffy smiled sarcastically and then stepped back, "No," she said caustically as she brought her hands up about three feet apart, "A lot!"

This wrung a laugh out Riley, and after he had stopped he looked at his girlfriend affectionately. "Thanks," he said after a while.

"For what?"

"Being you. Being Buffy."

"Who else am I going to be?" she quirked. Then she looked pensive again. "You're sure this is going to be ok?"

"I'm reasonably sure," he replied. "I can't say anything else, can I?"

Buffy nodded and then suddenly turned to face the doorway, which revealed Forrest a second or two later. He was also dressed in full uniform and if anything looked as uncomfortable as Riley felt. His friend smiled at Buffy and then looked him up and down before scowling at him. "Riley, how the hell do you make this stuff look good?"

"Years of living with my mother," Riley replied with a smile. "Plus some help from Buffy."

"His ties can be a bit wonky if he doesn't watch them," Buffy admitted.

But Forrest wasn't looking at Riley's tie. Instead his gaze was fixed on his shoes. "Damn, how the hell do you get your shoes so shiny? Every time I see them they look even shinier. How do you do it, man?"

"Lots of polish, too much time on my hands and tips from my grandfather," answered Riley as he reached out for his hat and then tucked in under his shoulder. "You ready?"

"Ready as I'll ever be," said Forrest with a sharp nod.

Riley nodded back and then turned to Buffy, who was looking at him with her heart in her eyes and her fists clenched so hard that her knuckles were turning white. "Honey, I'll call you as soon as I know what's going on. I just don't know how long the whole thing will take."

"I know," she said, smiling at him. "You just had better call the minute you can, right? I've fully charged my cell phone and I've got the volume on so loud that it'll stun any passing demons." She stepped close, obviously unwilling to mar the creases on his uniform and then grabbed his hands and squeezed them, forcing him to wince slightly. "Sorry!" she whispered.

"It's ok," he whispered back, leaning forwards and kissing her lips lightly. "It'll all be ok." And then he stepped back and strode with Forrest down the corridor towards the lift, where several other Initiative operatives, including Graham, were waiting. All were in dress uniform. Time to be grilled by the brass.

* * *

Someone had filled in the bullet holes by the main entrance, thought Jack as he passed into the complex in the unmarked car that was being driven by a man who was very unused to being in mufti.

Sadly he was not in mufti, nor was he in his beloved fatigues. Instead he was in his full dress uniform, with his full decorations on display, including the latest damn bit of cloth showing his latest award for thwarting the damn snakes. The newest repeat pip on the Purple Heart was embarrassing though, as at this rate there'd be more pips than cloth. And the one on his Congressional Medal of Honour was just silly. Not that he could wear his full uniform any place where he was likely to be photographed by any papers. Someone might get a bit worried if they looked at his salad bars and then tried to work out just what the hell the US Government was playing at in terms of undeclared wars.

As the car stopped he opened the door and emerged to face a uniformed flunkey from the NID, with the uniform of a marine and the face of a weasel who was not fond of the head of SG-1. Someone might have been passing his file around again. Heh. Tough petunias, as his father used to say, the NID owed him big time now.

"This way, Colonel O'Neill," the flunkey said, and then stiffened suddenly as he caught sight of something over Jack's right shoulder. Jack turned himself and then raised both eyebrows. Brigadier-General Thaddeus Finch was getting out of the next car. Well, the guy who had called himself Finch that is. Olorin his name was. And he wasn't wearing a US uniform. Instead he was wearing what looked like a British uniform, something in khaki with a Sam Browne belt. It looked slightly archaic.

As Finch looked towards the entrance he caught sight of the two men looking at him and then smiled slightly mockingly as he walked over. "Colonel O'Neill," he called as he approached them, "It's good to see you again." His accent was closer to British than before this time. "Oh and hello Captain Duffers."

The NID flunkey looked indignant at this. "Captain Dufflin," he corrected, looking down at his name badge.

"I've met you before," Finch/Olorin said slightly wearily, "I had it right the first time. Oh and I know the way, so you shouldn't bother with escorting us." He extended a hand at the door. "Colonel, mind if I show you in to my old command?"

"Not at all," replied Jack as he dismissed the seething NID flunkey with a flicker of an eyebrow and then walked into the base.

After a short period of companionable silence Jack finally decided to make the first move. "Interesting uniform," he ventured. "British – um, Major-General?"

"Yes, it's one of my favourites, in terms of those I've been appointed to," smiled the former commander of the Initiative. "If you ever see a picture of Wavell visiting Imphal after the battle there in 1944, take a close look at the faces in the background."

"You were at the Battle of Imphal?" asked Jack after a shocked moment.

"Fighting the good fight, as it were," replied Finch.

Jack thought this over for a moment and then nodded silently. Then something bubbled up in his brain. "_One_ of your favourites?"

"Yes," came the reply. "I think that it would be fairer to say the most recent of my favourites. I think that people might look a bit baffled if I had turned up dressed as a Union General from your Civil War, or as a Sergeant-Major-General from the New Model Army, or come to that like the Legate of the XXth Legion."

The Valeria Victrix, thought Jack as he did his best not to gape.

Finch wasn't done quite yet with the surprises though. "I understand you serve under George Hammond by the way?"

"Yes, I do," Jack drawled.

"A good man. Tell him that Roger McKenzie says hello. I knew him in the 1970's."

Life was getting impossibly weird these days, thought Jack with an internal wince as they passed down a patched-up corridor towards an investigation into a battle that had never officially happened.

* * *

"Stanislas!"

"Not now, Vaclav, I need to concentrate now. _Principium magni belli…_"

"You need to hurry!"

"I know that, I'm doing it as fast as I can… _Stellarum fortuna…_"

"It's here!"

* * *

This was a screwup of world-shaking proportions, he thought as he sat at the long desk and glared at the man sitting on the chair in front of him. Colonel Jack O'Neill was not his favourite person. But then he would never, in a month of Sundays, have been able to achieve that title. The man was far too honest and wouldn't last five minutes in the NID. He paused for a moment to think about the many, many ways that O'Neill had gotten the better of the NID in recent years and then dismissed the thought with an internal shrug. OK, so he was also a lucky son of a bitch.

Movement out of the corner of his eye caught his attention and he looked to one side as the senior presiding officer, an army lieutenant general called Edwards who was cut out of remarkably similar cloth to O'Neill, leant forward and asked a question about the firefight in the Initiative. O'Neill paused for a moment and then answered, briskly and professionally, damn the man.

Robert Yelensky knew that he had gotten as far as he had in the NID by not being straightforward in any way, shape or form. He had achieved his rank as the internal head of one of the sub-departments of the NID by being very good at committee work, by outflanking whenever he could by superior planning and good memo writing skills, by kissing the requisite amount of ass, kicking the required amount of asses and, oh, by never ever being found out when one of his projects blew up.

Unfortunately the Initiative was almost one of those projects and there was a danger that the shrapnel might hit him. Well, it was sort of one of his. The idea had come from someone else, and Maybourne had had his fair share of influence on the damn thing. He'd appointed Walsh for a start, which had to show off his amazingly mixed talent for picking people to place in important positions. Half of them were amazingly successful and half of them were massively catastrophic.

However, Yelensky had heard about it, approved a few subsidiary projects, guided a few bits through the shoals of NID sub-projects, made sure that the funding for it had been buried beyond the wit of any Congressional oversight committee to find it, and had generally tried to help it out whenever he could.

Edwards was asking another question, and Yelensky came very close to grinding his teeth in frustration. Instead he quirked an eyebrow as O'Neill started speaking again and took a dutiful note of what he was saying. The best part about being a skilled committee attendee was that the ability to take notes came automatically to him these days. Some hidden part of his brain commanded his hand to write without his conscious mind getting in the way much. The bigger problem was that if the NID had been in charge of this investigation on its own, then things would have been taken care of by now. Everything would have been looked into – everything really relevant to the NID that is – the right people would have been pushed over the side, possibly literally, things would have been carefully noted and then hidden away and other, less convenient, things would have been swept under the carpet. A carpet that might then have been rolled up, placed in a locked filing cabinet and then left in a basement where the lights didn't work, the access stairs had been removed and large signs saying 'beware of the leopard' had been posted all around. Instead this thing had been let out into the light of day, so to speak, and non-NID people were crawling over it. Thanks to SG-1, god rot them.

O'Neill was still talking. Show-off.

* * *

"What's all the fuss?" asked Daniel as he ambled into the lab. "I saw Janet and a group of people wheeling someone away."

Sam looked up from the energy cell and yawned slightly. Then she grinned impishly at her friend. "Rodney was here," she said with glee. "I showed him the cell and he was flabbergasted. Then I showed him my file on Sunnydale."

"Ah," said Daniel, as enlightenment dawned on him. "I take it he didn't react well?"

"Um, well after initially thinking that I was mad and denying everything until I got out more files, he then went completely silent, and finally went into shock," replied Sam. Then: "And I have pictures!"

* * *

The bar was quietish tonight. Well, it was a Wednesday night after all, or properly speaking Wednesday evening. Some demons and vampires stuck to human ways and only went out to get drunk on Friday or Saturday nights. Plus business was starting to pick up again after all that Initiative business. Or rather that Adam business. The barman scowled slightly as he polished the glass he was holding, careful not to crush it accidentally in his grasp. A bad business, that. The capture of so many of the local underworld had made quite a dent in his clientele – especially when so many of them had never returned from that wild battle in the base. He'd heard about it from one of the few demon survivors, a demon who had since moved to Patagonia or something, having sworn a number of oaths to several very dead gods never to get involved in either the Jedi or the US military ever again.

He sighed. Well, his clientele was slowly building back again. Slow was the right word. He looked at the slim figure sitting in the chair in the alcove at the far end of the room and then suppressed a wince. She was there again. Ok, so she was drinking some very good vodka that she was paying for with cash upfront, but she… well, she cast a shadow of gloom over the immediate area around her. It wasn't like she cried or swore or muttered to herself or anything… she just sat there. With those very dead eyes. Every now and then a newcomer to the bar tried to make a pass at her. The lucky ones would limp out of the bar, or rather would scuttle crabwise out with their legs about as far apart as they could get them. The unlucky ones would never do anything in this lifetime ever again, on account of being very dead.

The door opened to one side and he looked over as yet another figure with a mysterious cloak and cowl came through the door. They were ten a penny, they really were, all trying to look mysterious. This one looked human, and was dressed in a brown hooded robe, with light beige tunic just visible, along with trousers the same colour and dark brown boots. The hood was, naturally up, concealing most of his face. Whoever he was he looked around the bar with a steady gaze and then walked over to the counter. "Orange juice," he said quietly.

The barman frowned. "You want what?"

"Orange juice."

Scratching his temple briefly the barman walked over to the refrigerator and looked into it, before rummaging about in the far back of it and then pulling out a very dusty bottle. The sell-by date was about a month away, so it should be ok. He opened it, poured it, opened his mouth to charge the guy, closed it when he saw the five dollar bill that the guy was already holdings and then went to get his change. As he passed it over he caught a quick glimpse of a silver cylinder that was hooked on the hooded guy's belt, and then went about as pale as his species could get without extensive blood loss. Oh crap. A Jedi.

The figure caught his look and smiled slightly. "I'm just here for a drink and a chat with someone," he said, soothingly. "Nothing to worry about."

Oh. There was nothing to worry about. The barman nodded after a moment and then went back to polishing the glass, because there was nothing to worry about.

* * *

Xander pocketed his change and then looked around the bar. The usual mix of scum and villainy, although some were obviously just a bit down on their luck or were just passing through. He sighed. Hellmouths attracted all kinds of people and things and other things that needed an anatomy lesson to determine what sex they were.

Then he girded his proverbial loins and walked over to the alcove where the dark-haired girl was sitting. Yes, it was her alright. Her black hair was hanging down loosely about her face and her very blue eyes were a bit unfocussed but were still as dead as ever.

As he drew near she raised her head slightly. "I only give people one warning," she said with a hint of slur, "Go away now. While you still can."

"What if I don't want to?" he asked.

"Then I hurt you. Or kill you. Depends on my mood and how much I've had to drink," she answered, with the slight slur overridden with a sound that might have been a mixture of a sob and a giggle.

"I'm just here to talk," he said, drawing up a chair and then sitting down, placing his drink to one side.

"Talk about what?" she growled. Then she frowned. "Why am I even still talking to you?"

He answered what was probably a rhetorical question by reaching up and pushing his hood back from his face. He quite liked his new robes. His mother had been delighted to make them for him, even though she had sighed sadly over the layers of dust that had been on her sewing machine.

The hum of conversation in the room faltered badly as his face became apparent, then picked up again as if nothing was wrong, although some of the closer patrons suddenly had a pressing desire to walk over to the other side of the establishment.

The moment that she saw his face her eyes widened and she inhaled sharply, tensing in her chair. "You," she hissed, with an odd combination of emotions colouring her voice. There was surprise, there was shock, there was hatred, there was resignation and there was also a hint of… relief? "You again…"

"You know who I am, but I don't know who you are," he said quietly, leaning back in the chair lightly, watching her every move with care. This one was dangerous. For one thing he had a sneaking suspicion that she wanted to die, which was never a good start. There was something about the way that she looked, the way that her eyes were empty of most of the more positive and pleasant emotions. To flog the metaphor as far as possible, her eyes were indeed quite dead, despite the fact that she still had a pulse.

There was a pause, whilst the faintly feral look that had come over her ebbed a fraction. "You're here to kill me, but you want to know my name first?" she asked incredulously.

Xander took a calm sip of his orange juice. "Why do you think that I'm here to kill you?"

"Because I tried to kill you," she replied slowly, as if she was pointing out something very obvious to a small child.

"Yes, but you failed. Plus I'm not the sort of person who has anything to do with revenge." He looked at her again. She was studying him with a look that said that she had no idea at all what he was, or what language he was speaking. "I know that the Order of Teraka sent you. What did they tell you about me? I ask because I think that they left a lot of important details out."

She looked at him again, a faint facial tic breaking out on the corner of her mouth for a few heartbeats, and then tilted her head again. Something seemed to be breaking through the deadness of her gaze, like a flick of a fin beneath dirty water. It might possibly have been curiosity. "That you were a threat to some of their clients here," she told him eventually. "That you were… dangerous, in a way. Plus that you knew the Slayers."

"No-one put a contract out on me then?"

She answered with a shake of the head. "They just said that I had to kill you." Then she leant forwards. "My turn. What… _are_ you?"

A sad smile twitched at the side of his mouth. "They really should have told you more about me. I'm a Jedi."

"A what?" she asked, looking confused.

"A Jedi. You know, from the films?"

"From the films," she repeated, a look of deep disgust settling over her face like an iron mask. "Fine, then don't tell me, I can-"

Standing with an explosive jerk of his legs Xander reached out with the Force and thrust her back in the chair slightly, so that it thumped against the back of the alcove. At the same time as she flailed her arms trying to get her balance back he used the Force to pull her three daggers out of, respectively, her left boot, her right boot and the back of her coat, propelling them straight up so that they thunked into the beam above their heads. And finally his lightsabre flashed into his hand and then the blue shard of light shot out to one side away from her, extending fully and drawing a pair of very wide eyes from her suddenly very pale face. He waited a second or two and then he turned it off and returned the silver cylinder to his belt. "I'm not in the habit of lying," he said, sitting down. "The Force is with me. The thing is, it's also with you, and that's why I'm here."

He adjusted his robes slightly and then looked around as the bar, which had fallen very silent, resumed its usual noise, although at a slightly subdued level. The girl was still very pale and seemed to be having trouble operating her mouth.

After a long moment she finally succeeded in reforming her train of thought. "You're a Jedi," she said quietly.

"Yup," he replied, as he held up his glass and peered at the odd-looking specks at the bottom of it. Hopefully the orange juice was within its sell-by date, or he was going to have an interesting time on the toilet later on tonight.

"You're the guy who people have been talking about. I heard on the grapevine that there was this guy down here who was death on legs to the… well, to demons and so on."

"I hadn't heard that, but the reference makes sense."

There was a moment of very tense silence. "I am going to find the guy who gave me the job of killing you and then I'm going to show him what his lower intestine looks like," she said eventually through very clenched teeth."

"That would be a very bad idea," Xander replied, after he drank the last of his orange juice and then placed the glass on the table in front of them. "The reason I say that is… you have a choice to make. I can teach you how to make the best use out of your gift. You called it 'the power' the last time we met, but it's better known as the Force. It can give you things that you can't even imagine. I think it can fill the hole in your heart that I can sense from here. And I can sense it easily. All that misery, all that despair, all that… nothingness. That desire to die. I can help you with that, if you let me."

Her face stiffened into an immobile mask, displaying nothing. "What would you know about what I feel?" she demanded roughly, throwing another slug of vodka down her throat. "And what's your angle on this? What do you want?"

"I can feel the pain that you're displaying all around," he said, leaning forwards, "I can feel the deadness in your soul that you've stopped caring about, even though you still worry about it occasionally. I can feel the anguish and the tearing at your heart. I can sense what you feel, because right now you're projecting it with the Force like a loudhailer. And I can see it on your face. They call me the One Who Sees around the Slayer, and they don't know the half of it.

"I am a Jedi. That means something that I still have trouble explaining to people that aren't fellow Jedi. I have an obligation to protect and to teach. You can feel the Force and you can use it. So far you seem to be using it for evil but you haven't turned down that path all the way, not yet. There's still a choice ahead of you. There's hope ahead of you, if you choose to take it. I've been training a guy who can use the Force but who was working for Wolfram & Hart. He made his choice. He turned away from that firm and he's a Jedi now. Now it's your turn, your chance to choose something better. I can help you."

She sat there for a long minute staring at him, a dozen different clouded emotions dancing over her face. "A Jedi," she said eventually, sounding shaken, "How the hell did that happen?"

"Long story," he replied. "How did you learn to use the Force?"

"My father told me… a few things. Showed me," she mumbled, "He learnt it from his father, before… things happened and he ran away."

Interesting, Xander thought. It sounded as if there was a story and a half buried there in the background. Why had her father run away? Something did not bode well there. He looked at the girl, whose face was twitching slightly as emotion threatened to break through the mask of indifference that had sunk deeply onto her face.

"Rebecca Clayton," she mumbled after a long moment. "You wanted to know my name. That's it." She took another long pull on the vodka and then looked at him fleetingly, before closing her eyes. "So, what are you offering me?"

"A chance to think," he replied softly. "Assess. I'm can train you, if you want. I can show you what you can do with your gift. If you want me to, that is. It's a big step, bigger than anything you've ever done before, bigger than anything you've ever seen before. It would take you in a direction you've never been in before. And it won't be easy, because it can't be easy. You're going to have to come to terms with what you are, what you've done in the past."

Xander stood up fluidly and then looked down at her. "Think it over. Take as long as you like, because I know that this kind of thing can't be easy and I know that you can't just give me an instant yes or no. I wouldn't want one anyway. This thing doesn't work that way. You can contact me via the library. May the Force be with you, Rebecca." Pulling his hood up he turned and walked out of the bar, eying the one demon who looked drunk enough to make a fight of it sardonically. Luckily for it, the demon had a friend who was larger, more sober, or just more sensible than it, who grabbed its shoulder and pulled it down. When he reached the door he looked back at the alcove. She was still sitting there, staring at the floor, the glass of vodka in her hand. She seemed to have a huge amount on her mind. Good.

* * *

This had to be the stupidest vampire on the face of the planet, Faith thought as she ran after the goddamned thing. She'd spotted it as she had been patrolling, when it emerged blinking from a crypt in the cemetery with its game face on, had not even bothered to check its six and had then yawned. She had scoped it out, noticed that it was on the scrawny side, circled around slightly to make sure that it hadn't been a trap and had then stepped out from behind a convenient tree and waved at it with her dagger.

The vampire had gaped at her for a moment, swallowed and had then started running. Naturally she'd followed it, but with a careful eye on where it was running to. Xander and Giles had both taught her that running literally into a new situation demanded caution.

The brainless wonder she was now chasing seemed to be wetting himself with fear every time he looked back at her, plus his path was truly random, as he kept jinking and swerving in an effort to lose her. Fat freaking chance she thought as she ran, grabbing at a fallen branch as she passed a dead tree. She hefted it slightly and then, after waiting for the right moment, threw it. It smashed into the vampire's legs, throwing him to the ground. The vamp had thrashed briefly and then did its best to stand and scoot again. Unfortunately as it came upright it met Faith's left fist on its nose, which broke rather messily. "Ow!" it screamed, "Son of a bitch! I'll-" And then it looked down to see where her right hand had stabbed it in the chest with a stake. "Oh," it said, rather weakly, and then dusted out.

Faith shook her head, checked her six again and then sighed. She had a nasty feeling that she needed to have that talk with Wesley soon. Her… Slayer Sense, as B called it, was tingling, and it was calling her away. She wasn't sure where. And she wanted to be sure she was ready.

* * *

It was quiet now. It had been very noisy earlier on, and she had been in a very bad mood because people were being mean and not telling her what she wanted to know and well, she might have overreacted slightly as a result. She peered down at the head of the old man that she'd been playing football with for a few minutes and then picked it up. "Alas, poor Yorrick!" she proclaimed in as deep a voice as she could manage and then looked around for some applause. None came and she stuck her lower lip out and pouted. They shouldn't have annoyed her so much, so it was all their fault. Well, back to square one. Time to start looking again. Throwing the head over her shoulder negligently she walked back to the room where her Key had been kept. Where was it now? Stupid monks, messing with things that they knew nothing about. Her thoughts skittered slightly and now she really regretted not letting some of the worms live. She needed a snack for a start.

* * *

Xander waved his parents off to their dance from the front door and then closed it with a slight smile. It was freaky at times to see that they had not merely glued their marriage back together, but taken it a few steps on and remoulded it into something new. Willow called it 'sweet', but then Willow still cried like a baby every time ET was on. Although she had once asked him if he had any Obi-Wan memories of anything that looked like ET. She'd been very put out when he'd replied in the negative.

He wandered up to his room and then looked around with a slight sigh. It was time to move out. He'd been looking around for a while now and had identified an apartment that combined the right elements of amenities, seclusion for meditation and location. It wasn't too expensive either, as his salary at the library more than covered the rent and his food, although he did have enough cash in the bank to pay for the place outright. He needed to think about it.

Sitting down on the floor he crossed his legs and closed his eyes to meditate. He had an awful lot to think about right now. Colonel O'Neill's visit tomorrow for a start. What the hell was that about? Then there was the issue of Lindsey. He'd passed the latest test, that of finding the gem for his lightsabre, very well indeed. It was a very personal decision. The gems in his lightsabre, as well as Oz's, had been dictated by a combination of need and correctness. Using the gem he'd found in the cave where he had defeated the wraith and recovered the Cross had been… right. He had restored balance there. Similarly Oz had been able to use the Karren gem for good. Balance again. If they had had access to the gems that were in that room back then, well, who knows which ones they would have used. The colours would have been the same though. Guardian and Consular. Lindsey's choice was right for him as well. That just left the rest of his trials. He had faced the mirror and passed. That had been important – Anakin had failed his, he was starting to suspect from his Obi-Wan memories. There had been that time on Nelvaan...

Well, he had to think about that at some time. Lindsey was close, but he was still a Padawan. He was not a Jedi Knight yet.

And then there was… there was… there… Xander closed his eyes in a combination of concentration and pain as something seemed to slice into his mind, like a number of blocks of cheese that were made instead of lead. Something was wrong, very wrong. It felt like magic, but a magic that he had never seen before. Things were entering his mind, pushing into places in his brain, in his mind, in his thoughts, squirming tendrils of ... Memories... they were memories. He tried to push them away but they were insidious, crawling into places where they hadn't been before. The problem was that he couldn't feel anything to do with the Dark Side about them. There was no evil attached to them, no malice or anger. Just… memories. What the hell was going on? And then, suddenly it ended.

His eyes snapped open and then he groaned. He had a hell of a headache. He also had a lot of memories about Buffy's sister. Dawn. Wait a minute… Dawn?

Who he was pretty sure he hadn't remembered before. Buffy was an only child… wasn't she?

Sithspit. This wasn't good.


	27. Let The Dice Fly High

This chapter should have been out two weeks ago, but when Kathleen and I came back from a trip to Edinburgh, we both came back with filthy colds. Then Kathleen hurt her back, and then I somehow stabbed myself in the hand last weekend parting too frozen Yorkshire Puddings with a small sharp knife. Anyway - here it is at long last!

* * *

It had been a very long day. Again. He sat there in his office, with the lights dimmed and his desk covered in paper. The glass in his hand still contained a little of the single malt that he had poured into it half and hour before and now he tipped the last of it into his mouth and then closed his eyes as he savoured the taste. It was expensive to ship in from Scotland, but it was worth every penny.

As the burn at the back of his throat softened and ebbed away he looked reluctantly down at his desk again. So many questions and so few answers. On the one hand the Raising had been successful and a very bewildered Darla was being taken care of. On the other hand the LA branch of wolfram & Hart had been shaken down to its very foundations by the raid that had freed Lindsey MacDonald's family and stolen the Scroll of Aberjian.

Morale in the main security department was apparently currently at something less than zero.

Wolfram & Hart's specialist guard squad was an unruly bunch of drunks today. The evidence from the room where they had been was… impossible. Something had cut through that floor as if it had been made of butter, leaving no trace at all of anything in its wake.

Oh and what the hell had the devices brought by Morgan been? Floating and zapping things? He'd had a lot of trouble believing the footage from the security cameras.

And something was seriously up with the Senior Partners, at least one of whom had gone as silent as the grave. Hopefully that was something that was possibly periodical, as he suspected that some of the Senior Partners had life spans and sleep rhythms that were about as non-human as it was possible to get. On the other side of the coin if that Senior Partner had instead gone quiet because they were scared of something…

Holland Manners shuddered at the thought, stood up pulled his jacket on and left his office, activating the security alarms as he did so. He needed to sleep a lot. He suspected that if he didn't find out some answers soon then he would sleeping a different type of sleep at some point in the near future.

* * *

"Shanshu…" muttered Rupert Giles to himself as he stared down at the photocopy on the table in front of him. Then he looked to one side and peered into the open book that was propped up against the now very empty carafe that had once held coffee. "Shanshu…" Yes. Wesley was right, it seemed to be a very ancient version of Magyar, which meant that it was proto-hungaric. The problem was that there was no version in modern Hungarian that came close to it. Or Finnish. Or Estonian. He tapped his fingers a little on the table and then blinked rapidly for a moment. Something was tapping at the back of his brain, but he had a nasty feeling that his fatigue was blocking it a bit.

There was a noise to one side and then Olivia poked her head around the door. "Rupert," she groaned, "It's late. When are you ever coming to bed?"

"Oh, I'll be there in a few minutes, dear," he said with an apologetic smile.

She sighed at him. "That's what you said at 9pm. And 10pm. And now."

"Oh," he said, looking around for a clock, "What time is it?"

"One in the morning," she said. Then she grinned impishly. "Do you need an incentive or something?"

"An, an incentive?"

She withdrew her head and there was the sound of sliding cloth. Then a slender hand appeared at the door, holding a negligee, which was then dropped on the floor. The head reappeared and then batted big soulful eyes at him. "Race you back to bed?"

Laughing lightly Giles jumped up from the note-strewn table, turned his cell phone off with one hand as he flicked the lights off with the other and then bolted for the bedroom, being preceded by a lot of giggling. A moment later he darted back into the hall, pressed the button that turned his answer phone on and then darted back again, leaving a trail of his own clothes in the process. All of a sudden he didn't feel tired at all.

Thirty seconds after the bedroom door swung shut a light came on the machine to show that a message had been left. A minute after that it started to blink steadily on and off, signalling that it had multiple messages.

* * *

Xander turned the phone off and then looked around at the office in the library. "Giles must be doing something important," he muttered as he stared at the other side of the room, "Or, of course he's asleep." He paused. It had been very quiet since they got back.

He smiled slightly. The new cell phones that the Watcher's Council had provided were British ones, which meant that they had this neat little facility for sending text messages. 30 seconds after he'd felt those alien memories squeeze their way in to his head he'd been using it to call in Oz and Lindsey. From their responses he had feeling that they wanted to talk to him quite urgently in turn.

Speaking which, it was at that point that the door swung open and Oz walked in. He looked as if he had pulled on his cloths in a hurry and then combed his hair instead of taking the time to use gel, which was sign of extreme stress on his part. "Master," he said when he saw Xander, "Did you feel it too? The memories of Dawn?" Master. Oh boy, was he stressed.

"Yes, but we'd better wait for Lindsey," Xander soothed his former Padawan. "Ah, I feel him coming now."

The door opened again and Lindsey strode in hurriedly. He was slightly pale and looked stressed. "Did you feel it too?" he asked with an 'I'm afraid you're gonna think I'm nuts' tone in his voice.

Xander nodded and Oz raised his hand with a slight smile. Lindsey opened and closed his mouth and then deflated slightly, the uncertainty leaking out of him and almost puddling on the floor.

"Ok, when I agreed to learn to become a Jedi, I did not think that it would include memories of someone I'm pretty sure I didn't know before trickling into me head," the former lawyer pointed out with an understandable bafflement in his voice.

"I take it that we all have memories of Buffy's sister Dawn in our heads?" asked Xander, looking between his two fellow Jedi. Both nodded. "Ok, me too. When they arrived I was meditating. What were you two doing?"

Lindsey and Oz looked at each other to work out who was going to go first. "I was taking a bath," said the Padawan, slowly, "And I was using the Force to get two bars of soap to orbit around my book. When it started I damn near dropped the book in the water, while the soap shot off in all directions – I'm going to be cleaning it off my bathroom cabinet for a while, and I think that the other one's wedged on top of the lintel."

"I was meditating using the Force," said Oz tersely. "I was just clearing my mind."

"And I was meditating as well," mused Xander. "Ok, so I wasn't actively using the Force, but I was attuned to it and tapping into part of it – I usually do access the Force when I meditate."

There was a nasty silence. "I see a link," muttered Lindsey in a voice that was almost as terse as Oz's had been. "The Force. Or just the fact that we can all use the Force."

"Yes," sighed Xander. "Ok, I didn't feel the Dark Side at work when this whatever-it-was happened… that's a good sign, but let's not read too much into that. We just don't know what's involved here. Magic can be freaky at the best of times, and I don't think that any of us could qualify as an expert. So: who is Dawn?"

"Who'd want to pretend to be the sister of the Slayer?" Lindsey wondered out loud.

"Someone trying to kill her?" answered Oz speculatively.

There was another moment of silence. "Maybe, but it doesn't feel right," replied Xander slowly. "I sense no malice here so far. Let's hold off on judgement for a while, at least until we've done some digging. Plus we need to meet whoever – or whatever – this Dawn is. Stretch out with your feelings, all of you," he stressed, gesturing with his hands at this last part.

The others nodded seriously. Then: "Do we tell Buffy?" asked Oz.

Ah. This was a doozy of a question. "I… don't know," Xander confessed. "That's a hard one. I hate keeping things from my friends, especially as we just don't know what going on here. But then at the same time we just… don't know what is going on, so not telling her might be a good thing until we can work out what's up. And we do our best to find out as fast as humanly possible. It's going to be very delicate to balance all these things." He folded his arms and stroked his chin reflectively. "Right. Go home and sleep – oh but record what you felt first, on anything handy, like a notepad or a tape recorder. Our memories have been messed with once. Let's not rule out a return visit. We see what's going on tomorrow – or rather today - and then we meet again tomorrow evening to reassess our options." He looked around. "Any questions?"

Oz looked at Lindsey and then they both shook their heads. "Do you know how Obi-Wanish you just sounded, by the way?" the Jedi Knight asked with a small smile.

"Goes with the flow," replied Xander as he rubbed at his forehead with a slight sigh. "Goes with the freakishly Sunnydale-like flow."

* * *

Much to her surprise Lilah did not find Dansey sitting in his seat – or rather the Seat of Pontification as she had renamed it in the dim and deep recesses of her mind. The man had a nasty habit of declaiming from that spot. It was very irritating. Not that she had ever expressed any such irritation, that is.

She looked around the room carefully. It had been a week since Wolfram & Hart's Los Angeles office had been shaken down to its bone marrow by that raid. A Slayer had been on the premises. Plus those other people. Getting reliable information hadn't been as hard as she had thought, but had still been possible. It hadn't been, well, that believable.

Lindsey stinking MacDonald had been on the premises for a start. That was shocking, because it said that the little weasel was not afraid to venture back into the place where he had first made a toadying name for himself and had then turned his back on with a finality that still baffled her.

Angel had been there as well, and his flunkey the cheerleader Cordelia, and of course the younger Slayer, Faith Morgan and her watcher, a limp piece of celery called Wilbury Washington-Pimple or something. And then there had been that other one, the dark-haired young man who had the body of someone in his very late teens and the eyes of someone who was about 25 years older. The one who could, she knew, in some way use the Power. She didn't want to call it the Force in this room, not even in the privacy of her own head. Yet.

A door opened to one side and Dansey strode in. He was frowning slightly as he walked to the window, which he stared moodily out of. "So, my dear Lilah, what did you find out?"

"Manners is moving heaven and earth to find out what went wrong, master," she said.

"I don't want to hear about that witless worm," he broke in with a snarl, "I said, what have you found out?"

She didn't swallow nervously. That would have been like a red rag to a bull. "I think that one of the party that raided Wolfram & Hart could use the Power. Possibly more than just a bit. I think that it was the young man that I saw in the corridor there. He was pretending to be a lawyer, but he was not a part of Wolfram & Hart."

Dansey nodded slowly. "I felt it too. 'Possibly more than a bit'? Far more than that. Interesting…" He rubbed a forefinger over his right eyebrow. It had to be the biggest sign of real emotion that she'd ever seen in him. "Do you have a name for this young man?" he asked, in a tone of voice that suggested that he was talking to an idiot.

"Based on my glimpse of him, and the report on Angel's known associates, it's possible that it was an Alexander Lavelle Harris. Resident of Sunnydale."

"Never heard of him," muttered Dansey as he glowered out of the window. "And what kind of idiot calls their child 'Lavelle' anyway?"

Lilah didn't reply. Flippancy was not an option when he was in this kind of mood. Instead she waited.

"Anything else?"

"According to Park, Harris – if is was him – pulled the Scroll of Aberjian out of his hand using what he described as some kind of telekinesis."

"The Power," growled Dansey. "Anything else?"

"Just that Manners is under a lot of pressure from some of the Senior Partners to find out what is going on."

"Some of the Senior Partners?" he asked sharply. "Not all of them?"

A good point. "Some of them have gone silent," she admitted. "Manners dares not push to find out why."

Another snort. "No, sometimes they have their own agendas. Not to mention their own sleeping cycles. Never forget, my dear Lilah, that some of them are as far away from being human as it's possible to anatomically get." He finally walked back to his chair and sat down in it. "I have a lot of thinking to do," he said eventually. "Go away. Practice a lot. I'll summon you when I need you."

She bowed and then strode out, utterly suppressing the rage that was burning at the core of her being. Soon now, very soon, and there would be no more dismissals and no more put-downs.

* * *

He woke with a muffled groan. Blood and flaming ashes, what the hell had he been drinking the previous night? Oh. Yes. Bushmills. And Johnny Walker. And he had a nasty feeling that vodka had been involved as well, which was never a good idea for him. It tended to go down smooth than silk and then turn around and bite his brains out.

There was a slight movement to one side and he realised that he was not alone. This was not good. He suspected that he had been very, very drunk the previous night. He opened his eyes slightly and looked around. Oh good, he was in his crypt. That was a good sign, it meant that his homing instinct, as it were, had kicked in again. Then he opened his eyes a little further and looked over.

A blonde woman was lying next to him. He lifted the sheet slightly. She was naked. He was naked. Bits of him were now starting to report that it was more than possible that he had had sex the previous night. That was good and bad. Good because sex was sex. Bad because he didn't know who she was, she he couldn't see her face.

She moved again and he froze. You know, he thought, for a second there she looks like the bloody Slayer. Urgh, wouldn't that he freaky.

Then she moved over a bit more and he caught sight of her face, whereupon his hair almost stood on end, his stomach dropped to somewhere close to Canberra and his brain decided to stop working for a little bit, just until it had gotten over this particular moment in time.

"Hi blondy bear," slurred Harmony and then giggled. "I think you missed me!"

Christ, thought Spike, I need to have my head examined.

* * *

Well, from the outside the house looked perfectly normal. Except possibly for the pink curtains that were showing in one of the windows on the first floor. Xander peered across the road idly as he leant against the tree and then yawned as blatantly as he could without it looking very fake. No new cars, he hadn't been followed, he'd checked the area… everything looked, felt and seemed to be 100 normal – for the Slayer's old house in Sunnydale, that is. After a moment he stiffened slightly and then looked across the road to where Buffy and Willow were walking along the sidewalk, talking a bit and laughing a lot more. Oz trailed behind them slightly. He was wearing a pair of dark glasses – well, it was a warm and very sunny day – and he had one hand in a pocket while the other swung easily at his side. Only someone accessing the Force could probably have picked up on his tension.

"Hey Xander," smiled Buffy as she saw him walk up. "What's up?"

"We felt something a little hinky in the night," he replied easily. "But the Hellmouth seems to be quiet today."

"Hinky in what way?" asked Willow, looking at Oz as well as her oldest friend. "Oz came to bed a bit late last night." Buffy looked at her slyly and the redhead blushed a bit. "Well, I just happened to notice, and my latest worm virus hasn't finished making its way in to the SGC's computers and so I was waiting up and I'll shut up now."

Buffy had narrowed her eyes and had been looking about the place as Willow stopped speaking. "I can't sense anything, but you'll let us know if you pick anything up, right?"

"I will, Buffy," Xander replied, wondering how on earth he was going to put what he so far knew into words. "Oh and speaking of the SGC I'll let you know what O'Neill says. I haven't heard anything back from him, so I presume we're still on for noon today. Whatever he has to talk about."

"Do you think it could be related to the hinkyness?" Willow asked.

He thought about it and then gave a very honest shrug. "I don't know. I hope not." He paused. "Is there even such a word as 'hinkyness'?"

"If there isn't then there should be," quipped Buffy with a cheerful grin. "Plus it's Thursday and on Thursday my Mom makes pancakes for breakfast."

"Really?" asked Xander in tones of apparent surprise. "You don't say. What a coincidence that I just happen to meet you all here as we saunter towards your house."

Buffy clasped her hands in a tragic pose and then batted her eyes at him. "Oh Xander," she sighed, "You're such an innocent for a Jedi."

"Ha ha," he replied, deadpan, as they reached the front door. As Buffy opened it Xander drew on the Force carefully, sensing that Oz was doing the same. And then they walked in.

The first thing that Xander noticed was the smell of pancakes wafting from the kitchen. The second thing that he noticed was the girl's bike that was leaning against the stairs. It was pink. It had a basket. It was also a bit muddy. Dawn's bike, he thought, blinking at the memory of the time that he had come in with Buffy to discover Joyce putting iodine onto the scraped knee of a tearful girl. Whom he had never met. He blinked again and then looked around as Buffy and Willow walked towards the kitchen, where he could hear voices. He caught Oz's eye for a moment , flickered an eyebrow briefly and then joined the others.

"It must be Thursday!" claimed a cheerful voice to one side as he walked into the kitchen. Joyce was standing by the stove, dexterously sliding a melting knob of butter around its sides before placing it back on the hob. "How do I know that? Because it just so happens that my oldest daughter always just happens to pop around on Thursday mornings to pick up some laundry, or grab a book that she'd forgotten, or just pop around to check on her old mother." She smiled wickedly at Buffy and then used a ladle in a mixing bowl next to her to transfer a quantity of batter into the frying pan, sending up a delicious smell and the sound of sizzling.

"Oh please!" protested Buffy with a Summers smirk of her own, "Do I need an excuse to enjoy your cooking?" She kissed her mother's cheek. "Hi mom, I brought hungry friends."

"Hi guys," said Joyce as she looked up quickly from her cooking. "Xander, could you be a dear and get some more crockery down?"

"Sure Mrs Summers," he smiled and walked past the table. "Hi Dawnster, how's tricks?" he asked the dark blonde girl who was sitting there dressing in a t-shirt and jeans and was hovering up a pancake with a great deal of maple-syrupy relish. At that point two conflicting thoughts rampaged their way through his head. The first was: 'I always call her Dawnster when I meet her in the mornings'. The second was 'I have never laid eyes on this person before in my entire life.'

"Morfning schanderr," Dawn replied through a mouthful of pancake.

Xander turned his confusion into a look around for the plates, found them and then walked back to the table, as Joyce relinquished control of the pan to Buffy, who was jiggling it with a gleam in her eye. "And… hup!" The pan jerked upwards, the pancake described a lazy flip and landed in the middle of the pan, uncooked side down, where it sizzled. Buffy looked deeply smug.

"Good, honey," smiled Joyce.

To one side Dawn swallowed the food in her mouth. "At least it didn't stick to the ceiling again, like the first time she tried it," she snarked.

"I take it you're done with pancakes for the day then," replied Buffy dryly.

"I have not! Mom!"

"Buffy, I think that your sister would like another pancake," their mother pointed out as she leant against the counter and drank some tea.

"Ok," said Buffy as she lifted the edge of the pancake with a spatula and looked underneath it. "After I've done a few more pancakes though. I'm hungry."

"Mom!" protested Dawn loudly.

* * *

When Xander left the house he was outwardly cheerful. In the privacy of his own head he was very thoughtful though. Whoever or whatever Dawn was, she did not seem to be a threat. Not yet, anyway. Which brought up another issue. Someone or something had gone to a great deal of trouble to create a person and insert her into the Summers household. In the process they had also inserted Dawn into the lives of everyone else around the Summers. He seemed to have two sets of memories – or rather a separate sub-set of Dawn-related memories that were adjacent to some of his. He didn't know as much about magic as he might have liked, but he could tell that such a heat would have required not just a lot of the damn stuff, but also its very careful application. Whoever the someone or something was, they were very skilled.

And then there was the girl herself. Dawn seemed to be very bright, extremely teenaged (quivering almost visibly at the smallest slight to her image) and utterly devoted to her mother. Who wasn't her mother. He could detect with the Force the love that she had for Joyce and also, in a grudgingly sisterly way, for Buffy.

It was… very confusing. He needed time to work out what the hell was going on. And he had a nasty feeling that time was something that he didn't have a lot of just now. He snorted to himself. He hated working to someone else's timetable. Looking at his watch he grimaced. He had to meet O'Neill, which was another complication in his life that was not really needed.

* * *

Lindsey opened his eyes and then smiled as he looked at the horizon. He was getting better at using the Force. Ok, so that soap was still wedged at the back of his bathroom cupboard, like a slippery bullet, but he was getting better at it. Standing swiftly he stretched out his arms behind his back, laced his fingers together and arched his spine until things popped back into place. That wasn't nearly as bad as it had been when he had started a while back as well.

The doorbell rang at that point and he frowned at the door before walking over and checking through the peephole. Then he blinked and opened the door. "Riley."

The Initiative operative was standing there in his usual college clothes. He was holding a small package in one hand and looked a bit uncomfortable. "Hi Lindsey," he replied. "Um, can I have a quick word with you?"

"Sure," said Lindsey, holding the door open. The agent strode in, and then paused before holding the package out to him.

"What is it?" the Padawan asked.

"Something that I probably should not strictly speaking be giving you," replied Riley with one of his trademark wry grins.

Lindsey took it. It felt like a box of some sort, one that rattled slightly when he shook it. He pulled off the packaging to reveal that it was indeed a box. Opening it he looked down through the layers of packaging to see something that looked awfully like a…

"I talked to Xander a while back," said Riley quietly. "Turns out that he was able to stop a shipment of supplies that should have gone to us from ending up in the local black market for guns. Only thing missing was something like that. I guessed that it was the piece he needed for his lightsabre, when he was building it. I think that Oz's lightsabre uses a superconductor as well that once belonged to us." He smiled again. "In the wake of what happened with Adam and what we owe you all, the guys and I thought that you should have this."

Lindsey picked the part up and looked at it. "Wait a minute, won't your stores guys notice that this thing is missing?" he asked, still stunned.

"Oh you'd be amazed at what gets lost in a system like ours," smiled Riley Finn, looking as innocent as only he could. Then he sobered. "I meant what I said about owing you our lives. And I did some double-checking on Wolfram & Hart and what tends to happen to people who cross them. Lindsey, you need this thing a lot more than we do."

Lindsey picked up the missing part that he needed for his lightsabre and then nodded. "Thank you," he said. "This means a lot to me." The Force was with him.

* * *

The kid was already sitting on grass at the top of the hill when Jack arrived. He had his eyes closed and looked half-asleep, and all in all looked a lot more rested than Jack felt at that moment in time. Rushing from the latest part of his evidence back to his hotel to get changed and then dashing to the hill had not been very restful, but then he had a feeling that wearing full dress uniform in broad daylight there might have raised some suspicions.

"Hey Jack," said Harris as he drew near. "I'd call you by your title, but something tells me that this is an off-the-record meeting."

"Good guess," Jack replied as he looked around at the grass and then sat down himself. The view wasn't bad at all from here, just as he remembered it, he thought, as he looked around. There was a nice breeze blowing and it was another sunny Californian day. He could see the attraction of the place, but he still preferred Minnesota. "I like this place," he muttered.

"I've always liked it. Oh and by the way – no-one's watching us."

The question 'How can you tell' came close to being shaped by his mouth for a moment, and then he swallowed it back. "Oh. Jedi senses, right?"

"Yup," said the kid as he opened his eyes and then looked at him. "So. What's so important?"

Sighing slightly Jack stared down at the grass for a moment as he marshalled his thoughts. "Xander… I work for a project run by the US Air Force that's so secret that if I told you what it was about I'd have to shoot you, and then me and then any passing earthworms that overheard me," he said. "It's secret because it's important – more important than you can imagine." He paused and then winced slightly. "Let me rephrase that. I suspect that your Obi-Wan memories would allow you to see exactly how important it is, and I can't believe that I just said that."

"What, the part about me having the memories of Obi-Wan Kenobi?" Harris snorted with amusement. "Jack, look at it from my perspective. I went from being a very average 16-year-old kid to having all this stuff in my head. Looking back at it I'm amazed that I didn't go nuts at the time." He shot a hard but amused look at him. "Is this the point where you explain to me what a Goa'uld is by the way? Oh, and what's a Tokra, if I have that pronunciation right?"

Colonel Jack O'Neill went absolutely still for a moment. Then he turned to look at Harris, who was staring off at the horizon. Just before Jack exploded Harris broke in: "Relax Jack. Remember when you and your merry band first came to Sunnydale and Harry Maybourne, your favourite person in the whole wide world I don't think, took you out to that cemetery to introduce you to your first ever vampire?"

"I might have some… memories of that nasty night – by the way, how exactly did you know about that?" Jack asked.

"Guess who was standing behind a handy tree or two near you lot that night?"

Oh crap, thought Jack. And as he threw his mind back to that night…

"And yes, I was close enough to hear your friend Teal'c mention both Goa'uld and Tokra. I think that there might have been a few miniscule pauses in those words that mean that there are a few apostrophes in there somewhere. I wouldn't know. But what I do know – and this is based on some of the things that Buffy and Faith were picking up – is that Teal'c and his old friend with the beard are not as human as they look. So tell me, Jack, what gives?"

Crap #2 thought Jack. Ah, hell, why not go for broke? "They're… not from here. And if you want to know more then you're going to have to pay a visit to Cheyenne Mountain."

"Colorado," mused Harris as he squinted at the horizon. "Bumpy place, Colorado. So is that where the SGC is based?"

Jack groaned quietly. "Where did you hear that?" he asked in faintly despairing tones.

"I have some friends that are very good at hacking. Into computers, that is, rather than hacking things to pieces, 'cos I have some other friends who are just as good at that." Harris shot a hard but faintly amused look at him. "C'mon Jack, if you were checking us out surely you should have expected that we'd check you out. I know that my enemy's enemy is my friend, but I've always believed in digging up as much information as I could get my hands on."

Taking a deep breath Jack looked over at him. "Good point. Now – can I ask you to at least think about coming to talk to us?"

This bought him a thoughtful look. "Depends."

"On what?"

"I think I can trust you, but what about your superior officers?"

"His name is General George Hammond and I'd trust him with my life."

"Yes, but can I trust him with mine?" Harris smiled faintly. "Let's look at this rationally. I'm still technically a teenager. I work in a college library. Why the hell should you and your boss need my help? Oh, and given that the people that Riley works for seem to be more than a bit mad, Colonel O'Neill can you promise me that I won't get dissected if I turn up at your base?"

"We are not the NID," said Jack in a low, taut, voice. "We do not stoop as low as they do. Hell we don't even stoop slightly as far as they do. I know that you've met the Initiative, but we operate on a level far above that. And I'd like you to meet Hammond and tell him what you know, because we need every scrap of damn help that we can get right now."

Another moment of silence intruded as Harris scratched the tip of his nose and then looked out at the horizon. "What's out there that's so important, Jack?" he asked softly.

A good question. "Everything," he replied with a sigh. "The safety of everyone you know. Everyone on this entire damn planet in fact." He looked over at Harris, whose eyes were suddenly sheets of calculus. "What?"

The kid started slightly, like someone emerging from the deep waters of bad memories. "Just remembering something that… well lets call him a bad version of me, that he once said. Long story. Not sure that you'd like it that much." He paused for a moment and then nodded. "Okay Jack. I'll take a look at my schedule. Things are a little weird right now, but I'll see what I can do."

"Weird?" asked Jack with a frisson of uncertainty in his voice. "Weird how?"

"Oh just a few memories being flung around. Don't ask because I have no idea." Harris stood in a smooth flowing movement that showed in an instant how potentially dangerous he was. "So when I make up my mind how can I contact you?"

Pulling out a card with his SGC telephone number, Jack held it out. "There you go. How long will you need to think about it?"

"It depends, Jack. The thing is about a Hellmouth is that it's always open for business. Things tend to ebb and flow a bit, but there's always something going on somewhere here. It's going to depend when I can safely get away. That said, summer tends to be a relatively quiet period for us. I think that it's the long days and very short nights."

Jack nodded. "Makes sense. But don't take too long. Xander, I mean it. Even if all you can do is advise, that would be important."

Harris looked at him. "I will Jack," he answered seriously. "I'll let you know."

* * *

This had to be the longest plane trip that he had ever been on. Getting to Prague had been bad enough, what with the desperate panicky rush to get there alive. Sitting in the concourse area for his plane to be called had been almost as bad, because all he had had to do was wait and look around. And now that he was on the plane and could possibly start to relax a little on the long flight to the USA, two things were creeping into his mind. The first was that the airline's food was borderline nutritious but tasted like cardboard. The second was that his jeans – and for someone used to wearing robes these things were devices surely made by Satan himself! - were scrunching parts that nature had surely meant to stay unscrunched. He put his paper down on his lap and then surreptiously rearranged his crotch a little and then sighed in hidden relief. He was getting an idea of what torture was. But at least he was alive. The Beast was behind him. For the time being at least. He wasn't sure how much time he had, but he had to get to Sunnydale. There was far too much at stake. He had to find the Slayer, give her the Sphere, explain so much… oh there was so much to tell her. There was so much riding on this. The safety of the world.

* * *

Daniel opened his eyes and then blinked muzzily. Oh. He was back in his apartment. Janet would be pleased that he had gone home before she had ordered him to. He raised a hand and rubbed at his eyes lazily and then levered himself up in bed, before looking over at his side table. 2pm? It was that late? Oh, but he had a vague memory of going to bed at 4am. Actually that meant that he had slept for 10 hours straight, which meant that he had been pushing himself again.

Getting up he pulled on his glasses, padded over to the door and pulled on his robe, before wandering down the corridor to his kitchen, where he started the coffee machine and then stuck a slice of bread into the toaster. Then he pulled up his favourite stool and sat on it, resting his elbows on the counter and staring out of the window. Birds, he thought, have it damn easy some times. Chirp, hop, eat, make guano, make little birds. Not a bad life, if something a little boring for a descendant of a dinosaur.

After a long and very introspective moment he reached up and opened the cupboard to one side, from which he pulled out his favourite mug. Then, after a moment's thought, he pulled out his least favourite mug, which he placed on the middle of the counter. He stood there for a minute, tapping one finger absently against the counter, until a noise to one side signalled that his toast was ready. Daniel pulled out a plate, rescued the toast, applied butter and a smear of jam and then poured himself a mug of piping hot coffee, to which he added some milk. As he sat on the stool again he ate and drank absently, his eyes on the unwanted object in front of him.

When he finished his breakfast – or was that really brunch? – he placed the mug and plate in the sink and then sat back down on the stool and looked at the clean and entirely unlikeable mug. He tilted his head as he looked at it and then sighed. "This is nuts, as Sam would say," he muttered and then straightened up. Stretching out his hand, he closed his eyes and then concentrated. When he opened his eyes again the mug was still in exactly the same place.

He scratched his face and thought about having a shave for a moment and then looked back at the mug. "Perhaps I need to be calm," he muttered and then closed his eyes again and started to breathe deeply and regularly, trying to get into something close to a meditative state. He felt like he was trying to reach out with something that he couldn't even describe, let alone understand, but he tried anyway. After a moment a slight clattering noise broke into his consciousness. When he opened his eyes the mug was shaking slightly on the counter. As he gaped at it went still again. Reaching out with a shaking hand he picked it up. Nope, no-one had snuck in and stuck wires on it or anything. He put it down again and then rubbed a shaking hand over his forehead. Maybe the Force _was_ with him.

Maybe he needed to do a lot of thinking. Maybe he needed a bath.

After some thought he combined the last two.

* * *

As Xander opened the front door he paused. He had been doing too much thinking to notice the very high level of emotion in the house. He frowned and then hurried in. To his surprise he found his parents and Uncle Rory all sitting in the living room. They looked tired, red-eyed in the case of his mother, and strained. When his father saw him he stood up. "Hey, Xander, glad you're back," he said hoarsely. "We've… had some bad news."

Xander looked at the others and then frowned. This did not look good. "What's wrong Dad?" he asked.

Tony Harris sat back down again and reached out for his wife's hand, which grabbed his shakily. "Your Uncle Will is dead," he said quietly.

He sat there for a moment, disbelief washing over him. "What? How?"

"Car crash," said Rory, in a raw and almost savage voice. "Some drunk driver side-swiped his car. The drunk made it out alive. Will didn't."

For the first time in ages Xander didn't know what to say. The self-proclaimed white sheep of the family was dead? He thought that the guy was going to outlive them all!

"Funeral's on Friday in San Diego," his father said sadly. "It's going to be a sad one, Xander."

He nodded in reply. Will had been a good guy – one of the best of the Harrises. His dad was good too – now that he had straightened so much of his life out – but Will had always had his head screwed on properly. Xander hugged his tearful mom, patted his father's shoulder and nodded at Rory and then padded upstairs to his bedroom. He had a sudden and very real sense that life was changing under his feet, that things were starting to move on in new directions. Part of him welcomed it as any Jedi would, but part of him also mourned, and again that was the Jedi way.

He sighed and sat down to meditate. It had been a very long and at times very strange day, and it was still only partway through the afternoon.

* * *

When Lilah walked back into the room she could see that Dansey had gone back to standing in front of the windows and was staring out at the darkening sky. He looked… well he looked like a skinny old man with the weight of his cares upon his shoulders. Whether or not these were heavy Lilah had no idea. Frankly she didn't care.

"Master," she said, bowing slightly, "You sent for me."

"Yes, Lilah, I did," Dansey said musingly. "I have a little job for you. I want you to go to Sunnydale for me."

She had a feeling that he had been going to say that. It fitted in with the way that his twisted little mind worked. He was more like Holland than he'd ever care to admit, as he was convinced that he was in fact far, far above whatever lofty heights of deviousness that Holland Manners would ever aspire to.

"What do you want me to do there, Master?" she asked, even thought she had a good idea what it would be,

"Track down this Alexander Harris. Find out just how much of the Power he can… wield," Dansey instructed her with a sneer emphasizing the last word. "And then contact me. I will probably then tell you to kill him."

Lilah nodded slowly, thinking fast. Then she came to the decision that she had been lulling for some time. "No," she said, tilting her head to one side and watching him carefully.

There was a long moment of total silence. Then Dansey turned around and looked at her, an odd light glittering almost redly in his eyes. "No?" he repeated almost to himself. "I had no idea that you could be as stupid as to say that. Why did you?"

"Because I know that you're testing me. Me against Harris. You want to find out who has the most strength in the Power. You want the strongest to seek you out afterwards, so that you can keep on with this plan of yours that you've never told me about. If you have a plan that is. So no, I'm not going to do it." She smiled at him, a strange and terrible smile that finally reflected what she thought about him.

Dansey blinked slightly and then replied with a smile of his own, although the red light in his eyes did not go away. "Ah, Lilah," he said reflectively after a few seconds. "I knew that this day would come eventually. I knew that at some point you would finally jibe back at me. The pupil always eventually thinks that they know far more than the master."

The smile went away on his face, pulling all emotion away from it and just leaving an emptiness tinged with a malevolent and gleeful hunger. "I'll just have to teach you a lesson that you'll never forget."

Suddenly he threw out a hand and pushed with the Power, with the speed of a striking snake. She should have been thrown against the wall with the strength that he used, but she had been watching his eyes closely and the minute that he struck, she countered him, throwing her hand up at the same time as his and pushing with the Force as hard as he was.

They both grunted in shock at the impact and for a moment she wondered what the hell she was doing, because Dansey was powerful. The amount of the Power that he was wielding had come close to stunning her. But she was – somehow matching him. It was taking a huge amount of her concentration, but she had the old fart, whose eyes had widened slightly when he saw her make her counterstroke. They both stood there – she couldn't tell how long for, it might have been a minute or an hour, she was so totally absorbed in stopping his attack.

"Well, well," he sneered through gritted, bared teeth, even as his hand clawed at the air in a vain attempt at purchase, "It… looks like you did pay attention to your training."

"You… trained me well…" she replied, still pushing as hard as she could.

His eyes flickered to one side, which was all the warning that she needed. She heard the slight scrape of a piece of wood that had been lying against the wall to one side and then she pushed with the Force to deflect the damn thing, sending it flying off to one side. "Sneaky," she said, looking around with quick glances herself. The problem with this was that she dared not use too much of the Force to throw something at him without weakening her counter to his onslaught. Surely the old bastard's legs had to be buckling by now!

She half closed her eyes in concentration as she drew deeply on a strength that had she never had to use before and then her hand shot out and gestured to the wall to one side as she _pulled_. The effort of it all almost brought her crashing to her knees, but with a groan of stressed wood an entire panel ripped free of its supports and hurtled straight at Dansey, who shot a single venomous glance at it. The panel snapped in two in mid-air and then sandwiched itself, before shooting just behind him and impacting the wall. When the pieces finished falling to the floor there were some large splinters still embedded in the plasterwork.

"Impressive," said Dansey and he was no longer sneering. He scowled at her and then pushed hard again, with the Power. She hurriedly matched him, giving it everything she had, twisting her face as she pushed back… And then suddenly they both hit the metaphorical wall that is summed up in the law that for every action there is an equal and opposite reaction. Lilah found herself skidding back on her heels, almost falling over. When she looked back up again, her chest heaving as if she'd run a marathon, she could see that Dansey wasn't in much better shape. He was pale and shaking with reaction, but he still had enough in him to draw himself up and glare at her.

"I was hoping that I'd never have to resort to this," he said coldly, "But you leave me no choice. I guess that I'll have to really punish you and then decide if I want you alive at all. It might be a lesson and half for you, my dear Lilah."

Straightening up he raised his hands and then pointed them at her. "And now you will witness the full force of the Power." Shards of blue-white energy started to play about his hands, joining and melding at his fingertips at the blink of an eye and then suddenly his hands extended fully and a vicious crackle of electricity shot across the room at her.

Well. Exactly as expected. The moment that his hands had come up she had reached out with the Force to the object that had been clipped to the back of her jeans, hidden by her coat. It shot up and around and into her hand and then she thumbed the switch just in time to meet the crackling pulse of energy with the blood-red blade of her lightsabre. Dansey's attack hissed and sizzled, dancing around the red blade and then shooting off jaggedly to one side, ripping a scorched hole in the old carpet and charring its way along a floorboard or three.

The reaction to her lightsabre was every bit as sweet as she had imagined. Dansey… gaped at it, like a poker player whose three aces had just been topped by a full house. His eyes bulged slightly and his mouth opened a bit. Not much but for him that was about a hundred times the shock that she'd ever seen him display. "What the hell…" he started to say and then his hands went up and another wave of energy slashed its jagged path towards her.

Again she blocked it, but this time Dansey kept pouring it on, attacking relentlessly, his hands jerking slightly as he shot those tendrils of white-blue energy across the room at her. Again and again he tried and every time she intercepted and deflected it with her lightsabre. It wasn't easy – at least once the impact almost jerked the weapon out of her grasp - but she stood her ground and beat him off, almost having to lean into each attack in an effort to keep her balance.

She didn't know how long she could keep this up, she had no idea at all. And then she took a step forwards. Then another. Squinting at him, as pinwheels of jagged after-images from the lightning oozed past her vision she grimly concentrated on the simple task of putting one foot forward and then another, of deflecting each attack whilst keeping hold of the lightsabre that was the only thing standing between her and a very unpleasant death. Step by step she approached and with each step the old man's hands shook a bit more and his eyes widened a little further.

"Die!" he finally screamed as she approached, "Why won't you die!" And with that he raised his hands a little higher and sent a redoubled stream of desperate energy at her.

She caught it – barely. The effort almost smashed her down to her knees, but somehow she stayed upright. She had no idea how, but she did it. Twisting the lightsabre slightly to one side she was able to deflect one tendril of energy down and to one side, where it danced on one spot, charring the carpet. By moving her hands slightly she could get it to move a little… towards Dansey, who shot it a slightly frantic look.

Lilah felt her lips peel back in a parody of a smile before moving another step closer. The tendril drifted closer to Dansey, just a few feet from his foot. Another step. Closer still.

Dansey let out a shrill scream and raised his hands again for another try at that redoubled attack and as he did so Lilah stepped forwards again and the tendril drifted onto his leg. The old man screamed as the energy ripped into him, his face turning white and then working with agony – and then he suddenly dropped his hands, ceasing his attack, and then fell to his knees.

Lilah felt her hands shaking with exhaustion and reaction from the massive amount of adrenaline that was coursing through her. Relief threatened to break through as well, but she buried it beneath caution. The old man was still very dangerous.

He looked at his smoking leg and then lifted his face to hers. By now she was so close that his face was illuminated by the red light from her lightsabre. "You… you're full of surprises, my dear Lilah. I… wasn't expecting that. Wherever did … you get it?"

She tilted her head and looked at him. "I looted it from the desk of a dead lawyer at Wolfram & Hart. Nifty, ain't it?"

"Yes… you mustn't kill me… I know things that you don't… there are plans in place…"

"Your plans, not mine," she said levelly, and then she used the Force to whip her arms around and then bring her lightsabre through his neck, severing his head with one smooth economical movement. It landed to one side as his body collapsed bonelessly.

Lilah Morgan looked around the remains of the room, at the small fires still burning on the floor here and there, at the wrecked part of the wall. By some miracle the Chair of Pontification remained intact. Turning the lightsabre off she walked over to it slowly, feeling as if she was a hundred years old, absent-mindedly using the Force to smother each fire. Then she sat down in the chair and looked at the body of her former master. Only then did she start to laugh. The world suddenly seemed so full of possibilities…


	28. The Sky Opens

* * *

Another busy month, with me going off to Dubai for a conference, and Kathleen pulling a muscle in her back. Life has been busy recently. Anyway - enjoy!

* * *

The board of investigation met at 0900 exactly, down to the second. The presiding officer, a lanky Army General from Kentucky cleared his throat slightly, looked down at the paper in front of him and then looked around at the assembled people.

"This investigative board is now in session and has completed its deliberations. The findings are to be formally presented to the Secretary of Defence and the Joint Chiefs. However, a summary will now be read out for the record.

"One: the primary finding of this board is that control of the Initiative is to be removed from the NID, which has been found to be grossly negligent in its operations in Sunnydale. Higher authorities will be urged to decide on the future of the Initiative.

"Two: an immediate investigation is to be started as to how a person such as Dr Margaret Walsh could have been considered a competent person to be placed in charge of this facility. Her actions were entirely reprehensible, totally unauthorised and have resulted in a weakening of the trust placed in the United States Military by the Government of Great Britain. Her resurrection of a dangerous and indeed foolhardy concept led to the deaths of valuable personnel and the near-destruction of this facility. The NID is to be held directly accountable for her actions. The State Department has requested a full report on what went wrong. A copy is to be sent to the President. A formal apology is to be made, by senior members of the NID, to the Government of Great Britain, as well as the Watcher's Council and the organisation known as Room 42 of the British Museum.

"Three: the intervention of personnel from the SGC, while unconventional, is to be highly commended. Suitable decorations or distinctions are to be advised upon.

"Four: the intervention of members of the Watcher's Council, as well as the Slayers Buffy Summers and Faith Morgan is likewise to be highly commended. However, mention of this is to be stricken from the record. Higher authorities have displayed an interest in future commendations, but the Watcher's Council itself is to be consulted on this." The Kentuckian twang deepened for a moment. "No, repeat _no_, mention of their presence is to be made. The President has issued an Executive Order stating that they are to be left alone to go about their duties, as laid down in the United States – Watcher's Council Agreement of 1787. Any attempt at abusing this Order will be met with the full force of the law. There will be no exceptions." His eyes flickered coldly over the most prominent members of the NID in the room, who collectively looked as if they were on the verge of screaming at various underlings.

"Five: the actions of the being known as Olorin are likewise highly commended and are also to be stricken from the record.

"Six: an immediate investigation is to be started on the behaviour of the NID with regard to the setting up and running of the Initiative. Concern has been expressed by various parties as to its recruitment and conditioning of its operatives in Sunnydale…"

Riley winced internally at that last point, but made sure that no hint of his emotions crossed his face. Truth be told, he had started to have his doubts as to how he had been recruited – he had a good idea now that if he hadn't been asked to join the Initiative, then he would have been approached by the SGC to work on whatever the hell it was that they did – but so far the board had come up with a series of slaps to the NID's face that was going to prompt a lot of internal rumblings. He hadn't suspected that Colonel Maybourne's people had been, for want of a better term, a dissident faction of the NID. The thought made him highly uncomfortable.

* * *

The table had a folder on it. A folder with a large amount of paper inside it, in the form of various documents that had either been printed out or had been photocopied. To one side of the folder there was a laptop, which was on, and was linked to the internet.

Xander eyed it all with a certain air of detached concern. It did not look good. In fact, it looked worryingly complete. "So what have you got?" he asked Oz, who was tapping a pencil against his nose and looking slightly worried himself.

"Here's Dawn's birth certificate, or at least a copy of it," his fellow Jedi said, passing over a piece of paper so that Xander and Lindsey could look at it. It looked very official. "The original is filed in the records of Hemery County in Los Angeles, where Dawn and Buffy were both born."

"It looks authentic," Lindsey muttered.

A larger sheaf of papers came across the desk. "Here's her medical records, from the time that she broke a toe playing softball a year ago, to the suspected food poisoning that she once had in school that turned out to be from eating a crayon."

Xander and Lindsey flipped through it and raised almost identical eyebrows.

"And these," said Oz as he waved a hand at the laptop, "are her current grades at school."

Xander peered at them. "Hmm. Math is looking a little low. History and geography are looking good though. I didn't know that she was taking French." He leant back. "Ok, any conclusions from this?"

A tired chuckle emerged from the mouth of his current Padawan. "Xander, I don't think that Wolfram & Hart could create records like these that quickly. Given more time, yes. Since we felt those memories being put in our minds? No way. In this kind of detail, with official documentation and so on? _Absolutely_ no way. Whoever or whatever did this – they're good."

"I agree," said Oz shortly. "Hacking into systems is one thing. Creating this kind of official history – medical, educational, and everything – is something else entirely. It's almost impossible on this kind of scale. Xander, this is… big time tampering."

He thought for a long moment and then nodded in reply. "Agreed." He thought a bit more. "Ok. We need more information, or rather we need more guidance. Force meditation time for me. A Force vision would be a nice thing to have right now."

* * *

Morning meetings were both the bane of his life and also a great method of control. On the one hand you got to dictate people's lives to them. On the other sometimes you realised that shit happens and there was very little that you could do with it.

Holland Manner's personal goal in life – at least when it came to meetings - was to achieve the perfect 30-minute meeting. No more (that was a waste of time), no less (it took around that much time to go around the table and pat heads, assign court cases, listen to complaints and deliver chastisement to people who had not learnt their lessons).

Today, he realised, would not be the day of that perfect meeting. "They want how much?" he asked Natasha Chan as she sat there and sweated discreetly.

"Thirty million dollars," she replied crisply. "They claim to have a number of… highly indiscreet recordings of Mr Oblonsky. He pays the settlement that they claim he originally promised, and the footage never gets aired."

Holland peered at her. "How bad is it?"

"Bad," she replied, looking faintly nauseated. Then she swallowed. "Very bad. The least bad is Oblonsky and a hooker called Marigold."

There were a number of barely suppressed splutters of amusement around the table.

"Marigold?" asked Lilah as she leant forwards slightly and smiled a slither of a smirk.

"Yes," said Chan. "The thing is that Marigold used to be known as Bernard."

"Ah," winced Holland. "Can we persuade them that this footage needs to be in our hands?"

"They've secured it with Gruffman & Hackett," replied Chan.

Holland pursed his lips slightly. Oh. Those parvenus. Gruffman & Hackett was not a very long-established law firm, but they did possess a certain amount of vicious style. Whereas Wolfram & Hart tended to use a stiletto for the delicate stuff and a battleaxe for the more… robust negotiations, Gruffman & Hackett were as subtle as their name. They tended to use a big nail-studded wooden club for everything from breaking open boiled eggs to breaking open heads. One day Wolfram & Hart would break them, slit their chests open and feed on their still beating hearts, but until then they were best left alone.

"Does Oblonsky know about these recordings?" he asked after a moment's thought.

"Not yet – he's still on vacation. Stubbornly on vacation. He insists that we deal with everything. He's due back today."

"Lay everything on the table in front of him," mused Holland. "Don't do it before lunch though. I don't think that he should have a full stomach for this." He looked around. "Anything else?"

"A small piece of news, sir," muttered Sarah Peretsky. "I heard as I was coming in that Judge Dansey is dead."

Holland felt his eyebrows shoot up a bit. "Richard Dansey?" he asked.

"_The_ Judge Richard Dansey?" interjected Lilah, who looked as surprised as he felt.

"Yes, sir," replied Peretsky. Holland exchanged an eyebrow-raised glance with Lilah who, he knew, had never been much of a fan of the damn man.

"How did he die?" Lilah asked, as she sank back in her chair and looked at Peretsky with narrowed eyes."

Peretsky looked down at her notes. "His body was discovered on a road. His head was found not too far away." She looked up. "A coyote had been… chewing on it a bit," she said, looking slightly green.

"Decapitation. Interesting…" muttered Holland as he leant back in his chair and looked out of the window thoughtfully.

"A bit… extreme," wondered Lilah in a thoughtful tone. He looked at her. She could sound so wonderfully cool about these things, but she sounded a bit shaken, he could tell.

"Lilah, look into it. Probably just a bout of revenge from some former convict that he'd put away for a bit longer than they thought necessary, but it's better to look into these things," said Holland as he made a note. Then he looked around the table. "Anything else apart from that?"

There was a moment of collective headshaking and then he nodded sharply. "Ok, people, let's get to work. Lilah, keep me updated about Dansey. I'd head a rumour that he was slated for the Federal Court next month. You might want to see if there's a connection there."

Lilah raised her eyebrows in surprise, made a note and then left with the others. Holland watched them all go and then collected his notes and made for his own office. He had some research of his own to do.

He wanted to know what the term 'Jedi' meant when it came to Lindsey and Sunnydale. And he wanted to know what Alexander 'Xander' Harris was.

* * *

"Well?"

Riley looked down at his girlfriend. He had a number of options. He could put on a look of fake sorrow and say that the initiative was being shut down and that he had been transferred to Guam. That might be good for a chuckle at the look on her face but would also get him a Slayer-powered elbow to the ribs and ensure that he'd be without sex for at least a week.

"The NID got a major slap in the face from the board and they're having another investigation into our future," he explained with a quiet smile. "So I'm afraid that you're stuck with me for the time being."

It was the right option, because she beamed at him, tucked herself under his arm and then hugged him. "Good," said Buffy after a long moment. "As I've kinda got used to having you around."

"Oh good," he replied and then looked around. "Let's get some coffee. And some breakfast."

"Didn't you have anything this morning?"

"Just coffee. Coffee and adrenalin. I hate investigations, I can never eat before them, I get too nervous." He rubbed his stomach, which chose that moment to gurgle loudly. "How about I stand you brunch?"

"Brunch is a _very_ civilised word," said Buffy firmly as they walked off towards the nearest coffee shop.

* * *

Images… could be confusing. He saw the giant stone ring again… again but filled with what looked like shimmering blue water… a flash of light… a group of men and women dressed in beige, staring at him in astonishment… a clearing in a forest with two moons hanging in the sky to one side… a dark shape on the horizon that looked like a fortress… a women dressed in red, with long curly red hair, a massive smile and eyes that looked older and filled with more evil than Palpatine could ever have dreamed… a cell containing a shivering Dawn… a ramshackle-looking tower… and finally a figure dressed all in black, staring out of a window at a star field, with a hood that covered its face but which appeared to be filled with darkness…

Xander Harris opened his eyes. The candles around him had burnt down, he felt like he was in need of something to eat and there was a certain feeling at the back of head that something was wrong somewhere. He had a very nasty feeling that the Dark Side was moving somewhere just beyond his line of sight.

Right. He had a phone call to make.

* * *

It was a very boring report and so far he seemed to be writing it at about a sentence every five minutes. At that rate he should be done with the damn thing at about midnight, which would be bad as he had an evening planned out that included Chinese food, beer, at least two episodes of the Simpsons and a film that was big on things blowing up and short on meaningful dialogue.

The phone rang and he almost sighed with relief as he answered it. "O'Neill."

"Hi there Jack," said a voice that sounded rather familiar, "Greetings from the Hellmouth."

"Xander," acknowledged Jack as he leant back in his chair. "How's life?"

"Not bad, and yes I do realise that my phone is not secure. So rather than give you a quick précis of things here, involving tortuous descriptions and vague code words, I'll cut to the chase. I'd like to take you up on your offer and take a look at your situation."

Suppressing the sudden desire to punch his fist in the air, Jack confined himself to a grin. "Ok, I'll get things moving. Overt or covert?"

"Covert. I have something to wrap up her today, but tomorrow I'm going to be in L.A. for the reading of my late uncle's will. Will that do?"

"Hell, I'm sorry to hear about your uncle."

"It happens. Accident. Will of the – the you-know-what."

"What time is the will reading?"

"About 10am tomorrow."

"Can you be at LAX by 1pm?"

"Hopefully yes. How long will I need for the... explanations?"

"At least a day. Maybe more. There's a lot to take in. We'll send someone to pick you up and fly you over. Look for someone wearing Air Force blue at Departures and carrying a sign with your name on it."

"Ok. I guess I'll see you when I see you." The line went dead.

Jack put the phone down and then leant back in his chair. Things were starting to move. Then he straightened up and picked up the phone again, as he dialled quickly. "Good afternoon sir. I think we need to get Major Davies over here again with his non-disclosure forms. I just had a call from Xander Harris in Sunnydale sir. He wants to know about what's going on and I think that we should oblige. Yes general, I do realise that, but I'd like to recommend that we brief him and I'd like to stress that this could be a vitally important moment for us. Yes sir. I need to arrange a flight for him from LAX. Thank you sir." The phone went down again.

Only then did he punch the air and whoop.

* * *

He yawned quietly and then looked around. The others were late, thought Lindsey, as he waited by the entrance to the warehouse that Buffy had identified as being home to a small nest of vampires. It looked about right – the windows were boarded up from the inside and here and there he could see where some of them had been daubed with black paint, obviously to stop any chinks of sunlight from peeking through.

He resisted the temptation to fidget and then looked around again. They really were all late. Where were they all? Taking a deep breath he calmed himself, not that he was feeling that nervous. The latest research he'd been doing into Dawn with Xander and Oz had come after he had finally completed… it. His lightsabre. The thought still made him slightly light-headed. He had built himself a lightsabre. Or rather he had assembled the parts, having taken a trip to LA to get the gem faceted by that creepy guy Thorne, who had just looked at it and then at the design and had then asked him bluntly if he knew one Xander Harris. When he said yes then Thorne had looked at him hard before nodding and agreeing to the work.

Putting all the parts together had been… a challenge. He'd hardly describe himself as being that technically accomplished, but with the right plans and the odd piece of advice and… and the feeling that this was right, that this was something that he needed to do, he had done it. His lightsabre was charging in the university library. It might even be done by now.

He had been tempted to go and check it out, but he had the oddest feeling that he didn't have the right to bear the lightsabre just yet. It was a strange feeling given all the work that he had done on it, but he just couldn't shake it off. So instead he was wielding a short sword that fitted quite nicely under his coat.

Footsteps sounded to one side and he turned to see Xander walking towards him. "Master," he said wryly. "Where are the others? Or am I early?"

"You're exactly on time," replied Xander with a smile. Then he tilted his head slightly. "Lindsey, you have been undergoing your Trials. Every Jedi undergoes these, they are the way that a Jedi is weighed and measured. The position of Jedi Knight is not an easy thing to accomplish. The transition from Padawan to Knight is something that can never be easy. You've come a long way from the man that everyone distrusted who lost his sword on graduation day and who used the Force to summon it into his hand in the nick of time. I've trained you harder than I trained Oz – because you came from Wolfram & Hart, a place that you were afraid was leeching your soul out from under your own nose. The threat of the Dark Side was a very real one for you.

"You've passed almost every single test that I've set you. You didn't complain when I almost raced you into the ground. You didn't flinch when I told you what you had to do. You've become strong in the Force through all the tasks that I've set you. You're good at meditation and at swordplay. And, if you hadn't already realised, you've stopped getting angry. Above all, you faced the mirror – you went into Wolfram & Hart, your old stamping ground, the place where you used to associate with power and influence – and you walked out of it again, free from their influence and their taint. You had Holland Manners at your mercy, the man who kidnapped your mother and your sisters, and you let him live. That was the moment that I was most afraid for you, afraid that you might fall victim to the Dark Side. But you didn't. You let him go. You had mercy on him." Xander pulled out a silver cylinder that Lindsey recognised as his lightsabre.

"I picked this up for you at the office earlier on, once I saw that it had fully charged up. Congratulations, it looks good." He held it out towards him. "Lindsey, there is one last test. As you know, there's a vampire nest in there. I want you to deal with them. On your own. Do this and you will be a Jedi Knight. Good luck. The Force is with you."

Lindsey MacDonald reached out and took the lightsabre – his lightsabre – from the hand of the Jedi Master and then straightened up. "Thank you for believing in me," he said in a voice that was slightly thicker than normal. And then he walked into the warehouse.

* * *

Eric Trandle looked at the cards that he was holding with a great deal of displeasure. He didn't have a bad hand, three queens and an ace, with a six of hearts, but he had a nasty feeling by the way that the others were betting that the vampire opposite him had a better hand. The others had known that son of a bitch DuCann for longer and probably knew just what symptoms he showed when he had a good hand. He was certainly trying not to look smugly confident.

Trandle picked up a 5 chip and then threw it into the pot. "See you," he growled. Then he threw in another two identical chips. "Raise."

DuCann smiled, exposing a lot of teeth that needed the attention of a very good dentist, and was about to put his hand down when a voice to one side said: "Did you guys know that there's an ace of hearts down his sleeve?"

The best way to stay alive in Sunnydale was to have very good reflexes, and Trandle was quite impressed by the way that he put his cards down without exposing them, leapt to the other side of the table, pulled out his knife and only then look around for the source of the unknown voice. It had come from a short man with floppy hair, who was leaning against the wall of the office inside the warehouse. He was wearing jeans, a loose shirt, a short coat and an odd air of calmness.

"Who the hell are you?" Trandle growled, relaxing slightly. The man looked human, was definitely not a Slayer and didn't look like the damn Jedi.

The stranger seemed to mull that one over for a moment before smiling slightly. "A concerned citizen," he answered. "One who would like you to please stop killing people."

The guy had to be some kind of kook, thought Trandle. He obviously knew what they all were, but he had strolled into their place and tried to ask nicely! Heh. He had been starting to feel peckish anyway. "Man," he said, vamping out, "What are you, a social worker or something?" DuCann was standing now and was licking his lips already, while the others were busy laughing openly now.

"No," said the guy as he straightened up and then pulled out a small cylinder. "I'm a Jedi."

"Bullshit," growled DuCann as he strode towards him, "You ain't Harris and you sure as hell ain't Osbourne. I'll tell you what you are though – dead."

The massive vampire lunged towards the guy and then the world seemed to turn sideways, because right then the guy thumbed a switch and the cylinder grew a blue humming blade, which swept back and then forward like a striking snake, almost too fast for Trandle to see. There was a moment of astonished silence. "Shit," DuCann mumbled and then his head fell off his shoulders and he crumbled to dust.

Trandle stared at the guy, who was just standing there, the lightsabre humming in his hand and lighting up his face with a blue glow. He had a nasty feeling that the game of poker had been suspended. Indefinitely.

* * *

Lindsey eyed the remaining vampires carefully and then stretched out with his feelings. Ok – there were four here. Another two were either asleep or were waking up in the far side of the warehouse, there was another approaching rapidly from the southeast and there was another above and to one side of him who seemed to be hunting for something, given the amount of frustration he was giving off.

First things first he had to deal with the vampires to his front. Using the Force he punched upwards on the bottom of the table that they had all been sitting around. It had looked rather cheap and flimsy and as it turned out there was a good reason for that – it was cheap and flimsy. It exploded into a cloud of fragments, some of which caught the vampires in the chest and face. One particularly lucky fragment lodged in the heart of one of them, as he had just about enough time to scream before he exploded into dust. The others reeled away cursing, with the exception of the vampire that has asked him who he was, who darted away to one side with all the slipperiness of a born survivor. Unfortunately in this case he was facing a Jedi, as Lindsey grabbed a splinter of wood with the Force and then sent it shooting through the air and into the vampire's chest. There was a brief scream and then a fountain of dust.

He darted forwards and the lightsabre slashed out and around twice as he caught the cursing vampires as they straightened up and started to look around to work out where the hell he was. As the dust drifted around him he looked around again. The vampire above him had suddenly appeared from the old derelict office that stood about 15 feet off the ground to one side. He was holding a shotgun and looked rather annoyed. Unfortunately for him he was holding it right out in front of his face, which meant that it was easy to use the Force to swing the end of the gun up and into his face. There was a nasty crunch and the vampire suddenly had a very broken nose to deal with.

Lindsey darted off to one side and then used the Force to propel him upwards in a Fore-leap straight up and onto the gantry in front of the bleeding vampire, who focussed crossed eyes on him and then swore a particularly inventive curse before trying to get a bead on him with the shotgun. The lightsabre took the first two feet off the end of the barrel, which was probably a mistake as it just made the damn thing a sawn-off shotgun, but his next slash took the vampires hands off as well, while the shotgun suddenly pointed up at the ceiling thanks to a nudge from the Force. The vampire's trigger finger clenched in one last movement and the warehouse suddenly had some new holes in its corrugated iron roof. As for the vampire the next slash took its head off.

He looked around and then down, before starting to run down the gantry. As he did he ducked slightly, which allowed the bullet that would otherwise have caught him in the temple to smash against the wall instead. Reaching the end of the gantry he leapt over the rail and then fell the rest of the way, using the Force to slow his descent over the last few feet so that he landed with a half-roll and a tuck, his lightsabre well away from his body. At the same time he also used the Force to send the automatic in the hand of the vampire who had emerged from around a corner to fly up in the air and then send it off to one side, where it promptly went off, shooting the mummified body of a very dead cat between the eyes. The vampire had just enough time to swear in astonishment before his head came off his shoulders and he fell apart into dust.

That just left the remaining two, who had finally arrived. Both were armed with swords. Both looked somewhat pissed at their choice of weaponry. The first decided to turn things around by using her sword as a spear. Unfortunately Lindsey simply used the Force to deflect into a convenient wooden crate that had been left partially intact to one side. The vampire shouted something that sounded both Russian and very obscene, before pulling out a revolver. Her companion was still holding his sword but was visibly shaking with fear and seemed to be looking at the floor around him for some way to escape what was clearly a FUBAR situation.

Lindsey could see the vampire's finger closing around the trigger and then concentrated, using the Force to smash the nearest wooden panel of the wall of the loading dock to one side outwards. The panel disintegrated into splinters, which scythed outwards in a deadly arc at chest height… straight into the vampires. Both exploded into dust.

As the gun fell onto the floor with a clatter Lindsey looked around and then sighed with relief. That was it. The lightsabre blade retracted with a sigh of noise.

When Lindsey walked out of the warehouse the first thing that he noticed was Xander, who was standing there in his robes, his lightsabre in his right hand. To one side stood Oz, who was also wearing Jedi-style robes, while on the other side stood Buffy and Giles, Faith and Wesley, Willow, Amy and Tara, and Jonathan and Anya, while Riley and Graham had stood off to one side.

"Lindsey MacDonald, please come forwards," Xander ordered with a smile on his face. Lindsey snapped his lightsabre onto his belt and then walked over to stand in front of the Jedi Master, who activated his lightsabre with that familiar snap-hiss sound.

"Lindsay MacDonald," intoned Xander seriously, the lightsabre coming up to hover over each of Lindsey's shoulders carefully, "In the name of the Galactic Republic – and Earth of course – I dub thee a Jedi Knight. Use your powers well. Use them wisely. Use them for the greater good. Protect the innocent. Fight the darkness." The lightsabre came down and then snapped off. "Congratulations."

"Thank you," replied Lindsey as he did his best not to let the moment overwhelm. Something seemed to be wrong with his eyes – they were watering slightly. "Thank you."

* * *

"I'm sorry sir, but you want me to brief _who_ on the Stargate programme?" Major Paul Davies suspected that he looked as confused as he felt right now. He had been on his way to the SGC when he had been told to expedite his arrival. Expecting some sort of mega-crisis, he had obeyed orders.

Instead of a crisis Colonel O'Neill had placed a file for some teenager in his hands and then rushed him down to a conference room.

"His name," said the Colonel, "Is Alexander Harris, better known to his friends as Xander." He paused at the sound of footsteps and then they both stood up as General Hammond swept into the room. He did not look very happy.

"As you were gentlemen," the General grunted as he sat down and interlaced the fingers on both hands together. "Glad you could make it Major. How much has Colonel O'Neill told you so far?"

"Uh, very little so far, sir," Davies pointed out as he looked down at the picture of a dark-haired man. Ok, from the date of birth to one side, the dark-haired teenager. He wasn't even 20 yet. "Can I ask why this… um… junior university librarian needs to be briefed on such a classified programme as the Stargate?"

"Good question, Major," replied the General heavily, before shooting a very wry look at Colonel O'Neill. "Jack?"

Raising his eyebrows for a moment, the Colonel then opened his mouth, raised a finger, clenched his fist with a grimace and displayed all the hallmarks of a Jack O'Neill 'What I'm about to say sounds crazy' expression. "Harris," he said eventually, "Has information that we need. Important and possibly crucial information." He looked up and caught some odd indecipherable look in the General's face. "Oh for crying out loud sir, you know that I'm right."

"Based on what you and the rest of SG-1, as well as Master Bra'tac, have told me, then yes. I need some more evidence of course that you all haven't had a mass delusion or something."

"Sir, can you imagine Bra'tac coming down with some kind of mass delusion?"

Hammond raised his own eyebrows for a moment. "No, Jack I can't."

"Um, sirs," Davies broke in, "Can I ask what kind of information he has?"

"Well…" Colonel O'Neill started. "It's kinda hard to explain without looking like a madman. You kind of had to be there in Sunnydale, where Harris lives to…" He stopped and stared at Davies, whose face had frozen. "You ok Major?"

Davies cursed internally at his reaction. "Sorry sir. That's the second time today I've heard that name. General Jumper came out of a meeting with the Joint Chiefs this morning looking unusually agitated. He referred to something about a report about a NID SNAFU, his words sir, in Sunnydale. It was very unlike him. The General is usually very calm and collected."

Hammond and O'Neill looked at each other. "Yes, well," grunted the Colonel, "SNAFU is a polite term for what happened there. I'd say that it was the Mother of all FUBARS. It was a NID operation called the Initiative. You might want to chase down the report they just out about it. It makes for some very unpleasant bedtime reading." He sighed. "We were there at the time. SG-1 I mean. Harris helped us. He… has access to certain skills and knowledge that could be very important for our war against the Goa'uld. So we need to bring him in and get him talking to us."

"What exactly do you have in mind, Colonel?" Davies asked, still confused.

"After he signs the non-disclosure forms then we tell him about the Stargate. We can't show it working to him just now, as Carter is running the monthly upgrade on the computers, but we tell him. And then I think we need to get him a look at the F-302."

"Why that, Jack?" asked Hammond, frowning.

"I think that he'll have some very clear input on that sir. Given that he was – sort of – a general once."

"Jack…"

"A long time ago, of course. In a galaxy far, far away…"

"Sorry sir?" asked Davies, eying the Colonel slightly worriedly. The guy seemed to be both joking and serious.

"Tell me Major," Colonel O'Neill said after a pause for thought, "Do you believe in magic?"

Davies stared at him again. "No, sir," he replied after a long moment of staring at him.

"I didn't either – until I went to Sunnydale." He pulled out a bulky folder and laid it on the desk. "Here's some reading material for you for the trip to L.A. You're going to pick him up at LAX tomorrow and bring him back. We arranged a courier flight. And yes, we're very serious about this."

