"So we're all agreed? He has to die."
The circular table was lit with a central candle held in a battered brass holder that had seen better days. Streams of multi-coloured dried wax coated it in a testament to its prolonged use and the lack of amenities that most of the world was suffering from since the beginning of the longest war pitted against good by the minions of hell and their timeless masters. The ten people sitting around it all shuffled in their seats, some moving to lean forward, others crossing their arms against their chests and a couple looked down, unable to believe what they were about to agree to.

The West Coast of the so-called free world was now a battleground, saturated in blood and tears. So many lives had been snuffed out, extinguished just as easily as the single flame illuminating the last hope for those on the side of good gaining back all that had been lost in a moment of futile posturing.

It wavered and flickered as a grey-haired bearded man sighed heavily and nodded. His actions were echoed by all the figures in the semi darkness. A slim battle-scarred woman with her long hair plaited tightly and wound around her head wrung her hands briefly and nodded. Her hand unconsciously swept over a small tattoo on her inner wrist and rubbed obsessively over the two letters intertwined. Of all of them she should have been the hardest to convince-but not anymore.

The hubris that had shaped the strange new world they all struggled to survive in could only be laid at one being's feet and there was no defending him, not anymore. What had to be done would be done - it was the only way to save them all and to save the dimension if not the entire universe. She could no longer be an apologist for the being she had once loved and who had wrought havoc on the world she had died twice to save.

The original speaker pulled a slim stiletto knife out of her hand and deftly slashed her palm, allowing the blood to drip on the table.

"For Gunn..." A small spark of electricity escaped her fingertips. She handed the stained blade to a middle-aged woman who sat leaning against her sombre-faced husband. They both slashed their hands and let their blood flow. She stared at Buffy, wondering why their leader was so mute; she had eventually had to take over the final meeting and get everyone going.

"For Fred," the older couple echoed in unison, their soft Texan drawls indistinguishable from each other and nearly muffled by the tears that were choking them.

They handed the knife over to a bookish looking man with mousy brown hair. "For Emma... God rot Jasmine." Julian slashed down hard and clenched his hand into a fist; of all of them he was the one with the least contact with their target, but had in fact been the one to gather the desperate council together. Jasmine's reign had destroyed his life and his family, they might've been one of the goddess's many victims, but they were his family. He had nothing left-nothing to live for. It was time for vengeance.

"For Cordy..." her father whispered. His mind also filled with images of his wife dying in his arms, her torso littered with gashes and blood soaking the frozen ground they were slumped on, begging him to fix it all.

"For Lindsey..." Eve threw her hair back and glared defiantly at all her companions.

"For my Faith..." Robin slashed his palm in a jerking motion. His scarred face bore testament to the last desperate fight against the horde of murderous Chaos demons as he futilely tried to save his girl from their clutches.

"For Wesley..." Roger Wyndham-Price's crisp British tones made the woman sitting next to him sit up straight and leave the tattoo on her wrist alone. His pale blue eyes were firm over the half moon glasses he wore, defying all of them to call him on his presence. Gone was the career politician, a man dedicated to climbing the heights of the Council of Watchers' political ladder no matter the cost, instead there was a hardened magic user who was determined to make amends. Many of them knew that he and his son had had a difficult relationship, but as far as he was concerned a father should never outlive his son. He handed the stained knife over to his companion in arms.

"For Dawn." She cut into her hand, her fingers curling compulsively as she stared unblinking at the slash and the blood welling out of the wound. All she could hear were her own words echoing down time to taunt her, ‘Summers blood,' uttered in a desperate moment to a long-dead sister who she had sacrificed her own life for, only to have it all thrown in her face by his actions, his choices and his arrogance that taking on the source of evil with no definite game plan would succeed.

How wrong he had been.

Buffy pressed the point of the stiletto down into the fleshy part of her faintly scarred palm, cutting along the love line in a determined way, "and for Spike..." As the fresh wound poured her blood over and down her wrist, Buffy handed the knife over to the white-haired woman next to her. She stared down at the burn scars that littered her hand and tried not to burst into tears.

Willow stared at the blade and then took a deep breath. She slashed her hand, "For Xander," the words seemingly booming around the room and making them more hollow for the lack of his existence. Her mind was filled with images of her recently murdered childhood friend. Up until a week ago she had refused to be involved in this last frantic plan, calling them all desperate and insane. Xander had been one of its leading champions, he wanted to fix it all - anything had to be better than the nightmare they lived in. In his honour Willow had agreed, for his death there would be reparation. She had not wanted to compromise her magicks by once again using the spells that had been created from chaos, dark magicks and neutral powers to achieve their ends. But now what was the point? Everyone she cared about was slowly being picked off, so why not throw in with the others and see if maybe they could save them all.

She had been terrified she might lose herself in them. It had all changed when Xander had fallen forward into her arms, blood welling from the corner of his mouth and a spear pushed through his devoted heart, its tip gleaming in the flames of yet another battleground, she had finally vowed to do something to change it all. She was not losing anyone else. No way, no how!

"For Giles..." The sharp-featured man cut his hand and winced before handing it on. He ignored the piercing look Buffy directed at him and straightened his silk shirt. Time had moved on, allegiances shifted and friendships developed. He had once been an enemy and now he was a friend, their alliance forged over the body of a man who they had both loved. One as a father, and the other as a friend and saviour from the hellhole the Initiative had left him in.