Picking up the folder Davies looked at Hammond, who nodded sombrely. "As Colonel O'Neill said, we're very serious about this," he rumbled.

* * *

Faith waited as long as she could before she dropped the bombshell that she had been holding for several days. The problem was that there just never seemed to be the right time to drop it. There was the thing with the investigation into the screw-up that was the Initiative. She had to be around during that, as B had been going slightly screwy with worry over it. And there had been the run up to Lindsey's being made a full Jedi. The guy looked as if he was going to keep smiling for the next year or two. He'd come a long way since she'd held that knife to his throat in the old library just before Wilkins had turned into giant evil snake thing.

And now… as people were sitting around the office in the college library, talking and laughing and looking pleased… perhaps now. Then she paused. Xander was standing and clearing his throat.

"As you should know, my family lost our Uncle Will recently, so we're travelling to LA tomorrow morning for the reading of his will, which sounds like a bad pun or two right there. I'm going up separately from my family for a reason. We need more intelligence on what's out there. As we still don't know what these Goa'uld that the SGC are fighting are – apart from the fact that they seem very dangerous – I'm going to find out. I rang Jack O'Neill this morning and told him that I'd like to find out more. It might mean me signing a ton of paperwork that warns me not to tell anyone at all about what I find out, but as Willow and Oz are still having trouble getting to the really classified stuff in their computer systems, not that you heard that Riley and Graham, we really need to find out what they're facing – as we might have to face it too."

Faith exchanged a quick look with Wesley, who was looking very thoughtful. As for the others there was a lot of muttering.

"Xander, are you sure that this is a good idea?" asked Willow, looking about as worried as Red ever did, even by her standards.

"I'd say that it was a good calculated risk, Will. I hate to sound all Obi-Wan-ish on you, but there really are times when you have to weigh up what to do and what the risks are and then go ahead and make the call. We need this information. There's another fight out there, the scale of which we know nothing about, and we need information on it as soon as possible. You all know how important information is, people. A lack of it can kill you.

"Besides, we know these people. We know that we can if not trust then at least rely on O'Neill and the others in a tight corner. We've fought with them."

"But Xander," objected B, "We don't know what their commanding officer is like. We don't know what his boss is like. How far do you want to spread the news that you're a Jedi? That there are other Jedi here?"

Xander folded his arms and looked at the floor. "Good point," he said, sombrely. Then he looked up at her. "But Buffy this is too important. I had a Force vision earlier today. There's something out there and I think that we are going to end up in the fight against it, whether we like it or not. My instincts tell me to trust Jack O'Neill. And Major Carter. And Daniel Jackson, who it turns out is a Force-user and could use some training at some point if he chooses it. We'll cross that bridge when we come to it.

"And let's not forget that evil version of me from that alternate dimension. He knew about the Initiative but he was focussed on these Goa'uld. And he was talking about protecting Earth with Star Destroyers and TIE Fighters. That has to be an external threat, although what the link with ancient Egypt is I have no idea. We need to know." He looked around at all of them. "Like I said, this is too important for us not to have information about it."

There was a long silence and then Giles stood and walked up to stand next to the Jedi Master. "I have to say that I agree. It's not a good option – but this is a case where all of the other options look worse. I do also agree that we can probably trust O'Neill and his team. In event that his commanding officer throws up any difficulties – well then I can't think of a better person to slip out of a military base without any fuss."

"Hey!" objected B. "I'm hurt, Giles. You don't think that I can't slip out of a military base?"

"Slip out – no," replied Giles dryly. "Break the doors down, tear the place apart and then escape after beating up the guards – yes."

The older Slayer pondered over that and then exchanged grins with Faith. "Ok, good point."

"Oh and we could put a tracking spell on you as well!" broke in Willow excitedly.

"I'm not sure that that's a good idea," objected Amy with a frown. "That's quite advanced magic and I don't think that we should have magic anywhere near the SGC base until we know what the area is like. I mean, according to the research we have, NORAD is above it. If we don't know what's in the area and if there's any magic being used nearby – that might be a bad combination."

"War Games," muttered Tara shyly.

Willow looked as if she was about to object to that, but then Oz nodded slightly. "We do need more information. We can mount a rescue mission if we need to. Not sure we should cross that bridge until we come to it."

"Well," said Wesley as he stood up too. "You'll certainly be able to call on us for anything." He took a deep breath and then nodded at her. "Faith I think that now might be a good time."

"A good time for what?" asked Buffy.

"This… is going to be tough to say, so I might as well just come out and say it," Faith replied slowly. She looked around at her friends and suppressed the sudden need to cry. They had all done so much for her… Then she stiffened to what was almost attention and went for it. "Wesley and I have been talking and it's time to move on. So we're leaving. Tomorrow, if Xander could give us a ride. We need to get to L.A."

"Why L.A.?" asked B in a baffled voice.

"Because something's calling me, Buffy and it's calling me away from here. I've felt it ever since we got back from rescuing Lindsey's family. This… thing, this feeling, whatever it is, it's the thing which helped get me here when I was running from Kakistos. It kept me here… when times weren't too good and I had a lot of freaky shit scarring my soul. Xander knows what that was about. And it kept me here so that we could kick Adam's butt all over the place.

"And now it's leading me away from here. There are people in L.A. who need a lot of help. Angel and his crew for a start, but there are others out there. The guys on the street. That's a big scary city and pushing back the darkness ain't never goin' to be easy. People need help, guys. People always need help. The Hellmouth's not gonna be too far away in case of emergency, and if Giles needs an extra brain for the translating of the dusty books, then Wesley's only going to be a phone call away."

She sat down again. "I'm being called away B. And I can't ignore it. I'm sorry, but that's how it is."

The blonde Slayer exchanged a long look with her and then nodded reluctantly, before getting up and enfolding Faith in what was a very large hug for such a small woman. "I get it," she muttered. "Damn, but I'll miss you. But I get it. You take care out there, Faith."

This time, for a moment, the tears came. And Faith hugged back.

* * *

Davies put the folder down and then stared at the wall in front of him in the guest quarters of the SGC. His mind was working at what appeared to be three million miles an hour. Right then. Magic existed. The NID had been investigating demons and vampires. And there was a man called Alexander Harris in Sunnydale California who was a Jedi Knight.

Ok.

He paused again.

He needed a very stiff drink.

* * *

LAX was, as always, busy, thought Xander as he looked around. It had been an eventful trip so far. He had dropped off Faith and Wesley at Angel's office, with Oz arriving shortly afterwards. He had exchanged an arm clasp with Wesley, who had been very keen to talk to Angel and explain what he and Giles had translated so far from the Scroll of Aberjian and what so far seemed to be meant for him, and had then been left face to face with Faith.

It had been an awkward moment. The dark-haired Slayer had looked as awkward as he had ever seen her. "Thanks," she had finally been able to mutter apparently at his boots. Then she had looked up at his face. "Thanks for everything. Thanks for talking to me. Thanks for getting me to open up. Xander… thanks for everything. I don't know what I would have done without you. Gone bad maybe. Been my usual screwed-up self otherwise."

"Nah," Xander had replied. "You'd have been Faith. You'd have known what was wrong and was right. And what ever would have happened, you'd have come back to the right path. You're… Faith. The Vampire Slayer." He had looked at her, sensing her quiet worry. "Faith, if you ever need any help, if you ever need a Jedi, or a friend, or just someone to talk to, you know that you can always call me. Anytime, day or night."

Faith had looked at him for a long moment and then had given him a rip-splintering hug, before dashing off to help Oz unload their stuff (in her case mainly weapons) from his van.

Xander had watched her go quietly, while he tickled the belly of black cat that had been sitting in a patch of sunlight and purring like a lawnmower. "Bye Inky," he had muttered quietly, and then strode off to make his own farewells.

The reading of the will had been another interesting moment. His uncle Will had left some interesting bequests. The bulk of his estate had been left to his sons, but he had also left a few small bequests that were… interesting, as Uncle Will's property portfolio had been larger than the family had suspected. One had been the ownership of a small bookshop in San Francisco. That had gone to Xander's rather surprised parents. Another had been a small garage and machine ship on the outskirts of Monterey. And the last had been Will's house by the desert, the place where Xander had done his initial training to become a Jedi. That had gone to Xander.

Working out what to do with it was going to be… interesting.

He sighed slightly at the prospects that lay ahead of him and then walked into the departures area and looked around. Long lines of people snaked everywhere and he could instantly sense the standard level of frustration and excitement that went with any major airport. The crowds made things interesting however – how could he see the guy he was supposed to meet? He walked to one side and looked around more carefully. Ok… nothing to his left… although he did wonder why a basket for what might be a cat or a large dog was scurrying across one area apparently propelled by something inside it. A small girl saw it and pointed at it and then seemed to be freaked when it… barked like a dog? What the hell was that about? The basket made its way onto a conveyor belt and then vanished into the bowels of the airport. Oookay.

Turning his head he looked the other way and then finally saw a man in full USAF dress blues standing rather stiffly and holding a sign. As he wandered over he could see that the sign read: "Alexander Harris."

"That's me," he pointed out. "I'm Xander Harris."

The officer, a dark-haired man with a very serious expression, started slightly and then pulled out a piece of paper from an inside pocket, which he then stared at, obviously comparing it to Xander. Then he relaxed slightly and held out his hand. "Major Paul Davies. Colonel Jack O'Neill sent me. I'm…" he looked around. "I'm taking you to the SGC. If you'd like to follow me we'll be on our way."

Xander nodded curtly, hefted his bag and then followed.

Jack O'Neill had either pushed the boat out a bit when it came to travelling on tax dollars, or the SGC just did everything rather well anyway. The method of transportation was on a small jet that while not opulent was not exactly commercial either.

As he sat down at a chair in front of a small desk for takeoff, Davies sat opposite him and then pulled out a stack of forms. "Mr Harris," he started and then stopped when Xander raised a hand.

"Please, call me Xander. I hear 'Mr Harris' and I look around for my dad."

Davies unbent a few millimetres enough to send a thin smile his way. "Very well… Xander. Colonel O'Neill sent me to take you to the SGC. He also asked me to tell you about the background and purpose behind the SGC. Before I can do so I have some non-disclosure forms that I need you to sign, as the nature of the information that I'm going to tell you require absolute discretion, not to mention secrecy. I must stress this again – what I have to tell you is highly classified."

"I understand," replied Xander and then the pile of forms was pushed over the desk.

"Please read the highlighted disclaimers and then sign where indicated."

Signing took a while – and by the time that he had finished they had not just taken off, but had been aloft for around 20 minutes. As he signed the last form and returned it, Davies carefully filed them all away, clasped his hands in front of him and then looked at Xander. "Thank you. In 1928, an archaeological dig on the Giza Plateau in Egypt discovered an artefact. It looked like a huge stone ring that had been covered by a covering stone and then buried under a mound of rubble. Investigations into the material that the ring was made of failed to identify it. The ring was taken to Germany for further study and was later appropriated by US armed forces in 1945.

"In 1994, a project investigating the ring was able to finally translate the hieroglyphs on the covering stone, thanks to some brilliant work by a young Egyptologist called Dr Daniel Jackson. Based on his translation work and some… earlier investigations it was posited that the ring was in fact a transportation device." Davies paused and seemed to be slightly thrown by the complete look of concentration that Xander was wearing, as well as his lack of bafflement or bemusement.

"What kind of transportation device?" Xander asked. "Between which points?"

"Matter transportation," said Davies. "Between here – Earth – and a planet called Abydos. When a scouting team was sent then it emerged that humans had been taken from Earth through the ring – better known as a Stargate – about 5,000 years ago. Egypt at the time had been ruled by beings that called themselves by the names of the Gods of the Egyptian Parthenon of gods. In reality they were humans who had been possessed by alien life forms that called themselves the Goa'uld. The Goa'uld are snake-like creatures that wrap themselves around the upper spine and the lower brain stem and effectively possess their hosts, controlling them completely."

Ah, thought Xander. Nasty. That explains that. "I take it that the Goa'uld must have been thrown off Earth several thousand years ago."

"Yes," Davies blinked. "You don't seem too surprised by all this."

"I've been doing a lot of research and putting a lot of pieces together. Plus I know some people with an excellent grasp of ancient history. So, how advanced are these Goa'uld?"

Davies pulled out another file. "Very advanced," he sighed. "Abydos was ruled by a Goa'uld called Ra, and the expedition to the planet – led by Colonel Jack O'Neill and Dr Jackson – soon encountered him." Davies continued to talk and as he did Xander concentrated and filled the information away in his head. So far it was as he had feared. Not just an external threat, but a horribly massive external threat. Hell, when could they ever catch a break?

* * *

She wasn't sure if she should pout or cheer. On the one hand the monks – the little weasels! – had been very good at hiding all the evidence of where they were going to hide her key. On the other hand knew that there had been a monk missing, as the numbers of bodies and the number of dead didn't match up. She was brilliant, as she had always known. She had then found some flunkies in Prague who had done some research and called something called a 'flight reservation line' whatever that was, and had discovered that the missing monk had flown out on a 'plane' the day that she had attacked. She was catching up with this world and its odd customs and devices quite fast now.

And the flunkies had made for a quite tasty meal.

Now she had to get to this 'California'.

* * *

The ride up to the Cheyenne Mountain complex had reminded him of a lot of movies, both good and bad. The thought that this was the place that ran North America's air defences was enough to give him a slight case of the creeps. The thought that this was also the place where the USA was running what amounted to a war against an alien threat that could level every city in the world gave him another case of the creeps.

And now here he was with Major Davies walking in front of him and an armed marine walking behind him as they passed down a long corridor. He had an identity badge prominently hung around his neck and so far no-one had taken away his lightsabre, which was admittedly hanging at his hip and was hidden by the Jedi-style robes that he was wearing. He probably should have been in mufti, but if the SGC was putting its cards on the table, then there was no reason why he shouldn't do the same.

Not that he was getting many odd looks from people. He had a feeling that they had seen odder clothing before. Interesting.

Turning a corner they entered an elevator, where Davies swiped a card and then pushed a button. The doors closed and then they started to descend. "General Hammond is expecting us," Davies muttered.

The elevator slowed and stopped and then the doors opened to reveal Jack O'Neill and a bald, rather rotund man dressed in a blue uniform and with two stars on each of his shoulder boards. Xander looked at him. It was the man from his visions. Aha. Progress.

"You must be Mr Harris," the General said in a voice that screamed Texas as he stepped forwards and held his hand out. "Welcome to the SGC."

"Thank you, General," Xander replied, shaking the proffered hand.

"I persuaded the General that you wouldn't use your lightsabre in here," interjected Jack. "He gets nasty messages from the Pentagon when people start carving up the walls."

Xander smiled and looked at the General. "If you would prefer me to hand it over to you, I can do so, as long as it isn't taken away and studied or anything."

"No, as Colonel O'Neill said you can keep it," Hammond said formally. "However, I would like your word that you don't use it – unless you have to in an emergency."

"I give you the word of a Jedi," Xander replied soberly.

"I take it that Major Davies has explained the basis behind the Stargate programme?" the Texan asked.

"Uh… yes, sir. I did," said Davies who had been staring at Xander ever since the magic word 'lightsabre' had made it into the conversation.

"Good. Well, we can't show you it being used today, as we're carrying out some computer maintenance. I think that the next scheduled use is for 0900 hours tomorrow, when Teal'c and Bra'tac arrive from their mission." He paused. "Major Carter is dealing with the computers and Dr Jackson is involved in some research again. So I guess that your guide is going to have to be Colonel O'Neill."

"Yes, I'm afraid you're stuck with me, kid," Jack said with a wry smile.

"Thank you for coming in, Mr Harris and I hope to talk to you later." The General smiled briefly and then strode off.

"He seems a bit preoccupied," observed Xander as they watched him go.

"Well, it isn't every day that he allows in a 19-year old who claims to be a Jedi Master. He's coming around though," Jack replied. "So, you wanna see the Stargate? It won't be working, but it still looks pretty cool."

"Sure," replied Xander. "When do we get to talk about the strategic situation?"

"Oh, after the tour. I want Davies to show you the F-302 we have nearby, as I need to get Daniel out of the mound of books that he's buried himself in this week. I think that he's looking for traces of past Jedi-like people. Not sure he's having much success."

"He probably won't," sighed Xander, "I have a nasty feeling that the one group we can definitely trace back as pseudo-Jedi got themselves wiped out alongside the Knight Templars in the fourteenth or so century."

"Oh," said Jack. "Nasty. Okay – SGC 101!"

* * *

The paper shook slightly as she put it down carefully on the table. Then she glared at her hands until the slight tremor ebbed away. When her hands stilled then she looked back down at the obituary section. He was dead. After all this time he was… dead.

She honestly didn't know if she should laugh or cry. She certainly wasn't going to mourn him.

He was dead.

Her life could… start again maybe? She looked around the small, plain room. She needed to get things back on track, if she even knew what was anymore. He was dead. She wondered why that simple small fact kept letting off bells and whistles and trumpets in her head. A great weight had been lifted off her shoulders. He was dead. Perhaps she could live. She had options ahead of her for the first time in a very long time. She frowned slightly. Something was wrong with her eyes, they seemed to be watering. Oh. Tears. Her head came down into her hands and she wept as she both mourned and celebrated.

* * *

Jack peered down at the set of dark brown boots that were projecting out from the cockpit of the F-302 and which were all that could presently be seen of Xander Harris. "What's the view like in there?"

"Oh, hi Jack," said Harris as he sat up and then slid gracefully out. The Jedi had shed his robe, with his lightsabre stacked neatly onto it, and was clad in a light shirt and brown trousers that were tucked into said boots. He was also frowning slightly, a frown that deepened as he walked to the back of the craft and peered at the engines. "No Daniel?"

"The Doctor on the base, who would scare anyone, even your Slayers, sent him home and told him not to come back for three days. Anyway, Davis said that you wanted a word with Carter and me. So, what's up? Enjoying the tour so far?"

This bought him a quick flash of a grin, before the frown came back. "It's been… interesting. I really see now why you wanted me to take a look at things. The Death Glider was really interesting."

Jack put his hands in his pockets and then raised his eyebrows as Harris frown again and then walked under one wing before looking up at the ports that housed the missile systems. "I'm guessing that something's bothering you?"

"Camel," said Harris enigmatically, and just in time for Carter to hear as she arrived at Jack's side.

"I'm sorry?"

"Camel. Old metaphor. A camel is apparently a horse that was designed by a committee. I'm guessing that this thing was also designed by a committee, because I'm not sure what its primary function is." Harris stepped back and squinted at the F-302.

"I'm sorry?" asked Carter with a certain degree of incredularity.

"This vessel combines advanced elements and primitive elements, some of which don't exactly mesh," Harris said as he took his eyes off it and looked at them. "And I'm still trying to work out its primary function. Is it a space superiority craft? Is it an offensive or a defensive craft? How many of these things do you have, because that's going to play a major part in how it's used. So far, from my perspective, this thing looks well-armoured but under gunned, it has no repulsorlifts – sorry, anti-gravity – it has too many engines, complicating it needlessly, the energy plant is woefully substandard and as it has no hyperspace engines it has very short legs." He wiped his hands on a clean rag and then directed a very keen glance at Carter, who looked as if she was about to explode with indignation. "Oh, don't me wrong, Major. This is an amazing piece of obviously reverse-engineered technology and is a quantum leap above anything else on the planet. But it doesn't have enough versatility to play a multi-attack role, while I can see it being ordered to play various single-attack roles, like fighter suppression and medium-ship engagements – and falling between the cracks on the way."

Harris sighed slightly and then walked up to Jack. "How many of these things do you have anyway?"

Jack grimaced mentally and then decided to put their cards on the table. "Two squadrons so far. More building at the moment."

Harris just stared at him for a long moment. "Two squadrons."

"Yes."

"How many planes per squadron – 16, 20?"

"Oh, about 16."

"So the fate of the Earth – at this exact moment in time – depends on 32 F-302s, right?"

"About that," said Jack, wondering if it sounded as bad as it had when he mouthed the words.

"Right," Harris said slowly, looking as if he'd been slugged on the back of his head. He paused for a moment and then walked around the F-302 again. When he re-emerged he was frowning harder. "How much does each one cost to build?"

This threw Jack a bit. "Oh, I don't know. I'd say… a lot?"

"And you have 32 of them. And, as you said, more building." Harris looked over at Carter, who was looking as if she was going to blow a fuse at some point. "Sam, how many Death Gliders does a Ha'tak hold?" he asked.

"I'm… not sure," she replied, looking confused. "Teal'c would know. At least 50 though."

Her answer caused Harris to wince slightly. It also caused him to go for another walk around the F-302. "Ok," he said, after emerging again, "How many Ha'tak does the average Goa'uld attack fleet comprise of?"

"Um," said Jack, "At least two. Probably more."

"So even if, at best, just two Ha'tak attacked Earth, your F-302s would be faced with at least three times their own numbers in Death Gliders. Could they defeat them? Can an F-302 go toe to toe with a Death Glider and win?"

"With a good pilot, of course it can," Carter said vehemently. "The missiles have been enhanced with naqahdah, and can take down a Death Glider."

Harris flickered an eyebrow at her. "Fine," he pointed out, "but how many missiles can each F-302 carry and what are chances of each one hitting a Death Glider? Realistically hitting I mean, in combat conditions, when all hell is breaking loose and there's blaster fire everywhere and it's all as confusing as hell? Oh and by the way, was it a good idea to make the silhouette of the F-302 similar to a Death Glider?

"There's something else though – F-302s only have missiles as weapon systems. What happens when they run out of missiles? Death Gliders have energy weapons that can fire a hell of a lot." Harris sighed. "Jack, Sam, either you need to make a lot of these things, and right fast, or you need to upgrade them. From what you've told me Goa'uld don't fight fair and like to impress with overwhelming numbers. In a Goa'uld attack against Earth you're going to be outnumbered. I'm sorry if I'm telling you the bleeding obvious, as Giles would say, but you need to choose quality or quantity. Your F-302s are frankly inferior to Death Gliders as they are now. You either need to upgrade them a lot – one engine, basic shields, some kind of alternate weapon – or you need to start punching these things out like mad, as quantity has a quality all of its own. Otherwise when they attack you're gonna get stomped on."

There was a silence as Jack considered what the kid had said gravely. It made a lot of sense and confirmed one or two lurking doubts that had been swimming about in the back of Jack's head for some time now.

Carter looked as if she was either about to explode or to have a stroke, as she was barely keeping herself in check. Jack looked at her hard. "He's right, Major," he said softly. "Think it through. Think of the pilots who are putting themselves on the line for us. Think of the people who you'll meet at the Air Force Academy tomorrow when you give them your lecture. "

"So… what do you suggest?" she asked in a voice that was both brittle and bright.

Harris wiped his hands on a rag that had been stuffed in a back pocket of jeans, his eyes far away for a moment. For a moment Jack thought that he'd somehow missed the question. Then he stirred. "Do you have an old version of this that you don't need anymore? Like a prototype or something? I'm going to need a few things – like a week of time, a functional airframe, a lot of spare parts, some very good mechanics who aren't going to tell me that what I'm going is impossible or breaks regs or something, and the best and smallest reactor for these things that you have."

Jack frowned. "What have you got in mind?"

"I'm going to show you what you _should_ be building."


	29. The Viewing Of Possibilities

OK, here's the latest chapter. It's been a long month, I've been applying for something that might give me more money but less free time, we looked after my sisters two kittens the other week, and now we have a new kitten, called Toffee, who is playing with my shirt cuffs and batting at the keyboard even as I type this. Anyway here it is. The fun begins!

* * *

The guy's name was Sergeant Siler. He had greying hair, glasses, and had the biggest wrench that Xander had ever seen in his left hand. To his right was a slightly shifty looking guy called Corporal Monetti. And to his left was Corporal Penhaligon, a man who was so bulky that he looked like a larger version of Gimli from the Lord of the Rings. Without the braided hair, beard and axes, obviously. All of them were looking at him quizzically. Behind them stood another five members of the US Air Force, two men and three women. They too were looking at him quizzically. It was fair to say that 'quizzically' was the word of the day.

Xander looked at the X-302, the prototype of the F-302, which was off to one side and then smiled. "Ok, people," he said firmly. "I've been asked by Colonel O'Neill and General Hammond to do some serious tinkering with this thing. By which I mean to strip it down to the airframe, cut bits of it off, weld bits on and generally turn it into something that can fly rings around anything else you have here. There is a huge amount to do and I mean to do it as fast as I can. Major Carter tagged you as being the best at what you do. That's exactly what I need right now, and I'm honoured to work with you all.

"Ok, first thing's first. I need the engines pulled out of this thing. All three of them. Dump them to one side. I have the full schematics for them, and I might cannibalise bits of them, depending on what I need and what fits. I also need the hyperspace generator pulled – and I want it brought to me, as I have a very good idea what it needs to have done to it. Oh, and pull the inertial dampener as it's a hunk of junk.

"I also want the cockpit removed and the power system pulled out. That's a hunk of junk as well. Strip the skin off the wings off. Bits of the wings, like I said, are going to be cut off. I have some schematics sketched out for what I'm going to need in terms of electronic systems – so I won't need what's on this thing. Oh and I need some parts to build some new weapons on this thing. I'll be working on that to one side. Before anyone asks, they're going to be energy weapons of the type that Major Carter thinks can't be built right now, so I'd appreciate it if you kept quiet about that bit, as I want to surprise her. Any questions?"

Siler raised a slightly uncertain hand. "Excuse me, sir, but who are you again?"

"Xander Harris. I'm… well you can call me a specialist. Full authorisation has been provided, so if you have any questions about me, ask Colonel O'Neill or General Hammond. Any other questions? No? Good, then let's get to work."

* * *

The first hint that something was wrong in the room came when Giles went absolutely silent. Buffy, who was balancing on one hand on a slender piece of wood, had other things on her mind at the time, but after a minute or two of this silence she frowned and looked over at her watcher.

Giles was sitting at the desk, a copy of the Scroll of Albania, or whatever the hell it was called, in front of him. His eyes were twitching backwards and forwards, the way that they did when he was thinking very hard about something, running through all the options and then coming to a conclusion that fitted all the facts while at the same time blowing his little tweed Watcher's socks clean off his feet.

"Giles?" she asked carefully. "Are you ok?"

There was more silence for a second or two and then her Watcher's fist came down on the table in front of him so hard that the pens that had been laid out to one side jumped more than slightly and then skittered off the surface and fell to the floor. "By god, that's it!" he yelped in triumphant but highly surprised tones. "How could I have been so, so stupid! The inflection, the interpretation was all wrong! It's older than I thought! It's proto-Bantu! Bugger it!"

Buffy wobbled slightly and then stared at Giles, who was sitting there looking as if he had been poleaxed. Strange term. She needed to look up what a poleaxe was some day. "Giles, you're worrying me," she barked. "What's wrong?"

"Shanshu!" He said, and then sobered in a flash. "It's the word that's been baffling us. In the Prophecy I mean. My initial translation was 'Death' but as Wesley pointed out, it's far more complex than that. It means…" He paled. "I need to call Wesley at once. I must get this checked out. I don't want to get your hopes up."

"Hopes up?" she asked quizzically and then she flexed her arm, sprang up off the piece of wood and then landed gracefully on both feet. "Giles, what the hell is it?"

Her Watcher stood, staring down at the copy of the scroll in front of him and then looked up at her. "Buffy, if I'm right, Angel might become human again." And then he strode out of the room, leaving her gaping at the door.

* * *

The iris sighed as it fully opened, revealing the shimmering blue surface that made up the event horizon of the wormhole within the Stargate. After a moment two figures, both dressed in robes with their cowls thrown back and holding upright staff weapons, walked through into the SGC, and down the ramp, where they both bowed slightly before the waiting General Hammond and Jack.

"Welcome back," said Hammond with a nod. "How did it go?"

"The proposed alliance between two of the medium-ranking System Lords has failed to materialise," stated Teal'c with a small smile.

"Oh?" asked Jack, "Any particular reason why?"

"To arrange an alliance one must first have a head," replied Bra'tac with what amounted to a smirk for him. "Sadly there was a ring malfunction and the main emissary for Tiamat, a Goa'uld of somewhat questionable morals even for their kind, failed to appear for the negotiations… intact."

"What a terrible tragedy," Jack said with what he had to admit was a certain lack of sincerity. Then he paused. "We had a development here by the way. There's someone looking at things that you might approve of."

The two Jaffa looked at Jack for a moment and then exchanged a uniquely Jaffa glance that contained what might have been an entire conversation in a few lifts of the odd eyebrow. "That we might approve of?" repeated Teal'c, with a slight frown, and then he straightened up a little further, as if that was possible and smiled slightly. "Is Jedi Harris on the base?"

"He rang me two days ago to say that he'd like to know what we were up to. So I invited him on a tour of the facilities. With the General's permission of course."

"Jedi Master Alexander Harris is truly on the base, Hammond of Texas?" Bra'tac asked with an intent look on his face.

"He is," the General confirmed. "At the moment he's taking a long hard look at our fighter defences. Or rather he's stripping the X-302 prototype down to its airframe and rebuilding it into something."

"Yes," said Jack, "He pointed out a few problems with the existing setup, and in the process I think that he got up Carter's right nostril. I take it that you two would like to meet him again after he's done rebuilding what used to be Earth's most advanced fighter?"

Another bout of eyebrow waggling seemed to flicker between the two Jaffa and then Bra'Tac stepped forwards. "We would be honoured to meet him. There is much for us to discuss. He would be a great asset to this planet, Hammond of Texas. He would be a great ally against the Goa'uld."

Hammond looked at the old Jaffa and then nodded slowly. "I'm starting to suspect that too," he said slowly. "In the meantime let's get you settled in the guest quarters."

* * *

He looked down at the list of places in his hand and swore softly. The Slayer seemed to have a very active life at the moment, and this was something that confused him. Traditionally Slayers tended to lead the kind of life where they were trained by their Watchers, they slew vampires and fought the forces of evil, and that was about it. This Slayer seemed to be buzzing about the place with a lot of freedom of movement and what appeared to be a lot of friends. He was pretty sure that Buffy Summers was not a traditional sort of Slayer.

That was both good and bad. On the one hand she was so far already one of the more long-lived Slayers. That was good – she had found her core of stability and the strength that lay within.

On the other hand it made it bloody hard to catch her and explain a few things about her 'sister'. Who had to be kept safe from the Beast as much as possible.

He looked away from the list and then down at the sphere. When he held it in a certain way a fuzzy red light appeared. That was bad, very bad. It meant that the Beast was getting closer and closer. Not very close, yet, but any kind of even vague proximity made him break out into a cold sweat. The first time that he'd seen that light, his stomach had clenched so hard that he'd run to the nearest toilet and emptied his guts.

Thrusting that thought away from him he looked down at the list again. He needed to find a place to talk to her, and he needed to do it as soon as possible. There was too much riding on this.

* * *

Xander scratched the back of his head thoughtfully and then looked back down at the hyperdrive. The thing was a pile of crap, he thought morosely. It was not well designed, it was far too large and crude and it was just… crap. What Anakin would have thought about it could have been boiled down to a number of four-letter words.

Looking away from the thing that was offending his eyesight, but which had to be fixed at some point, he glanced at the ravaged shape of what had once been Earth's leading fighter craft. Right now the only place it could have led to was straight down, if someone removed the undercarriage and allowed gravity to take its toll. Actually, if someone removed the supports, because the undercarriage was in the process of being removed. Wheels were not required. Hydraulics were, but the process of making something to land the thing on was going to be one of the easier parts of the entire build.

The skin to the X-302 was long gone, the wings had been cut back, the life support system was next to be removed and the power plant had been exposed. They had done a lot of work and that was just the start of the whole thing. As for the rest… well, it was time for the second team to start work. The first team, led by Siler had worked themselves into the ground today. Actually he'd had to order Siler home when he realised that the sergeant had pulled an 18-hour shift. Being enthusiastic about a job was one thing, but ignoring your body when it was screaming at you for rest was another.

Speaking of which he needed some rest himself. There was an office set up to one side with a sleeping cot and a shower, and that sounded quite good to him at the moment. A shower, a change of clothes – even a set of BDUs sounded good at the moment, and then a Jedi healing trance until he had restored the old tissues. Maybe an hour or three and then he'd be back at it.

He had a hell of a lot to do. And he had a nasty feeling that he was fighting the clock on this one.

* * *

The demon was tall – about ten foot tall at first glance. It might have been the horns that gave it that added bit of apparent height. The fangs were long and pointed, while the bone prongs that stood up through the shoulders of the steel cuirass were frankly overkill, as was the massive sword and the shield with a flaming black eye painted on it.

The screamed challenge was merely the icing on the metaphorical cake of over-the-topness that labelled the thing as a complete poseur.

As a result the follow-up was more than a bit, well, pathetic. One slash of the blue lightsabre blade removed most of the sword and the top half of the shield. The demon stopped its long and possibly convoluted screaming, which might have been a rant about which of Lindsey's organs he was going to eat and in which order, and blinked audibly. It sounded like castanets clicking in the background. After a long moment, in which he could almost hear the cogs grinding in the head of the demon, the creature then dropped the remains of the sword, directed a smile that was probably supposed to look genial at him (instead it made the creature look as if it had gas) and then looked rather surprised at the fact that it was holding a shield. Then it sidled away, trying to whistle.

Lindsey shut his lightsabre off, clipped it to his belt and then walked on, shaking his head slightly as he did. New demons were always attracted to the Hellmouth. They liked a 'challenge'. The problem was that such challenges tended to mean that at some point they either met Buffy, or any of the Jedi, or Giles, or Spike when he was in a very bad mood, or Willow, or Amy and Tara… Well. Such dark demon dreams tended to end rather quickly.

He smiled and looked around as he strolled through the streets of Sunnydale. It was a lovely night, with the moon hanging over the hills to one side and a breeze rustling the bushes and trees gently. As he walked around a corner and down a slight hill, he caught something with the Force and then frowned. He could feel something to one side… and whatever it was, it was best labelled as dangerous malevolence or worse. Typical Sunnydale. There was always something…

* * *

She was not in a good mood when she left the bar. She'd had two beers that had somehow lasted an hour. There was just too much stuffed in her head to process properly. Instead she'd just sat there in her favourite seat, with her boots on the table, whilst her thoughts had paraded around her brain in circles. It had not been a pleasant feeling. She knew that things could not go on the way that they had been, but taking that first step out of the circle was proving to be harder than she had thought. Far harder.

After a few minutes she suddenly realised that her sixth sense was screaming in her ear that she was suddenly not alone. Reaching out with the Power a little she soon found them. Three vampires and one demon. Yuck, a Ter'Ghar demon. They liked to play with their food. As in rape it, chew parts off and then kill it and eat the rest. She smiled slightly. Well, at least she could take her frustrations out on something.

They came for her at the next intersection, the three demons running out straight at her while the demon, who had to be paying them or something, hung back. Well, more fool him.

She waited until the first demon was almost on her and then she flung her weight on to her left foot, leaned backwards slightly and then kicked with her right foot. Hard. It connected with his crotch with a force that should have sent his balls up into his brainpan. The vampire screamed like a falsetto stuck pig and dropped out of the fight and into his own personal world of pain.

The other two vampires faltered slightly, which was a mistake, because it gave her the time to pull a knife from a sleeve and throw it so that the blade slammed into his head. His eyes crossed as he screamed and reached up to pull it out, but by then the blessing in Tibetan or some such shit, was doing its work, because he burst into flames and then dissolved into a fading mist of incandescent particles.

Vampire three was by now having a serious attack of second thoughts, because he skidded to a halt and then twitched slightly in several directions as he considered and then discarded a number of different plans of attack. Hesitation in battle meant death, as one of her fellow assassins had once said, and so it proved now. She lashed out with the Power, forcing him to stumble back several paces while staring at his chest and frowning. A second later the stake that she had pulled out of her other sleeve thumped into his heart, and he followed his fellow vampire.

Pausing only to pull the Tibetan dagger (that had been a hell of a bargain!) from the pile of ashes to one side and then jam it into the back of the remaining, whimpering, vampire's neck, she walked up to the Ter'Ghar, whose look of gloating anticipation had shattered into horrified disbelief. She smiled at him. "I'm not an easy piece of meat," she pointed out.

The demon swallowed noisily and nervously, uncertainly hefted the ceremonial gutting knife it had been holding, and then turned and ran for it. She sighed for a moment and was about to run after him to point out the error of his ways, when all of a sudden her sixth sense screamed in her other ear, even louder this time, telling her that there was someone else out there. She picked up the knife again and then darted back over the road, to stand in the shadows.

Over by where the demon had run to a sudden familiar snap-hiss cleaved the air as a blue blade appeared out of nowhere. The demon had just enough time to exclaim in shock, before the blade came around and severed his head from his neck. The body collapsed bonelessly while the head bounced a few times as it rolled down the road.

She stared into at the blade and then dragged her eyes reluctantly up to the face of the man who was holding it. And then she blinked. It wasn't Harris. This guy was shorter, and older, with floppy hair and a look of intense concentration. He was staring back at her, before he deactivated the lightsabre and then straightened up. He seemed to be studying her.

"You must be one of the Jedi that Harris talked about," she said after a long moment of silent inspection.

* * *

"Yup," replied Lindsey as he clipped his lightsabre back onto his belt and then crossed his arms and looked right back at her. "And you must be the assassin from the Order of Teraka. Xander said that you've been staying in the area. I wouldn't recommend Sunnydale as being much of a vacation spot."

"No kidding," she sneered in response. Then she paused. "Is he around anywhere?"

"Out of town. Doing some research," said Lindsey. "He ought to be back in a week or so. Is it urgent?"

She looked away and gazed at the road as it stretched away to the north. "No, I just… wanted to talk to him." Her gaze fell onto the concrete of the road for a moment and then back at him. "So you know about the Order of Teraka. If you've heard of it why didn't you react more? I mean, I'm an assassin. I've done things that should make anyone shudder."

He looked at her for a long moment, calmly and dispassionately, picking up on the mixture of anger and fear and self-disgust that she was putting out. Mixed in with that was a brighter thread, if an ill-defined one – a yearning for… something. He couldn't say what. It was like she knew that there was a part missing somewhere in her.

"I heard about the Order from my old job. The one I had before I became a Jedi," he replied eventually.

"So what did you do?" she asked with another sneer. "Teacher? Boy scout? Altar boy?"

"I was a lawyer," he replied dryly, "At Wolfram & Hart."

She went pale as she just looked at him for a long moment. "Wolfram & Hart?" she repeated after a while.

"Yeah," he sighed, "Law firm to most of the demon lords and half the hell dimensions there are. I did things that I'm not proud of, until I couldn't take it there any longer. Believe me, I'm going to be scrubbing stains off my soul for some time to come. At least I got out in time."

"Wolfram & Hart," she repeated softly, almost in a daze. She seemed to be thinking very hard and fast. "Wow. You're guy Harris mentioned? He really was telling the truth about that? I thought that he was just spinning the wind a bit."

He smiled briefly. "You don't know Xander that well. He does not lie. He's a Jedi Master." Pausing, Lindsey looked at her carefully and then sat down by the side of the road opposite her. Still in a pseudo-daze she copied his movements.

"You ok?" he asked after a few minutes.

"You got out of Wolfram & freaking Hart," she said softly. "How the hell did you do that? They kill people who try to leave."

"They had a place here," he answered. "It was run by a lunatic who fortunately didn't notice the fact that I hated the place. When I resigned I sent them a resignation letter that ticked all the boxes on my contract. I was quite a good lawyer, you see. Then I started my training – to be a Jedi, you see. Oh, they came after me. Kidnapped my mom and my sisters. But I was a Jedi by then. We went to LA and rescued my family and I didn't turn my old and very evil boss into so much chopped liver. That's how I got out."

Pondering this she looked up again. "You didn't kill your old boss?"

"He was defenceless. I had a sword and he didn't have anything. He masterminded the kidnapping, but I wasn't there for revenge. I was there for my mom and my sisters. What would killing him have got me?"

Her face twisted a little in response to his words, as if she didn't quite get what he was saying. Opening her mouth for a moment, she looked as if she was starting to say something, before she reconsidered and then closed it again.

"Mind if I ask you a question now?" he asked. She looked at him briefly and then nodded slightly. "How did you learn to use the Force?"

"The Force," she said with a slight smirk. "Weird to hear it called that. I… grew up calling it the Power. My dad taught me. Not much, just bits and pieces. Enough to control it. He… I think he was good at it, but he didn't use it much." Her face crumpled slightly for a moment. "Can't remember my mom much at all. She died when I was a small kid. Don't remember what she died off. We did a lot of travelling after that. Lots of different places. I think… I think there was something always behind us. Something we were runnin' from. Something to do with my grandpa. Only ever met him once, when I was very small. After my mom died but before we started runnin'. He scared me, I remember that much. Dad was scared of him too."

Another silence fell, and this time it was Lindsey who shivered. There had been something in her voice that had indeed spoken of fear. "Who was your father? What happened to him?"

"He… his name was Thomas Clayton. He took his mom's name. Part of the bit about running from his father. He died when I was about 15. Heart attack. His dad's name was Dansey. He was a Judge from somewhere in L.A. That's about all I know about him."

Lindsey felt his skin crawl. "Judge Dansey? The one who died the other week?"

"That was him. Dad was afraid of him. Never talked about him much." She went silent again. "So when does Harris get back again? Which day next week?"

"I'm not sure," he said softly. "Like I said, there's something he needs to do. I'll let you know when he comes back. In the meantime, if you need to talk, about anything, talk to me. I'm a good listener. I've even been known to give out the odd nugget of good advice. Anyway, I have to patrol. See you around. If you need to talk to me, leave a message with Rupert Giles at the college library." He stood slowly and then walked away. As he looked over his shoulder she was still sitting there. She looked as if she had the weight of the world on her shoulders. He knew that look. "She's wondering what the hell to do," he muttered as he walked off into the darkness and towards the lights of Sunnydale.

* * *

She was very tempted to smirk whenever she got the books out. Well, one of the books anyway. She'd found them all in a safe in Dansey's house. It hadn't taken long to open it – using the Force made it quite easy to pick the tumblers on the lock and then open it. She'd been tempted to lightsabre it open, but that might have set fire to whatever was inside.

Like the books.

The largest was also the oldest – and had been Dansey's most prized possession. It was the journal of the French Templar who had turned against the Order (or the spineless bunch of old women, as he had described them) and masterminded their destruction. It mentioned what he had learned, how he had trained, what he wanted to do, and above all how he had crushed his enemies. The repetition seemed to be a bad attack of gloating.

The last few days of his life, when he had been besieged in his castle by the last of the Templars, was understandably a bit less gleeful. The last entry by the original owner had been written hurriedly, saying that the vermin outside were trying to burn them out and that he had to fight. He was going to give the journal to the younger of his two acolytes and tell him to get the book to safety, even at the cost of his own life.

The next entry was presumably by the acolyte, in very different handwriting, saying that his master and all the others had been killed, and that he had escaped – although he had lost an arm in the process and was very weak, and that he needed to find a place to hide. There was nothing more after that.

Lilah ran her hand over the front of the book. She had been right, it had been burned at one point – it looked as if something very hot had brushed hard against it, and she found herself wondering what had happened to it.

Shrugging she put it to one side and then picked up the one that really amused her. Dansey's playbook. The one in which he had scribbled his thoughts down in. Well. Most of them anyway. The more that she found out about him, the more that she realized that the man had been made up of a lot of smoke and mirrors. There had been so much that he'd hidden. There was so much that was still hidden, like exactly what his plan had been.

That said, she could make some intelligent guesses at the outline of it, as she saw it. He'd been heading steadily upwards in the court system. The thing was, some of the people that he'd been replacing had all either died or done something incredibly stupid which had led to them resigning. The same had gone for many of his competitors for those positions. Judging (ha!) from his writings it had not been co-incidence. No, Dansey had been influencing things and had been heading in one direction. The Supreme Court. The thought made her feel slightly dizzy. The idea of her late and entirely unlamented master on the Supreme Court, giving his input on the laws of the land… well, he could have done anything, really. It would have been fun to watch. From Canada.

But there had been more than that. She was pretty sure that he wanted to go further on from there. The problem was where. The Supreme Court did not lead to the Presidency, the Constitution was very clear on that bit. Taft may have gone from the Presidency to the Supreme Court, but you couldn't do it the other way around.

So Dansey must have had a plan to go on from there… perhaps getting a flunky or a cat's-paw elected? She paused for a moment. Perhaps that had been her part of the plan? That would have made sense, but he had never mentioned trolling for votes to her. Besides, the chances were that Wolfram & Hart had tried to get a foothold in the Government before, and something had happened to put them off. Something probably quiet but messy. She'd heard that the last time that the Firm had tried to get into the British Government had been in 1650. Oliver Cromwell was not a name to conjure with apparently.

No, she wasn't getting anywhere with that right now. She sat back and looked at the room around her. The other thing that Dansey had had in his safe was a box that had contained a lot of money, both in the form of banknotes, and also in the form of bank records for large amounts of cash in places like the Sixth National Bank of Siberia. It was, of course, a front to launder money from the other places in the records. There was also a complicated cats cradle of ownership records and false identities to help the money – so complicated that anyone from the IRS who went anywhere near it would probably suffer an aneurism, just prior to their head exploding violently.

A quiet phone call here, a message left there, and the old mansion that had been her training ground had been sold and another building, the one that she was sitting in now, had been bought. It was smaller for a start. She needed to keep going through his notes and winnow out some of the training methods that he had been going to show her, along with details of the things that he had left out. Plus she had no intention of taking on an apprentice. Not yet, anyway.

One thing still intrigued her. In his book, part of his notes were missing. An entire section had been savagely ripped out. She wondered what it had been and why he had removed it so violently.

Well, whatever. She stood and summoned her lightsabre into her hand from where it had been resting on a table on the other side of the room. The moment that it smacked satisfyingly into her hand she thumbed it on and then leapt into the middle of the room, tucking into a quick somersault as she did. As her feet touched the ground she started her exercises, flowing from one position to the next, the lightsabre carving patterns of crimson light in the air as she did. She had a lot of training to do.

* * *

Daniel closed the book and stared at the blackboard again for a long moment. He had a feeling that he had squeezed about as much out of this thing as he could for the time being. He needed more information. Unfortunately this had its own set of problems and he crossed his arms, tucking the book under his left armpit as he did so, and grimaced. He had a lot on his mind and he also had a nasty feeling that it had been at least 48 hours since he had last slept. There was just too much to work out.

A set of knuckles tapped on the door behind him and he turned to see Teal'c standing in the doorway, with Bra'tac behind him. "Daniel Jackson, are you well?" the bigger of the two Jaffa asked, his head tilted slightly to one side. "O'Neill told us that you have not left your office in three days. Can I ask what is so pressing?"

"What? Oh… no, it's nothing urgent. I'm just… I'm just continuing some research," he said with a deep sigh punctuating his words. "Something that I need to work out."

Teal'c walked in, with Bra'tac following him. The old Jaffa looked slightly distracted. "You are aware of the fact that Jedi Master Xander Harris is at the airstrip, are you not?"

He nodded slowly. "Yes. Yes, I am aware of that."

"Odd," the older Jaffa said, "I would have thought that you would have talked to him by now."

There were times when Daniel wondered if Bra'tac was telepathic or something. He had a very nasty habit of coming up with statements and observations that verbalised what other people were thinking. It was very distracting at times.

"I've been… thinking about what he knows," he replied carefully. "About what it means to be a Jedi. About… what he can do."

"Surely he has given an adequate amount of proof by now," rumbled Teal'c. "He does indeed possess the skills of a Jedi Master."

"Scarily, freakily, yes," Daniel conceded. He lowered his head and ran a hand over his forehead for a moment before straightening up again. "Yes, he is a Jedi. But… there are some issues here that I've been trying to explore, to look into and assess. There seems to be some history involved here and I…" He faltered to a halt and then stopped. "I…"

After a long moment he sat down on the edge of the table, pulled his glasses off and closed his eyes. "He told me that I could be a Jedi as well," he stated in a flat voice. "And that information both intrigues and terrifies me at the same time."

There was a long moment of silence, punctuated only by Daniel sighing and replacing his glasses. When his gaze returned to the two Jaffa, they were both standing there, their eyes about as wide as it was possible for two such phlegmatic personalities to get.

"You…. could become a Jedi?" Bra'tac said.

"Yes."

"A Jedi," said Teal'c in a tone of voice that could best be labelled as 'well, damn.'

"Again, yes," replied Daniel with a slight frown. They both seemed to be having trouble either processing the information, or hearing him. He was pretty sure that they could hear him.

"Surely," rumbled Teal'c after a moment, "The answer to your question is a simple one. If you can become a Jedi than you should become one. I fail to see that this is a problem."

"I also fail to see that there can be any other solution," agreed Bra'tac. Ah. That was it. They were both looking at him as if the answer to the debate that had been raging in him ever since they had come back from Sunnydale was an insultingly easy one.

"Teal'c, Bra'tac," he sighed, "This, this really isn't as easy as you think. I'd be committing myself to something that could take me away from the SGC for… for… an indeterminate amount of time, training for something that still causes me the odd amount of disbelief and with, well, vampires and other potential monsters hanging around, and part of me still can't believe that I just said that."

The two Jaffa exchanged another look that seemed to be the equivalent of a quick conversation, but which was boiled down to a few flickers of the eyebrow.

"Daniel Jackson," said Bra'tac with a slight sigh. "You have the opportunity to learn the skills of the Jedi from a Jedi Master of great experience and wisdom. His appearance maybe that of a young man, but he fights and lives like a warrior and a scholar. Not to follow up on such an offer would be foolish. Very foolish."

"And you should not fear becoming a Sith," stated Teal'c seriously. "There is no false pride or anger within you. But there is much valour and wisdom. You should not feel fear. Apart from being a route to the Dark Side, you have no reason to feel fear."

Daniel sat there for a long moment of time. He couldn't later tell how long that moment had been. It was enough time for him to finally make up his mind and then nod. "Then I'd better go and see Xander then," he said eventually. "And ask him if he can train me."

"That is a wise choice, Daniel Jackson," said Bra'tac with a nod of his head that was definitely approving.

"Wow," said Daniel, that's a weight off my mind." He paused. The table felt very comfortable right now. "Of course the debate was keeping my mind active and that made me not think about how tired I am and Teal'c why are you all blurry?" Just before he fell asleep he heard his friend sigh and say something about sending for Dr. Frasier.

* * *

Creating a weapon for a space superiority craft from scratch was not an easy thing, but could be achieved with a lot of hard work and relevant technical expertise. Luckily Xander had memories of Obi-Wan helping Anakin repair, calibrate and at times massively rebuild the laser cannons on his various craft. Given the number of times that Anakin had flown his numerous star fighters almost to the point of destruction ("Don't worry, Master, we'll take a short cut," / "We can take them, there aren't that many of them," / "Come on Obi-Wan, where's your sense of adventure?" / "I didn't think there were that many of them at first.") he had a lot of technical memories.

Xander peered down the shaft of the second cannon and then shook his head slightly at the memories that ran through his brain for a moment. Now was not the time for wool gathering. One of the primary power couplings at the base of the cannon was misaligned. It wasn't by very much, but it was far better to be safe about this then sorry.

After a few careful tweaks he looked up at the shell of the craft that was emerging, slowly, from the wreckage of the former X-302. There was a hell of a long way to go, but the outlines at least were there, and just like so many building projects it was amazing what could be pulled together at the last minute when something was up. At the very least at the moment the main section of the fuselage existed at least in outline, with a squared-off stern and a long pointed nose. The hard points for the four engines would be the next thing to put on, after which the skeletal wings could be attached. He'd seen his uncle Rory weld things. He hadn't been bad. These guys were on another plane of expertise however. They really were that good.

As for the engines themselves they too were taking shape in one corner of the hanger. One was nearing completion. That had been the hardest one to build, because frankly he didn't have the kind of manufacturing facilities that Incom would take for granted. As a result although they were ion fission engines, they would have been laughed out of sight by Anakin for being so crude. He had a few ideas about that, especially as Incom had been experimenting with the 4L-class of fusial engines by the end of the Clones Wars, but that would take more time.

Besides, the overall reaction to them had already been baffled astonishment from the mechanics and ground crew who were building them, so perhaps they needed to start off with small steps and ramp it up later. The ion engines would serve their purpose for the time being. Hopefully, if they performed the way that he had designed them, speeds of up to 1,000 kilometres an hour should be possible. Maybe a bit more with some tweaking.

Oh and the hard points for the repulsorlifts were also ready. He was quite looking forward to building those, as they would be in many ways the easiest part of the whole build. He'd almost built his first remote target with his eyes closed, he was so familiar with the technology from his Obi-Wan memories. There had been times during Anakin's apprenticeship when Obi-Wan had been either building or repairing a combat remote at least once a week, after it had come to sad end due some bit of over-enthusiastic usage of a lightsabre. Obviously the repulsorlifts would have to be larger for the fighter, but the principle was the same.

Bending down again he tweaked the power coupling for one final time and then nodded. Perfect. He had the plans all laid out, so with them on the one hand and the completed laser canon on the other, Siler's team should be able to replicate it quite easily. That just left… a long list of things to do. Top of the list was the installation of a decent, or at least half-decent, targeting computer, because the one that had been in the X-302 couldn't have hit a drunk Hutt on a clear day at point-blank range. Well, maybe it wasn't that bad, but it certainly wasn't good by any stretch of his imagination. Heh. As if his imagination was entirely normal nowadays.

The problem was that the changes that he had suggested from the computer specialist on the team hadn't come back yet. Ok, the guy had a bad habit of dreamily staring off at the horizon whenever Xander had brought up concepts that were new to him, but he was pretty sure that the guy was working on it as fast as he could.

No computer and no engines did not make a good combination. Neither had the latest in fibre optic cabling arrived just yet. Apparently it was on the way. Until that arrived, they couldn't start to put the pieces together properly. Time. It was his worst enemy, but there was nothing that he could do about it just now, just plan things out and wait.

Hearing footsteps behind him he turned to see Jack O'Neill standing there at the entrance to the hanger. He was staring hard at the skeletal structure in front of him, his eyes narrowed thoughtfully. "Interesting," he said after a long moment. "So, how's it going?"

Smiling wryly Xander looked at his creation. "It's coming along well. A lot done, but more needing to be done. And we're waiting on a few things right now. A slight hitch."

"What kind of things?"

"Some parts. Some cabling. Nothing major, just minor, but you can't build a fighter without the minor parts."

O'Neill nodded understandingly and then flicked a finger at his brow at Siler, who was walking past with part of the engine cowling. "Hey, Siler, this guy keeping you good and busy?"

"Yes sir, he is," the sergeant replied. "Busy but fascinated I should say."

"Okay," said Jack, as he rubbed a hand over his chin and then teetered up and down on the balls of his feet for a moment. "Xander, can they spare you for a few hours?"

He blinked. "I think so, but why?"

"General Hammond thinks that it might be a good idea to take you through the Stargate, and we have a milk run coming up. Carter wants to take some hotshot kid she picked up at the academy through it in order to get her interested in the programme or something. It might be a good chance for you to see what we do. Shouldn't take long, no more than a few hours, but you'd get a free trip to an alien planet at, I might add, no additional cost to yourself."

Xander paused, thinking hard and deeply tempted, and looked over at the construction work that was ongoing. Then he looked at Siler. "Sergeant, what do you think? You have a good grasp of what we're doing, but do you need my input for the next few hours?"

Siler looked around. "Sir, we've got to build the other engines, but you've left us with enough plans and input on that already. Cabling won't arrive until 0800 hours, and we know where that's going anyway. There's nothing urgent here at the moment, so I'd say go, sir."

Xander thought things through for a few seconds and then nodded. "OK, Jack. I'd like to see what's down the rabbit hole."

"Good, I'll tell Hammond," said Jack and then he frowned slightly and looked at Siler's retreating back. "Did Siler just call you 'Sir'?"

"Yes, he did. I think it was habit or something. I can't exactly turn my command voice off sometimes."

"Ah. You haven't commandeered anything like the entire planet yet, have you?"

"Jack, I don't think that I have the authority of the Galactic Republic behind me. Apart from inside my memories and the head of George Lucas, that doesn't exist."

"Right… right. Just checking. Anyway, I'll collect you in about an hour." He wandered off, his hands in his pockets and a slightly quizzical tilt to his head.

* * *

She was short. She had red hair. She had nostrils that looked as if they could flare at the drop of a hat. Oh and she had eyes that could freeze lava. All in all Cadet Jennifer Hailey looked like trouble. Right now though she was exhibiting a great deal of bemusement at everything around her.

Xander walked up level to her and then adjusted his olive green battledress. He felt slightly fraudulent in them, but they had insisted. Besides, Jedi robes might have felt better, but they would have marked him out as being very different at wherever the hell they were going. According to Jack the name of the planet was N4C862, which was distinctly unmemorable. That said, according to Sam Carter, there were so many worlds that giving names to all of them would have meant that unless they knew what the local name was, they would have swiftly run out of original ones.

He suppressed a slight wince as he remembered Jesse playing Civilization 2. His old buddy had been very good at it, but when it came to naming cities he didn't have much imagination. He'd once been forced to move his capital to Carrots and then conduct a major offensive from the cities of Peas and Potatoes, with a minor war on one flank to protect Steak and Ham. Sometimes you could tell exactly what Jesse had had for dinner the previous night by looking at the map.

Dragging himself back to the here and now he clipped his lightsabre to his belt, tugged his cap on and then folded his arms as the great ring at the end of the ramp started to revolve.

It seemed to take Hailey by surprise and she looked at it with her mouth slightly open as her eyes darted around it. Hearing footsteps Xander looked around to see Jack and Sam as they approached, also wearing the same olive green battledress. Jack had a small pack on his back and a smaller one on his front, which he was resting a submachine gun on, his hands grasping the butt and the barrel. Sam Carter was wearing a slightly larger main pack and had her gun slung on her shoulder. She looked at Hailey for a moment, quirked her lips for a second in what might have been amusement and then stepped up next to them and started to talk about exactly what was going on.

Xander listened, but absorbed the information absently as he stared at the great ring, which now had five chevrons glowing. It looked like an amazing piece of technology. Instant interstellar – or should that be interplanetary – travel via a stabilized wormhole. Fascinating. Although he couldn't imagine a mainline spacer being all that impressed. Moving large numbers of soldiers would be limited by how long the connection could be maintained, while bulk loads of supplies – and you needed supplies in bulk, in massive quantities if you wanted to keep a campaign moving forwards – would best be moved via hyperspace in bulk carriers. He could imagine quite a few Corellians expressing extreme contempt at the Stargate, as much as they might admire its technical abilities.

"Chevron Seven locked!" the guy in the control booth above his head announced and then the event horizon formed in a great vortex of energy, flashing forwards and then backwards, before stabilizing.

Wow, thought Xander, not bad. Out of the corner of his eyes he could sense slight disappointment in Jack and Sam that he hadn't flinched. Hailey had, but then from what Sam had said, she was still in the Air Force Academy and was consequently greener than grass. If Sam was pushing her though, then she had to be good. Heh. He wondered what would happen if she ever met Willow. It would probably be a technical word explosion.

"Well," said Jack as he tugged on his own cap and then put his sunglasses on, "Shall we go?"

"You mean… just walk into – that?" asked Hailey in a voice that was impressively level.

"Yes, Cadet. You see, this is what we do," drawled Jack in reply with a hint of sarcasm.

"Not a problem Jack, I'll go first," Xander grinned to break the moment and then strode up the ramp and straight into the event horizon.

The trip was… interesting. It was like a hyperspace jump, but where your eyes were open all the time, there was no ship around you and the route you took curved occasionally. He wondered if that was to avoid any gravitational eddies, like stars or black holes. He didn't have much time to think about it, because all of a sudden he was at the other end and was completing his stride on a stone ramp in front of a different Stargate on a different world.

"Wow," he said again as he walked a few steps forwards and then looked around. There were two moons, large ones, one that looked heavily forested and another one that was covered in clouds and was far further away, hanging in the sky. Further away a huge gas giant was hanging in the sky, taking up a large part of it. The trees around the Stargate site were tall and looked almost like firs, and the air, well, it smelt a bit like Naboo.

Oh and there was a guy with a machinegun just like Jack's staring quizzically at him about ten yards away. Fortunately at that moment Jack came though the Stargate, although perhaps ambled through might have been the right expression. He adjusted his sunglasses, looked around and then nodded at the man who had been waiting for them. "Major."

"Colonel," came the reply, along with a pointed glance at Xander.

"Oh, introductions. Xander this is Major Thomas Griff. Tom this is Xander Harris. He's a technical consultant with the SGC. Comes highly recommended. Anyway, anything particularly exciting to report?"

The Major smiled something that was almost a grimace. "Well, up until about a day ago the most exciting that that happened here over the past week was when Dr. Thompson lost his glasses. Then about a day ago we spotted something a bit out of the ordinary."

There was a noise to one side from the Stargate and then Sam Carter stepped through. Jennifer Hailey on the other hand lurched through looking as if her eyeballs were about to burst from shock. As she juddered to a halt she looked around – and then up at the sky. "This – this is another planet?"

"Moon actually," Xander pointed out. He scratched the back of his head. "Hum. Yavin IV again." Then he looked at Griff. "What did you mean, a bit out of the ordinary, Major?"

Griff opened his mouth for a moment, then caught himself and shot a look at Jack. "He related to General Hammond? He's got his command voice."

"Long story, Tom. Very long and very wacky story. So, what happened?"

Griff paused for a moment and ran his tongue under his upper lip quickly in thought. "Ok, we've spotted some small… well maybe insects. Made of light. That kinda pass through solid matter. Like trees. They were seen yesterday about a click away from the base. They did not threaten us. Seemed curious more than anything else."

Jack blinked and then nodded slightly. "Okay. That sounds like it can be classified as 'odd.'"

"Thing is, Hamilton is chomping at the bit to go and track whatever they are down. Keeps complaining. A lot. Not to mention bitching. A lot."

"Oh, for crying out loud," muttered Jack. "Did you tell him no?"

"Yup, but he's a sneaky bastard and he keeps trying to sneak out and-"

"Major Griff!" said a loud voice. Xander turned to see a balding man with glasses striding towards him. He seemed to huff with every step, either through shortness of breath or a need to get a great deal off his chest, on which was emblazoned the name tag 'Hamilton'. Looking over them all with a short glance he eliminated most of them with superbly condescending sniff of disdain and then concentrated on Griff and Jack. "Ah. You must be Colonel O'Neill. I trust that you have word on the missing parts to our generator that we requested four days ago?"

"Nope," Replied Jack, looking slightly nonplussed. "I'm sure that they're on the supply schedule though, which I can req-"

Hamilton cut him off. "I see. I was hoping that it was just Major's Griff's incompetence, but it seems to be an institutional thing, because I can't seem to get anything I ask for."

"Have you tried changing your tone of voice?" Xander asked, earning him a snort from Jack, a chuckle from Griff and a look from Hamilton that, had it been energy, should have reduced him to a small puddle of grease.

"Who is this person, Colonel?"

"Xander Harris. Civilian consultant. Not someone to dismiss lightly," said Jack.

"I see," replied Hamilton, obviously ignoring Jack's advice. "And there's the matter of these life forms. Colonel, has Major Griff given you a full report yet?"

"We only just arrived and yes he has," Jack said as he folded his arms around his P-90 and looked at Hamilton through his sunglasses, which seemed to put the scientists off slightly.

"It could not have been a very _full_ report, as you've only just arrived!"

"Small glowing things, can pass through things, seem curious, yes. That seems to hit the high notes, as it were. And I understand you want to go charging off and track them down?"

This earned him the kind of look that Hamilton obviously only bestowed on complete morons. "Yes, of course! We're talking about something that can pass right through solid matter! We have to track these things down and study them! Which Major… Major McAuslan here refuses to let us do!"

Jack held up his hand to stop him. "Ok. First things first, the McAuslan jibe was a low blow. Secondly I think that Major Griff's thinking was on the lines of threat assessment, am I right?"

Griff nodded. "Yes, sir."

"And third, please stop ending your sentences so vehemently, as you're starting to spray the air with spittle, and that's just disgusting."

"Oh please! That's typical military thinking – you see something outside your experience and you think that it's a threat!"

"No, I'm thinking that if it can pass through solid matter then we have no defence against it," Jack pointed out. "So until we determine that there is no threat, I will assume that there is one. That is how we keep people alive on planets that are 99.9 uncharted. It seems to work. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have some very important tramping around to do. I'm sure that you have a very important bug you need to pull the legs off somewhere."

Hamilton swelled slightly with indignation for a moment and then choked back whatever he was meaning to spit out, before stomping away, the personification of petulance.

Griff watched him go with a sigh. "Actually sir, when he isn't being a pain in the ass, he's quite good at his job, and he does have a point about the generator. In the meantime I take it that I'm relieved?"

"Yes, Tom, I relieve you of the burden of command, and the responsibility of making sure that bad things don't happen to Hamilton, which I will now have to think of in the privacy of my own brain. Before you head back to the SGC can you walk me around the perimeter and then point out the general direction of where these things are?" After receiving a nod from the Major, Jack turned to the others. "Ok, Carter, you show the cadet how we do exciting research things here. Oh, and if Hamilton tries to sneak away and catch one of the things, then tie him to something, as shooting him in the leg might be overkill. Xander, can you come with Griff and me? I want your… special skills on what might be out there."

"Ok, Jack," Xander smiled and then looked around. Something was prickling at the edge of his mind slightly. "Ok."

* * *

Jennifer Hailey watched the three men walk off and then frowned. "Ma'am?" she asked.

"Yes, Cadet?"

"Who is Mr Harris?"

"Why do you ask?"

"Because he's carrying a replica of a lightsabre clipped to his belt, but he's not armed at all. What does he do?"

Major Carter smiled and then chuckled. "Cadet, remember back at the Academy when I warned you about making assumptions?"

Confused, Jennifer nodded.

"You just made another one just then."

"About him being armed?"

"Yes," she said, and then started walking off towards the buildings in front of them. "And about it being a replica."

* * *

The trees looked a lot like firs, thought Xander as he walked around the base perimeter. He was partly looking with his eyes and partly looking with the Force, as he could definitely sense something. It was a long way away though, and could best be described as 'nebulous'.

After they had taken a turn around the perimeter, with Griff pointing out one or two things to Jack, they walked to a point where there was a slight rise away from the base with a view overlooking the surrounding forest. "They were seen over there, about a kilometre away," said Griff pointing.

Xander looked in the general direction of Griff's finger and then reached out with the Force. Yes, what he had sensed was out there. "Jack, there's something out there alright," he said quietly.

"You sure?" Jack asked. He nodded. "Ok, can you tell what they are?"

"Sorry sir, but how can he tell what's out there?" asked a visibly confused Griff.

"Major, Xander here has access to certain abilities that sound a bit crazy," answered Jack with a wince. "Very useful, as he helped to save our butts in California this year when an NID project went FUBAR, but still sounding a bit crazy at first."

Griff still looked confused but nodded despite this.

"Sorry, Jack, I'd need to get closer. I'll tell you this much, I can't feel anything malignant. Just a vague presence." He paused. "Wait a minute…" Turning his head he looked at the trees to one side. "There's something in there. It's very, very faint, but I think we have a visitor."

Jack looked over and then swore under his breath. "Ok, let's check this out. Stay focussed everyone."

* * *

Jennifer Hailey had only known Dr. Hamilton for half an hour, but she already disliked him. Actually she had filed him away in her mental filing cabinet under 'Bumptious prick', with a mental note that there was very little that could cause her to reconsider her conclusion.

Right now he was looking very, very smug, as he studied a glass cylinder linked to some wires. The cylinder contained one of the small life forms that had been reported on his world, which was just another of the amazing things that she had seen today. Her brain was starting to hurt a little from the amount of new information that she had to think through. For one thing though, she knew that come hell or high water she was going to get straight through the Academy to get into the SGC. The possibilities were astounding.

Right now though there was a very good possibility that Major Carter was going to punch Dr. Hamilton one on the nose if he didn't stop being such a condescending asshole. She had it figured as about a 68.9 percent chance.

"It may be trapped, but if it is intelligent – and I see more than enough evidence of that –then I do not think that keeping it imprisoned is a good idea!" Major Carter said, obviously trying to keep control of her temper.

"Oh please, Major, this is a chance in a lifetime to study such a fascinating creature!" Hamilton riposted.

The doors opened to one side and then Colonel O'Neill, Major Griff and the mysterious Xander Harris strode in quickly. They looked around – and did not look happy. "Damn it, Hamilton, what part of 'threat assessment' do you not understand?"

The scientist looked smug again. "Colonel, it wandered into here. Based on the earlier sightings Dr. Lee here came up with a working theory for holding one of them using this cylinder, with the top and bottom plates electrified. The field is keeping it in. So that we can study it."

"Sir, I do not recommend this," warned Major Carter.

"Neither do I," sighed Colonel O'Neill. "Xander, take a look at it please."

"What? What for? And is he even a scientist?" protested Hamilton, only to meet the full force what looked like a nuclear blast of a glare from the Colonel.

Harris walked up to it and then stared down at the creature as it zipped almost tremulously around the cylinder. "I'm not sure if this thing could pass a logic test, but it's intelligent on some scale," he said after a long pause. "It's sentient, Jack. Very fuzzy and energy-rich, but sentient. And right now it's terrified. Angry as well." He paused and then looked over his shoulder. "I think it's projecting something too."

"What? How the hell can you tell all that just by looking at it?" asked Hamilton, baffled.

"I just can," came the reply. "And it's still annoyed. Jack I think we need to let it go. I'm sensing some kind of reaction out there. Like they're getting annoyed as well."

"Sense?" asked Jennifer, staring hard at him. However this guy was, she was finding it very hard to classify him in her mental filing system. For one thing he acted far older than he looked, and he couldn't have been more than about 19 or 20. And that damn fake lightsabre was still clipped to his belt. What was up with that?

"You think that they're picking up on what it's sending out?"

Harris stood there, staring first at the life form and then at the wall. "In a word, yes."

The Colonel nodded. "Good enough for me. Hamilton, let it go. Now."

This order did not go down well. "No, Colonel. We need to study it."

"Then study it from a distance. We know next to nothing about it and there are a lot more out there, who all appear to be getting irked. Let it go."

Hamilton's fist crashed down on the table. "No! How the hell can this boy tell what they're doing? Who is he? What is his area of expertise?"

Colonel O'Neill glared at him and then paused, before turning to Harris and then smiling slightly. "Xander? Can you free this thing?"

"With pleasure, Jack," Xander Harris replied and then he looked at the cylinder – which promptly shattered into a million pieces. The top fell off to one side, the wires buzzed insistently for a second before they fell silent and the small energy globe soared out in a dizzying spiral of light.

Jennifer found herself gaping along with Griff, Hamilton and the assembled scientists. The creature buzzed around them for a moment and then paused, hanging in mid-air above Harris, who was looking up at it with a smile. "Move along, little one," he told it, as he raised a hand in the air. "They won't harm you. They're just as curious about you as you are about them."

The little energy wisp hovered above his hand for a moment, before darting down and touching it lightly – and then it sped off, straight through the wall, in the direction that Harris had been looking at.

The moment that it vanished Hamilton turned bulging eyes towards Harris. He appeared to be lost for words, which probably a good thing as Jennifer suspected that those words would have been of the pungent, four-lettered, variety.

Harris stared calmly back at the scientists for a moment. "You will leave them alone, they should only be observed from a distance," he said, almost in a monotone. You are not to harm them."

"We will observe them from a distance," repeated Hamilton, his eyes looking a bit glassy. "We will not harm them."

"You will reconsider your decision to be a horse's ass."

"I will not be a horse's ass."

"Excellent," said Harris and then he looked at his watch. "Well, Jack, thanks for the tour. Can you get me back to Earth now please? Those parts ought to be arriving soon and I've got a lot of work to do."

"Sure," said Colonel O'Neill with a smile as they walked over to the doors and away from the befuddled scientists.

"Ma'am?" asked Jennifer Hailey.

"Yes, Cadet?"

"What is he again?"

"Ask me again when you join the SGC," Major Carter replied with a tight grin.

* * *

"Hey, Jack," Daniel greeted his friend as he sat down to breakfast in the commissary. "So, anything interesting happen when I was away?"

"You were away?" Jack mumbled around his cornflakes.

"I took a big decision and then I had a kind of reaction to being incredibly tired, so Janet sent me home for four days," Daniel replied with a hint of grumpiness.

Jack leant back his chair and stared at him. "Is that your way of saying that you worked yourself into the ground again so that Janet sent you home?"

"Uuummm, yes."

"Damn it, Daniel I wish you'd stop doing that. I'm supposed to keep an eye on you to stop you from doing stuff like that. Janet threatens me with the huge needles otherwise."

Daniel thought this over for a moment, as he chewed on a piece of toast. "Jack," he asked eventually, "What is it about you and big needles?"

"Childhood trauma, I won't want to talk about it," Jack replied. "Besides, hello? Big needles? What's to like about those things?" He paused. "What was the question again?"

"Did anything happen when I was away? And is Xander still around? Everyone I talked to has told me to ask you about him."

"Oh, Xander. Yes, he's around. I took him through the Gate on a so-called milk run to N4C862, along with some tyro Cadet that Carter discovered at the Air Force Academy. We found some little zappy energy creatures that the lead scientists wanted to experiment on. Could have been nasty. Xander helped defuse the situation. He's on the air strip now. Building this fighter he's working on, from the ashes from the not-very-lamented X-302. Been there since we got back from the planet, three days ago. Should be almost done by now." He had another mouthful of cornflakes and then looked over Daniel's shoulder. "Hey, T. How's it going? Where's Bra'tac?"

"He is undergoing Kel-no-reem, O'Neill," said the massive Jaffa as he loomed over the table. "I have news from General Hammond. Xander Harris has finished his conversion of the X-302. He requires our presence."

Jack crammed one large mouthful of cornflakes into his mouth and stood, while Daniel absent-mindedly placed his remaining uneaten piece of toast in his pocket. "Let's go then," he mumbled.

* * *

Carter joined them as they reached the hanger, whilst General Hammond could be seen striding along to one side, looking as intrigued as he ever could. He'd taken a big gamble on this thing, thought Jack, and hopefully the pay-off should be a good one. He waited until his commanding officer was level with him and then they all walked through the doors into the hanger, where they stopped dead.

A fighter was sitting in the middle of the hanger. And what a fighter. It had a long nose and straight edged almost stubby wings that did not look as if they were at all aerodynamical. Not that the vessel needed them, based on the shape of the engines at the rear of the thing. No, the wings were obviously for the two large weapons that looked so very prominent on them.

The undercarriage was a standard tripod, but instead of wheels, there were what looked like skids, so it obviously didn't need much of a run to take-off. The implications for that were… interesting. The cockpit had moved upwards and had wide ranging field of view – better than the old one had had, with its blind spot to the rear. It was white with a red stripe down each side of the fuselage, from the engines to the nose, where it flared slightly.

It looked… lethally effective, and Jack felt his breath catch as he looked at it. It looked right, and that was a large chunk of the battle when it came to fighters. If it looks right, the chances are that it is right.

Xander walked up to one side from where he had been standing with his team of assorted helpers, all of whom were looking tired but very impressed with their own handiwork. "Hey, Jack, come to see what we built?"

"Oh, we just popped in for a wander." He looked back at it. "So what are you going to call her?"

"I believe that I know what class of a vessel it is, Xander Harris," rumbled Teal'c behind him. "It is a Z-95 Headhunter."

"Very good, Teal'c," grinned Xander. "Not as modern as an X-Wing, which Obi-Wan never saw, or a TIE Fighter, which would not be the right thing to build at all. Yuck, Imperial, no. No, the Z-95 Headhunter is the right place for the Earth to start. It's reliable, tough, has a good kick to it and can be a real sweetheart to fly. It can be upgraded easily too." He grinned. "Any volunteers to fly against me?"

Jack's hand beat Carter's to the punch by a fraction of a second.


	30. Touching The Sky

* * *

This damn chapter has been the bane of my life. It should have been ready 2 weeks ago, but then I hit a major problem with it, in that a vital part of it remained burried in my subconscious and refused to move. Finally the other night I sat down and just started to write, and lo and behold it eased its way out. Ok - mea culpa, mea maxima culpa. I got the speed for the Headhunter horribly wrong. I made the mistake of using a wiki source for it - only to realise that it was very, very wrong and waaaaaaayyyyyyy too slow. I'd like to thank Sam Waite for sending me some very valuable insights into what I got wrong. I'll be bending his ear more than a bit - and some chapters will be tweaked as a result. In the meantime I am getting this chapter out, so I can take a break from worrying about it! Summer is here and the next chapter should be out before we go on holiday in Oregon next month. I promise! Honest!

PS - speed for the Headhunter? Forget the wiki - 3,000 km an hour. In atmosphere. Minimum.

* * *

He felt, to be brutally obvious, like an extra in a bad movie

He felt, to be brutally obvious, like an extra in a bad movie. A very bad movie, with maybe some aging old has-been of an actor about to wander into shot from around a corner, mumble a line and then stagger off back to his trailer where a bottle of something with a hell of a kick awaited, along with a flunkey to groom their toupee.

Senator Robert Kinsey sat on the park bench and glowered at the pigeon as it eyed him hopefully. It seemed to have mistaken him for the kind of man who carried small bags filled with pieces of old bread around with him. Fat chance. The only thing that he wished he had on him right would have been a shotgun. That or a bag of poison.

He glared at his watch. His contact was ten minutes late. That was not a good sign. It meant that he had been sitting on this damn bench for 15 minutes, and he was too restless a person to do nothing at all but wait for an entire quarter of an hour. He was too busy and besides he bored easily.

After another endless minute, and just as he was thinking about leaving, a tall man wearing a nondescript coat and carrying a paper under one arm wandered over and sat down next to him, where he seemed to take great interest in an article on one of the inside pages about the latest fashion in bathroom taps. After another minute or two he looked around the park with immense unconcern and then smiled slightly for a moment. "Senator."

"You're late," Kinsey groused.

"Sadly I was detained. We had some information about an incident in London that was… unsettling. Especially as it was resolved so quickly." The smile came and went again. "There have been some… developments, shall we say, in the internal makeup of my department. This is probably going to be our last meeting, as I have reason to believe that I'm about to be investigated."

The only reason that Kinsey didn't get up and walk away was that he knew full well that the meeting would not have happened if the man had had any doubts about being watched. Instead he licked his lips. "What kind of developments?"

"The NID is changing, Senator. Things have been dragged into the light of day that should have stayed hidden. One of our projects, linked indirectly to our plans for the SGC, had something of a glitch. It was started with the best of intentions, but the person in charge was, perhaps, not quite conversant with the details of what they were dealing with." He scowled slightly. "As a result… attention was drawn to it. Especially when an outside agency became involved in it. Some people who you know. SG-1."

This time it was all that Kinsey could do to stop himself from venting a string of expletives. "SG-1," he said after a moment of silent struggle to prevent his lips from framing those two letters and one word with a choice verb and an adjective.

"Yes, Senator, your favourite people in the world. Oh, wait, perhaps not. Well, they turned up and pulled the NID's proverbial nuts out of the fire before things went very badly wrong, so don't curse them too soon. They seemed to have had some very interesting help, and the destruction of the project has a lot of very interesting question marks hanging over it, but the situation was restored." He sighed. "At the same time attention was drawn to us. Investigations have begun. The project was… inherited from some older plans that required approval from Great Britain. Sadly, that approval was not sought. Clerical error, no doubt. But people are asking questions. The… moralising elements of the NID, as some might put it, are gaining strength. Quite quickly I might add. Many of the more realistic elements are pulling in their heads and going covert for the time being, until more people realise that what we are doing is in the best interests of the United States."

Kinsey eyed him narrowly. "Don't you mean 'Earth'?"

The smile came and went again. "Freudian slip," he said without even a hint of irony. "Anyway, times are changing. For the time being at least."

Kinsey rubbed his nose for a moment as he mulled all of this over. Shit, this was just typical. He was a respected Senator, with access to information of the most sensitive kind as well as access to the kind of secrets that could open all kind of doors in Washington. Eventually, of course, the door to 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue, better known as the White House. He relied on the information that the NID could give him. It often went beyond simple national security matters and into the more complex and rarefied stratosphere that existed in the political firmament.

"How long will this… moralising element, as you called them, be in charge?"

A shrug. "I really couldn't tell you. A few years ago I'd have guessed that it would be until we needed something fast and dirty done very quickly. A few months. Now… well, the more that the investigations go on – and we can't stop them, believe me we've tried – the more information that they uncover and the more that things will get nasty for us. So… maybe a year. Maybe two years. I couldn't tell you, Senator. And I speak as someone who's about to retire from active NID activity. I feel a sudden need to visit my uncle's adopted homeland. Tahiti maybe. Someplace to wait up, rest up and get a good suntan."

"Wait," blurted Kinsey as the man started to gather himself to get up, "How much at risk am I?"

"You, Senator? Oh, please, relax. You're just someone we briefed every now and then. Same with most of the defence appropriations committee, not to mention others. Our records are very clear on that. Many of them were written some years ago, so that there was a paper trail that was whiter than white about our involvement, but naturally I would be shocked, _shocked_ I tell you, if there was any evidence that any inappropriate information had ever been passed on to you. Why, that would have been illegal."

Kinsey relaxed and then nodded. His contact had said all of that without even quirking the smallest smile of irony. He nodded again. "Enjoy Tahiti. When things open up again, who's my new… conversationalist?"

"I don't know yet, Senator, but I'm sure that they'll be in touch ahead of time," the man said as he folded his paper and then stood up. "Goodbye."

Kinsey sat there and stared at the park for a few minutes. It was at this point that he noticed what the pigeon had done on the end of his right shoe.

* * *

It had been a relatively quiet day at the SGC, thought General George Hammond as he sat at his desk and sipped at his coffee. There had been four incoming wormholes (three scheduled SGC parties and one unscheduled one due to a broken ankle) and three outgoing ones (all scheduled patrols). The most excitement had come from Dr Grant on SG-16, who had discovered a new, and very ugly, fluorescent bug.

Nothing had malfunctioned, nothing had hiccupped in any way, Jack O'Neill and SG-1 had not had to foil a Goa'uld plot – it had been that rarest of things, a quiet day at the office.

Which was a good thing, as he was currently facing the red tape mountain from hell. It wasn't that the forms were that massive. It wasn't that he didn't know how to fill them in. It wasn't that he couldn't fill them in. It was just that he was trying in vain to think of a way to fill in the forms without a reply coming back with a straitjacket attached, along with a letter saying that he had obviously been very busy recently and perhaps he had let things get on top of him, and that perhaps it was time for a nice long rest and a visit from Mr Sedative.

He stared at the paperwork again and then smiled wryly. Jack would no doubt stuff the entire lot in a shredder and then talk his way out of it. He, on the other hand, did not really have that option.

Hammond looked down at the desk and then leant back in his chair and stared at the ceiling. The source of his concern was currently sitting in a hanger, being fussed over by a group of SGC engineers and a young man who possessed an almost frightening amount of information.

Looking at it on the positive side, the Z-95 Headhunter looked like a pilot's dream. It was sleek, it looked deadly and the engines alone were deeply impressive. Add on the guns and many pilots would start to salivate. If its creator's manufacturing specs were to be believed then it was faster than any other fighter on the planet – and that included the Deathgliders and the F-302's – and was also far deadlier.

On the negative side in order to make more of them, let alone take it up into the atmosphere (or even orbit) and take it for a test flight, they had to first explain how they got the Z-95 in the first place. At first glance this was not too much of a problem. At second glance things were not quite as easy.

Creating a new fighter, of any kind, was no longer an easy process, as Hammond could attest having been briefly involved in the planning for the design of the F-22. The Air Force had developed the requirement for the fighter in 1981. The first F-22 was due to be delivered sometime in 2003. Granted, the plane should be a great fighter that nothing comparable could come close to, but it had still taken a long time to pass through the flames of development hell, as one superior officer had once put it.

Designing planes could not be done on the cheap and quick, not any more. The days when the Air Force could take in a captured Mitsubishi A6M Zero, analysis its strengths and weaknesses, and then make a number of changes to the Grumman Hellcat so that it could beat the pants off it inside six months were long since over.

Harris, however, had put the Z-95 together in a week. Ok, he'd been working from an existing airframe, but still, one week. If he told the Pentagon that, they'd laugh at him and then throw him in the funny farm so fast that his feet wouldn't hit the ground.

But the Pentagon had to be told, because based on the initial analysis that Major Carter had put together, along with the comments of Jack O'Neill and the evidence of his own eyes, then the Z-95 Headhunter was a lethal piece of hardware that ticked a lot of boxes. It looked capable, it looked fast, it looked deadly and it looked right. The last part was a subjective piece of assessment, as other fighters had looked right in the past but then turned out to be very wrong under the surface, but still… it just did look right.

Of course, testing it out was going to be… interesting. Harris wanted to try a dry run first with the repulsorlifts first. The repulsorlifts that had gotten Major Carter's nose royally out of joint, as if she hadn't been baffled by the other elements that the Z-95 had which did not exactly fit in with her knowledge of the laws of physics. He didn't really blame her. He was still having a hard time with this stuff.

As for the blaster cannons, well that was going to be tricky, as Harris had pointed out that you couldn't exactly take the things down to the nearest air force test firing range. For one thing they had a hell of a punch, according to the design specs, and Groom Lake was the nearest area with the kind of range that was required. Ordinary cannon had a maximum range of, at best, a few miles. These puppies packed a punch at 40 kilometers, according to Harris. Plus the noise they made in atmosphere, if you were standing next to them, would probably make your eardrums meet in the middle of your head.

Hammond sighed, picked up his pen and then started to write. This was going to be… tricky. But it had to be done. He wanted to get that craft in the air and watch as Harris put it through its paces. A vast amount depended on it. And besides, putting the forms in the outbox was one thing, but was a quick test out of the question before the outbox was taken away to the Pentagon? Perhaps not...

* * *

Buffy opened her eyes. The light seemed to be a bit flat, as if something was wrong with the sun. Oh and she was back in that damn courtyard again. She sighed. Slayer Dream. Oh, what fun. A vision filled with vague warnings and more metaphors than you could shake a stick at. If you could shake a stick at a metaphor. She sighed again and then stood up from the bench that she had been sitting on. She could see a statue at the other end of the courtyard, in from of a set of imposing doors that had been barred and chained and generally very securely locked. Frowning slightly, she walked towards it. All she could see was the back of the statue, but there was something still very familiar about it, although she couldn't put her finger on it. As she approached it a scrabbling noise drew her attention to the doors, as if something was scratching at them, and then knocking hesitantly on them.

"Hello?" she called out and then jumped slightly as something slammed into the doors with a massive thud of noise, as if whatever was on the other side had launched themselves straight at the barrier.

Puzzled, she looked around. The statue was of a short person, and even though it was made of stone there was a certain fuzziness about it, as if there was some other construction material there, overlaid on it, shifting a little as it settled into shape... and there was a greenish glow to it. It did look very familiar though, but Buffy couldn't put her finger on it at all. The glow seemed to be increasing, and fine lines were starting to appear in the face of the statue, with light bleeding through the fissures in increasing amounts.

"She has to be protected," said a voice to one side, and she looked around to see Angel standing off to one side. Or what looked like Angel. These things were never easy to work out. "She needs to be kept safe."

"Why?" she asked, bemused. "Who is she?" She paused. "And what is she?"

The pseudo-Angel smiled. "A good question. One that's more important than you think." He looked at the statue. "She is the key to many doors. Or none, if she is never used." He turned back to her again. "She must never be used though. Never. And she is here, now. Made form."

Whatever was outside the doors threw themselves at the wooden barrier again, and the doors shivered and creaked with the strain as their attacker snarled and shrieked with an incoherent fury.

"What's out there?" Buffy asked as she stared at the gateway.

"The beast," Angel said simply. "The enemy. Something not of this dimension. Something that needs to be stopped at all costs, or everything here will be destroyed, pulled down, lost, thrown into the maelstrom that exists between worlds."

The gates shuddered again, the creak of distressed wood sounding louder this time, as the beast threw its full weight against the doors.

"Our time is up," said Angel, as he threw a haunted look at the gateway and then looked intently at Buffy. "Someone is looking for you. You must find him. He has the information that you seek. Look for the last of the Monks of Dagon. And trust the Jedi. They have seen the shape of this, but they do not know the path yet. We did not, until now. The Jedi are new, and old, we did not see their return. There is hope again. The balance is shifting again."

Another blow to the doors, and this time the scream of distressed wood was agonizing. Buffy stole a glance back at the statue, where the lines had linked up and were bleeding green light, as the stone on the statue was starting to crumble and fall off. The real face of the statue was emerging, and something seemed very familiar about it, but she couldn't quite put her finger on it yet…

"You must go, now!" Angel shouted, as the doors were hit again and were blasted off their hinges, something was coming, she could see it out of the corner of her eye… and then she felt something tug at her and suddenly…

Buffy sat up abruptly in her bed and then sat there for a long moment, shaking and sweating. "Oh crap," she said after she had caught her breath, "I hate Slayer dreams."

There was a confused noise in the corridor outside and then the door slammed open and Dawn glared in. She was wearing her favourite pair of pyjamas, her hair looked as if she had been dragged through a hedge backwards and her eyes were both bleary and narrow. "Can you _please_ stop calling out in your sleep," she groused. "It's 4.30am! I need my own sleep, right? _Thank_ you!" And then she turned around shambled back to her room, leaving Buffy wondering what she hated more sometimes, Slayer dreams or her little sister.

* * *

Daniel paused as he reached General Hammond's door and then made himself reach out and knock on it firmly. "Come!" said the commanding officer of the SGC in a Texan twang that sounded weary, and Daniel cursed under his breath. It sounded as if Hammond already had a lot to deal with. And here he was, adding to the burden. He sighed and then steeled himself to walk into the office.

"Good morning Dr. Jackson," Hammond greeted him with a small smile. "What can I do for you today?"

Daniel raised the letter that he was holding in one hand and then paused, looking around at the door and the people who were bustling around in the conference room outside. "Uh, General, do you mind if I close the door?"

Hammond blinked, obviously looking surprised and then nodded. When the door was closed he leant on his desk and gestured at one of the chairs in front of it. "I take it that this is a personal conversation?"

Daniel smiled briefly as he sat down and then placed the letter on the general's desk. "General, I'd like to request a leave of absence from the SGC."

Hammond blinked again at this, and then reached across the desk to pick up the letter, frowning slightly. "Leave of absence?" he asked as he opened the envelope and took out the letter that had taken Daniel so long to write.

"Yes, General," muttered Daniel, feeling deeply uncomfortable.

Hammond, who could seemingly be almost telepathic about these things, put the letter down, leant back in his chair and then looked at him levelly. "Why don't you tell me what's up, son," he said.

Ah. Daniel had been dreading this bit. "Um… I had a conversation in Sunnydale with Xander Harris, after the mess with Adam. He… told me a few things. About myself. One specific thing actually, that I've been trying to research and find out more about." He paused a took a deep gulp of air into his lungs. "General… he said that I could be-"

"A Jedi?" asked Hammond, leaning forwards again.

This time it was Daniel's turn to blink. "Ummmm…. Yes? How did you…?"

Hammond laughed softly. "Son, ever since you came back from Sunnydale you've been in a world of your own. Not quite as bad as Major Carter, admittedly, but bad enough that people have noticed and commented. Then you threw yourself into a ton of research. I've seen the names of some of the books you've been requesting, Dr Jackson. Plus Dr Frasier has – again! – been very concerned about you."

Daniel leant back in the chair and closed his eyes for a long moment. When he opened them again he stared levelly at Hammond. "General, I have thought long and very hard about this. I can't even begin to explain how mad the whole thing sounded to me at first but then… then I thought about it. If I do this, then I might be away from the SGC for a while… while I train. Learn about something that… I can't even comprehend right now. But if I do this, then I can access something that could be a real asset to the SGC, to what we do to fight the Goa'uld and I…" He paused for a few seconds. "I want to do this, General. I feel that I can do this."

Hammond looked back at him levelly for a moment and then nodded as he picked up Daniel's letter again. "Good luck, Dr Jackson. Come back to us when you've learnt what you need to."

Daniel stood and then held his hand out, whereupon Hammond also stood and then grasped it. "Thank you, General."

* * *

As she knocked on the door to Giles's apartment Buffy frowned and then looked up and to one side. A hanging basket had been suspended from a brand new hook to one side of the door. It contained some flower saplings, or whatever they were called. They looked very… green. It was very un-Giles.

Then the door opened and Olivia peered out. "Oh, hi Buffy," she said brightly, before catching the Slayer's bemused look at the hanging basket. "Nice, isn't it? I finally persuaded Rupert to put it up. The outside looks so barren otherwise." She winked at Buffy. "The insidious woman's touch, right?"

Buffy couldn't help it; she burst out laughing. "Oh yeah," she grinned, "You go girl! Drag Giles into the land of the pastel shades and non-bachelor lifestyle." Then she sobered. "Is he in? I need a word."

Olivia rolled her eyes wryly. "Oh yes, he's in. He's busy staring at some files that someone emailed. Keeps tut-tutting over them. Come on in and distract him please. I'm marinating some lamb kebabs and if he doesn't get off his arse and grill them in half an hour there'll be hell to pay. He'll be hungry for a start."

Buffy smiled and walked in to the apartment, pausing for a moment to sniff longingly at the smell that was wafting in delicately from the kitchen. Olivia, she knew, was a hell of a cook.

Giles, she discovered, was sitting in his small study, staring at his computer monitor and frowning a great deal. Various books were piled around the desk and a table to one side was covered in papers that looked like printouts of a map or something. Giles himself had one arm folded beneath the elbow of the other and was tapping at his teeth with a thumbnail whilst he muttered under his breath.

"Hey Giles," Buffy greeted him, and her Watcher started slightly.

"Oh, ah, hello Buffy. How are you?"

"I'm fine. What's up with all the paper and research-type stuff?"

He looked around and smiled slightly. "Um, it is a little chaotic, isn't it? Nothing Hellmouth related you'll be glad to hear. No," he said, gesturing at the screen, "I'm looking at some research sent over by an old friend of mine, about an archaeological dig that he's been on for the past few months. Place in Wales that I've always been fascinated by. With good reason too, because the initial results are in and, um, well, they don't make much sense, to be brutally frank."

"Oh," asked Buffy as she found a space on a table by the door and sat down on it, tucking her legs up under her thighs so that she could be comfortable. "Why don't they make much sense?"

Sitting back in his chair, Giles pulled his glasses off and then gave them a good polish. "The place is called Caer Seren, Buffy. It's in North Wales, near an ancient Roman settlement called Segontium, close to Yr Wyddfa. It was a place of pilgrimage in the Roman Occupation of Britain, and in the Medieval period. There seems to have been something special about it, but no-one knows why." He paused and then stroked his chin reflectively. "Or rather no-one English knows why. The locals are rather close-mouthed about the site." He smiled slightly. "It's a beautiful place, Buffy. There's this hill where you can see the sun come up in the morning, with a standing stone on top marked with some carvings that are now virtually illegible, worse luck."

Buffy looked at her Watcher as his eyes softened from whatever he was remembering about the place. After a moment she cleared her throat loudly to get the conversation going again. "Hello, Giles, oddness?"

"What?" he asked with a start and then he shook himself and looked back at the screen. "Oh, yes. Well, the preliminary results are in from the initial digs plus from Geophys and-"

"What's a geophizz?"

"Sorry, Geophysics. Ground-penetrating radar, to see what's buried under the ground. Anyway, there is a settlement there, but it's odd. It seems to have started off as a large early bronze-age town, before shrinking to the village, which is what the place is now."

Buffy wrinkled her brow. "What's odd about that?"

He sighed. "Buffy, settlements from that era don't just appear out of nowhere. They tend to start small, grow and then sometimes shrink. Rome probably started off as seven or so small settlements on the Seven Hills and then eventually became a town and then a city. These things take time. Caer Seren on the other hand seems to have started large without any warning. And that's odd for that time period." He shrugged. "It might be that there's something they haven't discovered yet about the site. They're extending the Geophys survey to the hill I mentioned, plus they're bringing in more sophisticated devices, like a magnetic anomaly detector. Should be interesting." He looked up from the screen and then smiled apologetically. "I'm sorry for going off at such a tangent, Buffy. How can I help you?"

"Slayer Dream," she replied, before rethinking and then clarified: "_Odd_ Slayer Dream."

This got his full attention instantly. "Odd in what way?"

She paused. "Well," she said tentatively, "Bits of it made sense. And other bits were clear as mud, so same old story there. Why do they have to be so weird? I mean, isn't life weird enough as it is sometimes, without added weirdness on top of things?"

"Buffy," Giles broke in hurriedly, "Can you describe the dream?"

"Ok… big courtyard. Doors at the end, right? And a statue facing the doors. Doors were barred by the way. Statue was greenish, I think. Glowing or something as well. And…" she clenched her fist, "Giles whatever – whoever that statue was, it was really, really familiar. It was like I felt that I should know who it was. Closer I got to it, the more I felt it. Oh and then there was something at the gates. It kept growling and smashing at them, like it was trying to get in. Get the statue I think. Whatever it was, it was evil, Giles. The beast, Angel called it."

"Angel was in your dream?"

She rolled her eyes. "He tends to stand there and give advice a lot. It's not him, it's just the Slayer Dream speaking through him, or the Powers That Be, or the Easter Bunny, or whatever. He said that the statue had to be protected. He was very insistent on that, I guess because whatever was outside started whaling on the doors, big time.

"Um. Angel said that the statue was key, or the key, and that she must never be used, or something like that. Oh, and then he said that we had to look for the last of the Monks of Daggit – no, Dagon – as they'd explain things and that the Jedi knew the shape of… something but that they didn't know what the path was, whatever that means. Then the doors were almost knocked off their hinges and something was snarling again, and then I woke up." She frowned. "Woke up hungry. Why do these dreams make me feel so hungry? And apparently I talk in my sleep when I'm having them, according to my obnoxious little sister." She shrugged and then looked at him. "Anything mean anything to you?"

There was a long moment of silence as Giles frowned and scratched the back of his neck in thought. "The last monk of Dagon, you said?"

"Yeah. I think. No, that's what he said."

"Interesting," he muttered. "I need to look that up, as it rings a bell. We also need to call in Oz and Lindsey and ask them what they know." He rubbed the end of his chin with a long finger thoughtfully and then grimaced slightly. "I wish that Xander wasn't still away at this dratted SGC place. I agree that he needs to find out more about what they're doing, but I still don't trust the US Government as much as I used to. We have no idea about the internal politics of the setup there, and that worries me."

"He sounded fine the last time we talked," Buffy replied. "He didn't use any of the code words that we arranged to mean 'get me the heck out of here' so I presume he's ok. He sounded tired, but he said that he was working on something."

Giles smiled in an intrigued kind of way. "I wonder what he could have been working on in a secret US base? Well, based on what we can guess is in his memories, the mind boggles. Hopefully nothing too worrying."

Buffy smiled and then nodded. "I'll call Oz and Lindsey. Giles, I got the feeling from that dream that… we need to look into this now, urgently."

Her Watcher looked at her gravely for a moment and then stood and laid a hand on her shoulder. "I agree, Buffy. If your instincts are that strong on this, then that is a very good sign that we need to act now."

* * *

The helmet was a nice touch, Xander thought as he stood next to the Headhunter. Siler had handed it to him earlier on. It was the standard helmet that the F-302 pilots were wearing, with the latest in polarising glass for the eye shield that dropped down, but the ground crew had added a few refinements. For one they had painted it white. For another they had painted a small symbol on both sides of it, roughly between where the ears and the temples were. It was something that he had recognised instantly – the symbol of the Alliance To Restore The Republic. It had been a little ahead of Obi-Wan's time, but only just – one of the last Obi-Wan memories he had was of seeing the symbol in a message from Bail Organa.

Smiling, he walked to the Headhunter, where General Hammond was waiting, along with a nervous looking Air Force sergeant with a clipboard and sheaf of papers. "General," he called out as he approached, "Am I cleared for this test flight?"

Hammond quirked his lips for a moment and then broke into a smile. "I had to do some fast talking here and there – and there's bound to be a message in my inbox from some incredulous person in the Pentagon who is convinced that I'm mad or something – but yes, Mr Harris, you're clear to take your creation out for a test flight." He looked over the Headhunter appreciatively. "She looks ready. And she looks good. According to Sergeant Siler you're good to go." He paused and then held out his hand. "Good luck, son."

Xander shook hands with the older man and then smiled himself. "Thank you General. I hope you like what she can do."

Turning away he climbed up the ladder and into the cockpit, where he looked around with a sigh. It looked like a cross between a US Air Force plane and a real Headhunter as far as the control panels were concerned. Ok. He pulled on his helmet, connected it to the radio and Heads Up Display and then strapped the safety harness on. If the Headhunter had any kind of structural failure then he was a very dead man, but the harness was still necessary.

Then he reached out and flipped the switch for the power plant, which came on with a whine and a tiny shudder. He waited until the lights on the indicator board went from red to amber to green, triggering the cockpit canopy to descend and lock as he did, and then he took a small breath (not a deep one) and activated the repulsorlifts.

A deep whine filled the air, rising in pitch at the right speed as the Headhunter lifted from the ground, and he grasped the joystick carefully in one hand and the throttle in the other. Pausing for a moment he waggled the joystick slightly from right to left, feeling how it responded to his touch, and then he nodded again. Exactly how he had designed her to feel, which was always good to know. And then he looked at the open doors of the hanger and the bright blue sky that lay outside, and a massive smile lit up his face for a moment.

* * *

Hammond watched Harris settle himself into the cockpit and then backed away with Walter to a safe distance. The Jedi – and he had finally gotten used to calling the young man that – looked at home in the fighter. He had seen him conduct a walk-around of the Headhunter before the flight, something that all pilots did, at least all good pilots who took an interest in their craft and who wanted not to let some small overlooked detail lead to a horrible and probably messy death. Everyone had been cleared away from the area, as Hammond wanted the Headhunter up and out on its test flight as fast as possible, even if it did break a few regulations to do so.

The canopy came down with a hiss and then a loud whine filled the air as the Headhunter lifted up into the air, hanging there in a faintly unsettling manner for someone like Hammond who was used to more conventional forms of flight, before tilting, first to one side and then the other, obviously as Harris tested the controls.

Harris was looking at the open doors and then this huge grin came and went on his face, before he looked over at Hammond and raised a gloved hand to his visor in salute. Hammond nodded in response – and then the whine increased as the Headhunter swooped towards the doors, slowly at first but then picking up speed. Once it left the hangers it speeded up again as it shot down the runway, the engines engaging with a roar – and then it soared upwards, like the great sleek bird of pretty that it was, hurtling into the air with a grace and ease that took Hammond's breath away. He smiled quietly. "Walter, I think that Colonel O'Neill isn't going to know what hit him," he mused.

"Yes, sir," Walter replied. "Isn't that going to annoy him?"

"Oh I think that he'll adjust." He paused. "Eventually." And then he strode off to the doors, where the HMV was waiting to take him to the control tower, where a fascinated group of SGC personnel – including a probably quite gleeful Major Ferretti from SG-2 – were waiting to check on the telemetry.

* * *

"Headhunter One," drawled the voice on the radio, "This is Base One. You are clear to go for atmospheric trials. Conditions are largely clear, two tenths cloud base at 20,000 feet, winds from the west, comparatively light at 12 knots. Beacon One is launching in 30, repeat 30, minutes."

Whoever was behind the voice they sounded interested in what his radar screen was telling him, thought Xander as he ran his eyes over the control panel carefully. So far all the indicators were green. That was a good thing. He hadn't been that worried about the reliability of the design – hell, Headhunters had been around from before the Clone Wars to well after the Battle of Endor – but building one from scratch on a planet that still had trouble with irrigation in places was admittedly a bit of a stretch. So far the ship had met all of his expectations however and might even have surpassed them here and there. She handled like a dream for a start.

Xander looked down at the checklist that was strapped to his knee and then narrowed his eyes. Right, he had a great deal of checking out to do, and a lot of manoeuvres to try and pull off. This thing had to be tested and then tested again.

After which… it was time to have some fun.

* * *

"You got anything Giles?" asked Buffy as she ambled into her Watcher's office in the College library.

Looking up from the books that were strewn across his desk, her Watcher sent a wan smile in her direction. "I think so, Buffy. However, what I do have, well, somewhat worrying."

She walked over and peered at the nearest tome, if that was the right word for it. It was large and looked as if it was heavy enough to break something if you dropped it on your foot. It was open to a page where there was a picture of a monk and a… knight? Both were kneeling in front of a table that might have been a shrine or something. There was a box on the table. "So what's that?"

Giles scratched the right side of his slightly greying temple and then flicked a finger at it. "I'm not altogether sure. Your vision mentioned the Monks of Dagon, and I can't find anything about them. However, I have uncovered some information about an Order of Dagon, which was made up of monks. From the most informative of the references that I've discovered, the Monks of Dagon were tasked with guarding something very precious. Unfortunately it seems to have been so important and precious that any reference to what it was has been, um, well, censored for want of a better word."

Turning to one side he gestured at a map of Europe. "They have been based in a number of different countries, but seem to have settled in the Czech Republic some centuries ago, when it was merely Bohemia in the Holy Roman Empire. And before you ask, Buffy, the name is something of a misnomer, as it was neither holy, nor Roman nor even much of an Empire. They were left there in peace, being under a number of protections, ranging from the Papacy, to the various Governments who were ruling the country at the time. Even the Nazis left them alone, which makes me wonder what kind of power or perhaps information, they had over creatures as vile as the ones that were running around in Berlin at the time. The Communists also left them alone, as a result of a direct and very unequivocal order from Josef Stalin himself, who by a strange co-incidence was once a trainee priest."

Then his face lost that whimsical smile that had crept onto it and became drained of all emotion. "And apparently they're all dead at the moment. The Czech Police issued an alert two weeks ago after it was discovered that someone, or perhaps something, had broken into the building that they have been in since 1732 and then killed them all. Brutally killed them all, I might add. And that worries me a great deal. Whatever killed them did a very good job, apparently, of also ransacking the place, which makes me think that they were looking for something that perhaps they didn't find. Actually no – according to your vision they _definitely_ didn't find it. You have to make sure that this beast doesn't get its hands on it."

"Ok," said Buffy slowly, "So that means that it's somewhere here in Sunnydale, right? So… that gives us an advantage."

Giles still looked troubled however. "Well, perhaps not," he said as he gestured at the illustration again. "The chap in armour worries me. According to the sources there are a few vague references to an organisation dedicated to helping the Order of Dagon guard this mysterious something. The name 'Knights of Byzantium' has been mentioned, but that's it as far as concrete information is concerned."

"That's it?" Buffy asked, looking puzzled.

"Buffy, if you want to keep something a secret, you have to make sure that no-one suspects that there is a secret to protect in the first place," Giles pointed out. "Whatever it is that these people are – were – protecting, it must be something very important." He paused. "I've got Wesley looking for any references to this thing that we're looking for. "You. You mentioned that 'Angel' said that it was a key that must never be used. That rang a distant bell with me, and Wesley, but neither of us could remember what it was about.

"I'm afraid," he muttered with a grimace, "That it might mean a call to the Watcher's Council."

"What's wrong with that?" asked Buffy, confused.

"Buffy, I suspect that I'm not the flavour of the month at the Council at the moment. I think that they regard me as having gone native."

"Gone what?"

"Gone native. Oh, I don't think that you'd get the reference. I don't think that you've ever heard of Sir Humphrey Appleby. I'm too obviously a part of the reformist faction of the Council. I'll put in a call to Quentin Travers, anyway. We need more information, anyway." He looked up to one side. "Ah! And here come Oz and Lindsey. I called them earlier on."

Buffy looked around just in time to see Oz and Lindsey indeed walk in. Lindsey was continuing on that trend of looking relaxed and Oz – was frowning and putting his cell phone in his pocket? The younger of the two Jedi (and at the same time the more experienced – Buffy wondered why life couldn't be more simple sometimes) caught her look and then raised a laconic eyebrow. "Willow. She's coming over. Says there's a problem."

"Ah," said Giles. "I do trust it's nothing too bad, as we have a small situation here. Buffy had a Slayer Dream last night."

"Ah," said Oz, expressing a huge amount of concern in a very small sound.

"I've read about those," broke in Lindsey, who now had a furrowed brow. "How bad was it?"

"Oh, just a standard freaky Slayer Dream. Lots of things to decipher. Growly thing outside a pair of big gates. Guy inside who looked like Angel, but was something from the Powers That Be, warning about protecting something that was very important, something made form, whatever that means. It was this… statue. Glowing green statue. Kinda fuzzy-looking. Looked very familiar, no idea why though."

Oz and Lindsey shot each other an incredulous look and she felt her lips thin, as she glared at them. "Angel said that I had to find the last of the Monks of Dagon, who seem to be all horribly murdered, and that the Jedi knew something about the shape of things, but not everything, not the path ahead. Ok, guys, spill. What's the sitch?"

"Let's get this straight," replied Lindsey slowly, "You were warned about something 'growly' threatening, and something that you had to protect?"

Buffy grabbed hold of her temper and brought it to heel. "Yes," she said with a growl of her own. "Now. What do you know?"

The two Jedi looked at each other again, before Oz sighed. "We were hoping that Xander would get home before we said anything. Buffy – we have not at _any_ time felt a threat. If we had, then you have been the first person to know about it. As we didn't, then instead we've just been trying to piece things together." He exchanged another look with Lindsey, who raised both eyebrows and then raised a hand in resignation.

"Buffy," said Lindsey heavily, "About a month or so ago we three – Xander, Oz and myself – were all meditating or practising using the Force. And then something happened to us, all at the same time. We all felt memories being inserted into our heads. But we could tell the difference between the old ones and the new ones – we could see where the seams were, so to speak, in our memories."

"Excuse me?" broke in Giles with a look of utter astonishment, "You felt memories being inserted into your minds? Memories of what? That would take a phenomenal amount of magical power!"

Lindsey pulled a face. "We know, because it wasn't just our memories – it was yours too. Plus the official electronic and official memories, if you know what I mean. Official records."

"Memories of _what?_" Buffy asked with some exasperation. Then she paused. "Hold on. Official records?"

Oz looked at her, his mouth twisting into a slight grimace. Then he seemed to take the plunge. "Birth certificates. School reports. Medical histories."

She felt as if someone had grabbed her intestines and then yanked down, hard. "Guys you're scaring me. What's this about? Whose records?"

"Dawn's," replied Lindsey. "Dawn's birth certificate, and social security number, and school records and… everything about her."

"I… don't understand. Someone's been messing with Dawn's records? Why would they do that?" she asked, puzzled.

"No, Buffy," said Oz gently, "Not messing with them – creating them. And every memory we all have of Dawn before last month. Everything before then."

She stared at him. "What?" she said after a long moment.

"Dawn isn't your sister, Buffy. We don't know who or what she is, but someone has gone to a lot of trouble to insert her into our lives. Or, based on your dream, it might be better to say _your_ life. And it sounds as if you have to protect her."

Again with the staring. "Sorry, are we still talking about Dawn here? My sister? My little, annoying a lot of the time, whiney at other times, sister? The sister that I remember being brought home from the hospital, in my mother's arms, although I was kinda pissed with my parents as I wanted a puppy? That Dawn?"

"Yes," both the Jedi said at the same time.

"Guys, are you on something, because that's not a very funny joke."

"We're not joking, Buffy," Oz said in a tone of voice that made her feel as if the hand clutching her innards had yanked them straight down through the floor.

"You're saying," said Giles slowly, "That Dawn Summers was created or inserted into this world with magic?"

Lindsey and Oz both nodded.

"And you're telling us this now?"

"Buffy, do you remember the morning that Xander, Lindsey and I all turned up outside your house, about a month and a bit ago? Your mother was making pancakes, and you thought that was why we were there."

Buffy frowned. "I remember that. You all looked- " She gasped. "You all looked a bit freaked!"

"That was the morning after the memories arrived," said Lindsey solemnly. "We went straight to your house to check things out. We didn't tell you because, well, it sounded freaking nuts. And we did not detect a threat from Dawn. As far as we can tell, from the Force, she is not a threat. She's human. She's innocent. She's not a threat at all, and believe me, we have been watching her very closely from that day on."

Buffy glared at them, her mind whirling with a thunderstorm of emotions. "Then... then why didn't you say something?"

"Buffy," said Oz in an infuriatingly calm voice, "If we had, before we knew anything, what would your reaction have been? What would you have done? Confronted her? About what? She gives off the image of an innocent teenage girl, of your little sister – and as far as we can sense, that's what she is, or rather that's what she thinks she is. What were we supposed to do, Buffy? Land this on you right from the start, before we knew anything at all about her? Confront her ourselves? What would your reaction have been if we turned up, smashed the door down and then penned Dawn into a corner, waving our lightsabres under her nose and demanding answers?"

Reluctantly Buffy thought about this. The image she got was not a nice one. "You still should have said something!" she demanded.

The two Jedi sighed almost simultaneously and exchanged another troubled look. "Believe me, Buffy," Lindsey answered, "We almost did. Xander thought that we needed more information first. If we had just turned up and told you, he was afraid that you'd react badly."

"I understand your thinking and I agree," sighed Giles. "There are no easy answers for this matter, and I'd like to thank you for telling us. Buffy, stop glaring at them. They did what they thought was right."

"Maybe," grumbled Buffy, who was still wincing at the thought of lightsabres being waved under Dawn's nose, "But what is she then? Where did she come from? I mean... I remember her first broken toe after she fell over in First Grade in the middle of chasing after James Condon! And... how sick she got when she got hold of Mom's cookie dough leftovers and ate it all. Was that all a lie? Did none of that happen?"

Both Jedi looked troubled. "Buffy," said Oz hesitantly, "Someone or something seemed to have inserted her into your family to be both loved and protected. You've done both, which seems to point to no evil motive being behind her. She may be your pesky little sister – but she's also your much-loved little sister. And if there is one thing that we can pick up above everything else when we're near Dawn, is how much she loves your mother and you. Hold to that if nothing else." He fell silent, as if drained by how much he had said so far.

There was a noise to one side as Giles cleared his throat. "Yes, well, that is a very valid point Oz. In the meantime we need to get more information and then try to find out if one of the Monks from the Order of Dagon has indeed survived, so that we can have a very long conversation with him. The magnitude of what seems to have been done... memories of this magnitude... well, that astonishes me. Alarms me too – what on earth can be that important? And-"

Whatever Giles was about to add was interrupted by the sudden arrival of Willow, who looked as if she was about to go out of her mind with worry. "Guys," she wailed, "Xander's up there!" Her hand shot upwards at the ceiling.

"He's on the roof?" Buffy asked, with a frown. "Where did he come from and what's he doing up there?"

"No!" Willow said, "He's up there, up there! Waaay up there! On the edge of space up there!"

"Space?" Buffy said, feeling the need to go to the window and then gape upwards. She felt as if far too much was going on right now and her brain wanted to have a bit of a rest. "Wills, what??"

Willow visibly got a grip and then pointed at the ceiling again. "Xander is about 500 miles away, but at the same time he's not on the surface of the Earth. He's in space."

"How on earth can you tell?" asked Giles as he stood and frowned at her.

It was at this point that a warning bell sounded in Buffy's mind, because Willow stopped looking panicky and started looking shifty. "Well, um, I was worried about him being in an official US Air Force base, with those, um, possibly skanky people – not Jack and the others, but some, um, bad people, um, so, I, um... placed a locator spell on Xander."

There was a moment of silence and then Oz stood. "You did what?" he asked in what was possibly a deceptively quiet voice.

"I was worried about him – and especially after the spell told me that he was an incredibly long way away four days ago, which might have been a mistake, although I was having a nap at the time, and then when I woke up after I was a bit busy and I'm not going to finish that bit and... um, Oz, why are you glaring at me?"

Oz wasn't glaring at Willow, or at least he wasn't by Buffy's standards. Willow did know Oz better however, so it might well have been a glare, by his standards anyway. "Willow," he said after a long moment, "Xander is not going to be pleased that you did this."

"But I was worried about him!" she protested.

"He's a Jedi Master," Giles pointed out, wearily passing a hand over his eyes, "And as such has access to abilities that still astonish me. I know that you're worried about him, Willow and to be frank I have been too – but a tracking spell on anyone, without their permission, is an astonishingly unwise thing to do."

Willow looked as if she was blowing an internal fuse at this. "I thought it was the right thing to do! And – Guys! Xander! Up in the sky! Problem!"

"Willow, he's with the US Air Force, who are talking to him about a possible threat to this planet that, unless I miss my guess, is possibly of an extraterrestrial origin, based on the oddness of the two people that Colonel O'Neill had with him, as well as the comments that Xander said had been divulged by the evil Sith version of him who fell through from an alternate universe. Space travel, or at least being in orbit, is a logical step from there."

"Oh," said Willow, as she visibly deflated. "Oops?"

"Oops, indeed," replied Giles. "As soon as he comes back to Earth please cancel the spell. Then you can all start on the search for the last Monk of Dagon."

"The what of what?"

"I'll fill you in, Wills," smiled Buffy. "Oh and Giles, I think we need some help for this search.

* * *

The F-302 banked slightly to the right and then straightened up as Jack craned his head around to check their six. He was starting to get that scratchy feeling at the back his head that generally signalled that someone was trying to sneak up behind him. He didn't like the sensation: it was like having an itch that he couldn't scratch.

"You got anything Carter?"

"Nothing here sir," Carter replied from behind him as she finished her perusal of the sky.

"Crap, I don't like this. He's out there somewhere. I thought Jedi were supposed to be noble, not sneaky." He banked again, harder this time, as he did his best to both check the horizon and do his best not to fly straight and dumb. He looked at the sun for a moment and then grimaced. Even with the latest in polarizing filters on his helmet, it was hard to look that way for long – not without burning out your eyes.

At least the ground crew had finally straightened out that last remaining bug with the joystick. It had been a little jerky the last time that he'd flown the plane. Not so that anyone watching could have been able to tell, but he had known by the way that it felt.

"I've still got nothing sir," Carter grumbled. "You think that he's coming at us from the sun?"

"It would make sense, Carter. We need to get some height back anyway. I know that we're supposed to stay below 30,000 feet, but I'm getting antsy. If I were him I'd have jumped us by now."

"Actually Jack I jumped you five minutes ago, you just didn't notice," a voice broke in on the radio.

"Oh, right, Harris, we just didn't see you? Ha!" said Jack as he looked all around again and then made another radical course correction. "Nice try at the mind games."

"No games, Jack," Harris replied. "Look over your right shoulder."

With a growing sense of dread Jack did, just in time to see the starboard wing of the Headhunter creep into view for a moment or two and then creep back. "You guys need to do something about the huge blind spot you have back here."

Jack bit back a savage curse and then frowned. "How close are you to us?"

"It's about 30 feet from my canopy to your wings. Tight fit, so I'm backing off. You've got to stop flying like that Jack, I could almost sense which way you were going even without the Force."

Oh crap, Jack mouthed. Five minutes? No way! "Carter, how'd he get back there?"

"Don't blame me, sir," she complained, "I didn't see him coming."

"You weren't supposed to," Harris said with what sounded awfully like a smirk. "The acceleration on this thing is up to specifications. So are the brakes. So to speak."

Jack's reaction was a simple one – he pulled the joystick straight back as he cranked the throttle up and then spiralled the aircraft away in a corkscrew manoeuvre that he had always liked, even if it did tend to result in distress signals being sent by the inner ear to the brain. From the gulping noise that Carter was making behind him she was having her own internal issues to deal with. That said, it tended to work when it came to throwing someone off your ass.

Today it was a big fat failure, because there was a sudden noise to one side and then Harris flew straight past them, going like a bat out of hell, having obviously stayed on said ass. Then he accelerated even more before standing the Headhunter on its tail and going straight up. Fast.

"You know Carter," he mumbled, "For the first time in my life I'm having some sympathy for the krauts who flew the Me.110. They thought it was the bees knees – right up until the moment they met their first Spitfire and had their planes blown out from under 'em."

"Sir, is he cleared to go that high?" Carter asked anxiously as she watched the soaring dot.

"Major, right now I think he's cleared to do what he likes with it. He's putting it through its paces and the first thing that I want to say is – I want one of those!" He shook his head and toggled the radio. "Ok Xander, nice show. Let's see how you do against Bra'tac and the Deathglider."

"Oh goody," came the reply. "Base One, this is Headhunter One. Beacon One has given me the all-clear and I am ascending to meet Jaffa One."

"Headhunter One, this is Base One. We copy your last and confirm rendez-vous with Jaffa One. Please inform Beacon One that he owes me a case of Samuel Adams. Good hunting, Headhunter One. Base One, out."

Jack repressed the urge to say a bad word. Then he turned the radio off for a moment and went ahead and said it anyway.

* * *

The view was simply incredible. Above him the sky was a dark blue, shading rapidly to black, and Xander could see the moon ahead, glowing like a great scarred face hanging in space. As much as it might have been rather fun to take the Headhunter for a quick spin around it, he resisted temptation and instead looked down at his instruments. He was, technically speaking, the first member of the Harris family to achieve orbit. Not that he could tell his family about that little milestone.

After a moment he put the Headhunter's nose down, so that the planetary horizon could just been seen over the nose of the craft and then flipped her around so that he was looking down at the surface of the planet. He could clearly see the coast of California down there and he gave Sunnydale a little wave, before narrowing his eyes for a moment. Perhaps there was some way of monitoring the activity of the Hellmouth from orbit? The question was, how?

He filed it away in one corner of his mind, flipped the Headhunter the right way around and then pointed her towards a higher orbit. He had no doubt that Bra'tac would be a lot sneakier than Jack, and he did not want to give away even a tiny piece of advantage, because the old Jaffa would be doing his damnedest to beat him.


	31. Possibilities

This chapter isn't quite as long as I'd hoped, as I've been working a lot this month and I'm off to Oregon with Kathleen in a few days for two glorious weeks. Yay! Enjoy!

* * *

It was long – about 30 meters or so. It was cylindrical. It also looked as if it had been in orbit for a long time. The original white paintwork, with red letters saying CCCP along each side had been fading for years, eroded by a combination of heat and cold, all in the vacuum of space. The micro-impacts from tiny pieces of spatial debris hadn't helped much either. Larger hits had certainly done some nasty damage to one solar panel, while the other looked as if it was being held together by the cosmic equivalent of a wing and a prayer. Occasionally a few lights blinked on and off deep inside it, as the main computer tried to work out what had gone wrong, diagnosed the computer equivalent of a lobotomy, and then recycled its diagnostic for the hundredth billion time.

Right now though it had a new accessory. On the side away from the sun – and the earthlight and the moonlight – a shape was hanging next to it. It looked like a drooping wing and it contained two people.

* * *

Teal'c looked out of the canopy and then down at his controls. The Goa'uld equivalent of 'stealth' was rather different at times from what the Taur'i had in mind. Then again, this was not a Tel'tak. He could not detect anything out there – at the moment. And he had been looking for at least an hour. The question was, how long were they prepared to wait? He knew what Master Bra'tac would say – as long as it took.

Which led to another question – how long did they have? He was prepared to 'bet' – as O'Neill would say – that Jedi Harris was looking very hard for them. Probably as hard as they were looking for him.

He shifted very slightly in his seat. It wasn't much – just a tiny movement, but it was enough for Bra'tac to look back at him with an ironic look. "Do you bore so easily now that you live with the Tauri? What did I tell you about patience when I was training you?"

"That patience can wear down the highest mountain. That patience can bring down the biggest predator. And then patience can even weaken the most powerful false god."

"Then exercise a little of it now. He is out there somewhere. He cannot see us and we cannot see him. We must be patient. Sooner or later he must move – and then we will see him."

"Indeed," replied Teal'c and then bent back over the instruments.

Ten minutes went by, very slowly – not that time meant much to two Jaffa who were deploying large amounts of patience. Then Teal'c stiffened slightly. "Something is indeed moving out there. I am detecting a slow-moving object a kilometre away, in the first sector of the second quadrant. Wait. It is slowing to a halt."

"Then it is under power," mused Bra'tac. "Do you detect any life signs?"

"No," replied Teal'c. "But then it is at the maximum range for sensors at their current power levels. We are barely running at sufficient power for both sensors and life support."

Bra'tac stared in the direction of the object that Teal'c had detected. "Is it still moving?" he asked after a long moment.

"It is not," replied Teal'c.

Another ten minutes passed as Teal'c gazed intently down at his instruments. Bra'tac was leaning back in his seat, his eyes closed and his hands on the controls. He looked asleep. He wasn't really, Teal'c knew.

Something blinked on the screen in front of him again and he stared at it. "The object is moving again. It is heading upwards at a 45-degree angle from its previous heading."

"How fast is it moving?" asked Bra'tac, his eyes still closed.

"At a metre a second. Wait – it just accelerated for a moment. Five metres a second. Aspect change – it just turned to a new bearing. And it is slowing again."

Bra'tac waited a long moment and then his eyes snapped open and he hit the power-up sequence on the controls rapidly. "Engaging," he said crisply as the Deathglider rotated on its axis and then darted away from the old satellite as the engines spun up to full speed with a roar that was felt rather than heard in the vacuum of space.

They looped up and around, accelerating as they went, the sensors now at full power as they bore down on the target, which was still heading away from them.

Teal'c frowned. The target was still moving slowly – surely Jedi Harris should have detected them by now? He stared at the display and then stiffened. "No life signs detected!" he barked. More information scrolled across the screen and he looked about wildly. "Target is metallic debris."

Bra'tac pulled a face and then pulled the Deathglider up and away from the target, which suddenly started to slow and tumble slightly. He looked about hard – and then made a radical course correction as a new symbol appeared on his own display. Something else was moving now – and moving far, far faster and with more purpose than their former target. And it was closing in on them. Bra'tac narrowed his eyes and then sent the Deathglider spiralling away, before snapping back down and around in an attempt to get a clean shot at their pursuer – who had vanished again.

* * *

Xander grinned as he gunned the Headhunter around and then reacquired his target. It had been a long chase and a tricky one – finding the Deathglider had been very hard and he had only increased the amount of respect he felt for the old Jaffa flying it. The phrase 'cagy old fox' didn't even come close to describing the man. Sack of foxes would be closer to just how crafty he was. The fact that Teal'c had been trained by him as well just added to the equation. It explained a lot about the younger Jaffa.

He frowned slightly as the Deathglider slid away and upwards like a greased snake. They were good. In fact they were very good. Finding them in the first place had been hard enough – he'd been forced to lie doggo and wait, before finally settling on using a large piece of orbital debris that seemed to have fallen off a satellite or something to flush them out. Using the Force to propel something that large through the vacuum of space had been a challenge. It had been an interesting challenge though. And well worth it – Bra'tac had fallen for it. Eventually.

Snapping the Headhunter to one side he concentrated. This was going to be hard. Getting a lock was going to be bad enough. Getting a confirmed 'kill' was going to be a little harder. It wasn't that the Deathglider was faster, because it wasn't. It was just the fact that the Jaffa who was flying it knew exactly what it could do and how manoeuvrable it was, and also had a bag of tricks up his sleeve that came from the Force only knew how many battles.

It was going to be a challenge, he thought with a grin. Well, hell. The Force was with him. He opened the Headhunter up to maximum combat acceleration and then prepared to show his opponent exactly what this thing was capable of doing.

* * *

Bra'tac snapped the Deathglider around again in yet another radical turn and then drove it out and up again as he looked around again. According to his instruments the Headhunter was off to one side and if he manoeuvred around fast enough then he might just be able to get off a snapshot using the main guns, which had been dialled down to a setting low enough to do nothing more than leave a small scorch mark on an opposing hull.

Of course that involved getting off a shot in the first place, because the Headhunter was coming in at an angle and speed that was reducing his options very fast and – suddenly the Headhunter darted forwards at an even faster speed and then the cannon on the wings flashed once – and only once. The weak and almost insultingly attenuated plasma bolt splashed against the underside of the Deathglider and lit up a string of sensor readings.

Bra'tac muttered something under his breath that Teal'c was sure that young Jaffa were definitely not that familiar with as the Deathglider powered down as it 'died' as a part of the exercise. A moment later they both looked up as the Headhunter slowed to a halt above them and the Jedi looked down at them.

"Very sneaky, Bra'tac," Jedi Harris said over the intercom. "Hiding like that and then getting ready to pounce on me. Cunning."

The old Jaffa barked out a rueful laugh. "Your approach was somewhat faster than I thought your craft was capable of. It made me wonder if you had been... altogether forthcoming about what it was really capable of."

Harris shrugged. "I was hoping it could do a few things. Had to make sure it was flyable first. Good fight. Good flight, come to that."

Bra'tac laughed again, before sobering. "Not quite good enough. The Tauri must adopt your craft, Jedi Harris. The Goa'uld – they will not be able to counter it." He smiled. "I would give much for the chance to see the faces of the System Lords when they first get the news of what your craft can do. Their expressions should be... interesting."

"Let's hope," replied the Jedi. "Let's head back to the SGC. I think that General Hammond might be interested in our results."

The two craft tilted on their longitudinal axis away from each other and then accelerated away from the scene of the mock battle.

* * *

Dawn Summers – or the thing that called herself (or should that be itself? She wasn't sure about this whole thing) Dawn Summers was busy shovelling a load of pancakes into her mouth, well-lubricated with maple syrup. She was also talking at several hundred miles an hour about some jerk called Brad who had scratched the paintwork on her bike when he had parked it next to her. Occasionally a bit of pancake threatened to make it into orbit.

Buffy took a bite of her own pancakes and then tried her best to throttle down her paranoia. Giles had told her to keep an eye on her 'sister' while they did some research. They needed to find out what the Monks of Dagon had to do with the whole thing, and Giles was busy putting in a lot of phone calls to some very hard to reach people. He was even emailing a few people. The look on Willow's face when she'd heard that piece of news had been priceless. Buffy still wasn't sure why, but she had a feeling that Willow still had an image of Giles in the old days, before he had been going out with Jenny Calendar and when he referred to computers with a wince and the odd glare.

She'd also been looking for a monk. So far she hadn't seen a man in a dress, apart from Mr Gregson from down the end of the street, whose cheese was slipping off his cracker yet again. This time last year he'd been collecting and arranging matches and talking to someone invisible called Sebastian. When he wasn't talking in a New York accent that is.

So, all in all it was another freaky week in Sunnydale. Yay.

She took another mouthful of pancake and then wished that Xander could get his ass back to Sunnydale. She had a lot of questions to ask him. Well, he was due back in the next day or so, although apparently he'd called Lindsey and had a long conversation with him about some legal thing to do with patents. It sounded like he had been doing important inventing things for Uncle Sam.

She suppressed another sigh and then looked at Dawn as her sister shovelled more pancakes into her mouth and then veered off topic to ask why Mom had gone to the Doctor again today.

"Not sure, Dawny," she replied. "I think that Oz had a word with her about something the other day. He wanted her to get some advice about a headache she had."

* * *

Packing, he could see, wouldn't take very long. For one thing he had very little to pack. Xander looked at his bag and then at the pile of clothes. How nice – his dirty laundry had been washed courtesy of the US Air Force. They seemed to have folded his underpants with geometric precision as well. It was unnerving. As long as they were clean, he didn't mind if they were folded our not. Captain Crumpled, Willow had once named him.

Leaning over he picked up his clothes and stuffed them into the bag, added the new power cell that he'd been working on in his spare time, looked under his bed one last time and then zipped it all up. His coat was slung over the nearest chair, with his lightsabre stuffed into one pocket. When he turned to the door Daniel Jackson was standing at the entrance to his room. He was dressed in brown shirt and jeans that looked as if they'd been folded away somewhere for a long time, with a black coat over one arm. "Can I, ah, have a word?" the archaeologist asked diffidently.

Ah, thought Xander. "Sure," he said as he waved a hand at the other chair in the room and then grabbed his coat, placed it on the bed and then sat down. He had a distinct suspicion as what this would be about.

Daniel sat down and then subjected his shoes to a long, hard stare, before looking up at the ceiling for a moment. Then he closed his eyes, scratched at his temple with his right forefinger and then finally opened his eyes and his mouth. "I've come to ask you to teach me. Please." The words came out in a bit of a rush, as if he had bottled them up for too long in his mouth. "I've... run away from this for too long. I've listened to my fears for too long. There's so much I want to learn from you and yet I..." He paused and visibly searched for the right words. "I've spent too much time engrossed in books, in research and my own personal war."

A massive sigh ripped its way out of him. "When I first joined the SGC it was for one main reason – to get my wife back from the Goa'uld. They took Sha're for a host when they returned to Abydos. Killed some of my friends at the same time. When the chance came to join the SGC, I jumped at it. To get my wife back. And... to get back at the Goa'uld." He paused again. "That's what scares me."

"The vengeance part?"

"Yes. As I... never got her back. Long story, but it ended badly. The Goa'uld in her tried to kill me. Teal'c had no choice but to shoot her. She died. I think a part of me died at the same time.

"So I threw myself into my work a lot more. I... worked with one goal in mind. Countering the Goa'uld. Stopping them. Rolling them back. Save Earth. And eventually..."

"Destroying them?"

"Yes," replied Daniel, his eyes tightly closed and his fists clenched for a moment. "That's something I've never really admitted to anyone. I did wish to destroy them. Kill them all. That changed eventually. I remembered Sha're. What they put their hosts through. And then we all went to Sunnydale and... life got complicated. We met you and Buffy and the others. And learning about what you can do added an extra layer of weirdness to life. But... learning that I can control the Force as well..."

"Let me guess, an extra layer above that?"

Daniel smiled and nodded. Then he looked at Xander. "The vengeance part of my life is what scared me. I can see... the Dark Side, much as that sounds weird to me even now, looming there. Or rather I can fear it there. I want to control this. I want to do the right thing here. And I want to learn." He smiled. "Knowledge is my life sometimes. The search for it has driven me in all kinds of directions. I've even searched for past records of people who could be described as Jedi."

Xander looked at him. "What did you find?"

"Something that maybe connected to a faction of the Knights Templar when they were destroyed. I don't know what they found in Jerusalem, but they didn't come back the same as they went. They might have been some of the few Crusaders who did something positive when the city fell." He scratched the back of his head. "Anyway – if I have this gift then I have to learn to control this. Can you – no, will you teach me?"

Xander smiled at him. "Daniel, I've been waiting for you to ask me for several days now. Yes, if you want to be a Jedi I can teach you. I'd better warn you though – it's going to be a lot of very hard work. You're going to have to see the world in a very different light, in terms of what is and isn't possible. Because an awful lot of things that you once thought weren't possible are going to get nudged into a number of different categories." He smiled. "So, you told Jack yet?"

"He'll be ok with it," Daniel replied. "I think that he suspects that something's up with me. Jack can be surprisingly good at guessing about these things."

* * *

He looked down at the Orb and suppressed the need to throw up again. The Beast was close. Enough was enough. He had to find the Slayer in the next day or so. Because if the Beast caught him then he'd never be able to tell anyone about anything, ever again.

* * *

Jack ambled down the corridor with both hands in his pockets and a thoughtful whistle on his lips. He had a lot to think about. For one thing he wanted a go on the Headhunter prototype before the techno-geeks got a chance to get their hands on it. Ok, the chances were that they wouldn't believe it when they saw it – he remembered their reaction to the first Deathglider that they'd ever seen – but after that they tended to be insanely possessive. Plus the guys from whatever firm was chosen to manufacture them would also get their claws into them.

Then there was the bomb that Daniel had just dropped on him. To be honest he'd suspected something like this for a while. Daniel could be quite transparent about some things.

He turned a corner and then slowed to a halt in front of the door to Carter's lab. Wonder of wonders, it was open and the sign warning people from entering had gone. He had a feeling that Janet had been by again with a warning that she should try and get some rest once in a while and not try to work 18-hour shifts.

"Knock knock," he said warningly and then walked in. Carter was tapping away on her computer. She looked deeply smug.

"Hell? Carter? What's up?"

She looked up with a start. "Ah. Good morning sir. I was just making some modifications to the prototype of the F-304. Based on the new features that Xander's been able to give us, like the repulsorlifts and the modified blaster cannons – oh and the engines and the idea he's had for a photon torpedo – it should be a lot larger and nastier than it was first designed to be like." She paused. "That is, if I can get these modifications past the designers."

Narrowing his eyes he just looked at her for a long moment, until she finally noticed.

"What, sir?"

"Carter, this time two days ago you were ready to frown and boggle and just generally stare at whatever Xander did. Now you're embracing it. What the hell happened?"

She flushed. "Well sir," she began, and then pulled a face. "Ok, I was wrong. It was too much information for me at times. I... I had some trouble acknowledging just what he was doing. It was stupid of me, but when you think it through it still sounds crazy – technological advances from what we all thought was the make-believe world of George Lucas. The Star Wars world!" She ran a hand through her hair. "Now I've had a chance to look through it all, and see what he can build... I can see the physics behind it. I've seen what that Headhunter can do. And the idea that there's an alternate dimension somewhere – yes, sir, I can see that you're about to mention that it might be a long time ago in a galaxy far, far away – that contains these things... well, it would freak anyone out."

She looked back at him. "To be brutally obvious sir, I've taken my head out of my ass and I'm getting on with business and working out what we can do with this technology."

There was a pause for a moment and then Jack nodded. "Ok," he said quietly. "If you have any other questions for Xander then you'd better ask him now. He's back off to Sunnydale this afternoon. The Hellmouth doesn't stay still after all. Oh, and he's got company."

Carter looked at him for a moment and then nodded. "I guessed that he might not be here for much longer, based on what he said and I... wait, you said he's going with someone?"

"Daniel's been holding out on us a bit," smiled Jack. "He's going to be a Jedi. Or at least he's going to train to be one."

A pause leaked into the room. "Daniel." Said Carter after a moment. "A Jedi?"

"Yup."

"Daniel Jackson – our Daniel?"

"Yup."

"A Jedi?"

"Again with the yup. Apparently Xander told him in Sunnydale after that whole snafu with Adam, but it's taken him this long to get his head wrapped around it." He scratched his chin thoughtfully for a moment. "Not that I blame him at all."

Carter looked vaguely stricken. "Why didn't he tell us? And how long will this take?"

"I imagine that the coming clean part depended on the same kind of reaction that you had to it. And I have no idea about the last part. Months at least." He looked at her. "I think it'll do him good. He's been kinda tense the last year or so. I think that he needs to explore something new."

She blinked at that. "I guess that training to be a Jedi Knight kind of qualifies as that," she conceded. Then she froze. "Has anyone told Janet yet?"

"Janet Frasier? I have no idea. Why?"

But Carter was busy ignoring him, as she stood hurriedly, glancing down to save her files on her computer and then deactivate it quickly. "Sir, when it Daniel leaving?"

This time it was his turn to blink. "In about an hour I think. Why?"

"I have to see Janet," she muttered and then she darted out. By the time that he'd stuck his head out of the door to see where the hell he'd gone, she had vanished around a corner already.

"What the hell was that about?" he muttered, and then shrugged. There was enough time to make it to the canteen. They were serving blue jello today.

* * *

There was a small reception committee waiting for them as they approached the lift that led to the lower levels of NORAD. It was composed of General Hammond, Jack O'Neill, Sam Carter, Teal'c, Bra'tac and the supposedly scary (according to Jack that is) doctor, Janet Fraser. Xander had only met her twice, but had quite liked her.

Daniel slowed by his side and then took a deep breath as Hammond smiled and held out his hand for him to shake. "Goodbye Dr. Jackson. Good luck. I hope you make it back here soon. We'll need you."

Daniel smiled. "Thank you General," he said softly and shook Hammond's hand, before moving over to Jack.

"What he said," the Colonel said, flipping a thumb at the General before grinning and enveloping Daniel in a bear hug that involved a lot of back slapping on both parts. "Take care of yourself, Spacemonkey. Watch it on the Hellmouth. We don't want to have to make it back there to bail you out." He sobered. "I hope you find what you're looking for."

"So do I Jack," Daniel said, and then moved on to Sam, who smiled and hugged him.

"You be careful," she muttered at him, and then withdrew, leaving Daniel facing the two Jaffa, who both bowed to him.

"You face a great challenge, Daniel Jackson," intoned Teal'c, before smiling. "I have no doubt that you will meet it." He held out his arm and Daniel grabbed it in a wrist lock for a moment and nodded back at him.

"I too do not doubt that you will return as a Jedi," Bra'tac said in a low and intent tone. "There is a long path ahead of you, Daniel Jackson. Tread it carefully. If anyone can do it, I do not doubt that you can." Daniel clasped wrists with him as well.

Which just left Dr. Fraser, who looked up at him with rather large eyes. "Good luck, Daniel," she said, with what seemed to Xander to be a rather artificial formality. Then something snapped, because she hugged him fiercely, to his obvious surprise. It then came as possibly an even bigger surprise to him when she stepped back, grabbed his face in both hands and dragged it down to hers to be kissed very thoroughly, before she released him and stepped away with a ferocious blush. "You come back," she muttered and then she turned and walked briskly away.

"And on that note we'd better leave," said Xander to break up the rather startled silence that had fallen for a moment. "Thank you for your hospitality, General."

"No, son, thank you. Sorry, that should have been Master Harris. We owe you a great deal. Major Davis will be in touch about the arrangements that we mentioned. Earth owes you a great deal in fact."

"My pleasure, General," Xander replied as he bowed. "'Bye Jack. Have fun with the Headhunter."

"Oh, I intend to," Jack shot back as he bounced on his feet slightly. "Anyone else wants a go first, I'll beat 'em off with a stick. Take care of Daniel. He tends to get shot a lot."

"Hey!" protested Daniel from his place in the elevator.

"The Colonel's right," Sam pointed out as she shook hands with Xander. "Thanks for everything."

"Even for shaking your world?" he asked.

"Oh I'll get over it."

Xander smiled for a moment and then stepped over to the two Jaffa, who bowed with profound reverence. "Master Harris," they both said.

"Teal'c. Bra'tac. Good luck in your fight against the Goa'uld. I've done a little to help. I'll try and do more soon. In the meantime there's a Hellmouth to take care of."

"Good luck in the battles that lie ahead of you," Bra'tac said solemnly. "We will welcome your help."

Xander smiled and nodded and then entered the elevator. "Catch you all on the flip side," he smiled and then the doors closed and they started to ascend back up towards the surface.

"So now it begins," said Daniel in a slightly wondering voice as they rose. "By the way, what was that comment by the General about Major Davis being in touch?"

"Oh, just a legal thing. Building the Headhunter kinda made me the owner of the patent. Legal things had to be signed. Apparently I have a lot of money heading my way. Had anyway. A large number of charities are going to get a _very_ nice surprise soon. And some of the money is going to rebuild my uncle's place not too far away from the Mojave Desert. That's where I trained. Part of your training is also going to be there. I figured that the Jedi Order needs a training ground."

"From the SGC to the Jedi Order," Daniel muttered in a faintly bemused way. "Interesting."

* * *

She watched him as he strode along the path, chatting quietly to the shorter man who was with him. She narrowed her eyes and stared at the newcomer. He looked maddeningly calm and collected and had blond hair. He also had a lightsabre clipped to his belt. It wasn't on display, she could just see the bulge at his hip – the same bulge at the former Wolfram & Hart's hip. At Harris's hip as well. So this was the third Jedi. Oz. He didn't look that dangerous, but then she was rapidly coming to terms that no Jedi seemed to look that dangerous – right up until the moment that they pulled out a lightsabre and then started cutting loose.

As they passed along the path she sat back down on her haunches and then wondered, for the umpteenth time that night, just what the hell she was doing. Why was she watching the Jedi? Why was she out at night in a place like Sunnydale, when she should have been in a bar throwing beer down her throat? Oh, she didn't doubt that she could deal with any of the night scum that were out and about on the Hellmouth, but it had never been her job to deal with them anyway.

She absent-mindedly ran a finger along the spot where the ring used to be and she shuddered a little as she did so. It still felt… wrong, not having it on her. The ring had proclaimed her to be a member of the Order of Teraka. Someone to be feared. To be dreaded in fact.

Even now she wasn't sure why she'd taken it off. It had been a feeling, a vague thought that perhaps it wasn't the right thing to be wearing right now. She was still… well, no, she wasn't sure if she was still a member of the Order. Her last assignment had been to kill Harris. She had failed rather spectacularly at that, and in the process had realised that others had her gift – and that they could control it far better than she could. It had been, well, humiliating as hell.

Something had happened to her since then. She could feel it. She was different. Before she had been running perpetually on empty, going from job to job, kill to kill, drifting where the current took her. As a member of the Order of Teraka she had one job and one job only – to kill. And then kill. And then kill some more, until she either died trying or the Order killed her for being too good at her job. They were a paranoid lot, and a jealous organisation. Any hint of defection to another group with a better offer and they tended to send people out with orders to make sure that you ended up face down in a shallow grave.

She looked back up again. The two Jedi were still walking on. Maybe she should follow them. After all, they might not see what was out there. It was a dark night and you never knew what was lurking in the bushes sometimes. She sighed and moved off. She was getting soft in her old age. And she kept wondering what they might be able to teach her. Just to learn something new, of course.

* * *

"Is she still following us?" asked Oz as they walked down the road. There had been some sightings of a new pack of demons in the area, ones that tended to eat first and kill later, horrible as that was.

"Yes," replied Lindsey with a slight quirk of his lips. "I think that she's watching us to see what we're doing. We're probably very freaky to someone like her. The Order of Teraka is about as altruistic as a piranha." The almost-smile vanished. "I'd hate to think what kind of a life she's had. I'd guess that she's seen a lot of very bad things. Caused a lot of very bad things as well."

"I think it might be a bad idea if Buffy met her," mused Oz. "The last time they were around I heard that it was bad. They sent some guy made out of bugs, a guy who looked like a bad advert for biker leathers and a woman dressed as a cop who pulled a gun on Buffy in the old high school."

"Could have been worse," sighed Lindsey. "I've read about the time that a Terakan assassin tried to take out a target with a tank." He shuddered. "Even Wolfram & Hart stayed well away from the Saint of Killers." He looked to one side and then narrowed his eyes. "They're over there, I can feel them."

"Yuck," Oz confirmed.

"On three?"

"I think so."

"By the way," said Lindsey as he unclipped his lightsabre from his belt, "Have you had a word with Willow yet about that spell she put on Xander?"

"Not yet," Oz sighed. "Tonight though. Ok. One..."

"Two..." muttered Lindsey as the growls started to erupt ahead of them as they started to run.

"Three!" Two blades made of light, one blue, one green, snapped into life and then came around in short and lethal sweeps as the area started to boil with very angry demons.

* * *

She watched them carefully for a while, the blood draining from her face as she watched them. She'd never really had the chance to watch Jedi in action properly and to be brutally honest she wondered why the hell she was still alive. If Harris was that good – and he had trained these two – then he could have killed her that night in the University library… Hell, he could have dismembered her without blinking.

But he'd knocked her out and left her alive.

The two Jedi up ahead of her were not showing any mercy at all, but then the creatures that they were fighting were not the kind of demons who would ever expect mercy of any kind, ever. She could see that they were Koltah demons, a very nasty species that loved to play with their food. They did not even understand the concept of mercy – just inflicting pain. And now they were dying, being killed with clean and quick strokes, with a minimum of suffering.

Rebecca looked down and sighed. The whole thing was giving her a headache.

* * *

Strictly speaking what he was doing was a bit foolish. Holland didn't really care though, as he drove his car down an indifferently lit street. The best way to get ahead in life was to sometimes use outside channels. Ok, so Wolfram & Hart didn't really like its top executives playing too far outside the box without the news that they brought back seeping back to the company, but in his position he needed information and he didn't really care where he got it from, as long as a) it was accurate and b) he could use it.

After staring at the shops that now lined the street for a moment he slowed down and parked by the side of the road. There it was. He got out of the car and closed the door, before setting the car alarm. The best thing about the perks of the job was that you could get some very nifty extra coverage for your car. If anyone tried to get in then the chances were that they'd be reduced to a smoking blob of grease on the sidewalk.

Looking both ways carefully he crossed the road and walked down the alleyway until a shabby-looking awning became visible. It led to a set of stairs that went down to a door. Looking around nonchalantly he made his way carefully down them. What appeared to be blood had been splashed against the top stair and there seemed to be a squashed eyeball about three steps from the bottom. He navigated these hazards carefully and then thumped his fist on the door heavily three times.

There was a pause and then a small panel opened up at eye-level. Something peered through. It had small red eyes and a small horn that curved upwards from between his eyes. "Password," it demanded in a voice that oozed barely repressed violence.

Holland tilted his head to one side and then held one of his business cards up at the open panel. There was a pause as the small red eyes seemed to linger on each individual letter and then glaze over slightly as they stuck them all together and formed the right words. Then the penny finally dropped and the eyes opened very wide, the panel slammed shut then the door swung inwards. "Enter," said the demon guard. He looked rather sweaty and worried.

Holland eyed him sardonically, nodded in acknowledgement and then stepped through the doorway and into the noise of the demon club.

It looked, he thought as he walked through it, like a unique version of hell, even by his standards. He'd seen a lot of demons in his time. This lot were an impressively varied lot, even by his standards. Horns, spikes, natural armour, mucus, fluff, antenna, fangs, claws – they were all here, in some cases all combined. He was glad that he hadn't eaten recently, because he would have been tempted to throw up.

Instead he threaded his way through the club, stepping over the occasional tail and noting in passing that there seemed to be a lot of whispering going on around him, combined with the occasional uneasy look. The chances were that the news about who he worked for was going around. He wasn't sure but one of them even looked as if he was writing something on the table he was sitting at. Great, probably a CV or something. He seemed to be writing on the surface of the table itself, but what the hell. A CV was a CV.

When he reached the partitioned seats at the back of the room he looked carefully at their occupants before grunting in satisfaction slightly and walking over to sit in the far corner of the room.

The hooded creature opposite him looked up from the tankard it had been drinking from and then nodded slightly. "Ah. Holland. Long time no see. You wanted to have a word with me?"

"Yes," smiled Holland and then looked around. "Interesting atmosphere here."

"I like to get in touch with my roots every once in a while," the creature replied. "It's an ethnic thing."

"I see," mused Holland as he waved at the bar… the bar thing for want of a better word. "I wouldn't choose that word myself but who am I to split hairs over this?" There was a pause as the thing from behind the bar sent a scantily clad female vampire over with a pad to the table, who took his order for drinks with a minimum of charm and a maximum of halitosis.

"I need some information," Holland said as he watched her return to the bar and then jolt with fear as the bar thing clued her in on who he was. For one thing she pulled out a breath mint, which was a relief in itself.

The hooded creature took another gulp of whatever was in the tankard. "Information on what?"

"Sunnydale."

The tankard hovered and then went down carefully onto the table. "That's a very dangerous place right now. People tend not to return from it."

"I know," answered Holland in a low voice, before pausing again as the barmaid returned with his drink. This time her breath was almost pleasant, her manners charming and her cleavage even lower than it had been before. He smiled back, looked in all the right places and then palmed the telephone number that she slipped him on a bit of paper. "I thought that you might have more up-to-date information than I do about the Hellmouth right now," he admitted once she had jiggled herself away. "After all our office there was destroyed by a mad Government experiment and people have been reluctant to volunteer to set up another one there."

"Yes, I wonder why?" asked the creature sarcastically. "Anyway, what would you like to know about it and why don't you just ask someone from there?"

"To answer your second point I can't go there myself as there's a former employee of mine who live there now and who dislikes me. A lot. And of the five people I've sent there over the past month, none have survived.

"As for what I want to know, it's simple. Apart from the Slayer, are there any other potentially lethal agents there?"

The tankard stopped in mid-air again and was then put down on the table. The hood came up slightly as the creature looked at him levelly. "You mean the Jedi."

Holland looked across the table, his eyes narrowing. "Jedi," he said in a wondering voice. "You're serious."

"Deadly. I mean it, they're deadly. If you're a vampire or a demon and you're on the hunt for blood, or human organs, or anything evil in Sunnydale, then if the Slayer doesn't get you then the Jedi will. There's supposed to be three of them these days."

The hood shook slightly as a shudder rippled through the creature. "All I know is what I've heard. And what I've heard is bad enough. They have powers, Holland. Powers that are dangerous if you mess with them. The Order of Teraka sent one of their most unstable and amoral killers to take care of the Head Jedi. She failed. The Order hasn't heard from her since."

"There's a Head Jedi?"

"His name is Harris. He was the first. He recruited the others so it's a fair bet that there will be a lot more at some point."

Holland sipped his drink slowly and then did a lot of thinking in a very short amount of time. "Interesting," he said eventually as he remembered the dark-haired man who had been with Lindsey, who had been a lot younger than the lawyer but who had acted like the leader.

The tankard waggled from side to side for a moment. "Oh no Holland, don't say 'interesting' in that tone of voice. They are best left alone. I heard about what they did to Adam. And how they broke into your office here. I know that Wolfram & Hart likes to meddle and I know that they like to pick up people with certain powers and pull them apart to see what makes them tick. So I'll just say this. If you value your health you'll leave them alone. They know about you by now and they probably view Wolfram & Hart with a lot of distaste. Leave them alone. If the Senior Partners don't know about them by now – and if they don't then I'll be very surprised – then they will soon. And I really suggest that you not meddle with the Jedi."

Holland pulled a slight face. "There's a new Jedi, right?"

"Yes. Lindsey McDonald." The tankard waggled again. "I hear he used to work for your lot."

"He worked for me," Holland said through slightly gritted teeth.

"Ah." There was a tense silence for a moment. "That explains your interest."

"I met him for the first time in months in the office, when I was trying to... persuade him to return to the firm. He'd changed. He was different. And he..."

"Could make things fly through the air? The name 'Jedi' means something, Holland. They are like the Jedi from the films. I don't know why the name. There are rumours of course. I met something once who claimed to have met Obi-Wan Kenobi in Sunnydale one Halloween. Or that was what he called himself, anyway. Something happened there. Something that's growing. You're probably tired of hearing this phrase from me, but leave them alone. Otherwise you might bite off more than even you can chew."

Holland sat there for a long moment as he finished off his drink. Then he nodded slowly. "Thanks for the information. I owe you one."

"We're even. Last time I was the one who needed help."

Holland smiled and stood up. The vampire barmaid was standing at the bar and she looked really quite attractive in that light. The hooded creature turned to follow his gaze.

"I thought you were married?"

"I am. She's away on a trip to see her sister."

"Ah. Thinking about playing away?"

"I'm only human."

"She's not. Make sure she doesn't bite you. In more ways than one."

Holland smiled. "Being at Wolfram & Hart gives you certain benefits. We don't catch certain things." He walked away and headed over to the bar. On the way he was given a small table top and an assurance that H'Kekk was completely reliable and that any nasty rumours about a small matter in New Jersey were complete lies. Honest.

* * *

Willow was in bed when Oz opened the door to their room. He paused and then quietly walked in. Judging from her rigid body language she was just pretending to sleep. He sighed slightly and then hung his lightsabre up carefully on a hook by the bed, before undressing carefully, stacking his clothes on the chair to one side.

As he got into bed Willow made a series of 'mmph' noises that were obviously intended to make him think that she was waking slightly.

"Nice try," he said dryly. "But I can tell you're awake."

She sighed herself and then turned to face him, propping her head on one hand. "Hi sweetie."

"Hi. Demons wiped out. Bodies – or rather bones – recovered. Lindsey and I were also followed by that assassin from the Order of Teraka. Or whatever she is these days. Don't think an assassin. Not anymore." He looked at her concerned expression and then smiled. "You know, sooner or later we will have that conversation you've been avoiding for the past day."

Willow pouted slightly and then scowled. "I was just keeping an eye on him," she muttered.

"Yes, but I don't think that you need to. Willow, he's not the old Xander. Not anymore. He's very different. He's a Jedi Master."

She lay there for a long moment, looking down at a very small mark on the sheet. Then she looked up at his chin. "I know," she said in a small voice. "But he's still Xander. He's still my oldest friend. And I still worry about him."

"I know, he said, sitting on the bed next to her. "But you can't keep using magic to make sure he's ok. I really don't think that magic and the Force should mix. Separate but apart." He caught her look of alarm and then smiled. "But that doesn't apply to dating!"

She relaxed and then smiled, before leaning back and trying to smoulder. "Hey Jedi, want to meet a hot witch?"

"A hot witch with nice assets?" he asked teasingly as he pulled off his socks.

"I have assets?" she asked, lifting the sheet and looking at her chest. "Oh wow. I do have assets! Nice ones too!"

He laughed and slid into bed next to her. "Why don't I check them out?"

* * *

He sat down with a sigh and then blew on his tea. It had been a long day and he leant back and then rested his feet on the edge of the desk. It had been a very long day indeed, and looked at the clock on the opposite wall. What he needed was a large chicken tikka massala, a garlic naan and several pints of lager, followed by about 12 hours of sleep. He nodded to himself. That sounded like a good plan. Of course he had an hour to go until he was relieved. Even the boss had to follow the rules. He sipped some tea and tried not to stare at the clock.

"Jack?" asked a lilting Welsh voice behind him and he turned in his chair and looked over his shoulder. Gwen was standing at the door. She was holding a piece of paper in one hand and a USB device in the other. "Got this odd email. Actually we were CC'ed in on it – it went out to the RAF, the French Air Force, the Russians, the Japanese and the Chinese. Oh and the Germans."

"Odd collection," he frowned. "What's it about?"

"Well there was this download – it was a load of blueprints for some kind of plane. And the email's title is, um..." She raised the paper and looked at it. "How to build a Z-95 Headhunter."

The mug smashed onto the ground. "A _what??_"


	32. The Use Of Power

Ok, this chapter is a little late. We had an amazing holiday in Oregon (I stood on cinder cones and in lava tubes! Wow! Amazing! I am very sad!) and had a wonderful time. Then a week later I went off to Monte Carlo again to cover a conference. And then the week after that the financial world went to hell in a handbasket and I had to scurry around writing things up. Hence the lateness of the chapter - I've been just too busy to write. Anyway here it is - and a nice long one too!

* * *

He stood there and glared at the files on the table in front of him

He stood there and glared at the files on the table in front of him. It made no sense at all. It was complete madness. But it seemed to be true. He pulled the farthest file on the table towards him. Inside were two pieces of paper. On the first was a scrawling line of writing that seemed to have been written by someone who was either totally drunk out of his skull, or who had the wrong number of fingers to comfortably hold the pen. The other had a drawing. It was in chalks and had therefore been smudged more than a few times before someone had had the common sense to place a preservation spell on it. Just about visible on it was a figure dressed in brown wielding a sword made of blue light.

Holland Manners sat back and then turned his glare towards the window in his study as the various scenarios and odds and figures clicked through his mind on little mental rails. He needed to come to a decision on this, and soon. He had a feeling that a mistake here could be a fatal one.

* * *

Daniel looked through the window and then turned his gaze down. He loved flying these days, even if, well the accurate term would be 'Terran', aircraft lacked something of the speed and precision of some of the other craft that he'd been in over the past few years. But the bits that always worried him were the take-off and the landing. The take-off because when you're sitting in a metal tube that's packed with people and fuel and is hurtling towards the end of the runway, well, a little worry is understandable. Especially after that time when he'd had the flu and had been sent home and ended up watching a programme on the TV about air crash investigators. It had been very interesting, but at the same deeply worrying.

As the landing, well, Newton could never been gainsaid for very long, and what went up had to eventually come down somewhere.

He smiled. The ground was coming up quite fast now as the aircraft made the final turn of its final approach, and he could see the shadow of the plane to one side. He paused, frowning and then looked over at Xander Harris, who appeared to be asleep in the aisle seat. Whether he actually was asleep was another matter however, and he was opening his mouth to ask a question when Xander beat him to the punch.

"Yes," he muttered quietly, "I could keep the plane in the air if something went wrong with the undercarriage. The you-know-what is strong in me. But let's try and think more positive thoughts, shall we?"

Daniel closed his mouth again and then nodded, as the plane flared out and then settled down on the runway with a jolt and a shudder. Somehow it always felt a little more reassuring when someone like Jack or Sam was flying. In the first case the flying was showy but fast and in the second case it was tight and at times a tad faster. He raised a mental eyebrow. Those two could compete in small ways sometimes.

As they taxied to the jet way and the 'seatbelts on' light clicked off he paused before standing up and retrieving his backpack from the overhead locker. He was about to take his first steps into an entirely new world. Again.

* * *

It had been a long day of… not doing very much. She had gone for her usual run around the area, before getting some money out. The rent would not be a problem for some time. She had a lot stored away, a legacy of death that she would rather not have, but which at the same time was still rather handy to have. Then she'd walked about the place, aimlessly.

Several times she had walked past the college library, but she hadn't gone in. Even if Harris had been in, she wouldn't have known what to say. And that had been the place where she'd tried to kill him, so there might have been some problems there. If he was there. After all, she'd heard from the former Wolfram & Hart lawyer that Harris was due back that day.

That made her think of McDonald. The guy was… interesting. And scary in an odd way. There was something behind his eyes, a weight of knowledge that she could guess at. She had a nasty feeling that there was something similar behind her own, but she didn't really want to think about it. It scared her, when she tried to think about it. She had always known that she was different, that there was something… odd about her.

She remembered the look on her father's face when he'd been talking about the gift that they both had. He'd told her that it could be used to do great good and great evil, and when he'd mentioned that last part there had been… demons… lurking behind his eyes. Not the common-or-garden demons that had just crawled out of the nearest hell dimension, looking for a job and a place to wash the slime off, but the demons inside a person that were caused by very bad memories. She was glad that her grandfather was dead. The man had been a monster.

She paused and then accessed the Power – no, that wasn't right. The Force. The calm part of it, the bit that her father had done his best to teach her about. She accessed it again, concentrating hard. She had the oddest feeling that something very important was going to happen today. She just had no idea what.

* * *

There was a small reception committee in the arrivals area and Xander smiled as he saw Willow waving wildly to one side, watched by an obviously amused Oz. You had to watch for that little crease by the side of his mouth when he was doing his best to hide such amusement from his girlfriend. Not that such a subterfuge worked with his oldest friend. Next to them stood Giles and Lindsey, both smiling, along with Buffy, who looked pleased to see him, but a little tense. This was probably not a good sign and Xander found himself wondering what Willow had left out of her last report to him.

"Hey guys," he said as he hugged Willow, shook hands in a warm but brief way with the Watcher and then exchanged slight bows with his two fellow Jedi. "No Riley?" he asked as he hugged Buffy briefly. She felt a bit tense too.

"He was called away, some kind of Initiative thing," she told him in a low voice.

He paused. "Buffy, what's wrong?"

"It's ok," she assured him, "But we need to talk later. Oh. Hi Daniel! What are you doing here?"

"Ah, hello everyone," blinked Daniel Jackson, who was standing to one side and looking understandably a bit awkward.

"Welcome back to Sunnydale, Dr Jackson," said Giles as he strode forwards and shook hands with him. "I trust that there isn't an… um, emergency again?"

"Training, actually," admitted Daniel.

"Training?" muttered Willow, before she put the pieces together in her head. "Oh! You mean that you're going to be a-" she said before being interrupted by Oz poking her lightly in the ribs. "Oz! What? Oh! Oh, sorry… oops. Bad Willow."

"A Padawan, right?" smiled Lindsey as he reached out and shook hands with Daniel. "About time. Never turn down a chance to learn more about yourself."

"Very true," agreed Xander. "Ok, we need to get to a real estate place so that Daniel can start looking for a place to stay. And I need to catch up with whatever the hell it is that I've so obviously missed out on."

* * *

The belt had developed an awkward kink and Riley suppressed a curse as he wrestled with it for a moment. Agents of the Initiative were supposed to be cool, calm and collected, especially when in a combat situation.

He wasn't sure if unexpectedly having a new commanding officer hoisted on you counted as a combat situation, per se, but at the moment it certainly felt stressful enough.

"Hold on a sec, Ri," said a faintly amused voice behind him, and then Forrest reached over and untwisted the belt properly. "You ok man?"

"Oh, about the same as you." He paused. "We don't exactly have the best record in terms of commanding officers, as you know."

"You got that right," muttered Graham grimly as he straightened up from giving his boots one last buff-up. Full dress uniform might look damn good, but getting it ready could be a major pain, especially when you had to get into it in a hell of a damn hurry.

Riley checked the belt one last time, looked into the mirror to adjust his tie carefully and brush off a probably imaginary speck of dust and then looked around. "Ok, we ready?"

"Sir, yes sir!" chorused Graham and Forrest as they stiffened to attention in front of him.

He looked them over critically and then nodded. They'd do. "Ok, let's go."

* * *

It had been a very long day, thought Xander as he strode down the path towards the college library, and yet it was only part over. Flying could be a pain – he'd been scrunched slightly in his seat, so at the moment it was literally a pain as various joints and muscles went pop. But it was good to be back in California.

Turning the corner he saw Buffy up ahead of him, walking down towards him. She looked pensive. Not good at all.

"Hey Buffy, what's up?"

She looked at him. "Oh, Hi Xander. We need to go and see Giles. I already called Oz and Lindsey. You need to hear about the Slayer dream I had not long ago."

"Slayer dream," he repeated tonelessly as they walked towards the library.

"Yup."

"Those tend to portend stuff."

"They do indeed."

"Care to hint at what this one was about?"

"The stuff you didn't tell me about my so-called sister," she replied with a dark humour in her voice.

"Ah," he said. "As Giles would put it so eloquently, bugger."

"It's ok, Oz and Lindsey had a word with me. But you're still in big trouble, mister," she scolded lightly as she wagged a Slayer-powered finger at him.

"Ah," he said again and then fell silent as a horde of students clattered noisily past them, probably on their way to lunch. They passed on, strode up the stairs to the library and then passed into its cool confines, walking quickly to the office that bore the legend 'Rupert Giles – Head Librarian' in white letters.

Inside Giles was talking quietly to the other two Jedi and Willow. They all looked up as Xander and Buffy entered, with Xander closing the door behind them.

"Ah, Xander. Good, we can get started."

"Buffy told me that she'd had a Slayer dream," said Xander quickly. "I'm guessing that's not a good thing."

"I'm afraid you're right there," sighed Giles as he leant back on the desk and crossed his arms. "In this case however the presence of Jedi seems to have shone a blinding light on things. Apparently about a month ago you felt memories being inserted into your mind?"

This was what he had been suspecting, and he nodded. "Yes. We were all using the Force at the time, in different places. Maybe that was why we could feel it and no-one else could. It shook the life out of me Giles. I had all these memories about Dawn that I hadn't had before. We all had them. That was why we checked out your house first thing the next day, Buffy. She was… well, she was Dawn. Your little sister. There was no threat from her, no danger, no dark side. I'm sorry, we should have told you after that, but it was so freaky and also so delicate from your point of view that…" he paused and pulled a slight face. "Sorry Buff."

"It's ok," the Slayer replied in a level voice. "Ok, I was freaked out at first, especially as the little… poophead is the nicest thing I can say about her sometimes, ruined a pair of boots that I've loved for ages, even though they don't really fit her, but… she's Dawnie." She sighed. "I'm still working this stuff through my own head, you know."

Then she looked up again. "And yes you should have told me – but at the same time I wouldn't have really, really, _really_ believed it without that Slayer Dream. Still – tell me next time! I mean it!"

"Ok," Xander nodded. "So – are we any closer to working out why whoever it was sent her here?"

"Not really," admitted Giles as he scratched the side of his head with one long finger. "I've done some research on the Monks of Dagon, but all I've, um, I've discovered so far is that they were very good at keeping a secret. They seem to have been guarding something, but what it was I have no idea. And no, according to Buffy's dream, the last monk of Dagon is here, somewhere in Sunnydale."

"But we don't know what he looks like."

"No."

"And we don't know what he wants."

"Again, no."

Xander scratched his chin, which was showing signs of slight stubble. He should have shaved this morning, he thought as pieces clicked together in his head. "Then why don't we draw him out?"

"How?"

He told them.

* * *

Holland, Lilah could tell at a glance, did not have his full attention on this meeting. Oh he was present in body and even partly in mind. Holland Manners could probably run a staff meeting his sleep, delivering instructions, listening to presentations, encouraging some and having others taken out and shot, or perhaps worse sent to the HR department. But right now he was only partially there mentally. There was something gnawing at him, she thought carefully as she listened to the drivel that was being spouted by Hannah Marriott, who didn't have a good grip on her knees, which were shaking. Some meetings could be tough on the nerves. Poor Hannah. Oh, wait…. Not.

"Good, Hannah," muttered Holland once she was finished, "But press them harder, we need to get this wrapped up quickly." He looked up to see Hannah nod and then turned his glance around the table. "Alright people, any other business?"

"The Reynolds case might come to a close soon, as Judge Modu has moved it up on the schedule," Lilah pointed out.

"Ah, good. Status on that?"

"We're ready. I pushed Reynolds a bit. He's upped the ante like I told him and is pressing for 2.5 million," purred Lilah.

"Excellent," nodded Holland. "Anything else? No? Good, then we're done. See you on Monday people. Have a good weekend."

Should she ask what was bothering him, thought Lilah as she gathered her notes and slid them away into her leather notecase, or should she just keep quiet. If he was bothered about something then it had to be serious, and nudging him might pay dividends. Then again, he had a nasty habit of evaluating advice in a way that exposed any hidden pitfalls, sometimes even the most artfully hidden ones, and so perhaps it was time to keep silent.

Besides, she had a meeting to go to that she hadn't told anyone about.

* * *

It had taken an entire hour of Buffy walking 'alone' through the downtown area of Sunnydale before they spotted him. Or rather, before Xander had spotted him and then called her on her cell phone. "There's a guy following you. I've seen him before, he was loitering outside the college, reading a paper and looking like he was about to throw up from nerves. He's about 50 yards behind you."

There he was indeed. He was a small man, with a lot of sweat and a way of walking that suggested that jeans were still a new experience for him. Buffy could see him in the shop window as she apparently looked at a very cool pair of black ankle boots that seemed to have her name written on them.

He was furtively looking in her general direction. Ok, admittedly she was wearing a pair of rather tightly-fitting pants, so he might just have been a pervert who needed a quick kick to the crotch, but there was something about him that was setting off odd alarm bells in her head – not so much 'warning' as 'odd'.

She pulled out her phone and then hit the speed dial button for Giles. She needed to reel this guy in and not to scare him off.

* * *

Riley and the others came to attention as the tall man in marine khakis strode into the hall accompanied by a grizzled Gunny, while – again! – the scientists to one side milled around like a herd of sheep. In comparison to the agents that is.

Suppressing a sigh he watched as the man walked towards them all. He was fighting off a very strong dose of Déjà vu. How long had it been since Finch had taken command? Ok, he'd been on their side, but the scare about his loyalties had been something that Riley did not want to have to go through ever again.

Ok. The new commanding officer of the Initiative was tall and from the look of him was half-Asian. The name on the tag on his chest read 'LAM' and a memory tugged at the back of his mind. He'd heard quite a bit on the grapevine about a Victor Lam, son of a Colonel in the Army of South Vietnam and a nurse in the US Navy who had happened to be the daughter of a Commodore. The two had met in Saigon in 1957 and promptly fallen in love, hence their son. Lam Senior had emigrated to the US in the early 1960's, after falling foul of one of the military members of the Diem administration. Lam Junior had eventually joined the Marines and had been leading one of the teams in the battle of Khafji in January 1991 and had stuck it out in the town for almost two days, directing air strikes onto Iraqi forces that at times had been less than a block away. In other words he had two big brass ones.

Now he was a brigadier general, had the ribbon for the Congressional Medal of Honour pinned to his chest, along with a handful or two of other medals, and looked, well, a bit bemused at the motley assembly of people in front of him. He'd just used the word 'motley' in the privacy of his own head. He'd definitely been hanging around with Rupert Giles a bit too long perhaps.

Lam stood in front of them all and surveyed his new command, before nodding sharply. "Stand easy." There was a snap of relaxed feet from the enlisted personnel and a general shuffling from the scientists.

"As you should by now know, my name is Brigadier General Victor Lam and I am the new commanding officer of this facility. As you definitely all know, the Initiative has been on a period of stand-down until a decision could be made about its future. That hiatus is now over.

"Operations will resume in exactly 72 hours, after I have received full information on our new, heavily revised, mission parameters. I will also be talking to all section heads and making some evaluations of personnel based on certain recommendations. You will all be kept informed as to what is going on. Dismissed."

"Atten-SHUN!" bellowed the Gunny, and the agents around Riley all came to attention with a precision that would have brought a glow to the heart of an RSM in the British Guards Brigade. The scientists just looked a bit aghast at all the noise. "Fall out!"

As they drifted away Riley looked at his two friends and then raised an eyebrow. "Well, that was interesting."

"Say that again," quirked Forrest. "I didn't know that Lam was coming in."

"You seen him before?" asked a surprised Graham.

"Two years ago. I was at a course at Fort Bragg. He was lecturing on some interesting scouting techniques. Of course he was still just a bird Colonel then. I heard he was up for promotion."

"Any scuttlebutt on him?"

"Real tough on sloppy tactics. Good at his job. Married. A kid. That's about it."

Riley crossed his arms and nodded. "Ok. Let's see how this goes. As a team leader I'm sure that I'm going to meet him real soon."

* * *

He stared at the shop with a combination of emotions. The Slayer was in there and he really had to talk to her. Too much was at stake here now. The problem was that the shop was a… a lingerie boutique. He had heard of such places, but seeing one for the first time was… interesting. Appalling as well. It was the kind of place that he had never been in, ever. Old Vaclav probably had been, judging by some of his stories, but… he was getting away from the point. Going in there would probably expose him to a number of temptations that went against a lot of his vows. But he had to do it. Despite the thin sheen of sweat that had just broken out over his forehead.

Walking on leaden feet he crossed the road carefully and then looked around equally carefully. The usual crowd of American people were flowing up and down the street, although the numbers had diminished slightly. He looked back at the shop, with its terrible window filled with mannequins dressed in what looked like skimpy bits of lace. It all looked a bit chilly. Although he had no idea why the mannequins seemed to have such very erect nipples.

The word 'nipple' wandered around his mind for a clanging moment and then he pulled out a handkerchief, wiped off his forehead and then took a deep breath. Right. Time to-

At that point a trio of figures loomed up on all sides of him. "Hi," said their leader, a black-haired man with a wry expression on his face and eyes that looked very serious. "Do you want to speak to Buffy?"

He found his mouth flapping open for a moment and then he looked around wildly. The other two were a shortish man with ginger tints in his hair and the same kind of calm look in his eyes as the first man. The third was a taller man with silver in his temples, glasses, and the indefinable look of a Watcher. He thought things through very hard and very fast and finally did the only thing that he could. "Yes," he admitted. "I have some very important information for her."

"About what?" the Watcher-type man asked in a very level voice.

"About… the Abomination that is coming here, following me. And the Key. And other things that are closer to her than she suspects."

* * *

The room looked like all offices do when a new person comes into it – clean, bare, and utterly devoid of the human touch. Lam walked into his new office, placed his bag on the desk and then looked around. The place had been painted recently and was spacious. There was a large screen on one wall, on the far side of the room, with a small inactive webcam placed on top of it. Conference facilities with the Pentagon no doubt. He didn't think that the Brass would be letting this place get out of control again any time soon. Not if they could help it, anyway.

Walking behind his desk he sat down with a sigh. It had been a long day. Then he opened his bag and took out the two pictures of his wife and daughter. These he placed on the right hand side of the desk, pausing briefly to caress the faces on each one. Then he reached in and pulled out the paper knife that had been made out of a broken and then roughly ground-down Soviet-issue bayonet, a small book of notes, a tiny conch shell and finally a small inch-high model of a centurion's helmet cast in metal.

As he waited for his computer to boot up he looked around the room idly and then paused. Getting up he walked over the wall opposite the door and then peered closely at its surface, before walking over to one side and then looking along at it. Interesting. It had been very well repaired, but he could see the line of holes left by what could only be machine gun bullets. Quite heavy calibre too. He'd read the file on Adam's attempted takeover of the Initiative, but seeing that made it somehow more real.

Walking back to his desk he sat down again. There was a lot of work to do. And it wasn't as if he had any spare time any more.

* * *

Buffy looked at the sweaty little man with a great of suspicion. "You're the last monk of Dagon?"

He closed his eyes and paled slightly. "Yes," he replied in a heavy middle-European accent after a long moment and in a very small voice. "I suppose that I am."

"Do you have a name?"

"Vaclav Benes," he replied. "Of the Most Holy Order of Dagon. Second Circle."

"Right," nodded Buffy as she walked around him one more time. "Ok, can you get to the bit about my sister-who-isn't-my-sister, because I'm a bit annoyed about that."

The monk jerked upright in his seat and then looked wildly at her with very wide eyes. "You know?"

"Yes, didn't I just say so? My mouth opened and closed and sounds emerged. So, again, yes. What is she?"

The little man paused for a moment, his mouth hanging open and his brain almost audibly whirring, before he caught hold of himself and drew a very deep breath of air. "Perhaps I should start from the beginning?"

"Always a good place to start in my book," nodded Buffy and then she sat down opposite and glared at him in a way that should have reduced him to a small pile of charred atoms.

"We… we are an old order," Benes started, before catching himself slightly. "I mean we were an old order. What happens to me… well that's not important. We were founded many hundreds of years ago, in Constantinople. And we were charged with one great task – to guard the Key."

"Which is what, precisely?" asked Xander from the window, where he'd been watching the whole thing with a combination of amusement and concern.

"The Key is… energy. Where it came from, we do not know, not exactly. It was created many thousands of years ago. Others have protected it over the years, in Ur, and Babylon, in… Thebes and later Rome, before finally it was brought to us in Constantinople. We were charged with keeping it safe and making sure that it is never used. It should never be used."

"Keys are made for locks," interjected Xander as he thought deeply and did his best not to look at a flabbergasted Giles who probably wanted to hear more about the Ur/Babylon/Thebes/Rome bit. "So what's the lock?"

The monk looked over at him, looking as if he was searching for the right words. "This," he said gesturing at the room. "Everything. This world, this galaxy, this universe. This dimension. The Key opens the doors between worlds. With it you could walk from place to place in the worlds that lie between the mirrors."

"Oh my god," said Giles. "Does that include the hell dimensions?"

The monk nodded. "It does not discriminate on its own, not without a direction. It must be guided to prevent access to worlds of… of horror."

Xander thought about Acathla and the state that Angel had been in when he had fallen out of the portal and winced.

"Ok," said a slightly shaken Buffy who was no doubt probably thinking similar thoughts, "So that's the Key. What's the deal with making it into my sister?"

"So that you would protect it," sighed the monk. "You would keep it from harm. It must not be used. As the sister of the Slayer it would be safe."

"Why?" asked a confused Buffy. "Hell, I kept killing off my goldfish when I was a kid. Why send it to me when you had your order… of…" she ground to a halt. "Ok, what happened to the rest of your order?"

"The Abomination, which some call the Beast," he replied with a shudder. "The Beast attacked us. It had been tracking down our location for several weeks. We did not know what was happening or why there were such long gaps between events, but then we realised that we were in danger, that the Key was in peril. When we understood what we were facing we debated what to do – and decided that we had to send the Key to be protected by the Slayer. They started on the great spell of transformation as I was getting ready to leave. As you now have a sister, they succeeded. She is human now, she is no longer energy, she is flesh and blood." He frowned. "Your memories were supposed to have been changed to accommodate the change. Did that not work?"