Area 51 had been abandoned as the US army had been called out to fight; any and all servicemen and woman had been needed to stem the tide. Personnel had been called out of retirement, reserves called up but to no avail as they were already fighting against a greater army, armed with supernatural strength and speed that humans had little defence against. They held the line finally, in New York, blowing bridges up and creating a small haven.
So many lost...

The inmates of their abandoned high tech prison had been left incarcerated to die a long and lonely death. Rayne had been woken by a flash of light and the sight of his long time nemesis standing over him with a grim expression. In that moment it had all changed. He was one of the good guys now and proud of it. Ripper had saved him and now it was his turn to repay the favour - and sod ‘em all if they were damning their souls and buggering up the gods' plans. Enough was enough.

"So we are agreed then, we do it." Gwen tossed her hair over one shoulder, the streaks of red and blue long gone. In their place was a white flash of hair that had crept in as the dark days and nights had progressed. She caught each of the others' eyes, her face settled in stern lines, determined that they would all be in accord. It was all or nothing. All of them nodded briefly. "Good. We meet tomorrow night, make sure you are all packed and ready as we will leave immediately."

Buffy stood, pulling Willow to her feet. Roger Wyndham-Price rose too and flanked the longest surviving slayer. Now the only surviving one. One by one, all the newly called girls had fallen under the tide of demons and monsters that had been unleashed on the world, canon fodder for the damned. Each and every novice slayer fought bravely before succumbing to the cold hand of death just as quickly as they had been called into service as champions for the invisible and seemingly absent Powers.

The aged watcher had formed a strong bond with the once ebullient girl who had become the now taciturn woman she was. An unlikely mentor and her friend, they were all that was left of the Council in the USA. The rest had remained in the UK, the last remaining stronghold of good in Europe, the island having the natural defences of the sea. Buffy and Xander had laid the charges that had collapsed the Chunnel sealing off the Continent once and for all. With the demonic conduit gone, the Watchers and several covens had then laid in a protective shield around the island. Only mortals could enter and the Council was ever vigilant, ready to defend the Emerald Isles from all incursions. The shimmering wall of magicks was a beacon of defence against the hordes of demons who worked for the Senior Partners. They hammered at it from all angles, trying to stamp out the largest focus of remaining mortals on Earth, so far, thankfully, to no avail.

"Tomorrow," Buffy nodded.

"Justice will be served." Eve clapped her hands in anticipation.

"Yeah... Justice..." Buffy echoed hollowly. She knew it had to be done, but part of her still hated the idea of killing someone without a fair fight.

But it had to be done...his hands were soaked in the blood of too many innocents. There was no way he could ever make amends for all that had happened.

It was time for him to die and stay gone.

A/N Dun dun dun a nice cliffhanger

Chapter Two

There was a definite chill to the night air. A sense of change and foreboding altered the atmosphere. It was if the planet held its breath, waiting for it all to slam back into focus. .

The crumbling street was quiet, an uneasy peace held sway. The buildings that lined the ghostly street were long abandoned by their owners and falling into disrepair, windows shattered and walls kicked down by beings stronger than the norm. The centre was held by Buffy and her army of fighters and they were deeply entrenched their wards in place against the hordes of roaming demons that occasionally chanced an attack. The remaining leaders had instructions to leave the area in the morning. A naval carrier would be waiting off the coast to launch helicopters to evac them out and take them back to Europe; it was a risky operation but hopefully it would be unnecessary.

The small town was a needed sanctuary for what they were about to attempt, though a temporary one. It had cost many lives to get this far into the demon's territory, a month of fighting and hard won battles had bought them a toehold in a small coastal town just north of LA. It had been their last big fight to establish themselves that led to the death of Xander and her final slayer in arms – Molly. It was as close as they could get to Los Angeles and it would suffice for their needs.

It was a calm before the storm.

Silent figures slipped through the shadows. Most of them were shouldering rucksacks and carrying much needed weaponry that had been carefully scrounged up over the years, and vigilantly cared for. A sharp blade was often all that stood between its wielder and death. Willow's hands were filled with bags of herbs and a faintly glowing crystal orb. Buffy watched as her group all caught up with her and gave her faint nods and smiles.

Buffy shoved her shoulder against the warped steel door that lead down to the basement they had been using for their meetings and ushered in the group she had escorted in. From what she could hear the others were already there preparing for the trip. A strong hand rested on her thin shoulder briefly, offering her strength and support. She looked up into Mr Chase's face and he offered her a fleeting smile as he stepped past her and headed down the stairs. She yanked the door shut and headed down after him, unaware of the eyes that were watching them from across the rubble strewn street.

Buffy stared at the back of the older man's head; still unbelieving that he was involved in the supernatural fight. Part of her was always freaked that Cordy's dad was here; she never met the Chases when they had all lived in Sunnydale. They had been part of the elite rich Country club types, so not in her mom's league or Giles's.

Hell, she would bet her last ten stakes that he had never had a clue about the things that went bump in the night during his sojourn as a fat cat in Sunnydale. So to have him and his wife join the fight, after she and her army had liberated the prison they had been incarcerated in, had been an eye opener. The once soft businessman was now a hardened fighter with nothing left to lose. His daughter was long dead and his wife now also gone.