"Oh it worked," complained Buffy. "I have far too many memories of Dawn being a snotty-nosed little brat, when she wasn't being cute that is. If I could I'd send you guys the bill for the therapy it's going to take to get it all straight in my head."

"Blame me," broke in Xander. "The Force helped me to notice what was going on."

"The… Force?" The Monk looked hard at Xander and then blinked in astonishment. "You… you are the Jedi?"

Not exactly being able to help himself, Xander blinked himself and then nodded. "Yes, I am. One of them anyway. Xander Harris."

"The Key… was almost sent to you."

Another blink. "Me? Why me?"

"There was a great debate in the Order. We have heard the reports about a great new power rising here, a great new force for good. Some wanted to send the Key to you. Others thought that we did not know enough about these Jedi, that the Slayer was a better choice. When the Beast finally attacked our hand was forced."

"Oh… Sithspit," he muttered, "Dawn as my sister. What a horrible thought." Then he looked at Buffy, who was almost on her knees with badly suppressed laughter. "What?"

"Oh… nothing…." she wheezed. "Dawnie as your sister… man that's a… good one. Heh. You wouldn't have known what hit you."

"Yes, thank you Buffy," broke in Giles as he looked up from the notes that he had been scribbling. "If I can yank this conversation back to a more pertinent point – what is the Abomination, or Beast? And why does it need the Key?"

A shudder shook the monk. "I do not know what it is, I only know that it took the form of a woman. A woman who delights in causing pain. If the old Gods were still worshipped she would be called Hecate. But instead it has the name Glorificus, or Glory in your tongue."

"Glorificus," repeated Giles lowly. "Damn. That rings a bell somewhere. I wonder where I've heard it before…"

"You must listen to me – it is coming here! It has been following me." The monk pulled out a sphere from a pocket, which was lit from the inside with a kind of murky light. "This is the Orb... um, Sphere of Dagon. It can cloud my location from Glorificus, weaken it and at the same time give me an idea if it is close. The light has been growing for some days now. The Beast is not far away now – maybe in Sunnydale!" He paused and looked at Buffy. "And I must say this. I am sorry for what we have done, but you must realise that we had no choice, at all. It the Beast had the Key then by now it would have used it, and in the right place and at the right time then the Key could be used to create portals into other dimensions – at the same time that those dimensions could have access to ours. This world could end, overrun by demons, or pulled into a Black Hole, or any one of a thousand fates. You must protect her. And she is a human now, as I said. She knows nothing of this. She believes that she is your sister, that her name has only ever been Dawn. Do not hold what we have done against her. We made her from you. She is you, in a way, just spun in a different form. Right now she is just a girl. She knows nothing but her life here."

Buffy stared at him for a long moment and nodded at him. "I'll bear that in mind," she said reluctantly. "I'll… think about it. Honest."

* * *

The Stargate opened with its usual whoosh of light and movement, illuminating the gate room with its rippling blue light. Through the main door to one side Bra'tac walked, dressed in full Jaffa armour and with his staff weapon in one hand. He looked at the gate, nodded quietly and then glanced at Teal'c. "Do not forget our meeting in seven Earth days on Chorxon. I will be telling the tale of the Battle of Endor to a great gathering, and I need you to help with that telling. You have the knack of doing Vader's breathing quite well."

"I will be there, Master Bra'tac," smiled Teal'c, before turning to the doorway at the sound of footsteps that announced the arrival of General Hammond.

"Hammond of Texas, I must take my leave of you," said Bra'tac as he drew himself up and then bowed slightly. "I thank you, both for your hospitality and for the chance to meet Jedi Master Harris again."

"You are very welcome, Master Bra'tac. Thank you for the help that you were able to give us. You know how much esteem we hold you in."

Bra'tac inclined his head slightly and then paused. "Hammond of Texas, you have a great asset in the Jedi. Master Harris is a great warrior and, I suspect, a better general. Tactics are one thing, but strategic ability is another, and I think that he has that in abundance. The Headhunter he has designed… it is a weapon that can help to crush the Goa'uld. I beg you to act on his advice. I sense that we will all need his help soon."

"We're making plans to manufacture the Headhunter as quickly as possible," Hammond replied gravely. "And we've also sent the plans to some of our allies here on Earth. We've even played a sleight of hand and… well, that's a matter of Earth politics, as there are some nations out there who have too much self-interest ahead of the planets'. People we trust will be building it soon. And we are pressing on with designing new and larger spacecraft." He smiled. "I will look forward to showing you the next time you come back. It's been a pleasure as always Master Bra'tac. Stay well."

The old Jaffa gruffly bowed again, clasped arms with Teal'c and then strode briskly up the platform to disappear into the Stargate itself, which then closed with a sigh a few seconds later.

"I understand that you are to meet with a designer and a manager from a major defence contractor in two days, General Hammond," asked Teal'c as they both turned and walked through the doorway and into the corridor beyond.

"Yes, I am," the General confirmed.

"I also understand from Colonel O'Neill that the cost of each individual Headhunter should be far below that of an F-22."

"Also correct," said Hammond.

"Did you know that O'Neill is taking wagers on how high they will scream on being told the costs involved and the smaller profits that they will receive?"

"No, but knowing Jack O'Neill that doesn't surprise me at all," smiled Hammond.

"I will explain to Master Bra'tac what you meant by a 'sleight of hand' the next time that I meet him. I did now know how insecure email could be sometimes."

"Oh yes, it's a terrible thing," said Hammond with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. "I mean, if people who weren't in on our little secret started to build Headhunters based on those plans, then they'd get… something that didn't work. Apart from to broadcast their locations to us and enable us to plug some holes in our security."

They walked on into the control room, where Major Carter was busy instructing several technicians on various small jobs, while Jack O'Neill stood at the back and played with something called a 'yo-yo'. He claimed that it was once a weapon of war, but Teal'c doubted that, unless it had been used to stun mice or similar small creatures.

"Bra'tac on his way then?"

"Indeed, O'Neill. He reminded me that I will be required to do my sound effects of the breathing of Darth Vader in seven days, on Chorxon."

O'Neill nodded and was in the process of opening his mouth to say something no doubt irreverent when the Stargate started to activate.

"Incoming wormhole!" called out Major Carter in some surprise from her place behind the controls. "Unauthorised incoming wormhole. Closing the iris."

"I was not aware that we were expecting anyone," Teal'c muttered as he joined the others at the window overlooking the Stargate.

"We're not," replied Major Carter grimly as the gate flashed and the wall behind it went blue to show that a wormhole had been established. Then she looked down at the controls and relaxed slightly. "Incoming IDC sir. It's the Tok'ra."

"Open the Iris," commanded General Hammond. "Colonel O'Neill, Major Carter, Teal'c, you're with me in the greeting party."

"Y'know, I get nervous when the Tok'ra arrive," O'Neill muttered to Teal'c as they went back down the stairs.

"May I ask why?"

"They tend to bring trouble with them. Or news of trouble. Trouble in a nutshell."

Teal'c frowned. "I fail to see your point O'Neill. They often bring valuable intelligence and news of what the Goa'uld are doing," he pointed out.

"Yes, but trouble still tends to follow them. I'm not complaining about it, I'm just pointing it out."

The Jaffa mulled that one over for a few moments. "You might be correct. I fail to see what can be done about it though."

O'Neill wagged a finger for a second and then sighed. "You're right."

They entered the Gate room in time to see a single but familiar looking figure dressed in Tok'ra beige exit the Stargate and walk down the ramp towards them. It was Jacob Carter, who bore the symbiote Selmak.

"George," he greeted General Hammond with a smile. "Hey Sam!"

Major Carter hugged her father quickly and then stepped back. "Dad! You didn't send word you were coming. Anything wrong?"

"Nope. I finished a mission early and then heard that there were some despatches to be passed on to Earth, so Selmak and I volunteered our services." He reached inside his jacket and then pulled out a thick packet, which he held out to General Hammond. "Intelligence reports and scouting information," he said. "Hot off the Tok'ra presses."

"Thank you Jacob, I'll have a look," said Hammond with a nod.

Jacob looked at them all. "No Daniel? I have some information for him as well – about an archaeological dig the Tok'ra are carrying out at a world we recently discovered. He expressed an interest the last time I was here."

"Ummmm," broke in O'Neill, "Daniel's off doing some training right now Jacob. And you're not going to guess what kind of training in a month of Sundays."

The Tok'ra's eyebrows rose as they all passed back out again into the corridor. "Training?" he asked. "What the hell kind of training does Daniel need?"

Major Carter put her arm around her father's arm and then smiled. "Daniel's off training to be a Jedi Knight, Dad. And before you ask, no, we're not kidding. We have a lot to tell you about what's been going on here."

Jacob looked at her for a long moment. Then he looked at Jack. "Did she fall on her head again Jack?"

"Nope. Lots to tell you though."

* * *

The problem with talking to demons – well, the main problem, as there so many smaller subsidiary ones – was that they quite often had not the faintest clue about life and courtesy and a hundred and one little rules that governed human life. Not a clue. So when Lilah had walked through the door and then looked at the guards she had had to wave her Wolfram & Hart card in their faces to stop them from 'searching' her. Copping a feel would have been more accurate, and the thought of it made her skin crawl.

She passed through the doorway with a cool smile on the outside and sneer on the inside. Hulking morons. Oh and there were more hulking morons looming to each side of the next doorway. What a surprise. Between them was a small and rather slimy man that the Force told her was a vampire. He looked at her with greedy eyes and then blinked at the look of cold contempt that she sent back at him, before she pulled out her business card again. "Lilah Morgan," she said quietly. "Wolfram & Hart."

The vampire didn't go pale, as that wasn't physically possible, but he did take a slight step backwards and then did his best to transform his expression from greasy expectation to vapid welcome. It was like watching oil try to evaporate off the sea – unsuccessful.

"Welcome," he simpered. "Lord Farsighted is through here. I will-"

"You'll do nothing. I'll meet him," she snapped and then stepped past him, ignoring his choked off cry of outrage. Lord Farsighted indeed. Portscold was getting delusions of grandeur.

Inside was a room filled with a muttering and very eclectic collection of demons and vampires, who were busy either eating or drinking. It was not a pretty sight at all. A small bar had been constructed to one side and in the far corner was a curtained alcove where a few demons could be seen... playing with certain orifices on other demons, presumably of the opposite sex. Again, not pretty.

But her eyes were on the large demon lounging on the chair in front of her. He was tall, he had black hair and jet white skin and his eyes had very odd pupils. He was wearing a black leather duster, no shirt and tight red pants. The overall effect was enough to make someone with a good dress sense throw up. He was also cleaning his fingernails with a large dagger. "Yes, what do you want, Wolfram & Hart?" he asked dismissively without even looking up.

Lilah looked around for somewhere clean to sit and finally parked herself on a small chair that creaked ominously as she sat down. "Hello Portscold. I heard a rumour the other day," she said, looking around the room in an equally dismissive way and then looking at him with her head tilted. "I heard that you're considering going to work for one of our rivals."

"Straight to the hunt! I always liked that about you, Morgan," the demon replied with a chuckle and a very fast smile that vanished quickly. "Yes, you heard right."

"Why do it? You had a contract with us."

Portscold smiled crookedly. "A _verbal_ contract actually. I know better than to put pen to paper with anyone from your firm. Well, now I'm breaking it."

She shook her head. "You should know better than to do that with Wolfram & Hart. That might be construed as... a mistake."

Portscold straightened up quickly and the noise level in the room dropped sharply as people looked at him. "Why are you here, Morgan? The contract was with the company, not with you. We don't meet often, I think that we both hate each other enough to agree on that. And I don't take kindly to threats."

Lilah smiled slightly. "I'm here because I'm always looking for ways to boost my standing with my superiors. Getting you back on board would do that quite nicely. And I'm merely pointing out a fact or two. Surely you can see that Wolfram & Hart can offer you far more than any of our rivals."

He sank back on the chair again and stared at her. "Nah," he disagreed as he went back to cleaning his nails again. "They offered us top price and a bonus for certain things. They've been more reliable than your lot recently. I heard about what happened in Sunnydale. Tsk tsk. You lot are getting soft and sloppy. Back in the old days it wouldn't have happened like that."

"We can match whatever they're offering – and more."

"No," said Portscold in a mocking voice after taking two seconds in apparent – and not very convincing – thought. "We're taking their offer. And we're throwing them a free gift."

Lilah could feel a poisonous amount of hatred and expectation in the air as she looked at him. Ah. This was not going well. "What kind of a gift?"

"You, as you're very unpopular with an awful lot of people," he shrugged and then gestured to a large demon who was standing to one side. "Take her to my room and make sure that she's tied up and naked when she gets there. I'm going to-"

But Portscold never finished whatever he had been about to say, because at that point Lilah reached out with the Force and then pulled the outer door to the street shut with a loud clang and then shot all the bolts home. And then as startled heads turned to the connecting door she leapt into the air in a Force-leap that took her straight through the arms of the flailing demon which had been about to grab her, up into a tight somersault and then down to land right behind a startled Portscold. As she touched down her lightsabre flashed into her hand then activated.

The demon leader had just enough time to look down as the red blade burst from his chest and then she pulled the lightsabre straight up and bisected his upper torso and head in one movement.

As Portscold's body flopped down off the chair there was a dreadful silence, broken only by the hum of her lightsabre. Then chaos erupted as people shot to their feet and shouted, or screamed, or just stood there and swore. There were two movements at that point. A small horde of assorted demons and vampires reached for weapons. Others made for the door that lead to the exit.

She dealt with the latter first, by slamming the door in their faces with the Force. It wouldn't hold them for very long, but it would give her some time. They'd seen the lightsabre and the fact that she seemed to have powers. They therefore could not be allowed to live. She had to kill them all. Which was fine with her.

As the nearest demon pulled out a short sword she turned and pivoted around, slashing through the weapon with a casual flick, before removing its head with a backhand. The next demon had no weapon, just a lot of talons that looked very unhygienic, so she just removed its arms at the elbows and then kicked it in the head so that it fell to the ground with a scream. Out of the corner of her eye she could see that a vampire had pulled out a gun and was trying to get a bead on her, so she waved a hand and used the Force to send it upwards into his own face, before the red blade flashed out again and took off its head.

Others were coming at her now and the door was starting to give way, so she looked around and then caught sight of the wooden panelling on one side of the room. Perfect. Concentrating hard she pulled it from the wall, shattered it into splinters and then sent the mass of wood screaming across the room, curving around her as it went.

The impact of the wood was horrific – to her enemies. Vampires screamed and then crumbled into dust while demons also screamed but were left to bleed from the injuries inflicted by the wickedly sharp splinters. Several of the possibly more fragile ones were even torn into quivering chunks, while the bar to one side blew apart into a haze of glass and alcohol.

Lilah smiled savagely, decapitated a wailing demon who was cradling what remained of its arm and then looked at the remaining live inhabitants of the room, most of whom were in their own private world of pain. An interesting idea occurred to her at that point. She looked down at her lightsabre and if anything the smile became even more savage. Then she tossed the lightsabre in the air, using the Force to keep it switched on and suspended in mid-air, before starting to spin it, so that it became a whirling red disk. And then she used the Force to drop that spinning disk to just above the floor and then straight across the room towards the door. The screams grew louder for a moment and then, after two more passes around her the room went very quiet, before she held out a hand and allowed the lightsabre to fall back into her grip.

Lilah looked around carefully and then turned to the door and gestured with a negligent wave of the hand. The door, which was already on its last legs, blew apart into yet more splinters, which came as a nasty shock to the guards outside, who were finally opening the main door to the outside. The greasy little vampire who had been out there did not survive the moment. Neither did two of the hulking things, who turned out to be quite vulnerable to small pieces of wood flying into their eyeballs.

The remaining two demons, obviously in a great deal of pain, turned around from the door just in time to see Lilah as she stepped out of the main chamber holding her lightsabre. She smiled and then the red blade came around and took the nearest one's head off, before she brought it back around and severed the remaining demon's legs at the knees. It fell over with a wail. She took its flailing arms off with a flick of the lightsabre and then stared down at it. "Good night," she snarled and then she placed the lightsabre between its eyes and pushed. It did not live for very long.

She looked around and then cursed. Something had sprayed ichor of some kind on her shoes, which were ruined. Damn. Well, at least they were all dead. She couldn't sense anything left in here alive. Walking back into the room she wandered over to the bar, where two bottles of brandy had somehow survived. Pursing her lips she looked at the floor and the horrible carpet and then at the wood that was littered around the place, as well as at the walls. Perfect. One bottle of brandy smashed against the wall by the door. The second went on the other side of the wall. Looking around she finally found an old Zippo lighter on one of the bodies and she clicked it on to produce a flame as she walked to the main door.

Throwing it in was easy. As she walked away she used the Force to close and then lock the door from the inside behind her. By the time she had walked a hundred yards she could sense the flames starting to rise.

Well. Problem solved.

* * *

Night was falling as she walked through the park. It had been a very long and very boring day and right now she was fighting off the need to walk into the nearest bar and get good and drunk. The emptiness was strong at the moment and there were times when the best way to keep it at bay was through a film of alcohol.

But something was keeping her away from the bars tonight. Instead she had that feeling again, that sensation that she needed to be somewhere else right now. It was a haunting sensation, a feeling of... a different form of need.

She passed along the path and up the hill, where a lone tree looked out over Sunnydale. There was a breeze blowing there and the grass was dark with shadows around it. The lights from the buildings were oddly relaxing and she sat at the base of the tree, her chin on her knees and her arms hugging her legs. This was a nice spot, Rebecca thought, as she looked out. It was... relaxing.

"Yeah," came a voice to one side, "I like this place too."

Startled she looked up. Xander Harris was walking slowly towards her, his hands in plain sight. He was wearing that brown robe of his again and he looked a bit tired.

"Mind if I join you?" he asked.

"Be my guest," she replied with a certain wariness. He tilted his head slightly as she spoke and then nodded to himself, before sitting down to one side on the grass, crossing his legs and leaning back against the base of the tree, closing his eyes as he did so.

A long minute or two went by and she watched him closely out of the corner of her eye.

"I heard that you wanted to speak to me," he said quietly, making her jump slightly. "Sorry, I was away. Had to talk to some people about... some technical matters." He yawned. "Long days and not much sleep."

Then he opened his eyes again and leant forward to look intently at her. "I hear that you've been talking to Lindsey. About... life in general."

Rebecca looked back at him and then nodded slowly, before looking back out at the lights of Sunnydale. "Yes," she said simply.

Another silence fell, with Harris joining her in looking out over the city. Well, town really, but she'd heard that Wilkins had had delusions of grandeur when it came to his view of the place.

After the silence had stretched out for long enough she finally turned to him. "Lindsey said that... you might be able to teach me. Can you?"

"Can I do what?"

"Teach me!"

"But teach you to do what?" he asked, and this time his eyes locked on to hers and would not let her go. "I want to know what you would do with what I could tell you. Teach you. What would you do with it?"

She opened her mouth for a moment and then closed it again, assailed with doubt suddenly. "I need... to learn how to use this gift I have."

Something changed ever so slightly in that gaze of his, as if he was examining a new facet of her personality on a level that she couldn't even begin to understand.

"At least you called it a gift," he said softly. "What I meant to say was, are you still a member of the Order of Teraka?"

"I... don't think so."

"There can't be any ambiguity about this, Rebecca. Either you are or you aren't. And if you are, I can't teach you. That Order is based on one thing and one thing only – Death. And for a Jedi that's not the answer. Let's be clear about this – if I train you, you would be a Jedi at the end of it. And so we have to be sure about where you stand on this. I need to know that you would take this to its natural end. And I need to know..."

"That I'm not playing you for the knowledge and then running back to the Order?" She shook her head. "I know why you have to be sure about me. But I stopped taking their orders months ago. They haven't even sent me any. I think that they sent me here to kill you knowing that I'd fail. That you'd kill me." She paused, her resolve hardening even more. "I owe them nothing now. Ok – I'm not a member of the Order. I'll find that ring of theirs and post it back to them, or melt it down, or do whatever I need to do to be rid of them."

His gaze changed again. "Ok," he said slowly. "Ok. Then there's a lot we need to talk about. Because you have the ability to be a Jedi – and a powerful one, I think. But you are going to have to come to terms with what you've done with your gift in the past and then move beyond that. If you can do that, and learn from that then I can lead you on. I can teach you. And actually Lindsey can teach you some things that I can't. He came to terms with what he had done."

She shuddered slightly. "Yeah. Wolfram & Hart. That place... must be worse than the Order."

Harris nodded slightly and then looked back at her. "Each is different. But the lessons are the same. Alright. We can start things tomorrow. It might be slower than you might want, at first, but until I have an idea of what you know and what you're using to do it with, that's going to be the ground rules – at first. After that... we'll see."

Rebecca stared at him. "You'll teach me then?"

"Yes."

She looked at him and then something happened to her mouth that might have been called a smile.

* * *

It had been a very long day. He had presided over a wide range of things that had to be organised, arranged and set in motion. He'd also ordered that three people be recruited and four people fired, one literally. And all the time he'd been worrying about the contents of this damn file.

He looked down at it, almost out of the corner of his eye, and then shuddered slightly. He needed a drink, so he walked over to the cabinet, poured out a quantity of quite good Russian vodka and then took a sip, suppressing the need to throw it all down his throat in one go. That would not be a good idea.

Instead he took another small sip and then wandered over to the window and gazed out over Los Angeles. Well, at least he was sure that he'd started to put the pieces together. There had been a lot of guesswork here and there, but the logical trail made sense.

Holland narrowed his eyes as he looked out. Sunnydale. That damn place. It had started after McDonald's second trip there, when he had gone out to the Hellmouth to stop Wilkins from becoming a First One. Something had happened there. He had met the Slayers for a start, but based on the times and dates to do with the Jedi becoming active on the Hellmouth, he must have met at least one of them at the same time. He'd always just presumed that they had blown Wilkins up. That begged the question of how they'd gotten him into the right place.

He'd suspected that something wasn't quite right with his protégé when he'd returned from that little assignment. At the time he'd written it up to the fact that an encounter with a First One, even a home-grown one, could be a bit rough. Plus at the time Lindsey had been showing some signs of growing a bit of his conscience back. That was natural, it happened to many people at the firm at some point, and was best cured by the promise of obscene amounts of money, power and perhaps even sexual gratification.

So he's indulged young McDonald a bit and then arranged for a transfer to Sunnydale, where the money was very good and any remaining fragments of conscience would be destroyed in the natural attrition of doing business on the Hellmouth. Having him do Holland's own dirty work by getting rid of that irritating annoyance Rove would have been the cherry on the cake and would have mired him even further in the grip of the firm.

The fact that Rove had been nuttier than a fruitcake by the end of his life had been neither here nor there. He certainly seemed to have been doing his best to assign some very dangerous and equally mad clients to McDonald, so he may have been both mad and paranoid.

Still, something had certainly happened in Sunnydale – maybe another meeting with the Jedi. They must have seen something in him, something good enough to pull him away from the firm.

He paused for a moment, whilst something that possibly resembled envy stirred at the very back of his brain for a nano-second before being crushed.

Ok, so that looked like being the deal. He thought he knew now what had happened. The question now was what to do about it. All the information he had was his own research. He had not involved anyone from Wolfram & Hart in it at all. It would have been too risky.

But that brought up a new problem. What did the Senior Partners know? They had been told all about the raid by McDonald and the others to get his mother and sisters back. They probably had noticed whatever powers the Jedi had used. He didn't know what this Force was, but he was guessing that it had to be mystical in some way. Maybe. Unless that line by Alec Guinness about it being an energy field that surrounded all living things was right.

The whole thing made his mind boggle sometimes, it really did.

So. What did the Senior Partners know? Probably a lot. Should he tell them what he had found out? Ah. That was a problem. What would they order him to do with the information? Act on it? And do what, exactly – rebuild the Sunnydale office and then run it himself whilst he looked for answers? He had no doubt that Lindsey and Harris had meant what they had said – that he should stop meddling in their business, or that was the message that he had got from the raid- so he could imagine that their reaction to his presence on the Hellmouth would not be a positive one.

He wandered back to the table again and then sat down, his eyes on the folder again. He had to make a decision, and soon. But for the first time in his professional career he had not a single idea what was the right course of action to take.


	33. Information And Facts

Ok, mea culpa. This chapter is a month late and I'd like to apologise to everyone out there. It's been a tough few months. First my wife came down with the virus from hell, which struck her down for two and a half weeks with a bad throat, terrible cough and no energy at all. Then there was this little thing called a US Presidential Election which, well, obsessed me a bit. And yes I was cheering for Obama. I'm a British Liberal Democrat, who else would I have supported? Anyway, the next chapter will not be nearly as delayed. Honest!

* * *

When Xander walked into the small gymnasium Oz and Lindsey had obviously been sparring for a while, because they were both looking a little sweaty. They weren't gasping for breath yet, probably because he'd taught them too well, but they still looked a little fatigued. One of the reasons for that was the styles that they were both using. Oz was using Makashi, and he was getting damn good at that. As for Lindsey, he was using a rather interesting style that was part Ataru and part Djem So. Interesting, mused Xander, I think that he's getting close to choosing which one he prefers.

Behind him he heard footsteps – followed by the sound of someone juddering to a halt. "They're just sparring," he said over one shoulder. "Nothing to worry about." Turning, he caught sight of Rebecca. She was standing there, her eyes wide and her mouth slightly open as the two Jedi battled in front of her. She was wearing new clothes for the first time since he'd met her, a brown collection of garments that didn't quite match – but which looked a lot better than her previous clothes, which had almost all been faded and scuffed variants of black.

"Why… haven't they cut bits off each other?" she asked hesitantly as Lindsey feinted to one side and then slashed quickly back again, only for Oz to meet his attack and then launch one of his own.

Xander smiled. "They're just sparring. Trying different techniques out. You'll understand when you have your own lightsabre."

"My own what?"

"Lightsabre. You're a Padawan learner, as the Jedi would call it. So at some point you'll have your own lightsabre. Trust me on that." Then he looked over at the doorway. "You too, Daniel."

The archaeologist had been watching the two lightsabre-wielding Jedi with an abstracted expression on his face that concealed a variety of emotions. Self-doubt was one. Bemusement was another. And over all there was a slight sense of fear. Right, thought Xander, let's get a hold of that as soon as possible. He beckoned Daniel over and then turned to Rebecca. "Daniel, this is Rebecca. Rebecca, Daniel. Say hi, because I'm going to be teaching the pair of you the basics, before… well let's not spoil the surprise. Ok. Sit down with me, because I'm going to start off by talking a bit."

Daniel nodded thoughtfully, while Rebecca made an odd movement that seemed to start off as a shrug until she thought better about it and then settled her shoulders back down and nodded as well. As Xander sat down on the floor and folded his legs they joined him, only slightly more awkwardly.

"Ok," said Xander after a moment. "Are either of you two familiar with meditation?"

It was a question that seemed to throw Rebecca, because she blinked hard and then scratched the back of her neck. "No, not really," she muttered.

Daniel, on the other hand, nodded. "Um. A bit. Teal'c does something very similar to meditation, but I've only joined him in it once or twice." He coughed slightly. "The first time I fell asleep."

"Well, that's understandable, if you haven't had any teaching," Xander said as he fought off the need to smile. Then he sobered. "It is extremely important that you both learn meditation. Now this is going to seem boring at first. You're both potentially strong in the Force, but neither of you have had what I'd describe as Jedi training. What I'm going to be doing is setting out the basics for you. You're both going to have to relearn a number of things, like what's possible - in your case Daniel - and what's wise - in your case Rebecca. It's important at this point for me to stress that you need this basis to centre yourselves. There are going to be times when you might think that I'm taking you slowly, maybe even too slowly. You're gonna have to excuse the metaphor, but every baby might have the muscles and the strength to crawl, but until that baby learns what they can or cannot do, until they learn the correct combination of factors that make up movement, you can't go forwards. Instead you might end up going backwards."

Taking a deep breath he looked at the archaeologist. "Daniel, you've been taught that certain laws of physics and nature are immutable – that there are some things that are set in stone, like the force of gravity. You're going to find out that these things can be… manipulated. Changed. You're going to have to alter your perception of the world and what is and is not impossible. Now, I know that you're done this before about some things. Well, it's time to open your mind a little further."

Then he turned to Rebecca. "As for you, Rebecca… what is past is past. This is a new start for you, a clean slate. And that's exactly what it means. I don't know how your father taught you and I know that he tried to move away from his father's teachings, but you're going to have to go back to basics here. We'll work on what you can do and what coincides with what I'm going to teach you, but for the meantime it'll be best for you to start from scratch. That way we can avoid what you feared before. And fear is a bad emotion. We're going to start from the ground and go up, building on the light side of the Force only." He smiled at the two of them. "You're both strong in the Force. You can be great Jedi. Hold on to that thought. Right – meditation. Let's start with the basics…"

* * *

Giles put the last book down with a sigh before wearily rubbing his eyes. Then he looked up at the clock over by the wall and winced. It was 1am. He'd been looking through what seemed like most of the books in his collection for the past ten hours. A minor snore whiffled gently next to him and he looked over with a smile to the other chair, where Olivia was sleeping with her head on the table and an open book still clutched in one hand.

He closed his own book and then stifled a yawn. It was no use. They'd looked in book after book and they'd found nothing so far to do with this elusive Glorificus. Oh there had been umpteen references to various 'Beasts', including one intriguing reference to something that could live in magma, and another mention of something called the Legendary Black Beast of Argh. The latter sounded like something Arthurian.

No, it was no use. He had no choice. In the morning, once he had carried Olivia to bed that is, he was going to have to call Quentin Travers. He wasn't looking forwards to it at all.

* * *

When Doyle burst into the room Angel was busy reading a small leather-bound book, Cordelia was scowling over the red ink in the ledger in front of her and Gunn was frowning over a small nick that was marring the edge on his axe. To one side Faith was busy balancing on a small thin piece of wood whilst Wesley watched her carefully to see if the fight that she'd been in the previous night had affected her balance at all.

"Good, you're all here," the Irish half-demon muttered as he pulled his coat off. "There's a bit of news doin' the rounds. Portscold and his boys are dead. All of them I think."

Angel looked up from his book, startled. "Portscold? The demon gang leader that works for Wolfram & Hart?"

"Aha!" Doyle cried, waving a finger in the air. "A little bird told me that he and his lot of scum was thinking of switching sides to that other bunch of evil lawyers. The ones with deep pockets."

"You mean he was going to betray Wolfram & Hart?" asked Wesley, exchanging a startled glance with Angel. "That's interesting. So what exactly happened to this Portscold?"

"Aha again – the lot of them were killed and their place burned down. Or they were killed as their place burned down, I'm not sure, but I do know that they're pretty much dead. And no-one knows who did it," said Doyle sombrely as he sat down to Cordelia and then finally kissed her on the cheek.

"Not Wolfram & Hart?" asked Faith as she hopped down off the piece of wood and then walked over to sit down by the table. "Aren't they the usual suspects?"

"Usually, yes," replied Doyle. "Thing is, and this is baffling the best minds in the underworld, or what passes for the bits that I've heard about, normally W&H contract out their kills. They get some poor bastard to do their dirty work for them and then they hang him, her or it out to dry. But no-one seems to know who did this job. No-one. All the fire teams found were a lot of odd-looking corpses, which they filed away under their 'unsolved' files as they usually do. Fire burned for long enough to gut the place pretty well. No way enough bits survived to work out how they died."

Angel scratched his chin. "Odd. Maybe Kate might know something on this."

"Are you sure that's a good idea?" asked Cordelia. "She's been very quiet for a while."

He sighed in response. "She can't stay mad at me forever. All I did was point out a few home truths."

"Yeah, Angel," objected Faith with a wry smile, "But that means pointing out that the world she thought didn't have monsters, turned out it did. That kinda thing pisses off people."

Angel stood up and walked over to the door that led to the sewers. "Well, it's time she stopped being pissed off with me and got pissed off at a better target, like the bad guys."

When the door closed behind him Cordelia sighed and then exchanged a knowing glance with Faith. "He's 200 years old and he's still got sooooo much to learn about women!"

"You said it, C," growled Faith, before she leapt back onto her bit of wood and resumed her balance exercise.

* * *

The inbox was about halfway empty when the new files arrived. Naturally. Quentin Travers did not sigh, did not curse, did not complain. That was not the way of the Head of the Watcher's Council. Instead he muttered something in Cornish in the privacy of his head, checked the new files for the labels that indicated their priority – nothing red or orange, just one or two yellow with the rest green – resorted the pile and then started again.

It was a fairly average day really. Nothing much in Britain, apart from the regular report about the maniac who claimed that there was a secret chamber from another galaxy under Glastonbury Tor, as he'd dreamt that a whiskered bloke had told him in his dreams, the occasional odd sighting of peculiar demons near Cardiff, which he made a note to pass on to the odd bods from that place in Cardiff, and… oh.

Quentin put the file down and read it quickly, before starting from the beginning again. When he finished he smiled sadly and then placed the file to one side. Old JK was doing it again. It was good to know that he was still there.

Then he passed on to the other files. Nothing major in the rest of the world, which was a relief. On some days signs and portents didn't just arrive, they positively showered down on you.

No, today it was the usual stuff. A group of demons had tried to get Vesuvius to erupt again by carrying out a very elaborate ceremony in the crater. Unfortunately they had failed to realise that breathing in various gases that tended to be heavier than air and therefore collected in depressions could be very fatal. They hadn't even had time to light the candles before succumbing to the inevitable. Oh and there was another sighting of that bloody ghost ship off the Rock of Gibraltar. According to schedule it would next appear off the coast of France, where it would salute the now very long-dead First Consul Napoleon Bonaparte with a full moon from the crew. He shook his head. That was a very odd situation.

As he picked up one of the final files the phone rang. "Travers," he answered gruffly.

"I'm sorry to disturb you Mr Travers, but Rupert Giles is on the line from Sunnydale. He says that he needs to talk to you quite urgently."

Travers resisted the temptation to scowl. Rupert Giles had definitely done native over the years. Worse, he'd passed on the infection to young Wesley Wyndham-Pryce, something that his father was entirely delighted by, the old bastard. But then Roger Wyndham-Pryce had always been something of a maverick.

"Put him through please Gillian," he muttered. Then he waited until there was a soft beep. "Hello?"

"What? Oh. Ah, good afternoon Mr Travers," said young Giles.

"Good morning Rupert. How can I help you? Is your Slayer in good health?"

"Yes, Buffy is in excellent shape," Giles replied. "Something has turned up here however that requires your advice. The last Monk of Dagon has arrived in Sunnydale."

Quentin Travers sat up sharply in his chair, his eyes widening. "Did you say the _last_ Monk of Dagon?"

"Yes."

"What happened to the rest of the Order?"

"He told us that they're all very dead. Killed by something that is… hunting him."

Quentin pulled out his pen as he cradled the phone on his shoulder and then scribbled a note onto a piece of paper in front of him, as he pressed the buzzer to summon his secretary at the same time.

"What exactly is this something, Rupert?" The door opened to one side Gillian appeared, looking puzzled. Quentin waved the piece of paper at her until she came over to take it and read it, before she nodded and then scurried back to her desk.

"I'm… not sure, Quentin. I've gone through my library and I can't find any references to it. He calls it a number of names – the 'Beast' is one, 'Glorificus' is another, which can be shortened to Glory."

Something seemed to grab Quentin's lower intestine and chilled it with what felt like liquid oxygen. He knew that there was a file in the Council's most secret of archives that had the name Glorificus on it. He didn't know what was in that file, but he did know that the old Watchers would not have placed it there if this creature was a fluffy bunny kind of thing. No, it had to be something terrible.

"That name… I have heard of it, but I'll need to consult the Black Room," he admitted.

There was a nasty silence on the other end of the phone. "The Black Room," Rupert Giles said in a level voice that Quentin had to admire for its evenness of inflexion. "That… does not sound as if it bodes well."

"No, it does not," Quentin had to admit. "I'll have to look into this and make some enquiries before I call you back Rupert."

"That's quite alright Quentin, I appreciate it," said the American-based Watcher.

"Oh, before I do, your call was fortuitous in another way. There's been another sighting off the coast of East Anglia."

This time the silence on the other end of the phone was wistfully sad. "Ah. JK?"

"Yes."

"Who did he save this time?"

"A young couple in a Cessna whose electronics had gone out in thick fog."

Rupert Giles cleared his throat noisily. "Oh good," he said and then: "Thank you Quentin, I'll keep you informed of what's going on here."

He put the phone down and then leant back in his chair and stared at the ceiling. He had a very bad feeling about this. Then the door opened again and Gillian poked her head around it.

"Mr Travers, the Prime Minister of the Czech Republic is on line one. He'd like to talk to you about what seems to have happened in a monastery not too far from Prague."

The bad feeling vanished and was replaced by the cold hard certainty that something very horrible was on the horizon.

* * *

"Come."

Riley paused infinitesimally, checked his fatigues one last time and then opened the door. Lam was sitting at his desk on the far side of the room. Riley stepped in, closed the door firmly, marched across the floor to the single chair that had been placed facing the desk and then stopped to salute. "Agent Finn reporting as ordered sir."

Lam looked up from the file he had been reading, smiled slightly, and then gestured at the chair. "At ease Agent Finn. Please be seated. I just need a moment to finish reading this."

"Yes sir," acknowledged Riley as he sat down. Lam had a few framed photographs on the wall behind him, most in colour but some black and white. There was a small US Marines flag in a pot for pens to one side of his desk, along with a small rubber ball that looked a bit worn and scuffed. That was it. It was quite a sterile office otherwise, without those little touches of life.

After a minute or so Lam turned the page on the file, grunted slightly and then looked up. "You've had a very interesting time here, Agent Finn."

"Yes sir," Riley agreed cautiously.

"I mean you were Walsh's blue-eyed boy – to the point where she carried out some very illegal procedures on you."

"Yes sir," Riley said again, feeling deeply uncomfortable at the reminder of his own short-sightedness.

To his surprise Lam laughed softly. "Ha! Rest easy, son, you're not the only one who was taken in by her. I heard that the floor of the NID was waist-deep in the blood of people's reputations by the time the full details came out of what her faction of the damn place was up to. There are still some investigations being carried out. I hear that they were going in some _very_ interesting places by the way. Very interesting indeed."

The new commanding officer of the Initiative straightened up and then closed the file. "No, I'm read the full file on the Adam situation – which sounded as if it was FUBAR from one end to very nearly the other – and I have to say that you came out quite well in it. Knowing when to call for help is a very important quality in an officer. Too many damn fools in the past have gotten not just themselves but also the people they commanded killed off because they didn't know when to stand back and call for assistance." He smiled wryly. "Of course you called for help from some very interesting allies, but you still did it. I'd say that the Slayer qualifies as the biggest damn case of an ally that I can think of."

Riley ventured a small smile. He really didn't like talking about Buffy in front of any commanding officer, for the simple reason that it might lead on to his relationship with her – which was none of their damn business.

He had a feeling that Lam could sense this, because he picked up the file in front of him and then leant back in his chair. "Now that I've had a chance to review operations I'm authorising the recommencement of patrols. I've got some new personnel coming in on the scientific side of the base who have been properly vetted and who are going to be instituting a programme of scientific study of HSTs – by which I mean that they won't be opening them up and finding useful stuff in them to stick on their own private Frankenstein's monster. We are going to be looking into ways in which the general public can be made if not safe then at least safer from the threat posed by HSTs.

"As the leader of Team One, the most experienced and I dare lucky luckiest unit on the base, I want you and your guys back out there. And yes, that means that I'm authorising you to co-operate with the Slayer. I can't tell you to do otherwise, partly because that would be foolish and partly because I suspect that Ms Summers has faced things that we can't even imagine. So I want you to assess the status of your team and report back here in three hours to give me a SitRep."

Riley thought about telling Lam that they were good to go right now, but he suspected that his new commanding officer could see straight through any bullshit in no time flat. So instead he came to his feet, saluted sharply, let out a brisk "Yes sir!" and then turned on his heel and made for the door.

* * *

When Buffy arrived home she discovered Dawn in the kitchen clutching a large spoon, a huge tub of double chocolate fudge ice cream and looking… fragile. That was a bad sign. It meant that something was very wrong somewhere in the world.

"Dawnie are you ok?" she asked as she set her bag down carefully and then looked around.

Her sister – sort off, but she was still getting used to that bit – turned to look at her, hiccupped with emotion and then threw the ice cream and the spoon to one side and then rushed to hug Buffy, in the process getting a smear of brown sticky chocolate residue on her back from her hands. "Buffy!!!" Dawn wailed.

"Urk," gurgled Buffy, more from the impact of her sister's shoulder hitting her windpipe than anything else, and then she patted Dawn's back in bewildered comfort. "Dawnie, what's wrong?"

"It's Mom!" Dawn wailed again, clutching at Buffy's back again. "She's sick!"

A cold feeling enveloped Buffy, like a cloud of ice crystals and then she took a deep breath and leant back to look into Dawn's face. "What's wrong with Mom?"

"Mom is perfectly fine, thank you," said a slightly exasperated voice to one side and Buffy turned to see her Mother leaning against the doorway to the kitchen with a raised eyebrow. "Dawn I told you not to overreact and scare your sister."

The younger Summers sister sniffed mightily, wobbled her lower lip into something that wasn't quite a pout and wasn't quite a sob and then went back to the ice cream.

"Mom, what's going on?" asked Buffy, sensing that something was going on beneath the surface here.

"Ok. Well, perhaps I exaggerated slightly when I said that I was perfectly fine. Actually I'm going to be going into hospital for a few days. I called you over so that I could ask you to take care of your sister for that time."

"Hospital?" asked Buffy in an ashen voice. "Mom, what's wrong?"

Joyce Summers pulled a slight face and then walked over to hug her eldest daughter quickly. "Buffy, you might need to sit down for this bit."

Buffy eyed her mother uncertainly but then pulled up a stool and sat down.

"Honey, remember I went to Doctor Grant's the other day after Oz told me to get a check-up?" Buffy nodded. "Well it was a good thing that I did, because Dr Grant found something. It's a little – and mean little! – growth."

"Breast cancer?" gasped Buffy.

Her mother hesitated. "No," she said with a slight sigh. "A slight growth in my head. In my brain."

It was at this point that Buffy's spine suddenly came very close to loosing certain vital input from her brain, to do with keeping upright. "A brain tumour?" she asked shakily.

"A small one, honey, a very small one," her mother interjected quickly, with a tremor in her own voice to match Buffy's. "Doctor Grant said that it was really lucky that I came in when I did, as it's small and manageable. They can cope with it Buffy, they can perform keyhole surgery that will get it out as fast as possible, without too much fuss."

The Slayer nodded quickly and then smiled at her mother – but that didn't stop the tears from flowing down her face. "When will they… they do it?" She asked in a small voice that she hated.

"The day after tomorrow," said her mother.

"That soon?"

"Buffy, they have to go in now before it grows, and if they wait any longer then it might interfere with veins and so on and-" Joyce Summers closed her eyes for a long moment and shuddered. Then she opened them again. "Honey, of course there are risks. But I've got a good chance – a better than good chance they said. They got it early. If I'd waited longer then… well it would be more complicated."

Nodding Buffy reached out and enveloped her mother in a hug that she carefully controlled. "I love you Mom."

"I love you too Buffy." There was a gurgling noise to one side and then the sound of rapidly receding footsteps. "And I have to go and clean up after your sister, who I think has discovered that large amounts of ice cream eaten rapidly on an empty stomach is a bad thing."

* * *

It might have been a posthole on the screen. Then again as it was an image based on a geophysics reading it might have been a fuzzy blob. Giles peered at it, rotated it twice and then sighed. He would have given anything to be at Caer Seren right now. However, he had other work to do right now.

"Rupert," came a voice to one side, and he looked over with a smile at Olivia, who was standing in the doorway. "There was a message from London for you on the answer phone. Guy called Quentin Travers called. He said that he's getting on the next flight over. He'll be at the airport at about 8am."

Giles froze in place for a long moment, his tongue apparently cleaved to the top of his mouth. "Quentin Travers," he said after a long moment of silent struggle with the offending organ, which had finally decided to obey orders, "Is coming here?"

"Yes. Who is he?"

"He's… he's the head of the Watcher's Council."

"Ah. Rupert, you're cleaning your glasses again. From what Buffy told me, that's bad isn't it?"

He looked down to discover that he was indeed rubbing on the lenses industriously. Ah. It had to be some form of unconscious defence mechanism, as he didn't remember taking the damn things off in the first place.

"Darling, if the head of the Watcher's Council, a body that has trouble raising a sweat at the best of times, is taking the red eye from London at notice that's so short that it's stunted, then I think that we are in very, very big trouble."

* * *

It had been a long day. Daniel had been not too bad at getting a hold of the basics behind meditation, but Rebecca… well she had trouble just sitting still. It wasn't quite her, she'd muttered at one point, before she'd closed her eyes again and then started over for the sixth time. The problem was that she'd had to use a different variant of being calm when she had been an assassin – the kind of calm that consisted of sitting very still at times whilst thinking through a plan about how she was about to kill someone, maybe if she had to make it look like an accident, and how she could get away. That was a lot of thinking to do, combined with a certain amount of inherent rage at the universe, and Xander did not want her to do anything like that, ever again.

So she did not know how to disconnect her mind and let things swirl around her. That wasn't a problem – she could be taught it, mused Xander as he strode down the road and listened out for the brainless vampire that he had been tailing for the past five minutes.

Whoever this moron was he had to be a newcomer to Sunnydale, because he was strutting about with his game face on. That was never a good idea because it made him stand out and displayed a poor sense of self-preservation, which were two things that the veterans of Sunnydale's vampire community had very pronounced views on. The vampire was also eyeing a small group of drunk revellers in the distance who were visibly sobering up by the minute as they seemed to realise that they were out late in an area that was not well populated and was also badly lit.

Xander sighed, drifted up noiselessly behind him and cleared his throat loudly. The vampire turned quickly at the sound and then blinked at how close the Jedi was. "Ha!" he snarled, "Fresh meat!"

Xander winced and then shook his head, two actions that seemed to take the vampire rather by surprise. "Oh come on, give me a break. 'Fresh meat!' That's so last century. What do I look like, a side of ham? Sheesh. Let me guess – you're new here in town. That explains the attitude."

The vampire frowned, opened his mouth and then caught himself reacting instead of acting and looked very angry instead. "Hey!" it spat out, "You're supposed to be running away! Do you know who I am?"

"Do you know who _I_ am?" Xander shot back.

This seemed to puzzle the vampire for a moment. Then he got angry again. "This ain't a game of who-the-hell-am-I!" he snarled again, displaying a lot of teeth and far too much dribble.

"It should be," replied Xander with a grim smile, "Because I'm a Jedi."

"Yeah?" jeered the vampire, "Well I'm an ewok."

The blue lightsabre flashed on and then caught the astonished vampire in the neck. "You're too tall to be an ewok," Xander said as his opponent broke apart into a million motes of dirty dust. Shaking his head he deactivated the lightsabre and then looked up the road. The revellers were long since gone and he turned to stroll down the next left turn, which should take him on the next leg of the patrol schedule that he had worked out with the others.

* * *

It was the noise that first attracted his attention. It sounded like a low moaning, interspersed with a dull clanging noise on a semi-regular basis, and it was coming from near a dumpster by a large warehouse that looked as if it had been deserted for at least a year.

Xander tilted his head and reached out with the Force. Then he frowned. It was a human, not a vampire or a demon – but there was something very wrong with whoever it was, as if there was a piece of their brain or something missing. "Hello?" he called out softly. The moaning paused for a moment and then started up again, as whoever was doing it had been distracted for a second. "Are you alright? I'm not going to hurt you?"

As he walked carefully around the dumpster he could see where the noise had been coming from. A rather pudgy-looking man dressed in some kind of uniform was slumped over on his side, his back to the dumpster and his hands in his head. Every now and then he groaned and then hit his head against the metal wall behind him.

"Are you ok?" Xander asked. Something was definitely not okay with this guy at all, because suddenly the Force was screaming in his ears that something was very wrong with this entire situation.

Maybe it was the nearness of his voice, or some other factor, because suddenly the man pulled his hands away from his face and then looked around wildly. "No more voices!" he cried in a hoarse croak. His thinning hair was violently askew and his eyes were red-rimmed and looked as if he had been under intolerable strain. The way that they were darting about the place, at Xander, the wall to one side, a moth that just happened to flutter by, at the moon, did not denote a stable mind. The guy looked freaking nuts in Xander's opinion.

"Are you ok?" he asked again, as gently as he could.

The man opened his mouth with a sudden hiss of air for a moment and then shuddered violently as he clawed at his hair wildly, his eyes tightly shut. "Can't think, can't think, can't think," he moaned quickly and then he stopped dead in his tracks, his hands shaking more than a bit. "She took it all away," he said in a very slow voice that sounded as if he was forcing each word out under incredible pressure.

"Took what away?"

The man shook his head violently at the sound of Xander's voice and then held his hands up almost imploringly in a placating gesture. "She… was in there… the warehouse…" he said, his voice wobbling under immense strain. "And… she put her hands…. Oh god… in me…. Churned me up and sucked me dry…" He looked up into the sky and his eyes were now streaming with tears. "Sucked me dry…" Then he closed his eyes again and clenched his fists. "She… took… my… clear skies, oh god, words can't place the _picture_… my… _thoughts_…" And then he started to cry with great heaving sobs and eyes that were now horribly devoid of thought or sanity.

Xander looked at him, and then placed his hand on the man's shoulder. "Sleep," he ordered as he used the Jedi Mind Trick. "Sleep."

As the security guard slowed and then hiccupped his way into an uneasy slumber Xander turned and looked at the building. Ok, the man was unhinged to the point that his mental doors had fallen off, but he had to check this out. If someone had done this to that poor man then he had to look into it. He had a very nasty feeling about this, but he took out his lightsabre and walked over to the nearest door cautiously. Pausing to reach out with the Force he then opened it slowly, looked in and then slipped inside.

The lighting was bad inside the building, but Xander was still able to slip his way down the corridor and around the puddles of water that had leaked in through the holes in the windows. The place looked as if it was receiving just enough maintenance to remain intact while still being downright rickety in places.

The further in he got the more... uneasy he became. It wasn't as if the Force was screaming in his ear, more like something was running its fingernails down a blackboard that was outside his vision but not quite his hearing.

Turning a corner cautiously he paused for a moment. There was a large room up ahead that had better lighting. It also had someone inside who seemed to be talking to themselves and who was wearing something red, because he could see a quick flash of that colour for a second.

Reaching out with the Force... left him confused. Whoever or whatever was in there they were not completely human. They weren't vampiric either, or demonic. Actually he didn't know how to classify what the hell was in there.

As he walked down the corridor he was able to hear what the person – who sounded female – was saying. She did not sound as if she was in a good mood at all.

"-to be here somewhere! Where do vermin like that go? That vision said he'd be here! Of course it wasn't a reliable vision and might have been for the reality next door, but I was sure that he'd be here... ok maybe I need to find a different warehouse. Oh. There might be another guard there. I feel peckish anyway. I seem to be talking to myself a lot. That's probably a good thing, but I need some minions. I can really rant with abandon then."

By now Xander could see into the room, which was large and very spacious, with large iron beams stretching from the floor to the ceiling. To one side, not far from a large window that had a good view out over Sunnydale, a woman was standing. She was dressed in a tight sleeveless red dress, and reddish hair that framed a decidedly petulant face in curls. She also looked extremely annoyed right now.

As Xander stepped into the room the woman tapped her chin with the end of a finger whilst muttering darkly about something. Whatever she was thinking about she soon reached a decision, because she then turned for the door – and then stopped dead at the sight of Xander.

"Oh," she said, dismissively, "Another human. How boring."

"Can I ask what you're doing here?" Xander asked, his deactivated lightsabre still in his hand.

This seemed to exasperate her, because she rolled her eyes and then waved a hand. "No!" she snapped petulantly, "You can't ask me anything as it's not your place to ask anything of me! Duh! What a moron." Then she paused and eyed him up and down, before a smile that was far too fake for Xander's comfort played around her face. "Oh, where are my manners? Maybe you can help me. I'm an... I'm a tourist here from, uh, far away, and I'm looking for a monk who's uh, stolen something from me. A key."

Alarm bells went off in Xander's head with a roar. This was not good. "Stolen from you? What kind of key?"

She paused and her eyes flickered back and forth for a moment as she visibly sought for something plausible. "It's a... umm... a green key! And it was stolen by a monk! A rotten, lying, thieving little... ah, a very bad human – I mean a monk!"

Sithspit, thought Xander, she's a terrible liar. He smiled slightly and then tilted his head. "I'm guessing that you're Glorificus, or Glory, right?"

She blinked at him. "How did you know that? And who are you?"

"Jedi Master Xander Harris," he said, with a slight bow. "And I know because we were warned about your arrival."

This baffled her for a moment – and then it seemed to exasperate her. "Who's we? Who warned you? And what's a Jedi?"

"Ok," said Xander slowly. "'We' include Jedi, Slayers and other interested parties, the last monk of Dagon warned us, and by the way he's on his way to a very safe place, and finally the Jedi are those who can use the Force. And who can wield a lightsabre. Like this," he said as he activated his blue humming blade.

Glory watched the lightsabre as it extended and then clapped her hands. "Oooh! Pretty! What does it do?"

Now it was Xander's turn to blink. "Um... it cuts things off if anyone threatens me," he stated.

"Oh," she said. Then she tilted her head. "Did you just say that you've met that rat fink monk?"

"Yes." Xander was starting to get the feeling that she wasn't the brightest of bulbs.

"So where is he?"

"I'm not going to tell you."

"Right," she sighed, "So I guess I'm going to have to do this the hard way. No, wait, what am I saying? The fun way. I'm going to have to beat you to a pulp until I find out where my key is."

"I'd recommend against that," Xander replied as he hefted his lightsabre.

This prompted another roll of the eyes from Glory. "Oh come on! What's that thing going to do, give me a tan?"

"Something more permanent than that," replied Xander grimly.

Things moved very quickly after that. It was a good thing that Xander was holding on to the Force, because he might not have been able to sense Glory as she started to move towards him, because she moved very quickly indeed – as fast, if not faster – than Buffy. She lunged towards him, her hand coming up and heading towards his throat, obviously intending to do something that would turn out as being terminal about his breathing.

Xander dived to the other side, his lightsabre coming down and around – and then it hit her midriff and bounced off, jarring his wrist in the process.

When that long and frantic moment ended they were both standing roughly where the other had started. Both were rattled. Xander stared at the lightsabre and then at Glory's midriff, where her dress had a large smouldering rent in it. She was not in two pieces at all.

As for Glory she stared down at her dress and then actually stamped her foot in rage. "My dress! That was my damn dress! I love this dress! And..." She paused and then pulled the rent open and stared at her skin. Xander could see a red and livid line running across her midriff. Which was impossible. Unless Glory was made of something very definitely not human at all.

"You hurt me!" Glory screamed in a combination of astonishment and rage. "You actually hurt me! Do you have any idea who I am?"

"Yes, you're alive when you should be dead, or at least cut in half," muttered Xander as he shook his stinging wrist for a moment. "Sithspit what _are_ you?"

"I'm extremely mad!" Glory shouted and this time when she stamped her foot the floorboards under her creaked audibly in complaint. "Right," she said grimly, narrowing her eyes and flexing her fingers, "I knew someone once who liked to make balloon animals out of people's intestines. I think I'll start with your spleen."

This time she was even faster, but Xander had read her body language and anticipated it by a split second by darting to one side and then using his impetus to go straight up, force-leaping onto the elaborate metal cross beam that joined the nearest metal pillar about 20 feet off the ground.

His sudden elevation in height – not to mention his sheer speed – seemed to take Glory by surprise, because she looked wildly about for a moment before finally catching sight of him. "No fair cheating!" she shouted up at the Jedi, "Come back down here and let me have fun with your guts!"

"I'm sorry but that doesn't sound like it fits my definition of fun," Xander pointed out. "And as I don't think that I'd survive the experience, that kind of rules that out."

Glory scowled at him and then walked over to the pillar – which she then tapped with a hand. Tap or not, the entire thing quivered at her touch, which meant that she was using a great deal of force. Then she looked back up at him with a considering grin – before she punched the pillar, snapping a three-foot length out of it.

But Xander had read her intent in a flash, because even as the top of the pillar rang like a bell and then started to fall down, he was in mid-air, leaping for the next pillar. As he landed he looked down at Glory, who was watching him with a pout and a grimly determined look - and then he used the Force to send her flying across the room.

The amount of damage she did was quite impressive, taking out another two pillars, a wall, a number of harmless wooden packing cases and about 20 yards of floorboards before she finally came to a halt in a shower of debris and a wail of indignant surprise. The warehouse was suddenly full of dust and noise – and Xander did not like the sounds that were starting to emerge. From the sound of stressed metal and groaning wood, he had a sudden feeling that that the maintenance on this place should have been a bit better. He looked over at where Glory had landed and then saw – not to much astonishment at all – that she was standing up and flailing at the dust that now covered her. Then he looked over to the other end of the room, where something was making a rending noise that did not bode well at all.

Using the Force he blew out the nearest window and then leapt through, turning in a tight somersault as he did so and using the Force again to cushion his fall. The moment he hit the ground he started running, as behind him he started to hear the sound of falling metal as one of the remaining pillars gave up the ghost and succumbed to gravity.

"Come back here!" screamed a voice and he looked over his shoulder to see Glory at the empty maw of the window that he'd left through. "I'll-" But she never had a chance to finish her sentence, because it was at that exact moment that something that seemed to be integral to the building snapped or broke or something and she vanished downwards in a great broiling explosion of bricks and wood as the entire structure failed.

Xander winced as a cloud of dust enveloped him for a moment and then he was out of it as he ran as hard as he could away from the area to avoid any debris, before slowing to a halt and looking back at the settling pile of rubble that sprawled where a building had once stood.

Given the fact that he'd hit her with a lightsabre and then sent her flying across the room Xander did not think that Glory was dead at all. As he looked at the mound of debris he could sense something moving in there. Oh boy, this was going to be a challenge and half. Turning he started running. He had to tell the others that he had met the enemy – and that the enemy was tougher than they had feared.

* * *

When Buffy reached Giles's front door she paused as she reached for the doorbell and sniffed. There was a distinct smell of bacon. Shrugging she rang the beel and then waited. After a moment the door opened to reveal a slightly flustered-looking Olivia. "Buffy!" she exclaimed, looking relieved. "Good to see you again."

Frowning slightly Buffy walked in and then sniffed again. The smell of bacon was very strong indeed. Olivia noticed the sniff and then winced. "I'm glad you're here. Rupert's very worried about something. He made himself a bacon sandwich. It's his comfort food I think."

"Just bacon?" asked Buffy, "He didn't have any lettuce and tomato?"

This bought her a rueful shake of the head. "No, just bacon and nothing but more bacon. In a bun. With some more bacon."

Processing this all, Buffy just nodded. If things had been very bad then Giles would have called her and things would be happening, probably involving hitting things with very sharp weapons. If it had just been bad then the place would be covered in books. She wasn't sure how to classify bacon sandwiches.

Her Watcher was sitting on the sofa, with an empty plate in front of him and an abstracted look on his face, like he was worried about something that he couldn't fix. "Ah, Buffy," he said when he finally got around to noticing her. "Everything alright?"

"I think so. Are you ok Giles?"

"What? Oh. Yes. I think so. I've had some news. Quentin Travers, the Head of the Watcher's Council is on the next plane out from London. I called him today about Glory. He called back to say that he had some important information and was flying out at once." He drummed his fingers on the arm of the sofa. "I'm not sure that that's a good thing."

"He's flying out today?" frowned Buffy as the doorbell went again and Olivia went to get the door. "Why the urgency?"

"I'm not sure." He paused and then pulled a face. "Buffy, the Head of the Watcher's Council does not usually drop everything and fly out to visit a Slayer and her Watcher on a whim. It usually takes something major to provoke something like that. Especially as Quentin bloody Travers is something of a conservative even by the standards of the traditionalist wing of the Council. His uncle was a communist by comparison. No, he's coming because he's got something on Glory that's too sensitive to pass on over the phone and is too urgent for him to rely on a messenger. I think that he knows something about Glory."

"Who I've just met in a warehouse off Carlsbad Avenue," said a grim voice behind them. Turning, Buffy stared at a rather dusty Xander as he strode in. "And I can tell you that she's something of a lunatic."

"You've met Glory?" Giles asked as he leapt up from the sofa into a standing position so fast that Buffy found herself almost taking notes on how he had done it. "Who is she? What is she?"

"Oh, she's a bout yea high," replied Xander as he gestured at about Buffy's height, "Lots of long curly red hair, a tight armless red dress, a willingness to smash things, I think that she can drive people mad based on the security man I found gibbering outside the warehouse in a foetal position and she wanted to make balloon animals out of my guts, which I don't think I would have enjoyed at all. Oh and my lightsabre bounced off her. Left a weal, but still bounced off."

There was a long moment of silence. Then Buffy closed her mouth, which she had discovered was hanging open.

"Oh bugger," said Giles as he sat down and polished his glasses.


	34. Gods And Doctors

This chapter was a total swine to write. I had a bad attack of writers block, and then I had the flu over Christmas, then Kathleen fell ill herself, oh and I also discovered World of Warcraft. That's why it's so late - and also so short. Apologies to everyone, but I put my head down and crawled to the end of it. The next chapter will not take as long, honest!

* * *

Giles woke up with a slight start and then lay there for a moment and stared at the ceiling. He'd been picking up a nasty habit in recent years of waking up with his mind fixated on whatever problem they were facing at the moment and then not being able to get back to sleep for some time. He tilted his head to one side and then smiled. At least he hadn't woken Olivia up. She was fast asleep, with her head slightly scrunched under her pillow. How she didn't get neckache he would probably never know.

He closed his eyes and tried to lull his brain into sleep again but after a few minute he was forced to concede defeat and then open his eyes again. According to the clock it was 6.30am and the dawn chorus was making its presence felt again.

Olivia's ability to sleep through that as well astounded him even now.

Finally he threw in the metaphorical towel and carefully slid out of bed before walking over to pull on a t-shirt and a pair of boxers and then slipping out of the door. It looked like another beautiful day he thought wistfully as he wandered downstairs and filled the kettle. Flipping the switch to turn it on , he walked to the door, opened it slightly, checked to see that no-one was around and then grabbed the paper that the dratted delivery boy always left just out of easy reach on the porch.

He ambled back into the kitchen, grunting slightly with surprise at the latest headlines, put the paper on the counter and then hunted for his favourite mug. It was very clean, which was a shame as he thought that the sheen of tannic acid often gave hot drinks a certain je ne sais quoi.

Um, coffee today, not tea, as he felt like being independent. Well, about as independent as he ever was. He threw some coffee grounds into a carafe, added the now-hot water and then stood there and waited for the stuff to brew. As he did he absent-mindedly reached up and opened a cupboard, where he grabbed a steel jar with a glass top that hopefully contained flour. Placing it on the counter he turned to the carafe and pushed the plunger down slowly. When it was down all the way he poured himself a coffee, added a very generous dash of milk and then took a slow sip. The first cup of anything like tea or coffee of the day was always the best one.

Hearing soft footsteps behind him he turned to see Olivia standing at the door, looking rather rumpled and distinctly sleepy. "You're up early for a weekend," she muttered, before she stole his coffee and took a long chug on it.

"Yes, well," he sighed, "It isn't every day that the head of the Watcher's Council comes to town, bringing with him important information and also the chance that all kinds of secrets might get blown open."

"Oh, you're full of the joys of the morning today," she griped as she returned his coffee and then started to make her own. "What's got you so down?"

"Quentin Travers is not my ideal boss. I think that he's an overly traditional idiot whose dedication to the fight against evil has taken him to the point where he regards Slayers as tools and not as potentially highly vulnerable people. That said, he's also a very intelligent man who has a habit of getting to the heart of a matter very quickly. When he gets here and hears how Xander encountered this Glory, whatever she is, his first question is going to be on the lines of how he survived the encounter. And that's the question that Xander will have to answer. And his answer's will be, as usual, in full and truthful."

Olivia sagged slightly as she sipped her coffee. "The Watcher's Council will finally find out about the Jedi."

"Yes," said Giles slowly.

"Ok," she said slowly, "But there's always been the chance that that will happen right? I mean, the demon community or however they describe themselves, know, so what makes you think that the Watcher's won't find out?

He nodded slowly as he finished his coffee and then opened the jar of flour. "Good point," he conceded as he looked around for a bowl. "If Travers knew already he'd have been on the phone swearing at me about 30 seconds after finding out."

"Rupert, they're going to find out eventually. It might as well be now, at a time and place of Xander's choosing. So you need to tell him as soon as possible." She looked at the collection of things that he had absent-mindedly pulled out of various cupboards and drawers and the old frying pan that he was now holding. "But after the pancakes that you're about to cook for breakfast I think."

* * *

"Ok," said Tomlinson, the briefing officer who still seemed to think that he was a CAG, "Settle down, shut up and listen up." He settled his notes on the podium and then looked at them. "Because we have got a lot to get through and not much time."

Oh get on with it, thought Cameron Mitchell as he sank into his seat and pulled the note holder up and around so that he could rest his own notes on it.

"As you know we have a training session scheduled for you to get your eager hands on the controls of some F-302s, and most of you are going to be doing just that. But a lucky five of you are going to be checking out the prototype of something that's even better."

"No way," someone blurted to one side.

Tomlinson looked at the assembled officers and then smirked. "Yes, speaking as someone who has sat in it and seen it fly, I can confidently say that not only does it kick the F-302's ass, it should also wipe the floor with anything that you're going to come up against."

No way, thought Cameron, there is no way that there's a better bird than the F-302. He's yanking our chains. It's probably some old F-4 that's been rusting in a field behind someone's barn somewhere.

"Before you ask, the lucky five people are-" Tomlinson unfolded a piece of paper and looked at it. "Egan! Reithner! Sikorski! Duggan! And… Mitchell! Grab your gear and meet me at the main entrance in 15 minutes. Do not be late gentlemen. You're going to meet something called a Headhunter. Learn everything you can about it, because once the bean counters finally pull their fingers out, they're going to put it in production and you're going to be flying them."

* * *

It had been a long flight. Fortunately the post of Head of the Watcher's Council came with some valuable perks, like access to first class seating on any commercial flight in the world. At least the food had been good, the wine had been excellent and the new-fangled seat had converted itself into a bed easily and had allowed him to sleep. As a result he was in far better shape than many of the people around him as they stumbled off, tousled and bleary-eyed, and then went to get their luggage.

Not him of course. Quentin Travers walked to the executive line, showed his passport and then collected his bag, which was neatly stacked to one side. The wards he had placed on it, one of the few bits of magic that he did these days, were intact and the contents had not been tampered with. Not that he would have expected otherwise, but it was better to be safe than sorry.

He strode out of the arrivals lounge and then looked around. Among the people waiting near the exit was a short man in a red blazer who was holding a piece of card with a complex symbol written on it. Aha. There weren't many people living now who could read that language. He strode up to the man and then pulled out his wallet and showed the seal inside it. The man nodded, took his bag and then led the way to the car.

Well, on to Sunnydale. And Glorificus. He had an unpleasant feeling at the pit of his stomach about this whole thing. But at least he had a very fast hire car and a bodyguard who was had been trained by the Special Air Service. As he sank into the padded upholstery in the back of the vehicle he pulled out his phone, hit the enciphering button and then punched in a number. He waited for about three rings and then it was answered.

"Rupert Giles, Watcher's Council."

"Good morning Rupert, I trust that you're well today."

"Oh, ah, yes Mr Travers."

"Let's be informal on American soil, Rupert, please call me Quentin. I am on my way to Sunnydale now by car from the airport. I'll be staying in a secure location – my office booked a place in town that should have more than adequate security." He paused. "I am bringing the information on the creature that you mentioned."

"Thank you Quentin. I do have to report that we have had contact with her – something happened the other night. There were no casualties, apart from structural damage to a warehouse, but we have a description and a rough idea of her thought processes – such as they are."

He felt himself paling slightly. "Ah. She has manifested herself then?"

"Yes, in as it were the flesh, although I must confess that even now I know very little about her."

"I'm coming to fill in some of the gaps," he replied grimly. "I'll contact you when I get into Sunnydale. Goodbye until then Rupert."

He terminated the call and then stared out of the window deep in thought for the rest of the ride. The sinking feeling was back and it was positively cavernous by now.

* * *

"Buffy, will you stop fussing!" scolded Joyce as she shooed her eldest daughter away from the hospital bed. So far Buffy had plumped the pillows twice, poked at the mattress after complaining that it looked lumpy, sniffed the water in the jug by the bed and muttered that it smelt stale, jiggled the shades so that it wasn't too bright in the room and generally made a total pest of herself.

"But mom!" Buffy whined as she glared at the door, possibly suspecting it of either harbouring a squeak or a vampire somewhere in it. "I'm just making sure that it's all ok here!"

"Honey, it's a hospital. They do medicine here. They try and make sure that people don't run out of the door screaming at the decor, but they have different priorities when it comes to making people comfortable," sighed Joyce as she looked down at her other daughter, who was snuggled against her side and who looked a bit haunted. "Dawn, honey are you ok?"

Dawn looked at her with very wide eyes and a look of such total seriousness that belied her years. "Mom, are you going to be ok?"

"I'll be fine honey, the doctors here know what they're doing."

This was her eldest daughter's cue to look flinty and mutter something about opening up a can of whupass on any doctor who went anywhere near her mom without having a very good idea about what they were going.

"All settled in?" They turned to see a tall dark-haired doctor who looked as if he shaved with a facecloth standing in the doorway.

"Yes, although I think my daughters would like to talk to someone about the decor," Joyce said wryly.

The doctor, whom she'd seen talking to Dr Grant earlier on, looked a bit bemused. "Well, we'll take what they say under advisement."

Buffy had been looking at the doctor as if he had just crawled out from under a rock and was therefore in need of classification. "Are you operating on my mom?"

"No, that's going to be Dr Grant, but I can answer any questions if you have-"

"I have questions? Oh boy do I have questions. Outside now!" Pausing to kiss her mother and grab Riley's hand she marched out.

Oh boy. "Dawn, I think you should go with your sister and make sure that she doesn't do anything that she might regret."

A lower lip wobbled. "But mom..."

"Dawn, honey, I'll be fine. It will all be fine, you hear me? Now go and talk to the doctor. Buffy's got questions about the operation and I know that you have too." She kissed her youngest daughter on the forehead, hugged her warmly and then watched her as she snuffled her way out through the door. Then she sighed and relaxed. Her family could be hard work sometimes, it really could...

* * *

Ben looked at the two sisters in front of him and then cleared his throat. The older of the two had folded her arms under her breasts and was delivering the kind of glare at him that he was more accustomed to coming from veteran nurses who regarded young doctors as being rather like incontinent puppies that might do anything if they weren't closely supervised.

"Look, Miss Summers-" Ben started, only to be cut off by a wave of Buffy's hand.

"Buffy, please. Miss Summers make me feel like something out of a PBS costume drama." She caught sight of the raised eyebrows and quirking mouth of her boyfriend and then paused. "What?" she asked.

"Since when do you watch costume dramas on PBS?" asked Riley.

She opened her mouth and then closed it. "I might one day. I can handle costume dramas!" Then she shook herself and turned back to Ben, who was watching them with a certain wry amusement. "I'm sorry, Doctor -?"

"Call me Ben," he replied with a smile. "As I was about to say, any operation brings risks. But in your mother's case the risks are small. Because she came in early – because she took her initial symptoms seriously – we caught this thing in the early stages, and when you're dealing with any kind of tumour the earlier the better.

"Now, the tumour's small and-"

"I'm sorry, but can you not call it that?" winced Buffy. "That… word keeps making my stomach loop the loop."

"Ok… the, um, object is small, which cuts down on the possible number of complications."

"Complications?" broke in Dawn with a gasp, "What complications?" She looked at them slightly wild-eyed. "Dr Grant didn't say anything about complications!"

"Look, when you're dealing with a- um, an object in someone's skull you always have to worry about complications. The brain is a tough but delicate thing, with a lot of blood vessels and other complexities. The larger a… an object becomes, then the more it can press against the brain, or interfere with veins, or generally complicate the situation. But your mother's object is small, which should make it easy to remove every scrap of it without any of these complications. We've already done a biopsy so we know that it's benign and not malignant, so all in all it's looking good so far."

Buffy let out a breath that she hadn't realised that she was holding and then looked at Riley, who had just emitted the kind of sound that an asthmatic mouse on helium might have produced. And then she looked down at her hand on his arm and hurriedly relaxed her grip. "Riley, sweetie, I'm so sorry! I… don't know my own strength."

"Not a problem, he smiled as he rubbed his arm with his free hand. Then he caught the doctor's quizzical look. "She works out a lot."

"Ah," said Ben, who then seemed to move hurriedly on. "Anyway, um, Buffy, your mother's in good hands and the procedure should be a simple one."

"Should be?" asked Damn, showing a disconcerting ability to highlight ambiguous words.

Ben smiled at her. "We always take every operation carefully and seriously, and even if something is supposed to be simple we act on the assumption that it might really be complicated. As I said, we caught this thing early. If she had waited longer to get herself checked out then it might have become trickier because the object would have been larger. Now, I have some more patients waiting, but if you have any more questions please feel free to ask one of my colleagues."

"Well that sounds reassuring," Riley pointed out with a smile. Then he caught the strained looks on the faces of the Summers sisters. "But, yes, I know, she's still your mom and it's only right to worry about your mom."

* * *

"I'm afraid that Buffy can't make it to our meeting, Quentin," Giles muttered as he escorted the older Watcher in. "Her mother is having surgery this week for a small brain tumour."

Travers pulled a slight face as he walked over to the proffered chair by the table and then sat down with a slight sigh. "Very well. Perhaps you could give me a rough account of how she met Glory and then I can ask her afterwards to give me a more detailed version."

Giles visibly paused and then he turned to Xander, who had been standing to one side, his hands clasped behind his back as he studied Travers. The head of the Watcher's Council looked as if the façade of geniality that he was wearing could be ripped off at any moment. He was not, to put it mildly, soft in any way shape or form.

"Fortunately, Quentin, that won't be necessary. Buffy did not meet Glory. My associate, Xander Harris here, did."

Travers looked at Giles for a moment and then turned his gaze to Xander, who walked forwards briskly and then bowed slightly. It was the kind of bow that Obi-Wan would have given a Separatist leader – courteous but at the same time minimal.

"Ah," said Travers after what was obviously a moment of thought, "You must be Rupert's young assistant, who he's training to be a Shadow Watcher. I realise that it's important to know what's out there in terms of evil, but how did you come to meet Glory without Miss Summers meeting her as well? Patrolling is an important part of a Watcher's duties, but only if you are either scouting out possible cemeteries or danger spots prior to the arrival of your Slayer."

"Xander has... a number of abilities," Giles sighed as he sat down himself. "And he has a number of other duties apart from that as a Shadow Watcher. Xander, can you please tell Quentin about the events of the other night and your encounter with... whatever Glory is."

Xander looked at the two Watchers and then nodded. "I patrol every night as I see fit. And I met her in a warehouse here in Sunnydale," he said slowly. Travers was looking at him with a raised eyebrow and vague look of 'you're trying my patience but I'm going to humour you for now.'

"I was patrolling in the area of the warehouse when I noticed a man hunched up in a foetal position by the main doors outside. He was babbling – made no sense, but he mentioned that "she" had done something to his head, to his brain. Gave me the creeping horrors just looking at him – I could tell that something was very wrong with him. I went inside and deep inside the warehouse I met her. She looked human but I could tell that she wasn't. And she was ranting about something. Didn't seem that stable at all, she was, well, scatty. Unfocussed. When she did notice me she was instantly dismissive. I don't think that she places humans very high on whatever scale of values she uses. She asked me a series of scattergun questions, but she seemed fixated on something called the Key. She said that it was hers and that it had been stolen from her by some monks, which set off alarm bells in my head. Oh and then when I made the connection and called her by name – Glorificus – she wanted to know where the last Monk of Dagon was. Things got somewhat hectic and well, she tried to kill me, which was fair enough because I was trying to kill her at the same time. Only she proved to be somewhat invulnerable. Especially when the warehouse fell on her head and she still somehow survived."

Right. Time to stop dancing around. "What is she?" asked Xander in a level voice that somehow stressed his determination.

Travers looked at him with hooded eyes for a long moment and then pursed his lips slightly in what wasn't quite a smile and yet wasn't quite a scowl. "I see that you are very to the point Mr Harris. Very well. She is something that none of us have ever gone up against. She is not a vampire, as you seem to have realised, not is she a demon. She is something else."

"Such as?"

"She is a god."

"A what?"

"A god. From a hell dimension, obviously. She and two other gods used to rule an entire world, or so we are told. She was highly ambitious and wanted to turn the troika into a one-goddess kingdom. Unfortunately for her, the other two gods were rather more intelligent than she is, saw which way the wind was blowing and attacked her first. She lost."

Xander paused for a moment and then leant back against the wall. "Ah. That's not what I was expecting. Although I did kind of wonder about what kind of demon could take a warehouse falling on her head. Not to mention surviving a... blow like the one that I gave her."

Travers looked at him again, his eyes narrowed, before looking over at Giles, who looked understandably strained for someone who had just been told that there was a god in town. "I think that I might be excused for asking what is going on here, Mr Giles. I know that Miss Summers have friends who know about her sacred task and I understand the importance of making allies in a world like ours at the moment, but I am not a fool and I can tell that there is something going on here that is not what I would describe as being... normal. What exactly are you, Mr Harris? And what kind of weapon are you talking about?"

Looking over at Giles Xander smiled slightly and then looked back at Travers. "I wouldn't blame Giles for this, Quentin. He realised the somewhat... unique circumstances around me. Not to mention the weirdness of the whole thing. I am a Jedi."

There was a long moment of silence. Then Travers stirred. "Do you mean that you are one of those people who entered the word 'Jedi' into the last census form? Because if you are that merely makes you a fan of the films and more than possibly a bit of a twit. And I do not appreciate people wasting my time."

The teacup on the table in front of Travers shot straight up, looped the loop twice and then returned to the saucer, without losing a drop of the tea inside it. However, the chief Watcher didn't even blink. "Telekinesis is not something that surprises me at all either."

Xander smiled slightly as he stood up and then used the Force again, this time to pull his lightsabre into his hand, where he activated it with the familiar snap-hiss. The blue blade blazed into life and he slowly brought up into the salute position, held upright in both hands.

Travers had lurched back in his seat at the sight of the lightsabre, his eyes very wide, shock overwriting the reserve that he normally displayed. His gaze was locked on the lightsabre and disbelief seemed to war with awe as he looked at Xander.

"Believe me, I'm no nut," said Xander and then he shut off the lightsabre and sat back down again. "I am a Jedi. A Jedi Master to be exact. I've been a Jedi for some three years, ever since a scumbag called Ethan Rayne came to town one Halloween with a load of costumes that he'd... put his hocus-pocus on. My costume... made me a Jedi for the night. Obi-Wan Kenobi to be precise. And when Giles here dealt with Rayne and broke the spell then something was left behind. Knowledge of the Force."

"Oh my god," muttered Travers, "You're the lightbringer that the demon underworld has been obsessing about for the past few years. They said that there were several of you though so..." He gasped slightly and then looked at Xander again, only this time with eyes that seemed to be reassessing him, seeking to weigh him up more accurately. "There must be more of you."

"Very good, Quentin," muttered Xander. "One of the guiding drives of a Jedi is to teach. I found others who were like me, who can use the Force. It wasn't easy at times, but I've taught two others to be Jedi Knights. There are another two Padawans – trainees – at the moment."

"Oh my god," muttered Travers. "And do you all have lightsabres?"

"The Knights do. The Padawans don't – so far."

Travers stared at him again, as he slowly regained his composure – and then he whipped his head around to glare at Giles. "You knew about this," he stated accusingly. "But you did not inform the Watcher's Council!"

"No," said Giles in a cold and level voice. "It was none of your business. It did not have anything to do with the Watcher's Council. The Jedi are... their own. They have their own agenda that has a great deal to do with helping people and dealing with the problems of the Hellmouth. They have helped Buffy in ways that I can't even start to describe. They are a force, if you will pardon the pun, for good."

"But the power that they possess..." spluttered Travers, before he was cut off in mid-spittle by Xander.

"Is not something that can be used – or abused – by anyone else," the Jedi said firmly. "It is something that we guard. We help people, Quentin. We help people."

"So does the Watcher's Council," Travers objected.

"Yes, so I've heard. But we treat people as people – and not as weapons. I think that the Watcher's Council might have lost touch with what it should be doing – fighting evil on the one hand and helping people on the other. You're fighting the evil, but you're not helping the people as much as you could."

"We do our best," protested Travers as he wrapped the tattered remains of his dignity around him.

"I disagree. I think that you can do more," Xander sighed. "But that's a topic for another time perhaps. Glory – how did she get from her hell dimension to here?"

Travers visibly restrained himself and then forced himself to relax. "From the little we know she was exiled from her home world by the other two gods and was stripped of the vast majority of her powers. She was imprisoned inside a mortal shell and then sent here."

"She didn't seem very imprisoned to me," Xander pointed out.

"It's possible that she has either regained a little of her strength or has learnt to escape her prison – for a while at least."

"This mortal shell she's bound in – we're talking about a human here, right?"

"Yes," sighed Quentin. "We have no information as to the identity of the shell however. She – or he – might not know much about Glory. Or they might know everything. We just don't know. But given the nature of the spell involved to bind Glory into the shell, that means that some powerful magic is involved."

"Wonderful," sighed Xander. "So we're looking for a needle in a haystack. Or rather a needle in a piece of hay in a haystack."

* * *

There was a pile of personnel files on the desk in front of her as she walked in, but naturally no-one behind the desk. Instead Colonel Jack O'Neill was sitting on a tilted-back chair to one side, his feet on the table in front of him as he glared at the screen in front of him and manipulated the control stick that he was clutching with some degree of desperation. His tongue was poking out of the right hand corner of his mouth, which was a bad sign, especially given the zapping noises.

Sure enough, after a minute or two the glare became a flinty-eyed scowl and the sound of an explosion issued from the screen. "Stupid TIE fighter," he grumbled. "Hey Carter, 'sup?"

She eyed him warily. "General Hammond asked me to remind you that you're supposed to be submitting a name for consideration as a temporary member of SG-1 until Daniel gets back."

Jack sighed heavily, tilted his chair back to an upright position and then put the control stick to one side. "I've been through those files, Carter," he said, tiredly rubbing at his eyes, "And they're a bunch of losers."

"Sir, I was told that you'd been sent some of the most capable people involved in the SGC," she pointed out patiently.

"Yeah, well, if they're what the personnel department classify capable these days then the Earth is doomed."

Looking down at the pile she picked up the top folder and leafed through it. "Sir, Rollins has the Silver Star from operations in Bosnia, he has commendations as long as my arm and he also has a doctorate in astrophysics!" she protested.

"He's also sloppy in the field," said the Colonel in a dismissive way. "He... can't track in the field as well as Teal'c."

She frowned. "Sir, Kit Carson couldn't have tracked things the way that Teal'c can." She looked down at the next file and then picked that one up as well. "You turned down Kochanski? She's brilliant, she's slated for command of the new SG-9! She gives you a run for your money as a pilot and she's the only person to pass the tactical simulation course with a score of more than 95%!"

"Yeah, well, she's too much of a... um... thinker sometimes." Jack O'Neill grimaced slightly at the end of the sentence, which was a good sign that he knew that he had a reason that was so thin it was transparent.

Sam glared at him and then put the files down. "What are the others like and why did you turn them down?"

"Because..." he raised his hands in a vaguely grasping gesture and then lowered them. "They're too good," he sighed. "Once we had them on the team then there wouldn't be much of a reason to remove them even when Daniel comes back."

Aha. "Sir, Daniel would want us to have someone good on board in his absence. He's only gone for training. He's coming back. Everyone knows that. They've applied for a position on SG-1 so that they can increase their chances of a permanent place on another SG team."

"Yeah, well, I just think that choosing a replacement for him is a bit... freaky. Wrong somehow."

She could understand that. But she had a counterpoint. "Sir, we need to be at full strength for our missions. Going in a team member down would decrease the chances of success and increase the chances of capture by a Goa'uld. And can you imagine the look on your own face if we have to get rescued by Daniel and Xander coming as Jedi?"

That was a low blow – and it went straight home under his ribs. "Good point," he said reluctantly. Then he looked at the pile of files again. "Oh hell, let me take a look at them again."

* * *

Glory stamped her way into the room and then stopped abruptly as she looked down at the floor behind her. Oops, there were a few marks that looked like cracked floorboards. How tiresome. The people of this wretched dimension couldn't even make a decent floor. How typically tiresome.

"Fah!" she said and then quirked her head to one side. She liked the sound of that. "Fah!" she said again, rolling the word around in her mouth. She made a note to use it more often. The problem was that she needed some underlings to use it on in the first place. She looked around sourly and then added to the affect by curling a lip. As the headquarters of a Goddess from a world of terror and war and death the place lacked a great deal, like rivers of blood, pillars of fire and torrents of dribble from sycophantic lackeys. Instead she had an empty warehouse in a town that she already violently disliked, filled with a large amount of dust and more than a few rat droppings. Lackeys = 0. Sneezes = far too many to count.

She sat down and winced slightly at the sound of the creaking wood. The first time that she'd flung herself into the chair it had almost fallen apart. Right. She needed to find some lackeys. And then they needed to find her some better furniture. And some small pillars of fire at the very least.

Oh and the beating heart of that damn Jedi.


	35. Glimmerings On The Horizon

I was going to say Mea Culpa, but then life continues to suck. Kathleen has torn a muscle in her back, so my time over the past weeks has been taken up with housework, taking her to the doctor and worry. So - here's the latest chapter. It's a bit slow, there's a lot of talking, but things will liven up really fast soon.

* * *

The day had started off interesting, with a small infestation of Wee'edon demons in Kings Cross having to be cleaned up, veered into the deeply strange after some idiot group of demons totally and utterly misread a number of sacred texts and then fried themselves trying to raise a god that didn't actually exist at Carnac and had then become deeply boring.

Theodore Carnegie sighed slightly as he peered at the sports section of the paper and then paused as he heard the phone ring in reception. A moment later his phone rang and he picked it up. "Carnegie."

"Good afternoon Theo" said the unmistakeable voice of Quentin Travers, and Carnegie bolted upright in his chair and very nearly came to attention. "How are things in London?"

"Fine, sir, fine," he replied, fighting down the need to babble. "One or two small events today but nothing too out of the ordinary."

"Good, I'm very glad to hear that," Travers replied. "However, there has been an… event on the Hellmouth here at Sunnydale. It is not directly related to the Hellmouth itself but it does require my attention. I need you to send over the Red file on the Templars. A prophecy has been fulfilled. Please send it immediately, by the highest level courier you can find please."

Carnegie found his mouth hanging open for a long moment, before he finally caught himself and then regained control. "Of course sir. I'll send it over at once."

"Excellent," replied Travers and then he hung up.

As he replaced the receiver Carnegie shook his head sadly. A prophecy. Some poor bastard had probably just had his or her world upended. Ah well. It hadn't happened to him, which was a relief.

* * *

Giles put the papers that Travers had brought with him down, removed his glasses and then rubbed at his eyelids, which felt as if someone had coated them with liquid lead. It had been a very long day, which had turned into a very long evening and was now most definitely night. He had a headache and he knew that he had pushed himself too far. A tired Watcher was worthless to his Slayer if he was too fatigued to think in a very short and straight line.

However, the information that Travers had brought with him was literally priceless and could make the difference between life and death for the people around him. If only the news wasn't so appalling though. A God. They were dealing with a sodding God. No Slayer or Watcher had dealt with a God in centuries. Oh there had been a lot of would-be Gods and delusional demons who thought that wearing a crown made of something shiny and calling yourself the Grand High Poobah conferred some sort of invulnerability, right up until the moment that they realised that the sharp nagging pain in their forehead was a crossbow bolt.

But a God... a real one... well the last Slayer to deal with such a creature had been Yushiro the Slayer from close to Mount Fuji in 1239, when she had dealt with a creature with god-like powers that had buried itself in the crater of the volcano. She'd killed it, but in the process both she and her Watcher had been badly injured and the only reason they had triumphed had been the Stone of Clonrichert, which had been equally badly damaged as well. Apparently it was now sitting in a field on some godforsaken island off the coast of Ireland now, with a tiny fraction of its original power.

He stood up and then cursed under his breath as he swayed slightly with fatigue. Argh, he needed sleep. Perhaps some coffee first and then sleep. Actually the toilet first, then coffee and then sleep. Walking over to the kettle he filled it from the sink, plugged it in, and then strode out towards the toilet, giving vent to a jaw-cracking yawn as he did so. Then he paused. He could hear some very distinctive noises echoing down the corridor. He listened carefully and then grunted. Nothing to worry about too much he thought as he strode into the toilet.

When he re-emerged with a happier feeling the noises were still going on and he sighed and headed in their general direction. After a moment he turned a corner to the big entrance hall to the library and then stopped and raised his eyebrows. It was a good thing that the security shutters were down, because anyone passing would have had a hell of a shock at the sight of a Jedi Master undergoing lightsabre practice with what looked like at least ten remotes. Xander was literally a blur as he dodged and dived and twirled, meeting each blue energy bolt with his lightsabre.

The Watcher leant against the wall and watched. When he thought about the progress that Xander had made over the past few years he should be all rights have been absolutely astounded. The fact was however that life on the Hellmouth rapidly inured people who were in the know to the deeply weird. When he took a step back from the "Hellmouthyness" of the area, to use the hideous expression that Buffy used sometimes, it was blindingly obvious that Xander had become a major force for good, indeed perhaps one of the most important new developments on the side of Light for decades.

The Jedi suddenly started to spin his lightsabre in a highly stylized new attack that flipped the blade around very quickly, before he started striking back against the remotes' attacks, deflecting them back against each remote in turn and deactivating them. Within thirty seconds all ten were rolling on the ground.

"Damn, I'm rusty," Xander muttered and then he turned to look at Giles. "Hope you enjoyed the show."

"It was very impressive," smiled Giles as he straightened up and walked forwards. "What did you mean about being rusty? You disabled them extremely quickly."

Xander pulled a slight face. "Not quickly enough. I need to start practising again, going full bore. More remotes, up my game. Try and attain the higher levels of Soresu and Vaapad, even though I only think that Form VII should only be used in the last resort. It can be dangerous to be that aggressive."

Giles fought the sudden need to pull his glasses off and polish them. "Xander, are you alright? You seem to be... somewhat intense."

A low laugh came back in reply, before Xander sighed. "Giles, meeting Glory was... a shock. Having my lightsabre bounce off someone who it turns out is a god came as something of a kick up the butt. The only thing that lightsabres should bounce off is something called cortosis. The only problem is that I don't think that cortosis ore exists on Earth." He paused. "I think that I've been relying on my lightsabre a little too much and using my brain a little too little. And now we're facing something that is unlike anything we've ever faced, from a dimension that makes the worst parts of the Hellmouth look like a kids ride at Disneyland. I think that we're going to need every advantage that we have and I also think that we need as much information as possible, because I don't think that we're going to have many second chances on this one."

"You seem to have thought a great deal about this," mused Giles. "And I have to say that I agree about many of your points. I do not however agree that you have in any way allowed yourself to get behind the curve, as the dreadful American expression is. Xander you have advanced a long way and I'd like to point out that you have not had the advantages that many of the Jedi had, as I understand it, such as the Jedi Temple. You have had to train yourself using someone else's memories, on a world that does not contain many of the basic technologies that your memories rely upon, with threats coming at you from areas that are deeply new and strange from the perspective of any Jedi. Can I point out that many people would not have been able to cope with a fraction of the information that you were suddenly handed. You have coped, you have flourished and you have gone on to teach what you have learnt. Oh and you have built a lightsabre of your own and helped to build two others. Refine what you have learnt, yes, but do not self-flagellate over any perceived weaknesses.

"As for your analysis of the threat from Glory then I must agree that she poses a challenge that we have not seen so far. Yes, she is a god, and as such she will pose a unique... well, challenge to use the word again." He paused and smiled a chilly little smile. "But the Watcher's Council have dealt with gods before and we will deal with gods in the future. It all depends on the nature of the god, on the amount of power that is either inherent in them or their followers, and on other matters. I told you before a year or so ago about the differences in objects of power and of creatures who rely on such power. Glory is a lot less nasty than, than she could have been. She was stripped of many of her powers when she was exiled to this world. She lacks supporters, she does not have access to the weapons of her home dimension and she is reduced to just herself. Yes, she is powerful, but there is a limit to her power. All such creatures have weaknesses. We just need to find hers. And exploit it."

Stroking his chin slowly Xander nodded. Then his eyes narrowed. "Do we know exactly what kind of body she was exiled into? Travers was a bit hazy on that point."

"Ah, well," Giles said with a slight stammer, "That's the problem. A vessel was created that was supposed to imprison her. Unfortunately she seems to have gained enough power to, well, surge through her bounds. I suspect that that might be a temporary thing, that she is only able to do so occasionally. That means that there is a human walking around town who occasionally finds himself or herself in a strange place with no idea of how they got there. And if she has accumulated enough power to start to do this then there is a chance that she can start to break through more often. Which would be rather dangerous."

"You said that right," muttered Xander, before pulling a sorrowful face. "I just wish I knew what she did to that security guard. After that warehouse came down on her I remembered about him and circled back again, but I couldn't sense him at all."

"Ah, we have some news on that. Apparently just before you were confronting Glory the local constabulary picked him up not far away from the warehouse and took him in. Even the Sunnydale Police Department could apparently tell that he was not a well man."

The Jedi let out a deep sigh of relief. "Sithspit, I'm glad. I was afraid that he'd been killed when the warehouse fell on her head." He frowned. "What did they do with him?"

"Apparently they took him to the nearest police station, from which he was sent off to a mental institution for evaluation. Now that the Mayor is long dead I think that they're starting to show some actual signs of basic competence."

"Mmm. Maybe, although I'd hate to guess as to how far the corruption in them has spread. I hate the thought of a cop on the take. However, I guess that they realised that his mental cheese had slid off his cracker. But what did she do to him that sent him 'round the bend in the first place?"

Giles shook his head wearily. "I really couldn't tell you Xander. It, um, it is possible that she needs something to keep herself outside her human shell. Something in the human body. I'm guessing here of course, but there are reports of an increase in the number of mentally unstable people in the area – and in the area of the Czech Republic where the Monks of Dagon were based. It's hard to put my finger on it exactly, but I'd say that I can make a good argument for the case that Glory is behind this rise. Just a theory so far, but it would make sense."

There was a pause whilst Xander thought this through and then nodded sombrely. "That makes sense. I'd hate to think about just what she does to people to produce that level of madness. She must be draining the sanity straight out of them." He pulled a face. "We need to play this smart Giles. We have to warn Riley and the Initiative and we have to minimise confrontations. She's looking for Dawn so we have to make sure that she doesn't get the information that she needs. We need to protect our people, keep her on the back foot and work out a way of dealing with her."

Giles looked at him with a raised eyebrow. "I agree on all those points. The question remains how can we deal with her? If your lightsabre bounced off her and she survived a building falling on her head, I'm guessing that there's little that Buffy can do in terms of physical damage. As for magical means..." he pulled a face. "I'd hesitate to predict what that can do. A god can take immense damage. Magical damage might be like water off a ducks back. Then it again it might not. The problem is that we need more information. And I'm buggered if I can think how we can get that information right now."

"Giles you do look tired. Shattered actually."

He smiled and then yawned. "Oh dear, excuse me. I need sleep – and a chance to digest all this information."

The Jedi grinned at him wryly. "Get some sleep Giles. We've got a lot of stuff to think through and we don't know what kind of timetable Glory's working to. We need you fresh – you're the brains of the operation."

"Right no pressure then," Giles muttered as he walked to the door. Then he paused. "And I think that you do yourself a disservice, as I happen to think that you're the finest tactical and strategic thinker that I know of. So please get some sleep yourself Xander. I think that this is the time that we need the Jedi most of all."

* * *

There was a new group of nuggets on the base and as Riley passed them he could see that they were on the "oh my god they weren't bullshitting" part of their first tour, because they were being shown some of the footage of the incident at the slaughterhouse near the junction of Wallace and Torode. It hadn't been a very nice incident, as it had involved a tip-off about a number of very desperate demons and a few vampires that were planning a raid on the place to get some basic nourishment from the blood bins, as well as the reject box. Teams one and eight had shown up unexpectedly at the party and the result had been a melee that had seen malodorous animal parts go flying everywhere, followed by a mass exodus of those remaining HSTs that were still capable of movement. And it had all been captured on glorious technicolour video.

Riley nodded sternly at the instructor and then smothered a smile. It would not have looked good for a senior officer in the Initiative to be seen grinning at agents who were about to get their second major shock of the day, namely the appearance of one of the prisoners from that incident. He was something of a sad character but could be relied upon not to scare nuggets too much.

Walking on he turned a corner and then caught sight of Forrest up ahead. His team mate was frowning at the clipboard he was holding in one hand, while he stroked his chin with the other. As Riley approached he looked up. "You seen this?" he asked as he held the clipboard out.

Taking it, Riley looked down. Then he frowned as well. It was a list of the teams that were due to go out that night and as usual his own squad was at the top. What was not usual was the name that had been added to it.

"You're kidding me," he said flatly.

"I'm afraid not," replied Forrest. "I just checked it out with the Adjutant. He confirmed it."

Riley looked down at the list again and then handed it back. "I'll go confirm it from the horses' mouth," he said in a clipped voice and then strode off. He had a very bad feeling about this, especially as he had to head back to the hospital as soon as he went off duty. Buffy and Dawn needed him, as Joyce had been under the knife for hours now. He wished that he could have been with Buffy and Dawn in the waiting room earlier but he was on duty and there was a lot to do. Besides it took his mind off things and stopped him from worrying. Well, worrying too much.

* * *

It was a penny. A single goddamned penny. It had to weigh maybe a few grams. Not that much. You could reach out and stick it on your forehead and you wouldn't know that it was even there until you straightened up and it fell off and hit your nose or something. He glared at it and then closed his eyes and tried to reach for the Force. It remained just out of reach however, like a bar of very wet soap in a bath. He tried again. Same result.

Opening his eyes he glared at it again and then caught himself glaring and calmed down again. Every time he got exasperated around using the Force he got worried. Darth Jackson did not sound like a good title at all and he did not want to take any chances at all.

There was a twanging noise to one side and he turned to see Rebecca glaring at her own penny, or rather what could be seen of it. Her latest penny was like the others – embedded in the wooden frame of the doorway on the other side of the room. She caught his gaze and pulled a face. "Took it too fast," she sighed.

"You're trying too hard," said a voice to one side, and Daniel looked over to see Oz leaning against the doorway on the other side of the room, which was probably the safe option. "When you push too hard things can go too fast without you meaning to." The Jedi Knight straightened up and then walked over to them both before sinking down gracefully. "Xander often says that the Force is like a river. It's easy to misjudge it therefore."

Rebecca and Daniel exchanged a confused glance which Oz seemed to instantly pick up on, because he folded his feet under himself more comfortably and then smiled.

"Rivers don't all flow at the same speed and in a uniform manner. There are eddies and currents within them that send the water flowing at different velocities and in different directions sometimes, depending on the current. Now, as you get more used to the Force then you'll both find it easier to identify the way that things move. Right now you're both having trouble because you think that everything is uniform. It's not. Rebecca, you're more used to it, but you're more used to just the one part of it. You're tapping an eddy, you're not feeling the full river. Open yourself, stretch out with your feelings and try and sense the way that the Force feels as a whole.

"And as for you Daniel I think that you're still facing it against the current. If you push too hard to make something move then when it moves away from you then at some point the current's going to turn its momentum against itself. You'll have tried so hard to do something that could be done much easier if you'd just changed your perspective a little bit."

"He's right," came another voice from the doorway and the two new Jedi both looked over again to see Lindsey there this time. Oz, Daniel noticed, hadn't reacted at all – but then he had probably sensed him.

"Perspective is everything here people," the former lawyer said with a wry smile as he walked over to join them. "You have to see things in the right way to see what people tend to call the big picture. Truth is the big picture is never really visible at first, you just need to get that first hint of what the real picture is and then work it out from there. The Force is something that works for you, once you have the right view of it, once you can see how it should be used." He smiled tightly. "And you always need to know how it can be misused, so that you can avoid that part."

This brought a sombre nod from Oz who then looked at Daniel and Rebecca and smiled slightly. "Ok, try it again – but this time perhaps you both need to embrace the flow of the Force. Don't rush it, don't fight it… feel it come to you. Take it gently."

Daniel closed his eyes again and then relaxed, taking a deep breath of air and then starting to breathe normally. He stretched out slowly for the Force, reaching for it gently and this time, to his slight surprise he found himself embracing it after just a moment or two. He paused for a moment, gauging the way that it felt, and then he turned his attention to the penny again. Using the Force he touched it lightly, felt its weight and then, without pausing at all to think about technically impossible it was, he used the Force to lift it into the air. Opening his eyes he stared at it as it floated in mid-air, before he reached out and took it between his fingers. Then he grinned widely for a moment before looking over at Rebecca – who was blinking at her own penny as it sat in the palm of her hand.

"Good," said a new voice and they all looked over to the back of the room, where Xander had suddenly emerged from the shadows. Daniel blinked. How long had he been there? "I think you've all learnt something. Rebecca and Daniel, please keep practicing. Oz and Lindsey – I need to have a word with you two."

* * *

Xander watched the two Jedi as they approached and suppressed a smile. They really had come on in leaps and bounds over the past year and a bit. Mind you, the Hellmouth had a habit of accelerating people once they knew what the place was like.

"That was good advice you gave, from the both of you," he said quietly as they approached. "And I want you to keep giving it. Those two will need careful training. Daniel is a bit old to learn to be a Jedi, so his preconceptions will need addressing. As for Rebecca she's touched the Dark Side so she'll need to be kept on the side of light.

"I have a bad feeling that this thing with Glory is going to take up a lot of time and attention and that we're marching to a tune that's not of our own making right now, which is always something that annoys me. So I need you two to take your first Padawans."

Both men stiffened in shock. "Master…" Oz started, but Xander cut him off.

"You're both ready. And if there are any holes in your training then sometimes explaining to a student can make you realise what you need to address. You are both Jedi Knights. At some point you are going to make excellent Jedi Masters. But you both need to pass on your insights on the Force to students. Oz, you're going to be training Daniel. He's going to have to face up to the fact that his universe has changed again and that he needs to challenge what he thought were hard and fast rules. Lindsey, you're going to be training Rebecca. Out of all of us I think that you can teach her the most about the perils of the Dark Side, and what it takes to walk away from it. You can both do this. You are talented Jedi and I have a lot of faith in you. Will you agree to this?"

Oz paused for a moment and then nodded almost at the same moment as Lindsey. Xander smiled. He had been hoping to get this set up for a while now. It felt… right.

* * *

Jack passed down the corridor with his hands in his pockets and a slight scowl on his face that seemed to be making the people around him a bit nervous. He wasn't sure why, as it wasn't their fault that the delivery company had fouled up the arrival of the latest box set of the Simpsons, but it did mean that he had a clear path. Heh.

When he hit the junction he turned left almost by instinct and then drifted to a halt. Damn, he'd done it again, trying to walk to Daniel's office/library/unholy mess. The door up ahead was firmly closed and locked and its usual occupant was busy running around in California, on a mouth to hell with things that scorned the things that went bump in the night running around. Well, it was going to be interesting when Daniel came back as a Jedi. Dealing with Anise would be very interesting indeed for a start.

He turned around and walked back to the junction, where he turned left again and took the corridor down to his own office, where hopefully he wouldn't find the files on the final three applicants to the vacant slot on SG-1 waiting for him. It was going to be a vain hope he knew, because the people around here were very good at their job.

"Colonel O'Neill!" said a voice behind him that stopped him in his tracks and he turned to see General Hammond approaching him.

"Can I help you sir?" he asked politely as he took his hands out of his pockets and straightened up.

Hammond held out a folder. "I need you to take a look at this Colonel. I need your insight on it."

Jack took it and then caught the devilish look in his superior officer's eye that signified that he was up to something. Opening it he saw a page of closely spaced type. It was a list of names. A long list of names. "Sorry sir, what exactly am I looking at?"

"That, Colonel, is the list of people at the SGC who have volunteered to help in the ongoing evaluation of the Headhunter. A lot of them seem to think that they need to check out certain operational parameters that involve flying it. Just to make sure that it's safe, of course."

Jack resisted the temptation to roll his eyes. Yes, of course they wanted to volunteer to check it out. They were like a bunch of kids with a toy sometimes, squabbling about who got to play with it. "Do you want me to cull this list a bit sir?"

"Have a word with a few people, Jack. Drum some sense into them. Oh, and I had a message from the head of the Joint Chiefs this morning. The President has approved the funding for the Headhunter programme. They're moving ahead with it as soon as possible."

This was news that made even Jack blink in surprise. "That was fast sir."

Hammond smiled. "Helps when the White House chief of staff is a former pilot who served in Vietnam. Next time we go to Washington I'll try and introduce you to Leo. Hell of a guy."

"Yes sir," Jack smiled.

* * *

Riley sank the last of the coffee in the paper cup and then shuddered slightly. Cold coffee was not a good thing. It may have delivered the caffeine, but it was cold and nasty. He scrunched the cup carefully and then dropped it quietly into the bin next to the bench. This slight movement disturbed Buffy just a tad and she sighed and then burbled slightly in her sleep. He smiled down at her. She was mostly stretched out on the bench but her head was on his lap and she looked her usual highly cute self this fine... day? He looked out of the window and then nodded slightly. Yes, dawn had not just broken it had downright shattered on them at some point in the last half an hour or so. He sighed slightly. Waiting was a part of life that he hated. Luckily he had been able to go over the new base security protocols in his head. He was sure that there was something wrong with them somewhere but he couldn't quite put his finger on it. There was some lurking niggle there somewhere.

Quiet footsteps sounded off to one side and he turned his head to the doorway in time to see Xander poke his head in. He raised his eyebrows at the Jedi and then pointed at the sleeping Buffy.

Xander smiled at the two of them and then raised his eyebrows and hands in a questioning gesture. Riley replied with a shake of the head, before mouthing 'an hour more – maybe' at him.

The Jedi nodded in understanding and then turned his head to look at the other bench, where Dawn was fast asleep. Several coats had been spread over her and Buffy had placed a small fluffy teddy bear next to her. For Riley confidence was high that Dawn would scorn it publicly and then keep it somewhere very safe and extol its cuteness.

A door banged somewhere and then, in an instant, Buffy was awake and sitting up. It never ceased to amaze him how she could do that. It normally took him at least a moment or two of basic "where-the-hell-am-I?" to do what she could. Then she caught sight of Xander and relaxed visibly. "Hey Xand," she said with a jaw-cracking yawn. "How's things?"

"Quiet night. Training, patrolling," the Jedi replied quietly as he sat down on the free end of the bench. "Willow claimed that she saw a Sasquatch."

Riley and Buffy both blinked at each other for a moment. "Was it?" asked Riley incredulously.

"Nah, turned out to be a demon stealing a bearskin rug. Wanted it for its nest I think. It dropped it when it saw me and then ran away very quickly. I'm going to ask around for its owner today." He looked at them gravely. "No news then."

" No," sighed Buffy. "Last update said that they were making progress, whatever that means." She visibly shivered slightly for a moment. "I hate this place. I feel... helpless. Like I can't change things here."

"Buffy, no-one likes hospitals," Riley pointed out gently.

"Apart from doctors," quipped Xander with a smile.

"Oh and vamps on blood bank delivery times," griped Buffy in a low, driven voice. "I got restless at 2am – I think the Slayer was calling – so I popped out to walk around the hospital. I found three fangfaces waiting near the delivery doors. The place got real dusty in a hurry."

"You should have called me," protested Riley with a smile. "I could have done with some exercise."

"It was over way fast hon," smiled Buffy. Then she paused and looked at the doors a heartbeat behind Xander. A moment after that the doors opened and a doctor strode in. He looked tired and drained but there was a smile on his face. "Miss Summers?"

"I'm Buffy Summers," she said as she stood up on what looked like slightly shaky feet. "This is my sister, Dawn. Dawn!"

"Whurghh?" mumbled the younger Summers girl as she opened a bleary eye. Then she saw the doctor and stumbled to her feet to join Buffy and hold her hand fearfully, stumbling over Riley's feet in the process. "Sorr, Ri."

"How's our Mom?" asked Buffy.

"She's going to be fine, Miss Summers," and with that one sentence a small dam of emotion broke in the room. Riley sighed with relief, Xander smiled hugely, Buffy's shoulders slumped as she closed her eyes and banished whatever demons had been lurking behind her eyes and Dawn burst into tears.

The doctor had obviously seen all this before from many other people and he waited for a long moment to allow some of the tension in the room to drain away before he continued. "We were able to access the, um, object, visualise it in its entirety – I mean see all of it – and then we removed it. All of it. We have confirmed that it was totally benign and that it should not reoccur. There were no complications and no veins or other vital parts of her brain were impacted at all, which means that there shouldn't be any problems. She will need to stay in for a few days, just to monitor things – you can't take any chances after brain surgery – but hopefully she should be able to go home at the end of the week. After that it'll be bed rest, light activities for at least a week and then we'll assess her progress after that."

"So she'll be ok?" asked Buffy intently.

"As far as we can tell, yes. We'll monitor her condition closely and we'll watch her progress and her recovery carefully, but based on what we know now, she has an excellent chance of a full recovery. Nothing is ever certain in medicine at times so if I said anything otherwise I'd be misleading you, but so far – it looks good. If anything changes we'll let you know, but I don't foresee anything just now."

"Thanks Doc," muttered Riley, as Dawn smiled tearily at Buffy and got an equally teary hug back.

"Good news," said Xander with a smile as the weary doctor left the room. "That's what we want to hear right now. Good news."

* * *

Once upon a time, a very long set of dimensions away in the widdershins direction, there had once been a race of warrior demons who had been true and noble and capable of kicking the hell out of anything and anyone that dared to challenge them. Unfortunately they had made the wrong type of enemies somewhere along the way and had been royally crushed, reduced to a handful of their former numbers and then banished to the most dreary planet possible in the most distant dimension. Earth. Where they had been forced to live their lives.

Glory leant against a wall in her new headquarters and resisted the temptation to claw her eyes out. Well, maybe someone's eyes anyway. The reason for this was the pathetic creature that was grovelling on the floor in front of her. She'd been able to find a member of this noble race of demon warriors. The problem was that they had gone downhill quite a bit. Actually they had kind of plummeted down the rankings of demon power and were now skulking in the far depths. Charisma had become whininess, bravery had become the ability to sneak on each other and physical prowess had gone completely out of the window. Greasy hair, pallid complexions and the ability to grovel at a moment's notice were obviously the popular trend right now as well. It made her want to throw up, but that might have excited the blithering idiot in front of her.

Sadly she couldn't kill him, or at least not just yet. "Stand," she commanded.

The demon stood up jerkily and then bobbed his head towards her whilst clasping his hands together as if he was about to start squeezing the juice out of one of them. "I am yours to command, oh wonderful and most heart-warmingly powerful divine one. Whatever you demand of me I will endeavour to-"

"Shut up."

"Shutting up now, your magnificence."

"You will bring the rest of your people here to serve me. I will reward you by taking you home with me when I have the Key. Start getting used to the concept of soap, because you're going to be using a lot of it."

"Yes, your meltingly cleanliness."

"Oh and I need you to find out more about these Jedi people. I'm going to floss my teeth with their leader's lower intestines."

"Yes, your hygieneness."

"And find me some weapons. Swords of power, that kind of thing. I hate not being able to match an enemy. The Slayer I can deal with, she's a brat, but that light sword thingy is annoying. You're still standing here and I'm very impatient."

The demon opened its mouth to say something, caught the look on her face and then bowed low, before backing carefully out of the room. Glory sighed deeply. Life could be a hell of a lot better right now.

* * *

Xander yawned quietly and then blinked at the sight of the sun as it poured through the windows of the University library. It had been a long day and a half and he really needed some sleep right now. That or an hour or two in a corner somewhere, in the grip of a Jedi healing trance.

Then he heard a throat being cleared behind him. "Mr Harris, can I have a quiet word with you?"

Xander looked at the waiting figure of Quentin Travers and then nodded. "I don't think that Giles is using his office right now. Is it important?"

"Yes, it is," Travers replied thoughtfully as they both walked into the room, where the Head Watcher closed the door and then sank down into a chair. He was holding a dark red folder in his right hand, which he was now looking at thoughtfully. "I need to talk to you about the Knights Templar. I understand from Mr Giles that you've been looking at it as a possible precursor to your current organisation."

Xander sat down himself, arcing an eyebrow in surprise. "Well, we did some research and yeah, we think that there was a faction of the Templars that might have been able to use the Force. We don't know how well, or how they found out about it, it's all guesswork to be honest. But he mentioned a man called Jacques Coeurblanc, who knew about a Templar knight named Ieuan ap Geofram, who had powers that sounded very similar to the Jedi."

A wintery smile drifted over Travers's face for a moment. "Giles was right, you do have the makings of a very fine Watcher. Well, I have to tell you that your suspicions were correct. The Order was a group within the Templars that were dedicated to certain ideals that were a little different from those of the main Templars. They prized knowledge and the defence of the weak, as well as justice for all levels of society."

"Sorry," broke in Xander, "But I thought that there wasn't much information on what the Order was for – Giles said that there was very little known about them."

The wintery smile came and went again. "To an ordinary Watcher, that's right. However, as the Head of the Watcher's Council I have access to information that he was not aware of. Not that I know a vast amount more." He sighed. "The Watcher's Council has been based in many cities over its history, but it was in Rome for many centuries before it moved to London. The move was caused by the ongoing decline of Rome, as well as the fact that the French monarchy was taking an increased interest in us.

"In 1305 a new Pope was elected, Clement V. He was under the thumb of the French King Phillip IV – the Papacy actually moved from Rome to Avignon in France shortly afterwards, where it stayed for almost 70 years - and as a result the then leader of the Watcher's Council trusted the new Pope about as far as he could spit, to put it crudely, so a decision was made to move the Council to London. The Council was worried about the fact that Phillip was... somewhat greedy. He was eyeing up both the Council and the Knights Templar as a possible ready source of cash, so we moved.

"The Watcher's Council and the Templars had long been allies in the battle against darkness, but they ignored our warnings. We also warned the Order. Ap Geofram listened to us, but by then it was too late. In 1307 the Pope agreed to the effective dissolution of the Knights Templar by the French monarchy and the takeover of their assets. Phillip had finally acted on his greed, and also seems to have been influenced by a former member of the Order called de Castries. The Templars were arrested, the Order was broken – except for Ap Geofram."

"Yeah, and he was the guy who lead an army against de Castries, who seems to have been some kind of Sith. He killed him and then he died of his wounds."

Travers nodded as he opened the folder. "During the siege Ap Geofram put his affairs in order – along with that of the Order. You see, Mr Harris, he was actually the leader of the Order. He wrote to the head of the Watcher's Council in London and made him the executor of the Order's money and property. He asked the Head Watcher to sell off as much as he could and place the money in trust for the future. And there was something else that he sent – this letter." He pulled out a yellowing piece of folded parchment that had been sealed at the back with a lump of red wax.

"That's a letter from Ap Geofram?" asked Xander in the closest he'd been to utter astonishment in some time. "From 1307?"

"A preservation spell was placed on it at the start of 1309," muttered Travers as he turned it over to show the writing on the front. "Ap Geofram wrote some instructions, so to speak, on the front. They concern you."

"Me?"

"Mr Harris, every head of the Watcher's Council since 1307 has virtually committed what is written on here to memory. I will have to translate it from the old grammar and non-standard spelling of the Fourteenth Century however. 'This is to be given to the leader of the new form of the Order, to the man that I have seen in a most powerful and yet perplexing vision. He wears a rainment of fine cloth, comprised of a strange light brown hose and a white shirt. He will wear a brown robe with a hood. His hair will be dark brown and his face will know much wisdom, without a beard – and yet I see a ghost of a beard about and within him, if such a thing is possible. His mind will be of the land around him and yet a part of it will be from the stars. And he will hold a sword made of blue light. And the darkness shall flee from him and the others who will join him, for this Order will be built of better things and will not fail.'"

Travers lowered the letter and then handed it over to Xander. "Based on what you were wearing when I first met you, your physical description and above all your lightsabre, I believe this belongs to you, Mr Harris. I beg your pardon – _Jedi_ Harris."


	36. Dawn Rising

Another late chapter to yet another bad attack of life. Kathleen's back is getting better, although she's still not 100%. This week she camew down with flu, but just the 'ordinary type' of the virus. No swine flu here! I'm going to try and get more organised so that I can update more often. Thanks for being patient.

* * *

They came one by one at first. Wanderers, rogues, the damned, the mad, the diaspora of a rejected race. They came to Sunnydale, because the call had gone out that Glorificus had emerged, because there was a force in the world that needed them at a time when no-one else did. They came to Sunnydale, and in doing so demonstrated that evolution was far more than a question of survival of the fittest, it was also a matter of survival of the smartest. They came to Sunnydale and in doing so they signed their own death warrants.

For Glorificus.

* * *

"Hey you."

Xander turned his head to one side. "Hey Buffy."

"What'cha doing up here?"

He looked down at the pages of the letter that he had been holding in his hand for the past few hours. "Doing some reading. Doing some thinking too."

"Ah," said the senior Slayer as she looked at the Jedi Master sympathetically, before sitting down next to him. "Great view up here."

"I love this hill," smiled Xander as they both looked out over Sunnydale. "You can see the whole town. Beautiful view."

They sat there for a long moment in a companionable silence before Buffy spoke again. "So, Giles told me you got a letter from the head stuffy Watcher guy."

Xander pulled a slight face. "He was just the messenger. The guy who wrote the letter died about 700 years ago. Bit strange that."

She smiled slightly. "Welcome to my world. Remember the time when the prophecy said that the Master would kill me?"

"With a horrible vividness," Xander sighed. "Not my favourite memory at all."

"Hey," said Buffy sternly as she nudged him gently with an elbow, "If you hadn't been there, I wouldn't be here right now."

"Good point."

There was another moment of silence. "So, can you tell me what old dead guy said?"

Xander looked at her with a smile. "Did you volunteer to find out?"

"Wills and I did rock scissors paper for the honour of wheedling it out of you. Wills lost."

Xander laughed softly and then reached into the soft leather jacket he was wearing to pull out an old letter that had the remains of a red wax seal on the back of it. He sighed down at it. "He knew me, Buffy. He saw me in a vision 700 years ago. Me. He saw me."

For the first time in... well, ages, Buffy could see that Xander sounded shaken. She smiled sadly. "Like I said, welcome to my world. Sucks to be us, right?"

"Yeah," he sighed. Then he smiled. "You'll need your Giles-glasses to read to read this thing," he muttered as he handed it over.

It was a very old letter, she could tell just by touching it. Old and yet – still readable. She know that the Council had put a preservation spell on it, but she could almost feel the weight of years emanating from it. She turned it over to the broken seal – it had been a cool one, with what looked like a dragon holding a spear or something impressed into it – and carefully opened it.

Oh, it was old, alright. It had been written long before standard spelling had been brought in, so it was hard to read at times, but at least it had been written in English. Very old English, but still some recognisable. All the reading she'd done over the years in the various libraries that Giles had exposed her too had taught her how to translate the things that tended to be written in big dusty books that smelt of dust and oldness. She concentrated and started to read it to herself, turning it into something understandable in her head.

"I, Ieuan ap Geofram, last member of the Order and knight of the Order of the Temple, write this for the young knight I have seen in my vision, who lives many hundreds of leagues to the West in the lands that must be there.

"In the reading of this you must by now know that I am dead. I am entrusting it to a messenger from the Watcher's Council, who has given me his assurance, upon his word of honour, that it will be held until the Watchers know that you exist. I know that that such a time will be many years from now.

"I write this from my camp, at what I know is the end of my life. My men are besieging the enemy. There is a great evil here that must be crushed. It is the evil that destroyed the Order as carelessly as it crushed the Knights of the Temple. It is a man who was once one of us, but who allowed corruption, avarice and jealousy to enter into him. It was he who whispered his poison into the ears of the King, and also into the ears of His Holiness. I must confront this man and I must kill him, although I know that in the doing I will myself die.

"Do not mourn me, because there is a great tide of years that part us. I think that it is right that I die now. With me dies the old Order. It is an Order that was born out of the rape of Jerusalem, out of the blood that was spilled there on the most holy of grounds. My forefathers did terrible things there, although they also met a man who taught them much. His name now is lost to us, he was an old man who claimed he had come many leagues out of the East. He gave the Order knowledge of what might be done by those who had the Power. He said that those who he had learnt from were dead.

"You are of the future. You are the future. You are unsullied by our past. You can make a new start by creating a new Order. I have seen this. I did not understand much of what I saw in my vision, but I know that you have already started down this path.

"You must continue it. You must build an Order that can act as a great and noble force for good. The Power is not something that should be used for evil – it is too powerful for that. And I have seen that there is much that must be done, I sense that there are evils that threaten our world that I do not truly understand. There are forces at work here that go far beyond what I have seen.

"I can provide you with little intelligence – the tide of years is too large and although my vision granted me a glimpse of your visage, it did not show me what will threaten you exactly. But as the last member of the old Order I can provide you with something that might help. When the Knighthood fell its money did not fall into the greedy hands of the King of France. Some has been dispersed, some given to good and old friends of the Order. But much has been placed in the hands of a banking family that we have long trusted – and I have asked the Watcher's Council to make sure that this money is not touched.

"I place this money in your hands. I know as a commander of men how hard it is to raise the money to train such men, to equip them, to have a base to sally forth from. Money makes this much easier. Please accept it. I offer it as a penance from the past.

"My time grows short here and there is much that must be done. I will sleep soon, a sleep that will not end, that will take away the pain that I feel, from my wound and from my grief at the loss of so many of my brothers. I cannot pass my sword on to you, but I can ask you to remember us. We were not perfect, but we started down the road that you have travelled down.

"May good fortune follow you. May the Power protect you. Always do what is right in your heart."

Buffy looked at the letter again and then at the signature that was scrawled beneath the words. "His name was... Ian? Ian ap Geofram?"

"Ieuan. Giles says it's Welsh. Pronounced like 'yi-yan'," said Xander as he stared out at Sunnydale. "Weird how well he saw me. A guy who died 700 years ago. Freaky or what."

Buffy snorted. "Come back to me when you get a prophecy about you that's more than a thousand years old. Been there, done that, got the t-shirt, and the mug." Then she sobered. "What did he leave you?"

"From what I'd guess, a lot of money. Travers told me that there's a lot of interest involved. At least it doesn't come with a fleet – apparently they sold the Templar fleet off along the way. I'm not sure what I'd do with a fleet of late-13th Century ships. Maybe start a re-enactment society or something." He paused. "By the way, ask your mom about her health insurance for her operation. I can pay for that easily."

"Xander-"

"No arguments about this Buffy, or I'll set Giles on you. You should hear the horror in his voice when he and Olivia talk about the dogs breakfast that he calls the US healthcare system. They admit that the British version has its problems, but they say that something is better than nothing. Your mom is a great and amazing woman. She was there for me when my parents were busy rebuilding their lives. The very least I can do is pay for her operation. I mean it."

Buffy paused for a moment and then she nodded, thinking about the worry that had been in Mom's eyes when she talked about the insurance and what was covered – and what was not. "I'll pass that on," she conceded with less reluctance than when she had first considered it.

"Good," said Xander. "In the meantime... I need to think about what to do. My uncle left me his place in the desert in his will. That might be a good place to start. I need somewhere to train Jedi. I love Sunnydale, but there might be too many distractions here for training. I have to do this right, Buffy. I need to build a place where I can train Daniel and Rebecca – and the ones who are going to come after them."

"The others?" asked Buffy, slightly startled.

"The others. I can tell that they're out there. I've found four others like me so far – who knows how many others there are? They're out there, Buffy. I can feel it. So, I need a place to train, to gather, to organise them."

She nodded slowly. She could see the logic in his thinking. "Where?"

"I was thinking my Uncle's place, turning it into a permanent base. It's not too far away, so I can take people there for training and bring them back quickly in case something happens. It's far enough away thought that nothing's going to be able to easily come after us." He paused. "Ok, the last time I was there I met a pair of evil demons, two vampires and a prisoner – Doyle – but you know what I'm driving at."

"Yeah, I do." She nodded slowly. "When are you going to get it set up?"

"As soon as I can, once I know how money I have to available. It'll take a while to get it outfitted properly and I'll have to build some things to help with the training, but it'll be a project." He looked at her and smiled. "Buffy, that's in the future. And right now I'm trying to work out what to do about Glory before anything else."

"Speaking about her, I think we need to warn people about how dangerous she is. If I'd met her first I'd probably have majorly underestimated her. Might not have turned out too good for me."

"You'd have fought her off Buff. You're the best fighter I know." He grinned. "I'm the thinking Jedi with a lightsabre and an ability to plan. As Qui-Gon Jinn once said, we're defenders of the peace first. Although on a Hellmouth that tends to be a bit easier said than done."

"So.... what are you thinking right now?"

"That we need more options than we have right now. And that I might have to call in a favour or two."

* * *

"Grantson?"

"Guy's a walking tank who can't walk and talk at the same time."

"Sir, I think that's more than a little harsh. He's been on the back-up list for SG-13 for the past three months."

"Carter, SG-13 has much bad luck as its number suggests. No. Not Grantson. Who's next on the list?"

"Um, Fintlewoodlewix?"

"No, I don't want to die of old age before I get to the end of his name when I'm giving orders in a firefight. Plus he's too inflexible when it comes to tactics. We need people who can think up plans A to G at the drop of a hat."

"Gerard?"

"She's too much of a tech."

"And the problem with that would be...?"

"We have you."

"Sir, even I need help sometimes."

"Oh come on Carter, I've seen you dismantle a bomb with a penknife and a piece of string."

"I don't ever recall using string sir."

"You know what I mean. Next?"

"Wanamaker?"

"He needs more experience. Plus he lacks a certain Je n'est sais quois."

"Mitchell?"

"Umph."

"Sir?"

"Part of me says yes, part of me says no."

"He's an excellent pilot sir, and he has superb marks in tactical appreciation."

"That's just the problem. The guy needs his own team, he's too good to be shoe-horned into SG-1 for the short term. Once Daniel gets back from Jedi Boot Camp Mitchell could be out back on the reserve list before Spacemonkey could shake the dust off his boots. He deserves better than that. Plus he's not a linguist."

"Many of the other SG teams don't have linguists on them sir, and they tend to do quite well."

"I know, and I appreciate the fact that we've been relatively spoiled when it comes to the abilities on offer. Daniel digs stuff up and stops the locals from putting our heads on spikes, you make sure that we understand what the hell is going on and how the things that Daniel occasionally unearths actually work, Teal'c is a hell of a fighter and gives us excellent intelligence about what the snakes think about certain worlds and I provide witty repartee, devilish good lucks and the ability to bulls-eye whomp rats in T-16s."

"Sir, have you been watching Star Wars again with Teal'c?"

"I may have, not that that's relevant right now. Ok, other than Mitchell who else is on the list?"

"Fassbender. And that's it."

"Fassbender's very good at organising things. I can just see him picking up shell casings after a firefight and complaining about the mess. Plus SG-9 has flagged him up for their next vacant slot."

"So it's Mitchell then. Sir, General Hammond told me the other day that he's got the go-ahead to create another five SG teams. When Daniel comes back then Mitchell can be bumped to the head of the line for one of those."

"Hell Carter, why didn't you tell me that in the first place? Ok, Mitchell it is."

* * *

Riley moved down the path carefully, trying to be as quiet as he could. He was not in a good mood at all. In fact he was in a positively filthy mood. The cause of this mood was at that moment following him.

Brigadier-General Lam was decked out in fatigues and was holding the latest electrostun gun in his hands. He was showing all the signs of being very proficient in its use, as well as in advanced field craft. The guy was almost as quiet as Riley and the rest of his team. This was all very nice and it showed that there was a reduced chance of him blundering about like a drunken elephant and called down a nest of HSTs onto them, but it didn't change the fact that the man had absolutely no right being out there with them. The head of the Initiative should have been behind his desk dealing with the day-to-day minutiae of running a military base that studied a highly sensitive subject like HSTs that the general public was (mostly) unaware of. He should not be out and about with the troops on the line. Generals who leapt into the front line tended to lose sight of the big picture.

Riley suppressed a scowl. Lam had told him that he was just getting a feel for what the different Initiative teams went through in their nightly battles against HSTs. The problem was that Lam had been out five times this week alone with different teams, so either he was a very slow learner or he was looking at things via a hidden agenda. Riley was starting to suspect that it was the latter. The problem was that other than suicidal tendencies he couldn't for the life of him think what such an agenda might be.

He slowed slightly as he caught sight of something out of the corner of his eye in the night-vision goggles. Something was walking in the bushes to one side, and he held up a clenched fist, bringing them all to a halt. Then he flipped a switch on the goggles, turning them to infra-red. Yup, whatever it was its body heat was at air temperature, so the chances were that it was a vampire.

He flipped the goggles back and then turned back to the waiting patrol, before holding up a single finger and then bringing his first two fingers, parted, up to his mouth in the usual gesture for a vampire. Then he gestured for Lam to follow him whilst Graham and Forrest were to flank it to the right. This was going to be very one-sided. Tough, as Giles said. Good, this would be quick so that they could then head back to the base, dump Lam and attend the meeting that Buffy and Xander had called about the new creature in town, Glory. From what he'd heard so far he had a nasty feeling that something was very wrong.

In the meantime they had to take out a vampire.

* * *

"Hey Jacob," said Jack as he ambled into the briefing room with a folder under his arm and his hands in the pockets. The Tok'Ra was leaning against the window, looking down at the Stargate with a slight frown on his face.

"Oh, hi Jack," Jacob replied, looking up.

"Something on your mind? You look all pensive there."

The former Air Force General smiled slightly. "Just thinking about a few things. Life's been a bit weird recently."

"That sounds like my entire year, Jacob. My entire year. It started off odd, veered into whacky and then became deeply strange."

"Yeah, Sam told me. Well, she told me, I didn't believe her at all, she told me again and then I went to George and he told me that what she said was really the truth. I've been discussing things with Selmak but he's having trouble believing it as well. Demons and vampires are one thing – there are tales of creatures that weren't human and even the Tok'Ra agreed with the Goa'uld that vampires – or Mar'tyun as the Jaffa call them – were an menace and had to be destroyed, but Jedi? Lightsabres? The Force?"

"It's a lot to take in," Jack admitted. "And at least we have a bit of a run-up to getting the intel on what was going on dumped on us. The Jedi bit came with a lot of proof, plus a Frankenstein's monster that was trying to take over a black ops base. That was a night I'll long remember. Nastiest fight I've been in for a long time. But I got my brain around it. Eventually." He scratched the back of his neck. "And now Daniel's off learning to be one. Freaky stuff strikes again."

Jacob smiled thinly. "I'll bet. I've seen that new ship that your people have built. If that didn't ram the whole thing home then I don't know what will. That's a nice ship, Jack. Sleek and... nothing like anything that anyone on Earth, or anyone else I think of, could come up with. That thing can knock the socks off a Deathglider and then go after a Ha'Tak, with the right ammo of course."

"Yeah, well, your daughter's working on a new design for something like a photon torpedo or something." He looked around. "By the way where is she?"

Jacob smiled and then nodded at the door, forcing Jack to turn his head just in time to see Sam Carter wander into the room, her nose in a folder. "Hey Sam."

"Oh, hi Dad! Hello sir."

"Carter. Or rather, Carter junior. Major Carter. Whatever. Where's Teal'c?"

"On the way I think. I heard that he had to return something to Janet."

"What would he have to return to the Doc?"

"She's working on a Jaffa-related project I think." She looked at her father quizzically. "Dad, are you ok? You look... distracted."

"You'll hear about what's got the Tok'Ra distracted, as you put it, at the briefing. Short version is that something's going on at the edge of Goa'uld space. Someone's out there and they're on the verge of kicking up a ruckus. It's got the Goa'uld with their collective knickers in a twist, not that they'll admit that to each other."

Jack opened his mouth and then closed it again. "Do Goa'uld even have knickers?"

"I have to stop walking into rooms in the middle of your conversations Jack," said General Hammond from the doorway.

* * *

"Sorry we're late," sighed Riley as he led his team into the room. "We bumped into a Sarang-Toch demon five minutes after we took down a vampire, and you know how hard they are to take down. I ended up having to zap him in the crotch. Twice."

There was a short pause whilst all the men in the room winced collectively.

"So what's the situation?" asked Forrest as he sat down with a sigh. "Please tell me that we don't have to run about a lot. My feet are killing me."

"Yes, and this is cutting into valuable personal time," broke in Anya. "I had scheduled at least several bouts of orgasms for tonight and I... shouldn't have said that out loud should I? I must exercise my new-found powers of tact. I've been practicing them. I can converse with clergymen these days."

"Yes, honey, under controlled conditions," muttered Jonathan.

"No, ah, no running about," muttered Giles as he walked up to the shrouded blackboard. "This is more on the lines of an intelligence briefing for all of you. We've come up against something that we, ah, don't really know how to deal with just yet."

The three Initiative agents all straightened up abruptly. "What is it?"

Giles issued a sigh of his own and then pulled the shroud off the blackboard. On it was pinned three hand-drawn pictures of Glory. Xander looked at them quizzically. He'd had no idea that he could draw like that until he'd picked up a pencil and started earlier on. Perhaps it was a by-product of Obi-Wan's memories. If it was, it was a quirky one to think about.

"It's... a hot babe," said Graham uncertainly. "Or is it?"

"Her name is Glory," said Xander as he walked up to the blackboard and crossed his arms. "Don't let the package fool you. She looks like an air-headed girl. She talks like a crazy person at times and she's not human at all – not by a long shot. According to the Watcher's Council she's a god."

"A god?" asked Riley incredulously. "Are you sure about that?"

"Deadly," replied Xander. "I met her two nights ago. A warehouse was dropped on her head. She survived it. Oh and my lightsabre bounced off her."

A stunned silence enveloped the room.

"It what?" asked Jonathan after a long moment, a split second ahead of Riley.

"It bounced off."

"Is that even possible?" asked Graham.

"If she's a being from another dimension who could be classified as having the titular powers of a god, then that's very possible," replied Giles grimly. "Some creatures have been known to have powers and physical abilities that allow them to do things that might otherwise be seen as impossible."

"As a result, until we know more about her, we would recommend that if you see her, you avoid contact," Xander said. "I can't stress this enough – she's on a different level to anything we've seen so far in Sunnydale. If my lightsabre couldn't hurt her, then ordinary swords, bullets, taser shots or anything other weapon won't hurt her either. We have some intelligence from the Watcher's Council – apparently she was exiled from her home dimension with a lot of her normal powers stripped from her, which is a good thing, and apparently she was bound into the body of a mortal shell. A mortal person, I should say. Somehow she's found a way of breaking out of that shell."

"Do we know why she's here?" asked Riley with a frown.

"Yes, but that information is... well, somewhat unbelievable," said Giles, looking deeply uneasy.

"She's here looking something called the Key," Xander said, as he exchanged a troubled look with Buffy, who nodded her head fractionally. "The Key was guarded by a reclusive group of monks in Czechoslovakia for many centuries. It seems to have been a form of energy that is capable of unlocking the barriers between dimensions, allowing passage between them."

"You seem to be using the past tense a great deal," Anya pointed out. "Why is that?"

"Because a number of months ago the monks were attacked by Glory, who sees the Key as her ticket home," replied Xander grimly. "They had enough time to cast a spell on the Key that turned it into a human and then they sent it here. One monk was also sent to warn us about what was coming. The rest of them were torn limb from limb by Glory."

"The Key's human?" asked Forrest with a frown. "They created a human with it? Do we know who?"

"It's... it's Dawn. My little sister," sighed Buffy.

There was a pause whilst everyone absorbed this news.

"What???" asked Riley incredulously. "Wait, are you saying that Dawn has the key inside her or something?"

"No," said Buffy patiently, "I'm saying that Dawn is the Key. They before the se monks cast their spell I was an only child, I never had a sister."

"But..." spluttered Riley, "I have memories of her! Hell, she sold girl scout cookies outside my dorm when I was first posted here, and that was more than a year and a half ago! That's nuts!"

"Riley, very, um, very _powerful_ magic was involved here," Giles said as he broke in. "Magic strong enough to implant very plausible memories in all of us who know Buffy, in fact all of the world. Dawn has a birth certificate, and school records that literally did not exist until that spell was cast."

"So... how do you know all this then?"

Giles and Buffy turned to Xander, who smiled sadly. "Oz, Lindsey and I were using the Force in different ways when the spell was cast. We felt the moment when the memories entered our minds, and believe me that was a freaky moment. We had to be sure that what we had felt was real and that, well, Dawn wasn't a threat, but we did. We worked it all out and then we found a way of telling Buffy and Giles, just after Buffy had a Slayer Dream that is. It's all been something of a mess, but there was no easy way of sorting this thing out. So now you all know. And I'd like to stress that Dawn does _not_ know. As far as she's concerned she's a normal teenager, albeit the sister of the senior Slayer. Telling her that she's really a big glowing ball of energy would not be a good thing at all."

Judging by the expressions of stunned astonishment that were all over many of the people in the room, they were having a hard time getting their heads around things, which did not really come as a surprise.

"So... what now?" asked Forrest after a moment.

"You need to tell the Initiative to avoid Glory," replied Xander firmly. "We can arrange for Buffy or Giles to deliver a briefing if you like, but your people – hell, everyone! – need to stay away from her. As well as being damn near invulnerable she also seems to be able to suck the sanity out of people – I found a security guard outside the warehouse where I encountered her who had been turned into a raving lunatic. We don't know why she did it, but until we do that's just one more reason to avoid her."

"Oh this is just peachy," groaned Forrest as he covered his eyes with his right hand. "Just when I think that life on the Hellmouth is getting less freaky, this gets dropped on us. What next?"

Xander winced. "That's not a good thing to say around here," he pointed out. "It's a short step from freaky to _really_ freaky." Then he paused. "We do have some options, I'd like to point out though. We'll find a way to deal with Glory – that I can assure you."

* * *

When Buffy woke up the sun was shining straight onto the shelf by the door. She looked at it for a moment and then smiled drowsily. That meant that it was close to about 10 o'clock in the morning, but as it was Saturday that was ok. She stretched carefully. After the briefing she'd needed to take some frustrations out, so she went out patrolling until about 2am the previous night, before going back home. _Home_ home that is – her old room. Someone had to take care of Dawn, even if there had been a lot of pouting from her little sister at the very _thought_ that she wasn't too old to take care of herself.

Her little sister... it was still odd at times, getting used to that concept. She had so many memories, like the time that Dawn had decided to 'borrow' her Princess Barbie for a game of Fighting Barbies against her Sailing Barbie. Princess Barbie had taken significant collateral damage. She'd been annoyed with Dawn for a week... or so her magically-altered memories told her. The memories that were lies, or were a sort of lie that had been created by a group of monks who were desperate to place Dawn – or The Key – somewhere safe. Somewhere where a family could keep her safe and close and... loved. Maybe that last part had been an accident.

She sighed and then closed her eyes for a moment. Well, Mom loved her without knowing what she really was.

Buffy paused again and then let out a deep, almost shuddering, breath of air. Mom was ok. The operation had been a success, the growth was gone, Mom should – no, was going to - be ok. She could relax... hah, as much as she was able to, with a mad slinky-dress-clad hell goddess running about town looking for Dawn. That was something that they had to take care of, and soon, because-

Buffy paused and then sniffed the air. Something smelt wrong, as if...

The bedclothes went one way and Buffy went the other as she grabbed a robe and then pulled it on as she dashed out of her room and into the hall. Nothing. She looked around wildly and then hurtled downstairs. Nothing in the living room, but the smell was stronger to one side – the kitchen.

Buffy ran up to the door and then paused with a wrenching effort of self-control to feel the door handle. It was cool. She sighed with relief and then opened the door quickly, to reveal a vision of pure, unadulterated (whatever that word meant, she'd been hanging out with Giles for far too long) hell.

The kitchen looked... trashed. The sink was full of dishes – bowls, spoons, forks, spatulas, all covered in white flour and goop. The sideboard looked like a bag of flour had exploded all over it, and the floor and the side of the wall. The rubbish bin looked as if it was about to burst from the strain of its contents, which seemed to contain something that was steaming slightly.

"Hi, Buffy!" said Dawn with a smile that looked more than a bit strained. "Um, I've been cooking. A cake. For Mom!"

"Oh. My. God." Buffy said slowly. There seemed to be a mass of something foaming in the sink and she looked at it carefully in case it needed slaying. Nope, it just looked... very foamy. "Oh my god," she repeated. "What did you _do_??"

"I've been cooking!" replied Dawn with a frown. "Duh, didn't you hear me before?"

"Cooking?" said Buffy querulously. "_Cooking?_ This isn't cooking, it looks like the monkeys from Jumanji just had a sleepover here!"

Dawn's frown turned into a scowl, as she stalked over to the oven, peered through the glass and then clapped her hands delightedly. "It's done! And it hasn't gone wrong." Grabbing some oven gloves she opened the door and then reached in to pull something on a baking tray out. "Tah-dah!" she squealed delightedly as she turned.

It was a cake. In a cake tin. Ok, so the cake tin had what seemed to be something black stuck to one side, and there were black fragments on the surface of the tray, but there was a cake there.

Pursing her lips Buffy looked at the cake and then looked around at the general devastation. "I'm guessing that that's not your first try at baking that cake."

Dawn deflated slightly. "I've seen Mom cook before," she mumbled defiantly. "I just... didn't take many notes."

"You... didn't follow Mom's recipe book?" Buffy asked in something close to horror.

"It looked easy when she did it!"

"That's because she'd followed the recipe so many times that she could do it in her sleep!" Buffy snapped back. "And what's in the sink?"

"Oh. That's yeast."

She boggled at that and then walked over to look at it. "Yeast does that? How much did you use? And... hold on. Cake doesn't need yeast. Bread does."

Her sister looked a bit hunted at this point. "Ok, so I might have got the recipes a bit muddled up. And I might have used all Mom's dried yeast... but – cake!"

"Yes, cake," replied Buffy dryly as she walked over to the waste bin and trod carefully on the pedal that opened the lid. Then she looked in cautiously. Three objects were in there in descending order. The first looked like a discus that had taken a quick trip through a furnace. The best thing that could be said about it was that it was round. The second object looked a cross between a cake and something produced by a glass blower with the hiccups. The last object seemed to have exploded violently. "Urgh," muttered Buffy as she retreated from the bin and then turned to look at Dawn, who looked a bit sheepish.

"The last one was ok," Dawn pointed out with a touch of defiance.

Buffy sighed and looked at it. Dawn had a point, it had turned out ok. A little lop-sided, but nothing too bad. Then she looked around at the general devastation. "Ok, here's the deal. I'll help you decorate it with frosting and you help me with the clean-up. And Mom never, _ever_ hears about this."

Dawn looked at her with various emotions warring on her face. Eventually she settled on uneasy suspicion. "Buffy, why are you being so nice to me?"

"Because if Mom finds out that you cooked using her cooking stuff, including her best marble mixing bowl, we are both dead meat."

Guilty horror was the next expression to steal over Dawn's face. "Oops," she said eventually. "I used up all the plastic ones and I needed another one and I... oops."

"Yeah, oops. You put the cake on a cooling rack and I'll call Willow. She's Miss Tidy, so all we have to do is show this to her, we wait for her to stop babbling with horror and then we listen to the orders she'll bark out." Buffy shook her head as she walked over to the phone and then paused to blow flour off it. Well, at least the house hadn't burnt down. Touch wood.


	37. Different Briefings

I had a few more pieces to put into place that I'd mislaid slightly, so this chapter is another slow one I'm afraid - the action will kick up a notch or three in the next chapter. Hope you like it!

* * *

Glory was not in a good mood when she entered the room. As she did all the assembled lackeys that she had assembled so far – all five of them! – cringed and bowed and did everything but throw themselves on the ground and grovel, but that didn't cheer her up. In fact it had never cheered her up, not even that time that what's-his-name, the short smelly one, had thrown himself down on a weak part of the floor, causing a floorboard to break and send a spike of wood into his eye, killing him stone dead. That had been quite fun.

She paused for a moment. She'd lost her train of thought. Then she got it back again and glared at the assembled bunch of losers. "Well?" she asked sarcastically, holding her hands up palm upwards.

"Mighty and most puissant Glorificus, whose shoes I am not worthy to be kicked by, we have assembled a number of weapons of power," whined the senior lackey, who also looked the greasiest. They were all greasy. She was starting to consider having the lot of them locked in a car wash for an afternoon.

"Oh. What kind of weapons?" she asked, blinking slightly. Perhaps this lot of brainless idiots had actually managed to do something right for once.

"Mighty One, first we have this!" The lackey scurried over to a table where some shapes were muffled inside what looked like old silk sheets. He reached over and twitched the cloth aside to reveal a sword. It had a red handgrip, it had a spiked crossguard, it had a pommel that was the shape of a skull and it had a gutter running down the blade, probably for the blood. It looked quite cool. "It is the sword of Kartgrran!"

She walked over and looked down at it. "Is it magical?"

"Yes, your Worshipfulness."

Glory waited for a moment and then raised an eyebrow. "Well? Magical how? What does it do?"

The lackey looked a bit uneasy. "We are not sure, Mighty One. We know that it is magical but Kartgrran is long dead and he, um, did not tell people about the secret of its magic."

"Why?"

"He was killed in his sleep and his body was cut into a hundred pieces, placed upon pikes and then scattered from Lands End to John O'Groats by the Black Monks of St Herod. He owed them sixpence O Great and Wonderful One."

"So it's magic, but the only person who can use it is worm-fodder in lots of different places somewhere?"

"Yes, Great One, but-"

"But nothing, take it away, get it looked at or something, and you're a moron. What's next?"

The lackey whisked away the silk covering the next object. "The Egg-Whisk of the Pattersons, Great Lady!"

Glory rolled her eyes and said something that should have cloven the air with runes of liquid fire and frozen the marrow of the lackey. Instead it just sounded obscene, which wasn't what she wanted. They were totally useless, but they were the best she had to work with.

"What does that do?"

The lackey opened and closed his mouth a few times. "Um, it whisks?"

"And how can a cooking... thing, whatever a whisk is, help me to fight a human know-it-all with a sword made of light?"

The lackey wilted, which was something that Glory would have loved to have achieved by removing his spine and using it as a hat for a while. Sadly this self-restraint thing was still working and she contented herself with a glare that should have removed strips of his skin in great seared layers. Instead he backed away holding the egg whisk.

"And... what else do you have?" she asked as she looked about in a pointed and impatient manner.

"Nothing else for the time, oh great and most wobblingly scrumptious Great Lady. Others are scouring places of great power for other weapons, but until then... well, that would seem to be it."

Glory massaged the bridge of her nose tiredly. She couldn't get headaches - well, not at this altitude and in air this thin – but she could feel something crawling about the circumference of her mind. At least it wasn't that maggot Ben trying to get back control of his body. "Alright," she said after a long moment, during which two of the lackeys had removed the so-called weapons, "please tell me that you have some information on the Slayer at least."

The chief lackey – well, the least greasy lackey who had a scattering of brain cells more than the others – perked up at this. "Yes, Great Lady," he said, his chest inflating to the point where he looked like a rather grungy pouter pigeon. "We have identified where the Slayer, Buffy Summers, lives, along with her mother and her sister. They inhabit a dwelling on the north-west side of the Hellmouth. She patrols the area every night. There are others who patrol the area around the Hellmouth as well. According to people who reside here, there is a base run by the Army of the United States here."

She perked up at this. Armies often contained easily-recruited drones who were willing to shed blood at the drop of a hat. "Can they be controlled once we have control of the base?"

The lackey drooped a little. "There are many of them and they have very many guns."

Glory frowned. "And your point is....?"

"Um, they tend to shoot a great deal. Plus they have a lot of explosives that are more powerful then gunpowder."

Ah, she thought, that would be a bad thing. She didn't want her Key blown into a thousand fragments by some idiot Doughboy, or whatever the hell the term was. The idea of a better headquarters, like an army base for example, was tempting, but on the other hand too much destruction before she worked out where those worthless weasel monks had hidden her key was a bad thing. The Jedi... the Jedi knew, rot his kidneys with maggotworms, not that this benighted dimension had anything as useful and succulent.

Which dragged her back to the issue of weapons. She needed one so that she could wind the Jedi's intestines around it and then chargrill them over a brazier full of hot coals. And then there was also the Slayer. "Tell me," she said consideringly, "where does the Slayer patrol?"

"The Slayer Buffy Summers?" the stupidest of the lackeys asked.

"Yes, of course the Slayer Buffy Summers! Whatever Slayer is there?" she snapped, making the lackey cringe in a most satisfying manner.

"There are two Slayers, oh magnificent one," the lead lackey said carefully. "There is also Faith Morgan in the city of Los Angeles."

She scowled. "I know that you moron! Why would I ask where the other Slayer patrols?!?"

"Oh, yes, of course oh hearteningly wise and gracious one. She patrols the various burial places of the local humans, to see if any of them have been turned into vampires."

"Oh. How boring." She paused, thinking over her plan. "Ok," she said, clapping her hands together in a decisive way, "Here's what we're going to-"

She was interrupted by a flash of light from the next room, the sound of a sizzling explosion, a scream of pain and the distinct noise of a body hitting the floor. After a moment one of the two lackeys who had left the room with the so-called weapons peeked his head nervously around the door. "Great One," he squeaked hesitantly, "We have been able to make the Egg Whisk of the Pattersons work!"

There were times when she really _almost_ wished that she'd never been able to re-emerge from the prison made of human flesh and blood that she'd been encased in.

* * *

Giles suppressed a sigh as the car drew up to the entrance of the Initiative. He had a feeling that while this might have been very necessary, at the same time it was also somewhat... unwise. The US military, as fine a body of people as it was, made him uneasy when it came to the thought of explaining matters relating to his world. In his personal experience there was a tendency on the part of their civilian masters (the irony was exquisite) to treat them as expendable toys and to also give them black/white options. In his opinion there were far more shades of grey in the world. At least Quentin bloody Travers was out of his hair. The Head of the Watcher's Council had flown out that morning, after promising to send them all the information that the Council had on Glory. He suspected that they were going to need all the help that they could get.

The car drew to a halt and a sentry dressed in green fatigues opened the door. "Mr Giles?"

"That's, um, that's me," he said as he held out his opened passport.

"Thank you sir," the sentry said as he looked at the photo within the document and then looked at him. "Welcome to the Initiative. I'll take you to General Lam. Please follow me to the security desk and we'll get you a pass."

As they walked over to the desk that was partially hidden by a booth – and which had what looked like a well-camouflaged door to what was probably a rapid response team next to it – Giles found himself covertly studying the sentry. He looked vaguely familiar. His nametag said 'MONTGOMERY' and he had the stripes of a sergeant.

"Have we met before?" he asked quietly.

"Yes sir, we have, but you were a little busy at the time. I'm Sergeant Thomas Montgomery. I was in here when Adam released the subjects. You and the Slayers, along with SG-1 saved us from being overrun in Armoury Two. I think I was rather covered in blood at the time. Sign here please sir."

"Ah," said Giles gravely as he bent over and signed at the indicated spot and then straightened up again. "I thought that I recognised you. Good to see you again sergeant. You look much better."

"Thank you sir. There are a number of support staff here who don't go patrolling but who owe you and the others their lives after that night. On behalf of them I'd like to thank you."

Giles smiled. "We were just doing our duty Sergeant Montgomery, as I'm sure you understand."

"I do sir." He waited for a machine to one side to finish printing out a visitors card before attaching a clip to it and then handing it over. "Please wear this at all times sir. I suggest you clip it to your lapel. And now I'll take you to see General Lam."

Right, thought Giles as he thought back to the conversation that he'd had with Xander, Riley and the other two Initiative agents, I can't tell Lam about Dawn because they don't trust him yet. Deep waters here. Very deep waters.

* * *

No matter what he seemed to do the files just kept piling up. He'd read one, initial it and get rid of it and the next thing he know two more had arrived. It was as if they were breeding.

"Crap. Crap. More crap." Jack O'Neill leant back and sighed, running a hand through his hair and then looking at his desk with a great deal of dislike. It was at this point that the phone rang, saving him from more expletives. He reached over and answered it. "O'Neill."

"Hey Jack," said Xander Harris. "How's it going?"

"The usual," groused Jack as he sat at his desk and stared at the pile of paperwork by the door that he'd been putting off for the past week and a half.

"Oh. That bad?"

"Worse. Paperwork. What's up, Xander?"

"I need a favour. First things first I need you to send Major Davies out here along with a non-disclosure form. Daniel's training is being done by Oz right now."

Jack sat up straighter in his chair. "Oz is training Daniel? Your monosyllabic fellow-Jedi?"

"He's become a lot looser with his language since he became a Jedi. Once he starts to describe the Force he gets really into it. I'm not saying that he babbles like Willow, but you should have heard him a week ago. He was as loquacious as he ever gets."

"Ok, but why does he need to know about what Daniel does?" puzzled Jack.

"Jack, the relationship between a Jedi Knight and his Padawan is an important one. They can't have real secrets from each other. They have to trust each other. It's a given, it's a part of the nature of the training that takes place, There were no secrets between myself and Oz and myself and Lindsey. Oz needs to know about what Daniel does. He'll keep it secret, don't worry."

Jack blew out a breath and then nodded. "Ok, I'll talk to General Hammond and then send out Davies. You said that's the first thing though. What's up there?"

"Well, we have a... situation here."

The way that he said it raised the hackles on the back of Jack's neck. It was not a nice feeling. "What kind of situation?"

"Something nasty has come to town and she seems to be somewhat... invulnerable. So far at least."

Jack thought that through and then his brain stopped dead for a moment. "Invulnerable."

"Yes."

"Did... a certain something fail to work?"

"A certain something bounced off. It left a burn-like welt, but it still bounced off. Which was not good."

"I'll say," Jack ground out through clenched teeth. "What does this thing want?"

"I think it wants to go home."

"Where's home?"

"To use a Homerism, it's probably the Earth that has no doughnuts. Or has teeth in strange places. I think that we really need to talk on a secure line, because I'm having trouble coming up with euphemisms that fit the bill."

"I think that might be a good idea," Jack said, rubbing his forehead and resisting the temptation to rest his head on the desk. "I'll get an encrypted cell phone sent out as soon as possible. You can expect a knock on the door from a messenger who looks very uncomfortable in civilian clothes in... well, about two or three hours. I have a question first. Two actually. First, please tell me that you people have a plan."

"I have several. Two are wildly impractical, one is feasible and one is a great safeguard that will need your cooperation."

"Good to hear it. Second question: why is it you can talk about Jedi on a non-secure line, but not this mysterious something?"

"Because anyone listening will just think that I'm a Star Wars nut talking to a fellow Star Wars nut. On the other hand we don't know what this other thing in the way of allies so I don't want to talk freely about what we know about her and what we're thinking about."

"Both very good points. I'll talk to you again on that secure line in a few hours." Jack put the phone down and then he rested his head on the desk for a moment. He squelched the need to try and headbutt the damn thing into oblivion. Then he straightened up and picked up the phone again. Dialling swiftly he paused until it was answered. "General, this is O'Neill. We need to send Major Davis over to Sunnydale. We might have a situation there. Yes sir, it's our friend there."

* * *

As Giles shook hands with Lam he couldn't help feeling a certain amount of well-hidden unease. There was something about the man that set off certain faint but indefinable alarm bells at the back of his head. The problem was that he had no idea why. That was the problem with sixth sense sometimes, it could be so hard to describe. Maybe it was the rather stiff way that he seemed to hold himself, or maybe it was the odd look in his eyes, which seemed to burn with a certain something. It was almost impossible to describe and therefore Giles told his sixth sense to keep recording and then warn his conscious mind when it came up with something. There was bound to be something that his mind could turn up eventually, once it had a chance to think things over. He just hoped that alarms bells didn't start to ring at 3.45am again. Olivia had not been amused last time.

"General Lam, thank you for agreeing to see me," he said, trying to gauge the correct level of formality for this encounter. Normally he could tell almost at once, but right now he was getting very mixed signals.

"You're very welcome," Lam replied with a small smile, before gesturing to a seat. "Agent Finn said that you had intelligence on a new variant of HST."

"Ah, yes. I suppose you might describe her as that." Giles paused to hand over a copy of Xander's sketch of Glory. "This is, ah, Glory. Also known as Glorificus. Please do not let her general appearance allow you to draw the wrong conclusion about her. She is extremely dangerous. She is powerful, ruthless and, um, not entirely rational according to our intelligence."

"I... I see," said Lam as he looked intently at the picture. "Can I ask what she is?"

"She is a hell goddess from an alternate dimension."

"A what?"

"A hell goddess. A very powerful creature from a dimension that is saturated in magic, which gives her certain abilities that most, ah, HSTs lack. Fortunately for us she has been exiled from her home dimension and stripped of most of her powers, but she still possesses some of her abilities."

Something flashed over Lam's face at this point, an expression that came and went far too fast for Giles to identify. "Can I ask what these abilities might be?"

"A certain measure of invulnerability for one thing," replied Giles as he looked carefully at the man in front of him. "She survived having a warehouse dropped on her for a start."

One of Lam's eyebrows flickered upwards for a moment. "Interesting," he muttered. "Do you know why she's here? I mean, does she intend to open the Hellmouth or anything like that?"

"We think that she is in town to try and get her hands on an object called the Key, which would allow her to open a dimensional rift for the purposes of getting home. Given the inherent instabilities that surround dimensional rifts there is a very good chance that such an action might open portals to other worlds in the process that might result in all manner of, ah, highly unpleasant creatures being released here."

Lam's eyebrows both went up this time. "A dimensional rift?" he asked sceptically. "Is that at all likely?"

"We're talking about magic here General. And from all accounts a highly unstable creature that has a fixation on this. We know that she was thrown out of her home dimension into this one. We know that she's trying to get home. It's logical that she sees the Key as a means to an end. She very likely does not care about the impact of such means. In other words if her getting home results in large parts of other dimensions intruding into this one, she won't really care, as long she gets home herself."

"I see," replied Lam as he rubbed his hands together slowly. "This Key – do you have any idea where it is or what it looks like?"

"We're looking into a number of possible options," Giles said, hating the fact that he had to lie here. But Riley was right – there was something odd about this man, plus they did not yet have every assurance that the NID influence had been properly expunged from the Initiative. It was enough to warn them to avoid Glory. More information could be provided in the future. "However, we do have information that the Key has been made human."

Lam blinked hard at that news. "How did that happen?"

"It was being guarded by an order of monks in the Czech Republic. They were attacked by Glory, but before she slaughtered almost all of them they were able to complete an extremely powerful spell that cast the Key into human form and then sent it to Sunnydale. They apparently thought that Buffy, the Senior Slayer, would be able to discover it and guard it. Unfortunately Glory seems to have gathered enough intelligence about it to work out what happened and followed it here." He paused and then stared hard at Lam. "General, Glory is a mystical creature of great power – even with most of her magics stripped from her by her exile she is still not a creature to be trifled with. I strongly suggest that you make your people aware of her existence and stress that engaging her would be inadvisable for the time being, at least until we've been able to do more research into her and ascertain how she can be defeated."

"You want the Initiative to avoid contact with her?" Lam asked, with an odd look of cold amusement in his eyes. "Mr Giles, you ought to know by now that we have a job to do here. We protect and study. We don't avoid contact with a clear and present danger."

Bollocks, this wasn't going well thought Giles. "Perhaps," he said carefully, "You might be able to view it as careful reconnaissance. After all, engaging an enemy without all the information that is required might be said to be... inadvisable."

Lam looked at him again with a pair of shuttered eyes. "You might have a point," he conceded after a moment. "Do you have any further information?"

"Only that it is possible that she is able to have a severe impact on some people, again for reasons that we cannot yet determine. A security guard was discovered outside the warehouse where an associate of ours first encountered Glory. The guard was hopelessly mad and is currently in an asylum. Apparently he babbled about meeting Glory. We don't yet know what she did to him, but I think that until we do that might be another reason to observe her instead of engaging."

"This thing drove a man mad?" mused Lam as he looked at Giles again. "Interesting."

"Yes," agreed Giles. "And frightening. As I said, we need a lot more information as to her capabilities – and as to why she'd do such a thing."

* * *

"So what's the situation Xander?" Jack asked, this time over the secure phone that had been delivered half an hour ago by a man who looked like a very military civilian.

"We have a hell goddess called Glory running around Sunnydale," the Jedi replied with a certain understandable grimness. "She was thrown out of her own dimension for unnecessary roughness or something and was exiled to our dimension as a punishment. Apparently she was sealed in a human shell that was supposed to contain her."

"I take it that it that something went very wrong," mused Jack as he winced slightly.

"Theory with the Watcher's Council is that she's able to emerge from her human host for brief periods of time. We're not sure how. Probably uses magic somehow."

"Ok... So is she another Adam or something?"

"Apparently she had most of her powers taken away from her for being naughty. However she had a warehouse fall on her head and she survived, so there must be something remaining there. Oh and my lightsabre bounced off her."

This time Jack winced a lot. "How is that even possible?"

"Good question. I think you need to ask Sam about that. It might be that as she's from a different dimension her body has a slightly different molecular density. Or something."

"Been thinking about it I see."

"Oh, only for hours at a time. I'm making some tweaks to the lightsabre to adjust the strength of the blade. It might work."

"Ok, what do you need from us?"

"I need to talk to Sam about any dimension-related theories she might have. I don't think that an orbital strike from the Headhunter would be a good idea, as that might bring up a lot of awkward questions."

"Good point, people just might notice," Jack conceded. "Why exactly is she in Sunnydale by the way?"

"She's after something called the Key. It's a dimensional portal thingie made up of energy that a bunch of monks were guarding in the Czech Republic. That is until Glory heard about and tried to take it."

"So what happened then?"

"Oh they used the most powerful magic possible to turn it into a human and then send it to Sunnydale."

Jack's mouth dropped open for a moment at that. "They made a human?"

"Jack, I'd love to quote you a line from something called Blackadder that Giles showed me recently, but yes."

"Do you know who this key is?"

"Yes. Buffy's sister Dawn."

Jack blinked. "You're being very free with this information. Whatever happened to 'need to know'?"

"You need to know in this case because if we fail you might need to intervene. Glory wants to go home, wherever the hell that might be. If she has to tear a hole in the universe that leads to giant Stay-Pufft marshmallow men marching down the road and then trying to hitch a ride to see the showgirls in Vegas, then you need to bring the hammer down on this place. I mean it Jack – we have some plans, but if we fail then you might get stuck with the shitty end of the stick."

"What a lovely way with words you have today," sighed Jack wearily. "If the lightsabre fails then what's your back-up plan?"

"Well, we might need your help there. One way of protecting the Key might be to get it off the planet."

"You mean through the Stargate?"

"Got it in one. That's our ace in the hole. Hopefully you won't have an angry Hell Goddess hammering on those huge doors at Cheyenne Mountain as a result, but that's the plan."

"Sneaky. I like it. Ok, Carter's with her father right now in San Diego, on a family visit. She always has a secure line on her, so it shouldn't be a problem talking to her. I'll give her a call first to tell her to expect your call, so you can talk about dimension-related stuff to your hearts' content."

"Is her father cleared for what she does?"

"Her father has a clearance level that you wouldn't believe. He's a Tok'ra. Long story, I'll tell you some day. In the meantime I'll call Carter. Has Davis turned up yet?"

"Not just yet. Didn't you say he was in Washington most of the time?"

"Normally yes, but he's been briefing the Governor of California over a little black project that went FUBAR recently. Nothing you're familiar with, just one of those things that tend to crop up and bite people on the ass every now and then. He should be banging on your door soon, so to speak."

"Ok, I'll keep an eye out for him and then direct him towards Oz and Daniel when I do. How's the paperwork coming by the way?"

"Your calls kind of made me re-prioritise is. Not a bad thing at all as we have Daniel's temporary replacement coming in soon."

"What's he like?"

"Good pilot. He survived the training we threw at him and when we stuck him in the Headhunter and told him to fly it he put in quite a good display. I think that the ground crew threatened to break his fingers if he didn't get out of it afterwards, so he seems to like your little creation. By the way we've got the go-ahead, in case you didn't know. Some production facilities are going to get very busy real soon."

"Good," smiled Xander grimly. "If I survive this thing with Glory pencil me in for some training time. Your people are going to need a lot of wargaming and a lot of training if you're going to get the most out of the Headhunter. Is it going to get a new officially-approved name by the way?"

"Nah, we thought about calling it something fancy like the Merlin or the Goa'uld Ass-Kicker, but that didn't come off right, so we're sticking with the Headhunter. And why not?"

"Good point. Jack, I gotta go. Good luck with Daniel's replacement."

"Good luck with your hell goddess, Xander. Hey, now don't you die on us, or I'll kick your ass as well." He paused and sobered his tone. "Seriously, let me know if you need anything."

"I might tap you for two of those nifty superconductors soon. Daniel and Rebecca are going to need lightsabres soon and I think that if the Initiative keeps requesting – and mysteriously losing – those things, then someone might start to ask awkward questions."

"No problem. Send me a request at the right time and I'll have Carter whip something up. She's been improving the plan for those things."

"Sounds good to me. See you when I see you Jack."

"You too Xander." Jack put the phone down and then leant back in his chair to stare at the wall opposite. He was very glad that he didn't live on the Hellmouth. Life was far too busy as it was on the base. A goddess... from a hell dimension. No, he was quite sure that he really didn't want to have one of those hanging around right now. Then he sighed and leant forwards to pick up the phone again. Oh Carter was just going to love this. She'd make all kinds of odd noises down the phone at him for a start. And then he had to collect the rookie. Joy.

* * *

Cameron Mitchell checked his uniform for the third time in as many minutes and then carefully replaced his peaked cap under his armpit at the correct angle. He couldn't remember the last time that he'd ever felt this nervous. Well, he'd been pretty nervous when he went solo for the first time. And he'd been more than a bit nervous when he'd flown over the No-Fly zone in Iraq for the first time, especially when a mobile radar unit had locked onto him for a minute or so during a rather tense time in the area. Oh and he'd almost wet himself the first time that he'd dated Liz Hertstone, as her father had looked like a huge slab of rock with fists attached.

Ok, his mind was wandering again. He thought about checking his uniform once more but then dragged himself together. SG-1. He was going to join SG-freaking-1. Ok, so he was acting as cover for Dr Jackson, but he was getting his foot in the door for a place in the SGC.

Plus it meant that he had a better chance of flying a Headhunter again. That flight had blown his mind completely. That craft... hell, she flew like a dream. He'd never flown anything that could accelerate that fast, or stop on a dime that way, that could turn in an instant and then pounce...

He heard footsteps down the corridor and he braced himself. The door opened and a Colonel with salt-and-pepper hair came in wearing fatigues. His name tag read "O'NEILL" and Cameron suppressed a certain amount of awe. Colonel O'Neill was a legend for a whole host of reasons. He fixed Cameron with a somewhat beady eye and then replied to Cameron's inch-perfect salute with a salute that contained a certain amount of snap.

"Welcome to the SGC, Major," the Colonel said briskly. "Congratulations on making it here. I'll take to see General Hammond."

"Yes, sir," said Cameron. And then he followed his new team leader through the door. He would have to restrain his whoop of glee until later.

* * *

"Ball!" The toddler waved the sphere that it was carefully holding in both hands up and down again and then looked up at him. Then she wandered determinedly over to him on rather unsteady legs and waved the ball at him again. "Gran'da! Ball!"

"Yes, sweetie, ball," said Jacob Carter with a wide smile of encouragement as he looked down at his latest grandchild.

Ellie stared at him gravely and then she carefully handed him the ball before stepping back and then beaming at him. "Gaaah!" she squealed as he placed the ball on his forefinger and then spun it really quickly so that it rotated on the tip of his finger. It was his patented trick that he had learnt from his early years of being a parent. It never seemed to lose its fascination for the younger members of the Carter family, because Ellie watched with very wide eyes for a moment before she clapped her hands excitedly and then squealed again.

"I remember that from I was a kid," said Mark to one side softly. His son smiled. "Remember that time when I was 6 and you did it with two basketballs?"

"Oh yes," he smiled. "Took me a lot of practice, but then you'd just come out of hospital without your tonsils." He smiled as Ellie waved her hands for the ball before he leant over and gently handed it over to her. She smiled a huge smile and then yawned.

"It's an hour past your bedtime young lady!" exclaimed Mark with mock-severe tones, before he held out his hand. She took it, whilst she used the other to rub at her eyes sleepily as the ball rolled off to one side. "I'll get her to bed. Thanks Dad, you've been great with her."

"Not a problem," Jacob smiled at his son. "Night-night sweetie." He bent over for a mumblingly wet kiss on the cheek and then watched as the two of them walked back to the house.

"_That child is quite adorable," _Selmak said in his head.

"Yes she is," Jacob muttered in response. Then he turned his head to the other side of the garden, to where Sam was pacing and talking into her phone. "Better see what's going on there," he sighed.

As he drew closer to his daughter she caught sight of him and raised her eyebrows at him before turning her attention back to the phone. "I still don't see how that's possible," she complained in that tone of voice that he knew far too well. It meant that she'd had some news that she just couldn't make fit in to her world view. "I mean, what could be so strong that an energy weapon like a lightsabre would just bounce off it?"

A lightsabre? Damn, this must be something to do with that Harris guy again. Jacob winced internally. That whole thing sounded incredible – unless of course you knew the people involved. He'd read the files. And as for the Headhunter... that spoke more eloquently than anything else of technology that had not developed on Earth or any of the other major (or minor) powers of the galaxy.

"_Yes, Jacob, I agree that it all sounds quite bizarre," _said Selmak internally. _"The High Council will find it very hard to believe – whenever we get around to telling them. They might require proof, so perhaps we should wait a bit."_

Jacob grinned internally. Selmak was quite the maverick, which was why he liked the Tok'Ra so hugely. Well, he had to really, as they were blended.

Sam had been listening to something during all of this, because she raised her eyebrows and then grimaced slightly. "Well, yes, that's possible," she conceded. "We've had some experience of alternate dimensions, but not a hell dimension fortunately. I'd hate to even speculate on their existence. Still, based on what you said about different energy levels in alternate dimensions and the possibility of variations on the laws of physics, based on quantum mechanics, yes I agree that molecular laws might be different. I can't really say anything more without better information though." A pause. "Sure, I can work out some theoretical constructs. Give me a few days though. We're due to go back to the base tomorrow anyway." Another pause. "Okay. Good luck Xander."

Jacob watched as she terminated the call. "What was that about?"

"Trouble," she replied grimly. "When we get somewhere more private I need to talk to Selmak about alternate dimensions."

* * *

It hadn't been so bad this time, Paul Davies thought as he settled into his seat and then squinted out of the window. The sun would be setting soon. According to the forecast it looked it would be a good clear night for flying, with a full moon and minimal cloud. He sighed and then pinched the bridge of his nose for a moment. He was extremely tired. He'd have a nap on the plane until it landed back at the base near the SGC, then he'd crash at a room in one of the barracks. Once he'd finished off things at the SGC tomorrow then he'd be on the next flight out to Washington and hopefully his apartment and his long-suffering fiancée.

Hell, it had been a long day. Briefing politicians took a lot out of him sometimes, depending on who they were. Some were the kind of people who needed lots of words of one syllable. Others, like the President, were sharper than a tack and had a distressing tendency to put their finger on the weak point of any presentation. And then there were people like the Governor of California, who were a mass of contradictions and who confused the hell out of him because they asked a combination of smart and dumb questions.

Sunnydale had not helped afterwards at all. Briefing another Jedi about the activities of the SGC had been... odd. Colonel O'Neill had been very insistent about the briefing, even though this Daniel Osbourne was not a member of the Armed Forces at all. Maybe a Jedi could be considered a sort-of-maybe-adjunct to the Armed Forces.

Just thinking about threatened to give him another headache. Especially given Osbourne's reaction to the news that there was a gateway to other plants sitting under Cheyenne Mountain. The guy had been so laid back he'd reminded him of Teal'c. The Jedi had leant back in his chair, flickered an eyebrow, said "Cool," in a considering way and then listened closely to the rest of the briefing.

What had been equally interesting was the general appearance of Dr Jackson. Davies now full well that the archaeologist tended to vary between highly focussed and so distracted by a new piece of research that he could be totally switched off. He'd never seen Dr Jackson look so... composed. Alert. And, yes, calm.

He closed his eyes and then leant back in the seat. He needed sleep right now. If he paused to think about how weird his life could be sometimes then he'd develop a raging attack of insomnia.

* * *

As he reached the top of the hill he slowed to a halt and then stopped. The only reason why he wasn't throwing up in the bushes to one side was that his lungs needed oxygen rather more urgently right now. God, he hurt right now. Every part of him felt as if it had been beaten up by tiny invisible trolls. He paused for a moment. No, he should really _not_ think like that on a Hellmouth. It might be a bad case of tempting fate, and that would be a bad thing. Jack was always telling him not to tempt fate, which was a slightly unfair point as he was always warning Jack about exactly the same thing.

Daniel looked to one side at the Jedi Knight who had accompanied him on this little dash, and who now was leaning against a tree and looking out at Sunnydale. Damn it, the man wasn't even panting for breath! Plus he'd absorbed the news about the SGC with little more than a flicker of an eyebrow and a muttered "Cool."

"I've learnt to keep very fit here," Oz said, thus demonstrating to Daniel an uncanny knack of reading his mind. Well, perhaps not – his body language had probably been pretty obvious.

"I thought.... that... I... _was_... in shape," panted Daniel as he reached the point where his lungs no longer needed every scrap of his attention. "I train with Teal'c... and Jack... and Sam... plus we do a lot of... running around..."

Oz smiled gnomically for a moment. "So do we. When we have to." He looked about and then gestured at the grass. "Have a seat."

Daniel sat down on the grass, still panting, and looked out over the landscape that was spread out before them. Sunnydale looked almost nice at this time of the day, with the sun setting slowly off to one side. It would be night in a few hours. Time for the darkness that lived under the streets and in the houses and in other places to come out and start to play.

"What do you see?" asked Oz.

He paused and then looked out again. "Um, Sunnydale? Or is that too broad-brush?"

"No, it's good. Now, what do you sense?"

"With the Force?" asked Daniel as he tried to get his mind off his physical senses and onto his mental acuities via the Force.

Oz seemed to be majoring in body language at College, because he held up a finger. "You need to start opening your mind to the Force all the time. I could see you gathering your thoughts and starting to turn to the Force. It's good that you can – the more practice at opening yourself up to the Force the better – but if you might not have the time to make that switch sometimes."

Daniel thought about that for a moment and then smiled slightly. "I can see that," he conceded. "It's not easy when you're trying to decide if you should be breathing or throwing up."

The Jedi Knight laughed softly. "That's one of the points Xander makes about the training. It's a way of training your mind as well as your body – you need to be able to push yourself that bit further, to tell yourself that what you used to think is possible and not possible might not be as cut and dried as you think." He paused. "I get a bit eloquent at this point according to Willow. In the past you used to think that certain things couldn't be done, and that's something that you've been working on with Xander. Now you have a better idea about the changes to that the Force makes to the world. It's going to be the same with your body and your mind. You're going to be getting very fit very fast. At the same time you're going to be learning how to use the Force at all times. It's not going to be easy.

"When you run – when you train – imagine a small window opening in your mind. That window will be your use of the Force. Keep it small at first. Think of it as a form of multi-tasking. Achieving it will be very important as it's a vital step. The longer you hold that window open then the faster you can open it in the future and the wider that window will get."

Daniel scratched his right eyebrow thoughtfully. And then he nodded. "How can I do that?"

Oz smiled that slight, enigmatic, smile that he had, before he started talking.

* * *

Lilah looked out at the view that was spread out in front of her. Her new apartment was at the top of a very large apartment block and was quite expansive. It gave her just the right amount of space and had a superb view. It also came with a great room what she'd had outfitted into a training room. It contained the minimum of training equipment – a running machine, a bench press and a rowing machine – and the maximum of space to practice with her lightsabre.

The place hadn't been cheap, but then she had more than enough money from the funds that she'd raised from selling off Dansey's various secret properties. The shrivelled old fool had been quite well-off and above all else there had been no family to claim his legal holdings. There had been a son once, but he had vanished a long time ago. Lilah had wondered about that point. Why had Dansey's only relative vanished so completely? Perhaps he'd known, or suspected, what his father was. Well, that left all the more for her, and let no-one claim that she didn't deserve it, not after all the crap that the old bastard had put her through in her training. The illegal holdings still made her smile lazily every once in a while. Every now and then some new nugget of money kept popping out of wherever he'd squirreled it away. He'd been a very busy little judge, with all kinds of non-traceable corruptions.

She had everything now. She had all of his archives for a start. They were mostly very dull, but they did have some interesting insights into the use of the Force.

She also had a better idea about what his big plan had been. It was impressively ambitious, at least if it had been what she suspected it was. Dansey had been on his way up the judicial ranks and had been pencilled in for the California Supreme Court. There had been some notes written down in a one of his books, which contained notations on changes to the law in some areas and other areas. Some of those notes had been on members of the Supreme Court, such as who was old and ailing and who could therefore be susceptible to an... accident. That thought alone was enough to both thrill and chill her. She'd been right about where he'd been heading. A Sith on the Supreme Court...

But the Supreme Court did not hold the constitutional keys to the White House. Well, they might in the case of a contested election, but that would just be to help place someone like a presidential candidate into the Presidency. Being on the Supreme Court did not put you in the line of succession to the Presidency.

Not unless all the other candidates were dead that is. The problem was that getting rid of the others meant getting rid of the Cabinet _and_ the Senate _and_ the House of Representatives, and doing that might just call some attention down on whoever was behind such a bloodbath. Dansey had been a scumbag but he hadn't been a mass-murdering scumbag. Not that he _couldn't_ have been a mass-murdering scumbag, but he had been too smart and too careful to even think about drawing that kind of attention to himself. Not without a huge smokescreen and a way to point the finger at someone or something else.

So he must have had some other plan in mind, one that either involved her or him in some devious and underhanded manner. The problem was that she still just couldn't work out what that plan might be, and that annoyed her. She hated it when people were sneakier than she was.

Well. Enough. She strode out into the middle of the training room and then she ignited her lightsabre. The best way to take that annoyance out was to practice as hard as she could whilst using the Force. It helped her to think – about her plans and not the pathetic plotting of Holland Manners that seemed to take up his entire day.

Her boss had dropped the Sunnydale issue with a suddenness that had surprised her and she was almost tempted to go there herself and see what was going on with this Harris person. However, that would be a mistake – the firm was keeping a close eye on the Hellmouth, albeit from a distance. If she went there she would be spotted and her unauthorised visit would be frowned on and would attract a bit too much notice. She preferred to stay under the radar for the time being.