The rest of her group kinda made sense; all of them had a reason to fight and also to join her on this last desperate mission. She was here for Dawn and Spike, both dead because of Angel. Spike's sacrifice she understood, but when Ilona in Rome had turned up and slashed Dawn's throat trying to open a portal to her favourite hell dimension to escape the Apocalypse that Angel's battle had started, it had nearly killed Buffy. When Andrew had discovered the big boobed bitch worked for the same law firm Angel had embedded himself within, Buffy had seen red. There had been little left of the firm in Rome by the time she had finished with them, her vengeance had some collateral damage. Andrew, he had died helping her, another life that needed saving.

Julian had been the major surprise; he had appeared at the Council doors over a year ago, hammering at the door demanding to speak to the Slayer. She, a distraught Robin and incensed Roger had luckily been in England at the time. Usually they were all over the world fighting to save some corner for humanity. But this time they had returned—to bury Faith. She hadn't wanted to talk to him but when he had yelled Angel's name, she relented. And the tale he told sent chills down her spine. It had taken a year or so after LA had fallen for her to accept that it had been Angel's abortive attempt to take down The Circle that had caused the unending chaos that she was fighting against—the same chaos that she was losing friends and family to.

But Julian was not there to talk about a fallen comrade or Champion for good.

He was there to talk about a vampire who had managed to create a child with his sire. The same souled dumb ass vampire who had happily brainwashed his friends, and been seduced by the power he had gained by running a branch of the law firm from Hell. Becoming the head of their L.A branch and a de facto representative of evil—even if he had sugar coated it with the idiotic idea of fighting from within. Yeah right! That only worked if you were swallowed by a momma Beozar and had an axe in your hands. And then used said axe to hack your way out. Taking on the representatives for evil in this dimension and working from within was so gonna work for a vamp with a tenuous grip on a second-hand soul – not! Giles had so been right about Angel and discouraging her from contacting him. Buffy winced though over the realisation that maybe if Giles had helped Angel, then Roger and Patricia Burkle might not have lost their daughter, Fred.

A big part of Buffy had died when Julian had told her about Darla and Connor. As the story had unfolded she had died a thousand tiny deaths. By the time he had arrived on the object of his hatred, Julian had been weeping uncontrollably. Jasmine, a being who had only gained a foothold on their dimension due to Angel's badly considered actions and that had resulted in the creation of his son Connor and his consequent relationship with Cordelia Chase. Buffy had nearly puked as he told of the teen shacking up with a woman who had essentially been a mother to him. By the time Julian had made it to the whole Jasmine and 'Summer of Lurve' and shiny happy people thing, Buffy wanted to wash her ears out with acid just to get rid of the words. All that had echoed in her mind was, ‘what the hell had Angel been thinking and why on earth hadn't she known?!’

Julian had lost his wife and two children to Jasmine's need to feed on humans to survive. Once he and all of L.A had recovered from the mass hypnosis, he had begun to plot his revenge. He had been ready to act, but then hell had been unleashed. Unsurprisingly, by Angel, another thing to lie at her ex's feet. And she was so not getting into the whole ‘lets not tell Buffy that Spike was alive bit.’

Her mind veered away from that taboo subject. No thinking about Spike in any shape or form, as that lead to her falling down in a soggy heap of tears and major depression. Not now, she couldn't think of him now – that was saved for quiet moments in the dead of night. Buffy sank her hand into her pocket and ran her fingers over the battered leather notebook that she had spent day after day writing in, filling it with her hopes and dreams, but more importantly, filling it with dates and facts. It was an important something she hadn't told any of the others about; as far as she was concerned, it was something she had to do.

They might think one single action would change everything, but time and experience had made the diminutive blonde a realist. The moleskin notebook was her insurance. Spike had taught her not to hide from the truth; his quicksilver mind and equally fast tongue had kept her on her toes for more years than she could admit too. Even when he had been the pure unadulterated evil master vamp ‘I am gonna kill you on Saturday’ guy, he had told her what was what. Always in plain black and white, with no frills and no lies to make her feel better. She’d initially respected him for it, and later, loved him for the unadulterated truths he threw at them all, making them face up to things usually swept under the proverbial rugs. Spike had been very much like Julian and how he had laid it out that fateful day in the Council library, where she, Ethan and Roger had listened to the horror story that was Angel's life in L.A.

That was when they had begun to formulate a tentative plan. The same plan that was now about to come into fruition and Buffy was praying not-so-silently that it worked.

Gwen stood back from the group and watched as they set up; she was relieved. The Slayer was back on the ball and taking control. She hadn't signed on to be general and it had felt weird last night when she'd had to get the meeting going. Everyone was waiting for the mojo guys to do their thing and then it was all out attack. They had a plan and were all set.

Either it worked or they died trying.

Gwen pulled out the laminated map that Willow had made for all of them, her eyes tracing over the now familiar lines of the town they were going to. It was not somewhere she'd ever come across during her other life, a career thief. Which had surprised her, now that she knew more of its secret and the relics there. From the stories she'd heard some of them might have helped her retire early on a tropical island far from all the troubles of the world. That had been then, now she was not that person. Now she fought to make a difference; Gunn had taught her that.

"Have you got it?" Ethan frowned over at Willow.

"Yeah, here it is." She shot Buffy a guilty look and pulled out a sepia tinted photograph. It was worn and frayed at the edges but would suffice as a focus. There were three figures in it and Buffy's breath caught in her throat when she saw him there. The hair was longer, caught back in a ribbon, but his face, his dear face… It was the same one that she'd spent hours running her fingers over its familiar lines; the brownish tint to the image robbed his eyes of their depth and personality, but it was there in her mind's eye and that was more than enough for her.

Ethan took the image and laid it carefully in the large copper bowl. He and Roger set up candles around it and lit them one by one. Willow knelt down and began to crumble herbs and spices around the focus of the spell. Her voice was low as she whispered a blessing, her hands deft and assured. Behind her Roger thumbed through the spell sheets as he waited for the other two to set up.

All the others shifted nervously. It was all too intense, the months leading up to this moment all now were a brief whisper of a memory. Seeing the reality of the mechanics of the spell being laid out was stunning. They had hoped, dreamed and planned for this and now it was nearly time. If it worked, then the world would be a very different place.

"Ready?" Ethan straightened up and pulled out the rose quartz ball he'd been saving as a focus for the power they would be calling on.

"Yup," Willow said as she wrung her hands nervously.

"Saddle up, guys." Roger Burkle took his wife's hand and nodded to the others.

Buffy gulped nervously. She pulled out the Scythe and nodded at the silent watcher.

"Get going, Roger." Julian's voice was filled with throbbing excitement; it was time for a reckoning. Well past time, he wanted the bastard's dust coating his entire body.