No, Manners was instead fixated on his latest and deeply pathetic plan, to mess with Angel's head via the resurrected Darla. She could tell that it was going to fail. For one thing she had been brought as a human, not a vampire. That was a somewhat glaring error. And secondly manners had failed to understand the help that the vampire with a soul was getting from his friends. The brainless ditz of the secretary was turning out to have very hidden depths and the half-Brachen demon was also showing unexpected signs of a backbone. The arrival of the Slayer and her Watcher had also spiced up the mix. They were proving to be more than the slight pebble in Wolfram & Hart's shoe that Manners claimed them to be. They were more like a six-inch nail through the firm's foot.

She shrugged. It wasn't as if they were any threat to her. Not just at the moment anyway. Maybe in the future – but then she'd have the right way of dealing with them. Chopping them up into pieces would do for a start. She smiled and then she launched into her training routine.

She had her own plans now.


	38. Plans And Encounters

This chapter has been a blight on my life for the past two months and I'd like to apologise to everyone for its lateness. I've had the worst bout of writer's block I've ever had. Then my wife and I went on holiday for a week in Wales, before she gave me a guitar for my birthday. Oh and then I went away to a conference where I caught swine flu - which I then passed on to Kathleen! So it's been a very busy few months that led to my writing next to nothing.

This is not the chapter I planned to write. It's too short for a start. But I'm now working on the next chapter and it should be out sooner than this one!

* * *

Those who had been given the sacred task of watching the Slayer's house more carefully now, or at least they were choosing their hiding places more carefully anyway. There had been the nasty incident involving Gar'Tak and the big handy container that he had been watching from. One morning a huge human vehicle had turned up and had loaded the container into the top of it. Grinding noises had followed and there had been a brief scream that the humans apparently hadn't heard, and then a loud scrunching noise. Gar'Tak hadn't been seen again.

And there had also been the incident involving Har'Var. His idea had been to built a fake tree and then climb into it and place himself on a corner overlooking the house. Some had wondered if any of the humans might notice that a tree had mysteriously appeared from nowhere, but Har'Var had been convinced that it would work and he had duly built and deployed the fake tree. The first small yappy mammal owned by a human had arrived about thirty seconds later. Har'Var was best approached from upwind even after a week and had been forbidden to go anywhere near the Great and Powerful Glorificus. Not unless he wanted to wear his own spine as a hat.

As a result people were a little more... careful about where they chose to observe the House of the Slayer. They had seen her of course, and her sister, as they came and went every day in a moving conveyance that was driven by different men. Several times they had seen the Jedi Xander Harris, and that had confirmed that he was known to the Slayer. It had also meant that those of them who wanted to keep their limbs attached had done their best to find extra safe observational places.

But it had paid off in many ways. They were there when the Slayer's mother returned from the great healing place. And their repeated observations had given them an idea of the Slayer's patrolling patterns.

The Great One had been very pleased.

* * *

"Are you sure about this?" asked Lindsey quietly as he watched Daniel and Rebecca pack their things in the back of his car. It was instantly obvious that neither Padawan was entirely comfortable in the other's presence. Come to that there were times when Rebecca didn't even look comfortable in her own presence, but she seemed to be more relaxed than she had been when she'd first started her lessons.

"I'm sure," Xander replied equally quietly. "We need them trained in a place with no distractions, and right now this whole Glory thing is the biggest distraction that I can imagine. They're both at delicate moments in their training. Daniel still thinks that some things are impossible and Rebecca has some demons in her past that she really needs to face. They need a place to train – and no mad hell god from a hell dimension trying to open them up and see what makes them tick."

"That's a nasty metaphor," muttered Oz to one side. "Might be very true around Glory though."

Xander looked at his first Padawan carefully. He seemed unnaturally terse even for Jedi Oz. "Is there a problem Oz?"

The Jedi Knight looked faintly pained for a millisecond. Then he nodded. "Keep an eye on Willow will you?"

"You know I will. Is there anything in particular you're worried about?" asked Xander with a raised eyebrow.

"I think she's been practising a lot more magic than she's been telling me about," Oz replied. "Worrying me sometimes."

"Ah," Xander said carefully. He stroked his chin in thought for a moment and then caught himself. The little Obi-Wanisms did keep leaking through every now and then. "Let me guess – she thinks that Glory can be defeated with the help of magic."

"Yes."

"She might be right."

"Yes."

"I'd prefer that we didn't use magic though. It tends to have... unanticipated consequences."

"Yes."

"I'd prefer to call it full of dangerous rebounds," broke in Lindsey wryly. "I saw a lot of things go horribly wrong at Wolfram & Hart when people who thought that they had all the magical bases covered turned out to be very wrong."

"How wrong?" asked Xander.

"One time there was this dimensional rift and a bunch of velociraptors. It didn't end well."

There was a pause whilst the other two Jedi processed that for a moment. "Huh," said Oz eventually. "Interesting."

"Yes. Messy too."

"Ok, then," sighed Xander, "I'll keep an eye on Willow and her mojo. Sithspit, why can't life be simple sometimes?"

Oz smiled at him. "This is the Hellmouth remember?"

"Yeah," he sighed. "One day I'm going to retire to a small village surrounded by enough holy places to make a vampire scream at the very sound of its name. That or found a Jedi Temple somewhere."

The other two looked at each other for a moment and then looked quickly back at him. "What?" he asked.

Lindsey grinned slightly. "We've been wondering where you're going to be building the Temple."

The Jedi Master directed a glare at the two of them. "Guys, let's not get too ahead of ourselves shall we? For a start we have a Hellgod to deal with."

* * *

This was sooo lame. The vamp that had just crawled out of its own grave less than a minute ago must have been sired by someone like Harmony Kendal, because right now he was just standing there looking about with an expression of deep puzzlement. He looked like he wasn't the sharpest knife in the toolbox to be honest. After a moment she finally broke in by clearing her throat meaningfully. "Ahem."

The vampire leapt up in the air at least a foot in total shock and then clutched at his chest, before turning. "Jesus! You nearly gave me a heart attack!"

Buffy blinked at this. "You're a vampire. Vampires don't have heart attacks."

He looked at her as if she'd just spouted hooves. "What?"

"Vampire. Bloodsucker. You."

The vampire looked around nervously. "Lady, are you on drugs or something?"

She folded her arms and then looked at him with a raised eyebrow. "Look, Mr "I-have-very-few-braincells", can you explain why it's night, why you're dressed in a cheap suit from a funeral house and why you just had to break out of a coffin and claw your way up through six feet of earth?"

This threw him for a moment. "Uuummm... a practical joke?"

"How about the reason why you don't have a pulse right now?"

This really threw him and he finally placed a questing, dirt-covered finger on his neck and paused. "Jesus," he finally said, "I must be sick or something."

"No," she said patiently, "You're dead."

"I feel fine, honestly." He looked at her and then she could see him lick his lips. "Never better."

"Never deader," she sighed and then she threw the stake she'd been hefting up one sleeve for the past few minutes. It took him totally by surprise as it sank into his chest and skewered his heart and then a gentle rain of ash covered the grass.

"If that's the standard of opposition you have here, then you my dear are running waaay below the standard you need to," drawled a voice to one side. Buffy snapped her head around to see a woman in her late twenties standing to one side. She had curly blond hair and was wearing a tight red dress and an arrogant smirk.

"You must be Glory," said Buffy as she carefully walked to one side, watching the Hell-god intently.

"Oh, you know who I am," Glory squealed excitedly. "I see that my fame has preceded me!"

"More like infamy," conceded Buffy. She was thinking about unsheathing Aquila, which was strapped to her back, but then if Xander's lightsabre hadn't been able to even hurt this walking fruitcake, then a sword make of ordinary steel wouldn't stand a chance. "We've heard all about you."

"You have?" Glory asked with a frown. Then the frown turned into a scowl. "Oh yes. You know that piece of filth Jedi. Is he here tonight? I want to open him up and play with his guts."

"He's got other things to do tonight," said Buffy with a smile. "He's a busy guy sometimes."

"I'm sure he is," replied Glory through what looked like slightly gritted teeth. Then she perked up slightly. "But then I can always talk to you! If I can't beat the crap out of the Jedi, then I can beat the crap out of his Slayer friend. So I'll start off with asking a simple question. Where's my key?"

"Where's your what?" asked Buffy, looking as innocent as she possibly could.

This earned her a glare from Glory. "Don't play smart with me, little girl. I was breaking open the heads of people like you in my home dimension a thousand years ago and playing with their brains." She stalked forwards a few paces and then folded her arms under her breasts. "Now. Where. Is. My. Key?"

"Why is it _your_ key," asked Buffy as she walked over another few steps to stand by the grave of the idiot vampire she'd just dusted. "What makes it yours?"

This seemed to puzzle the Hellgod, because she frowned. "What do you mean?"

"Uh... why is it yours?"

"It's mine! I heard about it, I need it to get home and kill the bastards who exiled me here - that makes it mine!"

"Ooo-kay. Want, need, take. You sound a bit like Faith before she got her act together." Buffy smiled pleasantly. "You can't have the key by the way. We have other plans for it."

"I hoped you'd say that," said Glory happily as she unfolded her arms and then flexed her fingers, "I'm going to have so much fun beating you to a bloodied pulp and then making you tell me all about the key."

"Yeah, well, good luck trying," drawled Buffy and then she heaved on the gravestone that had only been installed that day and threw it straight at Glory's face. It was made of granite or something so it was very heavy – but although it hit her on the bridge of the nose, all it achieved was to knock Glory's head back and make her take a step backwards.

"Ow!" exclaimed Glory as the now-chipped gravestone fell to one side, before she rubbed her nose. "That might have been nasty... oh wait, no it wasn't. You're sneaky. You're also about to be dead."

Buffy had known that Glory was fast and strong and near-invulnerable, but she was still surprised at the turn of speed she put on. The Hellgoddess literally leapt through the air at her, forcing Buffy to dive and roll to one side to avoid an outstretched and clutching hand.

Glory recovered her balance almost instantly and then came at her again, throwing a punch that almost had a sonic boom trailing after it due to its speed. It certainly surprised Buffy, who barely dodged it in time, but who then used Glory's outstretched arm as a handy pivot to use as she punched her firmly in the face and then leapt away again.

But the punch didn't even come close to stunning Glory, who rolled with it and then lashed out with roundhouse kick from her right foot. This one connected as it caught Buffy in her side and sent her sprawling into a nearby bush with a stifled yelp of pain.

The Slayer came back upright as fast as she could, which was a good thing as Glory was already almost on top of her, her hands reaching out and a horrible hunger in her eyes. Glory looked like she was enjoying herself way too much – and that she wanted to inflict a lot more pain. Buffy waited until the last possible moment and then she dropped onto her back and kicked Glory in the stomach with as much force as she could. This actually staggered the Hellgod for a moment and Buffy was then able to use Glory's momentum to send her flying off to one side. She then rolled and came upright – and then she ran, dodging as she went.

"Come back here!!!" came the scream from behind her and she knew that Glory was following her, probably as fast as she had been before. But it was dark and the Slayer had the home advantage – she knew almost every single graveyard in Sunnydale like the back of her hand by now and she made the maximum possible use of every twist and turn, every tree and tomb. It took her a good few minutes longer then she thought it would, but she finally left Glory behind after the Hellgod fell victim to a grave that had once held a now very dead vampire.

When she finally slowed up she took a great shaking breath of air and then flexed her right hand carefully. It had been like punching a brick wall! She'd known that Glory was a Hellgod, she'd listened to what Xander had told her, she'd read the file that Travers had sent over... but now that she'd met her she found herself staggered by the speed and strength and sheer power of Glory.

Glory was faster than Angelus and more powerful than the Master. She was a massive threat... and she was looking for Dawn.

"Over my dead body," muttered Buffy as she went looking for her watcher. Over my dead and bleeding body."

* * *

Riley chewed on a small piece of errant fingernail for a moment and then looked back at the file in front of him. He had a nasty feeling that Lam had an agenda that he couldn't quite put his finger on. There was something about the way that the man was organising his schedule that just had his hackles going up and down. There were times when it made no sense – and other times when it looked as if the man was looking for something – or someone. And if it was the latter then he had a nasty feeling about matters.

* * *

"How can we do this Giles?" asked Buffy in a small voice as she sat there and stared at the rack of weapons on the opposite wall. "How do you kill a god?"

Her Watcher looked up from the large and very battered book he was reading and looked carefully at her. "Are you feeling alright Buffy?"

She barked a short, almost bitter laugh. "Now that I've met her I understand what Xander meant, when he said that things bounce off her. I'm used to punching things and they stay down most times. I punched her and she didn't really feel it. How can we win this one?"

Giles sighed and walked over to her with the book under his right arm. "Buffy, I know that this is the greatest battle we've ever faced. I know that this is something that we've never seen before. But you shouldn't lose heart. Even gods have weaknesses. She's been beaten before."

"Yeah, but by other gods!" snapped Buffy. "We don't have a god tucked up our sleeves here!"

"So we look for other, um, angles," replied Giles with a sigh. He hefted the book. "Quentin Travers sent this over the other day. It's an account of the battles to defeat Glory in her home dimension. I'm still going through it, and some of the terms have been translated a bit oddly – I'm not sure how you can smite someone with sandals – but it's giving me a bit of an insight into Glory. We have a big advantage."

"We do?" she asked incredulously. "Well? Come on, spill!"

"She's a bit, well, thick," said Giles quietly.

"She's what?"

"Thick. British idiom. Stupid."

Buffy wrinkled her forehead. "We're facing a stupid god?"

"Not stupid as such, but certainly far less intelligent than she no doubt thinks that she is. The, the Chronicles are filled with examples of her less than stellar tactics for a start."

"Such as?"

"Well, I've come across five times when her army was ambushed when the enemy opened fire, or used their weapons, from concealed positions. Two of them were in exactly the same place. Each time she lost her entire army. Then there was the time when she and her army were lured into a swamp. She extricated herself by turning the surface of the water and mud to glass." Giles smiled slightly. "As her army was up to their necks in it at the time, this was a, a somewhat bad choice."

Buffy thought about a swamp full of headless demons and pulled a face. "Oh yuck," she said.

"Indeed," Giles said. "Apparently she was always able to raise more forces though."

This led to an unpleasant thought creeping into her mind. "Giles?"

"Um, yes Buffy?"

"Do you think that she's recruiting? I mean, she must be, how else did she know where I patrol?"

"Ah," muttered Giles. "That's a very good point Buffy. Um. Bugger. You're sure that you haven't been followed?"

She thought back carefully. "No," she said slowly, shaking her head, "I would have heard them or seen them. They smell a lot Giles. Have you been able to put a name to them yet? I mean, what kind of demons are they?"

"Oh they're not demons," sighed Giles. "It's a rather sad story really. They're a form of elf. A lost and fallen form, obviously, and they're not a patch on their ancestors, but they used to be... well so much more. A long time ago though. Thousands of years ago they came though a portal from a shattered world. I think the rough translation of their tribe was Blood Elves. Right now they're just a shattered and pathetic group that need a lot of soap. Perfect fodder for Glory of course. They're so ground down that they'd do anything for a pat on the head and an exhortation to be good minions." He shook his head again and then looked at his Slayer again. "Right. I think we need to talk to Xander. We need a plan. Or rather perhaps we need to rifle through his head and assess what possible plans are there."

* * *

Xander sat down at the desk and then pulled out what he'd been working on for the past three days. It looked good so far and he was very glad that he'd been able to pay a visit to the vault for a couple of gems a few months back and then get them cut in Los Angeles. He gazed at it critically, his head to one side and then rubbed his jaw carefully. Yes, it should work. He hadn't been too keen on the idea when it had first crept its way into his brain, but after a lot of thought he'd pensively come around to the fact that it had possibilities. The power issue was the one thing that that still nagged at him, but he'd put a call out to Jack and there was a chance that there was a way around it. In the meantime he still had a lot of work to do on it and he bent over the device carefully and resumed work.

* * *

The sun had long since set as the car drew up in front of the darkened house. The lights went out and the engine was shut off and then four figures emerged from it. One went to the door of the house, pulling out a set of keys at the same time, whilst the other three looked out at the desert that stretched out before them. The moon was rising off to one side, casting a pale, silvery light that lit the landscape.

The figure by the door opened it and then reached inside to punch in a seven-digit number on a keypad, which led to a small blinking red light turning green. Then the figure caught sight of the others and walked over to them. "Cool place, huh."

"Xander... trained here?" asked Daniel Jackson.

"Yes, he did," said Oz with a smile. "It's just like he described."

"You've never been here before?" Rebecca said.

"No."

"Oh."

They all looked out at the moonlit desert that stretched out before them.

"We've got a lot to do," said Lindsey after a long moment. "Let's get started."


	39. New Levels of Understanding

Wow, I think that my block is well and truly broken! This chapter is much more what I wanted the last chapter to be like. Things are in place, we have more on Lam, Rebecca and Daniel are training and Glory is on the move. Enjoy!

* * *

Spike woke up with a scream, the same kind of scream that he'd been waking up to for the past week or two. Then he slumped back down against the bed and ran a shaking hand over his sweaty face. Oh this was bad. This was very bad. It was so bad that he'd had to move out of Harmony's place, which wasn't a bad thing really as that stupid Californian cow had unicorns on the brain something rotten.

But that wasn't the problem... oh no, that wasn't the problem that was causing him to wake up screaming. He staggered out of bed and went over to the bowl of water that was doubling as a sink these days, where he splashed his face and then ran his fingers from his forehead to his chin. There times when he was bloody glad that he couldn't use a mirror, as right now he had a nasty feeling that all one would show him would be a pair of dark circles under his eyes, showing that he was short on sleep and high on annoyance.

He had a nasty feeling that his subconscious was trying to tell him that he was in love with a sodding Slayer. This was not good at all.

* * *

Breakfast today was a piece of toast, a mug of coffee and a dose of depression. Ben sat on a stool and stared bleakly out of the window. He was no longer worried about Glory, he was desperate. It was getting worse. The blackouts were getting longer and were happening more often. Logically there was only one conclusion to reach – she was getting stronger.

He sipped at his coffee and then turned his gaze reluctantly to the morning paper. More people were turning up exhibiting signs of extreme mental instability. The paper said that the authorities didn't know why this was happening. He, however, knew exactly why.

What made it worse was that many of the victims were being brought to the ER – and were being treated by him. The omnipresent feeling of extreme guilt was starting to get to him. And there was nothing he could do.

* * *

Nothing.

"Hey Giles," said Xander as he looked at the board that now had a picture of Glory tacked to the top of it. "I've got a question."

Giles looked at him carefully over the top of his glasses. "Um... which is?"

"If Dawn is the Key, then what _exactly_ is the lock – and where is the door?"

The Watcher blinked hard at this and then opened his mouth for a moment – before he closed it again with a snap. "Ah," he said, pulling his glasses off and then polishing them furiously. "That, um, is a very good question. You mean, how precisely is Glory intending to use Dawn should, God forbid, she find her?"

"Yes. How can the key be used? Is there a time, a place, a moment when it has to be used? She has to have a plan. She's not the brightest bulb in the box, but she has to be thinking about something. We need to work out what." Xander stroked his chin again thoughtfully and then looked up. "By the way I do have a plan to keep her safe. If things get bad on us we need to send her to Colorado Springs and the SGC. They'll get her offworld."

The hairs threatened to rise on the back of Giles' neck and rip his skin off his spine. "You say that so casually," he said in a voice that betrayed a combination of wonder and envy. "Offworld... stepping away from this planet of ours and onto an alien world."

Xander nodded slowly. "Sorry Giles. But I have the memories of a thousand different worlds that don't even exist in this universe. In my memories of Obi-Wan, offworld is... like walking through a door." He smiled suddenly. "Oh course, for _me_ I'd love the chance to walk through that door a lot more times, but you see what I mean."

"I... think I do," replied Giles with a certain wistfulness in his eyes as he polished his glasses and stared sightlessly at the far side of the moon. "I remember watching the moon landings when I was about 14 and wondering about all the predictions on Tomorrow's World about moon bases by the year 2000." He sighed and then frowned. "Of course we were all supposed to be wearing paper clothing and commuting to work via jetpack by then, but you get the idea."

Xander looked at the Watcher for a moment and then raised his eyebrows and moved on. "Yes, well, if Dawn's off-world than we have one less thing to worry about. Although stopping Glory is going to be hard enough as it is."

Raising a finger in the air Giles stopped him from going on. "Xander, will Dawn be safe at the SGC? We've heard some horror stories from Willow about what's in their records and with certain rogue elements rampaging about the place do we really want to place her – place the Key – in any danger of being grabbed by the US Military and potentially, um, dissected?"

"That's a good point," sighed Xander as he sat down. "I trust Jack O'Neill and his boss though – and I've given them a hell of a weapon they can use against a load of pseudo-demon-aliens who want to either enslave the entire planet or turn it into a mass of loose gravel orbiting the Sun, so I don't think that we have much choice in the matter."

"True," conceded Giles. "Then she hopefully should be safe as we work out what to do about Glory." He directed a remarkably shrewd stare at Xander. "Speaking of which, you've been working on something."

This startled Xander, who then ruefully smiled. "Am I that obvious?"

"Only to those of your friends who can detect certain subtle signs – like the faint smell of soldering iron that you've been exuding recently. Buffy noticed it the other day."

"Aha, the fabled Slayer-nose." Scratching the tip of his nose Xander smiled slightly. "Let's just say that I'm working on something that involves a little more power than I've been using so far. New technique too. By the way I need to do some training with Buffy."

"Training?" Giles asked, frowning slightly. "What on?"

"Use of the quarterstaff."

"I don't... oh, wait. Yes, I see, very clever. I'm sure that something can be arranged."

"Great," said Xander as he stood up. Then he paused. "Do we know why Glory's been making people crazy yet by the way?"

"I have a theory," Giles said in a voice like iron. "It's a highly unpleasant one, but it's plausible. I think that she needs to extract their mental, ah, essence, the energies that bind a person's mind together, in order to stay out of the human shell that she was bound into."

Xander felt his skin crawl for a moment. "We do need to work on finding out who the shell is. That's a terrible thing to do to someone."

"Yes, but don't forget that whoever this person is, he or she was created specifically to imprison Glory," Giles pointed out. "Ah. There are some unpleasant parallels to Dawn, aren't there?"

"Very unpleasant," sighed Xander. "But at least the Monks created Dawn and placed her into a loving family that could protect her, with friends that care for her. I wonder what the shell is like? And I wonder what happens to the shell when Glory's out and about. I mean, should we be looking for a comatose person leaning against a wall like a statue, or what?"

Giles leant over and picked up another book. "It might not be that simple. I think that we're talking about some very powerful magic here. It, it might be that Glory superimposes herself on the shell, so that they occupy the same spatial location. It might be that there's other magic involved – there's a notation here at the end of the description of when she was exiled from her home dimension that "no-one will know her", which is a bit confusing. But you're right, we do need to identify who the shell is. Close observation might at least give us some warning. So far she seems to be maddeningly random in her appearances, although from the reports I've been getting from the local hospital, the number of mentally unstable people in the area has taken a sharp uptick over the past week and a half."

"She's appearing more often then?"

"Yes, I think that she's getting stronger. That or the magical barriers around her are weakening. There might even be a link to the timing issues we talked about earlier. I'll keep digging – we need more than conjecture to go on right now." He pulled the book closer and started to read it as Xander nodded and then started to walk out – only to pause at the last minute and step to one side just in time to avoid colliding with a very excited Willow, who was clutching a bag.

"Guys! I've got it!" she burbled as she dashed to the table and placed the bag on it, before she started to rummage about inside it like a demented squirrel trying to locate its favourite nut.

"Got what, Wills?" asked Xander with a frown.

"This!" She pulled out a large and very old-looking book that Xander disliked instantly on sight. It was bound in something black and it looked as if it had been written in ink that wasn't quite black but which was slightly more than a very dark red. Willow paused as she flipped through the pages with a speed that made Giles wince with horror, before she finally found what she was looking for and placed the open book on the table in front of Giles. "We can use this against Glory! It's perfect!"

Leaning forwards carefully Giles peered onto the page and read carefully, while Xander walked over and glanced over his shoulder. The writing looked archaic and looped about in a way that made him feel slightly nauseous. There was what looked like a woodcut drawing in one corner of the right page that seemed to show something with a head that just didn't look right moving from one spot to another.

It was at this point that Xander realised that Giles had frozen in the act of reading and now had his eyes very tightly closed. He seemed to be muttering something under his breath. Then he opened his eyes again, leant back in his chair and directed a chilly gaze at an utterly oblivious Willow, who looked rather like she was expecting to be praised for something.

"You see?" she gabbled. "We can use that spell on her! Instead of going all terminator on her, or risking getting people hurt, or anything like that, we can just use this spell on her and poof! No problem! No Glory! We just..." she waved her hands about excitedly, as if she was using a wand, and then beamed hugely. "And no more Glory!" She paused and then turned the excitement down a notch. "Giles?"

"Willow, where did you get this book from?" The Watcher asked the question in a quiet and very level voice that set off a number of alarm bells even in Willow.

"Um, I went to see someone that Spike recommended. Ok, so he was a little kooky and he made me think about Liza Minnelli for some reason, but he was very helpful. I think his name was Doc."

"I see," muttered Giles, still in that very level tone of voice. "Willow, have you actually studied the book much? Or, come to that, the spell properly at all?"

Willow frowned. "It's a teleportation spell Giles! I wouldn't have shown it to you otherwise. But don't you see? We can-"

"You _stupid_ little girl!" roared the Watcher, making Xander blink at the sudden display of very uncharacteristic emotion. "Didn't you look at the bloody cover of this... _abomination_?"

Struck dumb with astonishment Willow shook her head.

"It's bound with human skin," said Giles, his voice returning to the high and eerie plains of mere chilliness. "And it's written in human blood. This book is so dangerous that I am almost beyond words that you would be so... so _stupid_ as to bring it before me and urge me to use any of the spells inside it. This book is evil, Willow, it is steeped in evil magic that must never be used without either immense knowledge of the pitfalls of even just opening it, or an immense wariness of anything it says."

Willow's mouth dropped open and she stared at it in horror as she sank into a chair. "But... I thought that... oh... really human skin?"

"Yes," replied Giles with immense distaste as he looked down at the black volume in front of him. "I recognised the sheen on it at once. The Watcher's Council has been on the lookout for similar volumes for many decades now. It makes me feel ill just looking at it. I'll look into the correct rites for disposing of it at once. I think that it needs to be dealt with carefully."

After a long moment Willow rallied. "But what about the spell?" she asked in a small voice.

Giles stared at her. "Didn't you just hear me say that anything in this book must never be used as it's evil beyond words?"

"Yes, but... I thought that teleporting Glory might be important!"

Xander groaned. "Wills, please listen to Giles on this. I might not be up much on magical stuff, but I can tell that that book is bad news. Yes we need to take care of Glory, but there are limits as to what we're going to be willing to do." He paused. "Besides, if an evil book gives instructions on teleporting someone, what's in the small print?"

"An excellent question Xander," snapped Giles as he leant forwards to glared cautiously at the pages in front of him. As he read his mouth tightened into a slit, before he straightened up and then glared afresh at Willow, who visibly wilted for a moment, before rallying.

"What?" she asked.

"Yes Willow, this is indeed a teleportation spell. Did you even stop to consider what the cost of using it might be?"

Xander's oldest friend looked bewildered. "The cost?"

"I thought not," sighed Giles as he sank back in his chair, removed his glasses and then rubbed at his forehead tiredly. "Willow," he said in a more kindly voice, " I realise that you're trying to help out, but you have to see that magic is not the be-all and end-all of things, it's not the simple easy solution to so many of life's problems that you seem to think that it is. It's not anything of the sort. Magic has... consequences. Often unforeseen consequences. Picture it as the small print of life.

"People who think that it can be used with impunity, easily or without a cost to themselves tend to end up sorely disabused of such perceptions. Magic is something that can be wonderful, and dangerous at the same time. It exacts a price with each usage. Smaller magical spells are one thing, but with the larger ones the costs – and the dangers – tend to increase exponentially."

He gestured at the book. "This spell would, indeed, teleport someone. But there is a cost involved. It's not so much a teleportation spell as an exchange of mass between two disparate areas spell."

"Sithspit," muttered a horrified Xander as he thought about it. "You'd send someone away – but you'd get something back."

"Exactly! And there's little if any guarantee about just what you'd be exchanging Glory for. If we take a basic concept like the simple matter of mass, then as she's not the same physically as us, she might have a higher mass, in which case if we sent her away to wherever – and that's a separate but related point that I really don't want to think about – this spell would send her away to, what would we get back?"

There was a pause whilst a visibly chastened Willow thought about it. "Um, maybe air?" she asked with an air of hopefulness that made Xander want to shake his head over.

Giles glared at her. "Possibly. Probably not however. As I mentioned we're talking about a hell goddess, who is not quite the same, physically speaking, as the rest of us, we have no idea what might come back. We might get back a large amount of poisonous gas, or a room full of rocks, or lava, or giant cockroaches, or... anything. Maybe something of the same mass but with a lot more teeth."

"Oh," said Willow – and the penny fully dropped, and she raised both hands to her mouth. "OH! I never thought of that!"

"No, I thought that you hadn't," sighed Giles as he rubbed at his forehead tiredly. "Right. I need an aspirin as I now have a very bad headache. Willow, I appreciate your enthusiasm, but I question your methods. Please talk to me before you look at this kind of thing Willow. There's the additional factor that as we don't know how Glory is being hidden in her human prison form, the use of large amounts of magic on her might strip down the remaining wards on her and free her entirely. Which would make her even more dangerous. Sod it, I think there's a bottle of Tylenol in the front office." He got up and strode off, one hand in his pocket and the other massaging his forehead.

This left Xander with a very sad-looking Willow, who was looking at him nervously.

"Cheer up Wills," said Xander, giving her a reassuring smile. "It could have been worse."

"Why did Giles have to be so mean?" moaned the witch, with a snuffle of the nose that suggested that she was extremely upset.

"I think that he was shocked and then very worried that you might have accidently hurt yourself with the very best of intentions, Wills. You know Giles, he worries a lot about these things." He looked at her gravely. "Plus I do think that he has a point."

"About what?" she asked despondently, blowing her nose noisily as she did.

"About your attitude to magic."

This got an instant reaction, as despondency gave way to belligerence. "Xander! Not you as well! I thought I was your friend!"

Xander stopped her with a pair of upraised, placatory hands and then put those hands on her shoulders and looked at her. "Willow, you are my friend and I love you… in a friendly way of course. But Giles is right sometimes – you do seem to look at magic as a shortcut, and it's not as simple as you seem to think sometimes. I know that you're keen to help and I know that without you we wouldn't have Angel fighting on the side of light, but you need to start looking at the implications to using magic. Because I don't want to go through life without my bestest bud. We're not saying 'don't use magic', we're just saying look good and hard at it first, as the bigger the spell the more important the small print."

Willow rolled her eyes for a moment and then pouted as she looked down at her feet. "Ok," she said reluctantly.

"C'mon, I'll buy you an ice cream sundae and we can talk about the old days," he said, holding his crooked arm out.

Willow perked up a little at this. "Is the bold Jedi Master offering to buy for the chastened Witch?"

"Oh I'm sure that the Jedi Temple can spare the cash for two sundaes."

"You're building a Jedi Temple?"

"It's more of a concept right now. Besides, the Government might notice if a huge temple with towers suddenly appeared in California without any warning."

"It sounds a bit like Disneyland."

"That's the other reason why I'm holding off on building it. Might not be a good idea for Padawans to get distracted by tourists asking about where Mickey and Minnie are."

* * *

'_Dear diary. Another day of being taken for granted! Another day!'_ Dawn looked down at her diary, thought about adding another couple of exclamation points and then decided against it. '_Nobody knows who I am. Not the real me. It's like, nobody cares enough to find out. I mean, does anyone ever ask __me__ what I want to do with my life? Or what my opinion is on stuff? Or what restaurant to order in from?' _She paused again to think this last point through, but decided to leave it in as was plenty emphatic. _'No!' _This wasn't quite strong enough, so she added another few exclamation points to draw attention to it.

'_No one understands. No one has an older sister who's a slayer._' Oh, that was a great point. No one could ever understand, although the last time she's brought that up with Xander he'd given her a slightly odd look and then told her that very few people in Sunnydale actually asked for what they were getting in life. She liked Xander, although she was quite glad that he'd stopped wearing those stupid Hawaiian shirts all the time. They made him look as if he was wearing one of the freakier paintings from her Mom's art gallery.

She frowned slightly as she nibbled the end of her pen and stared down at the diary. Now that she thought about it, he had been wearing rather more... what was the right word... restrained clothing for a few years now. She'd asked him once and he'd just smiled and told her that he had a few more things on his mind than before. She wasn't sure what that meant, but at least he'd come with her favourite pizza. He seemed a bit more solemn that she remembered as well, but then maybe he was getting sick of Buffy and her ability to kill things with a bit of wood.

She liked the sound of that, so she scribbled some more. _'People wouldn't be so crazy about her if they had to live in the same house with her every single day. Everybody cares what she thinks. Just 'cause she can do backflips and stuff. Like that's *such* a crucial job skill in the real world. Plus Mom lets her get away with everything. "Your sister's saving the world." _

Dawn pulled an annoyed face and then bent over the diary again. 'I _could so save the world if somebody handed me super powers... but I'd think of a cool name and wear a mask to protect my loved ones, which Buffy doesn't even. If this town wasn't so lame everyone would completely know what she does. And then I bet they wouldn't even be that impressed, because like, killing things with wood? Oh, scary vampires, they die from a splinter.'_

Dawn stared out of the window for a moment and then rolled her eyes in annoyance. _'I mean, what's so terrible out there?'_

* * *

"Knock knock," said Jack as he strolled into Carter's office with his hands in his pockets and a look of cheerful curiosity on his face.

"Good morning sir," replied Carter, barely looking up from the note she was writing. "Can I help you this morning?"

"Well, you can tell me where you're sending the stuff that a little bird told got delivered here at oh-dark-thirty this morning."

This time Carter did look up. And there was a certain tinge about her ears that meant that unless Jack was very much mistaken – and he seldom was these days about such Carter-related things – she was a bit embarrassed. She tapped the table for a moment and then she gestured at the three packages that Jack could see were stacked to one side on the table. "I was, well, about to send these off to Sunnydale."

"Ok. What's in them?" he asked glibly as he reached out to pick one up – only for Carter to pull them out of his grasp with a speed that showed that she had read his mind again, damn it. "Carter. Share the intel on what's in the packages with the horrifically neat wrapping."

She looked shifty for a moment, which took some doing. Then she buckled. "Superconductors sir."

"These things? But I thought that – oh hang on. These are the things that go into lightsabers, right?"

The shifty look turned into a slightly mulish look, before transforming into a miraculously angelic look. "They might sir, but I'm sending them out for, uh, testing."

"Testing," he said levelly. "Testing..."

"It's vitally important that they get field tested, sir," she said with a shrug.

"Ok," he said after a moment. Then he turned and walked out of the room. "I wasn't here and I didn't see a damn thing!"

* * *

He was staring at the take from a surveillance camera when the phone went off and he groaned quietly. Oh come on, he thought as he stared at the ceiling, give me a break! Then he looked at the caller ID and his eyebrows shot up, before he finally answered it. "Hey," he said by way of greeting. "How's it going Graham?"

"Not too bad," replied his cousin. "Surviving in the military and so on. How's it going with you?"

"Apart from surveillance videos of things that are boring me to death, with the exception of today, which is turning out to be quite interesting, not too bad either," he replied. "What's up?"

"I need a favour," came the reply, in a terse tone that made him sit up more than a bit in surprise.

"Name it. You ok?"

"Ask me when the latest SNAFU is over."

"Ah. I take it that you have yet another crisis there."

"Officially not yet. Unofficially, hell yes, on two fronts. I need your help with the second. I need you run a name for me and some friends of mine. Victor Lam. Marine officer, posted to California in the past two months. He's been worrying a few people with his behaviour."

"People like yourself?" he asked as he scribbled the name down on a piece of paper and then stuck it into his shirt pocket.

"Yes. Big time yes."

"Ah." He paused. "Graham, can I ask who he is?"

There was a short and rather strained silence. "My CO," he replied eventually.

"Your... commanding officer." It came out in a very flat voice, but that was the best that he could do. "You want me to investigate your commanding officer?" He looked about the office carefully, but the only people he could see was a messenger arguing with the receptionist about a package and old Jensen having his post-lunch nap in his cubicle in the corner where almost no-one else could see him.

"Yes. Can you do it?"

"Graham I have to ask, why do you need this done?"

"Because he's acting oddly and could possibly be putting us in danger."

This was a total no-brainer. "Consider it done."

"Thanks Tim, I owe you one," Graham said. "Tell, your folks I said hi and take care of yourself."

"Same to you," he smiled and then he put the phone down before looking back at the feed from the surveillance camera. Lieutenant Allen was still in his room with the hooker who was working for the Chinese Embassy. Reaching over to his keyboard he opened up a new screen, logged into a search engine and then typed in: LAM, VICTOR, MARINE, SUNNYDALE, before he leant back in his chair again and looked back at the feed. Well, life looked like it was getting interesting again. Wow, that was a hell of an athletic position...

* * *

"Cold night," said a voice to one side. She looked over to see Lindsey walking up the bluff slowly. He was looking at the sky as well.

"Cassiopeia. Ursa Major. Orion!" He smiled and then sat down next to her. "I used to have a telescope when I was a kid in Texas. Not a big one – small. Cost my dad $20 from a guy he knew, so I suspect it fell off the back of a truck somewhere. I used to spend my time looking out at nights at the moon, imagining what it would be like to walk there. For a time I even wanted to be an astronaut. Then reality hit me in the head and I ended up being a lawyer." Lindsey pulled a face for a moment and then looked at her. "So, are you looking at the stars or are you just doing some thinking?" He asked shrewdly.

She shifted slightly on the rock and then looked up at the moon as it lit the landscape around the house. "A lot of thinking, actually," she said quietly, before looking at him. "I've learnt a lot recently."

"I know. You've been doing well, take it from me. I remember what it was like at first. Bizarre."

"But..." she looked back at the moon abruptly. Licking her lips nervously she opened her mouth for a moment and then closed it again as the words skittered about in her brain and then failed to emerge from her mouth.

As she made another attempt, Lindsey stopped her with a raised hand. "No, let me guess. You remember what you've done. You're aware of what you were. You're afraid that you might get pulled into your old life and have them use what you know now for evil. You're afraid of falling in other words. Failing and falling."

She was tempted to look at him, but instead she just stared at her feet. "Yes."

"I... know what that feels like. Believe me, I know."

This time she did look at him. "What was it like?"

"What?"

"Working for Wolfram & Hart. I'd like to know."

Lindsey drew in a deep breath of air and then looked up at the stars. "When I started there I thought that I was the king of the world. I thought that I'd been able to break out of my father's world. Money. Influence. The ability to pick up a phone and make a problem go away." A bitter smile flashed across his face for an instant. "The concept of what this would cost me down the line never occurred to me then. It... just never crossed my mind. You see, Wolfram & Hart sucks you in and then eventually you get the world's biggest bill. The kind of bill that costs you your life and even your soul. If I hadn't gone to Sunnydale the first time, met Xander and Buffy and seen what other options were out there..." He pulled a face. "I'd hate to imagine what my life would be like now. Probably I'd be deeper in with the Firm and more shards of my soul would in the maw of the beast."

She thought about this and then nodded slowly.

"I don't mean to pry but at some point you will have to explain just why you joined the Order of Teraka," he pointed out quietly as a shooting star flashed briefly across the horizon. "If you don't want to fall, we need to know where your feet have been, if that makes any sense."

Closing her eyes she took a deep and shuddering breath. "Oh," she said eventually in a hoarse voice, "The usual reasons. I had a talent and I needed money. I could do things that other people couldn't. My dad... he knew that I had the talent, as he called it. He ran away from his father. He hated him and feared him... he knew that his own father was evil." A bitter smile crossed her face quickly. "I think that he knew that his father thought of him as a weapon, not a child. He trained him and... he frightened him a lot."

There was a long moment of silence. "You loved your dad a lot then," Lindsey muttered as he looked at the moon again.

"He was great. He wanted... a quiet life. He liked music and books and art and stuff. He got together with my mom because of that. He ran away from his home and later he met mom at a community college. They loved each other very much. They had me. I remember... I remember being loved." A tear slid down her face and vanished into the dust at her feet. "And then she died. I was... 7. Car crash. Not her fault – other driver had a heart attack. Only time I ever saw my dad cry. I think... something in him died that day. He wasn't mean or anything, he was... sad. There'd always be something about him that just... I mean, it never really went away."

Lindsey nodded. "Same with my mom. She misses my dad. Always."

She looked at him for a moment and then her gaze returned to her feet. "Then I started showing signs of having... it."

"The Force."

"The talent as my dad called it. I'm not sure if he was proud of me or scared for me. Both probably. I think he... hoped that I took after my mom's side of the family. So he taught me. Not all of what he knew – he said that parts of what he'd been taught were very dangerous. He just showed me the bits and pieces that he thought were safe. I think... he was trying to be a Jedi, but he was starting as a Sith novice. He was... he was trying to push away from what his father had taught him, but he didn't really know how."

Drawing his knees up Lindsey leant on his thighs and squinted at the ground. "I met your grandfather more than a few times. I'm amazed that he was skilled in the Force, but when I think about it, he did always seem to be a step ahead of everyone else in the courtroom. Holland, my old boss, said that he was just a tricky bastard."

"I think that he was a monster," muttered Rebecca, her face drawn and unnaturally white in the moonlight. "He used my father. He must have used other people."

There was another long moment of silence. "So," said Lindsey eventually, "What happened to your father?"

She sighed. "He died when I was 15. Heart attack. He was working at an insurance office. He wasn't bad at it, he could... persuade his bosses to authorise payouts sometimes to people he thought needed help more than others. And then one day they found him dead at his desk."

"I'm sorry," whispered Lindsey.

"Oh don't be," she said with a small smile. "I think he was glad. They found him with a look of surprise on his face, so it must have been quick. But once he was dead..."

"You had to live life on your own," he said with a half-shake of his head. "Did your father leave you with much money?"

"Enough for a year or two. Then I had to work out what to do. I knew about the underworld – vampires and so on – because my father told me about them. He must have found out about them, but he never told me how, or when. He told me how to defend myself against them – and how to use the Force against them.

"And then... about two years after he died, I got a phone call from someone. His name was Harkness Grandsire, and he said that he had seen my father fill a vampire and a demon, using... well, he thought it was some kind of magic. He didn't know any better of course. He asked if I could do what my father could. I told him that I didn't know what he was talking about and I slammed the phone down."

Rebecca pulled a face. "He turned up about a day later. He said that I obviously knew something... and he wanted to make me an offer. If I could do what he wanted, he'd... pay me a lot of money."

More silence. "What did he want you to do?"

She screwed her eyes tightly shut for a long moment. Then she opened them again. "Small things at first. Retrieving stolen items for his clients, as he described it." Stealing a quick and rueful glance at him, she shook her head. "I was young and stupid, so I fell for it. After that... I got sucked in. Bigger things, then helping to plan missions, for want of a better word, with the others... and then finally killing. I went a long way down a very slippery slope and at the end of it lay money... and the fact that I stopped caring what happened to me. I went from job to job, not giving a damn anymore. And then I started taking jobs just to feel something."

Lindsey stared at her. "You took jobs to feel something?"

"Yes."

"Were you... suicidal?"

She shifted slightly where she sat, looking awkward. "Maybe," she admitted quietly after a while. "But not now."

"I gathered that," replied the Jedi Knight quietly. "You know, Xander is right – you're very talented."

She looked up from her feet at this. "When did he say that?"

"When we left Sunnydale. He and I were talking about you. About what's holding you back." He leant forwards. "When I became a Padawan and trained under Xander I left my old self behind. He would not have trained me if there was no hope for me Rebecca – just as he would never have started your training if he hadn't seen the potential in you. Your old life is behind you. It's over, it's done. But even though you know that, even though we've told you before, you keep looking back over your shoulder at the old you. You can't afford to do that anymore, it's preventing you from moving forwards. Yes, you should remember it – there isn't a day goes by when I don't think about what I did for that damn law firm and regret every moment I spent there – but you need to realise just how far behind you it is. And it's a long way behind and beneath you. You have to take your eyes off where you've been and look at where you're going."

He stood in one smooth movement and then he unclipped his lightsabre and held it out to her. "You're going to be a Jedi Knight. Think about what that means. The right to have your own lightsabre is just the start of it. Take it, try it out. See how it feels."

She looked at the lightsabre for what seemed like a lifetime and then she stood up and took it. She weighed it in her hand for a moment and then she looked at him. "I can do this," she said and then she held it to one side and ignited it. As the blue blade extended she stared into it and then she looked up at the moon, her face lit by the azure light. "I won't let you down," she said hoarsely. "Or... Xander."

* * *

It had been a very long day, Graham thought as he entered his apartment and let his bag down onto the chair by the door. Yawning hugely he closed the door and then wandered into the kitchen, where a quick look in the refrigerator confirmed that the cannelloni he'd been looking forwards to all day would not take too long to cook at all, which was a good thing as his stomach currently thought that his throat was cut.

He turned on the oven and then wandered over to the phone, where a red light was blinking steadily. Ok, there was a message there. He hit play and then grunted at the sound of the familiar voice as it asked him to call back.

Picking up the cordless receiver he dialled the right number and then wandered back into the kitchen, where he put the cannelloni into the oven and set the timer just before the person he was calling _finally_ picked up.

"Hello?"

"Tim, it's Graham."

"Oh great, hi. You got my message. I looked at Lam's file for you."

"Anything stand out?"

"Not really. A lot of it was classified, but it wasn't too much of a problem. Nothing odd in it as far as I could see, but I can tell you that I saw two things that did surprise me a bit."

"Go on."

"Well the first thing was that he _asked_ to be posted to Sunnydale. Seems to have pulled a few strings to do it too, but nothing too major as he was already on the short list for command of your odd little establishment." There was a bark of laughter. "It's a good thing that I already knew about the things that you hunt down, otherwise I'd still be in shock from what I read."

"That was a hell of a family Christmas wasn't it? That party of vampire carollers Uncle Casey saved us from…" Graham smiled in recollection. "What's the other thing?"

"That he didn't take time off on compassionate leave after that incident with his family."

He stopped dead in the hallway. "What incident with his family?"

"Didn't you know? His wife and daughter were attacked when they were on holiday a few months back. Lam's wife died and his daughter had to be institutionalized – for all of about a week, after which she died as well."

"Where the hell did all this happen?"

"Czech Republic. Lam's wife came from a family that fled Czechoslovakia when the Germans invaded in 1938, so I guess she was visiting relatives or something. He was on his way to a meeting in Prague about NATO membership for the former Warsaw Pact countries when he got the word about his wife and daughter."

Graham looked about the kitchen, grabbed a handy pad and a pen and then started scribbling notes on what his cousin had told him. "How did his wife die?"

"Umm…" there was a pause and then the faint clatter of a used keyboard. "Unknown. Autopsy report is…. Um…. That's odd. It's missing. Same with his daughter's records. She was admitted suffering from what appeared to be severe schizophrenia, and then she died, cause not listed."

"And this was this year?"

"Yup. Just a few weeks before he requested a transfer to the Initiative."

He thought things through for a moment and then sighed. "Well that adds to the mystery surrounding him. Thanks Tim, I owe you one."

"Not a problem. Take care of yourself and tell your mom I'll send that application form for Katie." There was a click and he put the phone down.

After a further moment of deep thought he walked back over to the oven and then peered in, before looking at the timer. Yup, a few minutes more. He'd eat first – and then call Riley. Why couldn't life be simple these days?

* * *

Xander yawned hugely as he walked up the hill and then winced. Ok, so he was burning the candle at both ends right now, which was never a good idea, even for a Jedi. He needed a good night's sleep and soon, as a tired Jedi tended to lead to mistakes, which got people killed. He made a note to try and get at least 8 hours of sleep sometime soon, or he'd have to put himself into a Jedi healing trance for a good long time.

As he approached the meeting place he concentrated and then frowned. Yes, Spike was here. He was drunk. He was also a very unhappy vampire. Even a Youngling could tell that, as the English vampire was emitting a number of signals that could easily be detected by someone with even a rudimentary understanding of body language.

The bottle of vodka in his hand was another dead giveaway.

"You ok, Spike?" he asked as he walked up to the morose vampire.

"Sod off," came the reply.

"Can't do that just yet – you asked for the meeting."

Spike frowned, hiccupped for a moment and then nodded reluctantly. "Oh, yeah. So I did." He looked at Xander for a moment and the Jedi stared slightly. Spike looked as if he hadn't slept properly in a week or so.

"Spike, you look like crap. What's wrong?"

The vampire struggled for words for a moment and then flapped a hand wearily at him. "Ah, you wouldn't understand. And I'm not going to explain. So there." He paused and inhaled a long slug from the bottle. "Right," he said hoarsely. "Glory. She's got those greasy bastards out looking for weapons. Everyone in town's heard about it. Well, I mean those parts, of the, of the town that haven't got social security numbers."

Sitting down next to the sizzled vampire Xander looked at the lights of the town thoughtfully. "What _kind_ of weapons?" he asked after a moment's thought.

"What the hell do you think?" Spike asked scornfully.

"I'm... guessing weapons to be used against me?"

"Give the Jedi a cigar!" crowed Spike. Then he sobered, metaphorically speaking at least. "Yeah. She wants something that can go up against your extendable light bulb."

"What are her chances?" asked Xander thoughtfully, as he made a mental note to ask Giles about this.

There was a long moment of thoughtful silence from Spike and then he shrugged helplessly. "I don't bloody know, do I? This is Sunnydale. There's all kinds of weird stuff out there. There's mounds of the bloody things in some areas."

"That's... not a bad point," Xander conceded. "Bugger."

The vodka bottle was waved in his general direction for a moment. "We're getting you talking the Queen's English now! Yes!" Then he sobered – metaphorically at least. "I dunno how many of the bloody things are going to be useful against your lightsabre. Probably none. But the fact that. That shese looking for'em is a bad thing. Last thing you want is for her to get –hic!- lucky. How come I've got –hic!- the hiccups when I've been –hic!- drinking vodka?"

"I don't know Spike, the mysteries of vodka are a closed book to me."

The vampire sneered and then drained the last of the vodka before staring at the bottle sadly. "All gone," he said sadly. "None left."

"Spike, what the hell is wrong with you?"

For a moment Spike opened his mouth – and then he caught himself and waved a finger around like a thin white moth. "Oh no you don't! I'm –hic!- not telling you! I'm not –hic!- that bloody pissed." He looked down for a moment and something that looked very much like anguish roiled through his face for that split second. Then he looked up again. "Sod this, I'm –hic!- off to watch Passions. Got a –hic!- mate of mine to set up a video thingamabob." Standing shakily he weaved off down the hill.

Xander watch the vampire go and then rolled his eyes before reiterating his mental vow to get a lot more sleep. He had a feeling that he was going to need it.

* * *

"I'm not... in... as good... shape... as I... thought..." panted Daniel as he got to the top of the mesa and then resisted the temptation to throw up over the side of a cliff. Every time he felt as if he was getting fitter, something happened to show him that he wasn't quite there yet.

"Training will get you fit," said Oz. Who wasn't standing where he had been half a second ago, but was instead sitting on top of a twenty-foot high boulder.

"How... oh. The Force," he said with a smile. "That still gets me sometimes."

Oz looked down at him quizzically. "We need to work on that," he said quietly.

"Work on what?"

"You keep double-taking at what we can do with the Force sometimes. What _you_ can do with the Force sometimes. That's a worry."

He raised his eyebrows and then looked down at his hand for a moment. Then he glanced up at the boulder, concentrated hard and then leapt up himself. He had a nasty moment about halfway up when he thought that he might not make it, but he made it. Ok, so his heart was pounding again, and his knees were wobbly, but he made it.

As he sat down Oz looked at him again. "You have second thoughts on the way up? I felt your concentration slip when you were halfway up."

"Ah." He pulled a face. "I hoped you wouldn't notice."

"Me Jedi Knight. You Padawan. I've... been where you are now. I was a bit disbelieving at first."

"I can relate to that," smiled Daniel. "What convinced you?"

"I saw what Xander could do. I knew that if he could do it.... oh and I knew about Buffy being the Slayer and stuff like that." He shook his head. "Plus I had an incentive. Being a Jedi Knight means that I can repress my werewolf side."

Daniel's eyes snapped towards Oz, followed by the rest of his head. "Your _what_ side???"

"Lycanthropy is the right term," Oz replied with a slightly grim smile. "My cousin Jordan bit me a few years back. Next thing I knew I was blacking out for the three nights around the full moon and waking up in some very odd places stark naked."

"Ah," said Daniel, resisting the temptation to shuffle away from him for a moment. And then his eyes widened. "Wait a second – the moon was full last night!"

Oz shot a quick smile at him. "Yes. Lack of hairy werewolf leaping about, right?" He looked back at the horizon. "I haven't changed since my training started properly. With the Force I can keep it in check. It's not a cure... but it's like being in remission. There are times when I can almost... _almost_, forget about it. Not that I'll ever let myself do that. There's too much at stake."

Feeling more than a bit ashamed of himself Daniel nodded. "I can imagine." Then he winced. "That must have been a hell of an incentive."

"It was," came the terse reply. Then Oz looked at him. "We need to find something similar for you."

"I do?" Daniel said. "I thought I was learning fast."

"You are. But you need to deal with this problem you have. You need to face the fact that you can control the Force – and that it can make you do things that you previously thought were impossible. You've come a long way – but you still have some doubts. We need to find out why – and find a way for you to overcome that."

There was a long silence that stretched out between the two men as they sat there on the rock, with the sun beating down on them as it started to rise in the sky. Then, finally Daniel broke the silence. "This isn't... the first time I've been here. Not the same way I mean." He pulled a face. "It's a good thing you've signed the non-disclosure forms, so that I can tell you about this. We were... once looking for a child. The child of a Goa'uld called Apophis... and my wife Sha're. He kidnapped her off the world we were living on at the time and implanted her with his wife's Goa'uld. And then he got her pregnant. Her body I mean."

Oz flinched. "I've read about that kind of possession in the files that Major Davies brought over. I'm sorry, that sounds terrible."

"It's not like she had a choice in the matter," Daniel replied hoarsely. Then he cleared his throat roughly. "Yes, well, it's forbidden for two Goa'uld to have a child via their hosts. They're called Harcesis and they have the genetic memory of the Goa'uld embedded in them. It's... complicated. To cut a long story short, after my wife's death the child – Shifu - ended up being hidden on a planet called Kheb and I... I met a monk there who taught me to use my mind to influence things around me. The thing was... in fact he was in fact an ascended being called Oma Desala, who was protecting the child and who was trying to guide me towards ascension."

"Ascension?"

Daniel sighed. "It's... a process by which sufficiently-evolved sentient beings may shed their physical bodies and live eternally as pure energy on a higher plane of existence full of knowledge and power."

Oz considered this for a moment. "Cool." Then he smiled. "We once had to deal with a different usage of the word. The Mayor tried to ascend into a 60-foot long snake demon."

"Yes, well, I imagine that would be very different... but for a while I thought that I really could move things – ok, affect a flame – with my mind." He squinted ruefully at the horizon. "That just might be my problem."

"Aha," Oz muttered as he rubbed at his chin. "Might just be something there. So you were fooled into thinking that you were manipulating things."

"Yes."

"So it might just be that a part of you never wants to get fooled like that again."

"More than likely."

"Then we need to get you to do a lot more. Maybe a few things with no-one around you. So that you know that it's only _you_ doing it." Oz smiled. "Oh and what are you like at constructing electronic devices?"

Puzzled, Daniel looked at him. "I'm sorry?"

"I think that you also need a lightsabre. That might help as well."

* * *

"This had better be good," grumped Glory as the flunkies filed in again. There a few more of them now, and she supposed that she now had the start of an army. A very small army, but big acorns grew from small trees, or whatever the phrase was in this world. She might have had that the wrong way round, but she didn't care.

"Oh most puissant and tongue-drooling one, we have found yet more objects of power for your approval and we hope that we can-"

"Yes, very good, show me them now. And they'd better be a lot better than the last pitiful lot you put before me, or I'll carve your leg bones into whistles," she barked at him, making the greasy fool cringe in adoration.

"Yes, oh great one." He gestured at one of the others, who scurried forwards with a large battleaxe, which he held out towards her.

"The Axe of the Enflannelled One, oh worshipful one," the underling squeaked nervously.

She hefted it thoughtfully. It felt quite good. "What does it do?" She asked with a certain sense of exhaustion and dread at what might emerge from the moron's lips.

"It is a weapon of power," squeaked the underling, young whatisname. She'd never bothered to find out his name because he was just as useless the others. Well... they obeyed orders, which was a step in the right direction at least.

"And what _exactly_ does it do?" She asked impatiently.

The underling flinched at her tone and then grovelled in front of her. "It channels the power of a great spirit who resides in a piece of farmland in the middle of the continent, oh great and smitingly powerful one!"

She thought about removing his brain with her fingers for a moment and then dismissed it as it was hard to get the stains out of her dress at times. "Farmland?" she asked incredulously.

"Pumpkins!" he squeaked and then flinched as she swiped the air a micron over the top of his head with the axe.

"It's very pretty but, oh, I don't know, totally inadequate. I want to ask what's next, but if it's as useless as this thing, then you're going to die. Very messily as I hate having my time wasted and I've always been curious about what kind of intestines you have inside you. So – Do. You. Have. A. _Useful_. Weapon. For. Me?" She said, spitting the words out.

"Yes Oh Great and Merciful One," the underling stammered as he scuttled back to a chest by the door. When he came back he was carrying a long sword. It had a red pommel and a crossguard that looked like stylised flames. She liked it the moment she laid eyes on it.

"Cool!" she exclaimed as she picked it up and weighed it in her hand. It felt... good. "So what's this thing?"

"It is called the Sword of the Sun, oh divine one," the minion said. "It is said to be able to cut through anything. And when it is wielded by someone who can say the right words then it becomes very powerful indeed."

Glory swung it through the air once or twice, enjoying the way that the blade felt and then she stopped and stared at the underling. "And... I'm waiting! What's the magic word?"

The underling started violently and then scrabbled through various greasy pockets before pulling out a piece of paper that needed to be heavily cleaned. She reached out and plucked it gingerly from his grasp.

"Tân Cleddyf?" she read out. "What the hell does that m-" The sword shuddered like a live thing in her hand for a moment and then as she stared down at it in shock the blade burst into pale red flames. She looked at it for a long moment and then she walked over to a steel beam that projected out of the wall for reasons that she still couldn't fathom. And then she raised it over her head and chopped the end of the beam off with a single swipe.

There was a gasp from the minions behind her and a burst of hurried applause that almost covered up the sound of the greasy little fool who had brought this to her fainting with relief.

"I like it," said Glory with a wide and very vicious smile. "I like it a lot. Let's see what this does to Mr Blue Neon Sword. And the top of his head – once he's told me where the Key is of course."

The flunkeys behind her all burst into slightly manic applause, which she acknowledged with a swipe of the sword though the air that almost slashed one of them in the gut. And then one of them very, very cautiously raised a hand. "Oh most radiant and fragrant-smelling one, may I mention that I have observed something about the Jedi?"

She eyed the little maggot and then nodded reluctantly, ready to gut him like a fish if he came out with anything breathtaking obvious, like 'he needs oxygen to live' or 'sometime he makes things fly through the air'.

The flunkey stepped forward an inch or so, visibly summoned his courage and then blurted out: "He is very close to his friend the Slayer, oh great one. If you wish to get him into a place of your choosing and wreak your terrible vengeance on him, then perhaps you need to get at the Slayer – or her family."

Glory paused in mid-swipe and then thought about what the diseased pimple had just said. It made a great deal of sense, which was a refreshing relief. Perhaps it had just been a matter of time before one of them finally allowed more than three brain cells in their heads to touch.

"Not bad," she said grudgingly. "Bring me the latest reports on what the Slayer's been up to. Perhaps I don't need to wait until the Day. Once I have the key and that brat with the energy sword is of out of my hair, then I can go home at my leisure."


	40. Decisions

Ok, this bloody chapter has been the bane of my life for the past 5 months. It has driven me to a point beyond annoyance. I didn't want to leave it this long before I updated. It just... failed to write itself. I was ill, I started a new position at my firm, we had Christmas and New Year, Kathleen was ill, I had to practice my guitar, we went away on a cooking course so that we can now make fresh pasta.... gahhhh! Many apologies. This story is not dead. It's just that the latest chapter had a VERY long gestation period. It's too short and it's not what I wanted but... it will do for the time being. And yes I'm working on the next one.

* * *

Sparring with Buffy using a quarterstaff was one of the odder things that he'd done recently, Xander thought as he ducked under a rapid backstroke from the Slayer and then caught her staff with the base of his as she tried to take advantage of his change of position. He was having some very odd flashbacks from his Kenobi memories, especially from the fight with Darth Maul.

Luckily Buffy didn't have red and black skin, horns and a permanent snarl of fury, or he might have had some more unpleasant flashbacks. The last thing that he wanted was to knock her out in an excess of bad memories of Qui-Gon Jinn getting impaled on that red lightsabre.

Concentrate, he thought, concentrate. He feinted to his right, the side that he usually favoured, and watched as Buffy narrowed her eyes and refused to take the bait. Unfortunately for her he'd been expecting that as well and quickly turned the feint into a real attack that caught her slightly by surprise and sent her staggering back a step or two – not a lot but enough for him to turn into another two steps back once he started a major attack.

She glared at him and then gritted her teeth before she quickly countered him and then counter-attacked, but it was enough to gain him enough time to analyse the way that she moving that little bit more – and she was deeply impressive with a quarterstaff. He supposed it was a part of the Slayer ability that had been hard-wired into her, that knack of not just working out how to use all of the weapons that Giles had in his big box(es) of tricks but also of working out the best way to use… well anything at all that came to hand. He had no doubt that if she had to Buffy could work out how to kill a vampire using nothing but duct tape and a can opener.

The staves clacked together quickly as he countered her again, moving slightly faster than before and then he really turned it up a notch, hammering her hard to her right. She grunted as she took a step back and then pivoted smoothly to counterattack whipping the quarterstaff up and then down in a flash that should have impacted his right sides and sent him reeling away.

Instead it struck empty air and her jab left her just a fraction off-balance – just enough for him to convert his own swing into a jab that caught her right on the funny bone of her right arm. She flinched slightly – most people would have dropped it and then given up – and recovered her balance almost instantly, but Xander used that moment to jab again, just hard enough on her knuckles to make her lose her grip her weapon. Another blow went in and the quarterstaff flew across the room and clattered against the wall.

Buffy huffed at him and then rubbed at her stinging knuckles. "Not bad," she said reluctantly. "For a beginner."

"Let me guess – next time you won't be so easy on me?" said Xander with a smile.

Buffy glowered at him for a moment and then smiled back. "Something like that," she muttered as she walked over to pick up her weapon. "You're very good at it already."

"Let's just say that I have memories of seeing something similar being used to kill."

"Ouch. Who?"

"Obi-Wan's Jedi Master. Long story, vivid memories, might explain the wincing on my part."

"I did wonder about that bit," she laughed. Then she leant on her quarterstaff and looked at him. "You're getting very intense about taking on Glory Xander. Something you need to tell me?"

He hesitated and then shrugged. "Hinky feeling in the Force. Hard to explain."

She looked at him levelly. "Ok. Then are you up for another sparring session? The more you do the more you'll pick it up."

"The more the merrier," he agreed, twirling his quarterstaff quickly and then coming to the ready position – before she attacked him furiously, the ends of her quarterstaff hissing through the air.

* * *

"Mr Giles?"

The head librarian and currently rather worried watcher turned to one side and saw Graham Miller standing there. He looked, well, almost as worried as Giles felt. The problem was that Giles didn't really know why he was so worried – he just had a feeling, a sinking sensation in the pit of his stomach, that something somewhere was wrong and getting wronger by the second.

"Can I help you Graham?"

The Initiative operative looked around surreptitiously and then took a step closer. "I have some information – and I can't find Riley or anyone else."

Giles frowned, removed his glasses carefully and then tilted his head in the direction of his office. Once they were both inside he closed the door and then turned to face the American. "What, um, sort of information?"

"You know how we've been getting worried about our C.O?"

"Oh, yes, that fellow Lam. The complacent pillock as I think I described him to Riley. He didn't seem to take my warning about Glory as… seriously as I would have thought. Perhaps seriously is the wrong word. He just… exuded a distinctly odd, um presence. If I didn't know better I'd have sworn that he already knew about her, but that's just speculation on my part."

"Well I called in a favour from a cousin of mine who works in a Federal Agency. He broke a few rules here and there and accessed Lam's records."

Giles closed his eyes for a moment and winced. "Isn't that extremely against the law?"

"Yes. But family is family."

"I am aware of that. Just never introduce your cousin to Willow, I beg you."

This brought a slight smile to Graham's face. "I'll make a note of that."

"So what did your cousin discover?"

The smile vanished. "Lam's family – his wife and daughter – are dead. There was some kind of incident in the Czech Republic when he was there for a NATO conference, his wife was killed and his daughter went raving mad and then died not long afterwards in a hospital."

Giles went absolutely still. "When, ah, when was this? Exactly?"

"At the end of June last year. June 31st to be precise."

"Ah," said Giles again as he sat down, deep in thought. "That's a day after the monks that were guarding the Key were all slaughtered by Glory. How curious."

"You think that there's a connection?"

"I certainly don't think that it was a co-incidence. Not when you add in Glory's modus operandi. She seems to be driving people mad for some reason that might be connected with her mortal shell or disguise. The question is why the Lams? And does Lam now have a reason… to…" His voice dribbled to a halt. "I wonder…."

"What?"

"If he knew about Glory before I mentioned her to him. That might explain a few things about his demeanour… Graham, find Riley and pass on that information. I have some calls to make."

The Initiative operative nodded and then strode off to the door, where he paused. "Who to?"

"An old friend of mine in NATO, as well as the Watcher's Council. I need to find a friendly medical examiner who might have access to the autopsy results for the Lams as well."

"Well he's a marine so it's likely that there would have been a NCIS investigation." Graham paused. "Which just happens to be where my cousin works with a doctor who was on loan to us for a while, before the whole Adam SNAFU. He wasn't in the lower levels, where the really classified stuff went on, but I think he knew more than he was letting on sometimes about HSTs, I mean vampires. I once saw a wooden stake in his pocket." He took out a pad and scribbled briefly on it with a pen, before handing it over to Giles and then leaving.

Giles looked down at it and then frowned. "Good god," he muttered, "What a small world. If that is him, that is."

* * *

The chanting stopped. There was a spot of rust on his mace. He frowned down at it. Damn, it had been too long since he had polished it properly. Too long since he had actually gotten everything out and inspected it. Too long since… he closed his eyes and muttered a short prayer to their souls. Then he turned and walked into his basement, flicking the light on with his hand as he descended the stairs. Placing the mace next to his toolbox he opened the latter and pulled out his cleaning kit, before pulling up a stool and starting to work on getting rid of that damn rust, humming lightly as he worked. After a while the humming stopped and the chanting began again.

* * *

"Well my young friend, you have been in the wars haven't you? Hmm… as I suspected. Both hands with multiple broken fingers and… damn it. Bloody phone. Hello yes, Autopsy. What? Oh, speaking. Good lord, hello Rupert, how are you? And your family? Ah, glad to hear it. Well how can I help you and how did you get this number?

"What? Oh yes, I remember him, but I'm afraid that I can't really talk about that as it's… Oh my. How did you…? Well that must have put the cat amongst the pigeons. You must know more about it than I do, as I was never really in the lower part of the Initiative, where that bloody woman had all her secrets. Yes, I knew Maggie Walsh. Didn't trust her much either. Too smug about the wrong things and never able to admit that she was ever wrong about, well, anything.

"So how are things now? Right… right… yes… oh dear Lord. Yes I remember that case. Very sad indeed, I did the initial autopsies when they were both flown back from Prague. Hang on I'll get the relevant files… yes, here they are. Can I ask what this is about by the way? Yes… yes… oh. Oh bloody hell. Are you sure? Yes, of course you are.

"Well, the mother died of a heart attack that was probably induced by severe stress, but there were some very odd hormone levels detected as well, as if her brain chemistry was severely out of balance. I really couldn't explain that. And as for that poor little mite it was as if something literally sucked the life out of her and then left a shell that simply stopped moving after a week or so. Oh there was one thing – I found bruising on their faces, as if someone very strong – abnormally strong in fact – had held them in place with their fingers alone. Yes, indeed.

"I'll send you the relevant details via this email thingy. Yes, I have been dragged into the modern world. Be careful now Rupert, whatever killed them seems to have a great deal of strength as well as a deleterious affect on the mental health of its victims. I hope that you and your young protégé take care – goodbye Rupert!"

Interesting, thought the man who was leaning against the wall next to the open door to Autopsy, I wonder what the hell that was about?

* * *

The moon was high in the sky as Xander walked down the street lost in deep thought. He liked to shake up his patrol route these days, so that he didn't get locked into a predictable pattern. He had a nasty feeling that the last thing that they need to be right now was predictable. They couldn't leave Glory with the slightest advantage.

The problem was that he really wasn't sure about what the future held for once. In the past he'd had a plan and then a back-up plan and then maybe even a back-up plan for the back-up plan.

But this time they were facing a creature that was uniquely strong. Oh and crazy as hell, as well as the fact that she drove other people crazy to stay as unstable as she was. It was all a bit freaky and he really wanted to have a word with the people (or things) that had imprisoned Glory on this planet in this dimension in this time. Shouting at them might not have been very unJedi-like, but it would have relieved some tension on his part.

The problem was that… he didn't like many of the options he had right now. The safe thing to do would be to send Dawn through the Stargate, evacuate Sunnydale completely of all humans (and the friendlier demons) and then call in an orbital strike on Glory's base of operations. Of course getting Dawn to the SGC might also call some highly unwelcome attention to her. He trusted Jack and his team, but they had some rather stubborn enemies that included a US Senator who regarded his view of the world as being the only true version.

There was also the small fact that an orbital strike this close to L.A. would call down a lot of attention onto Sunnydale. Hell, just the evacuation would set off all kinds of alarm bells in the area, as people would want to know why they were being uprooted – and then what had caused the great smoking hole in the middle of town, or wherever the freaking Sithspit Glory had parked herself.

So far he couldn't see an easy way around that niggling bit.

That left a confrontation, which was one way of saying "fight". His latest creation was a lot more powerful than his standard lightsabre, if such a thing could exist on Earth, but he was still unsure on how it would work on a hellgod like Glory. And the last thing he wanted was to take any chances when it came to Glory. She had to be a) stopped and b) kept well away from Dawn. Xander had no desire at all to see the world get sucked into another universe where people had extra arms and legs or exploded for no reason at all due to the laws of physics being totally out of whack with the rest of the universe.

But Glory had to be stopped – and she had to be stopped in a way that was a) permanent and b) did not involve any danger that the Key might be activated.

He had to stop thinking in ways that involved letters and brackets. It was starting to annoy him, plus he had a nasty feeling that he was starting to repeat himself.

Turning down George Street he paused. He had an odd feeling that something was… and then his cell phone went off. Looking briefly at the screen he answered. "Hey Buffy. What's wrong?"

There was a short silence. "How did you – oh, the Force. Xander how far away from my mom's house are you right now?"

"I'm halfway down George Street, so about ten minutes if I sprint," he answered as he looked around to orientate himself and then started to run down the road. "Why, what's wrong?"

"My mom just called. Someone's trying to get into the house and I'm on the other side of town."

Xander paused and suppressed the need to swear. "Damn it. I'll be there as soon as I can. Call her back and tell her that help's coming. How about Giles?"

"He's at the library, I'm calling him next," she said.

"Good," replied Xander as he disconnected and then put his head down and ran as fast as he could, leaping over a fence with a carefully-timed Force leap. Damn it, he should have seen this coming and put in place a better guard over the Summers house.

* * *

Something was going on downstairs, she thought as she woke up muzzily. Mom was finally back from hospital and everything seemed to be great with her, even though she was getting a bit amused about the fact that Buffy kept walking on eggshells around her, offering her things like extra cushions and enough herbal tea to keep a garden shop in business for a year.

She sat up and rubbed at her eyes tiredly, before looking over at the clock. It was 2am. Maybe Buffy was back from patrolling and had brought company. If she had then she being really dumb, as that would wake up mom. She thought about it for a moment and then frowned, before getting up and putting on her dressing gown and wandering over to her bedroom door. As she opened it she caught sight of something in grey off to one side and she turned her head to look at it. To her horror it was a… thing, with greasy shoulder-length hair and a robe that looked as if it belonged in a dumpster. It was also holding a knife and was looking at her with a wary grin. Behind it she could see three more of the things – along with her mom, who was struggling weakly in a vain attempt to free herself from the chair that they were tying her to.

"There she is," grinned the leading thing and then it lunged at her. Dawn screamed and then lashed out with her foot, catching the thing between its legs and forcing a choked scream out of it as it fell to the floor, before she darted back into her room and slammed the door. As she scrabbled to lock it she looked around desperately for a weapon or something.

"Where's Buffy when we need her?" she sobbed, before dashing to the window and peering out. It was a long way down to the ground but perhaps if she swung herself that way and-

Something crashed against the door heavily and the wood bulged ominously as it creaked in protest. Dawn fumbled with the catch and then pulled the window open as quickly as she could, before peering out of it again. Maybe if she-

The door was suddenly smashed inwards as the things bettered it down with what looked like a table and then they were rushing towards her. She wailed with fear and tried to get a leg out of the window but they were too fast and too strong. Clutching hands pulled her back and she was enveloped by a sheet of some kind, along with triumphant cackles and the stink of acrid sweat.

* * *

The pile of paper work never really ended, thought Lam wryly as he glanced at his inbox. Then he looked at his watch. Ah. It was time. He pulled his keyboard slightly towards him and then typed quickly for several minutes, before pulling out a small red square of plastic from an inner pocket on his uniform. He looked at it with a somewhat bitter smile for a moment before holding it firmly in both hands and bending it sharply so that it snapped in half cleanly. He then pulled the halves away from each other with great care, revealing a strip of clear plastic that had a long series of numbers and letters printed on it.

He stared at the strip for another long moment and then he placed it carefully by the computer screen and started typing again. A panel edged in red blinked up on his screen and he frowned at it and then started typing furiously until it went away. He then very carefully typed in the code from the plastic strip, before using the mouse to dismiss a series of further red-edged panels.

When he finally finished he grunted with satisfaction and then stood up. It was time. At long last it was time. He looked down at the screen and smiled. There was one last message on it. "INITIATIVE SELF-DESTRUCT CONFIRMED."


	41. Taking The Initiative

Ok, this chapter doesn't end quite the way I planned, but I realised that to get it to the right place would mean a 20,000 word chapter, which would have taken more time. So here's the first part of it. The next chapter might take a little while as we're off to New York and Toronto for a fortnight this week. HOLIDAY! WOOT!

* * *

The door to the Summers house was hanging halfway off its hinges when Xander arrived at a dead run, but he resisted the temptation to complete its destruction and instead ducked under and into the hallway, igniting his lightsabre as he did.

The place didn't look too bad – although a small table was smashed on the floor and a lamp had been pulverized apparently against the wall by it. Then he looked at the stairs and swallowed a curse. There were greasy smears of something on the wallpaper and what looked like at least one splash of blood.

He went up the stairs in three Force-driven bounds, stretching out with his feelings to see if the intruders were still there. He came up blank but looked around carefully just on the safe side – the last thing that he wanted was for Glory to erupt out of a room and then start tearing up the place. But he could sense that someone was here… oh crap.

"Xan… Xander?" came a weak voice to one side and he looked over into the room where he'd detected that someone. Joyce Summers was tied to a chair. She had a lump on her forehead, her eyes were pointing in slightly different directions and she looked like hell.

He hurried over to her, deactivated his lightsabre and then tugged urgently at the ropes that bound her to the chair. "Are you ok Joyce? What happened?"

"They took Dawn," she sobbed brokenly at him as her arms were loosed from her bonds, "Oh god, they took my baby girl… there were too many of them…. And they grabbed me… and they took her, Xander, they took her."

There was a sudden rending noise from downstairs that Xander correctly assumed to be the front door losing a short battle against Slayer-strength, and then there was a thunder of feet on the stairs that resulted in a distraught Buffy appearing. "Mom!" she wailed and ran over to her, before looking down at the remains of the ropes that Xander had finally loosened. "Are you ok?"

"Buffy!" her mother replied, sobbing as she collapsed into her arms, "They took Dawn… oh god they took her…"

Standing quickly Xander strode over to Dawn's room, the door to which had been smashed off its hinges and now lay in two pieces in the floor. The window on the other side of the room was open, but judging by the marks of a struggle next to it Dawn hadn't had a chance to escape. He clenched his first in anger for a moment and then took a deep breath. Damn it, they'd been sloppy. Too busy being fixated on acting instead of reacting – and now they had no choice at all. He turned away from the doorway – and then he spotted the paper that had been fastened to the doorframe with a small knife.

As he detached the knife with a shudder at the feel of its greasy handle he heard more feet on the stairs, followed by the arrival of a visibly shaken Giles, who went straight to the sobbing Joyce and Buffy. "What happened?" asked the Watcher in a tense and worried voice.

"Glory's minions took Dawn," replied Xander as he carefully unfolded the piece of paper and looked at it. Much to his surprise the writing on it was in a beautifully ornate, almost copperplate, style. That was the only thing that was nice about it however.

"'If the Slayer wishes to see her sister alive again then she and the Jedi must bring the Key to the Great and most Puissant Glorificus at the Warehouse on the Street of the Thousand Suns.'" He frowned at it. "Street of the thousand suns?"

"Sounds a bit like Colson Street – it's got those weird lampposts with globes that look like the sun," muttered Buffy.

"Who's Glory?" asked Joyce as she wiped her eyes. "And what's this key? Buffy, why did those… things take Dawn?"

"It's… complicated," Giles said, as he looked at the contusion on the side of Joyce's head worriedly. "Joyce, you've had a nasty blow to the head and I don't think that we should take any chances with it. I'm taking you to the hospital."

"But-" started Joyce, only to be silenced by Giles as he carefully lifted her to her feet and then put her arm around his neck so that he could support her on what were visibly shaking legs.

"No arguments Joyce." He looked over at Xander and Buffy. "I need hardly tell the two of you that the whole bloody thing's a trap – or that you _have_ to get Dawn back."

"Big tick on both boxes," Xander said grimly. "You get Joyce to the hospital."

"I love you Mom," said Buffy as she kissed her mother on the cheek. "We'll get Dawn back. I promise."

Her mother looked at her tearfully and then looked over at Xander. "I know I'm a bit woozy," she said in uncertain tones, "But did I hit my head hard enough to imagine you holding a lightsabre?"

"Ah," Xander mumbled, taken aback for the first time in ages in front of Mrs Summers, "That would be a 'no'. I do have a lightsabre. Long story."

"Oh, ok," she replied and then Giles helped her down the stairs.

"She'll be ok, Buffy," the Jedi said quietly as he watched them go. "I'm not as skilled a healer as Oz, but she just seems to have concussion. Given that she had brain surgery not too long ago, I guess Giles will go all Ripper on them if they don't scan every bit of her."

"They'd better take care of her," Buffy said through bared teeth. Then she looked at him. "Xan, Giles was 100% right. This has trap written all over it. There's only one warehouse on that street and it's huge. The last time we went into someplace that big Adam was busy killing Riley's people as if they were bugs."

"Riley admitted that they were sloppy. And they weren't us." He reached into a pocket and pulled out the double-bladed lightstaff that he'd been working on. "I guess it's time to give this thing a field test. Oh – and you can try this." He pulled his lightsabre off his belt and held it out to her.

Buffy stared at the device in astonishment. "You're letting me try this thing out?" she asked with amore than a hint of squeak in her voice.

"Yup. I built the staff to take care of Glory. More power. Plus it's time that we stopped Glory once and for all. I'd prefer it if we went at her full throttle with all of our friends and allies, but I think that an irked Jedi and a pissed-off Slayer should be enough to get us in there, find Dawn, get her out and then put Glory out of our misery."

"You got that one right," muttered Buffy grimly and then she grinned openly as she hefted the inactive lightsabre. "Man, Faith's going to be green with envy when I tell her that you let me use your lightsabre!" She caught side of the chiding expression that had appeared on Xander's face and her grin vanished. "Not that I'd, uh, rub it in at all."

"No, Buffy, that would be bad," he said as they walked down the stairs and out towards the open doorway – where they instantly saw a horrified figure dressed in black and with bleached blond hair loom out of the darkness. Spike was standing there and he looked as if he had seen a ghost.

"I just saw the Watcher! What the hell happened to Mrs S?" he barked, looking genuinely concerned. Then he looked at the door and seemed to double-take. "And what the bloody hell happened here?"

"Glory's flunkies paid a visit," Xander replied as he and Buffy walked through the front door. "They knocked out Joyce and kidnapped Dawn."

Spike's eyes widened for a long moment and then they narrowed as the vampire growled. "Those slimy sons of bitches took the Bit? Why?"

"Give you three guesses," muttered Buffy as she looked at the scuff marks on the lawn that gave a good hint as to where the flunkies had dragged her little sister.

"Oh god almighty, how clichéd is that? Taking hostages and then sitting there in a base, probably surrounded by those sycophantic idiots, gloating about the big sodding trap that's just been sent? Glory's more stupid than I thought!" Spike sneered and then he looked at them both. "Hold your horses. I see that the Jedi's loaning the Slayer one of his lightsabres. I take it that you're going to kick their arses all over the place?"

Xander smiled grimly. "Good guess."

"And Mr Tweed's taken Joyce to the hospital, right?"

"Yes," Buffy nodded, looking at Spike curiously. "Why?"

"I think that the Watcher and your mum might need some protection. I wouldn't put it past Glory to try and grab Rupey-boy as well, just as a backup. I'll wander over there and keep an eye on things."

They both blinked a little at that. Spike was looking very serious. "What?" asked Buffy incredulously. "Why?"

"Because I like your mum. She always treats me nice. She brews a great cuppa and she's a hell of a lady." He fell silent and then something seemed to flicker over his face as he obviously thought about saying something else but had second, third and fourth thoughts about it. Then he drew himself up a little. "If any one of Glory's lot tries to get at them I'll pull their bloody heads off and stuff 'em up their backsides."

Buffy blinked a little at this, as did Xander – but then he reached out with the Force and picked up the determination that was oozing out of Spike. "I know you don't trust me, but I mean it – I'll keep them safe. I swear."

There was a long moment of strained silence and then Buffy slowly and reluctantly nodded. "Ok," she said with a strained expression on her face. Then she looked at Xander. "We need to get out of here now."

"Agreed. What about the others though?"

The senior Slayer sighed as they started to jog. "We _so_ don't have time to call everyone in."

"I know," replied Xander as he took out his cell phone and looked at the screen with one eye as he used the other to spot obstacles, "But we do need to warn some people."

* * *

Gorak was not feeling well, but then that was nothing particularly new there. He'd been feeling bad for some time now, mostly due to the fact that people were too busy running around dealing with the wishes of the Great and Powerful Glorificus to spare much time to cooking things properly, and he had a nasty feeling that he'd picked up something from some undercooked chipmunk again.

And then there had been the fact that two nights previously, whilst on an urgent errand for the Great and Powerful One, he'd been ambushed by a tall, masked, figure dressed in black with a human weapon that had caused excruciating pain before knocking him out.

When he'd woken up he'd been in a small and rather dusty cell that looked as if it hadn't been used in years. He'd almost cried, because it had been the best accommodation he'd had for years.

Now, however, he was confused. The mysterious figure in back had returned, this time with a gun that shot bullets. It had unlocked the door and then gestured with the weapon for Gorak to stand up and then shuffle out and then down a long, equally dusty corridor, until they got to an elevator. The doors creaked open and then Gorak was forced into it. It was only then that the figure spoke. "This goes up to street level," the figure growled. "From there you can get back to your monstrous bitch of a mistress."

Gorak opened his mouth for a moment, as he thought about indignantly protesting the choice of words, but then saw the way that the end of the gun was twitching slightly and then reconsidered. "Why did you abduct me?" he asked after a long moment of indecision.

"You're going to be a messenger," the figure said in a voice that seemed to combine loathing with hatred, with a hefty dose of anticipation. Then it held up an envelope and hit Gorak between the eyes with it. "Hold this there."

Gorak, going cross-eyed with the effort, reached up. It was a thick type of paper and it was blocking most of his view of the terrible human and – something hit his forehead hard with a metallic clicking noise and he yelped with pain as something stabbed into his forehead. "What was that?"

"That was a stapler. You're to give Glory that message and I don't want you losing it or something. Now get out of my sight." The figure jabbed a button and stepped back as the doors wheezed closed and the elevator then jolted up in a series of jerks.

When the doors opened again Gorak could see pale moonlight around the shape of the envelope. Ignoring the trickle of blood that was running down his face from the puncture wounds he carefully lifted the envelope enough to see and then he scurried out as fast as his legs could carry him. He had a message to deliver.

* * *

He wasn't sure why, but he had a funny feeling that something, somewhere, was wrong. He just couldn't describe how or why he knew it, other than to use Buffy's immortal phrase that something felt 'wiggy', not that she had ever really defined what that meant.

Riley sighed and looked at his watch. His shift ended in about half an hour and he just couldn't wait to go off duty. It had been an incredibly boring night, one that was on a par with watching paint dry or fingernails growing. There had been next to no HSTs brought in, although he had finally gained access to the records from the local health authorities that he had been requesting for several weeks. The number of mentally ill people being discovered on the streets of Sunnydale had been rising sharply recently and he was sure that Giles was right – there had to be a link with Glory. He just wished that there was a cure of some kind for them and made yet another mental note to have a word with Willow. Perhaps there was a magical cure for them? The problem was that it all depended on exactly what Glory was doing to them – and he doubted that she'd be amenable to being studied by the Initiative.

"Excuse me sir," said a voice to one side and he turned to see Sergeant-Major Velasquez standing there with a clipboard. "The duty roster for inspection and sign-off, sir."

He took it and frowned down at it. Paperwork was the bane of military life, he was sure of it. And the higher up the chain of command he wanted to do, the more ink he was expected to spill on behalf of a grateful nation. Not that the grateful nation had the faintest idea what their tax dollars were paying for most of the time, which was both a good thing and a bad thing.

Having signed it, initialled the signature and then initialled the other pages to show that he had read the damn thing, he handed it back. "Carry on Sergeant-Major," he said and then continued on his passage down the corridor – at which point the red emergency lights flashed on and a claxon started to go off, along with a recorded voice saying 'Warning – Evacuation Alert. All personnel report to evacuation points immediately. This is not a drill', before repeating itself again and again.

As an initially confused clamour rose, which quickly subsided into running feet and barked orders, Riley Finn looked about, startled. He couldn't see or hear anything alarming, there were no shots being fired in the immediate vicinity and there were no screams or HST-related noises. He just didn't know what the hell was going on and that concerned him, so he darted off to one side down a corridor in search of a terminal he could access to find out what had happened. He wasn't far from his own evacuation point anyway, so he didn't have to rush. Well, not right now.

Just as he reached the terminal he'd been heading for he heard a clatter of boots that heralded the arrival of Forrest and the main question of the night. "Riley! What's going on – why are we evacuating?"

"Good question," he said as he typed in his access code "I'm just – what the hell?" The screen was busy flashing a simple message of "ACCESS DENIED – SECURITY CLEARANCE INSUFFICIENT", which was really confusing.

"How the hell can that be? I thought you had Alpha-one level clearance?"

"I do have Alpha-one level clearance," a bewildered Riley said. "Maybe I just entered it wrongly… nope, same message. I'm locked out of the system."

The two traded baffled looks. "You think that something's wrong with the system? Maybe it's compromised?" Forrest suggested.

Riley shrugged, frustrated almost beyond words. "I want to know what the hell is going on!" Then he looked around as, with a huge clatter, two technicians came close to crashing a cart piled high with equipments into the wall. "Hey – you two – evacuation! Leave it now!" He looked back at Forrest. "Let's do our jobs and get everyone out of here. We'll find out what happened once we're clear."

Forrest hesitated for a moment, obviously tempted to have a go himself at the computer, but then he tore himself away and joined Riley in running down the corridors.

* * *

It was not a nice room. The bed was an old mattress that looked as if it had been used by someone which a severe case of BO. It made her ill just to look at it. Unfortunately she'd woken up on it. She wasn't sure if the itching was real, or if she was just imagining it.

Dawn wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. She was not going to cry. Only little girls cried and she wasn't a little girl… she just wanted her Mom. And Buffy. And any kind of a friendly face right now.

Instead she was faced with a lot of smelly, greasy, demon-type creeps who made her skin crawl by just being in the same room as her. They also made her want to have a shower every five minutes, just to make up for their total lack of body hygiene.

She sighed and then looked around the room again. If Buffy was here than she would have punched a hole in the walls, or pulled the bars off the windows, or just done something so awesomely Slayer-like that the building would be a pile of rubble and the grey pointy guys would be a matching set of smears on the sidewalk.

But Buffy wasn't here, it was just her instead. With a small fork that they'd given her to eat her food with, just after she'd woken up. Oddly enough the food had been edible, some kind of spicy sausage thing. The fork was made of metal, albeit a metal that bent quite easily. Stabbing someone with it would probably just irritate them. As for using it to scrape away the mortar between the bricks in the wall, well, by the time that she succeeded in getting half way through one brick the fork would have been worn away to nothing. So that was useless then.

She paused and then looked up. Someone was talking a lot outside somewhere. Shouting actually. Getting up and scurried over to the door and pressed her ear to it. Hmm. It was a female voice. A strident female voice. And it was getting closer to her. Just in time she moved away from the door, as a split second later it was opened forcibly and slammed through the space that had just contained Dawn.