Revenge was close to hand.

~~~~~~~~

Willow , Ethan and Roger's voices were united in harmony as they chanted the spell. The vortex in front of them was the size of a basket ball, spinning in a whirl of reds and blacks with small bolts of lightening flickering out here and there. Streaks of grey were appearing in Willow's normally white hair as she channelled some not-so-pure forms of magicks. All the group were gathered close together, poised to leap in once the vortex was large enough.

The door swung open behind them; unnoticed a Turok Han slunk into the basement. It had been attracted by the spell's power and the gathering of the mortals; he had been watching them from the building across the street. Somehow it had managed to elude the sweeps of the town, hiding away in the shadows of the sewer system, waiting and biding it's time. But the power of the spell had drawn it out; it snarled silently, fangs gleaming in the light. He was one of the few of the primeval vampires left in the area, canny in its ways, surviving against the onslaught of Buffy's army.

Once Los Angeles had fallen, The First Evil had gained a foothold in the dimension and sent its foot soldiers into the world to prepare the way for its return. Big mistake for the First, as by the time the armies of the prehistoric vampires had finished eating their way through the population there had been no humans left for the First to torment. Its potential power base, humans and their souls were gone, either dead by the fangs of its followers or fled behind impenetrable shields of untouchable white magic. The primordial evil had not been able to manifest and had disappeared into the depths of Hell, snarling and moaning at its folly. It left behind it a leaderless army of monsters, who now roamed the wastelands of Western America searching for prey in any shape or form. Snarling quietly the uber vampire showed its fangs, which dripped ichor and gleamed in the unnatural light of the vortex.

The spectacle of the rapidly expanding vortex was too much of a distraction for all of the humans. He moved on silent feet and prepared to attack.

Willow gritted her teeth against the power that buffeted her; she could see Wes's dad shouting the Latin section of the spell out over and over. His raised his hands as he called on all the power he could channel through his body. Between them stood Ethan, the crystal ball cradled in his steady hands, a beam of white shooting out of it and feeding the size of the vortex. She carried on chanting her part of the spell to open the time vortex and prayed silently to Gaia that she would protect them all.

Buffy shifted her feet anxiously; it was nearly big enough. Reaching out she herded them all into place and shouted at Julian over the thunderous noise of the spell. "Be ready to go through. I have no idea how long they can hold it open.

Julian nodded, his eyes gleaming feverishly now that they were nearly there. So close to their goal he could almost taste it. He looked down at the photograph of the three vampires and mutely swore that two of them would die slowly and painfully. The other was not his to touch, that was part of the bargain he had struck with Buffy and the others.

The Burkles huddled together, their mouths open in shock at the magnitude of the spell being cast. All that they could think was that soon Fred would be saved. NO demon god to take over her body and burn up her soul. It would all be fine and dandy, they just had to work out a way not to let their girl get sucked into the Pylean dimension. Little did they know someone had already thought of that and worked hard to make sure the tall sweet Texan had a chance at a good life, one free of gods and monsters.

Gwen and Mr Chase stood silently; they'd not waited this long to be shocked by the sight of the vortex being opened. They wanted to get through and get going.

Eve gritted her teeth against the wind that had been created from the vortex and held the bowl steady in her hands. She knelt before Ethan steadying the focus of the spell, her fair hair whipping around her head, strands slithering across her pale cheeks and getting into her eyes. She shook her head and blinked against the mini dust storm that was now spiralling around them and caught a flash of movement behind them. Before she could say a word the vortex groaned and shuddered and widened.

"Go! Go! Get moving!" Ethan screamed. The beam of light nearly blinding him with its intense brightness and his hands lurched and shook as he tried to keep the orb steady.

One by one the travellers leapt through, soon leaving only Eve, Buffy and the three spell casters remaining in the past. Ethan moved his head and was about to urge Buffy through when he saw the Turok Han.

"Oh for Christ sake, not now," he shouted. Reaching down he heaved Eve up and threw her in. Spinning he grabbed Willow and tossed her after the former representative to the Senior Partners. The orb remaining cradled in the crook of one arm, he pointed over at the prehistoric vampire. "Roger!” he shouted. “Get Buffy and move it, we don't ha—" He clutched his chest, blood gurgling out of his mouth as he looked down in surprise. "My, this wasn't the way I thought it would happen…" He pitched backwards into Roger's arms.

"NOOOOOO!" Buffy screamed as her last link to Giles coughed up blood and reached futilely for her. She twisted around, raising the scythe and in a swift downward motion slashed the Turok's head off in one deft smooth move. It hit the ground and bounced through the portal.

"Christ, no. Ethan!" Roger clutched at the wound pressing down, trying to staunch the flow of blood from the mortal wound. Blood poured between his fingers as he scrabbled to help the fallen man. Unnoticed the crystal orb fell to the ground and rolled towards the vortex, power still channelled through it, and for now it held the rip in time open. Buffy sank down next to them, her hands reaching for the dying chaos mage; gently pulling him into her arms, she cradled him against her, tears filling and quickly spilling from her eyes.

"Oh, come on darling, you knew some of us might not be there for the last hurrah…Just… remember to stick him good from me and Ripper." Ethan slumped in her arms and the light finally faded from his eyes.

The first clue Buffy had that it had worked was the warmth of the night air. The West Coast in mid summer was nice and balmy; she’d forgotten… recently it had been so cold and grim. Global warming – another gift from the souled vamp that kept on giving. Giving her and all her loved ones nightmares that was! Buffy grunted as she tried to take a deep breath and her ribs twinged, reminding her that human bodies versus Mother Earth equalled a legion of ouches.

She rolled over onto her side and frowned at the blood-stained rose quartz orb Ethan had been holding. It lay on the dew damp grass of the cemetery, a testament to his bravery and sacrifice. The once evil chaos worshipper had really come through for them; he’d got them all here safely, but at the cost of his own life.

Buffy firmed her lips, unwilling to cry but failed. Tears escaped her eyes and ran silently down her cheeks; she sniffled to herself quietly, not wanting to say a word. If she said it out loud that Ethan was dead then it would be real and another friend would be gone from her life. Buffy curled up in a small ball and stared sightlessly at the crystal ball. She was so very tired of it all; her body was aching from the trip back. It felt like she had been put in a spin dryer and left on full for an hour.

All she could hear in her mind was the mantra that Spike was alive in this time, in a wheelchair and all bad moody, but undusty. She would see him soon; most of her being cowered at the thought and another part was excited beyond words. But he would probably want to bite her and not in a good way. She also craved seeing his face and yet another part of her quailed at the thought of his rejection; as far as he was concerned, she was just another slayer to notch on his well worn belt. She needed to see him and she hated herself for that neediness.

Buffy sighed and pressed one hand to her stomach and the other to her heart. Slowly her befuddled brain registered the stickiness on her shirt; Ethan’s blood. Bile rose up her throat and she swallowed convulsively.

Yeah, her stomach was still spinning from the trip back in time, but she was the Slayer. It was time to get the show on the road.

She squinted out of her swollen eyes and espied Willow, Gwen, Robin, the Burkles and Roger all in varying states of unconsciousness. She could hear Robin and Julian cussing a blue streak behind her; everyone had arrived except for Mr Chase. She pushed herself up on her hands and looked around, and then she gagged violently. Buffy staggered to her feet and stared in shock at the scene in front of them.

“God!” She staggered forward.

They had materialised in Restfield. She had picked the location in a moment of nostalgia, a real connection with Spike. A place long since destroyed when he had single handedly saved the world by sealing the Hellmouth against the First.

"Oh! Goddess..." Willow ran over to the tree and grabbed hold of Cordelia's father's lax hands and pulled. But her hand passed through his, the laws of physics and nature had fused in a way that had saved the middle-aged man’s life. He was flickering in between time, unable to take form due to his position within the tree.

"Wills, don't." Buffy came up and lead the distraught Wicca away. She spared the macabre sight a brief moment of prayer and then refocused on the mission. If they succeeded, if they did this right, if they killed one being then it would all be over. Then the entire planet would be saved from the hellish nightmare they had just jumped back in time from.

"Dear God." Roger Wyndham-Price stared at the massive tree and tried not to vomit. The man was caught between moments in time, partially materialised within the tree. His fate was uncertain, his face and body hidden inside the trunk. All that could be seen were his hands reaching for a freedom that he so far hadn’t been able to find in this lifetime.

"Oh lordy, what can we do?" The Burkles stared aghast at their friend's hands.

Gwen eyed the thick trunk, searching intently for a knot, a weak point, anything she could use. "There," she muttered under her breath. Yanking off a glove, she sent a bolt of electricity at the spot and prayed it would work. The tree shuddered. The scent of burnt bark filled the air and for a breathless moment there was nothing, then a deep cracking sound emanated from within the ancient tree. It split in half, releasing what they believed was a dead body. Robin stepped forward and lifted the man into his arms.

“We can’t just leave him out here, it wouldn’t be right.” He looked down at his friend and comrade-in-arms. The man might have been middle-aged but he had fought strongly beside them all for so long.

Buffy looked around, trying to get her bearings. Then she saw the familiar white marble crypt with the heavy wooden door, unmarred by petite boot marks. Those were to come in a few years, when Spike moved in and she took to kicking the door open to get his undivided attentions. “Over there,” she murmured. “We can lay him to rest in there.”

Willow looked over to where Buffy was pointing and drew in a breath at the familiar sight of the crypt. “That’s a really good idea,” she agreed and laid a trembling hand on Buffy’s arm, giving it a squeeze of support.

“Holy Hell!” Robin gasped. He dropped his friend to the ground as he slowly came to consciousness with a groan.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Buffy stared at the steamed up mirror of the Holiday Inn bathroom and reached up to wipe her hand across it. She grimaced at her face, and then looked down at the basin where her blood-stained clothes had been tossed. ‘Ethan…’

She could hear Willow talking to Gwen quietly in the other room. With a sigh the Slayer reached over for the hairdryer and began to dry her hair. Tossing her head forward she ran a brush over and over the long dark blonde mass.

“I can’t believe that you got him out of that tree; it was genius!” Willow grasped the tough ex-cat burglar’s hands in hers and squeezed them hard. “I was uber freaked, cos dad of Cordy and was all in the wood and hands of vapour…it was just all gahhhh!” She waved her hands around her head. Her long white hair curled around her shoulders, its colour belying her age, instead reflecting her power and purity of spirit.

“Was pure instinct. I just figured if the tree wasn’t there then he would be okay.” Gwen smirked at the Wicca; her full red lips parted, showing her even white teeth.

Buffy shook her head. All of them had been ready to write him off, assuming death, but Gwen had stepped outside of the box and saved the man. One less death staining their hands and consciences; instead of mourning they were celebrating. She glanced up at the mirror and ran a comb through her now dry hair and then began to braid the long tresses. As she reached into Willow’s make-up bag the Slayer noticed the pouch. Her fingers trembled as she reached in and pulled out the scarlet silk bag with Ethan’s initials embroidered on it.

“Buffy? What are you doing?” Willow’s voice startled the pensive blonde and she clutched the small bag in her fingers.

Risking a quick glance over her shoulder at Willow, Buffy took a deep breath. “Do you think it might work?”

Willow took the pouch and gently shook out the double-ended quartz crystal. She held it up to the light and examined it closely, her sharp eyes searching for a glimmer of light within the small wand.

“Well?” Gwen joined the two women and peeked over Willow’s shoulder. “Is it worth a shot?” A faint crackle of static lifted her hair as her emotions seeped out of her.

Buffy’s heart pounded hopefully, her fingers twitching. She was aching to pull it out of her oldest friend’s grasp and snap the crystal in half.

Before the wiccan could reply, a spark of light glimmered in the facets of the crystal and began to glow brightly. It grew till it filled the small bathroom with an ethereal light that offered hope to them all; it was a long shot but worth it.

“Try it girl, it might work!” Roger appeared in the doorway. His tired eyes brimming with anticipation and optimism, he nodded at Buffy. “You do the honours.”

Buffy reached out a shaking hand and took the enchanted crystal from Willow and with a whispered prayer she snapped it in half, releasing the light contained within. It flared brightly and then vanished.

“Well, I suppose all we can do is hope for a miracle.” The old watcher left the women and took up his post on his bed, and with a sigh, glanced over at his comatose friend.

Willow hugged Buffy. “I hope it worked.”

“Me too.” The Slayer tucked the broken pieces away in her jacket pocket before pulling out another three small bags. Handing one to each of the others she pocketed her own. “I’m going to get a soda. You guys need anything?” Her voice wobbled with suppressed emotion, she needed a moment to herself to regain her composure. Willow and Gwen nodded and gave her a reassuring smile. The door clicked shut behind Buffy as they sat back down on the battered couch.

Both the women glanced over at the open door and into the next room. Mr Chase lay sleeping on the single bed. Next to him on the other, Roger Wyndam-Pryce lay reading a book. He glanced over his glasses at them; a brief smile curled his lips as he gave them a reassuring nod, before going back to his research. It had been agreed that he would stay to watch over Mr Chase whilst the others had gone off to achieve the first part of their plan.

A desperate plan that would change the shape and destiny of the Aurelius Clan for all eternity and hopefully the fate of the entire world.

She stalked streets wreathed in darkness, certain in her power and dominance over all that surrounded her. She moved with a feline grace as she prowled the nearly empty streets of a small town perched over the mouth of Hell.

She’d been taught that she was the top of the food chain and all others should tremble in her wake. A dark ringlet of her hair slithered across her pale throat. With an amused chuckle she shook her head and reached up with her free hand to smooth her hair into place. The thin exotic beauty, dressed in an amalgam of vintage and new garments drew a couple of admiring glances from passer-by’s. Usually such admiration would have been rewarded with a painful, drawn out blood-soaked death. Instead this time they escaped with their lives; she had another target this evening, one that was essential for her family to survive and thrive.

The small being cradled carelessly in her arms whined fretfully, wanting to be free to explore and run. She’d gone from being a snack for her poor wounded boy to being an indulgence. One that from her past history would no doubt end up either starved to death or drained in a fit of pique. But for now, Miss Sunshine was a coddled lovie.

“Tut tut little one. Mummy will let you play when we talk to the shopkeeper.” She soothed the small puppy, her red-tipped nails scratching gently through the dog’s fur. The insane childe of the Aurelian clan studied the shop front, waiting for the last customer to leave and the owner to switch off the open sign, waiting for her moment to strike.

“Nearly time, then we can play,” she crooned. Her wide blue eyes were filled with suppressed glee at the mayhem she was about to set in motion. She’d seen it all in the stars. From this one death a network of horror, pain and slaughter would erupt. It would take years for it all to come into fruition, but she had all the time in the world, her daddy had made sure of that when he had turned her into the monster she had once feared becoming but now loved with an unyielding passion.

“Time to say nighty…night.” Drusilla giggled, her blood warming in anticipation of the kill.