The doorway contained a young-ish woman who was wearing a tight red dress and who had a lot of tumbling blonde hair. She also had a screwed-up, pensive, almost petulant look on her face as she stared at Dawn.

"So," the stranger said after a moment. "You're the Slayer's little sister. Could have fooled me. You look short and stupid."

Dawn drew herself up and did her best to look down her nose at the rude woman. "Do not!" she countered.

"Do too!" replied the woman as she rolled her eyes in exasperation. "Shut up. Mortals don't argue with Goddesses. Especially Goddesses as awesome as I am. Well, I guess that you'll have to do. Hostage, bait, food, I don't care. Just as long as that bitch of a Slayer and the insolent Jedi arrive with my Key. Then I can kill the lot of you at once and then go home."

Dawn ran what the crazy woman had said through her brain again and decided that he merited a response. "Huh?"

The red woman, who was in the process of turning around stopped and looked at her. "What?"

"What did you just say?"

This got her another eye-rolling look of scorn. "Fine! Want me to use words of one syllable? You bait for Slayer and Jedi! That clear enough? Why am I still even talking to you?"

"Are you crazy? Buffy's the Slayer, one girl in all the world, yadda yadda yadda, but Jedi? Please!"

The crazy lady swelled with fury right there in front of her for a moment, before abruptly deflating as something crossed her mind. "Oh wait…. That's too rich for words…. You mean you don't know?"

"Know what?" asked Dawn nervously.

"About that Harris guy being a Jedi. He's even got a lightsabre you know – shame it doesn't work on little old me…" The woman theatrically paused to inspect her fingernails and then frowned. "Ah fudge, I need a manicure." She looked back at Dawn frowning. "So stay there and be a good little bait person." And then she literally flounced out with a happy smile on her face.

Dawn watched as the door slammed closed. She felt monumentally confused, plus she was being held by a total lunatic. Great. It was obviously all Buffy's fault.

* * *

The only reason that he was still on the base this late in the evening was because he hadn't finished the action report on the latest mission. It had not gone brilliantly well, but he did now know that Mitchell was good in a firefight. He was also good at doctoring minor flesh wounds caused by the one Jaffa who could shoot straight very nearly getting lucky. He'd nearly finished this total bastard of a report and then he could go home, have a beer, eat some Chinese food and fall into bed for at least 12 hours. Oh the wonders of being on a two-day stand-down.

He finished reading it what he'd written, nodded in satisfaction that he he'd spelt corrugated and marmalade correctly and then signed his name with a flourish. There. That was it all he had to do now was drop it off and… answer the god-damned phone!

"O'Neill," he growled, marvelling at the way that the universe kept dropping the pointy rocks of irony on his head from a great height.

"Hey Jack," said Xander Harris.

"Xander," he acknowledged, leaning back in his chair. "What's the what, as you Californians say?"

"Trouble," the Jedi replied tersely and Jack straightened up abruptly.

"What kind?" he asked, scrabbling on his desk for a pad and a working pen.

"Glory's gotten ambitious. She sent her flunkies to grab Dawn. If we don't give Glory the Key, then Dawn dies."

Jack's mind raced for a moment. "Wait…"

"Yeah, we know. I never said that she was a very bright or perceptive hell goddess. Anyway, Buffy and I are going in to rescue her now."

"Just the two of you?" asked Jack, feeling his eyebrows try to rejoin his hairline.

"Just the two of us. Fast and furious Jack, we can't give Glory any more time with Dawn. There's too much riding on it. If we don't succeed though… I need you to stand by and if need be destroy Sunnydale from orbit."

"But that would take you all out too..."

"Jack. There's too much riding on this thing."

He sat there, feeling helpless and then nodded slowly. "Ok. But you'd better kick this thing's ass!"

"We'll do out best," came the reply. "I'll let you know what happens." There was a pause and then a beep. "Well, I will once I recharge this bloody phone, as it's dying on me."

"You do that. Good luck!" he said and then replaced the receiver, before staring at the wall for a long moment. Then he reached out, picked up the phone and dialled quickly. "Sir, it's O'Neill. I'm sorry to have called so late at night, but we have a potential problem in Sunnydale…"

* * *

"Right," said Glory brightly as she looked around the room, "Who's got the chips?"

The lead flunky looked confused. "Chips, your Awesome Magnificence?"

"Yes, you know, the chips. The one's I'm going to dunk the entrails of the Slayer and Jedi and then eat? Hello? I talked about this the other day?"

The flunky continued to look confused. "But your Magnificent Holiness said that you were going to pull them through the portal after you and then feast on slivers of their souls for the next ten thousand years as you sit on the Chair Of Your Extremely Awesome Power?"

She paused. "Oh. So I did. Well, that works for me as well. Whatever." Then she frowned and looked over at the far end of the room, where a number of her flunkies were busy talking and waving their hands in the air. "Hey! A little silence there, I'm having a pre-victory gloat!"

As silence instantly fell one of the taller flunkies grovelled his way across the floor and then bowed deeply in front of her. "Great One, there has been a development. Gorak has reappeared."

"Who?" she asked, her brow furrowing.

"Gorak, Great One. You sent him out to get a cherry-flavoured mocha two nights ago, but he never came back. We all thought that he was dead."

A memory ticked at the back of her head. "Oh, yeah. Well, it had better be a pretty damn good mocha, if he's this late with it!"

The flunkey looked shifty. "Sadly, oh Great and Righteously Wrathful One, he does not have your mocha. He says that he was captured by a human with a strange weapon and that he has a message for you."

Glory eyed the flunkey severely, who promptly cowered. "Well?" she ground out eventually from between clenched teeth. "Where's this message?"

This made the flunkey start more than a bit, before turning to the crowd of snivelling idiots and making a peremptory gesture. Two of them then led forward a smaller, limping, flunkey who was shinier with sweat than the others were, if such a thing could ever be possible. He also had an envelope stapled to his forehead, which meant that he was leaning back at an alarming angle in order to see where he was going. She didn't like the view of the interior of his nostrils much at all.

"Why is that on your head?" she asked sharply. "Do you think that I have any intention, at all, of ever touching you?"

"The human placed it there and told me that it was for you and you alone, oh Great and Wonderful One," the flunkey said, growing sweatier by the second.

She stared at him for a moment before finally grabbing the envelope and tearing it off, ignoring his cry of pain as she opened it gingerly. "Yes, thank you, go away now."

As the bleeding flunkey staggered off clutching his forehead, she looked down at the piece of paper in her hand. After a few seconds of reading she went red with rage, followed by white with malicious, white-hot fury.

"Damn it!" she shrieked at a level that made the nearest flunkey go cross-eyed with pain and clutch at his ears in shock. Then she looked up. "I can't trust you scum to do anything right, can I? The Slayer and the Jedi don't have the Key, they're lying about it. They're such… such lying liars!"

"Great One?" asked the approaching chief flunkey in bewilderment.

"Those backwards scum at the Knights of Byzantium have the Key! I hate those priggish, polished, human scum, always sparkling up their maces and talking in antique curlicues or whatever the hell that means!" She scrunched the paper up and threw it across the room, lightly concussing a passing flunkey. Then she sighed theatrically and walked over to pick up her sword, which she'd renamed Mr SpillJediGuts. "I'll go and get the Key myself, as I'm obviously the only competent person in this entire dimension."

As she turned and marched towards the door there was a tremulous clearing of the throat from the lead flunkey. "Um, your Splendiferousness? What about the Jedi and the Slayer?"

She froze him in place with a contemptuous glare over her shoulder. "Keep them busy until I get back. I want them unharmed."

"Yes, your Wonderfulness," came the trembling response. "We'll do our best."

* * *

"What the hell is going on here?" bellowed Riley Finn as he and the others ran out of the doorway and into the vehicle entrance to the Initiative, which was swarming with worried-looking people. "Does anyone have the faintest idea what happened?"

"I thought you could tell us that, Agent Finn," grumped Dr Teller, the leading scientist on the base and also in Riley's opinion the biggest horse's ass outside of Texas. "We were just told to evacuate as soon as possible. Couldn't even access the computer to find out why we had to get out. What's happening?"

Riley gaped at him. "I don't know! The same thing happened to me – we heard the evacuation warning and when I tried to check it out I found out I was locked out of the computer."

"But you're one of the senior agents on the base!" Teller said, looking confused. "You're just about second only to Lam! If you don't know why we had to evacuate then who the hell does?"

"Good question," muttered Riley as he looked around. To his relief he could see Graham hurrying over with a clipboard and a frown. "Hopefully here come some answers."

"Where the hell have you been?" barked Graham in the split-second before Riley could ask him what was going on. "And where's Lam?"

Riley froze and looked about quickly. "What do you mean 'where's Lam'? I thought he ordered the evacuation – he should be here right now."

"Well, he's not," Graham snapped as he looked at the clipboard and the rows of ticked names. "Everyone else is though. We just don't have a C.O. right now – no-one's seen him since the alarm went off."

"Christ almighty," groaned Riley and then he activated his radio. "Finn to Lam, come in please." The radio remained silent. "Finn to Lam, sir, request your location please." More silence. "Damn it," muttered Riley as he stared at the entrance, "I'll go in and get him."

"Whoa!" said Forrest, "No way. Protocol's there for a reason. I know we don't leave our own behind, but the rules are very clear during an evacuation. Besides-" But whatever he had been about to say was abruptly cut off, when with a whine of servomotors the doors started to close.

Riley gaped at them for a moment and then darted towards them – for about a tenth of a second, because Graham and Forrest both grabbed his shoulders and held him back.

"Damn it, Ri, NO!" they both chorused.

"But…" Riley watched as the doors slammed shut with an echoing clang. "We need to find Lam and-"

"Lam to Finn."

They all stared down at the radio for a moment and then Riley visibly shook himself and raised it to his mouth. "Finn here sir. Please state your location."

There was a slight pause and then Lam sighed audibly. "I'm inside, Finn. I had to get you all out. Get your people away from here, well away from here."

"What?" muttered Riley incredulously and then he activated his radio again. "Sir, what the hell is going on? Why should we get away from here?"

"Because this place is going to go sky-high soon. It's the only way to deal with her, the only way to make sure that she's gone for good."

"Deal with who?" Riley asked, utterly baffled. Then he heard a sound from Forrest and looked at his friend, whose eyes had gone very wide. It was at that point that the penny finally dropped. "Wait – Glory? You're taking out Glory? But sir-"

"Long story and I don't have any more time to speak. Get everyone out of there. The self-destruct is set."

An ocean of cold water seemed to ripple down Riley's spine. Christ almighty, the self-destruct… "Sir, that's take out the entire area! You'll blow a hole in Sunnydale, thousands could be killed! It's only supposed to be used as a last resort!"

"But it'll kill that bitch Glory!" Lam shouted, his voice suddenly hoarse with rage. Then he seemed to get a grip and calm himself. "She'll be dead. Now stop wasting time and get out of here. Oh and I've sealed all the entrances, so no senseless heroics Finn. Goodbye." The radio clicked off.

"Sir! _Sir!_" Riley stared down at the radio and then looked up, his brain going at a mile a minute. "Dr Teller, institute plan Zeta-One. Get everyone out of here. Tell the college authorities that there's been a chemical spill or something – it might lead to an explosion. Same thing with the Major's office.

"Forrest, I want an immediate inventory on what equipment we have available. Fast as you can. Graham, find Willow and see if she has a laptop and then get her here. She the best hacker I know of, apart from Oz, and he's not here. I'm going to find Xander and get him over, he's got the best can opener for those doors that we can get at short notice." He looked around and saw their faces, especially Teller's, which was a study in confusion. "_Move_ people! **NOW!**"

* * *

"What's your choice of speeds for this thing?" asked Xander as they both looked at the building in front of them. "Hard and fast or slow and careful?"

"I'm not in a patient mood right now," Buffy replied grimly as she hefted the lightsabre and glared at the building. "Can you sense anything? All I'm getting on my Slayerscope is a lot of demonessyness. I can't tell if Glory's in there or not."

Frowning slightly Xander reached out with the Force – and then frowned some more. "Odd. I'm not picking her up anywhere in there. Those pointy-eared demons, yes, and… Dawn. She's terrified but she's in there."

Buffy's shoulders slumped a little in relief as she closed her eyes for a moment. "But no Glory?"

"Nope, no Glory," Xander confirmed thoughtfully.

"Right. Hard and fast," said the Slayer as she took off for the main doors at a fast run, followed closely by the Jedi.

* * *

"How are we going to stop them?" asked Raz. Jinx looked at his fellow minion, opened his mouth to reply cuttingly and then reconsidered.

"That is a good question," he replied, looking around at the others, who were milling rather aimlessly around. All looked somewhat nervous and he had to admit that they had every reason to.

"We have these!" said Murk excitedly, waving around a crossbow. "These should do!"

Jinx glared at his over-excited subordinate. "Put that down!" he snarled. "They have not been tested properly and-" He was interrupted by a slap-thunk and then a high-pitched scream as the cross bow went off prematurely and punctured Gorak in the thigh.

"Well at least they work," Jinx conceded as the moaning minion was carried away and treated by the front doors that Jinx had ordered locked and bolted earlier. "What we need to do is-"

But he never had a chance to finish telling them, because at that point the doors were smashed inwards, hitting the walls to one side with a scream of distressed timber and in the process putting Gorak finally out of his misery.

* * *

Xander had to concede that he might have slightly overdone things with the Force-push that he'd given the doors. He wanted them open, not pulverised, but then he had to admit that he was under a bit of pressure. As they entered the room he looked around with both his eyes and his senses. It looked like his exterior scan of the place had been right. He could see the greasy creeps in the main room – and there was a door to one side, behind which he could sense a terrified Dawn.

And then he heard a familiar snap-hiss to one side and he looked over to see a visibly delighted Buffy clutching his lightsabre and glaring at her enemies in what he'd once heard Willow refer to as "Buffy's Patented Glare of Death" mode.

Said enemies were still flinching from the destruction of the door, but one of them was desperately cranking on a winding mechanism for a crossbow. That could well have been a problem, so he reached out with the Force to pluck it from the demon's hands and sent it flying across the room, where it collided with the wall and fell apart into its component pieces.

The demon let out a wail of distress at this and then followed this up by scrabbling at its belt and pulling out a knife. "Get them!" The others milled briefly, looked at the demon who had just spoken, looked at a slightly taller demon who just might have been their leader and then they pulled out various weapons and shuffled vaguely towards them.

"We must take them prisoner!" said the suspected leader in a voice that hinted that he had severe doubts over the entire concept, and then he visibly rallied. "For the Great and Terrible Glorificus!"

There was a moment's pause and then the other demons took up his call in a ragged chorus, while they sped up ever so slightly.

This was a mistake. "Xander, get Dawn!" said Buffy over her shoulder casually and then she walked into the crowd of approaching demons and went berserk with the lightsabre, as she literally carved a hole in them, sending body parts flying and causing them to fall back in dismay.

As Buffy didn't seem to be in any immediate danger – she seemed to be enjoying herself far too much already with the lightsabre – Xander swiftly moved over to the door and squinted at it. The only lock was a simple bolt, which he pulled back to one side before opening the door. It revealed a badly lit room with a crying Dawn shivering in one corner, and Xander blinked for a second as he recognised the scene from one of his Force-inspired visions of the future.

The moment that Dawn laid eyes on Xander she froze – and then she gave a wail and ran over to hug him, as a babble of noise to rival even Willow sprang from her lips.

"Xander!'sBuffy?Whydidtheywantme,why,why,whyandohmygod,ohmygod,how'smyMomand-"

She paused to take a deep gulping breath of air and Xander used the opportunity to break in and interrupt her. "Long story Dawnster, but your mom's safe and we're here to get you out."

Dawn sniffled into his chest and then cautiously freed herself to peer out of the door. "Oh," she said after a moment. "Yuck… and… what?"

Kicking himself more than a little Xander joined her at the door. By now Buffy had penned the remaining minions into a corner of the room, and was keeping them there by slowly waving the lightsabre in front of her. They were watching the glowing blue blade rather like a group of nervous snakes who had caught sight of a large and very angry mongoose. As for the other minions they literally been sliced and diced. Into a large number of pieces.

"You OK Dawnie?" Buffy called to her sister as she relaxed as much as she could whilst still keeping an eye on the minions.

Dawn raised a trembling finger and pointed at the lightsabre uncertainly. "That's… a lightsabre."

"Yes, it is," said Xander with a wince.

"A... lightsabre."

"Correct."

"They don't exist."

"Strictly speaking, yes. I cheated a bit though."

Dawn turned to look at Xander. "You built a lightsabre?"

"Yes. We were going to get around to telling you soon, honest. It just all sounds a bit… unusual."

"The mad lady in red mentioned a Jedi… that's you?"

"Yes. Speaking of which wh-"

"You're a Jedi?"

"Yes. Dawn-"

"Why didn't you tell me?" she yelped, hitting Xander on the shoulder.

"Erm… well, we didn't want to worry you?"

This bought him another slap on his shoulder. "Worry me? _Worry_ me? You've got a lightsabre! How cool is that?"

Xander thought about this for a moment. "If it's cool then why are you hitting me?"

"For not telling me!" she yelped and then she remembered where she was and glared, red-eyed and rumpled, at the minions. "Where is the mad lady anyway and have you Slayered her yet?"

Buffy blinked and then added her own glare at the minions, who cringed even more than they already were. "Where's Glory?" she snapped.

The leading minion drew himself up as he pulled his tattered rags of dignity around himself and then did his best to sneer. Unfortunately it came out as more of a whine. "We have no intention of telling you."

Buffy hefted the lightsabre threateningly but then Xander interrupted her. "Wait a second. I don't think that he knows. I'm sensing a lot of fear and uncertainty from him."

As the minion cringed Buffy looked around again. "Normally we'd have been ambushed by now. So far this has been suspiciously easy. She's really not here is she?"

"I can't sense her," Xander replied with a frown. "And she has all the subtlety of a lump of rock to the back of the head."

This statement seemed to upset the cowed minions, who stirred and muttered loudly, before catching sight of Buffy's face and then cowering again.

"Where is she?" Xander asked the leader. "Where's Glory?" The minion looked stubborn, so he repeated the question, adding a touch of the Jedi Mind Trick as he did so.

"I… don't know," came the uncertain reply. "The Great One received a message and she left."

Trading puzzled glances with Buffy Xander stepped forwards. "What was the message?"

"I do not know exactly what it was," the minion said, his eyes now crossed with befuddlement, "But the Great One said that the Knights of Byzantium had the Key and that she had to go and kill them all to get it."

There was a slightly stunned pause. Xander looked at Buffy. Buffy looked at Xander. Dawn looked at them both. "What's this key thing?" She asked worriedly. "Crazy lady asked about it as well. Well, she ranted about it."

"It's… something that's very important," muttered Xander. "Important enough that we shouldn't stand about here talking about it." Then he looked at the flunkey. "Where's this message?"

The flunkey quivered with outrage. "I will never tell you!" he said, spitting with indignation.

Xander paused. The minion's eyes had flickered ever so briefly to one side where… he reached out with the Force and summoned the crumpled piece of paper that was on the floor by the far wall. As it came near him he grasped it carefully and smoothed it out, doing his best to ignore the loud gasp of astonishment from Dawn. Then he shook himself slightly. "Let's get out of here," he muttered. Then he looked at the minions. "I strongly suggest," he said with all the persuasion he could summon with the Force, "That you rethink your priorities and find a new cause to follow. One that is not evil."

"And start having baths again!" broke in Buffy. "'Cause you guys stink."

* * *

"Whassgoinon?" Willow was not at her most coherent at this time of night – even she realised that. It had been a very strange night. Twenty minutes ago she'd been asleep in her bed that still had an Oz-shaped hole in it. Then all of a sudden there had been a loud hammering on the door, followed by someone calling her name even more loudly. Looking through the spyhole that Buffy had installed in the door she'd seen that it was Riley's pal Graham, and that he looked like he had a severe case of the wiggins.

When she'd opened the door Graham had gasped something about an emergency and that they needed her help right now, along with her computer. She'd literally thrown some clothes on over her PJs, grabbed her laptop and then had been half-dragged down lot of stairs and across about three grassy spots to an underground entrance place where Riley was standing with a bunch of other people who were also looking as if they all had the wiggins.

Riley turned instantly at the sound of her confused voice and sighed with relief. "Thank god you're here Willow. We need your help."

"What with?" she asked confused.

"We need you to hack into our system and find out what's going on in there."

She looked at him. Then she looked at the others. "Can I go back to my first question of 'What's going on?'" she said eventually. "I'm… confused."

"My C.O. ordered an evacuation of the entire Initiative," Riley told her with a huge sigh. "We couldn't find out why because he locked us all out of the system."

Willow thought about this for a moment and then she asked the most important question that crossed her mind. "What?"

Riley ran his hands through his hair with frustration as he walked in a tightly controlled circle and then turned back to her. "We're locked out of the Initiative. We can't get in. We're locked out of the system as well. Our C.O. has gone crazy or something. Oh and he's set the self-destruct, so if that blows up then it's going to leave a very large hole in Sunnydale. Will that do as a summary?"

Eyes now very wide, a wide-awake Willow nodded. "What do you want me to do about it though?"

He pointed at her laptop. "Can you hack your way into our system?"

"I… I guess so," she said cautiously.

He smiled and then held up a cable with a modem plug at the end of it. "Can you try right now, really fast? And relax, you won't get in trouble over this, I promise."

"Um, maybe? I can try anyway." She plugged the cable into her laptop and then sat down on the concrete and opened up her main browser. Three screens with large red borders instantly flashed up, with 'ACCESS DENIED' on all three, which struck her as being overkill.

Hesitantly she called up one of her best (and most illegal) hacker programmes and started to run it. The Initiative's system instantly threw it out. She tried again, with a slightly different approach. The system thought about it and then threw her out. She tried for a third time and had the same result.

"Ooh," said Willow, her eyes lighting up. "I like a challenge!" And then she flexed her fingers and sent them dancing across the keyboard.

* * *

"Where are we going?" whined Dawn as they walked quickly down the road, with Xander and Buffy both looking around with extreme vigilance.

"The front door to your house is a little trashed, so I was thinking that you need to get to your mom in hospital," replied Xander. "Giles took her there to be on the safe side."

Dawn, who looked as if she had been about to wail in anguish at the thought of her mom being in hospital again, subsided slowly and then nodded more than a little tearfully.

"You think we're far enough to read that note yet?" Buffy asked. "'Cause they're not following us. In fact they didn't even try to follow us."

Xander looked around carefully and then nodded, before walking over to a nearby streetlight and unfolding the note, which had a staple at the top with some kind of goo on it. "Ah," he said once he'd finished reading it. "Crap. Buffy?"

"Yeah?"

"Have you got your cellphone on you?"

"Um…" she patted her pockets and then pulled it out. "Yes, why? What's on the note?"

"Is your phone on? Mine died earlier on, I forgot to recharge it."

The Slayer looked down at it with the frown and then she winced. "Oops, I turned mine off. Habit. I hate it when it makes a noise in mid-stalk when I'm patrolling." She turned it back on and then looked back at Xander. "What does the note say?"

Xander looked down at it again. "'Dear brainless, unholy, abomination,'" he read out. "'I know that you are in Sunnydale and that you are looking for the Key, which you have failed to find. Well, I have it in the Initiative. If you want to try and take it from me you are very welcome to try. You will fail however. By the time you get this the only entrance will be by a lift in the wall by the old power substation at the junction of Cleveland Street and Bryant.' Then there's a bit of ranting about how bad evil is and finally it's signed 'Knight Commander Lam of the Knights of Byzantium'."

Buffy had gone very white. "The Initiative? Wait a second… isn't Riley's boss called Lam?"

"I think he is. I've never heard of these Knights of Byzantium though – maybe Giles might have heard of them."

"Yeah but-" Buffy was suddenly cut off by a series of beeps on her phone. She looked down at it. "Oh… I've got 15 text messages? And five voicemails? Oh – Riley's calling me right now." She hit the answer button. "Riley?" There was a pause whilst she listened and then she flinched and went even whiter. "Riley you need to get your people out of there. Glory's on her way to an entrance on Cleveland and Bryant – apparently Lam sent a message to her saying that he has the Key and taunting her to come and get it. We've just raided her base – she had her people kidnap Dawn, so we got her back." She listened again and then rolled her eyes. "Yes, I know, Lam doesn't know. He's bluffing." Then she looked at Xander. "Yeah, he's standing right here. I'll put him on."

"What's going on?" Xander asked.

"Xander, Lam's gone crazy," Riley told him in a very terse and tense voice. "He's evacuated the base and told us that he's turned on the self-destruct. We're trying to regain access and I've got Willow here trying to hack into it. I think he wants to get Glory in here and blow her up."

"That fits in with my reading on the note he sent Glory. He signed it 'Knight Commander Lam of the Knights of Byzantium'. Does that ring any bells with you?"

"Not a thing. What was that Buffy said about a lift on Cleveland and Bryant?"

"That's what he said in the note we found there. He dared her to stop him from destroying the Key. Sounds like a trap. Does the Initiative go out that far?"

There was a long pause. "Wait, I think that there's an emergency exit near there on the original plans. It was originally an electrical tunnel I think. Maybe we can get some people together and-"

"Hold it right there!" barked Xander as he channelled General Kenobi for a moment. "Absolutely not! Glory's on her way, if she isn't already there. Anyone you send could be heading straight into her arms. No, get your people out. Tell Willow that now is not the time. Buffy's headed back to the hospital with Dawn – their mom was injured when Glory's supporters hijacked Dawn."

"But Xander – what about-"

"I'll take care of Glory," he said firmly.

* * *

He pulled the chainmail over his head and let the folds of metal links cascade down his body, grunting slightly under the weight. Then he reached for his belt, looped it around his waist and tightened it. His mace went into the loop on his left hand side. It felt comfortable there, even though it wasn't the usual place for it to hang. Instead he had the holster on his right hip, the one that contained the weapon that he'd requisitioned for the scientists on the base. It was a shame that they never received it. Well, a shame for them anyway.

Walking over to his desk he sat down heavily in his chair and looked at the feed from several cameras his screen. Well, Finn had started to pull his people out at last. Some of them seemed to be arguing, but too bad. They'd been warned. There was also a girl sitting on the ground by the door. She had a laptop and seemed to be typing away furiously. Hmph. Well, if Finn had brought in a computer specialist then they both had another think coming. The system was too secure.

They he saw movement on another window. A lift door hurtled along the access corridor that he'd left open. A moment later a woman in a tight red dress with a look of monumental fury stamped past, leaving a path of chipped cement footprints in her wake.

Victor Lam stood up and smiled. "Showtime," he said. And then he swept out of his office for what was probably going to be the very last time. Not that he cared. He was going to avenge them both and nothing was more important than that. Nothing.


	42. Glory's End

I don't know how many of you have been to Canada's Wonderland, but there's a ride there called the Behemoth. You can check it out on YouTube. Riding on it was a bit like the way that life has been recently. It's been a bit packed. Nothing major, just a lot of stuff. Anyway, this chapter should have been written ages ago. Then life intervened and I had a major rethink about this bloody chapter. It could have ended rather differently. Instead... well, enjoy.

* * *

Afterwards she could never say what it was that had woken her. All she knew was that one moment she was deeply asleep and then in an instant she was awake, shuddering with a wordless cry and then sitting up in bed with a racing heart and shuddering breaths.

She sat there for a long moment as she tried to think about what had woken her, but came up blank. The nightmares that had been plaguing her on and off for years had stopped at about the same time that she'd agreed to start training, something that she was incredibly grateful for already. No, it had been something else.

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath of air into her lungs, before counting to ten and then expelling it slowly. She did this three more times, relaxing into the grip of the Force as she did… and then her eyes sprang open and she tilted her head to face something that was a long way beyond the wall that she was looking at.

Throwing on a robe quickly she hurried over to the door and then passed down the corridor to the door that led to the veranda outside. Throwing it open she walked over to the railing at the far end and then concentrated. It was coming from over there, from far behind the mesa that was filling the horizon. The problem was that she knew what was out there.

The sound of hurried feet slapping on the veranda floor distracted her for a moment and then she realised that the others were there. Oz, Lindsey and Daniel were all staring at the same point.

"There is a great disturbance in the Force," said Rebecca as calmly as she could. "And it's coming from Sunnydale."

"What the hell could it… oh, wait, stupid question," mumbled Daniel as he ran a hand through his hair and then pushed his glasses back into place on his nose. "Sunnydale. I guess that place is always linked to hell, isn't it?"

"Get dressed, all of you," said Oz as he pulled out a cell phone and started pushing buttons. "I don't need to tell you that we're needed. And I'm driving."

* * *

It was quite easy to tell just where Glory had gained access to the emergency lift to the lower levels of the Initiative. The reinforced door, as well as the reinforced frame and even a chunk of the reinforced wall, had been ripped out and was leaning precariously against a more than slightly bent lamppost. It was, thought Xander, a bit of a hint that the hell goddess was not in a very good mood, although he suspected that even before seeing the ravaged entrance.

He walked up to the hole in the wall carefully and then peered in. She seemed to have used the lift, because the only sign of it were the cables, which were twanging slightly as they led down into the darkness.

Xander picked up a small piece of concrete from the shattered part of the entrance and dropped it, listening with both ears and the Force. About three seconds later he heard it spang off something metallic and he frowned. Odd, he was pretty sure that the lift shaft had to be deeper than that.

He pulled out his lightsabre and then activated it so that it illuminated the dark shaft with a blue glow and then he leapt carefully down, using the Force to slow his fall just enough to let him see what was beneath him. When he caught sight of the top of the lift he took a deep breath and then, as he landed on its roof, he quickly but carefully used the blade to cut a hole in the lift hatch. The smoking circle fell inwards and he looked down into the lift… which looked thoroughly wrecked. The lights were on but were flickering, the control panel seemed to have been punched at least partly through the wall, and there was a large hole in the bottom of the lift.

Xander deactivated his lightsabre and stared down into the lift, before lightly dropping down into it, landing on what was hopefully the strongest part of the floor. Aha. The metal face of the control panel bore the impression of four clenched fingers and part of the thumb, so it looked like Glory had lost patience with the speed of the lift and then punched it. He peered down at the hole. About a hundred yards below him he could see a square glow that had to be from the entrance to the lower levels.

It wasn't an easy jump, but he used the Force to slow his impact again and also swing himself around, so that he did a quick somersault and then landed catlike on his feet in the entrance to the lift shaft, his lightsabre on again. The doors had been smashed off their frame here as well and lay abandoned about 20 yards down the long corridor that stretched before him.

"Right," he muttered, looking down quizzically at the spots in the floor where Glory seemed to have literally stamped her way along, "Time to find a crazy, pissed-off Hell Goddess. I know how to have fun, don't I? Oh wait, not." He set off down the corridor after the footprints.

* * *

Willow was so involved in getting her fingers flying as fast as possible over the keyboard that she didn't notice that her cellphone was ringing until Riley cleared his throat. "Willow, is that yours?"

"What?" she asked distractedly and then blinked. "Oh wait, yes, that's mine." Pulling it out she looked at the caller ID on the display and beamed, before answering it with one hand and continuing to type with the other. "Sweetie! Hi!"

"Willow, what's going on?" said Oz in as hurried a voice as her boyfriend could ever produce.

She gazed down at the computer in front of her. On the screen Glory could be seen absent-mindedly pulling a safety railing out of the wall of the stairs she was walking down and twanging it. "Um, how could you…" then she caught herself. "Oh. The Force?"

"Yup," he said. She heard a slamming noise in the background and then the sound of muttering followed by a car starting up. "Disturbance in the Force. We're coming back right now, as fast as we can."

This made her feel positively numb with relief. "Oh. Oh, good! We need you here! We've got a situation here, the head of the Initiative has gone nuts and he's lured Glory into the place and sealed it off as he told her that he has the Key, only we know that he doesn't as Buffy and Xander rescued her – I mean it, I don't want to give the game away there or anything – and now Xander's gone into the Initiative to stop her." She paused and drew a deep gulp of air into her oxygen-starved lungs. "So, it's been a bit busy here tonight."

"So I hear," said Oz and Willow could hear the sound of the car speeding up. "Where are you?"

"Well the rest of the Initiative are locked out of their own computers, as well as their entire base, so I'm trying to get into them from the outside."

"So you're outside the base then?"

She paused and then looked about the area. "Um, yeah. The admin buildings for the college are just around the corner."

"Ok," said Oz. "We're coming. I love you."

"I love you sweetie," she replied and then the phone went dead. Putting it back in her pocket she looked down at the screen, scowled furiously and then flexed her fingers. "Ok, hacking time. I'm not taking no for an answer, you pile of malware you."

* * *

Glory was in an increasingly bad mood as she pounded down the bowels of the Initiative. She'd been wandering the corridors of this damned place for ages, well, ok, minutes, and so far she hadn't seen a single person to kill. She'd found a number of very dead bodies in the cells, mostly demons and the occasional pile of ash that marked the last resting place of a vampire, but nothing alive. Which was a shame, because she was feeling the need to dominate some underlings. Certainly she needed to shout at someone, and if she'd had any underlings around then the search for her key could have been speeded up massively.

She stalked along a corridor, turned left and then paused. She could see an open space up ahead and she headed straight for it, passing into a large hall with stairs that led upwards to galleries and passageways above her.

"This place is a maze!" she said through gritted teeth.

"Yes," said a voice above her, "But it's _my_ maze." Looking up she saw a human dressed in chainmail standing on the stairs opposite the passageway that she'd walked along. Whoever he was he was holding one hand behind his back, whilst his other was holding a glass sphere that was filled with green light.

"Is that my key?" she asked him. "Humph. Smaller than I thought it would be. Whatever! Give it to me now so that I don't get blood all over it when I pull you limb from limb. I've never trusted a man in chainmail, you're all so serious."

The human tilted his head in thought for a moment. "No," he said, "I reject your reality and substitute my own."

Glory felt her forehead crease into a frown. "What?"

"Oh just something I heard on a TV show the other day," said the human, and then he threw the globe at her, lobbing it almost just out of her reach. Lunging quickly she caught it hurriedly, almost dropping it, with a flood of surprise running through her. And then she looked down more closely at it. "A Present From Boston" it said on the side, along with a shabby-looking picture of a dwarf in green clothes.

"What is this?" she asked, bemused.

"A distraction," came the reply and then she looked up just in time to see the man bring his other hand out from behind his back. He was holding some kind of curved weapon in it, which he pointed straight at her. Bemused she stared at it just at the moment that he squeezed it and a crackling bolt of energy slammed straight into her head. It stung quite a bit and she reeled.

"Whoa," she muttered, "what was that?"

"Something that should have knocked you out," said the human, before he sent three more blasts at her head again.

This time they didn't sting. They drove her to her knees in pain and when he added another two blasts the pain was so great that a scream ripped a reluctant path out of her throat just before her head hit the floor.

* * *

Xander's heads whipped around as he heard the terrible noise as it ripped down the corridor. It spoke of immense pain and rage and a host of other emotions, but mostly pain, with more than a sliver of surprise.

"I don't know what that was," he muttered to himself as he tightened his grip slightly on his lightsabre, "but I don't think that it's anything nice." And then he broke into a run as he headed down towards the noise.

* * *

The Highway Patrol car was silent for a moment as they looked at the radar gun. "I still think that's weird," she said after a while. "Are you sure it's broken or something?"

"Um, I don't know," her partner replied, frowning at the display. "It still says that something went past here at 150 miles an hour. Which is impossible, because we would've remembered something like that that.

"… yeah," she said uncertainly. "We would've."

There was another moment of silence.

"Are you sure we didn't pull over a car a few minutes ago?" she asked eventually. "I think I remember… someone…"

"Nope," he said, shaking his head. " I don't." He looked at his watch. "Let's get some coffee."

* * *

The hospital was quiet when Buffy and Dawn arrived at it, and by the look of the bored-looking staff there this was not the usual way of things. As a result as soon as the nurse behind the desk caught sight of Dawn, who looked as if she'd been dragged through a hedge backwards and then sat on by a giant of some sort, then things got very busy very fast. And as various nurses bustled and a doctor appeared and tutted at the cut on Dawn's forehead before snapping orders, a certain Slayer stood just to one side and fixed every person who approached Dawn with a gaze that said, in very clear body language, 'this is my sister and if you hurt her you will die in a thousand and one messy ways'. Judging by the way that some of the staff looked at Buffy uneasily out of the corner of their eyes, they were very aware of this look.

At some point someone must have spread the word about the presence of the two sisters, because all of a sudden, at about the same time that Dawn's cut was dressed, Giles appeared at the doorway looking like a tweedish version of Buffy. His gaze should in fact have left scorch marks on the wall and reduced anything organic to ash.

"Buffy, Dawn, thank god you're safe," he said as he approached them and placed a comforting hand on Buffy's shoulder. "Your mother's upstairs. She's fine. Slight concussion, but the doctors said that she'll be perfectly alright with some rest."

Something happened to Buffy as she heard those words, some of the tension leaking out of her stance as she closed her eyes for a long moment and then let out a sigh that seemed to start at her feet and then rip its way through the length of her body.

"Thank you Giles," she said quietly. "Please tell me that there's a good doctor attending her."

"Dr Elias. I've seen him before, but he's not one of the ones who attended your mother before. Apparently one of the doctors who did, that chap Ben, is missing tonight." He looked at the hospital staff as they bustled around Dawn and then he jerked his head over to one corner of the room and then stalked over to it. Nodding once Buffy walked over to join him.

"What happened?" the Watcher asked in a quiet voice. "And where's Xander?"

Buffy sighed. "Xander and I went over to Glory's place," she replied just as quietly. "Neither of us could sense her so we went straight in and squashed her minions all over the place. The minions that tried to fight that is. They were just all… too pathetic for words. We found Dawnie in a room to one side. When we asked the surviving minions what had happened they said that her psychoticness has received a message from the head of the Initiative and then went storming out in a total rage."

Giles frowned at her in puzzlement. "The head of the Initiative? He, he sent Glory a message?"

A reluctant laugh bubbled it way out of Buffy. "Oh yes. A nasty one too. Said that if she wanted to see the Key, she had to go to the Initiative. Oh, and it said that Lam was part of something called the Knights of Byzannylim?"

Giles's eyes went blank for a moment, a sign that he was thinking very fast and very hard. She noticed that he did not look at Dawn as he did so, which was almost as impressive.

"Ah," he said after a moment. "Do you mean the Knights of Byzantium?"

"That's it," she replied. "That mean anything to you?"

"A great deal," he said through gritted teeth. "They're the other half of the organization that was protecting the Key. The last monk mentioned them. He didn't know much about them though. Well, I feel like a right wally right now."

"A what?" asked Buffy, confused.

"Doesn't matter. And where's Xander?"

Buffy looked at the others in the room and then lowered her voice still further. "He went after her. Said that it was time to take care of her. He seemed very gripped in the you-know-what. Oh and we heard from Riley. He said that Lam had tricked them all out of the initiative and that the self-destruct had been set."

"Ah." Giles looked over at Dawn, who was still being fussed over. "Well Dawn's safe now. I'll take her up to see her mother as soon as possible. Spike and I will guard over them. Buffy, we now know exactly where Glory is. I want you to find Xander and deal with her. I noticed the lump up your sleeve when you came in, so I presume that you've borrowed Xander's lightsabre."

"Yeah and whoa, he's got this amazing light-staff thingie that is just too cool for words." She looked at him quizzically and then glanced worriedly at her sister. "Are you sure about this Giles?"

"Buffy," he sighed as he took off his glasses and polished them absent-mindedly against a bit of surgical gauze that someone had left on a nearby table, "I don't need the Force to tell me that something very important is happening tonight. And the very words 'self destruct' are enough to fill me with terror. Go. You need to hurry."

* * *

"Interesting," said the human, as he casually sent another two bolts of that strange energy into Glory's writhing body, "The number of 'zat blasts you've taken should have not just killed you by now, but actually ripped you apart on a molecular level."

"I guess… I'm very… hard… to kill." Glory wheezed, her mind struggling to come to terms with what was happening. She was in pain – severe, mind-numbingly crippling pain – and she was on the floor looking up at the disgustingly impudent human who had done this thing to her.

"You know, I was hoping that this thing would kill you. I knew that it was a long shot though, you being a thing from some alternate hell dimension." The human stretched his mouth into a rictus of a grin, the skin peeling back from his teeth into something that contained very little humour but more than a bit of madness. "I guess I'll just have to keep using this thing on you in the hope that I can get you to scream a lot more. And then I'll have to kill you."

"What… with?" she asked, shivering with pain and the reaction from pain that was coursing through her body. "Have you got two of them?"

"I wish I did," said the human as he casually shot her another three times, causing her to arch in mindless agony for a searing second. "But I'm not a stereotype. I'm not going to tell you how you're going to die."

"Then why… do… all this?"

The human's eyes bulged with rage for a second and then he sent a barrage of shots into her, ripping a muffled scream out of her. Nothing had ever hurt her this badly, not even the spell of binding that her filthy brothers had used to disable her with. It wasn't the individual shots – they merely stung – it was the cumulative impacts that seemed to build to a crescendo of agony for her.

"You killed my wife and my daughter, you stinking bitch!" he roared at her.

"You'll… have to … be more… specific than… that…." She wheezed, grinning at him. "I've… killed so… many…"

The human shot her three times between the eyes and the world went red for a split second. "In the Czech Republic," he said, the words falling from his lips as if they were made from molten pain. "Just after you killed the Monks who were hiding the Key. They were setting up a picnic. Waiting for me. You stumbled on them." Something wet was going on with the human's eyes and he wiped them on his free hand quickly before he shot her again, five times in a row and forcing another scream out of her, as she convulsed so hard that one of her hands dug into the concrete of the floor, pulverizing the surface of it, whilst the other flailed out and landed on a railing to one side, ripping a section of it out.

"You drained them both," said the man in chainmail grimly. "My wife died that day. My daughter lingered for a week and then she died too."

"What… a shame," she wheezed and then she defied the agonising pain to roll quickly over and threw the handful of concrete pieces and the piece of metal as hard as she could straight at the human. He ducked most of them but two pieces of debris got through. A piece of concrete hit the wall behind him, bounced off and then hit the hand that was holding the gun, making him drop it. As for the piece of railing it slammed straight into his chest, where something cracked with a satisfying noise despite the chainmail. The human gave a choked cry and then fell to his knees, both hands clutching at his chest as his face started to turn red and he struggled for breath.

Giggling to herself Glory staggered to her feet and then pulled out her sword. "Should have chosen… plate armour," she panted. "Right, you hurt me. That means that I'm going to use your head as a hat for the rest of the century."

"I beg to differ," said a familiar and much-loathed voice to one side and she turned to see that damned Jedi standing further down the corridor.

"You," said Glory from behind bared teeth. "I've been looking forward to meeting you."

"Oh I'm sure you have," replied the Jedi as he looked at the human in chainmail, who was leaning against the wall, his face grey with pain as he pressed both hands against his chest and audibly fighting to breath. As for the Jedi, he was holding his lightsabre, which was on.

"Oh, you've got your lightstick!" Glory said with a vast and entirely insincere smile. "Oh joy. Guess what?"

"What?" asked the Jedi as he walked towards her slowly on cat-like feet.

"I've got a sword."

"Good for you."

"Shall I show you what it does?"

"Go ahead."

"It does this." Glory muttered the correct words under her breath and then beamed with delight as the sword burst into flames on cue. She twitched it negligently at the metal railing nearby and then doubled the size of her smile as the flaming sword sliced through the metal as if it was made of butter.

"Nice," said Harris as he continued to walk slowly towards her. "I see you have a new toy."

"Yes, and I'm going to use to slice you into a thousand and one pieces," she smirked at him. There was something wrong. He should have been staring in horror, or recoiling, or saying something on the lines of "No! Such a thing is impossible!"

"Guess what?" he asked.

"What, are you echoing me?" Glory snapped, frowning.

"I've been working on something too," he said and then he held out his lightsabre in one hand. The handle looked a bit odd – longer than normal. His thumb hit a switch and then all of a sudden another blue blade sprang to life, arching downwards.

She stared at it for a long moment. "That's cheating," she said flatly.

The Jedi twirled the lightsabre like a staff in front of him and then took up a deliberate, almost stylized, pose. "No it's not," he said, "It's called progress."

"Less talk, more blood," she growled and then she went for him.

* * *

The screen flickered briefly as the latest magic spell sank into it and then it glowed green for a second. Willow glowered at it for a long second or three and then she set her fingers dancing over the keyboard again. "ACCESS DENIED" flashed up on the screen and the glower deepened.

She finally scowled at the screen and then snapped her fingers in decision. "Ok, you wanna play hardball? I can do that. Harder than your software can take," she muttered as her fingers sped across the keyboard again, faster than before, whilst muttering under her breath in Latin.

The screen flickered repeatedly and then glowed green for a long, long moment before finally coming up with a new message. "ACCESS GRANTED"

Willow's whoop of triumph brought Riley, Forest and Graham running over to her and as they caught sight of the screen they all froze in astonishment. Riley was the first to unfreeze. "I told you she was good," he told the others before turning back to Willow. "Okay, can you call up the security cameras? You should be able to get them on one window. And we also need the status of the self destruct."

"Um," said Willow, biting her lip in concentration, "I can try. Your system isn't exactly easy to navigate through."

"It's not?" Forest asked, frowning.

"No, it's nowhere near as efficient as it could be. I mean, in terms of flow-rate synergy and basic navigation, I could design something that would get you to the information you need, um, in about 15% less time, 22% if I really design it properly, but then that might take more time and I – eep!" Willow, who had been typing almost as fast as she'd been talking, stopped doing both with a lurch back from the keyboard. Two screens had popped up. The first showed a feed from the CCTV camera from Corridor 6C, Level 8. The second one was covered in text and was headed "SELF-DESTRUCT STATUS".

Riley, Graham and Forest all leant forward to stare at the screens, coming horribly close to banging their heads together as they did.

"Whoa," said Graham, seeming to speak for the trio. "How fast are they moving?"

On the larger screen they could see three figures. Once was Lam, and he wasn't moving much, just slumped against a wall with his hands on his chest. He didn't look good. The other two were harder to see, mostly because they were moving too fast. They were also trying to kill each other, one with a sword made from red fire and the other with a double-bladed lightsabre.

They watched the fight for a long moment, their mouths very close to hanging open. "Jesus Christ," said Forest. "She'd chop us up in half a second. Xander was right to warn us not to engage her. She's so damn _fast_."

"So's Xander," breathed Graham. "He's faster than he was when he fought Adam. I heard he'd been practicing, but…. damn, I had no idea."

"Um, guys?" Willow interrupted with more than a hint of squeak in her voice. "Have you seen the self-destruct status screen?"

"Hell, I almost forgot," muttered Riley, flicking his eyes over. Then he froze. "Shit."

"What?" Graham asked, his eyes still on the high-speed duel that was unrolling in front of their eyes.

"Self-destruct has been activated. The damn thing's live. And it's been slaved to a dead man's switch. It's been linked to Lam's vital signs. He must be wearing a sensor that monitors his heart rate."

"Oh crap," said Graham worriedly. "Lam doesn't look too good. I think Glory got him."

"So if he dies then the base goes up," Riley hissed, his head dropping slightly towards his chest. "We've got to get in there. Willow, what level of access have you got?"

"Monitoring status only," the red-headed witch said worriedly as she looked at the screen. "That's the best I can do so far. Lam's done something to the encryption software, it's waaaay better than it had been before." She closed her mouth with an audible snap. "Um, not that I was looking at it before?"

Riley frowned. "What do you mean by way better? I thought we had state-of-art encryption software."

Willow jabbed at the keyboard and a third, much smaller, screen popped up. "Enter password" it said.

"Whoa, that's longer than the usual one," Graham pointed out.

"It's thirty characters long, Riley," Willow sighed. "That's not impossible for my pass-hack programme to get into, but it's going to take time."

"Pass-hack?" Riley asked.

"Ok, so I made the name up. Wrote the software too. Thing is, it all depends on how complicated the password is, and if it recognises capitals. If he's been really thorough then it uses numbers as well. So, 24 letters becomes 48 with the caps and then 58 when you add numerals. There's a 1 in 58 chance of getting each letter right. If the password's 30 characters long that means that there are literally millions of possibilities. That's going to take time. Hours at least."

"That's time we don't have," Riley sighed. He paused, deep in thought, and then his head came back up. "Ok. How much C-4 do we have between us?"

"Right now?" asked Forest incredulously. "I've got nothing."

"Same here," admitted Graham. "Come on Riley, we were hardly getting loaded for a mission when the alarm went off."

"Check with the others," Riley snapped. "We need to get that door off its hinges."

"A lightsabre would do it," said Willow gloomily, "But even my Sweetie will take a while to get back from the desert with the others, and they're the only two lightsabres outside the Initiative."

"Not quite," said a voice to one side. As everyone looked over Buffy walked into view clutching Xander's ordinary lightsabre. "I've got a score to settle with Glory," she hissed as she thumbed the activating switch and the blade sprang into life. "Let me at that damn door."

* * *

Sithspit, but she was fast, thought Xander as he parried another blow and ducked just time to avoid getting hit by her sword as it came back down again. The lightstaff was working as well as he could have wished, but he wished that it gave him more of an advantage. All he had was the merest sliver of a better than usual chance here and there.

Just how slim his advantage was became instantly apparent a moment later, when Glory aimed a particularly vicious blow to his side. He parried it, rode the momentum around and then slashed back, only to see her almost mirror his actions and then send the fiery red blade snaking back at a horrific speed. He dodged it – just. A moment of hot searing pain flared just above one eyebrow and a moment later he felt blood start to trickle down his face.

"Ha!" snarled Glory, smirking at the same time, "So Jedi bleed do they?"

"We're only human," Xander replied with a grim smile and then he launched into a counter-attack of his own, forcing her back as he unleashed a flurry of hard strikes from multiple directions that had her parrying defensively. "We'll see if hell-bound monsters like you can bleed too."

The upper blade snaked out, hit her sword and then he pivoted fast, with Force-speed, bringing the lower blade around hard and fast. It almost got her on the leg, but she was moving as well and instead it brushed against her lower thigh. This time it did not leave a red mark. This time it left a smoking scar.

Glory staggered back from Xander, switching her gaze rapidly from him to her leg and then back again. "Ouch," she said eventually. "That hurt!" She sounded utterly astonished more than anything else.

"Well, duh," said Xander, wiping off another trickle of blood before it could get into his eyes. Sithspit, she'd cut him badly. Face wounds always bled a lot, even the relatively superficial ones, and the last thing he needed was to have stinging blood in his eyes. Not just now. "I am trying to kill you."

"You hurt me," she panted with rage. "You _hurt _me!"

Xander didn't reply verbally. Instead he spun the lightstaff at his side and then went for her head, forcing her to parry his blow with her fiery sword. She hissed with hatred as the swords hammered into each other and then she counter attacked, swinging the sword rapidly at him and forcing him to take a step or two backwards as he met each blow.

"I'm going to _kill_ you!" she screamed at him, her eyes blazing with loathing, and then she hit him with a rapid barrage of short range blows. It reminded him instantly of Luke fighting Vader on the second Death Star and he could see that she was starting to become even more unhinged than she normally was, even by her standards. The amount of strength in her blows was also increasing and he tightened his grip on his lightstaff as he parried each blow before using the Force to send her flying back through the wall behind her and into what appeared to be a maintenance cupboard. There was a clanking sound and when she clawed her way back through the hole she had a bucket stuck on one foot briefly, before she sent it flying across the hallway with a single kick.

It wasn't much of a distraction, but he went for her again, spinning the lightstaff rapidly and causing her to flinch back just in time, although her hair caught the edges of the blade and the ends charred for a moment, leaving a foul stink of burning follicles.

"My hair!" she screamed and then she attacked again, going into what was almost a frenzy. It took all his skill to keep her at bay as she hacked at him. Her technique was appalling, but then with her strength and speed she could afford to be sloppy. As he danced backwards and then counter-attacked an idea sparked in the back of his mind. It was insanely risky and might kill him, but it would give him a chance to get close to her – inside her reach. He knew that his lightstaff could kill her, he just needed to get inside her defences and neutralize that Sith-bedamned sword.

He feinted at her head and then jabbed at her feet, but she leapt upwards and then swung her own sword straight down in an overhead smash that he barely had enough time to deflect it to one side.

And then it happened. Glory leapt backwards for a yard or two and then her sword came up and she lunged at his chest. So he took a chance. He leant to one side so that the sword missed his heart. Instead it plunged into his shoulder.

* * *

"Ohmygod!" gasped Willow in horror, before she looked around wildly at the main door to the Initiative. Buffy was busy sinking the lightsabre into the hinges to one side, which were melting like they were made of butter, whilst a group of assembled Initiative agents, led by Riley, stood next to it armed with whatever they'd been able to leave the base with. "Buffy, hurry! She just stuck her sword in Xander's side!"

There was a collective moment of horrified silence and then Buffy grabbed the lightsabre by the handle again and started to hack at the door frame again.

It was at that point that Willow saw the headlights and then heard the squeal of brakes as a car pulled up to one side. She looked over as four figures appeared, all running hard, and then she heard the sound of two lightsabres being activated and knew that the rest of the Jedi were here.

Buffy looked over her shoulder as she completed cutting at the hinges and then everyone jumped out of the way as four hands jabbed in the air and then gestured.

The door never stood a chance.

* * *

It hurt. Sithspit but it hurt. Glory's sword felt as if it was burning his bones from his inside outwards, but he know that that was partly pain and partly the flames from the blade. Moreover the impact had jarred his lightstaff from his hand and it had rolled, deactivated to one side.

"_Yes!_" Glory crowed, her eyes sparking madly from behind the partly charred fringe of hair that was covering her face. "How does that feel then, you filthy little Jedi maggot?"

"Heh," said Xander, "Had… worse. Oh… think you… forgot something."

"What?" she asked, looking confused.

"The Force," he said. And then he reached out with both his hand and the Force, using the latter to send the lightstaff into the former and then jamming the end of the weapon under her jaw. "Send my regards to Hell."

Xander's thumb pushed the activation button and the blades hummed into life, one spearing downwards into Glory's leg and the upper one punching a hole through her head and annihilating her brain.

There was a long moment of stillness as they looked at each other, before Glory finally slumped downwards, her eyes blank at last. Xander fell with her, trying not to scream as the sword shifted in his shoulder and deactivating the lightstaff at the same time. When he was sure that Glory's corpse wasn't going to move any more he finally took a deep breath and then drew himself him, painfully and slowly, as the blade of the sword passed through him and then, mercifully, out of him.

And then he collapsed next to the body of the hell goddess and had a bit of a nap.

* * *

Lam looked up from the floor slowly and did his best to focus on the figures on the floor in front of him. Every single breath he took was squeezed through a vice of agony. The bitch had, at the very least, broken half his ribs. And judging by the fact that his vision was starting to go grey at the edges, he had a nasty feeling that he had a collapsed lung as well. There was a very good chance that he was going to die.

Not that he cared any more. Glory was dead. The Jedi had killed her. He'd heard the rumours about Harris and his friends, but he hadn't believed them. Ha. That showed him. He looked at the hole in Glory's head and smiled a painful smile. Then he looked at Harris. He had a hole in his shoulder, but he didn't look too bad. Of the three of them he certainly looked in the best shape.

Looking down at his left sleeve Lam reached out slowly with his other hand and pulled the mail up until a thin box strapped to his arm appeared. Damn, he was weaker than he thought and he just didn't have time to get to his office and enter the cancellation code for the self-destruct. He'd always known that he was going to die when he met Glory, but as long as he got his vengeance he didn't mind.

Unstrapping the box carefully he flipped a panel open and tapped in a short code. Then he crawled his way across the floor towards Harris. Each inch exacted a price in pain that left him increasingly weak and starved of air, but he gritted his teeth and pushed himself mercilessly to do it. As soon as he got within reach of Harris's arm he stopped, panted desperately for oxygen, and then lunged.

* * *

As they ran through the bowels of the Initiative Riley Finn made a mental note to never, ever, piss off any of the Jedi. It wasn't that they looked angry or anything, but they all radiated a determination and intent that would have carved its way through a mountain range and then had a serious go at another one.

They passed down one corridor, clattered down a staircase and then emerged into a larger corridor, where they faltered. "Whoa," said Buffy.

The scene in front of them looked like a small war had taken place. There was a hole in a wall in front of them, the railings to one side looked as if something had taken bites out of part of them and then smashed the other parts, and something appeared to have pounded chunks out of the floor.

But it was the three figures lying prone on that floor that held everyone's attention. Glory was sprawled on the floor, her inert sword by her side. There was a terrible wound in her leg and a hole that went straight through her head, from her chin to the top of her skull.

Lam was the second figure. He was dressed in chainmail and was lying stall, stretched out, one hand next to the third figure, that of Xander Harris. He was on his back, his eyes shut and a very bloody wound in his shoulder, just under his collarbone.

"We need a medical team down here right now!" Lindsey barked at Riley and he nodded to Graham who got busy with his radio.

The Jedi got to Xander first, Rebecca and Oz at the fore. Oz closed his eyes and put out his hand, before looking at her. "He's alive," he said with a smile. "Jedi healing trance."

Something happened to her then, a tension that Riley hadn't noticed flowed out of her stance as she sighed in relief. "Good," she said, looking at Xander in a way that gave Riley – and Oz by the way that he flickered his eyebrows for a millisecond – cause for thought.

"Glory's well and truly dead," Lindsey said grimly to one side. "Not even a Hell goddess can take a lightsabre at that range to the head."

"What about Lam?" Riley asked.

Daniel looked down at the sprawled figure in its chainmail and then frowned slightly before bending down and shaking his head. "Dead," he said sadly, looking down at the open but inert eyes of the Initiative's commanding officer. Then he froze. "What the hell's that?"

Everyone looked over to the object of Daniel's attention. A slim device had been placed on Xander's outstretched arm and then partially strapped on.

"It's a sensor," said Riley, puzzled. Then he froze, before he hurried over to it and very carefully examined the device, making sure that it stayed on Xander. "Son of a bitch," he said eventually, rocking back on his haunches and looking over at the corpse of his former commanding officer. "Lam saved us all."

"What?" Rebecca asked, confused. "What is that thing?"

"It monitors your vital signs. It's a prototype, the medical department was working on it. It monitors remotely. Lam must have been wearing it. If he died fighting Glory then it would have told the main computer and it would have triggered the self-destruct."

"So the self-destruct now depends on Xander living?" asked Oz. Riley nodded. The Jedi looked down at Xander and then reached out his hands over the wound. "Then I'd better lend a hand to make sure."

"Don't you leave us, Xander Harris," Rebecca whispered fiercely. "Don't you leave me."

* * *

The piece of paper wasn't a large one. It was an A4 sized document, not being made out particularly thick paper and it contained just one diagram, which consisted of a lot of wavy lines within a box. However it was a piece of paper that had reduced the room to first collective incredularity, then disbelief, followed by angry objections and now finally total bafflement.

"It's impossible," said Henderson for the third time in as many minutes.

"I know," said Muller in a voice that suggested that he was skating on the thinnest of ice when it came to patience. "We've all read it. But that's what the results are."

"Maybe the equipment is wrong," said Davies, his voice displaying all the symptoms of hopeless optimism.

"The equipment is fine. It's all been checked. We've run more diagnostics than NASA on the bloody things. No," said Samuels as he stood up and paced around the room restlessly, "We're going to have to admit that the results are correct."

"But that's-"

"Damn it John, if you say 'that's impossible' _one_ more time I'm going to ram that paper in your ear in an effort to get it into your brain!" Samuels snarled, before catching himself and visibly getting control again. "The fact of the matter is that the results might not make sense to us, but that's what the facts are. Now, I'm going to call the nearest thing we have to an expert on this site."

Slow nods around the room greeted this statement. "Makes sense," said Davies. "He'll know how to deal with it, if anyone can that is." He checked his watch. "Lunchtime in California. I'll call Rupert and tell him that his hill has taken us on the journey of weirdness over the past three days, and that it appears to be made of metal."


	43. Jedi, Slayers, Watchers and Sith

It's been a bad year. My company has decided that my job can be done by other people five time zones away, and as a result it's been a very unpleasant time for me. Add on a dead computer and a cat who had an operation on Friday and, well, you get the picture. Apologies again. I'll start the next chapter ASAP.

* * *

Hospitals, he soon decided, were valuable but boring. Even for Jedi Masters they were soul-crushingly boring places. A bit depressing as well – the walls seemed to be a particularly unpleasant shade of green for a start. Plus there was that pervasive smell of antiseptic.

Xander Harris sighed and then frowned down at the bandage covering his shoulder. At least he was able to use Jedi healing to speed the process up. With luck he would be out of Sunnydale General by the end of tomorrow. There were a few risks to be run, not least the fact that a faster speeding process was baffling the medical staff attending his case. The other risk was the food. Yuck.

He would have vastly preferred not to be there at all, but the wound that Glory had inflicted on him had had to be cleaned – Oz had been very clear about that. Her sword might have been fiery, but there was just no telling where she'd been keeping it. Plus he'd been kind of non-conscious at the time, having forced himself into a Jedi healing trance as soon as he'd been sure that she was very dead.

Sighing again, he looked out of the window. He hadn't wanted to do it, but she'd left him no choice. No choice at all. He never liked taking a life, but there was the added burden that according to Riley, who had been in charge of taking care of the body, there had been a major complication. Half an hour after he'd killed Glory the body had… changed. It had turned into that of a man in his 20s. A horrified Buffy had identified him as Ben, one of the doctors who had taken care of her mother. As a subdued Giles had mentioned to Xander, the mystery of who had been Glory's 'host' had been solved – in a very final but inevitable way.

Riley had told him that it would, of course, be a closed-casket funeral. Which would be scant consolation to this Ben's family, who had just lost their loved one and who could never be told why or even how.

He turned his gaze from the window to the table to one side and then smiled slightly as he looked at the get-well cards. His parents had sent him a concerned one, Giles had sent him a quirky one, Buffy had sent him a funny one, Willow had sent him one with a kitten on the front (inevitably), Faith had sent him a smutty one, Cordelia had sent him a snarky one and Wesley had sent him a serious one with a glint of humour.

And then there had been the other ones. One had arrived from the SGC (not that you could tell that if you didn't know the names) and had "Rule One – don't die!" written in red inside it.

The other one was the one that he was holding in his good hand at that moment. Rebecca had made it. It was stilted, it was awkward – and he found to his surprise that it had made him think about her a great deal. Emotions that he hadn't known were really there had made themselves apparent – both in her and in himself. He'd spent a great deal of time talking to her in his efforts to drag her back from the darkness. In the process he'd found himself admiring her along the way – who couldn't, given her battle to become a Jedi and not a Sith? And behind the admiration there was… something else.

He shifted uneasily on the bed for a moment, discovered that he was doing this and then stopped with a scowl. He should be better at this. He was a Jedi. The problem was that Obi-Wan's memories could not help him here as they were far too linked to the old Jedi Code as well as Anakin's cavalier treatment of that Code – and the tragic consequences of that action.

Love wasn't supposed to be a part of the equation according to the Code. The problem with that, as he knew all too well was that a) it defied human nature and b) he knew that it was just plain wrong. Oz was a Jedi who was in love with Willow. Daniel was a Jedi (ok, a padawan) who was in love with Dr Janet Fraser, even if he was doing a terrible job of denying it.

Of course, he'd been in love before. Sort of. There had been Willow. Well, ok, they'd been in kindergarten at the time, but he'd been serious. Sort of. Ok, as serious as a boy who wanted to be a choo-choo driver could be.

Then there had been his crush on Buffy when she'd first turned up in Sunnydale. He didn't like thinking about that, it had been a trainwreck from start to finish. Luckily Ethan Rayne had arrived at Halloween not long afterwards and had set into motion a chain of events that had resulted in three Jedi and two Padawans, as well as a host of other consequences.

All in all therefore he was facing an emotion that he didn't know how to deal with properly. But one that he had to.

He paused and then put his head back on the pillow and closed his eyes. Wasn't life supposed to be more simple now that Glory was dead?

* * *

Dawn was still very quiet at breakfast, which was something of a record for her. Buffy watched her with more than a little worry out of the corner of her eye. Her little sister had been more than a little withdrawn ever since her rescue from Glory's greasy scuzzball minions. Ok, so that had been quite traumatic, so she didn't really blame Dawnie for being quiet. The problem was that when her little sister went really quiet it was quite often because she was thinking very, very hard – and she was quite bright for a little squirt.

"When's mom coming home?" Dawn asked eventually.

"She'll be home later today," Buffy replied, suppressing a certain amount of weariness at having to answer six earlier questions on the same topic. "She'd have been there anyway for those last tests to make sure that everything was ok."

Dawn, who had worried herself into a verbal frenzy about this the previous night, nodded somberly as she stirred her cereal into a circle of mush with almost unseeing eyes. "Buffy?"

"Yesh?" she answered with a mouth full of blueberry muffin.

"What's the Key? I mean, what does it look like?"

The blueberry muffin very nearly went spraying across the table as a crumb of it almost went down the wrong part of her throat due to an unwise gulp of air into her lungs.

"Well," she said when she'd been able to successfully swallow, "The Key's… complicated. Glory didn't really know what it looked like."

"I know," said Dawn thoughtfully as she kept stirring absent-mindedly. "So it's not shaped like a key?"

"No, it's not," Buffy said quietly, her mind racing in a thousand different directions. Oh god, she didn't know what she could tell her little sister. How could she tell her the truth? She couldn't – it would crush Dawn. But what could she say?

"So it's magic then?"

"Yes," Buffy said thoughtfully, "I guess so."

"So it might look like anything at all – a chair, a mug, a tree."

"Um, well, like I said, it's complicated."

"Complicated as in for you or for other people?" Dawn muttered with more than a hint of her usual snarkiness.

"Watch it shortie," Buffy said with a glare. Then she softened a bit. "Magic's always complicated Dawnie. People who think that it's simple are wrong."

"Willow thinks that it's simple," objected Dawn absently. "Willow's strong with magic."

This caught Buffy by surprise. "Willow's been wrong about somethings sometimes," she said softly. "Giles knows more about magic than she does. She's just better at magic than he is. There's a difference."

A frown crossed Dawn's face as she processed that and then she seemed to get it. "Oh. So just because something can be done, that doesn't mean that it should be done, right?"

This bit of insight coming from the girl who had a poster of that group of particularly moronic boy singers on her wall caught Buffy totally out of left field. "Um," she flannelled desperately for a long moment, "I guess that's right."

Dawn nodded as she kept stirring. "So what does the key look like? Do you – oh." The spoon clattered into the bowl and she stared at her sister with large and very horrified eyes. Buffy looked back at her as her heart sank to the bottom of her rather cute and not that expensive boots. Oh crap, oh crap, oh crap, she thought despairingly, she's put it all together. "Dawn," she started to say, but then the verbal torrent started.

"Oh my god! You know what the key looks like but you think that there are other people out there like Glory who want it, but maybe even creepier and even less sane but with worse dress sense, and they're going to come to Sunnydale and try and take it and open the Hellmouth or something! Don't tell me! I don't want to know what it looks like!"

Wow, she was channeling Willow. In fact that had to be the best Willow impression she'd ever heard. Buffy sat there for a long moment, flipping through various options in her head. Ok, so maybe she should do the right thing here, the brave thing, the noble thing…. But then again perhaps not. She was still feeling frazzled from the events of the past week and she knew that her sister was still on the ragged edge of being weirded out. So she took the wimpy way out. "Yes," she said.

Dawn took a deep breath and then looked down at her bowl. "Oh, yuck," she said at the mush that she'd created. "Are there any more blueberry muffins?"

"Yes," Buffy said with a sigh, realizing that they were going to vanish quite quickly.

Grabbing the nearest one Dawn crammed most of it into her mouth and then bit it off. "Mmmph," she said contentedly. Then she swallowed it and looked at Buffy again, but this time with a frown. "So how long has Xander been Mr Jedi – and why didn't I know about it?" she asked with more than a hint of petulance.

Buffy sighed and was about to open her mouth again when the doorbell rang, saving her from being snarky at her sister. "I'll get it," she said and escaped into the hallway, where she opened the door to reveal a rather tired-looking Riley Finn.

"Hi Buffy," he said. "I thought I'd drop in and see how you're all doing."

Buffy peered closely at him as he walked in and kissed her. "Riley are you ok? Because you don't look too good."

The Initiative agent laughed ruefully. "Too much to do and not enough time to do it in," he said quietly. "Can we talk?"

"Sure," she said as she led him into the kitchen, just in time to watch Dawn half-choke on the next muffin as she tried to swallow it whole. "Dawn, don't you have a room to clean up?"

Dawn drew herself up haughtily for a moment and then she visibly remembered that her mother was coming home that day. "Oh. Maybe I'd better tidy it a bit," she muttered. "Hi Ri. Bye Ri!" And with that she vanished upstairs.

"Tidy her room with a shovel she means," Buffy muttered. "Here, have the last muffin, before the ravenous maw of Dawn takes it." She paused. "I've been hanging out with Xander and Giles for _way_ too long," she observed.

"Really? I hadn't noticed," Riley said with a sly smile as he picked the muffin up. "How's Xander by the way?"

"Getting better quite quickly," she replied as she sat on a stool and looked into her rather empty coffee cup. "Coffee?"

"Oh yes please. As much as you can fill me up with," Riley groaned. "Some bright spark decided that because I was in charge when Finch left, that made me the natural choice to command when Lam died. Too much paperwork. Too much repair work. Too many questions." The last was said with a long sigh attached.

Buffy looked at him carefully as she refilled the percolator. "Riley, what's wrong? You're being all pensivey."

Her boyfriend answered her with a sigh. "I'm… concerned about the future of the Initiative," he said eventually. "It's not like we've had the best of luck recently. First we had Walsh, who had an agenda that revolved around making a homicidal demon-human-robot with delusions of mass-murder. Then we had Finch, who was a great guy but he was really investigating the cesspit that was the NID. And now we just had Lam, who turned out to be a member of a secret society that liked to dress up in chainmail armour and who was so desperate to kill Glory and avenge his family that he was willing to turn Sunnydale into a large smoking hole in the ground to do so. Have I left anything out?"

Buffy shook her head ruefully as she pulled the carafe of hot coffee out and poured Riley a large mug. "Nope. That about covers it."

He took a large gulp of coffee and then quirked a smile at her. "Thanks."

"No problem."

"Coffee always helps." He stared broodily out of the kitchen window. "If I had my way I'd turn command over to General Kenobi, or the nearest thing we have to him. Obi-Xander."

She blinked at him. "You would?"

"Oh hell yes, in a heartbeat. The guy knows more than I ever will I think. I can't though – he's not in the chain of command. If I suggest to anyone in the Pentagon that I want to turn command of a super-secret military installation over to a 20-year old guy with the memories of a fictional character in his head thanks to a spell, I'd get locked up in my own personal padded cell. The fact that those memories have made him a Jedi Master who took down Adam _and_ a Hell Goddess – that should get him command of the Initiative. Never happen though." He glowered at an inoffensive shrub in the garden.

She looked at him worriedly. "What could happen?"

He gave her a smile that was more like a grimace. "We barely survived the Adam FUBAR. This thing with Lam might get us shut down. The Pentagon might decide that… well, we've gone through our nine lives. They might mothball the installation, transfer us all to various special ops teams all over the country and then swear blind that there was never any such thing as 'The Initiative'."

Buffy stared at him for a long moment and then blinked several times. "They can't do that!"

A snort was directed her way. "Oh can't they? Believe me, they can. In a heartbeat, Buffy, in a damn heartbeat. The Pentagon doesn't take people's feelings into account – they just concentrate on the bottom line."

"Which is?"

"Mostly… what they get out of things, how much they cost them and what kind of 'plausible deniability' they can get away with if things go FUBAR."

"FUBAR?"

He paused. "Well, the polite version is, 'freaked up beyond all recognition', but I think you can guess which four-letter word – with 'ed' tacked onto it - can replace freaked."

She paused for a moment and then she blinked in recognition. "Ah. The kind of word that Dawn needs not hear right now, right?"

"Yup." Riley threw the remnants of his coffee down his throat and sighed. "I guess that we'll have to see what happens. At the very least I guess I can call Colonel O'Neill and tell him that the US military needs people here on the Hellmouth to observe things. He'll understand."

Buffy directed a long look at him and then she enfolded him in a tight – but not too tight as she wanted him to breathe – embrace. "I want you here with me, Riley," she said hoarsely. "I want you here."

"I'm not going anywhere," he said in reply. "I love you."

"I love you too," she sniffed, as she released him from her arms and then looked at him critically. "Have you got any spare time this afternoon?"

He looked at her. And then he looked around at the slightly messy kitchen and then through the doorway into the rather messier living room. "Yes," he replied wryly. "I do have enough spare time to help you tidy up your mom's house before she gets back."

* * *

Giles wandered into the living room and sat on the couch with a stifled groan, followed by a sigh of pleasurable memory. Looking into the mirror on the opposite wall at himself, resplendent in dressing down and slippers and with slightly disheveled hair, he grinned. "Olivia was quite right," he muttered, "I do look quite a bit smug at the moment."

A blinking light off to one side caught his attention and he looked over. He had a message on his answering machine. Peering up behind him to check that the door to the bedroom was closed he got up, sat at his desk and pressed the play button, checking that the volume was at a low level. He didn't want to wake Olivia up after all. They both needed to save their strength for later on.

There was a moment of confused noise and then a familiar voice started to speak. "Rupert, it's Adam Patterson. I'm sorry to disturb you but the excavations have turned up some… interesting data." In the background Giles could hear someone else snort loudly. "Ok, ok, bloody insane data. I'm emailing as much as I can to you. Geophysics results, analysis of the soil samples, the magnetic anomaly display data – everything I can. Take a look and please call me back and tell me that I haven't gone raving bloody mad. Hope you're well. 'Bye."

Giles blinked at the machine in a great deal of surprise. His old friend had sounded tired, worried and slightly uncertain, three things that were highly uncharacteristic of him. Moving to one side he started up his computer, logged on in his name and then accessed his email. Ah. There were quite a few emails in his account. Actually, there were a bloody huge number of emails and he sighed at the screen and made yet another mental note to check on the dratted things more often. At least he'd finally learnt to install a spam filter so that he didn't get any more emails from Nigerian princesses claiming to have access to strong-boxes containing $20 million left to them by their dead fathers, or some such rot.

Peering at the screen he identified the emails from Adam and then opened them. It didn't take long for a frown to form. When he opened the first picture the frown deepened. "Peculiar…" he muttered quietly as he looked over at the printer that Willow had persuaded him to get, checked that the dratted thing was plugged in and that it had enough paper and then hit the 'print' button.

When he finally got to the largest Geophysics picture he froze in the chair and stared at it, eyes wide and mouth open. That was… mad. Impossible. He turned it around a few times, almost as if seeing up upside down or from the side would change it somehow, but then he turned it the right way up and just stared at it.

"Right," he muttered eventually, "I need a second opinion." Standing quickly he shuffled all the papers and pictures together, placed them in a folder that he pulled out of his desk, wrote a quick note to Olivia and then strode over to the front door, where he paused and looked down at himself. "But perhaps I need to get dressed first."

* * *

"They're on the road now. Heading out of town on the Interstate towards the destination we heard him mention. Orders?"

Holland Manners, thought Lilah with a certain amount of delicious malice, was sitting at the table, staring at the speakerphone and was looking rattled – if you knew what the signs were. The plan was not going well. Of course, as she could have told him at the start, the plan hadn't had a leg to stand on. Causing Angel to fall by bringing back Darla had been a standard Holland Manners plan. It had started off initially plausible, but as time had gone on the bill had mounted and the potential return had diminished almost into nothing. A huge amount of time and energy had been expended and all they had to show for it so far was a confused and dying woman who was being driven away from LA by a determined and highly focused vampire with a soul.

The worst thing was that they all knew where Angel was driving her to. It had to be Sunnydale, a place that Wolfram & Hart roundly hated after a string of utter failures.

The question remained why Angel was taking her to the Hellmouth. There had to be better healthcare professionals or even mystical healers in LA. You could buy anything in LA – if, that is, you had the money.

She looked at Holland carefully. He was very close to drumming his fingers on the table, which for him would be an extreme display of worry.

The other person in the room was, of course, not even worth worrying about. Gavin was an excrescence. He was, unfortunately, currently Holland's blue-eyed boy, a post that should have been worrying _him_ given the track record of his predecessors. Three of them were dead and the other, the fetid scumbag McDonald, was a traitor.

Right now however Gavin was sitting on the other side of the table with his eyebrow cocked in what Lilah had labeled as Position Three – fake concern masked by professionalism. He had a number of other positions for his eyebrows, most of which revolved around the amusing concept that he thought he knew things that she didn't. Position ten had recently made an appearance. It signaled the fact that he knew that she knew that he knew something and that he was unhappy about that fact because he didn't know how she knew. Poor Gavin. He was making the mistake that so many others at Wolfram & Hart had made – he thought that he was cunning. In fact he was being blindingly obvious.

The truth of the matter was that she was becoming bored with Wolfram & Hart. The firm was… ruthless when it came to winning cases, willing to do anything at all to win. When it came to the bigger picture… then they were laughably incompetent. Oh, they had politicians who were bought and paid for, they had scientists who could blow the mind of anyone on the Pentagon and they had access to the kind of muscle that had long since had the Mob running scared and in need of clean underwear. But they still couldn't deal with a vampire with a soul and his pathetic group of minions. Not to mention Lindsey freaking McDonald.

Speaking of whom, Holland had gone awfully quiet about that little weasel. She was still trying to work out why. McDonald's immensely successful resignation was still the talking point of the staff cafeterias, even the one in the basement with the A-Negative on tap. She still hadn't been able to see a copy of that letter. Rumour had it that it had been totally destroyed so that no-one could ever copy it, which was a shame. Although she'd been very successful in her cases recently she had no intention of ever being promoted up the chain of command any further than she had already. An eternity of service to Wolfram & Hart in the event of her death was not something that appealed to her. She needed an escape clause and she was actually mulling writing to McDonald and asking him how he'd done it. He'd gone all white-knight so there was even a chance that he'd answer a letter.

Holland cleared his throat slightly and she looked back at him. He still looked… strained. And he was giving off waves of indecision and worry in the Force. Amusing. "Do not enter Sunnydale," he said eventually. "That place is still off-limits."

"Understood," said the voice of whichever flunkey Holland was paying at the moment. "Instructions?"

"Return to LA and resume supervision of Angel Investigations."

"Complying," said the voice and then Holland reached out and terminated the call.

"With all due respects sir," Gavin purred apologetically, "The Agreement with Wilkins died with him and Adam's destruction of our office in Sunnydale was not something related. We can send people into Sunnydale with ease."

Holland leant back and looked at Gavin carefully. "Sunnydale… is worrying the Senior Partners," he said quietly, a statement that made Gavin straighten up in his seat. "Relax Gavin, I see your point but there are bigger issues in play here. Our recent history in Sunnydale has not exactly been a good one. Moreover, the Slayer there is proving to be a very atypical one. She's not like previous ones – neither is the one here in LA."

Lilah had to admit that the coward did have a point. According to the records, the average Slayer tended to last a year if they were lucky. Summers should have been an aberration. The problem was that the other Slayer, Faith whatshername, was also proving to be just as irritating as Summers. She had a knack of disappearing off the radar and reappearing at a highly inconvenient moment.

On the whole Lilah found it all highly amusing. Of course, she could have taken out Angel and Faith and well, all of them, pretty easily, but she didn't want to attract too much attention. Not when there was still so much to learn about Wolfram & Hart. They may have been pathetic, but she knew enough about them by now to know that the Senior Partners were dangerous – and that they had some kind of hidden command structure that intrigued her.

She'd been thinking about doing some very careful probing, but she had to admit that she'd have to exercise extreme care. She also had to admit that she needed to do some careful thinking about what she was going to do with her life. Her old master's plan was, well, more than a bit hackneyed. Whilst she loved power just as much as the next person (the next people in the room would probably be perfectly fine with serving up various family members on toast with a garnish on the side to the Senior Partners if it gained them even a smidge of power) she had to do some serious thinking about her options.

Her gaze fell back onto Holland as she looked at him with an entirely false expression of professional concern. The man was as useful as a chocolate teapot right now. That made him surplus to requirements. Gavin was still beneath her contempt and always would be.

"I think it's time that I made some arrangements," Holland said eventually.

What a coincidence, thought Lilah drily, I was thinking exactly the same thing. For one thing, she had to do some serious thinking about the Sunnydale situation. Alexander Harris and Lindsey MacDonald had to be looked into. They might be threats otherwise. And besides – she had a lightsabre. What the hell did they have?

* * *

Using the Force was still something that left a vague sense of surprise with him, Daniel thought with a smile as he sat on a bluff next to the house and looked out over the various mesas in the desert. He had to admit that he was starting to like the view from the training base, also known as Xander's late uncle's place. Oz had started to call it the Jedi Temple. Well, that was a good name, but he wasn't sure if Temple was the right word for it yet. Not until Xander rebuilt it or something. He paused for a moment and wondered what it would be like if it ever became widely known that there were Jedi on Earth. There'd be a hell of a commotion, followed by a line of volunteers that would stretch across the desert. Some might even be eligible to be Jedi. Most would just be, well, fans without even a smidge of Force-talent.

He closed his eyes and embraced the Force again. After a moment he opened his eyes and looked at the road to the North. A car was approaching. As it drew up by the house he could see that it was being driven by Rupert Giles, who seemed to be highly excited about something, judging by the way that he leapt from the vehicle and then looked about wildly. Daniel waved at the Watcher, who then dived back into his car, re-emerged with a briefcase and then came very close to slamming the door on his own hand.

"Dr Jackson!" Giles called out, hurrying over to him. "I need your advice."

Daniel's eyebrows arched upwards. "You need my advice?" he asked wryly. "Normally it's the opposite way around."

"Not in this case. This is something more for your archaeological expertise." Giles sat down next to him and then pulled a folder full of paper out of the bag. From what Daniel could see of them as Giles opened the folder they looked like a combination of emails and… ground radar pictures?

"What have you got there?" he muttered.

"These are the latest findings from a dig in Wales. A placed called Caer Seren to be precise. Some friends of mine from the British Museum are digging there after finally getting permission. It's… an odd place. It's always fascinated me. There's something about it that I just can't put my finger on. But anyway, there's a hill to one side of the main excavation. Here, take a look at this." He handed over a geophysics scan.

Daniel took a single look at the printout and then froze. "Ah," he said eventually. "Interesting."

This understatement bought him an amused bark of laughter from Giles. "Are you sure you're not British?" he asked wryly.

Shuffling rapidly through the various scan results and emails Daniel thought rapidly. "Caer Seren… isn't that Welsh for City of the Star?"

"That's a close enough translation. It's not a city by any standards – at least not now. But given these results…"

"It used to be," Daniel said in a quiet, stunned voice. "Thousands of years ago at least." He scrabbled through the data again. "But this is impossible. It was a city at a time when Mycenae was still powerful. That goes against everything we know about Britain at that time. And this hill…"

"Is made of some kind of metal," Giles said. "And it's rather regular in shape."

"Too regular," Daniel muttered. Then he looked at the Watcher. "That's no hill. That's a spacecraft."


	44. Burdens

It's been a tough few months due to the bloody awful job market, but luckily I've been able to freelance a lot. The good point about this is that I can earn lots of money from this. The bad thing is that it eats up a lot of time and energy - I was in Baden-Baden last week for example. Anyway, here's the latest chapter.

* * *

The Beast sat on a handy upwelling of magma somewhere under the Hawaiian Islands and did its best to think about what it should do next. Original thinking, as it well knew, was not something it was particularly good at. In fact, it had to confess that it preferred to obey orders, rather than come up with orders.

It stirred uneasily for a moment. The Voice was still silent, and the silence was starting to worry the Beast a great deal. The Voice had been silent before, but the silence had never lasted as long as this time – and judging by the increasing number of commands the Voice had been giving before the silence, it had to consider the possibility that something had happened to the Voice.

Its fists clenched in the molten rock for a long moment. No, it couldn't be true. The Voice had shown itself to be powerful, too powerful to be defeated by anything on this pitiful world. Too wise as well, and too all-seeing. No, perhaps this was a test? A way of seeing if the Beast truly believed…

The great horned head nodded slowly. Yes, that was possible. After all, it knew where to go. The timing was another issue – although if the Beast _was_ being tested, then surely it could guess. Well, perhaps.

Perhaps it should think the whole thing through again. Wait, it had already spent too much time thinking about everything. If this _was_ a test then it had to make a decision soon. Perhaps even now. Perhaps even right now.

The Beast clenched its fists tightly again for a long moment and then it turned and swam off down the magma. When it arrived at the spot then maybe the Voice would speak to it again. Maybe it would reward the Best for its faith.

* * *

PXD-472-D had been a world of sand, rocks, more sand, small wind-blown bits of rock that were almost sand, small beady-eyed reptile-birds that all seemed to have upset stomachs and lots of orbital debris that had scared the crap even out of Carter. Writing the report had so been very cathartic. It was a good thing that the software didn't have a strike-through mode that showed deleted text as otherwise it would have been twice as long and filled with enough bad language to shock a 30-year veteran of the Marine Corps.

The phone was therefore a welcome distraction when it rang. "O'Neill," he snapped into it.

"Wow, you only ever use that tone of voice when you're writing a report that you hate," said a very familiar voice.

"Daniel," Jack said as he leant back in his chair. "How's it going, Spacemonkey? Is the Force with you yet?"

"It's with me just fine, but that's not what I'm calling about."

"What are you calling about then?" Jack asked with a frown.

"Jack, I've got some very interesting pictures in front of me right now from an archaeological dig in Great Britain. Would you be interested if I told you that I think that there's quite a large spacecraft under a hill there?"

Jack sat bolt upright in his chair. "_What?_"

"You heard me correctly."

"Names and locations, Daniel. Right now."

"North Wales, Jack. A place called Caer Seren. I think that that's Welsh for City of the Stars, or star city, or something similar."

Jack closed his eyes and resisted the temptation to say some very bad words indeed. "Well, I can see a slight connection there. Who found this thing then?"

"An archaeological group led by a number of experts from the British Museum. Apparently no-one realised what it was when they received the first results from the ground-penetrating radar they were using. Some of them know Rupert Giles, they sent him the data, he looked at it, had a suspicion that it was out of his league and then he sought me out at the training camp. I'm emailing everything to Sam now."

Well, that figured, Jack thought wryly. Carter would be better at that kind of thing than he would be. But not as well as Daniel would. "Daniel, this is more your kind of thing than mine. Will you be breaking off from your training to help us out on this?"

A strained silence followed. "Jack you have no idea how much I want to. The problem is that my training isn't anywhere close to being finished. And I have no intention of doing a Luke before Bespin and screwing this up."

"Oookay," Jack said in what he hoped was a positive and placatory tone of voice.

"But I will say that if you don't send me lots of situational reports on what's happening there I'll be very annoyed with you."

"Fine, I'll make sure you're copied on everything. As long as we can send it to you safely. Oh what the hell, I'll get Carter to send you a secure laptop."

"Thanks Jack," said Daniel in a distinctly happier tone of voice.

"Now if you'll excuse me I need to talk to Carter and then I need to tell Hammond that we're off to the Land of Tea and Crumpets."

"And single malt whiskey Jack."

"I thought that was Scotland."

"There's a distillery in Wales as well."

"Excellent, I'll make sure I check it out. Take care Spacemonkey." He listened to Daniel's rather distracted goodbye, replaced the receiver and then stood up and dashed for Carter's lab.

* * *

There were times when it was almost restful to meditate, Lilah thought wryly as she sat in the large chair in the middle of the even larger room. It was… deliciously decadent to have such a large house all to herself and even now she allowed herself a warm fuzzy feeling as she remembered the shell game that she'd played to hide her ownership of the property. As far as Wolfram & Hart was aware, employee Lilah Morgan owned a nice but not excessively large studio apartment in a good area of LA. Well, they could go on thinking that as far as she was concerned.

She closed her eyes and embraced the Dark Side. Oh this was the moment that she lived for – the embrace of the cracking river of darkness around her. It… exhilarated her. It made her feel more alive than she ever had before. It was better than sex, better than anything.

As she lost herself in the grip of the Force she allowed the currents to take her… she could see images flash in front of her briefly. Sometimes they were fascinating – she'd once seen an image of a very dead Holland Manners. Other times they were boring – an image of an alleyway.

Tonight however something new emerged. She saw a demonic figure in the hallways of Wolfram & Hart with dead bodies strewn around it. Then an image of the same demon but this time it seemed to be approaching her.

Her eyes flashed open. It seemed that trouble was coming. She'd make sure that she was ready for it.

* * *

The glass globe looked incredibly delicate, and there was a good reason for that. It was incredibly delicate. It must have cost someone a bit of money as it seemed to be hand-blown glass of some sort.

Daniel looked at it as it hung in the air above his hands. He could feel a bead of sweat running down the side of his face. This was harder than it looked, but at least he'd gotten past his inability to believe that gravity would be beaten with nothing else but the power of his own mind. Rationality could be something of a handicap for a Jedi at times. At least it was taking his mind off the alien ship in North Wales. He just hoped that Jack was being tactful.

"Time," said Oz quietly off to one side and Daniel almost sighed with relief as he used the Force to lower the globe into his waiting hands.

"That was harder than I thought it would be," he admitted with a sigh.

"It always is," Oz replied with a quiet smile. "I remember the first time I tried it. Tired me a bit."

Daniel opened his mouth to ask how much he should be practising with the globe when all of a sudden he heard the squeal of badly-abused brakes outside. "Is that Giles again?" he asked bemusedly. "I thought he wasn't coming back just yet."

The door banged open from the application of a booted foot and a man with gelled-up hair staggered in carrying an almost comatose woman with blonde hair and what looked like very pale and clammy skin.