~~~~~~~~~~~

He looked up at the heavy wooden door and sighed heavily.

This isn’t going to be easy.

How was he going to convince a Watcher that he was from the future and that he was here to save the world, infact to save the entire dimension? It would be just his luck that the man would have him committed in the insane asylum. The younger watcher was no fool, he had survived countless attempts to be replaced as the current slayer’s guide. Hell, he’d even out manoeuvred Eyghon, with more than a little help from that vampire and the Slayer’s friends.

Roger grimaced. He tucked his hands into his pockets and rocked back on his heels. His fingers rubbed against the crystal; it was his and the other’s last desperate refuge. Once their tasks were done and history was rewritten, they would all be without a place to go in the future, gods willing. So he, Ethan and Willow had created the crystals as an insurance policy. None of them had a safe haven to go to once they’d killed him, so they had chosen instead a far different path for their lives and souls.

It was a daring plan, but one that might just work miracles for countless lives. It was now time for him to create one for himself and his family; it was the first step on a path he should never have veered from. His son needed him. Buffy had said over and over to all of them in their darkest moments, ‘Baby steps guys, baby steps.’ Taking a deep breath, Roger Wyndam-Pryce raised a hand and knocked loudly on the door. He had a son to save and a Council to salvage from the hands of bureaucrats and reform into a fighting force that would withstand anything that was thrown at it. The man behind this door would play a pivotal role in all the changes they needed to make

The door creaked open.

“Good evening, Mr Giles. If I might have a moment of your time? We have a lot to discuss. Oh good, is that a bottle of scotch I see? I think you might need a drink in a moment.” Roger brushed past a stunned Giles and into hopefully bright new future—one where his son didn’t end up with a knife in his gut and with a forgotten god weeping over his still form while the vampire who’d sent him to his death stepped into an alleyway and set in motion the end of the universe.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Sorry, honey.” He leant over and blew out some candles. “We’re closed.”

“Miss Sunshine here tells me you had a visitor today.” She stared at the shopkeeper, her glittering eyes unwavering in their insanity. “But she worries,” she sing-songed before smiling crookedly at the implacable man. After a beat a faint frown flickered across her visage at the lack of fear he was displaying. “She wants to know what you and the mean teacher talked about.”

Drusilla glanced around the small basement shop, her eyes lighting on the closed curtains behind the counter. She frowned but then easily dismissed the feeling of being watched as nothing. The vampiress let Miss Sunshine drop to the floor as she examined the shopkeeper who stood behind the counter watching her intently.

“What’s this? No pricklings of fear? I wanted delicious shivers. How disappointing.” She pouted and took a step forward, confident in her safety and control of the situation. She tilted her head to one side and studied the little man contemplatively. “Aren’t you a brave little lad!” Dru snapped her teeth sharply at the nonplussed man who stood watching her. Julian let one hand rest on the glass-topped counter and stared at the being that had caused the death of his friend’s love and sired the monster that spawned Connor, one of the instruments of his entire family’s death. Hatred prickled through him as his hidden hand clutched his stake. He itched to stake her but that was an honour reserved for another, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t hurt the lunatic.

“If you want to come back tomorrow, I am sure…”

“I don’t think so. You’re so shiny and new. When are you from then?” Something had registered in her mind; there was a tinge of curiosity niggling at her, but it was overridden by the need to survive. “Doesn’t matter though.” She shook her head, mentally dismissing him as a threat. “You’re helping the nasty teacher hurt my happy family.” Drusilla leaned over the counter and snarled as her features morphed into those of her true nature. Amber eyes glistened with anger and hunger as she eyed his throat, her fangs itching to tear the flesh away to reveal the vein that was filled with the ambrosia she could never get enough of. She was unaware that her confidence would very soon be her down fall.

“That all you got?” Julian sneered. “Just some fangs and a fugly face? How about I help out with that?” He reached for the squeezy bottle he’d placed near the cash till; grabbing it he aimed and let loose the thrice sanctified water. She screamed as the Holy Water sprayed across her demonically distorted features. Her back hit the dresser behind her, dislodging the crystals, orbs and magical paraphernalia that were displayed there. The sound of the goods crashing to the ground covered the noise of the door bell as Fred’s parents came in, raising their crosses and aiming them at the shrieking vampiress, forcing her to the ground. Drusilla clawed at her face as the skin melted and burned, her features morphing back into the ethereal beauty that had initially drawn her sire to her.