"Angel," Oz said, sounding about as shocked as Daniel could imagine he ever could. "Is she ok?"

Angel, if that was his name, looked intently at Oz and then seemed to relax ever so slightly before hurrying over to the nearest chair and carefully depositing the woman into it. "Oz, I need your help," he said tiredly. "Can you cure syphilis?"

Oz's eyebrows flew upwards for a moment, before he looked at the woman. "Is that what she has?"

"Who is she?" Daniel asked.

Angel shot him a look that was part puzzlement and part glare. "Who are you again?"

"He's Daniel Jackson, he's my Padawan and you need to tell us who she is and why she's dying of syphilis," Oz snapped as he stared at the unconscious woman.

"She's… Darla. My Sire," Angel said through gritted teeth.

Daniel stared at the woman and then reached out with the Force, probing with it. Then he paused. "She's human - not a vampire." Then he looked at Angel. "But you are. With… something extra. I can't put my finger on it."

Angel looked at him, his eyes narrowed slightly. "I guess you are a Jedi then. I have a soul. I'm not like the others."

Daniel peered at him, fascinated. It was like looking at a light within a void, if such a concept could describe what he was sensing.

Feet pattered rapidly in the hallway and then Lindsey and Rebecca arrived in the room. "Angel," Lindsey said with some surprise. "What's going on?"

The vampire with a soul pointed at Darla. By now Oz had his hands on both sides of her face and was clearly concentrating hard, using the Force deeply. "She's sick," Angel mumbled. "I tried everywhere else. I didn't know where else to go."

"Did you try a hospital?" Oz asked suddenly. "She's more than sick, she's dying. Angel, she has Tertiary syphilis."

The vampire… fidgeted. It looked like something that he had very little experience of ever having done before. "She said that she'd had several examinations from doctors who worked for Wolfram & Hart. They said that it was incurable."

"Yeah, well, tertiary syphilis isn't very common these days. It is treatable though – lots and lots of antibiotics. Of course, that depends on being treated before you start dying," Oz said tersely, his eyes tightly shut. "Ok, I've placed her in a Jedi healing trance. She's stopped dying. Getting rid of the syphilis will be a lot tougher though."

"You can heal her then?" Angel asked, watching the Jedi Knight intently.

Oz opened his eyes and sighed, staring down thoughtfully at Darla. "Angel, what's going on? What happened in LA?"

The vampire with a soul ran his hands through his hair distractedly. "Long story. Short version is – Lindsey, do you remember that box in that room in Wolfram & Hart – the one where we got the scroll back from Holland Manners?"

Lindsey frowned. "I remember catching a glimpse of it. I didn't know what was inside it though."

"It was her," Angel muttered, gesturing at Darla. "She was dead – Buffy staked her in Sunnydale a couple of years ago."

"What? Do you mean that Wolfram & Hart brought a vampire back from the dead?" Lindsey was very pale. "Jesus – do you have any idea of the amount of magical power that requires?"

"She's not a vampire!" Angel almost shouted. "She's human! She has a soul!"

"Quietly," Oz broke in. "She's in a healing trance but no loud noises please. Angel – why did this firm of evil lawyers bring her back?"

Angel scowled a bit. "They were trying to use her to get to me – to turn me evil again. It's a long story, like I said. They failed though – she remembers what it's like to be a vampire, but she's human now, she has a soul." He spoke the last few words quietly, almost in a whisper. Then he shook himself. "I have to save her."

The Jedi all looked at him. Then everyone looked down at Oz, who was looking in turn at Darla. "Ok," he said softly. "I have a lot to do therefore. There's a spare bed in room 6. I need it made up at once before we move Darla there. I need food and water right now for myself. This is going to be a long process, longer than anything I've ever done. Lindsey, I'm going to have to ask you to take over Daniel's training for a bit. We discussed where they are this morning. Sword training to start at once. Angel, please help out as directed." He got to his feet. "Let's go people." And then he paused. "Angel, have you ever been here before?"

The vampire with a soul shook his head, confused.

"Then how did you get in without an invitation?"

There was a long singing moment of silence as everyone looked at each other before Lindsey raised a finger. "Does anyone else have cold water running up and down their spine?"

* * *

The doctor was frowning darkly at the results on the medical clipboard in front of him. Every now and then he'd flip back a page and then return to the beginning. He seemed to be permanently on the point of opening his mouth to ask a question and then reconsidering it.

"Well Mr Harris," he said eventually. "I guess that I can't see any reason to keep you in any more. Your wound has healed very well indeed – um, extremely quickly in fact for an injury of that severity. I guess that that red-hot metal bar you were impaled on must have… cauterised the wound. I think." He paused for another moment, flipped through the notes again and then raised his eyebrows. "I guess that you have a very… good… natural healing ability."

"I guess so, doc," Xander said cheerfully. He'd actually done his best not to heal too suspiciously quickly, but he must have cut it a tad close. The last thing he wanted was another battery of tests, this time to find out why he was healing faster than the average patient. "So when can I go home?"

The doctor glared at his clipboard again, bit his lip for a second, realised what he was doing and then muttered something about telling house about the case, although he why he should have discussed Xander's case with an inanimate object was beyond the Jedi Master. Finally he blew out his cheeks explosively and smiled. "Well, as far as I can say you can go home today. Just come back in a week's time to have it checked out one last time. The last thing we want is any kind of infection sneaking in there."

"Thanks doc!" Xander said smiling. Right, he thought, there was a vending machine somewhere with a Twinkie with his name on it in it.

By the time he was packed and ready to leave the hospital the sun was below the horizon. He'd thought about calling the others and telling them, but he felt like surprising them instead. His family could do with a pleasant surprise as well. So he'd loaded up his things, had his bandage checked by a very disapproving nurse and how he was standing at the main doors to the hospital, sniffing the heady air of… air that didn't smell at all of antiseptic and bad food.

He took a deep breath of air and then started out down the road that led to the hospital, glad at the chance to use his legs properly for the first time since his battle with Glory. It was a lovely evening and he had his lightsabre up his sleeve (it had been hidden in his bedside table thanks to orders from a determined Riley Finn that his personal effects were not to be tampered with in any way shape or form) and he was feeling fit again.

And then, as he walked past Priestland Park, he caught sight of a blond head above a black coat walking slowly down the road towards him. He didn't need to use the Force to identify him, he could tell at once who it was.

"Spike."

The vampire started violently, something that was almost amusing given the fact that he usually could sniff out who was approaching almost before they got into visual range. "Christ! Harris, don't do that – you'll give me a bloody heart attack!"

"Your heart stopped beating in 1880, Spike," Xander pointed out.

Spike twisted his face slightly. "True, but I hate to waste a good metaphor." Then he looked at Xander more closely. "So the quacks at the hospital let you go then?"

"Yup, I'm free to roam the streets again."

"Oh joy. I'll watch out for falling ashes."

This brought a smile to Xander's lips. "Nice to know that I'm so appreciated," he muttered. Then he looked back at Spike, who was staring at the nearest wall blankly. "Spike, what's wrong?"

The vampire looked at him dully. "What?"

"You haven't been your normal effervescent self for some time now. What's wrong?"

Spike blinked at him at him for a moment and then curled his lip in a magnificent sneer. "What the hell are you talking about, light-bulbed one?" he asked as he lit up a cigarette.

Xander looked at him levelly. "I'm talking about you. You've been quiet, withdrawn and unusually reticent recently. Totally unlike your normal self. Now, are you going to tell me what the matter is, or are you going to make me resort to threatening to use the Jedi Mind Trick on you?"

The cigarette wobbled violently in Spike's lips for a moment. "You wouldn't!"

Xander just looked at him with a small smile. This seemed to cause great distress for the vampire, who was forced to grab at his suddenly airbourne cigarette before it hit the ground.

"You are… are… a total bastard Harris!"

"Not guilty as charged," Xander replied with a smile. "Now: what the hell is wrong with you?"

Spike visibly seethed for a long moment before deflating more than a bit. "I'm… suffering," he said slowly.

"Suffering from what?"

There was a long pause whilst Xander patiently waited for Spike to come up with whatever the hell had be percolating in his mental carafe for so long. "Promise you won't tell the Slayer?"

"I take it you mean Buffy?"

"Yes, of course I mean Buffy, you git!" Spike closed his eyes, did his best to stop seething and then opened them again. "Promise me. I know that means something to you Jedi – you're all as honest and uptight, sorry upright, as bloody Gladstone."

"Who?"

"Sod it, _promise_ me!"

Xander looked the vampire in the face and then straightened, his hand on his heart. "You have my word of honour – the word of a Jedi Master of the Galactic Republic."

Spike looked at him searchingly for a long moment, before nodding slowly. "Right – remember that I have your word Jedi." His shoulders slumped more than a bit. "I… did something stupid."

There was a long moment of silence as Spike fought to get the next words out. Xander thought about prompting him a bit, but he could tell that this was a hard enough moment for Spike.

"I've… done something stupid," he said eventually.

Xander waited patiently for the next words to emerge from the mouth of the now-grimacing vampire. He had a feeling that prompting him would be a mistake right now, so he merely folded his arms and then raised an eyebrow.

Another long moment of silence and then Spike finally opened his mouth again and said some words that Xander never thought that he'd hear from Spike. "I've only gone and fallen in love with the sodding Slayer." The words were accompanied by a groan.

Well, this was a Sarlacc Pit of awkwardness, Xander thought. "Ah," he said eventually.

Spike glared at him.

"Tricky."

Another glare from Spike.

"What are you going to do about it?"

The glare turned into a look of anguished confusion. "What the hell can I do about it? Turn up with a bunch of flowers, say 'Hello Slayer, please accept my non-beating heart and please don't stake me'? Give her a box of chocolates in a black box with a mysterious card on it before I jump onto a jetski and vanish off into the moonrise?"

Xander must have looked baffled at this last part, because Spike rolled his eyes and muttered something about the wrong cultural reference. "You know what I mean Jedi," the vampire snarled.

This conversation had obviously leapt off the road of normal topics, such as it was on the Hellmouth these days, and was heading downhill into the morass of weirdness at the bottom.

"Right," Xander said eventually. "Okay. I see your problem. I'm not sure that I can give you any advice about it, but I do see your problem. Hmmm. This is awkward. Actually, on a scale of awkwardness, this is rancor-sized one."

"I shouldn't have bloody told you," Spike groaned and then relit his cigarette, which had quite possibly extinguished itself out of sheer embarrassment. "I should have kept my trap shut. I never did know when to keep schtum at times. She'll never love me back. I don't know what the bloody hell I was thinking."

Xander looked at Spike for a long moment and then he sighed himself. "You're right," he said quietly, "She won't love you back. You're everything that she hates, everything that she fights, even if that chip in your head means that you can't attack humans. The demon in you will always be there. You don't have a soul. You can't be another Angel."

The mention of Angel instantly raised Spike's hackles, and he threw his cigarette on the ground and then slammed his booted foot on it to grind it out of existence. "I hate that bastard," he muttered.

"Why?"

"Why? You mean apart from the fact that he's tried to kill me so many times?"

"Spike, everyone's tried to kill you at least once. What are you going to do, keep score?"

Spike glared at him. "Angelus sired Dru, and drove her mad before that. Dru sired me. Do I bloody need any other reason to hate him? Oh wait, then he got his soul back and spent a Century moping around like a bad novelist, crying over the corpse of ever fly he ever swatted, not to mention the humans he killed before he got his soul back. He then gets his clammy hands on Buffy, has his wicked – sorry, _non_-wicked – way with her, reverts back to Angelus and proceeds to take over my operation. In the process he tries to end the bloody world by activating Acathla, not that that was ever going to be a good idea, almost kills Buffy and then gets his soul back, before getting sucked into a Hell dimension. He then somehow gets dragged out, regains his sanity, leaves Buffy and sets up shop as a vampiric Sam Spade in LA, where he once again gets in my way. So, yes, I hate him. I violently hate him in fact. If there was an "I hate Angel" fan club, I wouldn't sign up just to get the secret decoder ring."

The two men stared at each other for a long moment and then Spike gave up in the face of the Jedi's placid stare. "Whatever, I'm off to sit in a bar and drink whatever kind of god-awful goat's piss passes for whiskey in this place. I'm done talking to you." He stomped off.

"Spike," Xander called out after a moment of fast and furious refelection.

"Bugger off!"

"I have a possible solution for you."

"Bugger off twice!"

"I mean it. The word of a Jedi."

The sound of Spike's boots on the road faltered, slowed and then stopped. "What?"

"I have a solution for you."

Spike turned slowly and then stared at Xander. "What is it?"

Sighing softly to himself Xander approached the vampire. "The thing is I don't know how you'd do it."

"Do what?"

"There's only one way that you could get around your… condition with Buffy."

Something flared in Spike's eyes, something that was a combination of hope, surprise and deep, deep wariness. "What would that be then?"

"Get your soul back."

Spike's face went blank for a long moment in surprise, and then his eyes widened. "Ah," he said eventually. "Interesting. I hadn't thought of that."

"Think it over," Xander said tiredly. It was now very late and he really needed to get some sleep. "Let me know what you decide." And then he walked away from the motionless vampire who seemed to be groping for some form of redemption.

* * *

Jack was not having a very good day at all. He was short on sleep, he hadn't had enough coffee yet, the weather seemed to consist of light drizzle at the moment, following on from the heavier drizzle that had been falling when they'd arrived, and company they were in was massively annoying. Oh and he still hadn't gotten used to the time difference yet.

More than half of it wasn't too bad, a bunch of archaeologists who could geek for Britain at the next geek Olympics and who looked awfully like Daniel used to when he'd first met Jack.

As for the others, well they varied. There was the leader of the archaeologists, who was stubborn and suspicious, there were the three new people who'd turned up from the British Museum and who seemed to be held in some awe by the ordinary archaeologists, there was the senior civil servant with the odd name and then there were the final two people, who he had no idea about. The dark-haired Welsh woman was ok enough but her companion was downright weird. He sounded American but he was wearing a very old-fashioned RAF coat with what appeared to be the flashes of a wing commander and he seemed to flirt with anything as long as it stood on two legs and had a pulse. Whoever he was he also had the unnerving habit of asking extremely pertinent questions just before Jack was about to. Oh and there had been that very old guy with the very odd name, but he'd left a while back.

What Jack wanted to do was tell them all to get the hell out of there so that Carter could look at the honking big spacecraft under the hill. Ok, so it had been there for thousands of years and probably wouldn't be in great shape, but hey, you took what you could from situations like this. Any technology would be a good thing.

Unfortunately they weren't in the good old US of A. They were Britain, where they had to be diplomatic. He hated being diplomatic, it meant too much talking and not enough doing something meaningful.

"Right," the leading archaeologist, Patterson or something, was saying. "We know that we can rule out a Martian origin due to its composition, so-"

"What?" Jack asked. "Martian?"

Everyone stared at him, including Carter. "Sir, you were there when Professor Quatermass addressed us at the base when we, um, started _operations_ weren't you?"

Ah. That name rang a bell. "I think I was supposed to meet the guy, but I was busy that week." A penny dropped and he groaned slightly. "Oh. Wasn't that him earlier on today? I was, um, reading something. Didn't really listen to what he was saying that much."

The guy in the RAF coat snorted with laughter and some of the archaeologists actually rolled their eyes in disbelief. Carter being Carter, she just winced. "Sir, I'll brief you about the 1959 Hobbs Lane incident later on."

"Fine," Jack replied, glaring at various people, "You do that. Martians? Seriously?"

"Later, sir, later."

Hell. Looked like he'd missed something rather important there.

Henderson cleared his throat again. "We need to find out what this thing is, so I suggest that we sink at least three test shafts along this line," he said, pointing in a line along the spine of the hill. "We need to look for, well, an entrance. As I understand it our friends from the US Air Force are bringing along some improved equipment that might allow us to take a look at the… object, in more detail. If an entrance can be identified then all the better – we can dig towards that."

Carter raised her hand and Henderson looked over at her. "Yes, Major Carter?"

"What about the smaller anomaly in that small gully to the west?" Carter asked. "We could take a look at that whilst the scans are being carried out."

The Brit looked around the room and nodded at the responses he got back from the others. "An excellent point. Major, could you take charge of that? We'll make sure that you have sufficient archaeological assistants as you dig."

Jack stirred himself. Crap, he had to reassert himself a bit here, although he had to admit that the fishing looked damn good in some of the local rivers, Plus Scotland wasn't a million miles away. Ireland too. "Actually I'll take charge of that. Carter and I will let you know what we find there."

There was a collective moment of 'let's humour him' and then Henderson nodded at him and moved onto the next item. Jack resisted the temptation to put his head on the nearest table and fall asleep. It was at times like this that he really wished that Daniel wasn't off playing at Star Wars-related things. Then again the end result of Daniel's little extracurricular project would be incredibly useful for the SGC and especially SG-1.

He sighed. This was ridiculous. He should be back at the SGC, probably staring at a report about something that threatened to make his brain bleed. Instead, he was… sitting in a tent in Britain, about to start something that might produce results that might make his brain bleed. Oh joy.

* * *

"This is oddly easy whilst being very hard," Daniel mused as he hefted the sword in a series of stylized movements that made up his first real swordfighting exercise in the courtyard outside. "Certainly very tiring."

Lindsey grinned. "I imagine that your work with the Air Force didn't include training to use a sword then? Don't grip the pommel quite so hard."

"No, they trained us to use pistols and other firearms. Other weapons as well. Swords, not so much." He tried to relax his grip a little and frowned. It wasn't as easy as it seemed.

"The grip's important," Lindsey went on. "Too loose and your sword can be knocked out of your hand. Too tight and you're not only straining muscles that you're going to need to fight, but you might also not have sufficient give in your grip to absorb a major blow. You'll have to find what's right for you. Plus when you get your lightsabre then you'll have to change your grip again to cope with the new weapon – but this training will get you thinking the right way to eventually use your lightsabre."

"I think he needs to bend his knees a little more," said a tired voice to one side.

Lindsey looked at the looming form of Angel and smiled slightly. "I felt you coming. Everything ok?"

Angel made a vague gesture with both hands. "I… I… have no idea. Oz is just sitting there next to her, with one hand on her forehead. He's not moving and he's not talking."

Daniel winced and exchanged a look with Lindsey, who sighed. "You were there when Oz said that they weren't to be disturbed, right?"

This prompted an embarrassed shuffle of the feet from Angel. "I was just wondering how long this… healing was going to take."

"It'll take as long as it takes," Lindsey told him with a shrug. "We're talking about a very nasty disease here. You yourself said that she was dying. Not even the Force can turn that around instantly – it takes time and energy and patience. Sorry Angel, you're going to have to be patient."

The vampire with a soul growled quietly and then sat down on a nearby bench by the door that was fortunately in full shadow from the rising sun. "I hate having to be patient," he said in a highly frustrated voice. Then he looked around. "I didn't know that this place was so big."

"Xander expanded it after his uncle died," Lindsey told him as he intently watched Daniel's movements. "There's a training room in that part over there, plus another two bedrooms. Xander said that he's planning on having a small gym added to it soon."

Angel looked around and then nodded. "So who taught you to use a sword?"

"It came free with the job," Lindsey replied grimly. "Wolfram & Hart believed in all kinds of extra-curricular activities. They knew that their lawyers would never win awards for popularity. When I left I'd been signed up for a course in submachine guns."

"Sounds like you worked for a very interesting law firm," Daniel mused as he continued to swing the sword.

"No, I worked for a firm of amoral and immoral scum, run by a collection of demons who would terrify the nastier elements of the Mafia." Lindsey swallowed and looked at his feet for a moment, before looking back up fiercely. "I'll be spending the rest of my life making up for my time at Wolfram & Hart."

"I know what that feels like," Angel muttered softly. Then he stood up and walked to the door. "Let me know if you need any help. I've used quite a few swords in my time."

Lindsey nodded and then looked back at Daniel, who was now starting to sweat. "Right – second set of exercises."

* * *

If the builders of the little craft had ever been told that their handiwork would last for the time that it had – well, more or less, due to metal fatigue, rust, the weight of earth above it and the fact that even the best of alloys eventually succumb to degradation and decay – then they would have laughed. A lot.

The truth was that the craft was starting to collapse quite quickly now. A few more years and the main struts would finally lose their battle with gravity. The propulsion system had given up the ghost roughly at the same time that Jericho had become a small village. And the skeleton in the remains of the uniform made from artificial fibres had only survived this long because it had been wrapped in an oiled canvas and then had been very, very lucky, rather like the person the skeleton belonged to had been.

And now, for the first time in many thousands of years the weight of earth was starting to lessen as the spades bit into the mound around the craft. Hands started to pull away the long-dead roots that had at various points tried to get inside the craft. And eyes looked into the massively dirty and cracked windows.

The crumbling skeleton waited in the tatters that now remained of the material that had once surrounded it. Part of that material still said, albeit in letters that had long since faded beyond legibility, "Lt Lee 'Apollo' Adama". But that information was for a tale that would never now be told. At least not in detail.


	45. Poor Planning

Ok, I'm sorry! Most of this chapter was written before Christmas. Then I started a new job (Yay!) and all of a sudden I had no time at all to myself. I'm effectively in charge of an insurance website, plus I'm writing a bunch of brochures. There have been times when I've stared at the keyboard, groaned, shaken my head and gone out for a walk instead. So. here's the latest chapter. It's a bit short, but I know where the rest is. Disclaimer - I do not own any of these characters.

* * *

General George Hammond was sitting at his desk and glaring at the latest directive to emerge from the Pentagon when the phone successfully diverted him from it by ringing. "God-damn red tape," he muttered before picking it up. "Hammond."

"Good morning sir," came a cheerful voice. "Greetings from the land of singing, surprisingly good beer and not quite constant rain."

Hammond chuckled a little. "And good morning to you Colonel O'Neill. How's it going at the excavation?"

"It's proving to be an odd one, sir" replied Jack O'Neill in a more business-like tone of voice. "We definitely have two spacecraft here. We finally have some dating for the largest one – it's an Ancient vessel that seems to have landed here about 10,000 years ago."

"That seems to fit in with our knowledge of the last time the Ancients were recorded on Earth," Hammond mused.

"Yes, sir," Jack agreed. "The ship's in reasonably good condition we think, but she'll never fly again – mostly because she's been under a hill for thousands of years."

Hammond smothered a smile at the longing in Jack's voice. Oh how that man would love his very own spacecraft, preferably with his beloved 'big honking space guns'. "Does Major Carter think that any of the technology onboard can be accessed?"

"She's still looking into that sir," Jack sighed. "She thinks so, but the onboard power sources have long since been exhausted and we're using portable generators. Which reminds me sir, the Brits have a lot of people here from the RAF. Anything we take we're going to have to share – in turn they've said that they'll share what they find with us."

"The White House and Ten Downing Street are working something out now Jack. I'll keep you updated. What about the smaller craft?"

Jack hesitated. "That's the weird part sir. It's a small scout craft – seems to have had a two man crew, one pilot and what looks like an electronic warfare post. The thing is, it's a hell of a lot older than the big spacecraft."

"How much older?"

"Carter says that the doohickies they have here gives an approximate age – via Carbon-14 and so on – of about 150,000 years."

Hammond leant back in his chair. "Interesting," he said, but Jack wasn't finished.

"And the thing is, sir, it's _not_ an Ancient spacecraft."

Hammond came back upright in his chair with a thud. "It's not Ancient?"

"No sir. Carter says that the technology isn't on the same level as the Ancients."

"Then who built it?"

"We don't know sir – but we did find a body inside it. The chief Daniel here – sorry, the chief archaeologist – called in an expert and he's confirmed that the body was human. It was also wearing synthetic materials of some kind, so there's a definite link to the craft. It's going off to some top lab somewhere to be analysed by some more experts so that they can squeeze the last bits of information out of it."

"Did the craft crash, killing the pilot perhaps?"

"I asked that, but apparently not. It didn't seem to have crashed. If anything the archaeologists seem to think that the craft was deliberately buried with this guy – it's male by the way – inside it. Oh and someone seems to have wrapped him in some kind of oiled cloth. Patterson says that it looks like a burial of some kind. That kind of thinking is above my pay grade sir."

There goes Jack, thought Hammond wryly, doing himself down again. Well, if it meant that more people like Kinsey underestimated him as a result that was their problem. "Has Major Carter been able to look at the craft's propulsion systems?"

"She's cast an eye over them and is writing up a report even as I speak to you, sir. She says that there's a small reactor in it, which has long since used up its fuel, and that both the engines and the reactor have been severely corroded by time and geology down to so many degraded spare parts, but she has been able to get a rough idea of how they worked. Seems rather impressed. There's a computer as well, but that's long since given up the ghost and it would take a time machine just to retrieve scraps of information from it, let alone get it working again. Which reminds me sir, Carter is busy charring the candle at both ends again on this project and I'm going to order her to take a 24-hour break at some point today before she falls over from lack of sleep and insufficient food."

"That sounds like an excellent suggestion Jack," chuckled Hammond. "What's the plan with both craft now?"

"Well sir, the smaller one is in such bad shape that if we pulled it out of the ground and flew it to Area 51 then unless it was packed up incredibly well all they'd get would be even more of a wreck than it is now, so we're going to be carefully taking it apart and letting the RAF guys take lots of pictures and detailed notes. As for the big one, I'd love to be able to fly it over, but firstly I think that even the doziest members of the UK media would notice if a hill vanished and secondly she'll never fly again as I mentioned. I think we'll have to pick her apart and preserve as much as possible."

"I understand, Jack," Hammond muttered. "A shame, but at least we have access to them both. How long do you expect to remain there?"

"At least another three days, sir," Jack said assessingly. "There's a lot to do here."

"Take as much time as you feel you need Jack," Hammond ordered. "And if you need me to formally order Major Carter to rest, just say the word and I'll send her something that will have her saluting in her sleep."

"Much obliged sir," Jack said. "We'll be sending the first set of results over later today. I think Carter wants to make McKay jealous about what she's doing or something. O'Neill out."

"Thank you Jack," Hammond chuckled again and then replaced the receiver and then returned his gaze to the latest red-tape-infused memo. Well, back to the boring part of life.

* * *

She surfaced from a confused welter of dreams that were halfway between fever-visions and the darkest of nightmares. She was… on a bed? Something flat and relatively soft, certainly. She slowly opened her eyes, with each eyelid feeling as if someone had attached a lead weight to it, and then blinked.

She was indeed on a bed, in a room that she didn't recognise. She could see a beam of sunlight coming through a curtained window to one side. She could also a see a man, quite a young one, sitting in a chair next to the bed. He had spikey brown hair and he had lines of utter exhaustion written into his face, which would explain the fact that he was heavily asleep.

She must have made some kind of noise however, because all of a sudden the young man was awake and looking at her. "Ah," he muttered, "Good. You're awake."

"Who… who are you? Where… am I?" she croaked through a very dry mouth.

The man reached out and poured some water into a large glass, before handing it over to her carefully. "Here, drink this. Sounds like you need it."

She reached out with trembling hands to take the glass and then lifted it to her lips. It tasted like the best water she'd ever had in her life and she gulped it down thirstily. "Thank you," she panted eventually. To her surprise she felt hungry for the first time in a very long time. And less tired than before.

"My name is Oz, Darla," the man said softly. "Angel brought you here. You've been very ill, but you're getting better now."

Darla looked at him with wide eyes, before smiling and shaking her head. "I'm dying," she told him sadly. "You can't stop it. No-one can."

He looked back at her and then quirked a corner of his mouth into a half-smile. "Dying, eh? Well – you were. Dying that is. But not anymore. Do you feel hungry?"

She nodded slowly.

"I'll bring you some food. Soup I think – something you can keep down easily. Your body's been through a tremendous shock. Healing takes up a lot of energy, so you'll need rest and food."

She stared at him, feeling confused. "Healing? I'm not dying?"

"Not anymore, like I said," he smiled as he stood up and tiredly walked to the door.

"How's that possible?"

"I'm a Jedi," Oz said as he walked through the door. "We frequently do the impossible."

Jedi? She lay there on the bed and frowned in confusion. Well, on the bright side she was alive. On the negative side Angel had left her with someone who seemed to think that a fictional group of people were real. Then the frown changed slightly. She had to admit that she felt a lot better. In fact she felt, well, as if she wasn't dying as badly as she had been, if that made any sense at all. The room was wobbling a bit so she closed her eyes for just a moment, and fell asleep instantly.

* * *

"Hmmm…. I wonder if we need a new copy of this…" Giles muttered as he ran a long finger down the spine of the book. It had been opened repeatedly by students to the point where the leather was now severely cracked. Odd that a copy of the third volume of Oman's History of the Peninsular War was so popular, but the fact that Ms Hughes, the guest lecturer, was "something of a hottie" as Riley had admitted, just before a Slayer-powered elbow had almost fractured one of his ribs. There were times when Buffy really needed to be more careful.

"Hey Giles," said a voice to one side and he looked up to see Xander walking down the corridor. He looked far better than he had the last time that Giles had seen him, back in the hospital.

"Xander my boy, how are you?"

"I'm ok," he said with a smile. "I've got an interesting scar, but hopefully the doctors weren't too suspicious about how fast I healed. Came at a terrible price though."

Giles looked at him. "A price?"

"Do you have _any_ idea how awful daytime TV is?"

The Watcher chuckled to himself. "Yes, I realise how bad it can be. I saw some last month when I had that bad cold. Luckily Olivia had a supply of books for me, as otherwise I'd have done something violent to the television with a battleaxe."

Xander smiled and then sobered. "I need to talk to you and Buffy. I just had a call from Oz. He said that Angel arrived late last night at… my place in the temple, although I just almost called it the Jedi Temple. Anyway he wasn't alone. He had Darla with him."

The older man stared at him for a long moment, before he removed a pencil from his pocket and then jiggled the point in both his ears carefully. After replacing it he looked back at Xander. "I'm sorry, would you mind repeating that? It sounded as if you said that Angel had turned up with Darla."

"That's right."

"Do you mean that's what it sounded like, or was that actually what you said?"

"The latter."

"Darla."

"Yes."

"Angel's Sire."

"Yes."

"Darla the vampire."

"Yup."

"But she's dead."

"I guess that she got better."

"Xander!"

The Jedi spread his hands. "Giles, that was my reaction as well. It seems that Wolfram & Hart have been up to something in LA. I've scheduled a conference call in half an hour in your office, so we need to find Buffy."

"Too bloody right we need to find her," Giles muttered as he pulled his cellphone out and then stalked off through the bookshelves in search of a place with better reception.

Forty-five minutes later an incredulous group of people were huddled around Giles' desk as they all stared at the phone, which had been placed on its speaker setting.

"So what you're telling us," Giles said eventually as he polished his glasses distractedly, "Is that Wolfram & Hart expended an obscene amount of magic to bring back to life Darla, the vampire that sired you Angel, but who was killed by Buffy when she first came to Sunnydale."

"Yes, Giles," Angel's voice confirmed with a certain amount of grim weariness from the grill of the speaker. "That's right."

"And they did all this to subvert you?"

"I guess so. I thought I was going crazy after I caught my first few glimpses of her."

"But they brought her back as a human, not a vampire, although she still had her memories of being a vampire."

"Yes," Angel sighed.

"And she was dying of syphilis."

"For the third time, yes."

Giles put his glasses back on, drummed his fingers rapidly on the desk and then looked around at the faces of Xander, Buffy, Riley and Willow. "That has to be," he said eventually, "The stupidest plan I've heard of since I heard about that tosh about the Frisian Option in the Second World War."

"I've heard stupider," Lindsey's voice drawled from the phone. "This is Wolfram & Hart we're talking about. They don't care how much magic they throw around, they can afford it. Practicalities don't necessarily occur to them. This 'plan' has Holland Manners written all over it. Ambitious but impractical."

"Yes, it does have their sticky and inefficient fingers all over it, doesn't it?" Giles mused quietly. "Too clever for their own good or flawed by basic misunderstandings of reality." He pursed his lips thoughtfully. "Did they make any effort to stop you from leaving Los Angeles?"

"That's the odd thing," Angel said in a puzzled voice. "I know that they were following us at one point, but then they stopped. I've no idea why."

"I think I do," Xander said musingly. "You were on the road to Sunnydale right?"

"Yes," Angel admitted.

"They thought that you were coming here. And ever since Adam destroyed their office here, Wolfram & Hart have tended to leave us alone here."

"I wish that they'd leave us alone," Angel growled. "They've tried to kill or capture Faith twice now, and Doyle's had at least three visions that led to trouble far too close to home."

Xander was frowning, which was an expression that Giles had come to dread more than a bit because it tended to be quite rare.

"Guys," the Jedi said eventually, "If they realise that you didn't end up in Sunnydale then there's a good chance that they might go after you again. If they've put so much effort into this plan involving Darla, then even if you go to Sunnydale they'll try and grab her the minute you leave."

An uncomfortable silence fell. "What would they do with her?" Riley asked in a subdued voice.

"Interrogate her for more information about Angel perhaps. Or, even more dangerously, turn her again. She was The Master's right hand for more than a century, and she, Angelus, Drusilla and Spike cut a path of terror through Europe for decades. Sorry Angel, but you know dangerous she was," Giles mused.

"I know," Angel said angrily. "I have those memories of what he did. What they did. How can we protect her though? She's human. She wants nothing to do with them."

"She's under our protection for the time being," Oz said in a voice like iron. "We have four Jedi here."

"It'll be five by the end of the day," Xander broke in. "I'm coming straight out there with you. Oz you sound absolutely shattered, you need to sleep."

"Bit tired," Oz conceded.

"Sweetie, you sound like you need to sleep for a week," Willow said.

"Well, you don't do that kind of healing every day," he replied with an audible yawn at the end.

Xander and Buffy exchanged a long-suffering look accompanied by a roll of the eyes.

"Well, you need to be here for the next stage of the training anyway," Lindsey said over the speaker. "How's your shoulder?"

"Fully healed. A proper Jedi healing trance finished it all off without any doctors or nurses getting suspicious. I'll be good to help train, and to stand guard."

"You really think they might try and get her back?" Buffy said, startled.

Giles drummed his fingers briefly on the table and then looked at Xander with no small degree of respect. "I concur," he said. "We can't take any chance and I really think that Wolfram & Hart might be bold enough and stupid enough to try it. Yes, they might realise that you haven't gone to Sunnydale and therefore you're not under the protection of Buffy and the rest of us, and so might mount a raid to get Darla back. The question is, will they wonder why you didn't go to Sunnydale and then draw the correct conclusion from the fact that you diverted?"

"I wouldn't bet any money on them being smart," Lindsey said grimly. "I'll have a scout around the compound now. I'll see you soon Master." There was the sound of a door opening and closing.

"Ok, Lindsey's worrying. It's been a while since he called me that," mused Xander. "Angel, check on Darla. Oz, get some sleep. Have Rebecca and Daniel run some training exercises. Speaking of them, how are they doing?"

"Doing well," Oz said wearily. "They're almost ready for the next stage, like Lindsey said."

"Joy, a trip to that tunnel with the gems in it again. I keep feeling as if I'm stuck in a bad movie down there." Xander shook his head and then looked around at the others in the room with him. "Anything else to add, guys?"

"Just that our new commanding officer turns up tomorrow," Riley said with a sigh. "I don't know who he or she is, but I just hope that they break the Initiative's curse."

"I wouldn't describe it as a curse," Giles replied carefully as he cleaned his glasses. "More as… an unfortunate combination of circumstances."

"Giles, Walsh was building demon-robot-human hybrid, Finch was an undercover whatever the hell he was for the Government and Lam was a member of a secret society whose uniform consisted of chainmail. I know that the Initiative isn't exactly an ordinary, orthodox part of the U.S. Armed Forces, but so far we've been setting the unorthodox bar pretty high."

"You, ah, might have a point there," Giles conceded as he slipped his glasses back on.

* * *

"They're where?" Lilah asked incredulously as she stared at the speakerphone. "And how sure are you about this?"

"Ms Morgan, I am 100% sure that they're in a building on the edge of the desert, about two hours away from LA and about an hour from Sunnydale. The place is a bit remote – I'm sending you the GPS co-ordinates right now." The voice of Grant, Lilah's mole on what Holland so quaintly thought was his devoted and 100% loyal team of former Navy SEALs, drawled from the phone.

Now this was interesting. It was typical of that worm Manners to take his eye off the ball like that. Or to seem to have, anyway. "You're obviously not with the others then."

"No, they went back to LA ma'am. I'm in the reserve car and I had a flat tire. As I was changing it I checked out the GPS signal from the tracer we put on the car. It went off the highway and then it stopped about 14 minutes later at its current location. I'm looking at the place now from besides an old barn."

"Describe it," she ordered.

"Two buildings in an 'L'-shape. The older part looks like it has two floors. The newer part – and it looks very new indeed, can't be more than about three or four months old – looks like it has a gym in it. There's a wall around it, also very new, and a gate. At least two cars inside. I've seen at least four people so far."

"I see," Lilah said thoughtfully. She thought very hard and very fast before reaching a conclusion. "Get in touch with your team leader. Tell him that after you replaced your flat tire you turned the tracker back on again and saw that the target wasn't going to Sunnydale after all. Give your location and then send me updates when you can. I think that Holland Manners will soon become aware of what's going on."

"Yes ma'am," came the crisp response and the phone went dead.

Lilah flipped her phone closed and then leant back in her chair, her eyes narrowed in thought. Then she shrugged and stood up. Time to see what that silly old fool was doing. The best way to get someone at Wolfram & Hart to doom themselves was to feed them plenty of rope and then watch them hang themselves. When it came to Holland Manners she'd even bring popcorn and a lawnchair.

* * *

"What the hell's going on?" Riley asked Forrest as he watched the scurrying agents around him from their vantage point by the main entrance to the Initiative.

"No idea," his friend replied. "Looks like a panic to me. Question is, a panic about what?"

"At least they've repaired the damage to the floor from Xander and Glory's fight." Riley observed, before catching sight of the third member of his team. "Hey Graham! What's going on?"

"New CO arrives in exactly 40 minutes," Graham told them curtly. "Everyone's getting the place ready."

"Shit," Forrest cursed as they all strode off down the halls. "The armoury was supposed to be getting in a new supply shipment today. I'll check that everything's ok there."

"Thanks Forrest. Graham, check the kitchens. If the new CO is one of those people who always starts by inspecting there, then we need to make sure everything scrubbed down and ready. I'll check the main supply department. Meet back at the main entrance in 20 minutes. If you need to draft anyone to finish a job, do it. Do we even know the name of the new CO?"

He got two shrugs in response. "Great, looks like someone further up the food chain's getting cute with us. Let's go people!"

* * *

Holland Manners was drumming his fingers on the table again. Lilah watched him with an attentive look on her face that masked the sneering contempt that she was feeling inside. He really was getting past his sell-by date. The man was considering authorising a simple retrieval raid, not agonising over rocket science. Or something like rocket science anyway.

To the other side Gavin Park was visibly having trouble not opening his mouth and saying something incredibly stupid. Poor Gavin. The man didn't have much of a future – her vision of the future had shown her a very satisfactory image of his lifeless body – and even if whatever the hell was coming didn't come, then his impatience, arrogance and stupidity would probably kill him at some point. Holland Manners knew that people were eyeing his chair and wondering what it felt like. His usual response to any machinations was to have people shot, if possible in front of a lot of people as a very messy object lesson.

She idly wondered what Holland was planning for her. It was bound to be sneaky and unpleasant, but that was fine, she could handle him. Her lightsabre was always up her sleeve, just in case.

She returned her attention to Holland and was astonished to see a fine sheen of sweat on his face as he glared at the speakerphone in front of them all. On the other end of the line was an attentive flunkey who obviously knew that repeating his request for more orders would earn him a 9mm bullet between the eyes, or something even worse.

"You're sure that Harris isn't in the building?" Holland asked in a slightly strained voice.

"Yes sir," came the calm response.

"Very well, expedite."

"Yes sir," said the flunkey who was standing not too far from the perimeter of the buildings where Darla was. "Sunset in 35 minutes. We'll launch the retrieval once we get full dark an hour after that."

This should be fun, Lilah thought maliciously. She was getting an odd vibe in the Force that spoke of trouble ahead. Well… trouble for Holland.


	46. Interesting Results

Apologies again people - I've been insanely busy this year, plus I've had other writing projects. Hopefully 2013 will be better. Happy Christmas!

* * *

The standard Wolfram & Hart makeup of their security teams were set in stone, for reasons that had possibly been lost in the depths of time. Two groups of three men, backed up by a reserve unit of four men. Why those numbers – well, who knew anymore? It was tradition. It was the way that it was done. People like Karl Bracken, who had recently retired at long last after so many years had wondered about it, complained about it and then finally shrugged their shoulders and acquiesced to it.

The team that was going in to get Darla was a standard team. It was also a very successful team, one of Holland's favourites, the boys who had pulled off more covert ops for the Vice-President of Special Projects than anyone else had in the company. They were the guys who had infiltrated that demon's nest in Sacramento and left the head of the local demon clan neatly dismembered and stuck onto various walls and ceilings with crazy glue. They were the guys who had once taken on a rogue half-demon warlord who'd forgotten who had been protecting him, and reduced his hideout to a smoking hole in the ground. And they were the guys who had once faced down an operative from the Order of Taraka and told him to go do something anatomically impossible to himself and then lived to tell the tale.

So getting a deathly ill former vampire from a house by the desert that was owned by some college-age kid was going to be a doddle, even if that house also contained that damn meddlesome vampire with a soul. Well, they had crucifixes and tasers for him. Holy water and incendiary ammunition would have been better, but orders were orders.

John Hartmann took point, as he always did. He normally welcomed it as it meant that he could call the shots. Today he didn't. He had a bad feeling about this place. He didn't know why and he certainly didn't like that feeling.

They went over the wall – the gate would have been a bit too obvious – and then re-orientated themselves and went for the nearest entrance, the large double-doored archway that they'd eyeballed from the hill overlooking the property. The doors were open – which made him a bit suspicious but he had no doubt that they could handle anything.

As they parted to press themselves against the walls to either side of the doorway, Hartmann pulled out a flashbang. The moment that he saw that everyone was in position he pulled the pin, threw the flashbang in through the doorway and hunched away from the opening, closing his eyes and opening his mouth to mitigate the worst impact of what was about to happen. One-one hundred, two-one hundred, three-one hundred, four one-hundred….. five one-hundred? Six one-hundred?

He opened his eyes again and turned towards the doorway in puzzlement. It was at that moment that something clunked against his helmet. Looking up he saw the flashbang hanging in the air in front of him. Smoke was hissing from the top of it. He had just enough time to close his eyes and flinch his head down before it went off like the crack of doom itself.

The world went very bright, as well as very loud. He never worked out afterwards how long he really spent on the ground shaking his head. It felt like an hour and a half, but he knew that it couldn't have been more than about thirty seconds. _How the hell did they do that?_ was his first thought, followed by _Jesus Christ, how long until those pinwheels of light stop spiralling across my eyeballs?_

As soon as he could however, he was back on his feet and staring around at the others, who were all showing similar signs of having been whacked on the back of the head with a four by four. "In," he shouted muzzily and then brought up his gun and went through the door. Or at least he tried to, because something grabbed him and then threw him straight back into the others. They all went sprawling and as he tried to get to his feet again and raise his gun he caught sight of a grim-faced man with longish hair who was standing in the doorway and who then flicked a hand at him. To his astonishment he felt his gun jerk out of his hand and fly off somewhere in a parabola to land somewhere behind him.

_Magic?_ he thought desperately, followed by _Shit. We didn't bring anyone who can handle magic._ But then there were ways to deal with mages. He reached down to his boot and pulled his favourite knife out. And then he launched himself at the mage. If the mage didn't have a throat, then he couldn't say another spell and problem solved.

The mage looked at him and then smiled slightly as he flicked a hand again. Hartmann tightened his grip on the knife desperately but it still slipped through his fingers like a bar of wet soap and thunked into the wall above his head.

_Fine, we'll do it old school,_ he thought and then tried to rush the mage. He took three steps and then all of a sudden he was flying through the air again, before hitting the ground in the shadows by a doorway hard enough to shake him to the bone. As he struggled to regain his senses he saw the reserve team come around the corner. Kerrigan was leading them and he had his favourite Heckler & Koch up in a firing position and the moment that he saw the mage he let off a three-round burst.

But somehow the mage had sensed their arrival because somehow he was moving before the bullets left the barrel of the gun. _Christ,_ Hartmann thought, _how can anyone move that damn fast? _And then it got worse, because the mage ran straight at a wall and then leapt up it at a speed that was almost too fast to see. As he reached the top he flicked a hand again and all of a sudden the reserve team also went sprawling, with more than a few grunts of surprise.

_Got to get up, I have to get up, _Hartmann thought desperately but then as he got to his feet the door opened and someone grabbed him by the scruff of his neck and pulled him through. He had just enough time to see the distorted face of a male vampire before a fist hit him on the side of the head and knocked him clean out.

* * *

Daniel looked at the neat row of unconscious bodies and then shook his head in puzzlement. "You know, this hardly seemed fair."

This earnt him a bark of laughter from Lindsey, who was binding the hands of the last of the raiders. "Oh believe me Daniel, they weren't going to play fair themselves." He stood up and wiped his hands off on a piece of rag as if they were dirty from touching the men. "I recognise a few of these guys. They worked for Wolfram & Hart's special operations teams. If they were here after Darla then I think that they're still working for my old and massively unlamented company." He shot a caustic look at them. "I know that they've got their hands not dipped in blood but drenched in it. They're not the kind of people to ever use minimal force. No, they'd kill first and apologise never."

"Then let's find out for sure why they're here," Oz said quietly as he walked up. He'd taken care of the third group of men when they'd tried to enter the main building from the West. Like the others they'd thrown a flashbang and had been armed to the teeth. Like the others it hadn't done them a damn bit of good. "Let's see know…. That one I think."

Daniel looked at the man that Oz was pointing to. He was a thick-set individual who looked as if he'd been shaving with a piece of glass for most of his adult life. Reaching out with the Force he dragged him closer and then grabbed him by his chest webbing and pulled his torso up, his head lolling.

"Wake up," he told him and slightly to his surprise (he still had to work on that) the man's eyes opened suddenly. "Who sent you?"

The man gaped at him for a moment. "Wolfram and Hart," he said eventually. Daniel suppressed a sudden thought about Obi-Wan Kenobi telling a group of Stormtroopers that these weren't the 'Droids they were looking for, and then smiled slightly. "Why did they send you here?"

"To... retrieve Darla." Daniel looked up at the others – the shadows had lengthened enough to allow enough shade for Angel to join them, whilst Rebecca had been able to leave her post on the East wing.

"As we suspected," Lindsey muttered, scratching his chin as he did. "Why though?"

"Orders from… above. She is… an asset."

"If she is an asset then why didn't you try to take her before?"

"We're not allowed to go… to Sunnydale. Too… dangerous."

Lindsey flickered an eyebrow up and down. "Aha," he said delicately. Then: "Who _exactly_ sent you here?"

"Holland Manners."

Lindsey smiled a very thin smile. "My ex-boss. What a surprise." He looked at the man. "Sleep."

As the Wolfram & Hart man slumped back in to sleep, Lindsey looked at the others. "I think we need to have a word with Xander."

* * *

There was a certain amount of tension in the air in the Initiative, which was only understandable given that the new C.O. was in the building. Apparently he'd entered without any fanfare at all, which meant that he was either someone who wanted to see the basics from the start or he was a sneaky bastard. Given the recent run of C.O.s, Riley had his money on the latter.

He was therefore just a little on edge waiting for the arrival of whoever the hell it was. Hopefully everything was perfect on the base, because if something was wrong somewhere then by the laws that governed all such visits by superior officers, the new guy would find it/slip on it/fall over it. Riley had inspected the main armoury carefully but quickly, before making sure that the cells were all in order. The last thing they wanted was an HST breaking out at the wrong time. Ok, so that hadn't happened since Adam's little visit, but the thought of it was still enough to make him break out into a cold sweat.

Riley looked at his watch again and then frowned. The new C.O. should be due about now, but so far there was no sign of him. Perhaps he was late, which would give them more time to make sure that everything was ok. "Is there anything at all we've forgotten?" he hissed at Forrest, who frowned in concentration.

"I don't think so," Forrest muttered. "I think that-" A wall phone trilled and he answered it. "Agent Gates." Then he paled. "When? Where is he now? Right…. Ok…. Yes, thank you." Placing the phone back on the socket he turned to Riley. "That was Graham. He's here now. He arrived ten minutes ago and told the gate guards not to let anyone know that he was here. He wants you to join him now."

"Where?" Riley asked, his stomach sinking to just south of his big toe.

"The kitchens. Apparently he said that the place that showed the true character of an installation, whatever the hell that means."

Riley paused for a moment. That sounded awfully like…. Nah, it couldn't be. "Do we at least know what our new C.O.'s name is?"

"Graham didn't say. Not sure why. You'd better hustle – I'll check the infirmary just to be on the safe side."

"Goddamn it, why can't life ever be simple in this place," Riley muttered as he hustled away.

* * *

Xander looked at the speakerphone and then raised an eyebrow thoughtfully. "Interesting," he said eventually after those at the Jedi Temple (kind of) finished speaking. "Sithspit. What the hell were they thinking?"

"I think that Holland Manners is acting like a fairly typical Wolfram & Hart senior executive," Giles said in a tone so dry that it could have mummified an elephant. "He expects reality to conform with his wishes. Sadly for him life seldom works that way."

"I concur with Giles," Lindsey said over the phone. "Holland's not a man who likes to be balked. He tends to think that an obstacle is something that can be hammered flat and then ignored. He's also possibly the most ambitious man I've ever met. Wolfram & Hart spent a huge amount of magic to pull Darla back from the dead. That makes her an asset in their eyes – not a person, a piece on the board. Getting her back would boost Holland's position in the eyes – if some of them have any – of the Senior Partners."

"So this lot of muffins thought that they could grab her from your location as it wasn't Sunnydale – which they'd been banned from entering?" Giles mused thoughtfully. "Right. I, I think that whilst Darla is extremely safe with you, it might be best if you got Darla to Sunnydale as soon as possible. Otherwise Mr Manners might try something even more stupid."

"That's a good point," Xander agreed. "Angel, can you and Oz get her to us tonight?"

"That should be ok, but she's still very weak," Oz replied. "That said, I can place her in a Jedi healing trance for the journey. I think that she'll need to be looked at by a doctor that we can trust though. I'm improving all the time at healing, but syphilis is not something I want to take any chances with."

"I think I know who to go to," Giles muttered, before he rubbed at his eyes tiredly. "I think that we also need to send a message to Wolfram & Hart. In the good old days this would have been on the lines of sending the severed heads of the raiding party back to the nearest Wolfram & Hart lair, but I imagine that you'd like to do it more politely Xander?"

"Sadly, I would," Xander grinned. "Did any of them have a cellphone on them?"

"Several did," Lindsey said. "I take it that we're going to call Holland Manners?"

"Yes, we certainly are. Can you patch me into it?"

"Should do," Lindsey mused. "What are we going to say?"

"Mr Manners will have to stop playing with things that don't belong to him," Xander said grimly.

* * *

By the time that Riley got to the kitchens the new C.O., whoever the hell he was, had moved on, leaving behind him a slightly stunned Warrant Officer who was scrubbing his already spotless pots in a rather demented fashion when Riley arrived. "Slight carbonisation in one corner sir," the WO said, followed by: "He's gone to the infirmary – said for you to follow him."

Grimacing, Riley strode off down the corridor, went up a flight of stairs and then went down two more corridors before arriving at the infirmary, where he could see a knot of people clustered around a desk. They looked a bit worried and as Riley approached he could see why – man in a marine's uniform with the shoulder insignia of a Brigadier-General. Then he caught sight of the man's face and he blinked in astonishment. It couldn't be. Just before he could open his mouth the man looked up, caught sight of Riley and smiled slightly. "Agent Finn, good to see you again."

It was Tom McDermott, the guy who'd done more to build the Initiative than anyone else and right up until the incident with a supply van, a murdered man, at least one vampire and unless he missed his guess Xander Harris, the man who should have been the first commanding officer of the Initiative. Riley blinked again, drew himself to attention and then saluted hastily, a salute that was returned by his new C.O. before he turned back to what he had been doing before Riley arrived – perusing a folder full of papers that seemed to be displeasing him.

General McDermott glared at the head doctor there – Sam Collins, a man whom Riley had had very little time for since their first meeting due to his tendency to be a stubborn idiot who didn't listen to advice – and handed over a file. "I expect better from you in the future, Dr. Collins," he barked at him and then stood. "Agent Finn, a word with you in my office. I need to brief you about a few things."

"Yes sir," said Riley and then walked after McDermott as he swept out of the room.

"You've done a good job keeping this place running in the absence of a commanding officer," the new head of the Initiative muttered as he strode down the corridor like a force of nature, looking, peering, scowling and generally making people salute hastily and then go about their business faster than before.

"I did my best sir," Riley replied carefully. "Luckily it's been quite quiet recently."

"I know, I read the latest files on my way over. Sorry to sneak in on you, but I've always found that it tends to get you a more accurate look at a place than you might otherwise get when everyone's busy standing at attention in the main entrance and blinding a new C.O. with how great their shoes have been polished." He smiled wryly. "Some of the scientists still aren't too good at that, are they?"

"Not really sir," Riley said, smiling back. They went around a corner and then into McDermott's office, where the latter stalked over to his desk, muttered something about getting pictures of the wife and kids set up and then sank into his chair with a sigh.

"Close the door Riley," he said. As the door shut he then gestured to a chair in front of the desk. "And take a seat."

As Riley sat he studied the older man carefully. There were a few extra lines around the corner of his eyes and a little grey in the hair at his temples, but he seemed the same man. On the surface, anyway.

"First things first Riley, I'm confirming you as my second in command. Like I said earlier you've done a damn good job running this place not once but twice, so I'd be a fool not to keep you on. I've read the files on what's been happening here, and I'm pleased that you've lived up to the potential that your C.O. in Fort Bragg told me that you had. "

McDermott sighed slightly and then leant forwards and clasped his hands together on the desk in front of him. "So – cards on the table Riley. I'm not just here to command this installation, I'm also here to conduct a study into its continued viability. I've been told to look into the question of whether or not this place should be shut down."

This wasn't the total bolt out of the blue that it might have been, and Riley nodded sombrely. "I was expecting something like this sir," he said sounding a bit shaken. "The past few years have been… interesting."

A snort emerged from McDermott's nose. "I see you haven't lost your taste for understatement. Director Walsh was killed by her own creation, the FUBAR over that mass break-out attempt by Adam rocked the NID down to its very foundation, the Pentagon sent in some kind of investigator who answered to the President himself and your last C.O. turned out to be a nut in chainmail who was trying to avenge his dead family and who almost triggered the Initiative's self-destruct. That's about as interesting as you can get and still be alive." Then he shot Riley a shrewd look. "Oh and you're also dating the Vampire Slayer."

Finding himself turning slightly pink Riley stiffened in his chair. "With all due respect sir that's-"

"None of my business, I know. Still, it does illustrate the fact that things here have not exactly gone as first planned, have they?"

Which was a good point and Riley found himself nodding in acknowledgement. "That's true sir."

McDermott sighed and leant back in his chair. "Despite that, you've done some great work here – your intervention stopped Adam's breakout from being a total bloodbath and the amount of information on HSTs has increased tenfold, giving us a far better idea about just what's out there.

"That said, there are some at the Pentagon who want this place mothballed or even shut down completely. Some say that the Initiative has served its original purpose, that of collecting information on HSTs. Others claim that there's a curse on the place – and no I'm not joking. I even talked to one religious nut from the Air Force who claims that everything that comes out of here is 100 per cent bullshit, because God would never allow such things to happen, which should give you a frightening glimpse into the mindset of some of the assholes who are running about in the Pentagon at the moment."

Riley winced and then looked up at McDermott. "Sir, we're still doing good work here. And I'd like to stress that we've discovered that this town is placed over a Hellmouth. I know that there are some in the Pentagon who won't believe that, but given everything that's happened here over the past few years I can't see how they can deny that at the very least this is a place where bad things happen."

There was a pause whilst McDermott looked at him carefully, before nodding. "A very good point Riley." He sighed. "And one that I've pointed out several times to various people. I guess that I'll have to make it again. I won't lie to you Riley, I really will conduct an in-depth investigation into whether or not the Initiative is a project that has run its course. But at the same time I intend to give you every opportunity to fight your corner. Especially as you seem to have links to some quite extraordinary people here in Sunnydale – including the guy who defeated Glory. I know that a lot of the security tapes of that battle were blank afterwards thanks to Lam's meddling, but enough small pieces remained to give me an idea. And by the way I've been read into the SGC program, which you're not cleared for but which I know that a certain Mr Xander Harris has helped out with."

Some of the tension resting on Riley's shoulders eased a little. "Does the NID know about him sir?"

"Not as far as I know, so hopefully not at all."

"He's saved I don't know how many lives so far."

"Then hopefully he'll go on doing so." McDermott leant forwards again. "We have a lot to do, Riley."

"Yes sir," he grinned. "Can do."

* * *

Holland didn't look nervous as he sat at his desk and stared out at the night lights of LA. He knew that from his reflection on the impressively large window opposite him. Unfortunately inside he felt nervous. It wasn't a feeling that he was familiar with when it came to things that weren't related to the Senior Partners, who were normally the things that made him nervous enough to want to be sick.

The team that he'd sent in to get Darla were now more than an hour overdue. This was not, by any means, normal. It was enough to worry him and that was not something that he liked at all. For a moment he was tempted to drum his fingers on his desk. However, even though there were no underlings nearby he suppressed it. If he couldn't school himself into not showing emotion when he was on his own then he'd never be able to do it when he was dealing with his idiot underlings.

He shot a quick glare at the phone. Perhaps… no, he shouldn't do it. Ringing a team when they were in the middle of a job was a no-no. If they'd been delayed by some unknown factor, if they'd encountered something new, well then he'd have to wait a bit longer.

It was at this point that his phone rang. His eyes snapped down at the display on it. "Hartmann" it said and he relaxed slightly as he picked up the receiver. "This is Manners. I take it that you have her?"

A chuckle answered his question, a chuckle from a voice that he'd heard before but which wasn't form anyone he employed. "I'm sorry Holland, but your people don't have Darla. Instead we have them."

Holland froze in his seat for a split second before gathering his wits. "Who is this?"

"This is Xander Harris, Holland. You know, the guy whose property you just sent your people into, in a totally futile attempt to grab a woman who has no desire to have anything at all to do with Wolfram & Hart at all."

Harris. It was Harris. Crap. Holland licked what were suddenly very dry lips and then he leant forwards slightly. "Mr Harris. What exactly are you accusing me of?"

"I'm not accusing you of anything Holland. I just know full well that you sent a team into my property to try and snatch Darla. Luckily some friends of mine were there at the time, so I'm not very sorry to say that your people failed utterly." His voice had become still and emotionless – and Holland swallowed nervously and wished to hell that he hadn't listened to Lilah and sent that team in.

"Say hello to – what's your name again?"

"John Hartmann," said a voice that sounded as if it was speaking from a different location and slightly against his will.

"We do have you and your entire team, Mr Hartmann?"

"Yes, you do." There was a click and then Harris spoke again.

"We'll be sending them back to you – alive of course, we're Jedi, not Sith – but I have to warn you again – do not meddle in our business. We may not be quick to anger, but we can be subtle and above all we dislike evil. Perhaps you should remember that, given that Wolfram & Hart seems to be about as evil as anything I can think of."

Holland moistened what suddenly seemed to be very dry lips. "I see," he said, thinking desperately quickly. "Is that all, or is there anything else?"

"Just this – Darla is under our protection. If you send someone after her we will protect her to the very best of our ability. You can take that to the bank Holland. I'd advise that you and the rest of Wolfram & Hart stay well away from her. Do you understand?"

The arid lips had made a return. "I understand," Holland said.

"Good, because we're likely to be far nicer than Buffy would be. I'd stay away from Sunnydale as well. Goodbye Holland. I hope we never speak again." And then the phone went dead.

Holland replaced the receiver and then stared at it as if it was a poisonous snake. He had the feeling that he'd just received the most important warning of his life and he wiped the sweat off his face with a suddenly shaking hand. Perhaps it was time to go home. That or get blind drunk. Perhaps both?

* * *

"You went a bit easy on him," Lindsey grumped slightly at the speakerphone after Hartmann had been taken away. The Wolfram & Hart team would be taken back to their vehicles later and told in no uncertain terms to go back to LA and never bother them again.

"I know," Xander replied quietly. "I had a sudden feeling via the Force that Holland Manners is in deep, deep trouble. I'm not sure why. I might meditate about it. Anyway – brief me on how everything's been going in the meantime."

* * *

"I wonder who he was?"

She looked up from the fascinating (if incredibly old) computer system. Lieutenant Jennifer Hailey was looking at the seat that the corpse had been sitting in with a quizzical look on her face.

"I don't I think we'll ever know," Sam said with a certain measure of sadness in her voice. She didn't say it out loud, but she occasionally wondered if that would be her fate – a crash on an alien planet, unmarked, unnoticed and unknown.

"Sad," Hailey muttered and Sam could do nothing but nod in agreement. Then she heard the sound of feet being stomped down the corridor and she grinned slightly. It sounded like the footsteps of a pissed-off Canadian and that could only mean one person.

As the footsteps entered her office she raised a hand and waved. "Hi Rodney."

There was a moment of nonplussed silence and then: "How the hell did you know it was me?"

"Oh just a hunch," she replied. "How can I help you?"

"I see you're looking at that computer," Rodney McKay muttered. "Any joy with it?"

"Not a lot," Sam sighed, "It's old and it's been buried in a hill in one of the rainiest parts of Wales for tens of thousands of years. Even though the spacecraft had kept its integrity it's still not looking good."

Rodney walked up to it and then peered at the ancient components. "Ah," he said eventually. "No, you're right. That doesn't look good. Basic corrosion will have ruined most of it. Are there any solid-state components? I mean, the Goa'uld and the Ancients used crystals."

"No such luck here," Sam said with a shake of her head. "These are quite advanced computer components, but they're still made from some kind of synthetic polymer like plastic that just wasn't designed to last this long. We scanned everything in situ where we found it, we've been incredibly careful with everything, but it's all still so brittle. It can fall to pieces if you're not incredibly careful."

"Umph," Rodney grunted as he looked closely at the nearest component. "So advanced but not Ancient or Goa'uld. And how old is it again?"

"Around 150,000 years," Sam sighed. "Give or take ten thousand years either side of that figure."

"So that complicates all our theories about everything here. Again." He looked about again. "Still no Dr Jackson?"

"Daniel's still training," she replied patiently.

"Training to be what, Ma'am?" Hailey asked, puzzled.

"A Jedi," Sam answered.

Hailey blinked several times. "This place is so weird at times," she muttered.

"Hey, I told you that the SGC would be a challenge," Sam grinned at her. Then she looked at Rodney, who was being uncharacteristically quiet. "You ok Rodney?"

"Just thinking about the age of this thing," the Canadian muttered with a frown on his face. "It reminds me of… hmmm, I wonder where she is now?"

Sam frowned. "Where who is now?"

To her surprise Rodney blushed slightly. "Oh," he said in a bad attempt at sounding casual, "Someone I knew when I was doing some advanced physics work after University. Helen Keeler. She was studying paleo-archaeology – a post graduate course. She and I had this… thing."

"Thing?" Sam repeated, a smile stealing over her face. "What kind of… thing?"

Rodney's blush deepened. "Oh this whole living together thing that might have led to a… ring thing if I hadn't made a few mistakes. But the thing is that she was studying ancient human cultures and she told me that she'd discovered some… anomalies. "

This really got Sam's attention, because she straightened up and stared at him. "What kind of anomalies?"

"Well, if I remember correctly she was talking about anomalous pieces of apparently worked metal and other things that had been discovered in parts of Africa and North America that dated to roughly the same time. She was writing her thesis on it. Well, she was writing it until I, um, intervened."

"You intervened?"

Rodney stared at the wall, still slightly pink. "It was at about the same time that a certain Daniel Jackson was apparently committing academic suicide by claiming that the Ancient Egyptians didn't build the pyramids. I told her that her thesis might not be coming at exactly the best time. I might not have been exactly… tactful."

Sam looked at him again. Knowing Rodney and his tact shortfall now, she shuddered to think what he might have been like a decade or so before. "So what happened?"

"She ended up doing her thesis on some back-up research she had about cave paintings in Spain. Got excellent marks for it."

"And her other research?"

"As far as I know she kept it. After we, well, parted ways I heard that she ended up working for some roving department of the British Museum."

This sounded oddly familiar to Sam, who frowned. "Doing what exactly?"

"I don't know," Rodney said with a shrug. "Recovering odd artefacts I think. Why?"

That now sounded extremely familiar to Sam and she turned and grabbed for the phone. "I think I need to talk to Rupert Giles. If your friend works for who I think she works for, then he might be able to get in touch with her. We need to see that research of hers. I think it might help us."

* * *

The Beast paused and looked upwards. It had gotten a bit turned around on its way here, and had wasted two days having a pleasantly invigorating swim in the magma chamber under Long Valley, before heading Westwards again.

It had arrived. This was the spot that The Voice had told the Beast about. Now it just needed to head upwards. Upwards to fulfil its destiny. Once it arrived back on the surface The Voice would surely speak to it again. And even if it didn't – there would be blood aplenty to sake the thirst of the Beast. It grinned and struck up.


	47. Death of a Beast

This chapter has been the bane of my life. I started it in January and it slowly grew. Then I made the mistake of storing it on a USB stick so I could work on it in Oregon. Where I got caught in a rain shower. So that the jeans I was wearing had to be placed in a dryer. And guess where I was storing the USB stick? 5,000 words down the drain. Anyway here it finally is. Disclaimer - I do not own these characters.

* * *

Lilah Morgan hummed slightly to herself as she parked her car in the cavernous expanse that was Wolfram & Hart's underground car park. She got out, extracted her briefcase and then made for the lists in the corner that would take her up to the main lobby, from where she would complete the rest of her commute up to her office.

She was, she had to admit, in a very good mood indeed. The disaster at Harris's place had knocked Holland Manners back on his feet and undermined his authority a fair bit. Which was such a shame. Oh wait, perhaps not.

The lift dinged and she swept out of it into the main lobby, which was of course filled with people. As she passed through the crowd she watched them dispassionately. They reminded her of ants at times – rushing from A to B, and then on to C, forgetting that their activities were, on the whole, ultimately fruitless. The Senior Partners were running things – or at least from a distance – and they were the real threat to her.

That said, the lower ranking people could still be annoying as hell and she reminded herself to arrange a nasty accident for one Gavin Park, who had been making a nuisance of himself recently in the massively mistaken belief that he was better than she was. She pursed her lips for a second in thought as she waited for the lift. An amusing but fatal accident perhaps. The man could be such a child at times.

She stepped into the lift, waited as the riff-raff filled it around her, noted dryly that someone else was going to her floor as the relevant button was lit and then waited as the lift ascended. This was the dull part of the day. She got to go higher up the building than most, but those who rode with her to her level made the foolish assumption that they were on the same level – so to speak – as she was. She knew better.

When she got off at her level she was frowning slightly. She'd felt a certain… something in the air. A tremor in the Force. Not much, but enough to raise the hairs on the back of her neck just a fraction. As she entered her office she closed the door behind her, shrugged off her jacket and then sat in her chair. As she waited for her computer to boot up she closed her eyes for a moment and embraced the Force, seeking out that strange tremor…

A short succession of images flashed through her mind. A red-brown creature, a demon of some kind, rising from the ground. The same creature rampaging through the halls of the Wolfram & Hart building. Dead bodies everywhere, those of Wolfram & Hart employees. Oh look, one of them was Gavin Park. What a shame. Still, it meant that she wouldn't have to waste any time planning to kill the little slimebag.

Lilah opened her eyes and then smiled a very wide and savage smile. Something wicked this way came. What an opportunity.

* * *

Sam probed gently and carefully at the ancient computer core and then withdrew her hand very slowly. Hmmm. The chip she was holding in the small tweezers in her hand didn't look too bad at all. She'd scan it first, from all angles and then examine any findings and then, perhaps, connect it up to an isolated computer and see if she could recover anything from it.

The findings from the inspection of the hyperdrive were apparently going rather better. Hyperdrives tended to be solid-state pieces of machinery and this one had been either very well maintained or built by the luckiest people ever.  
She put the chip down very gently and then looked up with a frown as the phone rang insistently. Sighing, she answered it. "Carter."

"Ah, hi there Sam," Rodney said on the other end of the line. "Look, I just got a message from Helen Keeler. Apparently she's travelling over to the States on business, so she can talk to us about those anomalies she discovered when she was writing the first version of her thesis. I've talked to Hammond and he's arranging a visitors pass or something for her."

"Good," Sam replied. Then she frowned slightly. Rodney sounded a bit… odd. "Rodney, are you ok?"

"I'm fine Sam, absolutely fine." There was a slight pause. "Well, no, I'm not fine. It's the first time I've seen her in years and the last time we met it didn't exactly go very well – she told me that I was an arrogant, domineering twit with delusions of adequacy. Then she said something even worse – that the theory I was working on at the time – a quite elegant piece of work even though I say so myself – was full of holes due to some niggling little… factual problems."

"Really," Sam asked as she bent over the equipment again whilst smothering a smile. Oh the horror – someone calling Rodney up on one of his theories. "So, what kind of factual problems?"

Rodney coughed in a way that probably meant that he was going slightly red. "Oh, just something I um, worked out eventually," he snapped a bit abruptly. Then he caught her rather pointed silence. "Ok, ok, she had a point, it was elegant but unworkable due to certain… facts."

Sam grinned and then straightened up. "So, when does she fly in?"

This simple question bought her a slight pause from Rodney. "She didn't say. Odd that. She just said that she was going to arrive at the main entrance at 3pm. She seemed… very intent. She used to be a bit more relaxed."

She looked at the wall and then shrugged. "Ok, well I guess that we're talking to her in the upper levels then?"

"What? Oh, yes. I talked to Major Davis and he booked us a room in NORAD." He sounded a bit shifty. "You know, she's going to ask about that. About what I'm doing here and what it has to do with archaeology."

Sam smiled impishly at the phone and then turned her attention back to the artefact. "I'm sure that you'll think of something."

This bought him a splutter from the Canadian scientist. "Oh, thank you very much indeed!"

"Any time Rodney, any time."

* * *

Xander parked the van with his usual care and then opened the door and got out and stretched. It had been quite an odd day. It wasn't every day that you drove to the Jedi Temple (well, sort of), picked up the dazed members of the Wolfram & Hart snatch team and then drop them off at the front entrance of their main office, having used the Jedi Mind Trick once or twice. The sign around the neck of the team leader had been a nice touch on Lindsey's part. "Please return these idiots to the bigger idiot who sent them. C/o Holland Manners."

He looked at the building in front of him and then back at the van. It had been worth borrowing it off Joyce, but he'd have to get it back to Sunnydale soon so that she could use it again for her gallery. That said, he needed to talk to Lindsey and Oz about how the training of Daniel and Rebecca was going.

And perhaps he's also meditate a little and scratch that mental itch that the Force kept throwing his way. Something was happening somewhere and he couldn't put his finger on it – and that bugged him. Bugged him a lot.

* * *

It had been an… interesting daily meeting so far. Lilah sat in her chair with just the right combination of eagerness, interest and carefully masked cynicism that showed that she was a seasoned veteran of many such meetings.

That said, most such meetings hadn't started with their glorious leader in such a visibly weak position. If the Senior Partners weren't watching him with narrowed eyes and pursed lips (or whatever they had in terms of mouth parts) for his recent screw-ups then they didn't deserve to be in charge. Or they weren't paying attention.

Holland, she had to admit, wasn't showing any visible sign of being in trouble. He was his usual self – outwardly affable but with a hint of fang every now and then. Sarah Hogan had been slapped down once already and Victor Obrinicki was pale and sweating at the far end of the table already.

Gavin Park on the other hand was bright-eyed and busy tailed and watching everyone with poorly-hidden amusement. Oh and he also had all his cases in almost perfect order, which was why Holland hadn't slapped him down as well.

As for Lilah, she was going with the flow. Her caseload was just as heavy as everyone else's, but she had her cases in perfect order. Holland was treating her with courtesy and friendliness, which meant that she was his blue-eyed girl of the month. Gavin was already shooting her the occasional veiled look of hatred. Well, his life expectancy was fairly short anyway, so she wasn't worried about him.

There was a knock on the doorframe and she looked up to see Holland's secretary Helen at the doorway. "Excuse me Mr Manners, but there's a message from the Washington office."

Holland gestured at her and she glided in and handed the message over before departing.

"Ah," said Holland tiredly. "It would seem that the gastro-enteritis bug has struck down yet more of the Washington office. Damn. And the New York office is still recovering from that SNAFU involving that funfair. Very well." He looked around the table. "Lilah, I need you to fly to Norfolk, Virginia in two days' time to take a deposition from a client of ours in Federal custody. See me later on for a briefing on it. And by the way everyone, if you meet anyone from the Washington office don't shake their hand. Right, that's everything on the agenda – see you all later."

As the meeting broke up Lilah smiled a tiny, contented little smile. That particular group, unless she very much missed her guess, would never meet again. What a shame. At least one of them owed her money.

As she left the room she glanced at her watch. She had some reports to write. Oh and she had to prepare for the upcoming attack. Which was happening today, she could tell.

* * *

The Beast smiled as it looked at the concrete above it. It had navigated through some rather tricky rocks to get here – there was a major fault line in the area and such things could be unpleasant to pass through. But now it was here. It was ready. It raised a fist and then jabbed at the concrete, which crumbled at every punch. Again and again it punched. And then it was through. The beast pulled itself up into a large space filled with those strange mobile structures that humans used. A human was standing next to one nearby, looking confused and panicked. And it was the work of a moment to reach out and grab it by the neck and then squeeze.

* * *

The sentry had a number of ways to fend off boredom. There was the silent recitation of poetry. There was the fond rememberance of how nice his wife's ass had looked that morning and what that nice ass would look like in the silk underwear he'd ordered for her. There was his ability to think up new lyrics for his brothers' band. And there was the fact that if Sergeant-Major Standing Cloud ever caught him napping or goofing off (other than mentally that is) he'd be on a charge so fast that he'd be blown off his feet. Well. At least it wasn't raining. Sentry duty in the rain was a truly horrible thing to undergo.

He paused for a moment. He could have sworn that he'd seen a flash out of the corner of his eye, followed by an odd cracking noise. Turning his head he checked the perimeter. Nope, nothing in sight. Then he blinked. A woman had come into sight on the road. She was walking as she talked – or rather barked – into a cell phone. She was dark-haired, quite pretty and extremely pregnant.

As she approached he walked to meet her at the closed main gate. She seemed harmless, but there was no point taking risks. "Can I help you Ma'am?"

She came to a halt and then pulled a face as she rubbed at her back. "I have an appointment here with one Dr Rodney McKay. My name is Helen Keeler." She had a mid-Atlantic accent – there was some East Coast there and also something British.

"One moment please Ma'am." He stepped back, not taking his eyes off her, unclipped his radio and then reported in. Whilst he waited for a response he frowned slightly. "Beg parson Ma'am, but why didn't your taxi drop you off right outside here instead you having to walk in your condition?"

She blinked slightly. "Long story, private, long story."

Then the radio crackled. "Escort her in please – we'll send a vehicle to get her to the main entrance."

"Roger that," he replied and then he opened the gate. "This way Ma'am."

She looked at the main entrance and then sighed slightly as she followed him. "Rodney, what the hell are you doing here?" he heard her mutter.

* * *

The report was not coming along well, Holland thought as he scowled at the screen. He was doing his best to push the blame away from himself and onto other people. The problem was that blame-shifting in this company had been refined almost to an art form, so he had to word it perfectly if he was going to be able to survive the latest fiasco with his reputation in some form of decent-ish condition.

And then, naturally, the damn phone went. He rolled his eyes and ignored it for a moment. Then his ears noticed the ominous tone of the ring and he frowned. Security. Why were they trying to call him? He groaned quietly and then picked up the receiver.

"Manners."

"Sir, it's Okagawi here, main security desk," the man on the other end of the line panted. Holland could hear the sound of radios and alarms in the background and his heart plummeted to the bottom of his stomach as he wondered what the hell had gone wrong now. "We have an intruder in the building. A demon, type unknown. It came in through the parking garage somehow and it's gone on a total rampage."

Holland frowned. "How the hell did it get in without tripping the wards or without the Seers getting a glimpse of it?"

"No idea sir, we think that it was at least partially warded itself somehow. We sent two teams down at once – but it tore them apart sir. We sent another three, but they don't even seem to be scratching the damn thing sir and they've lost half their number. It seems to be bullet-proof."

Well, this day had started off shitty and was now getting worse. "What do you need from me?"

"Sir, we need to send Alpha Squad down to confront it," Okagawi said and Holland could feel the blood drain from his face. This was bad. This was very bad. Alpha Squad were the first of the 'smash glass in case of emergency' teams that Wolfram & Hart had on site in case of real emergencies. They were almost never used because they were a bunch of trigger-happy lunatics with more guns than brain cells, but if Okagawi thought that they might be needed, things were very bad.

"Permission granted," Holland said quickly. "It's that grave a threat then?"

"Sir, if Alpha Squad can't deal with it then I need permission to use Bravo Squad."

Holland's scalp crawled. Bravo Squad consisted of the heavy-duty magic users. And he'd never heard of them ever being used. "You have permission to use Bravo Squad if the situation warrants it," he said curtly. "Let me know if you need anything else."

"Thank you sir," Okagawi replied gratefully and then the phone went dead.

Holland sat there for a long moment, his fingers drumming on the desk in front of him as he thought furiously and then he made up his mind. He saved the document, dragged it into the most heavily protected part of the system and then sat back. After a moment he heard – or rather felt – heavy weapons being used several floors down and there was a pause in his secretary's typing that meant that she was truly surprised.

The vibrations continued for several long minutes, much to his increasing worry. There was also a sudden greasy feeling in the air, which meant that magic was being used somewhere. When the phone rang again he snatched it up. "Manners."

"Sir this is Kincaid in Security. This thing is just… just unstoppable. Alpha and Beta Squads are all dead and we've lost most of our men." The man was panting and sounded heavily stressed.  
Holland reeled in his chair. "Where's Okagawi?"

"Dead sir. He got too close to it. I am recommending immediate evacuation of the building. I repeat, I recommend the immediate evacuation of the building. This thing is just too tough. I don't know what it wants but it's killing everyone it sees."

"Very well. Try and block its path or something. It'll take time to get everyone out," he ordered quietly, knowing that he was signing the death sentence of Kincaid and everyone around him.

There was a short pause and then: "Understood sir. We'll try and buy as much time as possible."

He replaced the receiver and then walked quickly over to a section of wooden panelling on the far side of the room. Pressing at three sections simultaneously with his fingers he then waited until a panel slid upwards to reveal a control interface with a keypad. He entered a ten-number combination and then hit the enter button. The lighting in the room flashed on and off and then took on a red tinge, whilst at the same time a dull klaxon started to sound the evacuation alarm.

Satisfied he then walked three paces over and pressed a hidden button in the wooden panelling. A door opened immediately next to it and he strode into it and then pressed the only button on the control panel of the small one-man lift. Time to get the hell out of here. The door closed and he felt the magically-enhanced machinery shoot him straight down at a ludicrous speed. Hopefully some of the people in the building would survive, but he made a mental note to advertise for some more as soon as possible.

* * *

Lilah didn't glance up when she heard the evacuation alarm start up. She had to suppress a smile at the same time. She'd sensed the fighting through the Force – and the death. Oh, there were ripples in the Force that were very intriguing at the moment.

This was going to be very, very, interesting and she permitted herself a moment of time to think things through. She needed to be able to make it look like the work of someone else, and then capitalise on- "Lilah?"

She looked up to see Gavin Park in the doorway. He looked, well, rattled. Fascinating. And he thought that he was her equal? He barely came up to her ankles and that was on a good day. "Yes Gavin?"

"Didn't you hear the evacuation alarm?"

She smiled at him. "Probably another mistake."

He stared at her incredulously and then looked down the corridor as another herd of sheep thundered past gabbling into their cellphones. When he looked back there was definitely a hint of panic in his gaze. "Well, everyone else seems to disagree. And I can't raise Holland – or his secretary."

Oh dear, she thought, our gallant leader has used his secret elevator again. Understandable, if cowardly. He's probably in the sewers again. She'd once thought about leaving him a surprise present down there, but that probably would have fallen foul of Holland's paranoia. She wasn't quite ready to move against him, she needed more information on the Senior Partners first.

Looking at a restless Gavin she allowed a trace of uncertainty to cross her face, as if she was starting to realise that something might be happening. "If you can't contact Holland then something might be up. You go on – I'll catch up."

"You do that," he snapped and then darted away, giving the probably correct impression that he wanted to save his own skin at the cost of every other worker in the building.

She watched him go with a concerned little furrow on her forehead for the benefit of anyone who happened to pass the doorway and then she bent her head and smiled slightly. She saved the document she was working on, just to be on the safe side and then kept working. It wasn't time to go just yet. Not just yet. She'd know when. Oh and the Force was with her.

* * *

The Beast was experiencing some very mixed emotions at the moment. On the one hand it was having the time of its life as it slaughtered its way down the corridors of Wolfram & Hart. It was literally painting the walls red with the blood of everything that came against him and it was exhilarating. They'd sent security details against the Best, but they'd failed totally. Their pathetic bullets hadn't worked and their even more pathetic spells had just bounced off.

However, the Voice was still silent. No matter how many humans the Beast tore apart the Voice did not speak and the silence was a worry. The Beast thought about it for a moment as it tore the throat of a particularly stubborn guard away from the human's spine and then shrugged. The answer was obviously more blood. It threw the body down the corridor, knocking over four or five humans as they darted from their pathetic hiding places, and then it charged after them. This was fun.

* * *

Gavin Park ran. He'd been hoping to make it to the emergency lift that he was pretty sure that almost no-one else really knew about, but then the lights had suddenly dimmed and then flickered madly and he'd known that the lift was no longer a safe option. He swore viciously under his breath. He needed more people around him. If they did encounter whatever the hell had invaded the building then some distractions would come in very nicely indeed. He could throw some of them at the damn thing and then run the other way. As fast as he could.

He turned a corner, almost skidding on the way and wished that he'd worn his other shoes today. He needed every possible advantage today. And then someone screamed wetly ahead of him and he did his best to stop as fast as possible. It had indeed been a wet scream, ending in a gurgling thump. Shit. What the hell was ahead of him?  
He tried to run, but his feet went out from under him and he sprawled on the floor. What on… oh. Blood. The carpet was soaked with blood. He had to get out of here and…

Something walked around the corner and he gaped up at it. It was red and black, mostly red, horned and was holding what looked like a spinal cord in its right hand. It looked down at him as if he was a worthless worm that was beneath its contempt and then it smiled. The spinal cord came up and around and then down and Gavin screamed as he tried to get away, scrabbling desperately on the blood-soaked carpet but the thing was moving too fast and-

* * *

The beast looked down at bits latest offering to the Voice. It had been a tricky thing to kill, being so slippery and fast. Noisy too. But it was now dead. And he had a lot more of these stupid, weak, creatures to kill. It threw the spinal cord to one side and then strode off down the corridor in search of more insects to squash. The more it killed then the more chance that the Voice would talk to it.

* * *

Xander sat cross-legged and stared at the wall opposite him again. That odd nagging feeling had been growing again, a feeling like something was building in the air, like static electricity. It was never a good thing when that happened. It meant that somewhere something very bad was happening, or was about to happen. He rubbed his chin for a moment and then relaxed into a full Force trance.

Previous Force trances had given him a few snippets of the future – or possible futures. Looking into the future with the Force was always tricky. There were so many possible interpretations that could be placed on things. He always thought about Anakin at times like this, and the poor interpretation that he'd placed on his visions of Padme. He'd seen her in pain. Well, she'd been pregnant. Why hadn't he made the connection that giving birth was massively painful for women?

He thrust Anakin Skywalker and the tragedy of his life to one side and then looked forwards again. Oh. A smiling Rebecca. Lindsey weeping – or was it really Lindsey? A man with short brown hair and some kind of badge on his belt pointing to a yellow gem and nodding seriously. A cowled shape peering at him from a great distance and then recoiling in shock. A pale white face with lidless eyes lying on the ground in front of him. And then… a brown haired woman dressed in red leather with the yellow eyes of a Sith, staring at him in hatred holding a red lightsabre.

His eyes opened in shock. A Sith. A real, honest-to-god, Terran Sith. Well crap. There went his day.

* * *

Lilah looked at the flickering lights on the ceiling and then sighed tiredly. Ok, it looked like the power was about to go down soon, or perhaps just get really unreliable for a while. Someone must have accidently shot something again. Idiots. Guns were a bad idea. Lightsabres and being able to choke someone to death from a distance were far better ways of enforcing discipline.

She saved her work again and then backed everything up on the mega-secure server that was based somewhere that conventional science would probably never believe existed. Then she stood up and grabbed her jacket. Her lightsabre was tucked neatly into a pocket and she looked at it quizzically. Perhaps a belt hook might help? It would be well hidden at her back and also would be easily accessible.

Looking out into the corridor she smiled slightly. Ah, the noises were dying down a bit. Presumably the demon was still there but was running out of victims, on this floor at least. The lights flickered once, twice and then went out completely, before coming on again, this time with a reddish tinge. That meant that the power had been switched to the emergency backup. Which in turn meant that half the security systems in the building, including the security cameras, were now inoperative. Which suited her just fine.

She heard the distinctive crack-crack-crack of a Glock being fired, and the whine of bullets ricocheting off in all directions around the corner, and smiled. When she then heard a crunching noise she counted to ten and then walked around the corner.

It was a vision from hell. The broken body of a security guard was sprawled against one wall and by the angle of his neck he was never going to get up again. Standing over him was the demon from her vision. It was big, with horns and a red-brown mottled colour. Exactly as she'd seen it in her vision. It turned to look at her, its lip curling as it did. It seemed so arrogant, so confident, so sure that it was about to kill her and she felt her own anger start to burn like lava, hot and heavy.

"Looking for another easy victim?" She smiled at it brightly. She knew that this spot wasn't covered by any of the internal cameras or sensors – if any of them were even still working at that time. She could therefore enjoy herself a bit. Especially as she could sense that there was no-one else left alive on the floor.

The creature tilted its head to one side for a second as it contemplated her and then it seemed to shrug internally and then step towards her, its hands reaching for her. She summoned the Force and then directed it straight at the chest of the demon sending it tumbling straight down the corridor. It hit the far wall with an impact hard enough to almost leave an impression of its shape in the wall and she grinned fiercely as she saw it shake its head and then stare at her incredulously.

But then it found its feet and then came upright with a roar that shook the dust free from the ceiling – and then it ran at her, its feet leaving deep impressions on the floor as it came. Its face was stuck in a rictus of a snarl and its intent was obvious – to kill her.

This time she used the Force to backhand it into the wall to the right, hitting it so hard that the wall itself half caved in. She smirked at it as it shook its head to clear it. "Are you getting the picture now? You're not up against one of those Wolfram & Hart losers now."

"What… what are you?" the creature puffed as it stood up again. "You are here – you are Wolfram & Hart!"

This was the cue for a sneer and she unleashed a good one on the demon as she pulled out her lightsabre and ignited it. "I'm a Sith you worthless piece of trash. And you are about to die."

The demon gaped at the red blade for a moment and then it looked up at the ceiling for some reason, as if it was searching for something that was beyond her sight. "Is this my test?" The roar from it was unexpected and she frowned slightly. Who was it talking to? "Is this the creature you brought me here to kill?" The horned head jerked around as if it was trying to listen for something. And then it came around and red eyes narrowed into slits as the creature looked at her with utter hatred and a terrible resolve. She could see muscles bunching as it prepared itself to strike and she readied herself.

"Your funeral," she said with a savage grin.

The demon exploded out of the wall as it rushed towards her, its fists swinging desperately. She dodged the first one easily and then the other before ducking down to one side to allow it to pass her – and then as it did she slashed down with her lightsabre.

The demon shuddered to a halt and the looked down with angry confusion at the truncated and smoking remains of its right arm that she'd left it with. Then the pain hit and it let out a bellow that shook the floor and caused more dust to fall from the light fittings. Lilah simply smiled at it. The Force was running through her like a torrent and she felt more alive than she had for some time.

"You… die… for this!" The demon glared at her with eyes that were now shot through with pain and hatred.

Lilah frowned as if in thought. "Oh," she smiled, "I bet I don't."

The demon threw its head back and howled. It was a noise that spoke of pain and anger, of anguish and utter hatred and Lilah had to steel herself not to take a step back at the sheer volume of noise. She knew what was about to come and sure enough as the demon lowered its face towards her it charged again, its remaining hand reaching for her.

It never even came near her. As it approached she Force-leapt to one side, kicked off the wall, brushing the ceiling with her feet and her lightsabre flashed down and then around. She landed behind the demon, where she deactivated her lightsabre and then turned around to look at it as it slammed to the floor in three separate pieces. Its head bounced once, twice and then three times as it went down the corridor, before coming to a halt.

Lilah walked up to the severed head, as the life finally died from it. "Pathetic." Ah well. She had to pretend to be a helpless survivor now. She returned her lightsabre to her sleeve and then looked down at her clothing. Too perfect. She'd need to mess things up a bit so that she'd look as if she'd been nothing more than a helpless victim hiding somewhere.

She walked down the ruined corridor. Oh this could turn out very nicely indeed. A huge swathe of the local office had been wiped off the map, on Holland's watch. She'd been able to take care of the creature without anyone at Wolfram & Hart knowing, which was a good thing as people would therefore continue to underestimate her.

And as for the chaos that would soon envelope the office… well, chaos was always good. Chaos could be… exploited.


End file.

Buffy X-overs, Adventure