Crouching on the floor she glared up at the impassive face of the man. “You’re a bad puppy — I’m going to have to spank you now.” Reaching behind her she pulled herself up, tears of pain streaming over her ruined face. Her lips twisted into a sneer. She spared a glance at the older couple, dismissing them as no threat to her. She began to sway from side to side.

“Be in me…” she crooned.

“Be in this, you demented, crazed rabid nut job!” Robin shouted as he pushed the curtain aside, revealing where he had been hiding with the shaking shop owner. He fired a bolt from his crossbow, but in his eagerness to kill the woman who had sent the Chaos demons after his Faith, he was slightly off target. Pinning her through the side to the heavy oak dresser, he at least immobilised her.

“Noooo!” she wailed, suddenly terrified. “It’s not how it is meant to be…the stars are all clouded. Where are my pixies?” Her hands hung limply at her sides as she swayed mindlessly from one foot to the other.

Robin vaulted over the counter and pulled out one of Faith’s old stakes he’d kept just for this occasion. “More fitting this way I think.” His face was impassive as his fist rose and with unerring ease, slammed downwards, piercing the hissing vampire’s chest.

“But…this isn’t the way it’s supposed to be…why are you hurting me, you bad puppy?” Drusilla glanced down at the stake piercing her long dead heart and then laughed as she stared up at her executioner. “It’s all different now, isn’t it?” she whispered, her voice childlike and shaken as realisation dawned on her. “You’re not from around here, are you?” She laughed briefly before her body disintegrated into a fine ash. A small pile was all that was left of her and it lay defeated at their feet. Robin’s shoulders heaved as he tried to breathe; he took great gulping breaths and wept in relief. He may have failed in revenging his mother’s death, but Faith would live now. He had changed the past and made the future a little brighter for all of them. Now all he had to do was wait another day to really seal the deal.

“Oh my God, it worked! We did it!” Julian let out a holler of victory as he skirted around the counter, pulling the shocked salesman with him. They all ignored the whining of the small dog that pawed at the ashes, searching for the vampiress who had taken him from the dead arms of his previous owner.

“Isis protect me, you saved my life!” he babbled his thanks. “I don’t know how to repay you.” His hands trembled slightly as he reached out to shake his saviour’s hands. “Thank you…thank you.” The Burkles smiled at the shaken man and patted him on the shoulder, trying to calm the poor naïve man down.

Julian stepped up next to Robin and gently put an arm around the immobile man. “Come on, it’s over – let’s get back to the others.”

Robin wiped his hand over his face and nodded.

Without another word they all left the shop, leaving the owner behind to lock up and sweep away the remains. A paltry remnant of a demoness who had once reigned in terror over Europe and South America – a dust bunny and some ash that was dumped out in the trash without a moment of ceremony.

Drusilla passed away, unnoticed, unmourned and unremarked by all but those who had been in the shop and elsewhere.

~~~~~~~~~~

“Need another drink?” Roger asked wryly as he leant over and poured a healthy shot of Scotch into Giles’s glass.

“Yes…I think I need – the First you say?” Giles stared at Roger in shock. “And he gets a soul? Are you sure?” He didn’t know whether to laugh, cry or faint from shock.

The older watcher stared gravely over his glasses and nodded. “I am not lying to you. This is all true.” He gestured at the notes and diaries littering the table between them.

“The future?” Giles’s voice shook with shock.

“Yes, and no I don’t know who won the World Cup,” Roger added dryly, though now he wished he’d taken some notice.

“Are you sure that you should be telling me all this?” Giles stared down at the reams of notes and the pile of diaries Roger had given him. “Aren’t there rules about things such as this?” He was sickened at the litany of horrors and disasters that were to happen to everyone he held dear. “Is this all a test? Has Travers put you up to this?” he added suspiciously.

Roger groaned tiredly; they had known that this would have been a difficult part of the plan, but Giles had to be warned about it all. There was no other option. He was needed to help take control. “Call your girlfriend, Janna of the Calderash clan. Her name is now Jenny, I believe? Ask her to tell you about the spell she is working on—the restoration spell.”

“The what?”

“Just do it, man. I don’t have all night.” Roger sighed. His hand reached for the other pile of paperwork he needed to give the man, papers that none of the others knew about, but would appreciate once it all was organised.

“But we aren’t talking…” Giles trailed off and flushed in embarrassment. He ducked his head, trying to avoid the censure in the older man’s eyes.

“Good God, man. How old do you think you are? Honestly, when Buffy told me about the sang froid? between the two of you, I laughed. You’re both adults, for God’s sake just talk to each other. It might actually save lives!” Roger stood and strode to the telephone. Pulling out a piece of paper he dialled the number and waited a beat. “Here. Talk to the woman.” He waved the handset at Giles. He rose and took it, turning his back to talk Jenny in private.

“Jenny?”

Roger shook his head. He pulled out the three envelopes and placed them on the table. He patted Giles’s hand and bid him goodbye.

“Wait! Jenny can you hold on for a moment,” he requested then covered the receiver with his hand. “You can’t just tell me all this and then go.”

“I have go. Talk to her and when you’ve finished read these. If I can come back, I will.” His eyes were steely with determination. “Promise me you will help Wesley. He needs it.”

Giles stared at him in shock. “O…okay. I will do my best.”

“That’s all I ask.” Roger smiled tiredly and left, his steps lighter than they had been for long while.

“Jenny, what’s this about a restoration spell?”